"And let us pray, as she requested," murmured others. On bended knees, and with solemn countenances, the men, but now so noisy and fierce, awaited Masa's return in silence. The white dove flew up the pathway, through the courtyard, and into the palace, regardless of a number of her father's old friends who were lying on the ground before the gate. She dare not stop to speak to them, for the sheik could seek to learn on what errand his daughter goes alone to the palace. If she should tell him, he would command her to return to her father's harem, there to await in patience the fate Allah should have in store for his children. No, she cannot approach him, cannot brave his questioning; she would then be compelled to disobey him, for her father's life must and shall be preserved. The tschorbadji stood in the lower hall. His heart was troubled, and his countenance sorrowful. He should not have permitted Mohammed Ali to go so far. How terrible it would be if this execution should really take place here in his courtyard, if the heads of the best men of Praousta should really fall to the ground! No, he should not have permitted the stern, pitiless young man to pledge his honor for the fulfullment of what he had undertaken. He had already asked his son Osman to seek his friend and entreat him to desist from his stern purpose. Osman was now pleading with his friend in soft, persuasive tones. "Will he succeed?" This is now the question that agitates the tschorbadji. He had sworn by all that was holy that Mohammed should have his will; and a Moslem cannot break his oath; honor forbids it. The tachorbadji knows this very well, and therefore is he sorrowful and dejected. Should the young man persist, he must therefore unwillingly allow him to carry out his purpose. He sits there on the divan, tortured with doubt and apprehension. Will Mohammed relent? Will Osman succeed in softening his heart? At this moment the door opens, and a veiled woman enters the room. She advances with light and noiseless footstep, and kneels down before the tschorbadji. "O master, be merciful to your servant! Sheik Alepp's daughter kneels before you ! Incline your heart to mercy, and give back to me my father!" "Gladly would I do so, were it in my power," sighed he. I swear it by Allah! But I have pledged my word to the young man to whom I gave authority to act in the name of the law, that he should have unlimited power to do as he should deem proper in the matter. I can therefore do nothing, though I would gladly liberate your father and abandon the collection of the tax." "O master, I do not ask you to give up the tax! You shall have all you have commanded us to pay." "You are prepared to pay it?" exclaimed the tschorbadji, joyously. "Then our trouble is at an end. But pray why are you, the daughter of the noble, worthy sheik, here?"