In the house of the tschorbadji all was still; it was the custom to
retire early and to rise with the sun. God, in His goodness, created
the night for repose. The moon is a sacred lantern, which God hangs
over a sleeping world, and the stars are the eyes of the guardian
angels watching over the helpless sleepers. Therefore, is it well to
go to rest with the setting sun.
Profound silence reigned in Cavalla, in the palace of the governor,
and in the village of Praousta the men were at the mosque, praying
that Allah would vouchsafe them wisdom for the duties of the coming
day. To the slender female kneeling in the mosque they whispered:
"Soften your father's heart, maiden, and beseech him to allow us to
obey this hard command."
Did she understand? Was there comfort or encouragement in these
words? She bowed her head still lower, and sobbed beneath her veil;
she knew too well her father's immovable will, and that he preferred
death to submission.
The court-yard was quiet. The tachorbadji had offered to place two
sentinels before the gate of the enclosure, but Mohammed declined
the offer. "I alone must complete that which I alone began. I
pledged you my honor, tschorbadji, that I would subdue this
rebellion, and I alone will guard the prisoners. I will trust no man
but myself. Who knows but that the men of Praousta may try to storm
the enclosure? They are crafty and deceitful.
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