Experiments were instituted forthwith, and the problem was resolved in the affirmative.
“This being so,” declared the Emir, “honour and good faith towards Bishop Addo require that Bishop Gaddo be kept captive with all possible strictness. Yet bolts may be burst, fetters may be filed, walls may be scaled, doors may be broken through. Better to enchain the captive’s soul, binding him with invisible bonds, and searing out of him the very wish to escape. Embrace the faith of the Prophet,” continued he, addressing Gaddo; “become a Mollah.”
“No,” said the deposed Bishop, “my inclination hath ever been towards a military life. At present, mutilated and banished as I am, I rather affect the crown of martyrdom.”
“Thou shalt receive it by instalments,” said the Emir. “Thou shalt work at the new pavilion in my garden.”
Unceasing toil under the blazing sun, combined with the discipline of the overseers, speedily wore down Gaddo’s strength, already impaired by captivity and ill-treatment. Unable to drag himself away after his fellow-workmen had ceased from their labours, he lay one evening, faint and almost senseless, among the stones and rubbish of the unfinished edifice. The Emir’s daughter passed by. Gaddo was handsome and wretched, the Princess was beautiful and compassionate. Conveyed by her fair hands, a cup of Bishop Addo’s wine saved Bishop Gaddo’s life.
The next evening Gaddo again lingered behind, and the Princess spoke to him out of her balcony. The third evening they encountered in an arbour. The next meeting took place in her chamber, where her father discovered them.
“I will tear thee to pieces with pincers,” shouted he to Gaddo.
“Your Highness will not be guilty of that black action,” responded Gaddo resolutely.
“No?” roared the Emir. “No? and what shall hinder me?”
“The Lacrima Christi will hinder your Highness,” returned the far-seeing Gaddo. “Deems your Highness that Bishop Addo will send another cupful, once he is assured of my death?”