Profound silence reigned in Cavalla, in the palace of the governor, and in the village of Praousta the men were at the mosque, praying that Allah would vouchsafe them wisdom for the duties of the coming day. To the slender female kneeling in the mosque they whispered: "Soften your father's heart, maiden, and beseech him to allow us to obey this hard command."

Did she understand? Was there comfort or encouragement in these words? She bowed her head still lower, and sobbed beneath her veil; she knew too well her father's immovable will, and that he preferred death to submission.

The court-yard was quiet. The tachorbadji had offered to place two sentinels before the gate of the enclosure, but Mohammed declined the offer. "I alone must complete that which I alone began. I pledged you my honor, tschorbadji, that I would subdue this rebellion, and I alone will guard the prisoners. I will trust no man but myself. Who knows but that the men of Praousta may try to storm the enclosure? They are crafty and deceitful. I know them well, and will myself guard the prisoners."

"Allow, at least, some of the soldiers to relieve you during the night in this hard service."

"No service which honor and duty require is hard," said Mohammed, proudly. "Let the soldiers sleep, I will keep watch."

Osman gave him a long and searching look, as if he would read the purpose of his soul; and, strange to say, Mohammed turned his face aside to avoid his friend's keen eye. Was it only from a sense of honor and duty that Mohammed undertook the lonely watch? Or did he hope the clear moonlight would reveal some other beautiful picture than the golden plateau, and the great shadows thrown upon it by the palace? When night had fully settled down upon the earth, Mohammed crept forward in the shadow of the palace, to a large rock which stood at the entrance of the court-yard; there he concealed himself, and waited. What was he waiting for? From that point he could overlook the courtyard, and, by leaning forward, he could also see the stairway in the rock. Why did he turn his head in that direction so often? Why did he suddenly shrink back, and why did his heart tremble as he saw a white figure, illuminated by the moon, advancing? Mohammed cowered still lower behind the rock.

Probably she did not see him, and supposed the moon and the stars only had seen her glide softly through the gateway, and into the court-yard.

The veiled virgin now walks through the court-yard to the iron railing; kneels down upon the mosaic pavement, and, raising her hands, whispers softly:

(Editor：music)