On hearing these words Mustapha flung himself at Orbasan’s feet.
“You are in error, my lord,” he said, “I am an unfortunate traveller, but not the Pasha of Sulieika.”
The brigands appeared to be surprised, but the Chief said: “Dissimulation will not help you, I can bring witnesses to prove your identity.” And he thereupon commanded that one Zuleima should be brought in.
An old woman appeared, and on being questioned as to whether or no the man before her was the Pasha of Sulieika, she answered immediately that he was.
“Wretched man,” cried the Chief angrily, “you see how impossible it is to deceive me. You are not worthy that I should stain my good dagger with your blood, but to-morrow morning I will have you bound to the tail of my horse and will go a-hunting with you, till the sun sets behind the hills of Sulieika.”
Mustapha’s heart sank. “It is my father’s curse that has driven me to this shameful death,” he cried; “alas, sweet sister, and Zoraida, how can I ever hope to rescue you now.”
“This pretence is useless,” said one of the brigands, “see, the Chief bites his lips and feels for his dagger; if you wish to live another night you had best come with me quickly.” And binding Mustapha’s hands behind his back he was about to lead him from the tent, when three other brigands entered, with a prisoner in their midst. “Here, as you commanded us, we bring you the Pasha of Sulieika,” said one of them, leading their prisoner before the Chief.
Mustapha glanced at the prisoner and could not but own that there was a great resemblance between himself and the Pasha, only the other man was darker in complexion and wore a dark beard.
The Chief was much surprised to see a second prisoner: “Which of you really is the man I seek?” he asked.
“If you seek the Pasha of Sulieika,” the prisoner answered proudly, “I am he.”