Such are the commands of the grand-sultan, his gracious
master."
When Mohammed finishes reading, profound silence ensues. Cousrouf
utters no word in reply. He stands there, motionless, pale as a
corpse, staring at Mohammed. He seems to be still listening to the
words he has heard, to the fearful announcement of his fall and
disgrace.
"To Imbro you go," said Mohammed Ali, after a pause. "Do you
remember Imbro?"
No word comes from Cousrouf's pale lips; he slowly shakes his head.
"Imbro is a little island, opposite Cavalla, and for the selection
of this place you are indebted to me, Cousrouf. Do you know why I
selected it? From the windows of your prison you can see Cavalla,
the bay, and the Ear of Bucephalus. From there you can see the sea
and the coast, can see the place where on that night the poor boy
lay on the shore, also the place where Masa sank beneath the waves.
You shall see this place, Cousrouf. I know your gaze will often turn
in that direction, and I know you will think of me when you look at
the coast, Cousrouf. Your life shall be an everlasting remorse. This
is my revenge, Cousrouf. Throughout the remainder of your life your
recollections shall torment you, and you shall gaze upon the place
where Masa died, and where you made of the innocent boy a hard-
hearted man. At Imbro you shall live, Cousrouf, and I shall take
care that you sometimes hear of me there, and learn what has become
of the boy who lay stretched out on the shore, his heart torn with
anguish, while you caused that which he held dearest on earth to be
sunk in the cold grave of the waves.
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