"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went
down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my
father's life."
"And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth.
Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen
that he is relentless."
"Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless."
"There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the
pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."
She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She
knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and
sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he
whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore,
has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her
with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth
whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for
both.
"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and I
will do so."
"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the
stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on
her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah
to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?"
"I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you
will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish.
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