His wife
Ada is thankful and very happy. Mohammed so rarely laughs and jests
with her, so rarely plays with the boys! To be sure he has never
grieved her, has always been kind and gentle, and has never opposed
her wishes. But yet she knows she has no share in his inmost heart.
He talks with her of the daily affairs of life, he allows her to
participate in all such matters, but he never speaks to her of his
heart's inmost thoughts, and whether he suffers and longs to leave
these desolate cliffs, or whether he is discontented with the
monotonous, matter-of-fact life he is leading--she knows not!
Mohammed has never complained to her, neither has he to his friend.
But the latter has read his friend's heart, and understands it
better than Mohammed himself. And a day was soon to come which
proved this.
A message came from Stamboul. A large ship arrived at Cavalla, and
her sailors related that a number of ships still larger and
handsomer had arrived in the Bay of Sta. Marmara. The ship put out a
boat, which came to the shore and landed a richly-attired officer
who went up to Cavalla. He repaired to the palace and delivered a
letter, secured with magnificent seals, to the tschorbadji. The
letter was from Cousrouf Pacha to his host of former years. He had
not been heard from since that time, and the tschorbadji had
supposed himself long since forgotten.
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