"To whom did you swear
this oath?"
She trembled, and did not reply. She felt that she must not confess
the truth, for that would be to invoke destruction upon the head of
Mohammed.
"I swore it to myself," she whispered in low tones. "I swore to
remain pure and honest, as beseemed my mother's daughter, and never
to raise my veil in the presence of a strange man."
"Then keep your oath!" said he, stepping close to her. "You shall
not raise your veil, but I will; I will do it. I must see your face
before I fulfil my promise, before I deliver your father from
prison."
He raised his arm. She sought to defend herself, and prayed for
mercy. In vain! With a quick movement he lifted her veil, and
fastened his gaze on her countenance. At that moment a cry resounded
through the apartment, a cry of rage, and at the door of the
adjoining room appeared Mohammed Ali, pale and infuriated. He was
about to rush into the room, but with a bound the tachorbadji sprang
to his side, grasped him with all the strength which his anxiety
gave him, drew him back, closed the door, locked it, and drew the
key out of the lock.
"You ought not to enter, and, by Allah, you shall not!"
"I must enter!" cried Mohammed, gnashing his teeth, and looking like
an enraged lion, as he endeavored to wrest the key from the
tschorbadji. But the latter grasped the key firmly, and anxiously
called his son.
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