all worthy, honorable men, musirs, effendis, officers of the
army, who treated him with all respect, and sipped their sherbet-cups
most politely, and smoked their fragrant chibooks, exchanging a word
or two now and then, perhaps, and on taking their leave saluted him in
a manner befitting grave Mussulmans.

He was allowed free access to every part of the island, and never
encountered anybody there but his own warriors.

At such times great ideas would occur to him. Perchance with these
fifty men he might win back everything once more? And then he would
hug himself with the thought of the silver pedestal in front of the
Seraglio, where he was one day to stand, amidst the joyful plaudits of
the people; and then the night before him was not altogether dark, for
here and there he saw a gleam of hope.

It was only Eminah who trembled. God has created woman for this very
purpose; she has the faculty of fearing instead of man, and can
foresee the danger that threatens him.

Whence will this danger come, and in what shape? Perchance in the
dagger of the assassin? The woman's bosom stood between it and the
heart of Ali; the assassin will not be able to pierce it. In a
poisoned cup, perhaps? Eminah herself tastes of every dish, of every
glass, before they reach the hands of Ali; the power of the poison
would reach her first.

And yet danger is near.

One day they told Ali that an illustrious visitor was coming to see
him; Mehemet Pasha, the sub-seraskier and governor of the Morea,
wished to pay his respects to him.

This was a great honor for the fallen general. Ali began to be
sensible that even his enemies respected him. Who knows? he might find
good friends amongst his very enemies, who would not think him too
old for use and employment even in his last remaining years.

On the day of the visit, the kiosk was swept and garnished. Tepelenti
put on his most costly caftan, his warriors were marshalled in front
of his dwelling, and he himself went out on horseback to meet the
seraskier when he arrived, with an escort of one hundred mounted
spahis.

Mehemet Pasha was a tall, powerful man, the hero of many a fight and
many a duel. He had often given proof of his dexterity, when the
hostile armies stood face to face, by galloping betwixt them and
challenging the bravest warriors on the other side to single combat,
and the fact that he was alive at the present moment was the best
possible proof that he had been always vic