There was a moment’s pause, a silence like that in the halls of death, then Myrrah said slowly,
“Thou dost urge me to speak that which my lips have never yet spoken—that which they dare not speak; wouldst thou have me declare my faith, that thy prophet is a false prophet? Wouldst thou have me say, that to the God of Abraham alone I bend my knee and my heart?”
A murmur of surprise and indignation went up from the Moors who were gathered there, while the voice of many a Jew was heard in earnest declaration, “Pasha, she is innocent—she is innocent.”
Raguel looked with mournful approval on his child as she spoke so undauntedly; but boldly as her avowal was made, Myrrah dared not look upon the father, nor on that other, dearer to her than life—Othniel.
The pasha was silent, he dreaded the utterance of the awful sentence. Few who had witnessed his mode of conducting criminal cases, had suspected there was a particle of feeling in the bloody-minded man; but now he paused, and looked with sorrowful interest on the prisoner, and his voice trembled, when at last he said,
“Death, then, can alone await thee! Consider this. Thou art young, and I need not say thou art very beautiful. Thy marriage garments are comely—the robes of life befit thee well. Canst thou falter in the choice between life and awful death, joy and the lonely grave?”
“My child! my child!” cried Raguel, “God is merciful! He will forgive thee! Do not choose death—can I live without thee? Myrrah! Myrrah, live!”
A deathly paleness overspread the face of the poor, tempted young creature; she wept. But ere long the weakness passed again. Looking mildly upon her accusers and the judges, she said, solemnly,
“Ye know that life is very sweet to me, for I am young—that it is very fair to me, ye know, for there are some ties binding me to the dear world, very hard to break. I have said that the charge spoken against me is untrue; and the God of heaven knows that I have spoken honestly to you. It is He who hath given me strength in this hour to declare that death, even the horrible death you have said awaits me, is to be chosen rather than life and recreancy to my religion—it is He who will support me in the fiery trial.”
“My daughter,” exclaimed Raguel, “oh, take back those words! God surely will forgive thee. I cannot lose thee! Wilt thou not choose as they desire, then thou art still mine own? Thou hast not thought, Myrrah, thou canst not guess the death of torture that awaits thee.”