All is still quiet in
Praousta--the walk among the cliffs, and down to the shore. Then
suddenly--
"What is that on the beach? O Allah, the merciful! Is that not a
dead body? Is it not Mohammed? Bound and gagged! He does not move!
Quick, cut the ropes, take the gag out of his mouth!"
This is speedily done, but still Mohammed does not move.
"Is he dead? There are no wounds to be seen on his person! No, not
dead, he is only insensible. Bring water, wet his temples, cool his
forehead!"
Allah be praised! He moves, he lives! Yes, he lives, and he bounds
suddenly to his feet, and he gazes around with the expression not of
a man, but of a tiger. He then utters a cry so fearful, so terrible
a cry, that the tschorbadji's heart is filled with anxiety and
compassion.
With outstretched arms, Mohammed walks down to the verge of the sea.
The servants rush after him, and endeavor to hold him back. He
clinches his fists and strikes them, but they grasp him firmly, and
at last succeed in overcoming him.
"Mohammed, compose yourself and be strong!" said the tschorbadji,
clasping his arms about him. "Friend of my son, take pity on me, and
remember that Osman dies if you die."
He shakes his head, but cannot speak. He looks at the sea, the
terrible sea! His eyes stare in horror at the place where Masa sank,
then close, and he falls to the ground insensible.
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