Egypt -- History -- Mohammed Ali, 1805-1849 -- Fiction; Muhammad Ali Basha, Governor of Egypt, 1769-1849 -- Fiction
She quickly loosens the shawl that binds him to the saddle, and
before he is aware of what she is doing lifts him in her arms.
Lightly, as though he were a plaything, she bears him into the inner
apartment of the tent, where she smilingly deposits him on a mat.
"Blessed be your entrance into my tent! Now refresh yourself with
repose after your long ride. I am going out to prepare your
breakfast."
He follows Butheita with eager eyes, as she steps into the other
apartment of the tent. Forgotten are all the schemes and thoughts
that ordinarily occupy him day and night. Forgotten are the past and
future; he now lives for the present only. May the sun mercifully
stand still, and this hour prove an eternity! Why occupy himself
with thoughts of the future, the present is so beautiful, so
heavenly? Oh, that it could last forever! But no! a cloud passes
over his brow; he remembers--
"No! Let the present pass rapidly," said he. "I am a prisoner, and
how would my soldiers laugh to see the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali,
bound and a captive in the tent of a Bedouin chieftain!"
He knew that Butheita had remained in the other apartment and heard
his words. She quickly went to him, profound sorrow depicted in her
charming countenance.
"They would laugh at you, sarechsme? Oh, how sorry I should be to
have them do so! True, it is unpleasant to be a prisoner. Yet, you
must know that my father is highly esteemed; he is the first man of
the village. O sarechsme, the Bedouins call him their father, their
protector, and the Mamelukes are proud of his friendship; and it was
out of love for them that he made you a prisoner. If you are
unhappy, oh, forgive poor Butheita, who was compelled to obey her
father's commands! Oh, do not be angry with her!"
"I am not angry with you," said he, gently. "Yet consider, is it not
hard and shameful for me, a man and a soldier, to lie here bound
hand and foot?"
Her countenance lighted up with joy. "Yes, I understand that," said
she, thoughtfully. "It pains me to the soul, not to be able to
lessen your misery, to improve your condition. Yet," she suddenly
continued, "I can and I will relieve you."
"That you can, if you will," murmured he. "Seat your self beside me,
Butheita. Let me hear your voice. Tell me the sweet history of your
heart. Remain with me till your father comes. While listening I
shall forget all shame and disgrace, and rejoice only in your
presence. It would seem as though, a good spirit had led me into
another world, where an angel was bowed down over me, to whom I
looked up in sweet ecstasy!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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