The face of the young man was haggard and hard set. At glad cries of his own name, he glanced this way and that unseeingly. “Abd-ur-Rahman! It is himself—Abd-ur-Rahman. O son, preserve thy father. Save thy friends.” He stepped upon the dais and, totally disregarding the cringe of the consul’s dragoman, addressed the judge without a compliment: “What is this, O Effendi? Why these cries to me for help? Surely one of thy discrimination has perceived that these men are guiltless of the crime imputed to them?” “By what right, O my eyes, dost thou use this tone with me?” snapped the Câdi angrily, darting an uneasy glance at the besetting Nazarene. “These men are guilty of riot and bloodshed, violent robbery and rebellion. They die, and their doom is righteous. It is my last word.” “Then it is a bad day for thee, O my dear. For know that among these men is my father, a reverend and most learned sheykh of the religion, whose death all Islâm will deplore. He is, moreover, the beloved brother of Milhem Pasha whose power, as thou knowest, is considerable. And further, these Circassians are under direct protection of the government, as can be proved by a reference to the archives. My uncle Milhem Pasha knows this and has procured renewal of the firmàn concerning them. But yesterday he informed me in writing that a grant of new rifles will shortly be made to them, and in the same letter named them his friends. Reflect a little, I entreat thee, O my soul.” The confidence of Yûsuf staggered. For the moment he knew not what to murmur, where to look. The chief of those soldiers who herded the prisoners came to his relief, laughing: “Believe him not, Yûsuf. It is a generous lie to save these poor people whom he knew of old. And really, in thy place, I would spare the most of them. More than once have I heard him deny the truth of a report which made yon old man his father.” “Nay, it was then that I lied,” cried Abd-ur-Rahman, as if in pain. “I was ashamed of one so poor in seeming, so old-fashioned, so simply pious. So I lied—mad that I was!—and denied my father.” “Then wert thou dirt, a thing to spit on. But praise to Allah, I believe thee not,” said the officer, turning on his heel. “It is that, thou liest to save them,” said the Câdi, with restored confidence. Then Abd-ur-Rahman called God to witness. He threatened, entreated, reasoned, all in vain. Still “It is hard to believe,” shrugged the Câdi, smiling. “The men are already condemned. It is clearly proved against them,” said the Nazarene, at his ear, as a needed reminder. “Then it is the worse for thee, O Yûsuf Effendi,” cried Abd-ur-Rahman, in a fury. “I go hence to the French telegraph; and if before the sun sets, the wrath of Milhem Pasha is not loosed against all the Mutesarrifate of El Cûds, may Allah strike me dead this minute.”