"Whatever your highness may decide," replied Mustapha, not much liking the turn of the conversation. "Am not I your slave--and as the dirt under your feet--and shall I not bow to your sovereign pleasure and my destiny?" "It is well said, and so must I if the caliph sends me a Capitan Badji, which Allah forbid. There is but one God and Mahomet is his Prophet." "Amen," replied Mustapha. "Will your highness drink of the water of the Giaour?" "Yes, truly; for what says the poet? `We are merry to-day and to-morrow we die.'" "Min Allah; God forbid! That old woman has lived a long while, why shouldn't we?" "I don't know; but she has had the bowstring and is not yet dead. We may not be so fortunate." "May we never have it at all; then shall we escape, O pacha." "True, Mustapha; so give me the bottle." VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER SIX. The next evening the old woman made her appearance without raising any difficulty as on the previous day, and took her seat before the pacha, and thus continued:-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ As I stated to your highness last evening when I broke off my narrative, I was in the highest favour with the sultan, who made me his confidant. He had often mentioned to me the distinguished services of a young seraskier, whom he had lately appointed capitar pacha, to combat in the north against a barbarous nation called Sclavonians, or Russians. My curiosity was raised to see this rustam of a warrior, for his exploits and unvaried success were constantly the theme of the sultan's encomiums. A Georgian slave who had been the favourite previous to my arrival, and who had never forgiven my supplanting her, had been sent to him by the sultan as a compliment; and this rare distinction had been conferred upon him on the day when I requested leave to remain behind the screen in the hall of the divan, that I might behold this celebrated and distinguished person. He was indeed a splendid figure, and his face was equally perfect. He formed, in outward appearance, all that I could imagine of a hero. As I looked at him from behind the screen, he turned his head from me, and I beheld to my surprise the red stain on his neck, which told me at once that I had found my long-lost brother. Delighted at the rencontre, I retired as soon as the audience was over, and the sultan came to my apartment. I told him the discovery which I had made. The sultan appeared pleased at the information; and the next day sending for my brother he asked him a few questions relative to his lineage and former life, which corroborated my story, and loading him with fresh honours he dismissed him. I was delighted that in finding my brother I had found one who was not unworthy of the sultan's regard, and I considered it a most fortunate circumstance; but how blind are mortals! My brother was the cause of my disgrace and eternal separation from the sultan. I mentioned to your highness that the Georgian slave