"And yet fresh air and the sunshine are my only enjoyments," said
he, complainingly, to Mohammed Ali, who had come the next day,
according to promise, to repeat to young Osman what the scha-er had
spoken, to narrate to him the wondrous stories of the Mamelukes.

He lay reclining on a mat in front of young Osman's couch, and in
excited words, with glowing eyes, he told the heroic stories of the
proudest people of Egypt.

Osman's large eyes were fixed on his face in an earnest gaze, and a
slight color tinged his pale cheeks as he listened.

"Beautiful, is it not?" asked Mohammed, as he finished his
narrative. "Would not you, too, like to go to the land where, as the
scha-er says, slaves become heroes, and heroes princes?'

Osman shook his head gently.

"I do not know, Mohammed. I should be contented, I think, to remain
here, reclining on my cushions, the sun above me, and you at my
side."

"But what I have related is beautiful, is it not?"

"I do not know," replied Osman, for the second time. "I regarded you
while you were speaking, and I rejoiced in you. It seems to me,
Mohammed, as though you were the better part of myself. I feel as
you feel, and think as you think, and rejoice when I hear you utter
in fresh and glowing words that which my lips can utter with
timidity and hesitation only. If I were healthy, Mohammed, I should