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He bowed slightly, and took the seat assigned him. "I wished to beg Sitta Nefysseh's permission to seat myself at her side,to converse with her as a friend. You do not desire it, however you wish to see in me the prince only. Let it be so. I am only the viceroy, and I have summoned you to appear before me." "Summoned, you call it?" cried she, passionately.
Bardissi's countenance lighted up with joy when the Bedouin sheik Arnhyn brought this intelligence. "The decisive moment, the day of battle is at hand. If we are victors, how Sitta Nefysseh will smile on us, how happy she will be!" Yes, the decisive moment is at hand. Perhaps Nefysseh's cold heart will be touched, perhaps she will bestow upon the victor a glorious reward herself.
He enveloped himself in his mantle, and hurried back to his palace, in which all was now still. The soldiers had gone out to spend the present given them by their general in joy and revelry. Mohammed was again alone in his chamber. e walked to and fro, reflecting on all he had done, with silent self-applause : "It would have been unfortunate had he found Sitta Nefysseh's treasure.
You are being avenged!" Mohammed Ali's warning to the kachef Youssouf had not been disregarded. In the secret vault, the entrance to which had been confided by Mourad Bey to his wife on his deathbed, Sitta Nefysseh's treasure now lay in security.
However, having once embarked in this undertaking, I will at least endeavor to withdraw from it creditably. I must give myself the appearance of still believing in Sitta Nefysseh's guilt." He turned to the sheiks, who were awaiting his decision in respectful silence. In haughty terms he declined to admit that he had been deceived, and that Sitta Nefysseh was innocent.
This is Nefysseh's victory over death, this is the result of the impassioned kiss impressed on the lips of her beloved. "And is it possible, Nefysseh, you are indeed with me, and my dreams of love and bliss are realized? You with me! What can have happened? Why this wondrous change?"
If you wish it, I will call him; a door opens from this house into Sitta Nefysseh's park, and I know where my son is to be found." "Then call him quickly." The old woman hastened away. In a short time she returned with her son Youssouf. "Do you know me?" asked Mohammed, advancing to meet him. "Yes, who does not know the brave sarechsme, Mohammed Ali?" "Do you love your mistress? " asked Mohammed
He has consoled himself for Sitta Nefysseh's cruelty and coldness; the beautiful Georgian and Circassian slaves that throng his harem well know how to make him forget the past with their songs and dances, their sweet words and soft looks. There he lies on his cushions, gazing dreamily at their dancing. Suddenly a shot is heard, then a second follows, and a ball strikes the wall of his house.
"If no man is to cross your threshold, I also am banished from your presence, and I therefore rather entreat you to let others visit you, in order that I too may come to you sometimes." There was something so humble, so imploring in his voice and look, that Sitta Nefysseh's heart was touched against her will. She could not do otherwise, she held out her hand and gave him a kindly look.
A cry resounds from her lips, and she sinks down. "O Allah, watch over him! Let him return! I love him I love him so dearly!" An hour had scarcely elapsed since Youssouf's departure when two of her maids rushed into Sitta Nefysseh's presence with anxious looks. She lay on the divan, her countenance entirely concealed, to hide her tear-stained features.
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