"It would be vain to cry out, Mohammed Ali, young boulouk bashi. No
one can hear you but we, and we are indifferent to your cries.--Be
quick, Aga, put the gag in his mouth and bind the cloth over it. Let
us finish our work! Day is breaking, and it must be done quickly!
Our master's orders here to do it quickly."
Mohammed is securely bound and motionless. He is now a mere package
borne along by the eunuchs, but a package that thinks, feels, and
suffers. His eyes are wide open, and up at his enemies with a
fearful expression. He knows he cannot pierce them through with his
eyes, for they are not daggers, and his hands are bound. But he
swears that he will have vengeance on his enemies, either above,
before Allah's throne, or here on earth already, if he is permitted
to live. He has no fear for himself, for his own life. For that he
cares not. He cares only for Masa, he thinks only of her, and his
roving glance seeks her anxiously.
He is being borne to the sea-shore. Do they intend to cast into the
waves? Let it be so. Death is sweet, divine, when one has lost all
on earth. And he feels that all, that his Masa, is lost.
If she is lost to him, what further need of the stars in heaven, of
the moonlight, of the bright sunshine? Then all is darkness and
desolation. Will they kill him? Will they cast him into the sea?
The waves will murmuringly receive him, and consign him to their
depths.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325