Egypt -- History -- Mohammed Ali, 1805-1849 -- Fiction; Muhammad Ali Basha, Governor of Egypt, 1769-1849 -- Fiction
"I know him well," said Osman Bey, smiling. "I met him when a boy,
and even then we confronted each other as enemies. A short time
since I met him again, and he then protected me from the fury of his
soldiers; and I am grateful. I will endeavor, Sitta, to win him over
to our interests, as you suggest. If we succeed, and when this
formidable enemy shall have become our ally, the Mameluke beys will
have great cause to congratulate themselves, and thank Sitta
Nefysseh again."
"The only proof of your gratitude that I ask is, that you stand
united. Thank me by pronouncing my name when you stand side by side
on the battle-field, from which you have driven the enemy!"
"We will do so. Your name will I pronounce when I go out to battle!
And your name will my lips utter, O Sitta Nefysseh, when I sink down
upon the bloody field!" Thus spoke both, and then bowed profoundly
before Mourad's widow.
"And now you may go," said she, gently. "Walk arm-in-arm through the
Muskj Street, that all the world may see that the two greatest
Mameluke beys are friends. If these are united, then will the
struggle soon terminate. Now go and show the people that you are
friends."
"And if they express surprise at our friendship," cried Osman Bey,
his eyes sparkling, "we will say Mourad's widow wills it so, and we
humbly and cheerfully obey."
"Yes, we will say this," cried l'Elfi, joyously. "Mourad's widow
commanded us to be united, and therefore are we united.--And now let
us go, Osman Bey; it is, however, not necessary that we walk arm-in-
arm here; only when we have passed the threshold of this house shall
Osman give me his arm, that the world may see your influence over
us."
Osman Bey walked rapidly down the avenue. L'Elfi followed him slowly
and hesitatingly, looking back twice at Sitta Nefysseh. The latter
waved her hand deprecatingly, and he then rapidly followed Osman.
Sitta Nefysseh sighed profoundly as the two disappeared through the
gateway, falling back upon her cushions as if overwhelmed with
grief. She heard nothing of the music, that still resounded from the
rose-bushes; she heard only the secret and sacred voices which
lamented in her soul, and she shuddered at what they said.
"No, no, it may not be," said she to herself. "I saved myself from
their importunity by the falsehood of the oath. I never swore to my
husband that Mourad's wife would become the wife of no other. It was
not because an oath bound her that she rejected them; but because
her heart so willed it. Not without love is Mourad's widow; but whom
she loves no one must know, no one must even suspect."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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