On account of this danger from brigands and from the disaffected Arabs, the Pasha forbade his son ever to go beyond the city walls, except in company with himself and his large escort. This prohibition fell hardly upon Azim Bey, who found his daily rides much curtailed and his weekly hunting-parties almost entirely stopped; but Cecil held sole command in their own courtyard, and would not permit any evasion of his Excellency’s orders. Her pupil felt it very dull, and at last, when he grew thoroughly tired of rambles confined to the garden, began to ask again about the Yehudis and their work. Hearing that the yearly prize-giving at the schools was again approaching, he became much interested; and when Cecil hinted that he might possibly be invited to preside at the ceremony, his excitement rose to fever heat. An announcement that the children had been taught to sing an Arabic version of “God save the Queen,” so arranged as to refer to the Sultan instead of to her most gracious Majesty, and an elaborate letter in Turkish from Dr Yehudi, adorned with many flourishes, both literary and caligraphical, and requesting the honour of his presence, decided him to go, were it only with the view of encouraging loyalty in the rising generation. Even in this exalted state of mind, however, he exacted a solemn promise from both Cecil and Dr Yehudi that Dr Egerton should not be invited. This once settled, he bent himself to the task of obtaining his father’s permission to go--a formality which the deluded Cecil had imagined to have been complied with long before.