Meanwhile the Sultan was counting the moments and growing impatient at the prolonged absence of his messengers.

“They have had time enough to cover the distance to the kiosk and back twice over,” remarked the Kizlar-Aga.  “No doubt they have fallen into the hands of the rebels who are holding them fast so that they may not be able to bring any tidings back.”

The Sultan was in despair.

“Hasten, hasten then!” said he to the Kizlar-Aga, and with that he fled away into his inner apartments.

Ten minutes later Sulali and the Iman returned, and announced that there was not a soul to be seen anywhere and no sign of anyone threatening the Seraglio.

Then the Kizlar-Aga led them down to the gate.  A cart drawn by two oxen was standing there, and the top of it was covered with a mat of rushes.  He drew aside a corner of this mat, and by the uncertain light of dawn they saw before them three corpses, the Kiaja’s, the Kapudan’s, and the Grand Vizier’s.

* * * * *

Happy Guel-Bejaze sits in Halil’s lap and dreamily allows herself to be cradled in his arms.  Through the windows of the splendid palace penetrate the shouts of triumph which hail Halil as Lord, for the moment, of the city of Stambul and the whole Ottoman Empire.

Guel-Bejaze tremulously whispers in Halil’s ear how much she would prefer to dwell in a simple, lonely little hut in Anatolia instead of there in that splendid palace.

Halil smooths away the luxuriant locks from his wife’s forehead, and makes her tell him once more the full tale of all those revolting incidents which befell her in the Seraglio, in the captivity of the Kapudan’s house, and in the dungeon for dishonourable women.  Why should he keep on arousing hatred and vengeance?

The woman told him everything with a shudder.  At her husband’s feet, right in front of them, stood three baskets full of flowers.  Halil had given them to her as a present.

But at the bottom of the baskets were still more precious gifts.

He draws forward the first basket and sweeps away the flowers.  A bloody head is at the bottom of the basket.

“Whose is that?”

Guel-Bejaze, all shuddering, lisped the name of Abdi Pasha.

He cast away the flowers from the second basket, there also was a bloody head.

“And whose is that?”

“That is the Kiaja Beg’s,” sobbed the terrified girl.

And now Halil brought forward the third basket, and dashing aside from it the fresh flowers, revealed to the eyes of Guel-Bejaze a grey head with a white beard, which lay with closed eyes at the bottom of the basket.

“Whose is that?” inquired Halil.

Guel-Bejaze’s tender frame shivered in the arms of the strong man who held her, as he compelled her to gaze at the bloody heads.  And when she regarded the third head she shook her own in amazement.