"I will give you my small body-guard. They are eight in number, and
I give you full authority to collect the tax."

"I thank you, governor," cried Mohammed, with a beaming face. "You have given me a weighty commission, and you shall see that I will justify the confidence you place in me. I will go at once."

"Do so, and I will order my men to obey you in all things," said the tschorbadji.

"Farewell, my Osman," cried Mohammed his whole being as full of energy and determination as if he were going to battle. He bowed smilingly to his friend, and passed from the hall with a firm step.

The collectors received the tschorbadji's order, to return to
Praousta with Mohammed, with bowed heads and anxious countenances.

"They will murder us." groaned one of them. "They are all armed with swords and knives, and they will tear our arms from us at once."

"If they should tear your arms from you, and you do not fall upon them, with tooth and nail," cried Mohammed, with determined look, "you are nothing but cowards, and I will kill you with my own hand."

The tschorbadji had, in the mean time, called his small body guard together, and commanded them to go down to Praousta with Mohammed, and to obey him in all things.

"Come, then, my men, let us go," cried Mohammed.

The tschorbadji detained him a moment. "Will you not take a weapon, you are entirely unarmed?"

"Yes, I will take a weapon. Not that I fear for myself; no, I have no fear; but I will make one more combatant against the rebels. Give me a sword and a pistol."

The tschorbadji himself brought both to him, and then bade him farewell.

Mohammed, at the head of the eight soldiers and the two collectors, went down the mountain path to the village. There every thing had become quiet. Obeying the words of the sheik, the men had gone to their huts, and did not see that Mohammed and his followers had entered the great mosque, which stood at the entrance of the village. Then Mohammed bowed down within the holy of holies, and, turning his head toward Mecca, prayed in a low voice to the prophet "Thou seest, my lord and God, that I have raised my foot to take the first step on the way to my great future. Uphold my feet, let me not fall into the abyss of forgetfulness. Give me strength, that I may go forward without fainting. Be with me, Mohammed, thou great prophet. Permit thy stars to be a light unto me, and be merciful to the poorest of thy servants!"

Then, raising himself proudly up, he ordered the soldiers to close three of the entrances of the mosque, and to leave only the principal door open.

"Now draw your swords. Four of you remain with me in the mosque-the four others go down to the sheik and the ulemas. Inform them that an ambassador has come from the tschorbadji, to bring them an important message. Each of you three must bring one of the ulemas with you, and the fourth must bring the sheik here to me. Go at once, and return quickly.-And you," he said, turning to the four who remained behind, "swear to me, in the name of Allah and the prophet, that you will be hewn in pieces sooner than yield to the rebels!"

They all swore, placing their hands upon their swords, that they would be hewn in pieces sooner than yield. Mohammed nodded graciously to them.

"Good! When the soldiers bring the men we will surround them, and the rest will follow."

Their hands upon their swords, the soldiers stood waiting beside the door.

Mohammed remained silent and thoughtful in the middle of the mosque. He felt that a great, an important moment had come for him. He thought of his mother. "She hovers over me; she looks down, and sees her son enter on a new life. When I leave the mosque, I will be no longer the poor, despised boy; I will have proved myself a man. O my mother, look down on me, and pray to Allah to be merciful to me!"

A dark shadow crossed the rays of the sun which fell through the open door. It was one of the soldiers who came in with the sheik.

Mohammed did not step forward to meet him, as he should have done, out of respect for the old man, with his white beard. To-day he was no longer the poor boy, who must bow down before his superiors. He was himself one of the powers that be. He held his head aloft while the sheik approached.

"I was summoned in the name of the tschorbadji," said the sheik, looking with astonishment at Mohammed. "It is very strange that I find here no one but Mohammed Ali, the son of Ibrahim Aga. Had I known that the tschorbadji had sent a boy to me, I would have required him to bring me the message."

"I summoned you in the name of the tscborbadji, and in his name I stand here!" said Mohammed, proudly. "I am not a boy, as you are pleased to call me, but an acknowledged authority. I have received my authority from the tschorbadji, and I demand submission from you!"

"Submission to you!" exclaimed the sheik, with a contemptuous glance.

Mohammed's eyes flashed fiercely, as he placed his hand threateningly on his pistol.

"Yes, you the sheik, must yield to me. See! there are the others who dared to revolt. -Guard the sheik well, you men; the ulemas also!"

The latter had now approached, accompanied by the soldiers, and Mohammed informed them that he, in the name of the tschorbadji, insisted upon their gathering in the taxes.

"We cannot and will not do it!" answered the sheik, proudly. "It is an injustice to demand the double tax, and it, would be folly to pay it. It is our duty to protect the community, and we will do it!"

"Well, do as you will!" cried Mohammed, with flashing eyes. "Who dares to preach rebellion shall surely die!—Hold fast these rebels, my men, bind their hands behind their backs with their own scarfs, and lead them to the governor's house. There let their heads fall, that all may know how justice punishes the rebellious."

"Help! help!" cried the sheik and the ulemas. "Help!"

Their cries resounded far and wide, and, while the soldiers were binding the ulemas and the sheik with their own scarfs, the armed people came pressing forward to the open door of the mosque.

Mohammed looked toward them with the raging glance of a lion.

"Who enters here, meets his death!" he cried, in a voice of thunder. The men without shrunk back before the soldiers' gleaming weapons, and hastened to the other doors, but they found them all closed, only the one entrance was open, the one at which the collectors stood.

Within lay the sheik and the ulemas, all bound, upon their knees, praying the men of Praousta to come to their help. The men sought once more to storm the entrance, and once more they were repulsed.

"I swear, by Allah and the prophet, that the rebels shall die if they do not submit!" cried Mohammed, aloud. "Place your daggers at their breasts."

The soldiers did as they were ordered, and their prisoners lay, with widely-extended eyes, and shrieks on their parted lips which they dared not utter, for fear the sword-points would pierce their breasts. Mohammed stood erect beside them, his hand on his sword.

Suddenly a piercing, terrific cry arose from the midst of the crowd, and a slender female figure, clad entirely in white, the face concealed by a veil, rushed into the mosque. The soldiers dared not repulse her as they had done the men, as she flew past them toward that dreadful group.

"My father, my father!" she cries, in wildly-imploring tones. "If you must die, I will die with you!"

A strange tremor seizes on Mohammed; that wonderful voice thrills him to his very heart.

The veiled one sinks down at his feet, and raises her arms pleadingly to him.

"If you kill him, kill me also!"

In her passionate gestures she seizes her veil with her clasped hands and tears it from her face.

Mohammed saw now for the first time the youthful and beautiful face of the fair girl who was called the "Flower of Praousta." Her great black eyes were fastened imploringly on his. Her scarlet lips quivered as she repeated, "Oh, kill him not, but, if you must, then let me die with him!"

He looked at her as if he felt some witchcraft at work, then suddenly bent down and drew the veil over her face, as if he dared no longer look on her beauty.

"Leave this place, I do not fight with women," he said, and his voice sounded almost like that of a man.

"Be merciful," she prayed, but there was a change in her voice also, it was no longer so humble, but trembled with inward emotion.

He turned from her.

"Return to your home," he said, in a commanding voice. "First, however, tell your father that he must submit himself, and prevail upon these rebels to become obedient. If he succeeds, I swear, in the name of Allah, that he shall return with you to his home. Speak to him, and prove the power of your words."

"Return, Masa," said the sheik, in an unfaltering voice. "It was most improper for you to come here. You did it from love to me, therefore it must be pardoned. Now, however, I order you to go home, and remain there, as it becomes a woman. I, however, praise Allah; he alone must decide my fate, and the fate of all."

"No, father, I cannot leave you," cried Masa, breathlessly, pressing her father's hands to her lips. "Remember, you are the Lord of my life, the light of my eyes! Remember that I have no one but you in all the world, and that your Masa is as solitary as in a wilderness when you are not beside her. Remember that, O my father!"

"Enough!" interrupted Mohammed, in a harsh voice. "Enough words.— You there, you men of Praousta, will you pay the tax, the double tax, as the tschorbadji has ordered?"

The men, who had pressed close against the high porch outside the mosque, remained silent for a moment and looked hesitatingly before them.

"Will you pay it?" repeated Mohammed. "You will, I am sure."

"No!" cried the sheik, aloud. "You will not, you shall not, pay this tax!"

"No," repeated the three ulemas. "No, you will not, you shall not, pay this tax!"

Then suddenly, as if inspired by the bold words of the four prisoners, the men held themselves more erect, and, looking threateningly at Mohammed and at the soldiers, repeated what the ulemas had said. "No, we will not, we will not pay the tschorbadji the double tax! We will pay neither the double nor the simple tax!"

"Good! you have spoken," said Mohammed. "Your fate is decided, and that of these men also!—Collectors, lock the door."

Masa uttered a cry, and, rushing to Mohammed, clung wildly to his knees.

"Mercy, lord, have mercy! Think of your own father, think of your mother! If you have a mother that you love, oh, think of her!"

He pushed her roughly and hastily from him. That word pierced his heart like a knife, and still he dared not listen to it.

There was a threatening murmur among the men, and several sought to press forward, but the collectors threatened them with instant death if they came forward a single step.

Two of the soldiers approached the young girl to carry her out.

"Let no one dare touch me, or I will throw myself on your swords!" she cried. "If I must go, I will do so. But on you be the blood of my father if it is shed! I tell you, if you murder him, I will die also; and if you have a father or a mother in heaven, I will accuse you, young man!"

She uttered these words in a ringing voice, then flew toward the door. The soldiers pushed her out, and the collectors threw the iron-bound doors together.

"Now I turn to you," said Mohammed, breathing more freely, and looking toward the sheik and the ulemas.

"Will you murder us?" asked the sheik Alepp, as he looked with calm dignity at the young man.

"No, if your blood must flow, so be it upon your own head," answered Mohammed, earnestly. "You alone shall decide your own life or death, and that of your three companions.—Come, soldiers, open this door; we go out this way."

The soldiers obeyed, and opened the door on that side of the mosque which lay nearest the mountain stairway.

The sheik and the ulemas, soldiers accompanying them, passed out, Mohammed in front of them, his drawn sword in his hand. Behind them came the collectors, with pikes in their hands.

Silently they went on their way toward the mountain-path.

The men who had waited, uncertain what to do, before the door of the mosque, now went round to the side, and with out-cries of rage pointed out to one another the road to the mountain-path.

When Mohammed heard this outcry, he stood still, and motioned to the soldiers to go forward with the prisoners. "Remain at my side, collectors, we will cover the rear. Forward, now! go up the mountain."

And while those went upward, Mohammed remained at the foot of the mountain. On either side the collectors, and in front of him all the fishermen of Praousta, more than fifty men, with threatening looks and burning eyes. But still, although they muttered and quarrelled, and even raised their fists, they dared not approach this young man, whose countenance was so determined, so full of energy, whose cheeks were so pale, and on whose mouth rested so threatening an expression. He must have appeared to them like the angel of death, and each one feared that if he approached he would sink down and die.

Mohammed paid no attention to the threatening group of men. His eye looked beyond them—there, behind the men, where the veiled white figure stood, supported by two women.

He looked toward her, and the ringing tones of the young girl's voice sounded in his heart, and he seemed to hear the words: "If you have a mother you love, then think of her!"

He thought of her, and a deep sigh escaped his soul. But, still, he must be a man now. He had sworn to bring the rebels of Praousta back to obedience. He must keep his word, and he will do it. "If she has swooned away, she will awake and forget her grief. Women are readily grieved, but their grief is easily dissipated. She will know how to console herself; and as for me, I will forget her, I will never give her another thought."

He said this defiantly to himself, and looked again at the men of Praousta, who were still standing irresolute and murmuring near the mosque, not daring to approach the three armed men. "He certainly would not have come alone, he would not dare to remain standing there, if his comrades were not concealed somewhere up there in the mountain."

"Yes, they are standing there listening, and, if we should charge upon them, they would fire at us, and we should all be lost. No, we will be cautious; but this is certain, we will not pay the tax; the sheik has commanded it, and the ulemas have decided; therefore we will not pay."

"No, we will not pay," repeated all the other men. No longer loud and defiant, but in low voices one to another, and their eyes turned suspiciously toward the three figures, and then up the mountain- path, toward the rocks behind which they believed the sharp-shooters were concealed.

Mohammed looked also toward the mountain-path, and, seeing that the prisoners and their guard had reached the top of the mountain, he turned toward the fishermen

"Ismail, Marut, Berutti," he cried, "do you not recognize me, you know Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim?"

"Yes, we know you, and we would not have believed that the son of
Ibrahim Aga could have become a spy upon his old friends."

"I am not a spy, I am only a servant of that law and justice which you wish to violate. Step nearer, and listen to what I have to say to you."

They came cautiously, hesitatingly, a few steps nearer, and again looked anxiously toward the mountain.

"What have you to say, Mohammed, son of Ibrahim Aga?—but remember that one who—"

"Silence!" commanded Mohammed; "I shall remember what is necessary, and I do not need the advice of rebels and rioters. I did not call upon you to speak, but to listen to what I have to say. Hearken, men of Praousta, in the name of the tschorbadji! I give you until early to-morrow morning to decide; if, at the hour of second prayers, you have not sent three men to the palace of the tschorbadji, double the amount that you have formerly paid, the sheik and the three ulemas will lose their heads for your disobedience, and you will be the murderers of four of the first men of Praousta."

He slightly lowered his gleaming sword, and, as a farewell greeting, turned and walked up the mountain-path, not swiftly, not hastily, as if he feared the men would fall upon him, but slowly, step by step, not even glancing back to see if the crowd were following him, quietly, sword in hand, and in front of him the two collectors.

BOOK II.

PARADISE AND HELL.

CHAPTER I

THE FLOWER OF PRAOUSTA.

The tschorbadji was in great uneasiness since Mohammed had gone on his expedition to the rebellious village, and his son was profoundly troubled and apprehensive. He could not endure to remain in the broad hall which led to the garden, but followed his father to the great saloon which commanded a view of the court-yard through which Mohammed must come. He laid himself upon the divan, while his father walked up and down with heavy steps, pausing occasionally at the window looking into the court-yard, and then rapidly continuing his walk. Suddenly the door opened, and two slaves appeared in magnificent Grecian costume, richly embroidered, and placed themselves at the open door. Then a third stepped forth, and announced in a loud voice, "His excellency Cousrouf Pacha!" His excellency entered, splendidly dressed, in a long velvet mantle, trimmed with rare fur, in his turban a star of the most brilliant diamonds flashed, and in the Persian shawl folded around his waist glittered a dagger, studded with costly gems.

It was a splendid sight—the tall, proud man as he stood in the widely-opened door; the richly-dressed slaves at his side, and behind him his secretary, in white, gold-embroidered robe, holding the staff aloft.

The tschorbadji stepped toward him with a respectful air and a forced smile. Osman arose slowly from the divan, and bowed profoundly before his excellency.

The sharp glance of the pacha read at once, in the face of father and son, that he was unwelcome, and told them so in a soft, friendly voice. The tschorbadji protested, in flowery words and flattering terms, which he knew would please Cousrouf Pacha, that he was unutterably happy, inexpressibly flattered and delighted, at the presence of his excellency.

Cousrouf Pacha replied with a gracious inclination of his stately head, and appeared to find it perfectly natural that every one should feel delighted when his excellency approached.

"Tell me, tschorbadji," he said, taking the place of honor on the divan, and motioning the slave to bring him his gold-and-diamond- studded chibouque—" tell me, tsohorbadji, is it true that the village of Praousta is in revolt?"

"Unfortunately, your excellency, it is true," sighed the tschorbadji; "the men have revolted, they will not pay the double tax."

"Dogs! dogs! that are barking a little," said Cousrouf, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. "I think, tschorbadji, you would do well to quiet them quickly."

"I hope my messenger will succeed in repressing the revolt, in quieting the men, and in inducing them to do their duty."

"What!" exclaimed Cousrouf, with a contemptuous curl of his lip, "you intend to make terms with the rebels?"

"I shall try to induce the men to do their duty."

"You surely do not consider that rebels are criminals most deserving of death," said Cousrouf, with flashing eyes. "Dogs are shot when they are mad, and rebels are but mad dogs."

"I beg your pardon, excellency," said the tschorbadji, his gentle face assuming a severer expression than it had yet worn before his excellency—" I beg your pardon, but this small island is not so rich in men that we can afford to shoot them like dogs, and, moreover, excepting this, the people are good, industrious, and willing to provide for their families. This year they have had a bad harvest, and but little profit, and were incensed at having to pay double taxes."

"And why double taxes?" asked Cousrouf Pacba, with a contemptuous smile.

"Do not ask me, excellency," replied the tschorbadji, with a bow; "one portion of the taxes goes as usual to Stamboul, into the coffers of his highness; the other portion—"

"Ah, I understand," said Cousrouf, with a proud smile; "the other portion is, through an order from Stamboul, destined for me. That is so, is it not, tschorbadji?"

"Yes, excellency, if you wish to know the truth, it is."

"And these dogs refuse to pay for the benefit of Cousrouf Pacha, the grand-vizier of his highness, the friend and comrade of the Admiral Hussein, and you will not shoot them down like mad dogs, tachorbadji; you wish to negotiate with these audacious men, who mock at my greatness in refusing me the tribute! These slaves believe that, because Cousrouf Pacha condescends to live in this desolate place—this miserable nest they can mock and deny me their respect with impunity. But I tell you, tschorbadji, I tell you, and all the men of Praousta and Cavalla, you shall remember this day! If these men do not submit, if they do not pay what they ought to pay, then you may all beware, for a day will come, and, by Allah, it is not far off, when Cousrouf Pacha will leave his exile with new honors! Remember this, tschorbadji, and act accordingly."

"I shall remember it, excellency," said the tschorbadji, respectfully; "I have never failed in reverence and respect to the noble guest whom his highness graciously sent here; I accepted it as a favor, and during my entire life I shall remember the days that it pleased Cousrouf Pacha to become a guest in my house."

The words of the tschorbadji, humbly and respectfully as they were spoken, rankled in the sensitive soul of the proud pacha. He started, and his brow darkened. He had partaken of the tschorbadji's hospitality, and had never thanked him for it, and never returned it. The tax that the men of Praousta were commanded to pay, was by an order from Stamboul, destined for Cousrouf Pacha, and this was a sign to the proud man that his sun was in the ascendant, that he would soon be released from his exile, and therefore he was defiant and haughty toward the tschorbadji.

At the angry words of the pacha, Osman, the usually mild and gentle youth, arose from the divan, and placed himself at his father's side, as if he wished to defend the tschorbadji from the proud and mocking words of the stranger.

The father felt and understood what was passing in the youth's soul; he laid his hand softly upon his shoulder. "Calm yourself, my son; may the rights of a guest be as sacred to you as to me—his excellency has been our esteemed guest for three years, remember this, and forget that he was a little hard just now. Allah be with him! Allah make all our hearts tender and gentle!"

"You must remember, pacha, that here, in our small portion of the great world, we cannot make so great and magnificent a display as you can make in your brilliant career in the great city of Stamboul. We have no soldiers here except my small body-guard of eight men; the rest of our small military force is now stationed elsewhere. It would be very unfortunate if I should incite to violence the men who, even if armed with knives only, would still be able to overpower us all. It will therefore be better to negotiate with them than to proceed to extreme measures."

"Well, what course have you decided upon?" asked Cousrouf, in a milder tone.

"Mohammed Ali, the friend of my son, Osman, has pledged himself to bring the rebels to reason; I have given him my body-guard of eight men, and he has gone down to Praousta."

"Gone to this seditious village, where more than fifty strong men are in revolt!" exclaimed Cousrouf. "Truly such daring reflects honor upon the young lad."

"Upon what young lad?" asked Osman, in seeming surprise; "of whom does your excellency speak?"

"Of the young lad your father spoke of; he who volunteered to settle this difficulty. Is he your slave, or your freedman, of whom you make a companion because unfortunately you can find here no better social intercourse?"

"He is my friend," said Osman, in a calm, firm voice, "my best friend, and I trust that all who honor my father's house with their visits will observe a proper respect to the friend of his son. I expect this, and, if need be, will require it, for—"

"Here comes Mohammed!" cried the governor, rejoicing at any occurrence which interrupted his son's speech. "Here comes Mohammed, and with him four prisoners. By Allah! it is the sheik and the three ulemas of Praousta! The soldiers are conducting them; their hands are bound behind their backs. Mohammed is a bold fellow; he has made prisoners of four of the richest and most influential men of the village, and is bringing them here. I must speak with him." The governor arose hastily, but Cousrouf Pacha seized his arm and held him back forcibly. "Tschorbadji, it becomes your ambassador to seek you and give an account of his mission. I myself will hear him." Still holding the tschorbadji's arm, he stepped to the divan, seated himself, and drew the governor down beside him. And now the door was opened, and Mohammed, with glowing cheeks and ardent eyes, holding his sword aloft, entered the room. He advanced rapidly across the spacious saloon to the tschorbadji, lowered his sword before him, and bestowed a kindly glance on his friend Osman, who came forward to greet him. With a few hasty words he explained to the tschorbadji the events which had taken place; only when he spoke of the young girl did his voice falter, but he made slight mention of her, and passed on to narrate the conclusion of his bold adventure.

"So you have really made prisoners of four of the first men of Praousta and brought them here!" said the tschorbadji, completely taken by surprise. "Tell me what shall be done with them? It surely cannot be your intention to put these men to death if the tax is not paid?"

"Most certainly, sir, that is my intention," said Mohammed, throwing back his head proudly. "They are all rebels, and the ulemas and the sheik were their leaders—these, sir, were the men who counselled the people not to pay the taxes. It is according to law that the heads of the leaders of a rebellion should fall, and fall their heads shall, for I have sworn it; if three men are not sent to- morrow morning from Praousta, at the hour of prayer, with the double tax, the heads of the prisoners shall answer for its payment!"

"But this is impossible," said the tschorbadji, whose tender heart was moved by Mohammed's threatening words. "This is impossible; I cannot allow these men to be executed."

"I have sworn it shall be done, and it must be done, unless you wish to see your authority overthrown."

"But how can it be done?" exclaimed the tschorbadji, pale with anxiety and horror. "Who will put these men to death? I have no executioner."

"If necessary," said Mohammed, his eyes flashing with resolve—"If necessary, I will behead them myself."

"Bravely said!" cried Cousrouf Pacha, rising from his seat. "Truly,
Mohammed Ali, I begin to be pleased with you."

"That, sir, is more than I desire," said Mohammed, calmly; he gave one threatening glance at the proud pacha, and then turned quickly to the tschorbadji.

"Remember, sir, that you gave me absolute authority to act as I thought best. I gave you my word of honor to bring back these rebels to reason and obedience. In return, you promised that I alone should decide the matter. It must therefore be so. I have sworn to the men of Praousta that, unless they submit, the heads of the sheik and the three ulemas shall fall; and I repeat, so must it be, even if they fall by my hand, if to-morrow, at the hour of prayer, the gold is not produced."

"Then may Allah mercifully bring the rebels to repentance!" sighed the tschorbadji. "May they submit to your decision, and bring the gold at the appointed time. Until then we must put the prisoners in some place of safety. Give orders, Mohammed, that they be taken to the prison, and carefully guarded."

"And why to the prison, sir?" asked Mohammed, quietly. "Here in the middle of the court-yard is a space encircled with an iron railing."

"So there is," replied the tschorbadji, "it was prepared as a cage for my beautiful lion, and he had lived within that railing for four years, when some miserable wretch, who knew I loved the noble animal, poisoned it."

"Well, I think the cage your lion occupied is large enough to afford lodging for one night to the sheik and the ulemas."

"What! confine them here in the open air?"

"Yes, sir, that is what I suggest. "Cannot the iron door be locked?"

"Yes, it can be locked; the key is in the palace."

"In this way we can spare your body-guard a weary watch," said Mohammed. "I will conduct them to their prison. It seems to me best that the prisoners be placed where all the world can see them; all the passers-by can here look upon these men and take warning how the tschorbadji punishes rebels and rebellions. I alone will keep watch over these prisoners, and explain to all who pass why they are here; they will then go down to Praousta, and announce that the block is prepared upon which the heads of these men will fall early on the morrow, unless the taxes are paid."

"Mohammed, you are terrible!" murmured Osman, as he gazed with amazement and anxiety into the eyes of his friend.

"You are right," whispered Cousrouf Pacha, aside; "this is a bold, brave youth, and something can be made of him. He is ambitious and daring. The time may come when he would be of use; I will try to win him over to my interests."

Mohammed heard nothing more; he had already gone to the court-yard and opened the door of the cage. He now ordered the soldiers to conduct the prisoners inside the enclosure.

Calmly and silently they entered. Not one word had been uttered by them since they left Praousta; with heads erect, and with proud bearing, they entered their prison.

"Force conquers even the philosopher. He who feels himself in the right is silent, and utters no complaint," so exclaimed the sheik in a loud voice, as he was thrust inside the enclosure by the soldiers. The ulemas bowed their heads and followed him. "Allah be praised, and may the prophet look down in mercy upon the most insignificant of his creatures!"

The door of their prison closed behind them; Mohammed took the key and concealed it about his person. "Now," said he, "pray and meditate upon your crimes and their punishment. I will myself make known to the men of Praousta that they may find you here, and all who wish can come to see you. It rests with you to tell the people that they must submit to the law, or else bring your heads to the block. Think well of this, and rest assured the tschorbadji will confirm what he has declared through me. To-morrow, at the hour of prayer, must the double tax be paid by the men of Praousta, or your heads shall be placed on the cliffs where everybody can see them, and your bodies thrown upon the rock Bucephalus, that the vultures and ravens may feed upon them."

CHAPTER II

MASA

The sea lay like a sleeping lion reposing after a conflict, and curled its waves dreamily upon the mountain-rock Bucephalus. The sun was burning hot, and no breath of air cooled the atmosphere, and not one cloud or shadow afforded protection from the glowing rays of the sun, which fell full upon the uncovered space within which the sheik and the ulemas had been confined since early in the morning. But they stood firm, and no complaint escaped their lips. With their heads turned to the east, they knelt and prayed, their whole bearing expressing dignity and high resolve.

At the command of Mohammed, one of the governor's collectors was sent to Praousta. He was instructed to place himself in front of the mosque, call the people together by the sound of the tomtom, and announce to them, in the name of the tschorbadji, that all who would see the victims of their rebellion should come up the mountain, but without arms, and only three at a time. They should be allowed to enter the court-yard of the palace, where they could see that the prisoners were still alive, and that their lives and liberty rested solely with the men of Praousta. In conformity with this proclamation, the men of the village came up to the palace in threes.

Above, upon the rock, knelt a young girl, closely veiled. The men of Praousta knew well that this was Masa, the sheik's daughter. They bowed low before her, and greeted her with the greeting of peace. She raised her trembling hands toward them, exclaiming: "Have pity on my unhappy father! Submit to the law! Yield to necessity! O save my father, and do not make me an orphan!"

The men of Praousta made no reply; they bowed their heads silently, and passed on, with clouded countenances, to the iron cage in which the governor's lion had once been confined, and where now stood the sheik and the ulemas, thus made wild beasts of; they, the best and wisest men of Praousta, the representatives of the people, made a public spectacle!

The sheik and the ulemas beckoned to each man who passed, and besought him to hold fast to his resolution not to pay the new tax. "If you yield now, and pay twofold, soon they will demand threefold; they wish to impoverish us and exact our heart's blood, but we will not submit, and we command you to stand firm!"

"But you, O fathers of our community, what will be your fate?"

"That Allah has determined," replied one of the ulemas. "Not a bird falls to the ground, not a worm is crushed, by the careless foot of man, without his knowledge. He who protects the spiders in the trees and in the corners of the rooms, the birds of the air, and the monsters of the deep, will also care for us. Allah be praised!"

"Allah be praised!" echoed the men, as they turned their steps toward Praousta.

The maiden still knelt upon the rocky stairway and raised her hands in wild entreaty to the passers-by. "Yield, yield, I implore you! Do not deliver over your wisest and best men to a bloody death!"

Mohammed stood in the hall, behind a pillar, listening earnestly to the words spoken by the prisoners to the men of the village. From time to time Osman joined him, and begged him not to act the part of guard over the prisoners, but to come into the saloon and rest upon the divan. "They can not escape; the railing is high, and the gate securely locked. Come, grant me the pleasure of your company, and let me seek to soften your heart, and incline you to mercy."

"Impossible," said Mohammed, sternly. "If we yield now, the tschorbadji's authority is forever lost."

"But," said the tschorbadji, who joined them at that moment, "what is to come of all this, if the prisoners do not submit?"

"Their heads shall fall upon the block to-morrow morning, at the hour of prayer," said Mohammed, in so firm and clear a voice that his words were heard by Cousrouf Pacha, who had just entered the hall.

"He is right, tschorbadji," said he, bowing his head with great dignity. "Yes, he is right! If the rabble are rebellious, let the heads of some of them fall! Order and law must reign! Many-headed is the hydra, and it is no great misfortune if a few of their brawling heads are hewn off!"

"Allah is great! His will be done," said the tschorbadji. "I do not wish the court-yard of my dwelling to be stained with blood. I do not wish to rule harshly and unmercifully in the evening of my life, after governing my people so many years by mild and gentle rule."

"There you are wrong," said Cousrouf Pacha; "mildness and gentleness do not become a ruler; only by severity and an unbending will can he exalt himself to power, and, even when he reaches the goal, he must trust to arms, if he is to maintain himself."

"And if with sword and dagger he reaches the throne," said Osman, looking gently and reproachfully at the proud pacha, "may he then hope to hear music and hymns of praise, or must he not then only expect to hear cries of anguish uttered by those over whose heads he strode to power? He could not then expect to see a fair and blooming land, but a land full of corpses and blood! No, no, Cousrouf Pacha! I desire not to reach that height. I will rather dwell in the valleys-in the shadow of the cliffs on the sea shore-and gather shells, and revel in the gladness and delight of a modest and quiet existence."

"And you, Mohammed," said the pacha, smiling scornfully, "what is your ambition? Will you gather shells upon the sea-shore with Osman, or will you climb the heights with me to a splendid goal?"

Mohammed turned his eyes entirely away from the pacha, nodded to his friend Osman, and said: "I will tread my own path alone. Where fate will lead me I know not. I seek no companionship, and will follow no man's lead. From time to time, I may turn aside from my path, and wander, with joy and gladness, with my only friend, on the sea- shore, and seek for shells, and revel in the delights of a modest and quiet life."

With a kindly glance, Osman extended his hand, as if in a grateful greeting.

The men of Praousta continued to pass before the iron cage, and the sheik still appealed to them to be firm, and not to sacrifice their rights.

Suddenly the sun disappeared, and night came down upon the earth. The prisoners said their evening prayers in a loud voice, and when, from the minarets of Praousta, the call of the muredin rang out on the air, the prisoners commenced singing, firmly and devoutly: "God is great! There is no God but our God, and Mohammed is his prophet! Come to prayer! Come to be healed! God is just! There is no God but our God!" And from the village of Praousta the solemn hymn was echoed back: "God is just! There is no God but our God!" Then all was silent, and the night, like a silver veil, wrapped the earth in its folds.

In the house of the tschorbadji all was still; it was the custom to retire early and to rise with the sun. God, in His goodness, created the night for repose. The moon is a sacred lantern, which God hangs over a sleeping world, and the stars are the eyes of the guardian angels watching over the helpless sleepers. Therefore, is it well to go to rest with the setting sun.

Profound silence reigned in Cavalla, in the palace of the governor, and in the village of Praousta the men were at the mosque, praying that Allah would vouchsafe them wisdom for the duties of the coming day. To the slender female kneeling in the mosque they whispered: "Soften your father's heart, maiden, and beseech him to allow us to obey this hard command."

Did she understand? Was there comfort or encouragement in these words? She bowed her head still lower, and sobbed beneath her veil; she knew too well her father's immovable will, and that he preferred death to submission.

The court-yard was quiet. The tachorbadji had offered to place two sentinels before the gate of the enclosure, but Mohammed declined the offer. "I alone must complete that which I alone began. I pledged you my honor, tschorbadji, that I would subdue this rebellion, and I alone will guard the prisoners. I will trust no man but myself. Who knows but that the men of Praousta may try to storm the enclosure? They are crafty and deceitful. I know them well, and will myself guard the prisoners."

"Allow, at least, some of the soldiers to relieve you during the night in this hard service."

"No service which honor and duty require is hard," said Mohammed, proudly. "Let the soldiers sleep, I will keep watch."

Osman gave him a long and searching look, as if he would read the purpose of his soul; and, strange to say, Mohammed turned his face aside to avoid his friend's keen eye. Was it only from a sense of honor and duty that Mohammed undertook the lonely watch? Or did he hope the clear moonlight would reveal some other beautiful picture than the golden plateau, and the great shadows thrown upon it by the palace? When night had fully settled down upon the earth, Mohammed crept forward in the shadow of the palace, to a large rock which stood at the entrance of the court-yard; there he concealed himself, and waited. What was he waiting for? From that point he could overlook the courtyard, and, by leaning forward, he could also see the stairway in the rock. Why did he turn his head in that direction so often? Why did he suddenly shrink back, and why did his heart tremble as he saw a white figure, illuminated by the moon, advancing? Mohammed cowered still lower behind the rock.

Probably she did not see him, and supposed the moon and the stars only had seen her glide softly through the gateway, and into the court-yard.

The veiled virgin now walks through the court-yard to the iron railing; kneels down upon the mosaic pavement, and, raising her hands, whispers softly:

"Father, my beloved father, do you hear your daughter's voice?" Mohammed bows his head, and listens in breathless suspense, his heart throbbing wildly.

"I hear you, my daughter," replied the sheik, in a quiet tone. "I expected you, for I know my Masa's heart well."

"Masa," murmured Mohammed; "what a beautiful, glorious name! It falls like music upon my ear, and makes my heart beat strangely. What does this mean? Allah, protect thy servant!"

Against his will, he still listens to this heavenly voice that now entreats her father to yield, to submit to the inevitable. But the sheik, as she continued her supplications, commanded silence, and forbade her to burden his heart with her tears.

"Life, my daughter, is but a short span; but eternity is long, and woe to those who have not done their duty during that short period! They will suffer for it throughout eternity, for Allah is strong in his wrath, and just in his punishment. I have sworn that I will watch over the welfare of my community while I live, and Sheik Alepp will keep his word to the end of his life."

"But, father, beloved father!" urged the maiden, "you have also sworn to be a parent and a guardian to me all the days of your life. Keep this oath, too; save your life, in order to save mine. Then you must know, my father, that Masa will not remain on the earth if you leave it. Your child has naught upon this earth but you; early was my mother taken, and it has become lonely in Sheik Alepp's harem. My father said: 'I will not take in a strange woman: no second wife shall ever fill the place in my heart that has been wholly consecrated to my dear Masa. My only child shall not have to suffer from the severity and caprice of a strange woman.' This was nobly said and nobly done, my father, to devote your entire life to your child, and to the duties of guardian of your people. But hear me, father: what is to become of your daughter when she is left alone upon the earth? Sorrow and want will be my portion, and I should wither away unseen, and be trodden under foot upon the wayside, without one sympathizing voice to bemoan my early death."

Mohammed still crouched within the shadow of the cliff, his eyes sparkling like the stars in heaven, but the maiden saw them not, nor could she know the exultation in his heart.

"You should not wither away unseen and unlamented upon the wayside. I would draw you to my bosom, and there you should bloom in fragrance, my heavenly blossom, and my whole life would lament over you if you should leave the earth."

In the silence of the night the youth still listened to the conversation between father and daughter—to the tender entreaties of the maiden, to the father's stern and earnest words; he heard also the whispering voices of the ulemas, who, awakened by the conversation, betook themselves to repeating prayers, in order that they might not hear what passed between father and daughter at this solemn moment.

Now Masa ceased speaking; a few stifled sobs, a few trembling words only, could be distinguished. But the sheik remained firm and unyielding.

"I cannot, Masa. Right gladly would I remain and live with you, and gladden my eyes with your lovely countenance, gladly would I still continue to hear the voice that call to me in the loved tones of my Aga, and is to my ear the sweetest music, but the claims of duty are paramount, and what duty commands man must perform. Allah so wills it. Allah be praised! The sheik cannot counsel his people to yield to force; he must wait patiently in the path of his duty. The result is in Allah's hand, and Allah is great and mighty. Allah il Allah!"

"Allah il Allah!" repeated the three ulemas.

Rising from his knees, the sheik now proceeded to give, with a loud voice, the second call, the ebed, for he saw that rosy streaks were beginning to shoot out over the horizon, and he knew that the sun would rise from out the sea in an hour; it was therefore time to pronounce the ebed.

"I praise the perfection of God who endures for ever and ever, the perfection of the living, the only and the highest God. The perfection of the God who, in his great kingdom, takes unto himself neither wife, nor an associate, nor one who resembles him, nor one who is disobedient, nor a substitute, nor an equal, nor a descendant—his perfection I praise; and praised be his name! He is a God who knew what was to be, before it became what it is, and what has been; and he is as he was in the beginning. His perfection I praise, and praised be his name; he is a God without equal. There is no one who is equal to the good God; there is no one who is equal to the great God; there is no God beside thee, O God, whom we must adore, praise, desire, and glorify! I praise the perfection of him who has made all creatures, who preserves and provides them with food, and has determined the end of the lives of his servants. O God, the good, the gracious, the great, forget not one of them."

The ulemas now arose, and with powerful voices began the following monotonous chant:

"I praise the perfection of Him who by his power and greatness causes pure water to flow from the solid rock; the perfection of Him who spoke to our master, Moses, on the mountain, whereupon the mountain crumbled to dust out of fear of God, whose name be praised as the one and the only one. There is no God but God, and he is a righteous judge. I praise the justice of the first, peace and comfort be with you; and you of the friendly countenance, O ambassador of God, peace be with you, and with your family and companions, O you prophet! God is great, and God favors, and preserves, and glorifies the great prophet Mohammed. And may God, whose name be blessed and praised, be pleased with you, O Mohammed, and with all those favored with the wine of God! Amen!"[Footnote: See the Koran.]

"Amen! Amen! Amen!" repeated the ulemas, and the maiden whispered it after them. And, within the shadow of the cliff, Mohammed Ali, who had reverently repeated the ebed in a low voice, murmured Amen.

"And now, my daughter," said the sheik, in a loud voice, "I command you to go down to Praousta, and to conceal yourself within the harem of my house, and there to await in patience and submission, as beseems a woman, the events of the morrow, the day of the Lord and of the judgment. Go, my child, and the blessing of Allah be with you!"

Mohammed looked forth from behind the cliff, and beheld the veiled figure bending down and grasping the old man's hand through the bars of the cage; he then heard the father's parting blessing, and his daughter's low sobs.

Now she arose, and, bathed in the full lustre of the moon, glided softly through the court-yard. She seemed to him like one of the welis, or spirits blessed of God, as she swept past the cliff behind which Mohammed stood, and passed with inaudible footsteps toward the rocky stairway.

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST DAY OF CREATION.

Noiselessly, her feet scarcely touching the ground, the veiled figure swept onward. The light of the moon enveloped her as with a silver veil, and the stars gazed at her wonderingly, as if to follow with their eyes the lovely being who walks on in solitude through the darkness of night.

She did not fear the solitude, for the welis guarded the innocent maiden, and kept from her the evil spirits and ghins.

The solitude had no terrors for her, but she shrank back with alarm when the moon suddenly cast a long shadow across her pathway.

The shadow of a man! She stood still for a moment in a listening attitude.

"Allah protect me!" she murmured, as she drew her veil more closely about her and walked on.

She had almost reached the stairway when the shadow came close to her side, and a hand was laid on her shoulder.

"Stay, Masa," whispered a voice.

She trembled and sought to walk on, but her feet seemed chained to the ground. She thought the ghins were detaining her, and she prayed to Allah from her inmost soul to release her from their dread enchantment.

"Fear me not, Masa," said a kindly voice; "listen to me. I am no enemy."

"I do not fear you," said she, in low, faint tones. "I fear neither man nor the evil ghins, for the welis guard me, and my mother's eyes watch over me. Allah, too, is always with me wherever I go, by night or day. Yet I know that you are my enemy, because you are my father's enemy."

"Oh, do not say this! Your words pierce my heart."

"But yet you are my enemy, for you are my father's enemy; I know you, I recognize the fierce youth who took my father prisoner at the mosque this morning. It was you! I know you well, and my heart is breaking. You are the author of my father's misery. You do evil, and evil thoughts fill your heart. Let me pass, do not detain me! Let me return to my father's house. Masa must obey her father and master. Remove your hand from my shoulder. It does not beseem a stranger to touch a chaste maiden with his impure hand. Let me pass."

"You say I am your enemy, your father's enemy. Believe me, Masa, I am not your enemy, not your father's enemy. An evil destiny has ordained that Mohammed Ali should be the instrument, the sword of justice, that he should grieve and wound her he would so gladly shield. The evil ghins have also ordained that I should carry out the law and assume a threatening attitude toward your father. I must submit to what Allah ordains, and proceed in the line of my duty. But, Masa, you shall know that I am neither yours nor your father's enemy. You must know that I would shed my heart's blood to make undone that which I have commenced. O Masa, had I sooner beheld these eyes, that now look upon me with the brilliancy of the stars in heaven, had I sooner beheld the countenance that now beams upon me with the brightness of the young day, never would my mother's son have assumed a threatening attitude toward your father, never would Mohammed have undertaken to enforce the law against him. True, the evil ghins have brought this about, but hearken to me, Masa, and consider well that your father's welfare is at stake."

"I will not hear you," said she, tremblingly.

" I swear, by the spirit of my mother, that I have nothing to conceal before Allah and the prophet. Do not wound me, Masa, with your alarm. You seemed to me this morning the loveliest of women; until then Sitta Khadra was her son's only love. You must know that when she had died, Mohammed Ali fled into solitude and intended to take his own life. But in the solitude, Allah said to him: 'The life I have given you, bear with manfully, and take upon yourself the sufferings I see fit to visit upon you.'

"I bowed submissively to his commands; I left my solitude and raised myself by my sorrow as by a pillar. But in you I seemed to see my mother's spirit; then pain vanished from my heart, and my mother seemed to be regarding me through your eyes. Therefore, Masa, have I followed you. I have come to say that which brings the blush to my inmost soul, that which the ear of no other human being shall ever hear. In the name of my mother, I beseech you, do not let it be here upon this open path where men may pass, and which the foot of man has desecrated. In the name of the mother you love so well as you this morning declared in the mosque, and in the name of my mother whom I have loved as few sons have loved their mothers, in the name of the moon, and in the name of the golden stars that glitter above us, I entreat you, mount with me to the summit of the rock. There will Mohammed speak words to you that his tongue has never uttered before. There he will advise you how to save your father, and help the men of Praousta."

She looked up to the crest of the rock, bathed in the soft moonlight.

"You would lead me up there?" murmured she.

"I will lead you safely, or follow you, as the slave follows his mistress. The way is steep, but your feet are active as those of the gazelle. I now remember having sometimes observed your white figure and your flying footstep. Lightly like the dove have I seen you flit from rock to rock, and I have followed you with reverence. Yes, I have long known you; I have often seen you, and I know that the white dove need only spread her wings to flutter up to the Ear of Bucephalus. O Masa, I entreat you, spread your wings and fly! There I will speak with you of your father and of the future, of yours and of mine. Will you grant my request?"

She did not reply, but only regarded him with an inquiring, doubtful look.

Was it a mere accident, or had he purposely placed himself so that the light of the now waning moon shone full in his face? Was it by chance that he was so placed that a shadow was thrown over the place where she stood, which enabled her to gaze at him from out the darkness with her large, luminous eyes?

"I entreat you, Masa, go not down to your father's house, but ascend with me to the Ear of Bucephalus. There, where none but Allah and Nature can hear my words, I will speak to you of your father, and of the men of the village."

She drew her veil more closely about her and bowed her head. "Lead the way, Mohammed Ali, and I will follow."

And he, overwhelmed with happiness, knelt down and tenderly kissed the little foot that peeped out from beneath her white garments. Then he arose, folded his arms upon his breast, and bowed his head in reverence before his queen.

"Your slave will lead the way," said he, softly; "be merciful, and follow him."

He then turned and began the ascent of the path that leads up to the crest of the rock. Masa followed, praying to herself that her mother's spirit might accompany and guard her from all danger.

Both were silent; Mohammed hastened on from rock to rock, higher and higher.

Mohammed was right. Masa fluttered lightly from cliff to cliff like a white dove.

At times he stood still and looked behind him.

It perhaps occurred to him that he was walking too rapidly, and should give her time to rest. Or he feared, perhaps, the heavenly form might suddenly vanish like the vision of a dream.

"See," said he, pointing to the moon now waxing pale in the heavens. "See, the night is drawing to a close, and day is about to break. I wish to see the sun rise with you, O Masa!"

"I, too, desire it," was whispered in her heart, but her lips did not utter the words. "Lead the way, I follow you."

The whispering of the lips was to him as the command of a sovereign; he quickly turned and continued the ascent.

They had now reached the crest. And there, high above all earthly care and sorrow, the two, the youth and maiden stood, alone upon the lofty plateau.

They stood upon the spot of which Mohammed had said that it was not yet desecrated by the foot of man. Here it was lonely and solemn; here Allah and holy Nature could alone hear his words. And now, overcome by the wondrous picture that lay spread out before them, and perhaps unconsciously, Mohammed took the girl's hand; and, without being conscious of it, she allowed him to take it in his own and pass it to his lips.

The moon had vanished beneath the horizon, and there, where heaven and earth seemed united in sweet harmony, a purple hue, like a messenger from God, gradually overspread the sky. Who could tell where the earth ended and the heavens began; where the waves ceased to murmur and were commingled with the skies in Godlike majesty and love? Little purple clouds chased each other across the heavens like flying cupids, and here and there a star still faintly sparkling as if to tell of the Divine mysteries of creation.

And now the waters of the sea suddenly begin to swell, and the waves roll higher; they rear their white crests aloft, and a whispering pervades the air, as though the spirits of heaven and earth were pronouncing the morning prayer of the new day.

Upon the crest of the rock stand these two human beings, regarding the fading stars and the rising sun, hand-in-hand—they, too, a part of the holy universe created by Allah in the fulness of his grace. And their souls and hearts are as innocent as were those of the first human pair in paradise, before the alluring voice of the serpent had yet been heard. The light of day still shines, as through a veil, but a rosy hue gradually overspreads the heavens, and, at last, the sun rises, in all its splendor from out the sea, as on the first morning of creation, and on each succeeding morning since, comes this holy, ever-renewed mystery of the sunrise, that tells of the surpassing glory of God. A wondrous murmuring rises up from the sea, and the birds are all awake, exulting in the brightness of the morning. The palm, the olive, and the myrtle groves, rustle in the breeze. The lark soars heavenward, singing its morning greeting. Even the eagle has spread his pinions, and is mounting aloft from his nest in the neighboring rocks, to do homage to the sun. It is as though all Nature were crying, exultingly, "The new day has awakened!"

"The sun has risen, Masa," cried Mohammed—"the night is past. As often as I have wandered among these rocks, never before has morning seemed so fair—never before have the sun's rays so filled my heart with warmth. Heretofore, the sunrise was but the signal for me to go in pursuit of game, or to prepare to cross over to Imbro, to look after the fishermen's nets, set out the day before. But to-day Allah proclaims to me why it is that the sunlight is so glorious, that the eagle soars so proudly aloft, that the waves surge so grandly. O Masa, I will tell you why it is thus: it is because they are all imbued with the spirit of creation, and this spirit is love— eternal, illimitable love."

"Speak not thus," said the maiden, tremblingly. "Speak not thus to me. It does not beseem a maiden to listen to a man's words of love without the approval of her father."

"But will you not accord me this privilege, Masa?" asked he, gently. "May I not go to your father and entreat him to give me the pure maiden, that she may accompany me through day and night?"

"No, do not speak thus," she repeated, tremblingly. "You told me you would speak of my father—speak of him, Mohammed Ali."

"Yes; of your father," murmured he. "I had so much, so very much to say to you, and now it seems to me that all is already said. What remains is as nothing, and is forgotten."

"You are mocking me," said she, gently. "You only wished to see if my father's daughter would be foolish enough to follow you where she should never go except at her father's side, or accompanied by women. You have punished me, Mohammed, for my folly and boldness in following you and confiding in you. If you have nothing to say to me, then let me quickly go and return to my father's house."

"No, Masa, do not go. I did not intend to mock you; I really had so much to say to you! Yet I know not how it is with me; it seems to me that if I have been transformed, created anew; that yesterday and its events are forgotten. I am as a new, a different being."

He could not hear the voice that whispered in her heart also, that the dawn of a new day had cast its spell over them both.

"Oh, speak to me of my father," she cried, in anxious tones.

"Yes, I will; I will call reason to my aid. Your father is my prisoner, and I have sworn that I would bring the rebels back to submission, and honor requires that I should finish what I have undertaken. I now deplore it in my inmost soul, now that the magic of your eyes has transformed me, and made of the fierce combatant a man who longs to fall at your feet, and pour out his heart's agony and bliss. And yet I cannot undo what I have begun. I registered an oath in the presence of the men of Praousta, and told them: —If you do not on the morrow comply with what I have commanded, in the name of the tschorbadji, I shall behead the prisoners that Allah has delivered into my hands!'"

"O my father!" cried Masa, loudly, in tones of anguish.

"I cannot do otherwise," said Mohammed, heaving a deep sigh. "I have pledged my honor that it should be so. I cannot recall my oath. But I can die, and die I will; no other resource is left me. I must choose between your father's death and mine. I cannot live dishonored and perjured. The tschorbadji can then release the prisoners; and he will do so, for he is kindly disposed, and it was I alone who wished to proceed with severity. And Osman will join you in your entreaties to his father. Now all is clear; now I know what it was I wished to say to you here on Bucephalus. Ah, still so much, and there is but an hour left me! How often have I gazed, from this place, at the heavens above, and the sea beneath; how often seen the sun rise in its splendor! But now that I have gazed in your eyes, Masa, all else is forgotten and extinguished, and for me there exists only the present; no longer a past. Yet I wished to see you once more before my death, and, I entreat you, grant me one request. My mother, Sitta Khadra, once told me that when a man was about to die, Allah's holy spirit is shed upon him, and the best and purest of all the welis is sent down to the dying, that a heavenly atmosphere may surround him even here on earth. It seems to me that you are the weli sent by Allah to him who is about to die. Therefore, remove your veil, that I may behold the brightness of your eyes and the crimson of your lips, and refresh my soul in the light of your countenance. Yes, die I must, and die I will, when I shall have seen the brightness of your eyes!"

"Look at me," said she, softly, "and hear what I have to say; I will not have you die! There must be some other means of saving my father. But you shall not die, for you—"

She spoke no further, but gazed dreamily upward at the heavens.

The sun had risen higher, and now gilded with its rays the crest of the rock. Its golden light illumined the maiden's unveiled countenance, and Mohammed regarded her in ecstasy. Beautiful was she, and faultless; the eternal morning of youth shone in the features that were still more gloriously illumined by the lustre of first love. She seemed to Mohammed the very embodiment of loveliness, chastity, and innocence. In his ecstasy he could find no utterance for that which filled his heart. His whole being, his whole soul, was reflected in his eyes. He lost all control over himself in the presence of this maiden this heavenly image.

"Love is my prayer, and prayer is my love. Look at me ye starlike eyes, and read in my soul what is written there in characters of living flame. 'I love you. I love you!' It is thus my heart speaks to you, and thus will it speak with my last breath. What I now feel is love and death combined heavenly bliss commingling with boundless suffering; I would weep, and yet shout for joy."

Suddenly, Mohammed bounded to his feet, clasped the maiden in his arms, and imprinted a kiss on her lips, a kiss that made her tremble in her inmost being. For a moment, she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder; she then gently released herself from his embrace, drew her veil down over her face, and turned to go.

"Oh, hear me, Masa, and do not be angry!" he cried, entreatingly. "Allah has seen us, and now hears my vow of fidelity. You say I shall live. Then say, too, that I may live for you! I swear to you that I have loved no woman but you, that no other woman shall ever dwell in my harem. Oh, speak, will you be mine, will you love me, and be true to me?"

He paused, and awaited an answer, he waited long, but no answer came. It seemed to him that, with him, all Nature was awaiting an answer. The foliage of the trees ceased rustling, the songs of the birds were hushed, the eagle folded his pinions in the nest to which he had just returned, and gazed fixedly at the sun. The waves subdued their murmurings, and even the wind held its breath; all Nature was mute, and yet no answer came from the maiden's pure lips.

"O Masa, will you be true to me, will you love me, will you one day come with me to my home?" urged the youth in tones of passionate entreaty.

Her lips parted, and, in low, soft tones, like spirit-whisperings, she murmured, "Yes, I love you, and will be true to you."

He hears her, and bows down, and kisses the hem of her veil.

Sacred is the woman of a man's first love; sacred is the moment when he avows to her his love; sacred is the moment when he dares, for the first time, to approach and touch her.

But suddenly an emotion of horror thrills his whole being.

"O Masa, in my ecstasy, I forgot that I have come here to die, because I cannot live unless my honor is vindicated."

"To die?" said the maiden, with a gentle smile. "Why die now, when we have only just begun to live?"

"I must die that your father may live. I have already told you, Masa, that I have sworn by my honor, that the men of Praousta shall pay the double tax, as they are in duty bound to do. I have pledged my honor, that is, my life. Your father will not pay, and I have sworn by Allah and the prophets that the heads of the four prisoners shall fall if the double tax is not paid. You see now that I must die, that my honor may not suffer. When I am dead you can all settle the matter as you think best; the governor may then show mercy, and relieve them of the tax. But I cannot. And yet I cannot allow Masa's father to die, for Masa would weep for him, and her every tear would accuse me."

"You shall not die, Mohammed," murmured the maiden. "No, you shall not die. O Mohammed, listen to my words. I conjure you, do not be cruel. You say I should weep if you killed my father; but do you not suppose that Masa's eyes would also shed tears if her father should rob her of your life?"

"O Masa!" exclaimed Mohammed, in tones of ecstasy, as he extended his arms toward her.

She stepped back, and gently motioned to him not to touch her.