The pacha nods his assent, and Hassan noiselessly withdraws, returning in a few moments, accompanied by the young bim bashi, so warmly recommended to the viceroy. Cousrouf Pacha wearily raises his head and casts a glance of indifference at the tall figure of the bim bashi; but as his glance falls on the young man's countenance, he starts. It seems, to him that he has seen those eagle eyes before. He hastily casts his eyes down, and then looks up again at the bim bashi, who holds his head proudly erect, awaiting the viceroy's address. "What is your name, bim bashi? Where do you come from?" asks Cousrouf, after along pause. The bim bashi advances a step, and, looking steadily in the viceroy's countenance, bows profoundly. "My name is Mohammed Ali, and I come from Cavalla." "Cavalla!" repeats Cousrouf, with a start. Now he remembers that he has sometimes seen these eyes before him in sleepless nights. They have impressed themselves deeply into his heart with their fearful glances. The haughty pacha had never reproached himself for killing the slave Masa--that was his right; he acted according to law when he punished the runaway slave by death--but it was cruel to compel the man who loved her to witness her death. 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? It seems to me that once, when I sojourned for a time at Cavalla, I also knew a Mohammed Ali, a daring young lad, the friend of Osman, with whose father I resided; I had appointed Osman bim bashi of the soldiers he was to bring over to me, and I also permitted him to select young Mohammed Ali as his boulouk bashi. Yet Osman has not come, nor do you appear to be the Mohammed Ali I then knew." "Pardon me, highness," said Mohammed Ali, with a slight smile, for he well understood the secret meaning of this question, "pardon me, highness, I am this Mohammed, and yet another. The first was a bold, insolent lad, who dared to defy your authority and refused to bow his head in humility before your highness. He who now stands before you, however, is your devoted servant, who brings you greetings from his friend Osman. He is deeply touched by your graciousness, and, hoping for a continuance of your favor, he undertook to do your bidding. But alas! the will of man is often frustrated by bodily weakness. It was thus with my friend Osman. The first day of the conflict at Aboukir prostrated him so completely that he was compelled to return home to Cavalla, and the capitan graciously granted his request and placed me in his position. Yet I lay my new dignity at your feet; all that I am I wish to receive at your hands."