The merchant, stung to the heart by the stain that had been cast upon his honour; embittered in spirit by the knowledge that it was a Christian by whom he had been wronged; and not altogether forgetful, it may be, of the grace and beauty of the mother of his child, sat moodily apart; and all the reasonings and beseechings of his wife’s anxious family only wrung from him the cold and unyielding answer that he would never see her more.
Like an arrow shot by a strong arm, he had sped to the home of his widowed mother, and had hurriedly imparted to her the fearful jeopardy in which he stood. There was not a moment to be lost; and, hastily snatching up some food that had been prepared for his evening meal, he flung himself upon the neck of his weeping parent; and then, disengaging himself from her clinging arms, rushed from the house, no one knew whither.
But the Imaum, meanwhile, was not idle. He had aroused the neighbourhood—he had raised the cry of sacrilege—he had bruited abroad the dishonour of the Moslem—and ere long a Turkish guard was on the track of the young Greek. But no trace of him could be discovered; and the fair and frail Hanoum was removed to the harem of one of her husband’s relatives, where her every look and action were subjected to the most rigorous observance, before the faintest hope had been entertained of securing her miserable lover.
Three wretched days were past, and on the morning of the fourth the pangs of hunger became too mighty for the youth to support. He stole from his concealment, he looked around him, and he was alone! He ventured a few paces forward; rich fruits were pendent from the branches of the tall trees beneath which he moved, and he seized them with avidity; but, as he raised; his hand a second time to the laden boughs, he heard near him the deep breathing of one who wept—He glared towards the spot whence the sound came, and his heart melted within him—it was his mother—the guardian of his youth—the friend of his manhood—the mourner over his blighted hopes. He rushed towards her—he murmured her name—and for a moment the parent and the child forgot all save each other! It was the watchful love of the mother which first awoke to fear: and in a few seconds the secret of her son was confided to her, and she was comparatively happy. She could steal to his hiding-place at midnight; she could ensure him against hunger; she could hear his voice, and convince herself that he yet lived; and with this conviction she hurried from his side, and bade him wait patiently yet a few hours, when she would bring him food.