ay his mental trouble.
It was noticed that he appeared at intervals to be lost in profound
thought, that he yawned frequently, and continually drew his fingers
through his beard. He drank coffee and iced water several times,
incessantly looked at his watch, and, taking his field-glass, surveyed
by turns the camp, the castles of Janina, the Pindus range, and the
peaceful waters of the lake. Occasionally he glanced at his weapons, and
then his eyes sparkled with the fire of youth and of courage. Stationed
beside him, his guards prepared their cartridges, their eyes fixed on
the landing-place.

The kiosk which he occupied was connected with a wooden structure
raised upon pillars, like the open-air theatres constructed for a public
festival, and the women occupied the most remote apartments. Everything
seemed sad and silent. The vizier, according to custom, sat facing the
doorway, so as to be the first to perceive any who might wish to enter.
At five o'clock boats were seen approaching the island, and soon Hassan
Pacha, Omar Brionis, Kursheed's sword-bearer, Mehemet, the keeper of
the wardrobe, and several officers of the army, attended by a numerous
suite, drew near with gloomy countenances.

Seeing them approach, Ali sprang up impetuously, his hand upon the
pistols in his belt. "Stand!... what is it you bring me?" he cried to
Hassan in a voice of thunder. "I bring the commands of His Highness the
Sultan,--knowest thou not these august characters?" And Hassan exhibited
the brilliantly gilded frontispiece which decorated the firman. "I know
them and revere them." "Then bow before thy destiny; make thy ablutions;
address thy prayer to Allah and to His Prophet; for thy, head is
demanded...." Ali did not allow him to finish. "My head," he cried with
fury, "will not be surrendered like the head of a slave."

These rapidly pronounced words were instantly followed by a pistol-shot
which wounded Hassan in the thigh. Swift as lightning, a second killed
the keeper of the wardrobe, and the guards, firing at the same time,
brought down several officers. Terrified, the Osmanlis forsook the
pavilion. Ali, perceiving blood flowing from a wound in his chest,
roared like a bull with rage. No one dared to face his wrath, but shots
were fired at the kiosk from all sides, and four of his guards fell dead
beside him. He no longer knew which way to turn, hearing the noise made
by the assailants under the platform, who were firing through the