He thought not of the lands or the wealth he had acquired, but one of the brightest dreams of his youth was realised: he had been publicly recognised, by one whom he held to be the hero of the age, as a worthy son of the gallant Dervish Bey. This was the feeling which filled his breast with a bounding and tumultuous joy, and his eye sought and met that of his father. But Hassan’s thoughts were speedily recalled to the presence in which he stood by the voice of Mohammed Ali, who, once more addressing him, said—
“I have rewarded your services only as you deserve; I wish now to add a favour from myself. Have you any request to make? Speak it boldly.”
“If your Highness will pardon my freedom, I would ask you to give to my friend Reschid the command of the regiment vacant by the punishment of Nour-ed-din. These men, like the Bashi-Bazouks, have been misled by the treachery of their commander; but when they learn how they have been deceived, their hearts and swords will return to your Highness’s service. I have seen the courage and fidelity of Reschid put to the proof, and under him that regiment will be as true and efficient as any in your army.”
“What say you, Kiahia?” said Mohammed Ali to his chief Pasha; “shall Hassan’s request be granted?”
“Hassan has robbed me of a good khaznadâr,” said the old Kiahia, smiling, “but he has given your Highness a good colonel, so I must forgive him; neither will I deny that Reschid’s fingers, when employed on the seal or the pen, are always itching for the lance and the sword.”
“Be it so, then,” said the Viceroy; “make out the order to our War Office and we will seal it. And now, Hassan, as you would not ask anything for yourself, I must select for you. Strength and youth, and, Mashallah! good looks and a good name you have; it is a shame that you remain unmarried,—I have chosen you a wife from a noble harem, and I will give her a dower myself.”
Hassan’s lip grew pale and quivered as he said in a hesitating voice—
“Pardon me, your Highness, if I decline the honour. I have made a vow that——”
Here Mohammed Ali interrupted him, saying—
“Peace, delikànloo,”[[118]] and he fixed on the young man one of those piercing glances in which anger and humour were so strangely blended that it was difficult to know which was predominant. “Is there already so much wind of prosperity in your head that you despise the alliance of the daughter of Delì Pasha?”