Speak to the dog, Mustapha! manage him!'
'Worthy Hebrew,' said the silky Mustapha, advancing, 'apparently you are
not aware that this is our Lord Alschiroch. His highness would fain walk
his horse through the burial-ground of thy excellent people, as he is
obliged to repair, on urgent matters, to a holy Santon, who sojourns on
the other side of the hill, and time presses.'
'If this be our Lord Alschiroch, thou doubtless art his faithful slave,
Mustapha.'
'I am, indeed, his poor slave. What then, young master?'
'Deem thyself lucky that the gate is closed. It was but yesterday thou
didst insult the sister of a servant of my house. I would not willingly
sully my hands with such miserable blood as thine, out away, wretch,
away!'
'Holy Prophet! who is this dog?' exclaimed the astonished governor.
''Tis the young Alroy,' whispered Mustapha, who had not at first
recognised him; 'he they call their Prince; a most headstrong youth. My
lord, we had better proceed.'
'The young Alroy! I mark him. They must have a prince too! The young
Alroy! Well, let us away, and, dog!' shouted Alschiroch, rising in his
stirrups, and shaking his hand with a threatening air, 'dog! remember
thy tribute!'
Alroy rushed to the gate, but the massy lock was slow to open; and ere
he could succeed, the fiery steed had borne Alschiroch beyond pursuit.
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