Thou Christian mother! on thy sons to pass
The sentence—life or death! The price is set
On their young blood, and rests within thy hands.
Alph. Mother! thou tremblest!
Abd. Hath thy heart resolved?
Elm. (covering her face with her hands.)
My boy’s proud eye is on me, and the things
Which rush in stormy darkness through my soul
Shrink from his glance. I cannot answer here.
Abd. Come forth. We’ll commune elsewhere.