CHAPTER LXXXIII.

JACK HAS TO STAND A SIEGE.

And how far were Jack Harkaway and his friends really guilty in this matter?

It was indeed true that Thyra, the beautiful Greek slave before alluded to, had fled from the harem of the late pasha.

But this had nothing at all to do with his assassination.

No doubt Thyra cherished a strong attachment for young Jack, having found a refuge in the same house.

She could not overcome it.

"I throw myself upon your protection," she said. "If I returned to my master's, my fate would be instant death, but that would be preferable to living without you, and be for ever separated from you."

Jack was much embarrassed.

He told her, gently as he could, that her love was hopeless.

"Oh, do not say that," cried Thyra, bursting into tears. "Do not send me away; I'm ready to be your slave, and obey your every word."

Jack consulted with his friends under this difficult and delicate condition of affairs, and they all agreed that Thyra must not be given up to the pasha.

An hour afterwards, the report of his murder made matters still more serious.

But he never dreamed that any suspicion of the actual crime would be turned against himself.

It was therefore agreed to keep Thyra in close concealment, until an opportunity offered to get her back to her friends.

The house occupied by Harkaway and his friends was, like most Oriental edifices, built for endurance.

The walls were thick and strong as those of a castle.

The doorway was narrow, and led into a square courtyard or garden, and with a fountain in the centre.

Into this yard most of the rooms opened.

The windows facing the street were mere loopholes.

The roof was flat, and in the evening formed a favourite lounge, approached by a flight of steps, from one angle of the court.

It is necessary to be particular in describing the house, that our readers may fully understand what follows.

Jack Harkaway was one morning in the courtyard, near the centre, with Harry Girdwood, looking at a heap of curious weapons, which they had purchased when roaming about the bazaars.

"Why, we've got quite an armory here," said Harry Girdwood. "It's a pity we haven't got some fighting to do to use them."

"I mean to make the place into a kind of fortress," said Jack. "Here, Bogey."

"What you after, Massa Jack?" asked the nigger, appearing instantly.

"Go and take charge of the gate, and don't let anyone pass in or out without my order."

"Right you are, massa; me keep him safe as a sentrybox," answered the darkey.

And he started off to take up the post assigned to him.

Jack next summoned Tinker.

"Serve us up our dinner here under the trees," said Jack; "and be quick about it, you rascal, or----"

"Understand puffeckly, massa," responded the black. "To hear yer is to obey yer, as dese Turkeys say. Yah, yah."

It was very pleasant to sit down to their repast under the refreshing shade of the trees.

Of course Mr. Mole and the orphan, as well as Thyra, the waiter and the diver, were summoned and came at this juncture.

The orphan and Mole appeared arm-in-arm.

Mr. Mole had a black bottle in one hand and a tall glass in the other.

He looked very jolly, whilst the orphan appeared rather melancholy, for his flute had got slightly cracked.

"Have a drop to raise your spirits," said the schoolmaster, filling him a brimmer, and fairly forcing it into his hand.

The orphan could not refuse so pressing an invitation.

He drained the glass, and as it came upon the top of several more, its effect upon him was not inconsiderable.

Intending to walk straight to the table, he walked, instead, extremely "slantindicular," till lurching up against the fountain as he passed it, he stumbled over its ledge, and fell with a splash into the middle of its basin.

Mr. Mole, with the best intentions in the world, rushed to his companion's rescue.

Before Mole could reach the orphan, his patent legs being still uncontrollable, and his head unsteady also, he fell backwards, smashing his wine bottle on the stones of the courtyard.

The scene was certainly ludicrous, and elicited much laughter from the spectators.

They, however, helped the orphan out of his accidental and very unwelcome bath, which, though it had drenched him, had also sobered him.

Mole was also assisted to re-assume an erect posture, and in a short time, both of them were sufficiently recovered to take their places at the table.

Mole and Figgins seemed somewhat struck by the warlike appearance of the place.

"What are you going to do with all that cutlery?" inquired Mr. Mole.

"Perhaps you mean to set up in the scissors trade?" suggested the orphan.

"You'll see by and by, old man," answered our hero. "We shall find 'em useful, perhaps sooner than you expect."

"Oh, dear! I hope not," exclaimed Figgins. "I'm sure I don't want any more fighting; I have had more than is good for my health."

The waiter now took up his accustomed duty of attending on the guests.

The diver, at Jack's request, summoned Thyra, whose classic features, slender form, and Eastern garb, were well in keeping with the scene around.

A seat of honour was kept for her at the _al fresco_ banquet, to which Jack gallantly conducted her.

No one could doubt her love for him, for it shone out in her slightest action, her very words, and look, and tone. It seemed a pity that he could not return it, otherwise than by studied politeness and consideration.

To be at his side, to hear the sound of his voice, was her greatest happiness, and made her forget all other dangers and troubles.

When towards the conclusion of the meal, Jack proceeded to--

"Fill high the bowl with Samian wine,"

and hand it to Thyra, it was to her a moment of supreme pleasure.

Her dark eyes sparkled, her soft cheek flushed, and her jewelled fingers trembled as they held the crystal glass, filled with what, for his sake, and independent of its own nature, was to her as the nectar of the gods.

"Hark! What noise is that?" asked Jack, with such suddenness, that Thyra spilt some of the wine ere it could reach her lips.

There was indeed a sound in the street like the blended hum of many voices, and tread of many feet, each moment becoming louder.

"Perhaps it is some procession," said Harry Girdwood.

"Or a march round of the troops before the new pasha," said Mole. "Oh, how I pity him."

"No, there's something up more dreadful than that, I am sure," exclaimed the orphan. "Oh, this terrible country. I'll go home to-morrow if they'll only let me."

"Here, Tinker, you black son of a gun; go up on the roof, and see what's the matter," said Jack.

The nigger ascended as nimbly as a monkey.

At that moment a thundering knock came at the outer gate.

"What you want?" asked Bogey, still acting as porter.

"Open, in the name of the pasha," said a stern voice outside.

Bogey replied not, but ran in to his master.

Tinker and he arrived breathless at the same moment.

"Awful lot o' soldiers--Turks--outside, big guns and swords, massa," said Tinker.

"Wants to come in here, too," added Bogey. "Hark! Oh, ain't they giving what for at the door? They're at it again, a-hammerin' away."

And the thundering knocking was repeated louder than before, and a stern voice demanding Thyra, the slave.

"Just as I feared," cried Jack; "they've found out where Thyra is, and have come to drag her back."

"Oh, powers of Heaven, protect us all!" she exclaimed, nervously clutching Jack's arm. "Am I unfortunate enough, dear Jack, to have brought you into this great peril? I entreat you to save yourselves by surrendering me; only do me one favour; let one of your number shoot me dead as soon as I am in the enemy's hands."

"Impossible, dear Thyra!" said Jack. "Do you think, as a Boy of England, it is possible for me to act in that cowardly way? No; we must make a gallant resistance. Surely we are well prepared; here are arms enough for all. Where's the Irish diver?"

"Here, your honour, ready for any row that's goin'."

"Mr. Mole, you can handle a gun," said Jack; "here is one that will just suit you."

The waiter and the orphan were also accommodated with weapons, but the orphan thought he would rather load the guns than fire them off.

"Quick! get all the movables, and place them against the gate," said Jack. "With its own strength, its bolts, and bars, and keys, and a barricade behind it, we can defy this band of Turks, or the sultan himself."

All gave a cheer at these defiant words, and proceeded with their impromptu fortification with great vigour.

"I'll go up on the roof and reconnoitre," said Harry.

And dangerous as was this duty, he proceeded to it with great alacrity.

In a few moments he came down, with much consternation on his face.

"This is a bad job, Jack," he said; "worse than I thought."

"How?" asked our hero.

"We are accused of murdering the pasha, as well as carrying off the young Greek girl. There are over a hundred of the pasha's troops on guard outside, with that scoundrel Abdullah at the head of them, and thousands of wild Moslem fanatics, thirsting for our blood."

"I will go and see for myself," cried young Jack.

"For Heaven's sake, don't," said Harry, restraining him; "it will be certain death, for you, as our leader, are the particular object of their animosity."

Thyra's entreaties were even more pressing.

She threw her arms round Jack's neck, and earnestly entreated him not to risk his life.

"Dear Thyra," cried Jack, "you shall not be taken. I will and must protect you."

He sprang up the stairway, and was soon on the roof.

It was a sight indeed to appal the stoutest heart.

As far as the eye could reach was an excited crowd, restless, furious, and thirsting for vengeance.

In the front were a body of troops, in Turkish uniform, led by the captain of the guard by whose side could be recognised the sinister countenance of Abdullah.

They caught sight of Jack Harkaway.

He was recognised.

A shout burst from a thousand throats; a deep, angry cry, like the roar of a tempestuous sea.

Thousands of eyes flashed upon him--the eyeballs gleaming white from out of the dusky skins.

"The murderer of the pasha--the despoiler of the harem!" they cried. "Death, death to him, and all the Christians!"

Jack endeavoured to parley with them; but it was useless, until silence was obtained by the commands of the captain of the guard and Abdullah, who called out to Jack--

"Resistance is useless; surrender at once, or I will not answer for your life."

"If you want me, you must come and fetch me," returned dauntless Jack.

"Your blood be upon your own head, then," said Abdullah.

The captain gave the word of command, and the battering, for a while suspended, was recommenced upon the door below.