"Fellow townsmen, you ought to spare us," he said, "for we have done you no wrong. We are unarmed and defenceless, our little ones depend upon us, and will be left to starve." "Down with him!" cried the mob. "It is the will of Allah!" "Preach us a sermon first," added a mocking voice in the crowd. "Do not touch me here; I will come out to you," said the Pastor calmly, and began to descend the steps. But ere he reached the last, a shot went through his breast, and he fell. No sound was heard, and no blood was seen. Elmas, standing at the window, had witnessed all. Strong in her great love, that frail girl went out amongst the murderous crowd, knelt down beside her father, and put her hand upon his forehead. He opened his eyes, looked up at her, and smiled. "Father," she prayed, "father, speak to me! Only once; only one word more!" That word was given to him, and to her. "Fear not, the Lord is with you. I have no fear, for I am going to my dear Saviour." Again he closed his eyes, and in another moment, without struggle or suffering, he saw Him face to face. She "sat there in her grief, and all the world was dark--blank" (the words are her own). She seemed to have no consciousness of the terrors all around her. The first sound that touched her broken heart was the wailing of her little brother, a babe of three, who wanted "father." He had followed her down the steps. She took him in her arms, and held him up that he might see. His sobs grew still at once. "Father is asleep," he said. So He giveth His beloved sleep. Could they but have all lain down by his side and slept! But their rest was yet to be won. More Moslems crowded into the yard, slaying all the men they could discover. Then they seized the women, the girls, and the children, tore off their clothing and their jewels, and drove them in their midst as a flock of frightened sheep and lambs are driven to the slaughter. The last thing Elmas ever saw of that beloved form on the ground, was that some Moslem had brought a mule, upon which he seemed about to place it. She was dragged from her dead father to the unutterable horror that followed. Oh, that endless walk, with bare, bleeding feet, through the blood-stained streets! Oh, the clinging hands, the terrified faces, the piteous sobs and wailing of the children! Thus the crowd of women and girls, almost without clothing, were paraded through the town between files of brutal soldiers--and every now and then, some of them seized and dragged away, in spite of their shrieks and cries. Vartan pushed his way to his sister, and whispered, "Do not fear, Elmas. I have the knife my father gave me hid in my zeboun. It will do to kill you." That was all Elmas remembered afterwards with any clearness--that, and the clinging of her baby brother's arms about her neck.