The legend tells us that St. Cecilia, who was led away to the rack from

her marriage feast, even in the midst of the torments of martyrdom,

listened in ecstasy to heavenly music and sweet echoes of the organ; and

how many have had the same experience! In the extremity of anguish and

danger they find greater joys than in the midst of splendor, ease and

the intoxicating pleasures of life; for what we call happiness is the

constant guest of those who have within reach that for which their souls

most ardently long, irrespective of place and outward circumstances.

So these two in their prison were what they had not been for a long

time: full of heartfelt bliss; Paula with his letter, which he had begun

at the Kadi’s house, and in which he poured out his whole soul to her;

Orion in the possession of her roses, on which he feasted his eyes and

heart, and which lay before him while he wrote the following lines,

which the kindhearted warder willingly transmitted to her:

Lo! As night in its gloom and horror fell on my prison,

Methought the sun sank black, dark forever in death.

I drew thy roses up, and behold! from their crimson petals

Beamed a glory of light, a glow as of sunshine and day!

Love! Love is the star that rose with those fragrant flowers;

Rose, as Phoebus’ car comes up from the tossing waves.

Is not the ardent flame of a heart that burns with passion

Like the sparkling glow-worm hid in the heart of the rose?

While it yet was day, and we breathed in freedom and gladness,

While the sun still shone, that light seemed small and dim;

But now, when night has fallen, sinister, dark, portentous,

Its kindly ray beams forth to raise our drooping souls.

As seeds in the womb of earth break from the brooding darkness,

Or as the soul soars free, heaven-seeking from the grave,

So the hopeless soil of a dungeon blossoms to rapture,

Blooms with roses of Love, more sweet than the wildling rose!

And when had Paula ever felt happier than at the moment when this

offering from her lover, this humble prison-flower, first reached her.

Old Betta could not hear the verses too often, and cried with joy, not

at the poem, but at the wonderful change it had produced in her darling.

Paula was now the radiant being that she had been at home on the

Lebanon; and when she appeared before the assembled judges in the hall

of justice they gazed at her in amazement, for never had a woman on her

trial for life or death stood in their presence with eyes so full of

happiness. And yet she was in evil straits. The just and clement Kadi,

himself the loving father of daughters, felt a pang at his heart as he

noted the delusive confidence which so evidently filled the soul of this

noble maiden.

Yes, she was in evil straits: a crushing piece of evidence was in their

hands, and the constitution of the court--which was in strict conformity

with the law must in itself be unfavorable to her. Her case was to be

tried by an equal number of Egyptians and of Arabs. The Moslems were

included because by her co-operation, Arabs had been slain; while Paula,

as a Christian and a resident in Memphis, came under the jurisdiction of

the Egyptians.

The Kadi presided, and experience had taught him that the Jacobite

members of the bench of judges kept the sentence of death in their

sleeves when the accused was of the Melchite confession. What had

especially prejudiced them against this beautiful creature he knew not;

but he easily discovered that they were hostile to the accused, and if

they should utter the verdict “guilty”, and only two Arabs should echo

it, the girl’s fate was sealed.

And what was the declaration which that whiterobed old man among the

witnesses desired to make--the venerable and learned Horapollo? The

glances he cast at Paula augured her no good.

It was so oppressively, so insufferably hot in the hall! Each one felt

the crushing influence, and in spite of the importance of the occasion,

the proceedings every now and then came to a stand-still and then were

hurried on again with unseemly haste.

The prisoner herself seemed happily to be quite fresh and not affected

by the sultriness of the day. It had cost her small effort to adhere to

her statement that she had had no share in the escape of the sisters,

when catechised by the ruffianly negro; but she found it hard to defy

Othman’s benevolent questioning. However, there was no choice, and she

succeeded in proving that she had never quitted Memphis nor the house

of Rufinus at the time when the Arab warriors met their death between

Athribis and Doomiat. The Kadi endeavored to turn this to account for

her advantage and Obada, who had found much to whisper over with his

grey-headed neighbor on the bench reserved for witnesses, let him talk;

but no sooner had he ended than the Vekeel rose and laid before the

judges the note he had found in Orion’s room.

It was undoubtedly in the young man’s handwriting and addressed to

Paula, and the final words: “But do not misunderstand me. Your noble,

and only too well-founded desire to lend succor to your fellow-believers

would have sufficed....” could not fail to make a deep impression. When

the Kadi questioned Paula, however, she replied with perfect truth that

this document was absolutely unknown to her; at the same time she

did not deny that the sisters of St. Cecilia, who were of her own

confession, had always had her warmest wishes, and that she had hoped

they might succeed in asserting their rights in opposition to the

patriarch.

The deceased Mukaukas, and the Jacobite members of the town-council

even, had shared these feelings and the Arabs had never interfered with

the pious sicknurses.

The calm conciseness with which she made these statements had a

favorable effect, on her Moslem judges especially, and the Kadi began to

have some hopes for her; he desired that Orion should be called as being

best able to account for the meaning of the letter he had written but

never sent.

On this the young man appeared, and though he and Paula did their

utmost to preserve a suitable demeanor, every one could see the violent

agitation they felt at meeting each other in such a situation. Horapollo

never took his eyes off Orion, whom he now saw for the first time, and

his features put on a darkening and menacing expression.

The young man acknowledged that he had written the letter in question,

but he and Paula alike referred it to the danger with which the

sisterhood had long been threatened from the patriarch’s hostility.

The assistance which, in that document, he had refused he would have

afforded readily and zealously at a later and fit season, and he could

have counted on the aid of the Arab governor Amru, who, as he would

himself confirm, shared the views of the Mukaukas George as to the nuns’

rights.

At this the old sage murmured loud enough to be heard: “Clever, very

clever!” and the Vekeel laughed aloud, exclaiming:

“I call that a cunning way of lengthening your days! Be on your guard,

my lords. These two are partners in the game and are intimately allied.

I have proof of that in my own hands. That youngster takes as good care

of the damsel’s fortune as though it were his own already, and what is

more....”

Here Paula broke in. She did not know what the malicious man was going

to say, but it was something insulting beyond a doubt. And there stood

Orion, just as she had pictured him in moments of tender remembrance;

she felt his eye resting on her in ecstasy. To go up to him, to tell him

all she was feeling in this critical struggle for life or death, seemed

impossible; but as the Vekeel began to disclose to their judges matters

which concerned only herself and her lover, every impulse prompted her

to interpose and, in this fateful hour, to do her friend such service

as she once, like a coward, had shrank from. So with eager emotion, her

eyes flashing, she interrupted the negro “Stop!” she cried, “you are

wasting words and trouble. What you are trying to prove by subtlety I am

proud and glad to declare. Hear it, all of you. The son of the Mukaukas

is my betrothed!”

At the same time her eye sought to meet Orion’s. And thus, in the very

extremity of danger, they enjoyed a solemn moment of the purest, deepest

happiness. Paula’s eyes were moist with grateful tenderness, when Orion

exclaimed:

“You have heard from her own lips what makes the greatest bliss of my

life. The noble daughter of Thomas is my promised bride!”

There was a murmur among the Jacobite judges. ‘Till this moment several

of them, oppressed by the heat, had sat dreaming with their heads sunk

on their breasts, but now they were suddenly as wide-awake and alert

as though a jet of cold water had been turned on to them, and one cried

out: “And your father, young man? You have forgotten him in a hurry!

What would he have said to such a disgrace to his blood as your marriage

to a Melchite, the daughter of those who caused your two brothers to be

murdered? Oh! if the dead could....”

“He blessed our union on his death-bed,” Orion put in.

“Did he, indeed?” asked another Jacobite with sarcastic scorn. “Then the

patriarch was in the right when he refused to let the priests follow his

corpse. That I should live to be witness to such crimes!”

But such words fell on the ears of the enraptured pair like the chirping

of crickets. They felt, they cared for nothing but what this blissful

moment had brought them, and never suspected that Paula’s glad avowal

had sealed her death-warrant.

The wrath of the Jacobite faction now hastened the end. The prosecutor,

an Arab, now represented how many Moslems had lost their lives in the

affair of the nuns, and once more read Orion’s letter. His Christian

colleagues tried to prove that this document could only refer to the

flight, so ingeniously plotted, of the sisters; and now something

quite new and unlooked-for occurred, which gave a fresh turn to the

proceedings: the old man interrupted the Kadi to make a statement. At

this Paula’s confidence rose again for the last speaker had somewhat

shaken it. She felt sure that the tried friend and adoptive father of

her faithful Philippus would take her part.

But what was this?

The old man seemed to measure her height in a glance which struck to her

heart with its fierce enmity, and then he said deliberately:

“On the morning of the nuns’ flight the accused, Paula, went to the

convent and there tolled the bell. Contradict me if you can, proud

prefect’s daughter; but I warn you beforehand, that in that case, I

shall be compelled to bring forward fresh charges.”

At this the horror-stricken girl pictured to herself the widow and

daughter of Rufinus at her side on the condemned bench before the

judges, and felt that denial would drag her friends to destruction with

her; with quivering lips she confirmed the old man’s statement.

“And why did you toll the bell?” asked the Kadi.

“To help them,” replied Paula. “They are my fellow-believers, and I love

them.”

“She was the originator of the treasonable and bloody scheme,” cried the

Vekeel, “and did it for no other purpose than to cheat us, the rulers of

this country.”

The Kadi however signed to him to be silent and bid the Jacobite counsel

for the accused speak next. He had seen her early in the day, and came

forward in the Egyptian manner with a written defence in his hand; but

it was a dull formal performance and produced no effect; though the

Kadi did his utmost to give prominence to every point that might help to

justify her, she was pronounced guilty.

Still, could her crime be held worthy of death? It was amply proved that

she had had a hand in the rescue of the nuns; but it was no less clear

that she had been far enough away from the sisters and their defenders

when the struggle with the Arabs took place. And she was a woman, and

how pardonable it seemed in a pious maiden that she should help the

fellow-believers whom she loved to evade persecution.

All this Othman pointed out in eloquent words, repeatedly and sternly

silencing the Vekeel when he sought to argue in favor of the sentence of

death; and the humane persuasiveness of the lenient judge won the hearts

of most of the Moslems.

Paula’s appearance had a powerful effect, too, and not less the

circumstance that their noblest and bravest foe had been the father of

the accused.

When at length it was put to the vote the extraordinary result was that

all her fellow Christians--the Jacobites--without exception demanded

her death, while of the infidels on the judges’ bench only one supported

this severe meed of punishment.

Sentence was pronounced, and as the Vekeel Obada passed close

to Orion--who was led back to his cell pale and hardly master of

himself--he said, mocking him in broken Greek: “It will be your turn

to-morrow, Son of the Mukaukas!”

Orion’s lips framed the retort: “And yours, too, some day, Son of a

Slave!”--but Paula was standing opposite, and to avoid infuriating her

foe he was able to do what he never could have done else: to let the

Vekeel and Horapollo pass on without a word in reply.

As soon as the door was closed on this couple, Othman nodded approvingly

at Orion and said:

“Rightly and wisely done, my friend! The eagle should never forget that

he must not use his pinions in a cage as he does between the desert and

the sky.”

He signed to the guards to lead him away, and stood apart while the

young man looked and waived an adieu to his betrothed.

Finally the Kadi went up to Paula, whose heroic composure as she heard

the sentence of death had filled him with admiration.

“The court has decided against you, noble maiden,” he said. “But its

verdict can he overruled by the clemency of our Sovereign Lord the

Khaliff and the mercy of God the compassionate. Do you pray to Him--I

and a few friends will appeal to the Khaliff.”

He disclaimed her gratitude, and when she, too, had been led away he

added, in the figurative language of his nation, to the friends who were

waiting for him:

“My heart aches! To have to pronounce such a verdict oppressed me like

a load; but to have an Obada for a fellow Moslem and be bound to obey

him--there is no heavier lot on earth!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

The mysterious old sage had no sooner left the judgment-hall with the

Vekeel than he begged for a private interview. Obada did not hesitate

to turn the keeper of the prison, with his wife and infant, out of his

room, and there he listened while Horapollo informed him of the fate

to which he destined the condemned girl. The old man’s scheme certainly

found favor with the Negro; still, it seemed to him in many respects

so daring that, but for an equivalent service which Horapollo was in a

position to offer Obada, he would scarcely have succeeded in obtaining

his consent.

All the Vekeel aimed at was to make it very certain that Orion had had a

hand in the flight of the nuns, and chance had placed a document in the

old man’s hands which seemed to set this beyond a doubt.

He had effected his removal to the widow’s dwelling in the cool hours

of early morning. He had taken with him, in the first instance, only the

most valuable and important of his manuscripts, and as he was placing

these in a small desk--the very same which Rufinus had left for Paula’s

use--Horapollo found in it the note which the youth had hastily written

when, after waiting in vain for Paula as she sat with little Mary,

he had at last been obliged to depart and take leave of Amru. This

wax-tablet, on which the writing was much defaced and partly illegible,

could not fail to convince the judges of Orion’s guilt, and the

production of this piece of evidence enabled the old man to extort

Obada’s consent to his proposal as to the mode of Paula’s death. When

they finally left the warder’s room, the Negro once more turned to the

keeper of the prison and told him with a snort, as he pointed to his

pretty wife and the child at her breast, that they should all three die

if he allowed Orion to quit his cell for so much as an instant.

He then swung himself on to his horse, while Horapollo rode off to the

Curia to desire the president of the council to call a meeting for that

evening; then he betook himself to his new quarters.

There he found his room carefully shaded, and as cool as was possible

in such heat. The floor had been sprinkled with water, flowers stood

wherever there was room for them, and all his properties in scrolls and

other matters had found places in chests or on shelves. There was not

a speck of dust to be seen, and a sweet pervading perfume greeted his

sensitive nostrils.

What a good exchange he had made! He rubbed his withered hands with

satisfaction as he seated himself in his accustomed chair, and when Mary

came to call him to dinner, it was a pleasure to him to jest with her.

Pulcheria must lead him through the viridarium into the dining-room; he

enjoyed his meal, and his cross, wrinkled old face lighted up amazingly

as he glanced round at his feminine associates; only Eudoxia was absent,

confined to her room by some slight ailment. He had something pleasant

to say to each; he frankly compared his former circumstances with his

present position, without disguising his heartfelt thankfulness; then,

with a merry glance at Pulcheria, he described how delightful it would

be when Philippus should come home to make the party complete--a true

and perfect star: for every Egyptian star must have five rays. The

ancients had never painted one otherwise nor graven it in stone; nay,

they had used it as the symbol for the number five.

At this Mary exclaimed: “But then I hope--I hope we shall make a

six-rayed star; for by that time poor Paula may be with us again!”

“God grant it!” sighed Dame Joanna. Pulcheria, however, asked the old

man what was wrong with him, for his face had suddenly clouded. His

cheerfulness had vanished, his tufted eyebrows were raised, and his

pinched lips seemed unwilling to part, when at length he reluctantly

said:

“Nothing--nothing is wrong.... At the same time; once for all--I loathe

that name.”

“Paula?” cried the child in astonishment. “Oh! but if you knew...”

“I know more than enough,” interrupted the old man. “I love you

all--all; my old heart expands as I sit in your midst; I am comfortable

here, I feel kindly towards you, I am grateful to you; every little

attention you show me does me good; for it comes from your hearts: if I

could repay you soon and abundantly--I should grow young again with joy.

You may believe me, as I can see indeed that you do. And yet,” and again

his brows went up, “and yet, when I hear that name, and when you try to

win me over to that woman, or if you should even go so far as to assail

my ears with her praises--then, much as it would grieve me, I would go

back again to the place where I came from.”

“Why, Horapollo, what are you saying?” cried Joanna, much distressed.

“I say,” the old man went on, “I say that in her everything is

concentrated which I most hate and contemn in her class. I say that she

bears in her bosom a cold and treacherous heart; that she blights my

days and my nights; in short, that I would rather be condemned to

live under the same roof with clammy reptiles and cold-blooded snakes

than...”

“Than with her, with Paula?” Mary broke in. The eager little thing

sprang to her feet, her eyes flashed lightnings and her voice quivered

with rage, as she exclaimed: “And you not only say it but mean it? Is it

possible?”

“Not only possible, but positive, sweetheart,” replied the old man,

putting out his hand to take hers, but she shrank back, exclaiming

vehemently:

“I will not be your sweetheart, if you speak so of her! A man as old as

you are ought to be just. You do not know her at all, and what you say

about her heart...”

“Gently, gently, child,” the widow put in; and Horapollo answered with

peculiar emphasis.

“That heart, my little whirlwind!--it would be well for us all if we

could forget it, forget it for good or for evil. She has been tried

to-day, and that heart is sentenced to cease beating.”

“Sentenced! Merciful Heaven!” shrieked Pulcheria, and as she started up

her mother cried out:

“For God’s sake do not jest about such things, it is a sin.--Is it

true?--Is it possible? Those wretches, those... I see in your face it is

true; they have condemned Paula.”

“As you say,” replied Horapollo calmly. “The girl is to be executed.”

“And you only tell us now?” wept Pulcheria, while Mary broke out:

“And yet you have been able to jest and laugh, and you--I hate you! And

if you were not such a helpless, old, old man...” But here Joanna again

silenced the child, and she asked between her sobs:

“Executed?--Will they cut off her head? And is there no mercy for her

who was as far away from that luckless fight as we were--for her, a

girl, and the daughter of Thomas?”

To which the old man replied:

“Wait a while, only wait! Heaven has perhaps chosen her for great ends.

She may be destined to save a whole country and nation from destruction

by her death. It is even possible...”

“Speak out plainly; you make me shudder with your oracular hints,” cried

the widow; but he only shrugged his shoulders and said coolly:

“What we foresee is not yet known. Heaven alone can decide in such a

case. It will be well for us all--for me, for her, for Pulcheria, and

even our absent Philip, if the divinity selects her as its instrument.

But who can see into darkness? If it is any comfort to you, Joanna, I

can inform you that the soft-hearted Kadi and his Arab colleagues, out

of sheer hatred of the Vekeel, who is immeasurably their superior in

talent and strength of will, will do everything in their power....” “To

save her?” exclaimed the widow.

“To-morrow they will hold council and decide whether to send a messenger

to Medina to implore pardon for her,” Horapollo went on with a horrible

smile. “The day after they will discuss who the messenger is to be, and

before he can reach Arabia fate will have overtaken the prisoner. The

Vekeel Obada moves faster than they do, and the power lies in his hands

so long as Amru is absent from Egypt. He, they say, perfectly dotes on

the Mukaukas’ son, and for his sake--who knows? Paula as his betrothed.”

“His betrothed?”

“He called her by that name before the judges, and congratulated himself

on his promised bride.”

“Paula and Orion!” cried Pulcheria, jubilant in the midst of her tears,

and clapping her hands for joy.

“A pair indeed!” said the old man. “You may well rejoice, my girl!

Feeble hearts as you all are, respect the experience of the aged,

and bless Fate if it should lame the horse of the Kadi’s

messenger!--However, you will not listen to anything oracular, so it

will be better to talk of something else.”

“No, no,” cried Joanna. “What can we think of but her and her fate? Oh,

Horapollo, I do not know you in this mood. What has that poor soul done

to you, persecuted as she is by the hardest fate--that noble creature

who is so dear to us all? And do you forget that the judges who have

sentenced her will now proceed to enquire what Rufinus, and we all of

us...”

“What you had to do with that mad scheme of rescue?” interrupted

Horapollo. “I will make it my business to prevent that. So long as this

old brain is able to think, and this mouth to speak, not a hair of your

heads shall be hurt.”

“We are grateful to you,” said Joanna. “But, if you have such power, set

to work--you know how dear Paula is to us all, how highly your friend

Philip esteems her--use your power to save her.”

“I have no power, and refuse to have any,” retorted the old man harshly.

“But Horapollo, Horapollo!--Come here, children!--We were to find in you

a second father--so you promised. Then prove that those were no empty

words, and be entreated by us.”

The old man drew a deep breath; he rose to his feet with such vigor as

he could command, a bright, sharply-defined patch of color tinged each

pale cheek, and he exclaimed in husky tones:

“Not another word! No attempt to move me, not a cry of lamentation!

Enough, and a thousand times too much, of that already. You have heard

me, and I now say again--me or Paula, Paula or me. Come what may in the

future, if you cannot so far control yourselves as never to mention her

in my presence, I--no, I do not swear, but when I have said a thing I

keep to it--I will go back to my old den and drag out life the richer by

a disappointment--or die, as my ruling goddess shall please.”

With this he left the room, and little Mary raised her clenched right

fist and shook it after him, exclaiming: “Then let him go, hard-hearted,

unjust, old scarecrow! Oh, if only I were a man!” And she burst out

crying aloud. Heedless of the widow’s reproof, she went on quite beside

herself: “Oh, there is no one more wicked than he is, Dame Joanna!

He wants to see her die, he wishes her to be dead; I know it, he even

wishes it! Did you hear him, Pul, he would be glad if the messenger’s

horse went lame before he could save her? And now she is my Orion’s

betrothed--I always meant them for each other--and they want to kill

him, too, but they shall not, if there is still a God of justice in

heaven! Oh if I--if I...” Her voice failed her, choked with sobs. When

she had somewhat recovered she implored Pulcheria and her mother to take

her to see Paula, and as they shared her wish they prepared to start for

the prison before it should grow dark.

The nearer they went to the market-place, which they must cross, the

more crowded were the streets. Every one was going the same way; the

throng almost carried the women with it; yet, from the market came, as

it were, a contrary torrent of shouts and shrieks from a myriad of human

throats. Dame Joanna was terrified in the press by the uproarious doings

in the market, and she would gladly have turned back with the girls, or

have made her way through by-streets, but the tide bore her on, and it

would have been easier to swim against a swollen mountain stream than

to return home. Thus they soon reached the square, but there they were

brought to a standstill in the crush.

The widow’s terrors now increased. It was dreadful to be kept fast with

the young people in such a mob. Pulcheria clung closely to her, and

when she bid Mary take her hand the child, who thoroughly enjoyed the

adventure, exclaimed: “Only look, Mother Joanna, there is our Rustem. He

is taller than any one.”

“If only he were by our side!” sighed the widow. At this the little girl

snatched away her hand, made her way with the nimbleness of a squirrel

through the mass of men, and soon had reached the Masdakite. Rustem had

not yet quitted Memphis, for the first caravan, which he and his little

wife were to join, was not to start for a few days. The worthy

Persian and Mary were very good friends; as soon as he heard that his

benefactress was alarmed he pushed his way to her, with the child, and

the widow breathed more freely when he offered to remain near her and

protect her.

Meanwhile the yelling and shouting were louder than ever. Every face,

every eye was turned to the Curia, in the evident expectation of

something great and strange taking place there.

“What is it?” asked Mary, pulling at Rustem’s coat. The giant said

nothing, but he stooped, and to her delight, a moment later she had her

feet on his arms, which he folded across his chest, and was settling

herself on his broad shoulder whence she could survey men and things as

from a tower. Joanna laid her hand in some tremor on the child’s little

feet, but Mary called down to her: “Mother--Pulcheria--I am quite sure

our old Horapollo’s white ass is standing in front of the Curia, and

they are putting a garland round the beast’s neck--a garland of olive.”

At this moment the blare of a tuba rang out from the Senate-house across

the square, through the suffocatingly hot, quivering air; a sudden

silence fell and spread till, when a man opened his mouth to shout or to

speak, a neighbor gave him a shove and bid him hold his tongue. At this

the widow held Mary’s ankles more tightly, asking, while she wiped the

drops from her brow:

“What is going on?” and the child answered quickly, never taking her

eyes off the scene:

“Look, look up at the balcony of the Curia; there stands the chief of

the Senate--Alexander the dyer of purple--he often used to come to see

my grandfather, and grandmother could not bear his wife. And by his

side--do you not see who the man is close by him?

“It is old Horapollo. He is taking the laurel-crown off his

wig!--Alexander is going to speak.”

She was interrupted by another trumpet call, and immediately after a

loud, manly voice was heard from the Curia, while the silence was so

profound that even the widow and her daughter lost very little of the

speech which followed:

“Fellow-citizens, Memphites, and comrades in misfortune,” the president

began in slow, ringing tones, “you know what the sufferings are which we

all share. There is not a woe that has not befallen us, and even worse

loom before us.”

The crowd expressed their agreement by a fearful outcry, but they were

reduced to silence by the sound of the tuba, and the speaker went on:

“We, the Senate, the fathers of the city, whom you have entrusted with

the care of your persons and your welfare...”

At this point he was interrupted by wild yells, and cries could be

distinguished of: “Then take care of us--do your duty!”

“Money bags!”

“Keep your pledge!”

“Save us from destruction!”

The trumpet call, however, again silenced them, and the speaker went on,

almost beside himself with vehement excitement.

“Hearken! Do not interrupt me! The dearth and misery fall on our heads

as much as on yours. My own wife and son died of the plague last night!”

At this only a low murmur ran through the crowd, and it died away of its

own accord as the dignified old man on the balcony wiped his eyes and

went on:

“If there is a single man among you who can prove us guilty of

neglect--a man, woman, or child--let him accuse us before God, before

our new ruler the Khaliff, and yourselves, the citizens of Memphis; but

not now, my fellow-sufferers, not now! At this time cease your cries and

lamentations; now when rescue is in sight. Listen to me, and let us know

what you feel with regard to the last and uttermost means of deliverance

which I now come to propose to you.”

“Silence! Hear him! Down with the noisy ones!” was heard on all sides,

and the orator went on:

“We, as Christians, in the first instance addressed ourselves to our

Father in Heaven, to our one and only divine Redeemer, and to His Holy

Church to aid us; and I ask you: Has there been any lack of prayers,

processions, pilgrimages, and pious gifts? No, no, my beloved

fellow-citizens! Each one be my witness--certainly not! But Heaven has

remained blind and deaf and dumb in sight of our need, yea as though

paralyzed. And yet no; not indeed paralyzed, for it has been powerful

and swift to move only to heap new woes upon us. Not a thing that human

foresight and prudence could devise or execute has remained untried.

“The time-honored arts of the magicians, sorcerers, and diviners, which

aforetime have often availed to break the powers of evil spirits, have

proved no less delusive and ineffectual. So then we remembered our

glorious forefathers and ancestors, and we recollected that a man lives

in our midst who knew many things which we others have lost sight of in

the lapse of years. He has made the wisdom of our forefathers his own in

the course of a long life of laborious days and nights. He has the key

to the writing and the secrets of the ancients, and he has communicated

to us the means of deliverance to which they resorted, when they

suffered from such afflictions as have befallen us in these dreadful

days; and this venerable man at my side, the wise and truthful

Horapollo, will acquaint us with it. You see the antique scrolls in his

hand: They teach us the wonders it wrought in times past.”

Here the speaker was interrupted by a cry of: “Hail Horapollo, the

Deliverer!” and thousands took it up and expressed their satisfaction

and gratitude by loud shouting.

The old man bowed modestly, pointed to his narrow chest and toothless

mouth and then to the head of the Council as the man who had undertaken

to transmit his opinion to the populace; so Alexander went on:

“Great favors, my friends and fellow-citizens, must be purchased by

great gifts. The ancients knew this, and when the river--on which, as we

know only too well, the weal or woe of this land solely depends--refused

to rise, and its low ebb brought evils of many kinds upon its banks,

they offered in sacrifice the thing they deemed most noble of all the

earth has to show a pure and beautiful maiden.

“It is just as we expected: you are horrified! I hear your murmur, I see

your horror-stricken faces; how can a Christian fail to be shocked at

the thought of such a victim? But is it indeed so extraordinary? Have

we ever wholly given up everything of the kind? Which of us does not

entreat Saint Orion, either at home or under the guidance of the priests

in church, whenever he craves a gift from our splendid river; and this

very year as usual, on the Night of Dropping, did we not cast into the

waters a little box containing a human finger.

[So late as in the XIV. century after Christ the Egyptian Christians

still threw a small casket containing a human finger into the Nile

to induce it to rise. This is confirmed by the trustworthy

Makrizi.]

“This lesser offering takes the place of the greater and more precious

sacrifice of the heathen; it has been offered, and its necessity

has never at any time been questioned; even the severest and holiest

luminaries of the Church--Antonius and Athanasius, Theophilus and

Cyrillus had nothing to say against it, and year after year it has been

thrown into the waters under their very eyes.

“A finger in a box! What a miserable exchange for the fairest and purest

that God has allowed to move on earth among men. Can we wonder if the

Almighty has at last disdained and rejected the wretched substitute, and

claims once more for His Nile that which was formerly given? But where

is the mother, where is the father, you will ask, who, in our selfish

days, is so penetrated with love for his country, his province, his

native town, that he will dedicate his virgin daughter to perish in the

waters for the common good? What daughter of our nation is ready of her

own free will to die for the salvation of others?

“But be not afraid. Have no fears for the growing maiden, the very apple

of your eye, in your women’s rooms. Fear not for your granddaughters,

sisters, playfellows and betrothed: From the earliest ages a stringent

law forbade the sacrifice of Egyptian blood; strangers were to perish,

or those who worshipped other gods than those in Egypt.

“The same law, citizens and fellow-believers, is incumbent on us. And

mark me well, all of you! Would it not seem as though Fate desired to

help us to bring to our blessed Nile the offering which for so many

centuries has been withheld? The river claims it; and, as if by a

miracle, it has been brought to our hand. For a crime which does not

taint her purity our judges have to-day condemned to death a beautiful

and spotless maiden--a stranger, and at the same time a Greek and a

heretic Melchite.

“This stirs you, this fills your souls with joyful thankfulness; I see

it! Then make ready for thy bridal, noble stream, Benefactor of our land

and nation! The virgin, the bride that thou hast longed for, we deck for

thee, we lead to thine embrace--she shall be Thine!

“And you, Memphites, citizens and fellow-sufferers,” and the orator

leaned far over the parapet towards the crowd, “when I ask you for your

suffrages, when I appeal to you in the name of the senate, and of this

venerable sage....”

But here he was interrupted by the triumphant shout of the assembled

multitude; a thousand voices went up in a mighty, heaven-rending cry:

“To the Nile with her--the maiden to the Nile!”

“Marry the Melchite to the river! Bring wreaths for the bride of the

Nile, bring flowers for her marriage.”

“Let us abide by the teaching of our fathers!”

“Hail to the councillor! Hail to the sage, Horapollo! Hail to our chief

Senator!”

These were the glad and enthusiastic shouts that rose in loud confusion;

and it was only on the north side, where the money-changers’ tables

now stood deserted-for gold and silver had long since been placed in

safety--that a sinister murmur of dissent was heard. The little girl

in the Persian’s arms had long since been breathing hard and deep.

She thought she knew whom that fiend up there had his eye upon for his

cursed heathen sacrifice; and as Mary bent down to Dame Joanna to see

whether she shared her hideous suspicion, she perceived that her eyes

and Pulcheria’s were full of tears.--That was enough; she asked no

questions, for a new act in the drama claimed her attention.

Close to the money-changer’s stalls a hand was lifted on high, holding

a crucifix, and the child could see it steadily progressing through the

crowd towards the Curia. Every one made way for the sacred symbol and

the bearer of it; and to Mary’s fancy the throng parted on each side of

the advancing image of the Redeemer, as the waters of the Red Sea had

parted at the approach of the people of God. The murmurs in that part of

the square grew louder; the acclamations of the populace waxed fainter;

every voice seemed to fail, and presently a frail figure in bishop’s

robes, small but rigidly dignified, was seen to mount the steps and

finally disappear within the portals of the Curia.

The turmoil sank like an ebbing wave to a low, enquiring mutter, and

even this died away when the diminutive personage, who looked the

taller, however, for the crucifix which he still held, came out on the

balcony, approached the parapet, and stretched forth the arm that held

the image above the heads of the foremost rows of the people.

At this Horapollo stepped up to Alexander, his eyes flashing with rage,

and demanded that the intruder should be forbidden to speak; but the

commanding eye of the new-comer rested on the dyer, who bowed his head

and allowed him to proceed. Nor did one of the senators dare to

hinder him, for every one recognized him as the zealous, learned, and

determined priest who had, since yesterday, filled the place of the

deceased bishop.

Their new pastor began, addressing his flock in as loud a voice as he

could command:

“Look on this Cross and hearken to its minister! You languish for the

blessing of Christ, and you follow after heathen abominations. The

superstitious triumph, through which I have struggled to reach you, will

be turned to howls of anguish if you stop your ears and are deaf to the

words of salvation.

“Yea, you may murmur! You will not reduce me to silence, for Truth

speaks in me and can never be dumb. I say to each of you that knows it

not: The staff of the departed Plotinus has been placed in my hands.

I would fain bear it with gentleness and mercy; but, if I must, I

will wield it as a sword and a scourge till your wounds bleed and your

bruises ache.

“Behold in my right hand the image of your Redeemer! I hold it up as a

wall between you and the heathen abomination which you hail with joy in

your blindness.

“Ye are accursed and apostate. Lift up your hearts, and look at Him who

died on the cross to save you. Verily He will not let him perish who

believeth in Him; but you! where is your faith? Because it is night ye

lament and cry: The Light is dead!’ Because ye are sick ye say: ‘The

physician cannot heal!’

“What are these blasphemies that I hear: ‘The Lord and His Church

are powerless! Magic, enchantments, and heathen abominations may save

us.’--But, inasmuch as ye trust not in the true Saviour and Redeemer,

but in heathen wickedness, magic, and enchantments, punishment shall be

heaped on punishment; and so it will be,--I see it coming--till ye are

choked in the mud and seek with groans the only Hand that is able to

save.

“That whereby the blinded sons of men hope to escape from the evil,

that, and that only, is the source of their sufferings and I stand here

to stay that spring and dig a channel for its overflow.

“Children of Moloch ye try to be and I hope to make you Christians

again. But the maiden whom your fury would cast into the abyss of the

river is under the merciful protection of the supreme Church, for the

death of her body will bring death to your souls. Saint Orion turns from

you with horror! Away from the hapless victim! Away, I say, with your

accursed desires and sacrilegious hands!”

“And sit with them in our laps and wring them in prayer till they ache,

while want and the plague snatch away those that are left!” interrupted

the old man’s voice, thin and feeble, but audible at a considerable

distance, and from the market-place thousands proclaimed their approval

by loud shouts.

The president of the senate had listened with a penitent mien and

bowed head, but now he recovered his presence of mind and exclaimed

indignantly:

“The people die, the town and country are going to ruin, plague and

horrors rise up from the river. Show us some other way of escape, or let

us trust to our forefathers and try this last means.”

But the little man drew himself up more stiffly, pointed with his left

hand to the crucifix, and cried with unmoved composure:

“Believe, hope, and pray!”

“Perhaps you think that no evil is come upon us!” cried Alexander. “You,

to be sure, have seen no wife with glazing eyes, no child struggling

for breath....” And a fresh tumult came up from below, wilder and louder

than ever. Each one whose home or beasts had been blighted by death,

whose gardens and fields had perished of drought, whose dates had

dropped one by one from the trees, lifted up his voice and shrieked:

“The victim, the victim!”

“To the river with the maiden!”

“All hail to our deliverer, the wise Horapollo!” But others shouted

against them:

“Let us remain Christians! Hail to Bishop John!”

“Think of our souls!”

The prelate made an effort once more to rivet the attention of the

populace, and failing in this he turned to the senators and the

trumpeters, whom at length he succeeded in persuading to blow again and

again, and more loudly through their brazen tuba. But the call produced

no effect, for in the market square groups had formed on opposite sides,

and blows and wrestling threatened to end in a sanguinary street-riot.

The women succeeded in getting away from the scene of action under the

protection of the Masdakite, before the Arab cavalry rode across to

separate the combatants; but in the Curia Bishop John explained to the

Fathers that he would make every effort to prevent this inhuman and

unchristian sacrifice of a young girl, even though she was a Melchite

and under sentence of death. This very day a carrier pigeon should be

dispatched to the patriarch in Upper Egypt, and bring back his decision.

When, on this, Horapollo replied that the Khaliff’s representative here

had signified his consent to the proceedings, and that even against the

will of the clergy the misery of the people must be put an end to, the

Bishop broke out vehemently and threatened all who had first suggested

this hideous scheme with the anathema of the Church. But Horapollo

retorted again with flaming eloquence, the desperate Senators took his

part, and the Bishop left the Curia in the highest wrath.

CHAPTER XIX.

Few things could be more intolerable to the gentle and retiring widow

than such a riot of the people. The unchained passion, the tumult, and

all the vulgar accessories that surrounded her there grieved her tender

nature; all through the old man’s speech she had felt nothing but the

desire to escape, but as soon as she had acquired the certainty that

Paula was the hapless being whom her terrible house-mate was preparing

to hand over to the superstition of the mob, she thought no more of

getting home, but waited in the crush till at length she and the two

children could be conducted by Rustem to the prison, though the way

thither was through the most crowded streets.

Had the nameless horrors that hung over Paula already found their way to

her ears through the prisonwalls, or might it yet be her privilege to

be able to prepare the girl for the worst, and to comfort the victim

who must already have been driven to the verge of desperation by the

sentence of death?

On the previous day the chief warder had acceded without demur to her

wish to see Paula, for the Kadi had enjoined him to show her and Orion

all possible courtesy, but the Vekeel’s threats made him now refuse to

admit Dame Joanna. However, while he was talking with her, his infant

son stretched out his arms to Pulcheria, who had played with him the day

before in her sweet way, and she now took him up and kissed him, thus

bringing a kindly feeling to three hearts at once; and most of all to

that of the child’s mother who immediately interested herself for them,

and persuaded her husband to oblige them once more.

Pretty Emau had always waited on the mirthful Orion, under the palms by

her father’s inn, more gladly than on most other guests; and her husband

who, after the manner of the Egyptians, was docile to his better half

though till now he had not been quite free from jealousy, was even more

ready to serve his benefactor’s son since hearing that he was betrothed

to the fair Paula.

There was a great uproar in the large common prison to-day, as usual

when the judges had passed sentence of death on any criminal, and the

women shuddered as the miserable wretches hallooed and bellowed. Many

a shriek came up, of which it was hard to say whether it was the

expression of wild defiance or of bitter jesting, and no more suitable

accompaniment could be conceived to this terrific riot than the clank of

chains.

When the women reached Paula’s cell their hearts throbbed painfully,

for within the door which the warder unlocked anguish and despair must

dwell.

The prisoner was standing at the window, pressing her brow against the

iron bars and listening to the lute played by her lover, which sounded,

amid the turmoil of the other prisoners, like a bell above the roar of

thunder and the storm. By the bed sat Betta on a low stool, asleep with

the distaff in her lap; and neither she nor her mistress heeded the

entrance of the visitors. A miserable lamp lighted the squalid room.

Mary would have flown to her friend, but Joanna held her back and called

Paula tenderly by name in a low voice. But Paula did not hear; her soul

was no doubt absorbed in anguish and the terror of death. The widow

now raised her voice, and the ill-fated girl turned round; then, with a

little cry of joy, she hastened to meet the faithful creatures who could

find her even in prison, and clasped first the widow, then Pulcheria,

then the child in a tender embrace. Joanna put her hands fondly round

her face to kiss it, and to see how far fear and affliction had altered

her lovely features, and a faint cry of astonishment escaped her, for

she was looking, not at a grief and terror-stricken face, but a glad and

calm one, and a pair of large eyes looked brightly and gratefully into

hers.

Had she not been told then what was hanging over her? Nay--for she at

once asked whether they had heard that she was condemned to die. And she

went on to tell them how things had gone with her at her trial, and how

her good Philip’s friend and foster-father had suddenly and inexplicably

become her bitterest foe.

At this the others could not check their tears; it was Paula who had to

comfort and soothe them, by telling them that she had found a paternal

friend in the Kadi who had promised to intercede for her with the

Khaliff.

Dame Joanna could scarcely take it all in. This girl and her heroic

demeanor, in the face of such disaster, seemed to her miraculous. Her

trust was beautiful; but how easily might it be deceived! how insecure

was the ground in which she had cast the anchor of hope.

Even little Mary seemed more troubled than her friend, and threw herself

sobbing on her bosom. And Paula returned her fondness, and tried to

mollify Pulcheria as to the disgraceful conduct of their old housemate,

and smiled kindly at the widow when she asked where she had found such

composure in the face of so much misfortune, saying that it was from her

example that she had learnt resignation to the worst that could befall

her. Even in this dark hour she found more to be thankful for than to

lament over; indeed, it had brought her a glorious joy. And this for the

first time reminded Joanna and the girls that she was now betrothed, and

again she was clasped in their loving arms.

Just then the warder rapped; Paula rose thoughtfully, and exclaimed in a

low voice: “I have something to send to Orion that I dare not entrust to

a stranger: but now, now I have you, my Mary, and you shall take it to

him.”

As she spoke she took out the emerald, gave it to the little girl, and

charged her to deliver it to her uncle as soon as they should be

alone together. In the little note which she had wrapped around it she

implored her lover to regard it as his own property, and to use it to

satisfy the claims of the Church.

The man was easily induced to take Mary to her uncle; and how happily

she ran on before him up to Orion’s cell, how great was his joy at

seeing her again, how gratefully he pressed the emerald to his lips! But

when she exclaimed that her prophecy had been fulfilled, and that Paula,

was now his, his brow was knit as he replied, with gloomy regret, that

though he had won the woman he loved, it was only to lose her again.

“But the Kadi is your friend and will gain pardon from the Khaliff!”

cried the child.

“But then another enemy suddenly starts up: Horapollo!”

“Oh, our old man!” and the child ground her teeth. “If you did but know,

Orion!--And to think that I must live under the same roof with him!”

“You!” asked the young man.

“Yes, I. And Pulcheria, and Mother Joanna,” and Mary went on to tell him

how the old man had come to live with them and Orion could guess from

various indications that she was concealing some important fact; so he

pressed her to keep nothing from him, till the child could not at last

evade telling him all she had seen and heard.

At this he lost all caution and self-control. Quite beside himself he

called aloud the name of his beloved, invoking in passionate tones the

return of the Governor Amru, the only man who could help them in this

crisis. His sole hope was in him. He had shown himself a real father to

him, and had set him a difficult but a noble task.

“Into which you have plunged over head and ears!” cried the child.

“I thought it all out while on my journey,” replied Orion. “I tried

yesterday to write out a first sketch of it, but I lacked what I most

wanted: maps and lists. Nilus had put them all up together; I was to

have taken them with me on the voyage with the nuns, and I ordered that

they should be carried to the house of Rufinus....”

“That they should come to us?” interrupted the child with sparkling

eyes. “Oh, they are all there! I saw the documents myself, when the

chest was cleared out for old Horapollo, and to-morrow, quite early

to-morrow, you shall have them.” Orion kissed her brow with glad haste;

then, striking the wall of his cell with his fist, he waited till

something had been withdrawn with a grating sound on the other side, and

exclaimed:

“Good news, Nilus! The plans and lists are found: I shall have them

to-morrow!”

“That is well!” replied the treasurer’s thin voice from the adjoining

room. “We shall need something to comfort us! A prisoner has just been

brought in for having attacked an Arab horseman in a riot in the market

square. He tells me some dreadful news.”

“Concerning my betrothed?”

“Alas! yes, my lord.”

“Then I know it already,” replied the young man; and after exchanging

a few words with his master with reference to the old man’s atrocious

proposal, Nilus went on:

“My prison-mate tells me, too, that while he was in custody in the

guard-house the Arabs were speaking of a messenger from the governor

announcing his arrival at Medina, and also that he intended making only

a short stay there. So we may expect his return before long.”

“Then he will have started long before the Kadi’s messenger can have

arrived and laid the petition for pardon before the Khaliff!--We have

no hope but in Amru; if only we could send information to him on his

way....”

“He would certainly not tarry in Upper Egypt, but hasten his journey,

or send on a plenipotentiary,” said the voice on the other side of the

wall. “If we had but a trusty man to despatch! Our people are scattered

to the four winds, and to hunt them up now....”

At this Mary’s childish tones broke in with: “I can find a messenger.”

“You? What are you thinking of, child?” said Orion. She did not heed his

remonstrance, but went on eagerly, quite sure of her own meaning:

“He shall be told everything, everything! Ought he to know what I heard

about your share in the flight of the sisters?”

“No, no; on no account!” cried Nilus and his master both at once; and

Mary understood that her proposition was accepted. She clapped her

hands, and exclaimed full of enterprise and with glowing cheeks:

“The messenger shall start to-morrow; rely on me. I can do it as well

as the greatest. And now tell me exactly the road he is to take. To make

sure, write the names of the stages on my little tablet.--But wait, I

must rub it smooth.”

“What is this on the wax?” asked Orion. “A large heart with squares all

over it.--And that means?”

“Oh! mere nonsense,” said the child somewhat abashed. “It was only to

show how my heart was divided among the persons I love. A whole half of

it belongs to Paula, this quarter is yours; but there, there, there,”

and at each word she prodded the wax with the stylus, “that is where I

had kept a little corner for old Horapollo. He had better not come in my

way again!”

Her nimble fingers smoothed the wax, and over the effaced heart--a

child’s whim--Orion wrote things on which the lives of two human

beings depended. He did so with sincere confidence in his little ally’s

adroitness and fidelity. Early next morning she was to receive a letter

to be conveyed to Amru by the messengers.

“But a rapid journey costs money, and Amru always chooses the road by

the mountains and Berenice,” observed the treasurer. “If we put together

our last gold pieces they will hardly suffice.”

“Keep them, you will want them here,” said the little girl. “And

yet--there are my pearls, to be sure, and my mother’s jewels--at the

same time....”

“You ought never to part from such things, you heart of gold!” cried

Orion.

“Oh yes, yes! What do I want with them? But Dame Joanna has my mother’s

things in her keeping.”

“And you are afraid to ask her for them?” asked the young man. He

appealed to Nilus, and when the treasurer had calculated the cost, Orion

took off a costly sapphire ring, which he gave to Mary, charging her

to hand it to Joanna. Gamaliel, the Jew, would lend her as much as she

would require on this gem. Mary joyfully took possession of the ring;

but presently, when the warder appeared to fetch her, her satisfaction

suddenly turned to no less vehement grief, and she took leave of Orion

as if they were parting for ever.

In the passage leading to Paula’s cell the man suddenly stood still:

some one was approaching up the stairs.--If it should be the black

Vekeel, and he should find visitors in the prison at so late an hour!

But no. Two lamps were borne in front of the new-comers, and by their

light the warder recognized John, the new Bishop of Memphis, who had

often been here before now to console prisoners.

He had come to-night prompted by his desire to see the condemned

Melchite. Mary’s dress and demeanor betrayed at once that she could not

belong to any official employed here; and, as soon as he had learnt

who she was, he whispered to his companion, an aged deacon who always

accompanied him when he visited a female prisoner: “We find her here!”

And when he had ascertained with whom the child had come hither at so

late an hour, he turned again to his colleague and added in a low voice:

“The wife and daughter of Rufinus! Just so: I have long had my eye

on these Greeks. In church once or twice every year!--Melchites in

disguise! Allied with this Melchite! And this is the school in which

the Mukaukas’ granddaughter is growing up! An abominable trick! Benjamin

judged rightly, as he always did!” Then, in a subdued voice, he asked:

“Shall we take her away with us at once?” But, as the deacon made

objections, he hastily replied: “You are right; for the present it is

enough that we know where she is to be found.”

The warder meanwhile had opened Paula’s cell; before the bishop went in

he spoke a few kind words to the child, asking her whether she did not

long to see her mother; and when Mary replied: “Very often!” he stroked

her hair with his bony hand and said:

“So I thought.--You have a pretty name, child, and you, like your

mother, will perhaps ere long dedicate your life to the Blessed among

women, whose name you bear.” And, holding the little girl by the hand,

he entered the cell. While Paula looked in amazement at the prelate who

came so late a visitor, Joanna and Pulcheria recognized him as the brave

ecclesiastic who had so valiantly opposed the old sage and the misled

populace, and they bowed with deep reverence. This the bishop observed,

and came to the conclusion that these Greeks perhaps after all belonged

to his Church. At any rate, the child might safely be left in their care

a few days longer.

After he had exchanged a few cordial words with them the widow prepared

to withdraw, and was about to take leave when he went up to her and

announced that he would pay her a visit the next day or the day after;

that he wished to speak with her of matters involving the happiness

of one who was dear to them both, and Dame Joanna, believing that he

referred to Paula, whispered:

“She has no idea as yet of the terrible fate the people have in store

for her. If possible, spare her the fearful truth before she sleeps this

night.”

“If possible,” repeated the prelate. Then, as Mary kissed his hand

before leaving, he drew her to him and said: “Like the Infant Christ,

every Christian child is the Mother’s. You, Mary, are chosen before

thousands! The Lord took your father to himself as a martyr; your mother

has dedicated herself to Heaven. Your road is marked out for you, child,

reflect on this. To-morrow-no, the day after, I will see you and guide

you in the new path.”

At these words Joanna turned pale. She now understood what the bishop’s

purpose was in calling on her. At the bottom of the stairs, she threw

her arms round the child and asked her in--a low voice: “Do you pine for

the cloister--do you wish to go away from us like your mother, to think

of nothing but saving your soul, to live a nun in the holy seclusion

which Pulcheria has described to you so often?”

But this the child positively denied; and as Joanna’s head drooped

anxiously and sadly, Mary looked up brightly and exclaimed: “Never fear,

Mother dear! Things will have altered greatly by the day after tomorrow.

Let the bishop come! I shall be a match for him!--Oh! you do not know me

yet. I have been like a lamb among you through all this misfortune and

serious trouble; but there is something more in me than that. You will

be quite astonished!”

“Nay, nay. Remain what you are,” the widow said.

“Always and ever full of love for you and Pul. But I am a grand and

trusted person now! I have something very important to do for Orion

to-morrow. Something--Rustem will go with me.--Important, very

important, Mother Joanna. But what it is I must not tell--not even you!”

Here she was interrupted, for the heavy prison door opened for their

exit.

It was many hours before it was again unlocked to let out the bishop, so

long was he detained talking to Paula in her cell.

To his enquiry as to whether she was an orthodox Greek, or as the common

people called it, a Melchite, she replied that she was the latter;

adding that, if he had come with a view to perverting her from the

confession of her forefathers, his visit was thrown away; at the same

time she reverenced him as a Christian and a priest; as a learned man,

and the friend whom her deceased uncle had esteemed above every other

minister of his confession; she was gladly ready to disclose to him all

that lay on her soul in the face of death. He looked into the pure,

calm face; and though, at her first declaration, he had felt prompted to

threaten her with the hideous end which he had but just done his utmost

to avert, he now remembered the Greek widow’s request and bound himself

to keep silence.

He allowed her to talk till midnight, giving him the whole history of

all she had known of joy and sorrow in the course of her young life;

his keen insight searched her soul, his pious heart rose to meet the

strength and courage of hers; and when he quitted her, as he walked

home with the deacon, the first words with which he broke a long silence

were:

“While you were asleep, God vouchsafed me an edifying hour through that

heretic child of earth.”

CHAPTER XX.

When the door in the tall prison-wall was closed behind the women,

Joanna made her way through streets still sultry under the silence of

the night, Rustem following with the child.

The giant’s good heart was devoted to Mary, and he often passed his

huge hand over his eyes while she told him all that the scene they had

witnessed meant, and the fearful end that threatened Paula. He broke

in now and again, giving utterance to his grief and wrath in strange,

natural sounds; for he looked up to his beautiful sick nurse as to a

superior being, and Mandane, too, had often remarked that they could

never forget all that the noble maiden had done for them.

“If only,” Rustem cried at length, clenching his powerful fist, “If

only I could--they should see...” and the child looked up with shrewd,

imploring eyes, exclaiming eagerly:

“But you could, Rustem, you could!”

“I?” asked Rustem in surprise, and he shook his head doubtfully.

“Yes, you, Rustem; you of all men. We were talking over something in

the prison, and if only you were ready and willing to help us in the

matter.”

“Willing!” laughed the worthy fellow striking his heart; and he went on

in his strangely-broken Greek, which was, however, quite intelligible:

“I would give hair and skin for the noble lady. You have only to speak

out.”

The child clung to the big man with both hands and drew him to her

saying: “We knew you had a grate ful heart. But you see...” and she

interrupted herself to ask in an altered voice:

“Do you believe in a God? or stay--do you know what a sacred oath is?

Can you swear solemnly? Yes, yes...” and drawing herself up as tall as

possible she went on very seriously: “Swear by your bride Mandane--as

truly as you believe that she loves you....”

“But, sweet soul....”

“Swear that you will never betray to a living soul what I am going

to say--not even to Mother Joanna and Pulcheria; no, nor even to your

Mandane, unless you find you cannot help it and she gives her sacred

word....”

“What is it? You quite frighten me! What am I to swear?”

“Not to reveal what I am now going to tell you.”

“Yes, yes, little Mistress; I can promise you that.” Mary sighed, a

long-drawn “Ah...!” and told him that a trustworthy messenger must be

found to go forth to meet Amru, so as to be in time to save Paula. Then

came the question whether he knew the road over the hills from Babylon

to the ancient town of Berenice; and when he replied that he had lately

travelled that way, and that it was the shortest road to the sea for

Djidda and Medina, she repeated her satisfied “Ah!” took his hand, and

went on with coaxing but emphatic entreaty while she played with his big

fingers: “And now, best and kindest Rustem, in all Memphis there is but

one really trusty messenger; but he, you see, is betrothed, and so he

would rather get married and go home with his bride than help us to save

the life of poor Paula.”

“The cur!” growled the Persian.

At this Mary laughed out: “Yes, the cur!” and went on gaily: “But you

are abusing yourself, you stupid Rustem. You, you are the messenger I

mean, the only faithful and trustworthy one far or near. You, you must

meet the governor....”

“I!” said the man, and he stood still with amazement; but Mary

pulled him onward, saying: “But come on, or the others will notice

something.--Yes, you, you must....”

“But child, child,” interrupted Rustem lamentably,

“I must go back to my master; and you see, common right and justice....”

“You do not choose to leave your sweetheart; not even if the kind

creature who watched over you day and night should die for it--die the

most cruel and horrible death! You were ready enough to call that other,

as you supposed, a cur--that other whom no one nursed till he was well

again; but as for yourself....”

“Have patience then! Hear me, little Mistress!” Rustem broke in again,

and pulled away his hand. “I am quite willing to wait and Mandane must

just submit. But one man is not good for all tasks. To ride, or guide

a train of merchandise, to keep the cameldrivers in order, to pitch a

camp---all that I can do; but to parley with grand folks, to go

straight up to such a man as the great chief Amru with prayers and

supplications--all that, you see, sweetheart--even if it were to save my

own father, that would be....”

“But who asks you to do all that?” said the child. “You may stand as

mute as a fish: it will be your companion’s business to do the talking.”

“There is to be another one then? But, great Masdak! I hope that will be

enough at any rate!”

“Why will you constantly interrupt me?” the little girl put in. “Listen

first and raise objections after wards. The second messenger--now open

your ears wide--it is I, I myself;--but if you stand still again, you

will really betray me. The long and short of it is, that as surely as I

mean to save Paula, I mean to go forth to meet Amru, and if you

refuse to go with me I will set out alone and try whether Gibbus the

hunchback....”

Rustem had needed some time to collect his senses after this stupendous

surprise, but now he exclaimed: “You--you--to Berenice, and over the

mountains....”

“Yes, over the mountains,” she repeated, “and if need be, through the

clouds.”

“But such a thing was never heard of, never heard of on this earth!” the

Persian remonstrated. “A girl, a little lady like you--a messenger, and

all alone with a clumsy fellow like me. No, no, no!”

“And again no, and a hundred times over no!” cried the child merrily.

“The little lady will stop at home and you will take a boy with you--a

boy called Marius, not Mary.”

“A boy! But I thought.--It is enough to puzzle one....”

“A boy who is a girl and a boy in one,” laughed Mary. “But if you

must have it in plain words: I shall dress up as a boy to go with you;

to-morrow when we set out you will see, you will take me for my own

brother.”

“Your own brother! With a little face like yours! Then the most

impossible things will become possible,” cried Rustem laughing, and

he looked down good humoredly at the little girl. But suddenly the

preposterousness of her scheme rose again before his mind, and he

exclaimed half-frantically: “But then my master!--It will not do--It

will never do!”

“It is for his sake that you will do us this service,” said Mary

confidently. “He is Paula’s friend and protector; and when he hears what

you have done for her he will praise you, while if you leave us in the

lurch I am quite sure...”

“Well?”

“That he will say: ‘I thought Rustem was a shrewder man and had a better

heart.’”

“You really think he will say that?”

“As surely as our house stands before us!--Well, we have no time for any

more discussion, so it is settled: we start together. Let me find you in

the garden early to-morrow morning. You must tell your Mandane that you

are called away by important business.”

“And Dame Joanna?” asked the Persian, and his voice was grave and

anxious as he went on: “The thing I like least, child, is that you

should not ask her, and take her into your confidence.”

“But she will hear all about it, only not immediately,” replied Mary.

“And the day after to-morrow, when she knows what I have gone off for

and that you are with me, she will praise us and bless us; yes, she

will, as surely as I hope that the Almighty will succor us in our

journey!”

At these words, which evidently came from the very depths of her heart,

the Masdakite’s resistance altogether gave way--just in time, for their

walk was at an end, and they both felt as though the long distance had

been covered by quite a few steps. They had passed close to several

groups of noisy and quarrelsome citizens, and many a funeral train had

borne the plague-stricken dead to the grave by torchlight under their

very eyes, but they had heeded none of these things.

It was not till they reached the garden-gate that they observed what

was going on around them. There they found the gardener and all the

household, anxiously watching for the return of their belated mistress.

Eudoxia too was waiting for them with some alarm. In the house they were

met by Horapollo, but Joanna and Pulcheria returned his greeting with

a cold bow, while Mary purposely turned her back on him. The old man

shrugged his shoulders with regretful annoyance, and in the solitude of

his own room he muttered to himself:

“Oh, that woman! She will be the ruin even of the peaceful days I hoped

to enjoy during the short remainder of my life!”

The widow and her daughter for some time sat talking of Mary. She

had bid them good-night as devotedly and tenderly as though they were

parting for life. Poor child! She had forebodings of the terrible fate

to which the bishop, and perhaps her own mother had predestined her.

But Mary did not look as if she were going to meet misfortune; Eudoxia,

who slept by her side, was rejoiced on the contrary at seeing her so

gay; only she was surprised to see the child, who usually fell asleep

as soon as her little head was on the pillow, lying awake so long

this evening. The elderly Greek, who suffered from a variety of little

ailments and always went to sleep late, could not help watching the

little girl’s movements.

What was that? Between midnight and dawn Mary sprang from her bed, threw

on her clothes, and stole into the next room with the night-lamp in her

hand. Presently a brighter light shone through the door-way. She must

have lighted a lamp,-and presently, hearing the door of the sitting-room

opened, Eudoxia rose and noiselessly watched her. Mary immediately

returned, carrying a boy’s clothes--a suit, in point of fact, which

Pulcheria and Eudoxia had lately been making as a Sunday garb--for the

lame gardener’s boy. The child smilingly tried on the little blue tunic;

then, after tossing the clothes into a chest, she sat down at the table

to write. But she seemed to have set herself some hard task; for now she

looked down at the papyrus and rubbed her forehead, and now she gazed

thoughtfully into vacancy. She had written a few sentences when she

started up, called Eudoxia by name, and went towards the sleeping-room.

Eudoxia went forward to meet her; Mary threw herself into her arms, and

before her governess could ask any questions she told her that she had

been chosen to accomplish a great and important action. She had been

intending to wake her, to make her her confidant and to ask her advice.

How sweet and genuine it all sounded, and how charmingly confused she

seemed in spite of the ardent zeal that inspired her!

Eudoxia’s heart went forth to her; the words of reproof died on her

lips, and for the first time she felt as though the orphaned child were

her own; as though their joy and grief were one; as though she, who all

her life long had thought only of herself and her own advantage, and who

had regarded her care of Mary as a mere return in kind for a salary and

home, were ready and willing to sacrifice herself and her last coin for

this child. So, when the little girl now threw her arms round Eudoxia’s

neck, imploring her not to betray her, but, on the contrary, to help her

in the good work which aimed at nothing less than the rescue of Paula

and Orion-the imperilled victims of Fate, her dry eyes sparkled through

tears; she kissed Mary’s burning cheeks once more and called her her own

dear, dear little daughter. This gave the child courage; with tragical

dignity, which brought a smile to the governess’ lips, she took

Eudoxia’s bible from the desk, and said, fixing her beseeching gaze on

the Greek’s face:

“Swear!--nay, you must be quite grave, for nothing can be more

solemn--swear not to tell a soul, not even Mother Joanna, what I want to

confess to you.”

Eudoxia promised, but she would take no oath. “Yea, yea, and nay, nay,”

was the oath of the Christian by the law of the Lord; but Mary clung to

her, stroked her thin cheeks, and at last declared she could not say a

word unless Eudoxia yielded. In such an hour the Greek could not resist

this tender coaxing; she allowed Mary to take possession of her hand and

lay it on the Bible; and when once this was done Eudoxia gave way, and

with much head shaking repeated the oath that her pupil dictated, though

much against her will.

After this the governess threw herself on the divan, as if exhausted and

shocked at her own weakness; and the little girl took advantage of her

victory, seating herself at her feet, and telling her all she knew about

Paula and the perils that threatened her and Orion; and she was artful

enough to give special prominence to Orion’s danger, having long since

observed how high he stood in Eudoxia’s good graces. So far Eudoxia had

not ceased stroking her hair, while she assented to everything that was

said; but when she heard that Mary proposed to undertake the embassy

to Amru herself, she started to her feet in horror, and declared most

positively that she would never, never consent to such rashness, to such

fatal folly.

Mary now brought to bear her utmost resources of persuasion and

flattery. There was no other fit messenger to be found, and the lives

of Orion and Paula were at stake. Was a ride across the mountains such

a tremendous matter after all? How well she knew how to manage a beast,

and how little she suffered from the heat! Had she not ridden more than

once from Memphis to their estates by the seaboard? And faithful Rustem

would be always with her, and the road over the mountains was the safest

in all the country, with frequent stations for the accommodation of

travellers. Then, if they found Amru, she could give a more complete

report than any other living soul.

But Eudoxia was not to be shaken; though she admitted that Mary’s

project was not so entirely crazy as it had at first appeared.

At this the little girl began again; after reminding Eudoxia once more

of her oath, she went on to tell her of the doom she herself hoped to

escape by setting out on her errand. She told Eudoxia of her meeting

with the bishop, and that even Joanna was uneasy as to her future

fate. Ah! that life within walls under lock and key seemed to her so

frightful--and she pictured her terrors, her love of freedom and of a

busy, useful, active life among men and her friends, and her hope that

the great general, Amru, would defend her against every one if once she

could place herself under his protection--painting it all so vividly, so

passionately, and so pathetically, that the governess was softened.

She clasped her hands over her eyes, which were streaming with tears,

and exclaimed: “It is horrible, unheard-of--still, perhaps it is the

best thing to do. Well, go to meet the governor,--ride off, ride off!”

And when the sweet, warm-hearted, joyous creature clang round her neck

she was glad of her own weakness: this fair, fresh, and blooming bud of

humanity should not pine in confinement and seclusion; she should find

and give happiness, to her own joy and that of all good souls, and

unfold to a full and perfect flower. And Eudoxia knew the widow well;

she knew that Joanna would by-and-bye understand why she helped the

child to escape the greatest peril that can hang over a human soul:

that of living in perpetual conflict with itself in the effort to

become something totally different from what, by natural gifts and

inclinations, it is intended to be.

With a sigh of anguish Eudoxia reflected what she herself, forced by

cruel fate and lacking freedom and pleasurable ease, had become, from an

ardent and generous young creature; and she, the narrow-hearted teacher,

could make allowances for the strange, adventurous yearning of a child,

where a larger souled woman might have derided, and blamed and repressed

it.

When it was daylight Eudoxia fulfilled the offices she commonly left

to the maid: she arranged Mary’s hair, talking to her and listening the

while, as though in this night the child had developed into a woman.

Then she went into the garden with her, and hardly let her out of her

sight.

At breakfast Joanna and Pulcheria wondered at her singular behavior, but

it did not displease them, and Marv was radiant with contentment.

The widow made no objection to allowing the child to go into the city

to execute her uncle’s mysterious commission. Rustem was with her; and

whatever it was that made the child so happy must certainly be right and

unobjectionable. Orion’s maps and lists were sent to the prison early

in the day, and before the child set out with her stalwart escort Gibbus

had returned with the prisoner’s letter to the Arab governor.

On their way it was agreed that Mary should join Rustem at dusk at the

riverside inn of Nesptah. In these clays of famine and death beasts

of burthen of every description were easily procurable, as well as

attendants and guides; and the Masdakite, who was experienced in such

matters, thought it best to purchase none but swift dromedaries and to

carry only a light tent for the “little mistress!”

At the door of Gamaliel’s shop Mary bid him wait; the jovial goldsmith

welcomed her with genuine pleasure....

What had befallen the house of the Mukaukas! Fire had destroyed the

dwelling-place of justice, like the Egyptian cities to whom the prophet

had announced a similar fate a thousand years since.

Gamaliel knew in what peril Orion stood, and the fate that hung over

the noble maiden who had once given him the costliest of gems, and

afterwards entrusted to him a portion of her fortune.

To see any member of his patron’s family alive and well rejoiced his

heart. He asked Mary one sympathizing question after another, and his

wife wanted to give her some of her good apricot tarts; but the little

girl begged Gamaliel to grant her at once a private interview, so

the jeweller led her into his little work-shop, bidding her trust him

entirely, for whatever a grandchild of Mukaukas George might ask of him

it was granted beforehand.

Blushing with confusion she took Orion’s ring out of its wrapper,

offered it to the Jew, and desired him to give her whatever was right.

She looked enquiringly into his face with her bright eyes, in full

confidence that the kind-hearted man would at once pay her down gold

coins and to spare; but he did not even take the ring out of her hand.

He merely glanced at it, and said gravely:

“Nay, my little maid, we do not do business with children.”

“But I want the money, Gamaliel,” she urged. “I must have it.”

“Must?” he repeated with a smile. “Well, must is a nail that drives

through wood, no doubt; but if it hits iron it is apt to bend. Not that

I am so hard as that; but money, money, money! And whose money do you

mean, little maid? If you want money of mine to spend in bread, or in

cakes, which is more likely, I will shut my eyes and put my hand boldly

into my wallet; but, if I am not mistaken, you are well provided for by

Rufinus the Greek, in whose house there is no lack of anything; and I

have a nice round sum in my own keeping which your grandfather placed in

my hands at interest two years since, with a remark that it was a legacy

to you from your godmother, and the papers stand in your name; so your

necessity looks very like what other folks would call ease.”

“Necessity! I am in no necessity,” Mary broke in. “But I want the money

all the same; and if I have some of my own, and you perhaps have it

there in your box, give me as much of it as I want.”

“As much as you want?” laughed the jeweller. “Not so fast, little maid.

Before such matters can be settled here in Egypt we must have plenty

of time, and papyrus and ink, a grand law court, sixteen witnesses, a

Kyrios...”

“Well then, buy the ring! You are such a good, kind man Gamaliel. Just

to please me. Why, you yourself do not really think that I want to buy

cakes!”

“No. But in these hard times, when so many are starving, a soft heart

may be moved to other follies.”

“No indeed! Do buy the ring; and if you will do me this favor...”

“Old Gamaliel will be both a rogue and a simpleton!--Have you forgotten

the emerald? I bought that, and a pretty piece of business that was! I

can have nothing to say to the ring, my little maid.” Mary withdrew her

hand, and the grief and disappointment expressed by her large, tearful

eyes were so bitter and touching, that the Jew paused, and then went on

seriously and heartily:

“I would sooner give my own old head to be an anvil than distress you,

sweet child; and Adonai! I do not mean to say--why should I--that you

should ever leave old Gamaliel without money. He has plenty, and though

he is always ready to take, he is ready to give, too, when it is

meet and fitting. I cannot buy the ring, to be sure, but do not be

down-hearted and look me well in the face, little maid. It is much to

ask, and I have handsomer things in my stores, but if you see anything

in it that gives you confidence, speak out and whisper to the man of

whom even your grandfather had some good opinion: ‘I want so much, and

what is more--how did you put it?--what is more, I must have it.’”

Mary did see something in the Jew’s merry round face that inspired her

with trust, and in her childlike belief in the sanctity of an oath she

made a third person--a believer too, in a third form of religion--swear

not to betray her secret, only marvelling that the administering of the

oath, in which she had now had some practice, should be so easy. Even

grown-up people will sometimes buy another’s dearest secret for a light

asseveration. And when she had thus ensured the Israelite’s silence, she

confided to him that she was charged by Orion to send out a messenger to

meet Amru, that he and Paula might be reprieved in time. The goldsmith

listened attentively, and even before she had ended he was busying

himself with an iron chest built into the wall, and interrupted her to

ask! “How much?”

She named the sum that Nilus had suggested, and hardly had she finished

her story when the Jew, who kept the trick by which he opened the chest

a secret even from his wife, exclaimed:

“Now, go and look out of the window, you wonder among envoys and

money-borrowers, and if you see nothing in the courtyard, then fancy to

yourself that a man is standing there who looks like old Gamaliel, and

who puts his hand on your head and gives you a good kiss. And you may

fancy him, too, as saying to himself: ‘God in Heaven! if only my little

daughter, my Ruth may be such another as little Mary, grandchild of the

just Mukaukas!’”

And as he spoke, the vivacious but stout man, who had dropped on his

knees, rose panting, left the lid of his strong box open, hurried up

to the child, who had been standing at the window all the while, and

bending over her from behind pressed a kiss on her curly head, saying

with a laugh: “There, little pickpocket, that is my interest. But look

out still, till I call you again.” He nimbly trotted back on his short

little legs, wiping his eyes; took from the strong box a little bag of

gold, which contained rather more than the desired sum, locked the

chest again, looking at Mary with a mixture of suspicion and hearty

approbation; then at last he called her to him. He emptied the money-bag

before her, counted out the sum she needed, put the remainder of the

coins into his girdle, and handed the bag to the little girl requesting

her to count his “advance”, back into it, while he, with a cunning

smile, quitted the room.

He presently returned and she had finished her task, but she timidly

observed: “One gold piece is wanting.” At this he clasped his hands over

his breast and raised his eyes to Heaven exclaiming: “My God! what a

child. There is the solidus, child; and you may take my word for it as

a man of experience: whatever you undertake will prosper. You know what

you are about; and when you are grown up and a suitor comes he will go

to a good market. And now sign your name here. You are not of age, to

be sure, and the receipt is worth no more than any other note scribbled

with ink--however, it is according to rule.”

Mary took the pen, but she first hastily glanced through what Gamaliel

had written; the Jew broke out in fresh enthusiasm:

“A girl--a mere child! And she reads, and considers, and makes all sure

before she will sign! God bless thee, Child!--And here come the tarts,

and you can taste them before.... Just Heaven! a mere child, and such

important business!”

CHAPTER XXI.

While Rustem, to whom Mary had entrusted the jeweller’s gold, was making

his preparations for their journey with all the care of a practised

guide, and while Mary was comforting her governess and Mandane, to whom

she explained that Rustem’s journey was to save Paula’s life, a fresh

trial was going forward in the Court of Justice.

This time Orion was the accused. He had scarcely begun to study the maps

and lists he required for his undertaking when he was bidden to appear

before his judges.

The members composing the Court were the same as yesterday. Among the

witnesses were Paula and the new bishop, as well as Gamaliel, who had

been sent for soon after Mary had left him.

The prosecutor accused the son of the Mukaukas of having made away, in

defiance of the patriarch’s injunction, with a costly emerald bequeathed

to the Church by his father.

Orion had determined to conduct his own defence; he recapitulated

everything that he had told the prelate in self-justification in his

father’s private room, and then added, that to put a speedy end to this

odious affair he was now prepared to restore the stone, and he placed it

at the disposal of his judges. He handed Paula’s emerald to the Kadi who

presented it to the bishop. John, however, did not seem satisfied; he

referred to the written testimony of the widow Susannah, who had been

present when the deceased Mukaukas had designated all the jewels in

the Persian hanging as included in his gift to the Church. This was in

Orion’s presence so he was still under suspicion of a fraud; and it

was difficult to determine whether the fine gem now lying on the table

before them were indeed the same to which the Church laid claim.

All this was urged with excessive vehemence and bore the stamp of a

hostile purpose.

Obedience and conviction alike prompted the zealous prelate to this

demeanor, for the same carrier-pigeon which had brought from the

patriarch his appointment to the bishopric required him to insist on

Orion’s punishment, for he was a thorn in the flesh of the Jacobite

church, a tainted sheep who might infect the rest of the flock. If

the young man should offer an emerald it was therefore to be closely

examined, to see whether it were the original stone or a substitute.

On these grounds the bishop had expressed his doubts, and though they

gave rise to an indignant murmur among the judges, the Kadi so far

admitted the prelate’s suspicions as to explain that last evening a

letter had reached him from his uncle at Djidda, Haschim the merchant,

in which mention was made of the emerald. His son happened to have

weighed that stone, without his knowledge, before he started for Egypt,

and Othman had here a note of its exact weight. The Jew Gamaliel had

been desired to attend with his balances, and could at once use them to

satisfy the bishop.

The jeweller immediately proceeded to do so, and old Horapollo, who

was an expert in such matters, went close up to him, and watched him

narrowly.

It was in feverish anxiety, and more eagerly than any other bystander,

that Paula and Orion kept their eyes fixed on the Jew’s hands and lips;

after weighing it once, he did so a second time. Old Horapollo himself

weighed it a third time, with a keen eye though his hands trembled a

little; all three experiments gave the same result: this gem was heavier

by a few grains of doura than that which the merchant’s son had weighed,

and yet the Jew declared that there was no purer, clearer, or finer

emerald in the world than this.

Orion breathed more freely, and the question arose among the judges as

to whether the young Arab might have failed in precision, or an exchange

had in fact been effected. This was difficult to imagine, since in that

case the accused would have given himself the loss, and the Church the

advantage.

The bishop, an honest man, now said that the patriarch’s suspicions had

certainly led him too far in this instance, and after this he spoke no

more.

All through this enquiry the Vekeel had kept silence, but the defiant

gaze, assured of triumph, which he fixed on Paula and Orion alternately,

augured the worst.

When the prosecutor next accused the young man of complicity in the

much discussed escape of the nuns Orion again asserted his innocence,

pointing out that during the fatal contest between the Arabs and the

champions of the sisters, he had been with the Arab governor, as Amru

himself could testify. By an act of unparalleled despotism, he had been

deprived of his estates and his freedom on mere false suspicion, and he

put his trust in the first instance in a just sentence from his judges

and, failing that, he threw himself on the protection and satisfaction

of his sovereign lord the Khaliff.

As he spoke his eyes flashed flames at the Vekeel; but the negro still

preserved his self-control, and this doubled the alarm of those who

wished the youth well.

It was clear from all this that Obada felt sure that he had the noose

well around his victim’s neck, and why he thought so, soon became

evident; for Orion had hardly finished his defence when he rose, and

with a malicious grin, handed to the Kadi the little tablet given him

yesterday by old Horapollo, describing it as a document addressed to

Paula and desiring the Kadi to examine it. The heat had effaced much of

what had been written on the wax, but most of the words could still be

deciphered. The venerable Horapollo had already made them out, and was

quite ready to read to the judges all that the accused--who by his

own account, was a spotless dove--had written in his innocence and

truthfulness for his fair one. He signed to the old man and helped

him as he rose with difficulty, but the Kadi begged him to wait, made

himself acquainted with the contents of the letter by the help of the

interpreter, and when the man had, with much pains, fulfilled his

task, he turned, not to Horapollo, but to Obada, and asked whence this

document had come.

“From Paula’s desk,” replied the Vekeel. “My old friend found it there.”

He pointed to Horapollo, who confirmed his statement by a nod of assent.

The Kadi rose, went up to the girl, whose cheeks were pale with

indignation, and asked whether she recognized the tablets as her

property; Paula, after convincing herself, replied with a flaming glance

of scorn and aversion at Horapollo: “Yes, my lord. It is mine. That base

old man has taken it with atrocious meanness from among my things.”

For an instant her voice failed her; then, turning to the judges, she

exclaimed:

“If there is one among you to whom helplessness and innocence are sacred

and malice and cunning odious, I beg him to go to Rufinus’ wife, over

whose threshold this man has crept like a ferret into a dovecote, for

no other end but to tread hospitable kindness in the dust, to rifle her

home and make use of whatever might serve his vile purpose--to go, I

say, and warn the lonely woman against this treacherous spy and thief.”

At this the old man, gasping and inarticulate, raised his withered arm;

the Christian judges whispered together, but at cross-purposes,

while the Jew fidgeted his round little person on the bench, drumming

incessantly with his fingers on his breast, and trying to meet Orion’s

or Paula’s eye and to make her understand that he was the man who would

warn Joanna. But a thump from the Vekeel’s fist, that came down on

his shoulder unawares, reduced him to sitting still; and while he sat

rubbing the place with subdued sounds of pain, not daring to reproach

the all-powerful negro for his violence, the Kadi gave the tablets to

Horapollo and bid him read the letter.

But the terrible accusation cast at him by the hated Patrician maiden,

ascribing his removal to Rufinus house to a motive which, in truth, had

been far from his, had so enraged and agitated him that his old lungs,

at all times feeble, refused their office. This woman had done him a

fresh wrong, for he had gone to live with the widow from the kindest

impulse; only an accident had thrown this document in his way. And yet

it would not fail to be reported to Joanna in the course of the day

that he had gone to her house as a spy, and there would be an end to the

pleasant life of which he had dreamed--nay, even Philippus might perhaps

quarrel with him.

And all, all through this woman.

He could not utter a word but, as he sank back on the seat, a glance

so full of hatred, so dark with malignant fury, fell on Paula that she

shuddered, and told herself that this man was ready to die himself if

only he could drag her down too.

The interpreter now began to read Orion’s letter and to translate it

for the Arabs; and while he blundered through it, declaring that not a

letter could be plainly made out, she recovered her self-control and,

before the interpreter had done his task, a gleam as of sunshine lighted

up her pure features. Some great, lofty, and rapturous thought must have

flashed through her brain, and it was evident that she had seized it and

was feeding on it.

Orion, sitting opposite to her, noticed this; still, he did not

understand what her beseeching gaze had to say to him, what it asked of

him as she pressed her hand on her breast, and looked into his eyes with

such urgent entreaty that it went to his very heart.

The interpreter ceased; but what he had read had had a great effect on

the judges. The Kadi’s benevolent face expressed extreme apprehension,

and the contents of the letter were indeed such as to cause it. It ran

as follows:

“After waiting for you a long time in vain, I must at last make up my

mind to go; and how much I still had to say to you. A written farewell.”

Here a few lines were effaced, and then came the--fatal and quite

legible conclusion:

“How far otherwise I had dreamed of ending this day, which has been for

the most part spent in preparations for the flight of the Sisters; and

I have found a pleasure in doing all that lay in my power for those kind

and innocent, unjustly persecuted nuns. We must hope for the best

for them; and for ourselves we must look to-morrow for an undisturbed

interview and a parting which may leave us memories on which we can

live for a long time. The noble governor Amru is, among the Arabs, such

another as he whom we mourn was among the Egyptians...” Here the letter

ended; not quite three lines were wanting to conclude it.

The Kadi held the tablets for a few minutes in his hand; then looking

up again at the assembly, who were waiting in great suspense, he began:

“Even if the accused was not one of those who raised their hands in

mutiny against our armed troops, it is nevertheless indisputable, after

what has just been read, that he not only knew of the escape of

the nuns, but aided them to the utmost.--When did you receive this

communication, noble maiden?”

At this Paula clasped her hands tightly and replied with a slightly bent

head and her eyes fixed on the ground.

“When did I receive it?--Never; for I wrote it myself. The writing is

mine.”

“Yours?” said the Kadi in amazement. “It is from me to Orion,” replied

Paula.

“From you to him? How then comes it in your desk?”

“In a very simple way,” she explained, still looking down. “After

writing the letter to my betrothed I threw it in with the other tablets

as soon as I had no need for it; for he himself came, and there was no

necessity for his reading what could be better said by word of mouth.”

As she spoke a peculiar smile passed over her lips and a loud murmur ran

through the room. Orion looked first at the girl and then at the Kadi in

growing bewilderment; but the Negro started up, struck his fist on the

table, making it shake, and roared out:

“An atrocious fabrication! Which of you can allow yourself to be taken

in by a woman’s guile?” Horapollo, who had recovered himself by this

time, laughed hoarsely and maliciously; the judges looked at each other

much puzzled; but when the Vekeel went on raging the Kadi interrupted

him, and desired that Orion might speak, for he had twice tried to make

himself heard. Now, with scarlet cheeks and a choking utterance, he

said:

“No, Othman--no, no indeed, my lords. Do not believe her. Not she, but

I--I wrote the letter that....”

But Paula broke in:

“He? Do you not feel that all he wants is to save me, and so he takes my

guilt on himself? It is his generosity, his love for me! Do not, do not

believe him! Do not allow yourselves to be deceived by him.”

“I? No, it is she, it is she,” Orion again asserted; but, before he

could say more, Paula declared with a flashing glance that it was a poor

sort of love which sacrificed itself out of false generosity. And as,

at the same time, she again pressed her hand to her bosom with pathetic

entreaty, he was suddenly silent, and casting his eyes up to heaven, he

sank back on the prisoners’ bench, deeply affected.

Paula joyfully went on:

“He has thought better of it, and given up his crazy attempt to take

my guilt on himself. You see, Othman, you all see, worthy men.--Let me

atone for what I did to help the poor nuns.”

“Have your way!” shrieked the old man; but the Negro cried out:

“A hellish tissue of lies, an unheard-of deception! But in spite of

the shield a woman holds before you, I have my foot on your neck,

treacherous wretch! Is it credible--I ask you, judges--that a finished

letter should be found, after weeks had elapsed, in the hands of the

writer and not those of the person to whom it was addressed?”

The Kadi shrugged his shoulders and replied with calm dignity:

“Consider, Obada, that we are condemning this damsel on the evidence of

a letter which was found in possession, not of the person to whom it was

addressed, but of the writer. This document gave rise to no doubts in

your mind. The judge should mete out equal measure to all, Obada.”

The aptness of these words, spoken in a dogmatic tone, aroused the

approval of the Arabs, and the Jew could not restrain himself from

exclaiming: “Capital!” but no sooner had it escaped him than he shrank

as quick as lightning out of the Vekeel’s reach; and Obada hardly heard

him, for he did not allow himself to be interrupted by the Kadi but went

on to explain in wrathful words what a disgrace it was to them, as

men and judges, to have dust cast in their eyes by a woman, and allow

themselves to be molified by the arts of a pair of love-stricken fools;

and how desirable it must be in the eyes of every Moslem to guard the

security of life and bring the severest punishment on the instigator of

a sanguinary revolt against the champions of the Khaliff’s power.