ich he had
listened to the eloquence of her soft, persuasive voice--it was there
that, intoxicated with passion, he had abjured the faith of a Christian
and embraced the creed of the false Prophet Mohammed. And, reclining on
the very sofa where he had first seen her--but attended by a troop of
charming female slaves--was the fair unknown--his secret
protectress--more lovely, more bewitching, than she appeared when last
they met.

An arch smile played upon her lips, as she rose from the magnificent
cushions--a smile which seemed to say, "I have kept my word, I have
raised thee to the highest dignity, save one in the Ottoman Empire--and
I will now crown thine happiness by giving thee my hand."

And, oh, so beauteous, so ravishingly lovely did she appear, as that
smile revealed teeth whiter than the Oriental pearls, which she wore,
and as a slight flush on her damask cheek and the bright flashing of her
eyes betrayed the joy and triumph which filled her heart--so elegant and
graceful was her faultless form, which the gorgeous Ottoman garb so
admirably became, that Ibrahim forgot all his recent compunction--lost
sight of home and friends--remembered not the awful apostasy of which he
had been guilty--but fell upon his knees in adoration of that charming
creature, while the sultan with a smile which showed that he was no
stranger to the mysteries of the past, exclaimed in a benignant tone,
"Vizier Azem! receive the hand of my well-beloved sister Aischa!"

CHAPTER L.

THE COUNT OF ARESTINO--THE PLOT THICKENS.

Return we now to the fair city of flowers--to thee, delightful
Florence--vine crowned queen of Tuscany! The summer has come, and the
gardens are brilliant with dyes and hues of infinite variety; the hills
and the valleys are clothed in their brightest emerald garment--and the
Arno winds its peaceful way between banks blushing with choicest fruits
of the earth.

But, though gay that July scene--though glorious in its splendor that
unclouded summer sun, though gorgeous the balconies filled with flowers,
and brilliant the parterres of Tuscan roses, yet gloomy was the
countenance and dark were the thoughts of the Count of Arestino, as he
paced with agitated steps one of the splendid apartments of his palace.
The old man was actually endowed with a good, a generous, a kind and
forgiving disposition; but the infidelity of his wife, the being on whom
he had so doted, and who was once his joy and his pride--that