opportunity to secure the
remains of a dish of rich cream, to which he had already applied himself
more than once.

The Nubian observed the sly and somewhat greedy act with a twinkling
eye. When the dervish had drained the dish, the host filled a glass
full to the brim with vinegar, and, with fierce joviality, bade him
drink it. The poor man hesitated, and said something about wine and a
mistake, but the Pasha repeated "Drink!" with such a roar, and threw his
sword down at the same time with such a clang on the marble floor, that
the dervish swallowed the draught with almost choking celerity.

The result was immediately obvious on his visage; nevertheless he bore
up bravely, and even cut a sorry joke at his own expense, while the
black giant rolled on his divan, and the tears ran down his swarthy
cheeks.

The dervish was an adventurer who had wandered about the country as an
idle vagabond until the war broke out, when he took to army-contracting
with considerable success. It was in his capacity of contractor that he
became acquainted with the boisterous black Pasha, who greatly
appreciated his low but ready wit, and delighted in tormenting him. On
discovering that the dervish was a voracious eater, he pressed--I might
say forced--him with savage hospitality to eat largely of every dish, so
that, when pipes were brought after supper, the poor dervish was more
than satisfied.

"Now, you are in a fit condition to sing," cried Hamed, slapping the
over-fed man on the shoulder; "come, give us a song: the Englishman
would like to hear one of your Arabian melodies."

Redbeard translated this to Lancey, who protested that, "nothink would
afford 'im greater delight."

The dervish was not easily overcome. Despite his condition, he sang,
well and heartily, a ditty in Arabic, about love and war, which the
Nubian Pasha translated into Turkish for the benefit of the German
doctor, and Sanda Pasha rendered into broken English for Lancey.

But the great event of the evening came, when the English guest, in
obedience to a call, if not a command, from his host, sang an English
ballad. Lancey had a sweet and tuneful voice, and was prone to indulge
in slow pathetic melodies. The black Pasha turned out to be intensely
fond of music, and its effect on his emotional spirit was very powerful.
At the first bar of his guest's flowing melody his boisterous humour
vanished: his mouth and eyes partly opened with a look of pleased
sur