The soldiers did as they were ordered, and their prisoners lay, with widely-extended eyes, and shrieks on their parted lips which they dared not utter, for fear the sword-points would pierce their breasts. Mohammed stood erect beside them, his hand on his sword.
Suddenly a piercing, terrific cry arose from the midst of the crowd, and a slender female figure, clad entirely in white, the face concealed by a veil, rushed into the mosque. The soldiers dared not repulse her as they had done the men, as she flew past them toward that dreadful group.
"My father, my father!" she cries, in wildly-imploring tones. "If you must die, I will die with you!"
A strange tremor seizes on Mohammed; that wonderful voice thrills him to his very heart.
The veiled one sinks down at his feet, and raises her arms pleadingly to him.
"If you kill him, kill me also!"
In her passionate gestures she seizes her veil with her clasped hands and tears it from her face.
Mohammed saw now for the first time the youthful and beautiful face of the fair girl who was called the "Flower of Praousta." Her great black eyes were fastened imploringly on his. Her scarlet lips quivered as she repeated, "Oh, kill him not, but, if you must, then let me die with him!"
He looked at her as if he felt some witchcraft at work, then suddenly bent down and drew the veil over her face, as if he dared no longer look on her beauty.
"Leave this place, I do not fight with women," he said, and his voice sounded almost like that of a man.