At last he must
recognize the fact. Masa is gone, he has been robbed of his Masa.
He sinks down upon the earth and cries in loud, heartrending tones:
"Masa is gone; the slave-dealer has recovered his slave. Oh, horror,
Masa is gone!" He springs to his feet, and rushes toward the
entrance; then he stands still again, and cries in piercing tones
that make the rocks reverberate: "Masa, where are you?" No answer.
It was thus that her father had cried out a few days before: "Masa,
where are you?"
Punishment has overtaken the undutiful daughter, and him who had
harbored her.
"Masa, where are you?" For the second time, the agonized voice of
love resounded through the cave. Masa is gone.
Ah, where can she be? All is still. A struggle has taken place here.
Hired assassins, perhaps robbers, have broken into this paradise
here beneath the earth that he considered so secure. But nothing is
secure from man; cruel men have broken into his sanctuary and
desecrated his paradise.
He no longer groans and laments. He raises his clinched fists, and
swears by Allah that be will be revenged on the robbers and
murderers of his Masa. Suddenly he is seized from behind, two arms
encircle him like iron rings, and bind his arms to his side. Another
hand seizes the pistol be carries in his girdle, and draws his sword
from his scabbard. Mohammed opens his lips to cry out, but a hand is
laid on them, and he is incapable of uttering a single tone.
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