"You depose him from the throne, O cadi! But whom will you put in
his place?"
He asks the question slowly and quietly, and no one knows how wildly
his heart throbs within him. He is aware that the crisis is at hand,
and that what he has dreamed of since his boyhood, and worked and
toiled for during four long years, is now about to be decided. "Whom
will you put in his place?"
"Yourself, Mohammed Ali!" cried the cadi, solemnly. "Yes; you must
rule in Courschid Pauha's stead, for we are convinced that your aim
will be the welfare of the people."
"Me!" said Mohammed Ali, recoiling a step as if startled, and the
pallor which overspread his face could have been caused by alarm as
well as by joy.
"No, it is impossible, you cannot select me; I am not worthy of so
great an honor."
"You are worthy of this honor, and the people invest you with it
through me," cried the cadi. "Come, Mohammed Ali, Caimacan of Cairo,
our governor and master! I proclaim you to be such, in the name of
the people."
While Mohammed silently shakes his head, the cadi hastily throws
open the wide doors that lead out upon the balcony of the house,
steps out and proclaims, in such loud tones that the assembled
thousands who fill the spacious square can hear him:
"Coursechid Pacha is deposed, and we elect Mohammed Ali Pacha to be
our governor! Is this your will?"
"It is our will!" shout the populace, exultingly.
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