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.
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