At this moment the Circassian felt her dress slightly drawn from behind, and turning, confronted the person of a lad who might, judging from his size, be some seventeen years of age.  His form was beautiful in its outline, and his step light and graceful; but the face, alas! that throne of the intellect was a barren waste, and his vacant eye and lolling lip showed at once that the poor boy was little less than an idiot.  And yet, as he looked upon the slave, and saw the tear glistening in her eye, there seemed to be a flash of intelligence cross his features, as though there was still a spark of heaven in the boy.  But ’twas gone again, and seeming to forget the object that had led him to her side, he sank down upon the cushioned floor, and played with a golden tassel as an infant would char have done.

The idiot was an exemplification of a strange but universal superstition among the Turks.  With these eastern people there is a traditionary belief in what is called the evil eye, answering to the evil spirit that is accredited to exist by more civilized nations.  Any human being bereft of reason, or seriously deformed in any way, is held by them to be a protection against the blight of the evil eye, which, being once cast upon a person, renders him doomed forever.  Holding, therefore, that dwarfs, idiots or mad-men are partially inspired, every considerable such establishment supports one or more, whose privilege it is to follow, untrammeled, their own pleasure.  The idiot boy, in the Sultan’s palace, was one of this class, whom no one thwarted, and who was regarded with a half superstitious reverence by all.

While this scene had been transpiring between the idiot boy and the slave, the Sultan had been talking with Mustapha concerning the latter.  It seemed by his story that she had been very ill since she was brought from her native valley, and that she was hardly yet recovered from the debility that had followed her sickness.  She would not write nor read one word of either the Turkish or Circassian tongue, and therefore could only express herself by signs; for which reason, neither those who sold her nor the purchaser knew aught of her history beyond the fact that she was a Circassian, and also that she seemed to be less happy than those of her countrywomen generally who come to Constantinople.  This might be owing to the affliction under which she labored as to being dumb, but it was evident that Sultan Mahomet thought otherwise as he gazed silently at her.

“She came not of her own free will from her native vales, Mustapha,” said his master.

“No one knows, excellency, though her people generally come most cheerfully to our harems.”

“There is no means of understanding her save by signs?” asked the Sultan.

“None, excellency.”

“Take her to the harem, Mustapha,” said his master, after a few moments of thoughtful silence, “take her to the harem, and give strict charge that she be well cared for.”