Mohammed looked toward them with the raging glance of a lion.

"Who enters here, meets his death!" he cried, in a voice of thunder.
The men without shrunk back before the soldiers' gleaming weapons,
and hastened to the other doors, but they found them all closed,
only the one entrance was open, the one at which the collectors
stood.

Within lay the sheik and the ulemas, all bound, upon their knees,
praying the men of Praousta to come to their help. The men sought
once more to storm the entrance, and once more they were repulsed.

"I swear, by Allah and the prophet, that the rebels shall die if
they do not submit!" cried Mohammed, aloud. "Place your daggers at
their breasts."

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!"