Yet there were some awake at that dreary hour.
Gathered together at one of the principal houses in secret conclave were some of the chief Turks of the province.
In spite of the heat, the heavy curtains covered the doorways.
The door was shaded, and the assembly spoke in subdued tones.
At length Ibrahim Bey, a grave old Turk, subtle and resolute, arose.
"It is sacred then, friends," he said, looking round at the assembly; "the deed must be done, and the hour is at hand."
"Such is the will of Allah," was the reply of the conspirators.
"'Tis decided then, that Moley Pasha, our new governor, has, since he has assumed power, done all he could to destroy our old customs, and introduce the manners of the infidel Franks, therefore he must die."
"He must die," murmured the assembly.
"Allah's will be done," said old Ibrahim, turning up his eyes piously; "but by whose hand shall the blow be struck? Who will take upon himself the dangerous deed?"