"Then the stake waits at the gate of the seraglio to compel thee," thundered the Hakim Bashi; "thou shalt die with tortures. The mercy of decapitation shall be denied thee, for thou knowest well Mohammedans will not pollute their swords with the blood of a Jew. Be advised by me, Sabbataï," he continued, lowering his tone. "Become one of us. After all, the Moslem are but the posterity of Hagar. Mohammed is but the successor of Moses. We recognize the One God who rules the heavens and the earth, we eat not swine-flesh. Thou canst Messiah it in a white turban as well as in a black," he ended jocosely. Sabbataï winced. "Renegade!" he muttered. "Ay, and an excellent exchange," quoth the physician. "The Sultan is a generous paymaster, may his shadow never grow less. He giveth thee till the morn to decide--Turk or martyr? With burning torches attached to thy limbs thou art to be whipped through the streets with fiery scourges in the sight of the people--such is the Sultan's decree. He is a generous paymaster. After all, what need we pretend--between ourselves, two Jews, eh?" And he winked drolly. "The sun greets Mohammed every morn, say these Turks. Let to-morrow's greet another Mohammedan." Sabbataï sprang up with an access of majesty. "Dog of an unbeliever! Get thee gone!" "Till to-morrow! The Sultan will give thee audience to-morrow," said the Hakim Bashi imperturbably, and, making a mock respectful salutation, he withdrew from the apartment. Melisselda had been dosing in an inner chamber after the fatigue of the journey, but the concluding thunders of the duologue had aroused her, and she heard the physician's farewell words. She now parted the hangings and looked through at Sabbataï, her loveliness half-framed, half-hidden by the tapestry. Her face was wreathed in a heavenly smile. "Sabbataï!" she breathed. He turned a frowning gaze upon her. "Thou art merry!" he said bitterly. "Is not the hour come?" she cried joyously. "Yea, the hour is come," he murmured. "The hour of thy final trial and triumph! The longed-for hour of thy appearance before the Sultan, when thou wilt take the crown from his head and place it on--" Instead of completing the sentence, she ran to take his head to her bosom. But he repulsed her embracing arms. She drew back in consternation. It was the first time she had known him rough, not only with her, but with any creature. "Leave me! Leave me!" he cried huskily. "Nay, thou needest me." And her forgiving arms spread towards him in fresh tenderness. He looked at her without moving to meet them. "Ay, I need thee," he said pathetically. "Therefore," and his voice rose firm again, "leave me to myself." "Thou hast become a stranger," she said tremulously. "I do not understand thee." "Would thou hadst ever been a stranger, that I had never understood thee." "Sabbataï, thou ravest." "I have come to my senses. O my God! my God!" and he fell a-weeping on the divan. Melisselda's alarm grew greater.