Osman Bardissi shouted with delight. "The sarechsme keeps his word,
and is about to unite with us. Come, ye Mamelukes, let us march to
Gheezeh to meet our ally."
On the third day of their march the Mamelukes reach their
destination, and encamp on the banks of the Nile, near Gheezeh.
Early on the following morning an officer in a glittering uniform
rides into the Mameluke camp, accompanied by a small body-guard.
Bardissi recognizes the officer and joyously greets him, and Sheik
Arnhyn, who rides at his side.
"There comes the brave sarechsme, Mohammed Ali; he keeps his word,
and comes to unite his forces with ours."
"A hearty welcome, Mohammed Ali; a hearty welcome from me, and from
all of us!"
"A warm greeting to you, Bardissi!" cried Mohammed, extending his
hand.
There they stood, hand-in-hand, gazing at each other thoughtfully
and earnestly. The others had respectfully withdrawn.
"We are both thinking of the past, Osman Bey," said Mohammed, with a
soft smile. "You see I have not forgotten the name you impressed on
my memory at Cavalla."
"Nor have I forgotten your name, Mohammed Ali," replied Bardissi.
"The boys who defied each other at Cavalla have become men, and
friends, too, have they not, Mohammed?"
"Yes, friends, too, I hope, Bardissi; and I press your hand in token
of my friendship."
"And I yours. I am your friend, and welcome you heartily to our
camp.
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