"Will you murder us?" asked the sheik Alepp, as he looked with calm dignity at the young man.

"No, if your blood must flow, so be it upon your own head," answered Mohammed, earnestly. "You alone shall decide your own life or death, and that of your three companions.--Come, soldiers, open this door; we go out this way."

The soldiers obeyed, and opened the door on that side of the mosque which lay nearest the mountain stairway.

The sheik and the ulemas, soldiers accompanying them, passed out, Mohammed in front of them, his drawn sword in his hand. Behind them came the collectors, with pikes in their hands.

Silently they went on their way toward the mountain-path.

The men who had waited, uncertain what to do, before the door of the mosque, now went round to the side, and with out-cries of rage pointed out to one another the road to the mountain-path.

When Mohammed heard this outcry, he stood still, and motioned to the soldiers to go forward with the prisoners. "Remain at my side, collectors, we will cover the rear. Forward, now! go up the mountain."

And while those went upward, Mohammed remained at the foot of the mountain. On either side the collectors, and in front of him all the fishermen of Praousta, more than fifty men, with threatening looks and burning eyes. But still, although they muttered and quarrelled, and even raised their fists, they dared not approach this young man, whose countenance was so determined, so full of energy, whose cheeks were so pale, and on whose mouth rested so threatening an expression. He must have appeared to them like the angel of death, and each one feared that if he approached he would sink down and die.

Mohammed paid no attention to the threatening group of men. His eye looked beyond them--there, behind the men, where the veiled white figure stood, supported by two women.

He looked toward her, and the ringing tones of the young girl's voice sounded in his heart, and he seemed to hear the words: "If you have a mother you love, then think of her!"

He thought of her, and a deep sigh escaped his soul. But, still, he must be a man now. He had sworn to bring the rebels of Praousta back to obedience. He must keep his word, and he will do it. "If she has swooned away, she will awake and forget her grief. Women are readily grieved, but their grief is easily dissipated. She will know how to console herself; and as for me, I will forget her, I will never give her another thought."

He said this defiantly to himself, and looked again at the men of Praousta, who were still standing irresolute and murmuring near the mosque, not daring to approach the three armed men. "He certainly would not have come alone, he would not dare to remain standing there, if his comrades were not concealed somewhere up there in the mountain."

"Yes, they are standing there listening, and, if we should charge upon them, they would fire at us, and we should all be lost. No, we will be cautious; but this is certain, we will not pay the tax; the sheik has commanded it, and the ulemas have decided; therefore we will not pay."

"No, we will not pay," repeated all the other men. No longer loud and defiant, but in low voices one to another, and their eyes turned suspiciously toward the three figures, and then up the mountain- path, toward the rocks behind which they believed the sharp-shooters were concealed.

Mohammed looked also toward the mountain-path, and, seeing that the prisoners and their guard had reached the top of the mountain, he turned toward the fishermen

"Ismail, Marut, Berutti," he cried, "do you not recognize me, you know Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim?"

"Yes, we know you, and we would not have believed that the son of Ibrahim Aga could have become a spy upon his old friends."

"I am not a spy, I am only a servant of that law and justice which you wish to violate. Step nearer, and listen to what I have to say to you."

They came cautiously, hesitatingly, a few steps nearer, and again looked anxiously toward the mountain.

"What have you to say, Mohammed, son of Ibrahim Aga?--but remember that one who--"

"Silence!" commanded Mohammed; "I shall remember what is necessary, and I do not need the advice of rebels and rioters. I did not call upon you to speak, but to listen to what I have to say. Hearken, men of Praousta, in the name of the tschorbadji! I give you until early to-morrow morning to decide; if, at the hour of second prayers, you have not sent three men to the palace of the tschorbadji, double the amount that you have formerly paid, the sheik and the three ulemas will lose their heads for your disobedience, and you will be the murderers of four of the first men of Praousta."

He slightly lowered his gleaming sword, and, as a farewell greeting, turned and walked up the mountain-path, not swiftly, not hastily, as if he feared the men would fall upon him, but slowly, step by step, not even glancing back to see if the crowd were following him, quietly, sword in hand, and in front of him the two collectors.

BOOK II.

PARADISE AND HELL.

CHAPTER I

THE FLOWER OF PRAOUSTA.

The tschorbadji was in great uneasiness since Mohammed had gone on his expedition to the rebellious village, and his son was profoundly troubled and apprehensive. He could not endure to remain in the broad hall which led to the garden, but followed his father to the great saloon which commanded a view of the court-yard through which Mohammed must come. He laid himself upon the divan, while his father walked up and down with heavy steps, pausing occasionally at the window looking into the court-yard, and then rapidly continuing his walk. Suddenly the door opened, and two slaves appeared in magnificent Grecian costume, richly embroidered, and placed themselves at the open door. Then a third stepped forth, and announced in a loud voice, "His excellency Cousrouf Pacha!" His excellency entered, splendidly dressed, in a long velvet mantle, trimmed with rare fur, in his turban a star of the most brilliant diamonds flashed, and in the Persian shawl folded around his waist glittered a dagger, studded with costly gems.

It was a splendid sight--the tall, proud man as he stood in the widely-opened door; the richly-dressed slaves at his side, and behind him his secretary, in white, gold-embroidered robe, holding the staff aloft.

The tschorbadji stepped toward him with a respectful air and a forced smile. Osman arose slowly from the divan, and bowed profoundly before his excellency.

The sharp glance of the pacha read at once, in the face of father and son, that he was unwelcome, and told them so in a soft, friendly voice. The tschorbadji protested, in flowery words and flattering terms, which he knew would please Cousrouf Pacha, that he was unutterably happy, inexpressibly flattered and delighted, at the presence of his excellency.

Cousrouf Pacha replied with a gracious inclination of his stately head, and appeared to find it perfectly natural that every one should feel delighted when his excellency approached.

"Tell me, tschorbadji," he said, taking the place of honor on the divan, and motioning the slave to bring him his gold-and-diamond- studded chibouque--" tell me, tsohorbadji, is it true that the village of Praousta is in revolt?"

"Unfortunately, your excellency, it is true," sighed the tschorbadji; "the men have revolted, they will not pay the double tax."

"Dogs! dogs! that are barking a little," said Cousrouf, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. "I think, tschorbadji, you would do well to quiet them quickly."

"I hope my messenger will succeed in repressing the revolt, in quieting the men, and in inducing them to do their duty."

"What!" exclaimed Cousrouf, with a contemptuous curl of his lip, "you intend to make terms with the rebels?"

"I shall try to induce the men to do their duty."

"You surely do not consider that rebels are criminals most deserving of death," said Cousrouf, with flashing eyes. "Dogs are shot when they are mad, and rebels are but mad dogs."

"I beg your pardon, excellency," said the tschorbadji, his gentle face assuming a severer expression than it had yet worn before his excellency--" I beg your pardon, but this small island is not so rich in men that we can afford to shoot them like dogs, and, moreover, excepting this, the people are good, industrious, and willing to provide for their families. This year they have had a bad harvest, and but little profit, and were incensed at having to pay double taxes."

"And why double taxes?" asked Cousrouf Pacba, with a contemptuous smile.

"Do not ask me, excellency," replied the tschorbadji, with a bow; "one portion of the taxes goes as usual to Stamboul, into the coffers of his highness; the other portion--"

"Ah, I understand," said Cousrouf, with a proud smile; "the other portion is, through an order from Stamboul, destined for me. That is so, is it not, tschorbadji?"

"Yes, excellency, if you wish to know the truth, it is."

"And these dogs refuse to pay for the benefit of Cousrouf Pacha, the grand-vizier of his highness, the friend and comrade of the Admiral Hussein, and you will not shoot them down like mad dogs, tachorbadji; you wish to negotiate with these audacious men, who mock at my greatness in refusing me the tribute! These slaves believe that, because Cousrouf Pacha condescends to live in this desolate place--this miserable nest they can mock and deny me their respect with impunity. But I tell you, tschorbadji, I tell you, and all the men of Praousta and Cavalla, you shall remember this day! If these men do not submit, if they do not pay what they ought to pay, then you may all beware, for a day will come, and, by Allah, it is not far off, when Cousrouf Pacha will leave his exile with new honors! Remember this, tschorbadji, and act accordingly."

"I shall remember it, excellency," said the tschorbadji, respectfully; "I have never failed in reverence and respect to the noble guest whom his highness graciously sent here; I accepted it as a favor, and during my entire life I shall remember the days that it pleased Cousrouf Pacha to become a guest in my house."

The words of the tschorbadji, humbly and respectfully as they were spoken, rankled in the sensitive soul of the proud pacha. He started, and his brow darkened. He had partaken of the tschorbadji's hospitality, and had never thanked him for it, and never returned it. The tax that the men of Praousta were commanded to pay, was by an order from Stamboul, destined for Cousrouf Pacha, and this was a sign to the proud man that his sun was in the ascendant, that he would soon be released from his exile, and therefore he was defiant and haughty toward the tschorbadji.

At the angry words of the pacha, Osman, the usually mild and gentle youth, arose from the divan, and placed himself at his father's side, as if he wished to defend the tschorbadji from the proud and mocking words of the stranger.