The Circassian Slave | Page 3

of
the Barbyses, that ran its meandering course through this verdant scene.

It was a princely home, the proudest harem in all this gem of the Orient,
for the old Turk had acted not for himself in the purchase he had made,
but as the agent of a higher will than his own, and the dumb slave was
led to the seraglio of the Sultan.
The old Turk was evidently a privileged body, and following close
upon the heels of the eunuchs, he divested himself of his slippers at the
entrance of the palace, and led the slave before the "Brother of the
Sun."
The monarch was a noble specimen of his race, tall, commanding, and
with a spirit of firmness breathing from his expressive face. His beard
was jetty black, and gave a much older appearance to his features than
belonged to them. He was the child of a seraglio, whose mothers were
chosen for beauty alone, and how could he escape being handsome?
The blood of Circassian upon Circassian was in his veins, and the trace
of their nationality was upon his brow, but there was in the eye a
doomed darkness of expression that caused the beautiful creature
before him to almost tremble with fear.
"Beautiful, indeed," mused the Sultan, as he gazed upon the slave with
undisguised interest; "and how much did she cost us, good Mustapha?"
"One thousand piasters, excellency" answered the agent, with profound
respect.
"A thousand piasters," repeated the monarch, again gazing at the slave.
"Yes, excellency, the bids ran high."
"A goodly sum, truly, Mustapha, but a goodly return," continued the
Sultan.
"There was one fault, excellency," continued the agent, "that I feared
might disappoint you."
"And what is that, good Mustapha?"

"She is both deaf and dumb, excellency."
"A mute?"
"Yes, excellency."
"Both deaf and dumb," repeated the Sultan, rising from his divan and
approaching the lovely Circassian, actuated by the interest that he felt
at so singular an announcement.
While the old Turk stroked his beard with an air of satisfaction at the
result of his purchase as it regarded the approval of his master, the
slave bent humbly before the monarch, for though she knew not by any
word or sign addressed to her who her master was, yet she felt that no
one could assume that air of dignity and command but the Sultan. A
blush stole over the pale face of the Circassian as the monarch laid his
hand on her arm and gazed intently upon her face, and whatever his
inward thoughts were, his handsome countenance expressed a spirit of
tenderness and gentle concern for her situation that became him well,
for clemency is the brightest jewel in a crown.
"Deaf and dumb," repeated the Sultan against to himself, "and yet so
very beautiful."
"She is beautiful, indeed, excellency," said the old Turk, echoing his
master's thoughts.
"So they sought her eagerly at the market, good Mustapha, did they
not?"
"Excellency, yes. One of your own officers bid against me heavily; he
wore the marine uniform."
"Ha! did the fellow know you?" asked the Sultan, quickly, with a
flashing eye that showed how capable that face was of a far different
expression from that which the dumb slave had given rise to.
"I think he did not know me, excellency."

After a moment's pause the Sultan turned again to the gentle girl that
stood before him, and taking her hand, endeavored by his looks of kind
assurance to express to her that he should strive to make her happy; and
as he smoothed her dark, glossy hair tenderly, the slave bent her
forehead to the hand that held her own, in token of gratitude for the
kindness with which she was received, and when she raised her face
again. Both the Sultan and Mustapha saw that tears had wet her cheeks,
and her bosom heaved quickly with the emotion that actuated her.
At this moment the Circassian felt her dress slightly drawn from behind,
and turning, confronted the person of a lad who might, judging from his
size, be some seventeen years of age. His form was beautiful in its
outline, and his step light and graceful; but the face, alas! that throne of
the intellect was a barren waste, and his vacant eye and lolling lip
showed at once that the poor boy was little less than an idiot. And yet,
as he looked upon the slave, and saw the tear glistening in her eye,
there seemed to be a flash of intelligence cross his features, as though
there was still a spark of heaven in the boy. But 'twas gone again, and
seeming to forget the object that had led him to her side, he sank down
upon the cushioned floor, and played with a golden tassel