To render the tragedy more complete, Mustapha, when he received the summons of the Sultan, was not alone; Zeangir, the son of Roxalana, to whom he was tenderly attached, was beside him; who, when the message was communicated to the prince, immediately determined on accompanying him to the camp of their common parent. On their arrival at the imperial tent, Mustapha was disarmed; and then first suspecting treachery, he advanced in silence beyond the line of guards who were posted over the person of the Sultan, and had scarcely done so, when four mutes sprang upon him, armed with the fatal bowstring; but life was young and strong in the betrayed prince, and he burst from their hold, and flung them from him with indignant pride, as he turned to alarm the troops, by whom he was greatly beloved, and in whom he felt, even at that awful moment, that he might depend. But no time was allowed him for the effort, for as he sought to escape, Solyman himself appeared at the entrance of the tent; and one look of rage, one gesture of vengeance, recalled the scattered senses of the mutes, who once more seizing their victim, strangled him under the eyes of his infuriated father, and then flung his quivering body on the carpet at his feet. It was the work of a moment; and the paralyzed Zeangir beheld the brother whom he fondly loved, and who had stood beside him in health and pride but a moment back, a livid and distorted corpse, like an unnatural barrier suddenly raised by crime between him and his father. From his wolf-hearted mother he had long shrank, for his gentle nature quailed before the dark workings of her iron spirit; and now two holy links were wrenched asunder which could never again be united - he hat no longer a parent; and his brave brother, the idol of the troops and of the people, he was gone! Without a word, without a tear, the young prince cast himself upon the corse of the murdered Mustapha; and when the officious pity of some court parasite would have separated him from his dead brother, he was unconscious of the attempt: he was not born for blood, and his heart had burst upon the body of the victim! Once again Roxalana stood beside a dead sun; but there was no compunction in her eyes, as they rested on the pale face of him whom her cruelty had murdered: there was no shadow over them, as when the grief of earth seems to throw a veil over the decrees of Heaven. They were bright with intense light - vivid with fearful brilliance - they told a tale of vengeance!

The arrow was shot by a sure hand! Solyman, enslaved by the personal beauty, and cowed by the resistless passions of his wife, became the puppet of her will; and the moon had not yet grown old, when Roxalana once more held a death-warrant signed by the misguided Sultan.