But he detects nothing in that tranquil face; ambition sleeps, the love of glory is dead within him. This is Lion's opinion, and the opinion of all. But it is not the opinion of Osman, who understands him best. He has sometimes seen Mohammed's face lighten when the conversation was of the struggles going on in Egypt, or when the Turkish fleet was spoken of that had gone over to chastise the rebellious Mameluke beys! He had seen a deathly pallor overspread Mohammed's face when on a recent occasion a merchant, who came from Stamboul, reported that the grand-vizier had sent a great pacha to Egypt, one who had been banished, the now so mighty Cousrouf Pacha, the favorite of the grand-admiral. Yes, Osman had observed his change of countenance at the mention of this name, and that he secretly clinched his fists and grasped the hilt of his dagger; and he alone knew that, though Mohammed's wrath found no utterance, it still lived within him. Mohammed had suddenly turned away on this occasion, on some suddenly-conceived pretext, and had not been seen again that day. He had gone alone to the summit of the rock, and Osman alone knew that the dark speck which he saw on the crest of Bucephalus was the figure of his friend who had sought this solitude for the purpose, perhaps, of easing his heart of its anguish and to enjoy the holy festival of remembrance, up there alone with God and Nature! CHAPTER III THE BIM BASHI. Mohammed's countenance was graver and paler than usual when he came down from Bucephalus. But it seemed that his heart had there received milder and softer impressions. He spoke to his wife in more gentle and cordial tones; and instead of repairing, as was his custom, to a coffee-house, where merchants assembled and exchanged their views and opinions, smoked the chibouque together, and discussed the news received from foreign countries, he remained at home in the family circle. At his request, Osman had come to pass the evening with them, for Mohammed well knew that this was the young man's only happiness. These ten years did not benefit Osman's health; he was still the withered stalk that bows its head, but is not torn down by the wind, but only swayed to and fro by it at its pleasure. Yes, Osman was weak, and firm and constant in one thing only, in his love for his friend. With him this feeling took the place of all else; Mohammed was to Osman what the latter was to his father--his only joy in life! And for these two Osman sustained himself, bore his ill health and suffering, and let the sunlight shine upon, and the storms of life sweep over him.