But the loss of property was nothing; I had still more
than enough: it was the dreadful length of my confinement, during which
anxiety had swelled hours into days, and days into months of torture and
suspense. I had been incarcerated more than a year before I could obtain
my release. When in my imagination I conjured up Rosina lamenting my
infidelity, reproaching me in her solitude for my broken vows, and
(there was madness in the very thought) yielding in her resentment and
her grief to the solicitations of her parents, and taking the veil,--I
was frantic; I tore my hair, beat the walls of my prison, raved for
liberty, and offered to surrender up every shilling that I possessed.
* * * * *
"By the beard of the prophet, this tires me," exclaimed the pacha.
"Murakhas, you are dismissed."
The Greek slave bowed and retired.
Chapter VIII
The next morning the pacha observed to Mustapha, "I have been thinking
whether, as we have no story, it would not be as well to let the Greek
finish the story of yesterday evening."
"True, O pacha," replied Mustapha, "better is hard fare than no food--if
we cannot indulge in the pillau, we must content ourselves with boiled
rice."
"It is well said, Mustapha, so let him proceed."
The Greek slave was then ordered in, and re-commenced as follows:--
* * * * *
Freedom was obtained at last; I flew to the sea-coast, chartered a small
vessel, and chiding the winds as we scudded along, because they would
not blow with a force equal to my impetuous desires, arrived at Cadiz.
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