"Well, do as you will!" cried Mohammed, with flashing eyes. "Who dares to preach rebellion shall surely die!--Hold fast these rebels, my men, bind their hands behind their backs with their own scarfs, and lead them to the governor's house. There let their heads fall, that all may know how justice punishes the rebellious." "Help! help!" cried the sheik and the ulemas. "Help!" Their cries resounded far and wide, and, while the soldiers were binding the ulemas and the sheik with their own scarfs, the armed people came pressing forward to the open door of the mosque. Mohammed looked toward them with the raging glance of a lion. "Who enters here, meets his death!" he cried, in a voice of thunder. The men without shrunk back before the soldiers' gleaming weapons, and hastened to the other doors, but they found them all closed, only the one entrance was open, the one at which the collectors stood. Within lay the sheik and the ulemas, all bound, upon their knees, praying the men of Praousta to come to their help. The men sought once more to storm the entrance, and once more they were repulsed. "I swear, by Allah and the prophet, that the rebels shall die if they do not submit!" cried Mohammed, aloud. "Place your daggers at their breasts." The soldiers did as they were ordered, and their prisoners lay, with widely-extended eyes, and shrieks on their parted lips which they dared not utter, for fear the sword-points would pierce their breasts. Mohammed stood erect beside them, his hand on his sword. Suddenly a piercing, terrific cry arose from the midst of the crowd, and a slender female figure, clad entirely in white, the face concealed by a veil, rushed into the mosque. The soldiers dared not repulse her as they had done the men, as she flew past them toward that dreadful group. "My father, my father!" she cries, in wildly-imploring tones. "If you must die, I will die with you!" A strange tremor seizes on Mohammed; that wonderful voice thrills him to his very heart. The veiled one sinks down at his feet, and raises her arms pleadingly to him. "If you kill him, kill me also!" In her passionate gestures she seizes her veil with her clasped hands and tears it from her face. Mohammed saw now for the first time the youthful and beautiful face of the fair girl who was called the "Flower of Praousta." Her great black eyes were fastened imploringly on his. Her scarlet lips quivered as she repeated, "Oh, kill him not, but, if you must, then let me die with him!" He looked at her as if he felt some witchcraft at work, then suddenly bent down and drew the veil over her face, as if he dared no longer look on her beauty. "Leave this place, I do not fight with women," he said, and his voice sounded almost like that of a man. "Be merciful," she prayed, but there was a change in her voice also, it was no longer so humble, but trembled with inward emotion. He turned from her.