"Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless."
"There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."
She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore, has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for both.
"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and I will do so."
"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?"
"I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish."
"And what is it you desire, master?" asked the innocent, anxious maiden in tremulous tones.
He gazed on her passionately, a smile lighting up his countenance.
"Lift your veil, and let me look upon your countenance."
She shuddered, and drew her veil so closely about her face, that it concealed her eyes also.
"O master!" said she, in low tones of entreaty. "As you know, the custom of our land forbids a girl to appear unveiled before a man."