vest. Look, now! Take good heed of thy life, for thy death
lieth in what is nearest to thee; thine own weapon, thine own child,
thine own property, thine own two hands, shall one day slay thee."

"Mashallah! Death is inevitable. Tell me but one thing. Shall I one
day pass in triumph through the gates of the seraglio at Stambul?"

"Thou shalt. Thou shalt stand there on a silver pedestal in the face
of the rejoicing multitude."

"When?"

"That day will come when thou shalt be in two places at the same time,
in Janina and in Stambul; the days to come will explain it."

"One word more. Wherefore didst thou mention that woman whom I love
best?"

"She will be the first to betray thee."

"Accursed one!" roared Ali, drawing his sword and madly striking in
the direction of the voice.

The sword hissed fiercely through the vacant air, and the next moment
the voice replied from a respectable distance:

"It has happened already."

"This is a dream, all a dream!" moaned Ali.

"'Tis no dream; thou art wide awake," cried the mysterious voice.

"If it be no dream, give me a sign that I may know before I depart
hence that I have not been dreaming."

"First put thy sword into its sheath."

"I have done so," said Ali; but he lied, for he had only slipped it
into his girdle.

"Into the sheath, I say," cried the voice.

It was with a tremor that Ali felt that this being could distinguish
his slightest movement in the dark.

"And now stretch forth thy hand!" cried the voice. It was now quite
close to him.

Ali stretched forth his hand, and the same instant he felt a vigorous,
manly hand seize his own in a grasp of steel; so strong, so cruel was
the pressure that the blood started from the tips of his fingers.

At last the invisible being let go, and said in a whisper as it did
so:

"Not a muscle of thy face moved under the pressure of my hand; only
Tepelenti could so have endured."

"And there is but one man living who could press my hand like that,"
replied Ali. "His name was Behram, the son of Halil Patrona,[3] who,
forty years ago, was my companion in warfare, and has since
disappeared. Who art thou?"

[Footnote 3: The extraordinary adventures of this Mussulman reformer
are recorded in another of Jokai's Turkish stories, _A feher rozsa_
(_The White Rose_).]

"Aleikum unallah!"[4] said the voice, instead of replying.

[Footnote 4: "God be with thee!"]

"Who art thou?" again cried Ali, advancing a step.