"Then I am sorry for you, poor child!" said the pacha. "Your father is lost if the tax is not paid. You say yourself that the men of Praousta cannot pay the double tax, and should they fail to do so the heads of the four prisoners must fall."
"Be merciful! O master, be merciful," cried Masa. "You are rich and mighty. You can save him. Oh, save him!"
"You are in error," said the pacha, "in this case I am powerless; even the tschorbadji can do nothing. He pledged this word to Mohammed Ali; he took the triple oath that he would allow him to act as he should think best in this matter. Mohammed Ali has sworn that the heads of the prisoners shall fall unless the people of Praousta pay the tax, and that he will behead them himself if no other executioner can be found."
"Horrible! and thus was his oath," cried Masa, shuddering.
"I pray you, master, tell me, were these his words; did he swear he would himself execute my father?"
"He did. And, believe me, the youth will keep his word. He is blood- thirsty and cruel, and it will gladden his heart to cool his wrath in your father's blood."
"No! It is impossible!" cried Masa, in terror. "He cannot be so cruel, and he is not!"
"Then you know him? " said the pacha, his eyes gleaming with hatred.
"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my father's life."
"And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth. Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen that he is relentless."