"Yes, master! I love him with all my soul; he is the master given me by Allah, and he is at the same time my friend. He is every thing to me, mother, brother, sister. We two are alone together, and love nothing in the world but each other!""Then I am sorry for you, poor child!" said the pacha. "Your father is lost if the tax is not paid. You say yourself that the men of Praousta cannot pay the double tax, and should they fail to do so the heads of the four prisoners must fall.""Be merciful! O master, be merciful," cried Masa. "You are rich and mighty. You can save him. Oh, save him!""You are in error," said the pacha, "in this case I am powerless;even the tschorbadji can do nothing. He pledged this word to Mohammed Ali; he took the triple oath that he would allow him to act as he should think best in this matter. Mohammed Ali has sworn that the heads of the prisoners shall fall unless the people of Praousta pay the tax, and that he will behead them himself if no other executioner can be found.""Horrible! and thus was his oath," cried Masa, shuddering.
"I pray you, master, tell me, were these his words; did he swear he would himself execute my father?""He did. And, believe me, the youth will keep his word. He is blood-thirsty and cruel, and it will gladden his heart to cool his wrath in your father's blood.""No! It is impossible!" cried Masa, in terror. "He cannot be so cruel, and he is not!""Then you know him? " said the pacha, his eyes gleaming with hatred.
"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my father's life.""And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth.
Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen that he is relentless.""Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless.""There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore, has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for both.
"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and Iwill do so."
"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?""I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish.""And what is it you desire, master?" asked the innocent, anxious maiden in tremulous tones.
He gazed on her passionately, a smile lighting up his countenance.
"Lift your veil, and let me look upon your countenance."She shuddered, and drew her veil so closely about her face, that it concealed her eyes also.
"O master!" said she, in low tones of entreaty. "As you know, the custom of our land forbids a girl to appear unveiled before a man.""Unless he be the man who takes her into his harem," replied he, smiling.
"Yes, master, only before him whom she follows into the harem, and then only when she has already followed him, may she unveil her face before him. Therefore, be merciful, O master! Honor the custom of our land, and do not demand of me what I could never confess to my father!""Silly girl," answered he. "I do demand it, and, if it is denied me, your father's head falls. You admit he is the only man you love, and your only shield. When he is dead, you will be a beggar, and will not even be able to purchase a veil, for the poor are everywhere unveiled, and are, on that account, no worse than you who mask your faces with veils. Therefore, daughter of the sheik, lift your veil!""Mercy! mercy!" she exclaimed, raising her hands entreatingly. "Icannot do what you desire. I dare not. I have sworn an oath!""An oath?" said he, gazing at her piercingly. "To whom did you swear this oath?"She trembled, and did not reply. She felt that she must not confess the truth, for that would be to invoke destruction upon the head of Mohammed.
"I swore it to myself," she whispered in low tones. "I swore to remain pure and honest, as beseemed my mother's daughter, and never to raise my veil in the presence of a strange man.""Then keep your oath!" said he, stepping close to her. "You shall not raise your veil, but I will; I will do it. I must see your face before I fulfil my promise, before I deliver your father from prison."He raised his arm. She sought to defend herself, and prayed for mercy. In vain! With a quick movement he lifted her veil, and fastened his gaze on her countenance. At that moment a cry resounded through the apartment, a cry of rage, and at the door of the adjoining room appeared Mohammed Ali, pale and infuriated. He was about to rush into the room, but with a bound the tachorbadji sprang to his side, grasped him with all the strength which his anxiety gave him, drew him back, closed the door, locked it, and drew the key out of the lock.
"You ought not to enter, and, by Allah, you shall not!""I must enter!" cried Mohammed, gnashing his teeth, and looking like an enraged lion, as he endeavored to wrest the key from the tschorbadji. But the latter grasped the key firmly, and anxiously called his son.
"What has happened?" asked Osman in anxious tones, as he entered the room. Mohammed stood still, controlling his wrath with a gigantic effort.
"You ask, Osman, what has happened. Within is Cousrouf Pacha with the sheik Alepp's daughter, and he treats with her for her honor and innocence, and she allows him to do so!" cried he, loudly and fiercely.
"That is not true," said the governor. "You accuse him wrongly.
