Mohammed Ali and His House [72]
but leave the door open. You shall see all that passes between us, but I beg that you will close your ear. I wish to deal with the maiden alone, and it concerns no one to hear what we have to say."
"I shall withdraw to the farther end of the adjoining room, where no word of your conversation can reach me," said the tachorbadji, respectfully. The pacha smiled condescendingly on the tschorbadji, who walked into the next room, and seated himself at its farthest end.
"Now, daughter of Sheik Alepp, now we will consider this matter," said the pacha. "I am willing to assist you, but you must do your part."
"Master, what shall I do? I am anxious to do all I can."
"Do you love your father?"
"Yes, master! I love him with all my soul; he is the master given me by Allah, and he is at the same time my friend. He is every thing to me, mother, brother, sister. We two are alone together, and love nothing in the world but each other!"
"Then I am sorry for you, poor child!" said the pacha. "Your father is lost if the tax is not paid. You say yourself that the men of Praousta cannot pay the double tax, and should they fail to do so the heads of the four prisoners must fall."
"Be merciful! O master, be merciful," cried Masa. "You are rich and mighty. You can save him. Oh, save him!"
"You are in error," said the pacha, "in this case I am powerless; even the tschorbadji can do nothing. He pledged this word to Mohammed Ali; he took the triple oath that he would allow him to act as he should think best in this matter. Mohammed Ali has sworn that the heads of the prisoners shall fall unless the people of Praousta pay the tax, and that he will behead them himself if no other executioner can be found."
"Horrible! and thus was his oath," cried Masa, shuddering.
"I pray you, master, tell me, were these his words; did he swear he would himself execute my father?"
"He did. And, believe me, the youth will keep his word. He is blood- thirsty and cruel, and it will gladden his heart to cool his wrath in your father's blood."
"No! It is impossible!" cried Masa, in terror. "He cannot be so cruel, and he is not!"
"Then you know him? " said the pacha, his eyes gleaming with hatred.
"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my father's life."
"And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth. Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen that he is relentless."
"Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless."
"There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."
She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore, has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for both.
"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and I will do so."
"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?"
"I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish."
"And what is it you desire, master?" asked the innocent, anxious maiden in tremulous tones.
He gazed on her passionately, a smile lighting up his countenance. "Lift your veil, and let me look upon your countenance."
She shuddered, and drew her veil so closely about her face, that it concealed her eyes also.
"O master!" said she, in low tones of entreaty. "As you know, the custom of our land forbids a girl to appear unveiled before a man."
"I shall withdraw to the farther end of the adjoining room, where no word of your conversation can reach me," said the tachorbadji, respectfully. The pacha smiled condescendingly on the tschorbadji, who walked into the next room, and seated himself at its farthest end.
"Now, daughter of Sheik Alepp, now we will consider this matter," said the pacha. "I am willing to assist you, but you must do your part."
"Master, what shall I do? I am anxious to do all I can."
"Do you love your father?"
"Yes, master! I love him with all my soul; he is the master given me by Allah, and he is at the same time my friend. He is every thing to me, mother, brother, sister. We two are alone together, and love nothing in the world but each other!"
"Then I am sorry for you, poor child!" said the pacha. "Your father is lost if the tax is not paid. You say yourself that the men of Praousta cannot pay the double tax, and should they fail to do so the heads of the four prisoners must fall."
"Be merciful! O master, be merciful," cried Masa. "You are rich and mighty. You can save him. Oh, save him!"
"You are in error," said the pacha, "in this case I am powerless; even the tschorbadji can do nothing. He pledged this word to Mohammed Ali; he took the triple oath that he would allow him to act as he should think best in this matter. Mohammed Ali has sworn that the heads of the prisoners shall fall unless the people of Praousta pay the tax, and that he will behead them himself if no other executioner can be found."
"Horrible! and thus was his oath," cried Masa, shuddering.
"I pray you, master, tell me, were these his words; did he swear he would himself execute my father?"
"He did. And, believe me, the youth will keep his word. He is blood- thirsty and cruel, and it will gladden his heart to cool his wrath in your father's blood."
"No! It is impossible!" cried Masa, in terror. "He cannot be so cruel, and he is not!"
"Then you know him? " said the pacha, his eyes gleaming with hatred.
"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my father's life."
"And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth. Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen that he is relentless."
"Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless."
"There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."
She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore, has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for both.
"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and I will do so."
"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?"
"I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish."
"And what is it you desire, master?" asked the innocent, anxious maiden in tremulous tones.
He gazed on her passionately, a smile lighting up his countenance. "Lift your veil, and let me look upon your countenance."
She shuddered, and drew her veil so closely about her face, that it concealed her eyes also.
"O master!" said she, in low tones of entreaty. "As you know, the custom of our land forbids a girl to appear unveiled before a man."