Tie the mouth of the sack securely. Is it done? Is the
boat ready?"
They murmur that all is in readiness.
"Good! Row her out on the water. Yet not too far, in order that this
boy may see what takes place."
He must bear it, and look on while the black ravens drag his white
dove down to the shore, and cast the living burden into the boat.
They row with rapid strokes from the shore, but not far out, for
they know the sea is deep at this place, and that it greedily
swallows all that is confided to it. To the rope with which the
mouth of the sack is tied up they have secured two heavy iron balls,
that it may sink rapidly into the deep. They stop.
"Take in the oars! Now lift the sack; cast it into the sea!"
The waves receive their prey, and the water foams and eddies for a
moment over the place where it went down. All is still again. The
boat is turned and rowed back to the shore.
Cousrouf Pacha has stood there, composedly gazing at this fearful,
horrible burial. Now he steps to the side of the poor, bound man,
and takes leave of him in cruel, mocking words.
Does he hear them? His widely-opened eyes stare out fixedly upon the
waters. He is motionless, no quivering muscle indicates that he has
understood the pacha's words of triumph and mockery. Cousrouf turns
and beckons to the slaves.
"Leave him lying there! He will be found in the morning, for he will
be looked for.
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