Suddenly his arm is grasped, and held as in a vise.

"Give him to me, Bardissi!" cries Mohammed.

"And you wish to save Cousrouf's life, Mohammed?"

"Only give him to me, Bardissi, I pray you!"

Bardissi recognized in the tone in which these few words were uttered, that Mohammed's motive in making his request was not love for Cousrouf.

"You are my prisoner," cried Mohammed, tearing the sword from Cousrouf's hand, and hurling it far from him. He then grasped him by the shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye. "Cousrouf Pacha, I, Mohammed Ali, make you my prisoner."

Cousrouf makes no reply, but only gazes defiantly upon his enemy; gradually his head sinks down upon his breast. Yes, he is vanquished and a prisoner, a prisoner of his worst enemy. He could be in no worse hands than in those that now hold him. To become Mohammed Ali's prisoner was the worst that could befall him.

And vanquished and captured he is, by this his most relentless enemy! With him are vanquished all his followers, and nothing is left of the fortress of Damietta but ashes and ruins.