"Free?" exclaimed the sheik. "It is impossible! It cannot be!"
Mohammed sprang forward, and thrust Masa aside with such force that she sank upon the ground. A cry of anguish escaped her lips. She veiled herself, and gazed at him with anxious, imploring glance. He could not endure it; he turned his eyes away from her; he would not see her; he would be as strong in his hatred as he was in his love!
"There is no mercy for the traitoress!" murmured he. "I will punish thee for thy unfaithfulness. I will revenge myself upon thee!"
The men of Praousta now issue from the house, and shout joyfully before the cage in which the aged men are imprisoned.
"You are saved—you are free. A noble man was found who sent us assistance. Long live Cousrouf Pacha, your deliverer!"
The pacha threw open the window. He stood there, his form proudly erect. Upon his turban glittered the golden half-moon; above it waved the eagle's wing; the sun fell upon his sword and richly- chased poniard, playing gayly with the precious stones with which his garments were adorned. His eyes sparkled, and a wondrous smile hovered about his lips. And again they shouted: "Long live Cousrouf Pacha, our deliverer in time of need, our savior!"
He bowed his haughty head, and his eyes rested passionately upon the young maiden, kneeling upon the ground in her agony. From her his glance passed over to Mohammed Ali. He saw the pain and anguish imprinted upon the livid countenance of the youth, and smiled triumphantly.
He withdrew from the window, and hastened down to the court-yard, followed by the tschorbadji. He approached Masa, and, bending over her, said, softly: "Rise, daughter of thy father. Your sorrow and trouble have passed away. Be gay and happy once more. That which wicked men sought to do unto you has been frustrated. Your father is free.—Tschorbadji," said he, "command your servant Mohammed— command him to unlock the gate of this cage, and to release the prisoners he has guarded so closely."
"No!" shouted Mohammed, in a voice of thunder. With my consent alone can it be opened!—Guard the gates, ye officers; I go in quest of the key; and not one shall be released until, kneeling at my feet, with their heads in the dust, the rebels pay to me the double tax. What I have sworn—what I have sworn by my honor, that must be done."
"We will not consent! We will never yield!" cried the men, rushing about in confusion.