exclaimed his master, quite overjoyed.

"Not a bit."

"Shake hands."

Chivey obeyed.

And they were faster friends than ever after that.

But what about Señor Velasquez?

What about all their compacts with the villain?

For the time they were of no use to that plotter, whose plans had, up to the present time, failed.

CHAPTER LXIII.

THE ORPHAN IS PRESENTED AT COURT—IS A BIT NERVOUS—LESSONS IN THE TURKISH LANGUAGE—MANNERS AND CUSTOMS—THE PASHA OF MANY WIVES—AN OFFICIAL PRESENT—BOWSTRINGING—AN EXECUTION—HORROR! THE ORPHAN'S PERIL, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

Having got Chivey and his master together again, we now travel to the Turkish coast to be in the company of young Jack and his friends.

The orphan had been roused from his slumbers to be presented to the pasha of that province.

His excellency the pasha had done them the honour to pay them a visit of ceremony on board ship, and was seated in great state surrounded by his suite in the best saloon.

After the chief personages on board had been presented, his excellency had, according to Captain Deering, desired to see that distinguished personage, Mr. Figgins, alias the orphan.

And now the orphan stood trembling outside the door of the saloon.

"In you go, Mr. Figgins," whispered Captain Deering.

"One moment."

"Nonsense."

"Just a word."

"Bah!" said the captain, with a grin; "you aren't going to have a tooth out. In with you."

He opened the door, gave the timorous orphan a vigorous drive behind, and Mr. Figgins stood in the august presence.

The pasha was seated—it would be irreverent to say squatted, which would better express it—upon a cushion that was, as Paddy says, hanging up on the floor.

His excellency was in that peculiar, not to say painful attitude, which less agile mortals find unattainable, but which appears to mean true rest to Turk or tailor.

The pasha rejoiced in a beard of enormous dimensions, a grizzled dirt-coloured beard that almost touched the cushion upon which he sat.

A turban of red and gold silk was upon his venerable head.

And beside his excellency upon a cushion were laid his arms, weapons of barbarous make, thought the orphan.

A scimitar, curved à la Saladin, two long-barrelled pistols, with jewelled butts, "as though they were earrings or bracelets," the orphan said to himself, a long dagger with an ivory hilt and sheath, and a piece of cord.

"That's to tie them together with," mentally decided the orphan. "One might as well travel with the Woolwich Arsenal or the armoury from the Tower. Barbarous old beast."

"Now," said Captain Deering, "tuck in your tuppenny, Mr. Figgins; bow as low as you can."

The orphan put his back into an angle of forty-five with his legs.

"Lower."

"Ugh!"

"A little bit more."

"Lower," said Captain Deering, in an agonised whisper. "We shall all be bowstrung if his excellency thinks us wanting in respect."

The orphan thus admonished made a further effort, and over he went

Head first!

There was such a chattering, such horrible sounds going on, as Captain Deering scrambled after the unfortunate orphan, that the latter thought his time was come.

The captain dragged him to his feet, however.

Then the presentation was proceeded with.

"His Excellency Ali Kungham Ben Nardbake," cried a dignitary standing beside the pasha, with a voice like a toastmaster.

"Good gracious me!" exclaimed the orphan, "all that?"

"That's not half of it," said Captain Deering. "To the faithful, he is known as well as Sid Ney Ali Ben Lesters puar Nasr ed Bowstrung and Strattford Bustum."

Mr. Figgins was greatly alarmed at this.

"Powerful memories his godfathers and godmothers must have had," he murmured.

Beside the pasha stood an official, with a beard of extraordinary length.

"Who's that?"

"Hush?" whispered Deering; "don't speak so loud."

"Who is he?" again asked the orphan, sinking his voice.

"The one with the beard?"

"Yes."

"His name is Whiska Said Mahmoud Ben Ross Latreille," returned Deering.

"Dear, dear!" murmured the orphan, in despairing accents, "I shall never——"

"Ease her, stop her!" cried a familiar voice in Mr. Figgins's ear, "you've got it in a knot."

It was Nat Cringle.

All was hushed.

The bearded official looked at the pasha, who nodded.

Then drawing his sword, he signed to two of his men, and Nat Cringle, looking dreadfully frightened, was bustled off behind a curtain which had been rigged up across the saloon, just at the pasha's back.

"What are they going to do?" asked the orphan, his teeth chattering in alarm.

Captain Deering was so much affected at this stage of the proceedings that he covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief.

"Poor Nat!"

"What is it?" faltered Mr. Figgins, faintly.

"Did you not see the cord taken away with Nat?" demanded the captain, in a funereal bass.

"Ye-es."

"Then hark."

Mr. Figgins did hark, and an awful sound reached him from behind the curtain.

It was more like the expiring groans of a hapless porker in the hands of a ruthless butcher, than any thing else you could compare it to.

A fatal struggle was going on behind the curtain.

Groans and dying wails were heard for awhile.

Awful sounds.

Then all was still.

"Oh, what is it?" murmured the orphan, in distress.

"Squiziz Wizen, the pasha's executioner, has dealt upon poor Nat Cringle."

"What!" gasped Figgins.

"Bowstrung," returned Captain Deering.

The orphan turned faint.

Then he turned to the door, and would have fled.

"Oh, let me go home," he cried. "I don't feel happy here."

But Deering stayed him.

"You must not go, Mr. Figgins," whispered Captain Deering.

"Why not?"

"His excellency is about to address us."

The pasha coughed.

"Quel est votre jeu?" demanded his excellency.

"What does he say?" asked Figgins.

"Batta pudn," continued his excellency, with a gracious air; "also bono Jonni."

"He says you may present whatever you have brought," whispered the captain.

"I've brought nothing," returned Mr. Figgins.

"Nothing?"

"No; I forgot."

"Thoughtless man," said Captain Deering. "Take this."

He thrust a parcel of brown paper into his hands.

"What shall I do with it?"

"Place it on the cushion before his excellency."

Mr. Figgins complied.

"Luciousosity," said the pasha, looking upon the offering greedily.

Then he clapped his hands vigorously three times.

The minister appeared, leading two veiled ladies.

The pasha made some remarks in his own language, which Captain Deering was commissioned to render into English.

"His excellency, recognising your generous offering," said he, "presents you with the choicest gifts of his seraglio, two wives. You must cherish them through life."

The orphan's countenance fell at this.

The capital punishment of poor Nat Cringle was as nothing to this.

"Tell him I'd rather not take two," he whispered to Deering.

"Why not?" ejaculated the latter.

"I wish to live single."

The bearded minister approached, leading the two veiled beauties.

"Oh! oh, dear," groaned the poor orphan.

He placed a gloved hand of each upon Mr. Figgins's shoulders.

Then, upon a given signal, they threw their arms around the orphan and hugged him, while a violent cachinnation was heard.

"What a lovely smile," said Captain Deering. "Did you hear it?"

"Oh! Please don't," cried the orphan.

He struggled to get free.

But the beauties of the seraglio held him tight.

The orphan grew desperate, and jerked himself out of their clutches.

But in the tussle down