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Updated: June 15, 2025
You, my Osman, are too good to play an active role in this miserable earthly existence; and I am, therefore, almost glad that you are to return to Cavalla; I repeat it, you are too good for this world." "If it depended on goodness, Mohammed," said Osman, smiling, "you should not serve the world either, for you have a better heart than any of us." Mohammed shook his head.
"Yes, he is a close observer, and, on the morning of the flight, he read in your countenance, as I also did, that there was no happier man in Cavalla than Mohammed Ali. But yesterday his countenance was gloomy, to-day it is radiant. Cousrouf Pacha did not fail to divine the cause of this sudden transformation.
Go up, officers, and deliver the message he has given you." The officers, frightened and trembling, were well pleased to escape unharmed from the raging crowd. They passed hurriedly through the narrow passage which was opened for them on the way toward Cavalla. "Long live our sheik!
For the moment he is once more the boy of Cavalla, communing with Nature in innocence and joyousness, for to him Butheita's fair form now represents Nature. It is not indeed Nature itself that charms him, but Nature's fair daughter, Butheita. He must and will resist the charm, for he has now broken bread, and eaten fruit with her. He is her guest, and he must hold his young hostess sacred.
With a military greeting, he stepped forward and said, in a loud voice: "As you hear, highness, your troops have come to demand of you that to which they have assuredly long been entitled they have come to demand their pay!" "I see," said Cousrouf, in low tones, casting a furtive glance of hatred at Mohammed "I see that you are still the insolent boy of Cavalla!"
Cousrouf had felt this at the time, and that was why these eyes had penetrated his heart like daggers' points. But that was long ago, and these eyes are now very different. They no longer glitter with curses; they now sparkle with animation, energy, and courage, only. "You come from Cavalla," says he, after a pause, "and your name is Mohammed Ali?
The storm now began to rage more furiously; the waves towered higher, and threw their spray far on to the shore and high upon the rock, as though determined to make known its dread majesty to the inhabitants of the city of Cavalla, which stands with its little houses, narrow streets, and splendid mosque, on the plateau of the rock of Bucephalus.
They have almost forgotten that only ten years have passed since Masa's death; and when they gaze at the pale, earnest face of Mohammed Ali as he passes through the streets of Cavalla in his business occupations, they scarcely remember that he it is who was the cause of her death. Does he remember it himself? All things pass away, grief and joy alike.
" he had said; "that will be most unwelcome to the men of Praousta." The messenger of the tschorbadji merely shrugged his shoulders. "They will pay it, nevertheless, as the men in Cavalla and other places have done. The money must be collected." Then, with the haughty bearing which, the officials of the tschorbadji always assumed, he retired.
"I do not wish it," said Mohammed, gloomily; "he is a hard, proud man, better in his own estimation than anybody here in Cavalla, better even than the tschorbadji. I never saw a prouder man. And what right has he to be so? Has he not fallen into disgrace with the sultan? Did he not come here because he was banished from Stamboul? And do you know why he was banished?
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