s,
which he had seen in Constantinople. His mother shrugged her shoulders
and cast a meaning glance at the widow, and even his father was startled
at the sight. He knew what had roused her; still he felt that he could
not permit this, and he recalled the excited girl to her senses by
speaking her name, half-reproachfully and half-regretfully, at first
quite gently but then louder and more severely.

She started like a sleep-walker suddenly awaked from her trance, passed
her hand over her eyes, and said, as she bowed her head before the
governor:

"Forgive me, Uncle, I am sorry for what has occurred--but it was too much
for me. You know what my past has been, and when I am reminded--when I
must listen to the praises even of the wretches to whom my father and
brother. . . ."

A loud sob interrupted her; little Mary was clinging to her and weeping.
Orion could hardly keep himself from hastening to her and clasping her in
his arms. Ah, how well her woman's weakness became the noble girl! How
strongly it drew him to her!

But Paula soon recovered from it; even while the governor was soothing
her with kind words she mastered her violent agitation, and said gently,
though her tears still quietly flowed: "Let me go to my room, I
beg. . . ."

"Good-night, then, child," said the Mukaukas affectionately, and Paula
turned towards the door with a silent greeting to the rest of the party;
but the Moslem detained her and said:

"I know who you are, noble daughter of Thomas, and I have heard that your
brother was the bridegroom who had come to Abyla to solemnize his
marriage with the daughter of the prefect of Tripolis. Alas, alas! I
myself was there with my merchandise at the fair, when a maddened horde
of my fellow-believers fell upon the peaceful town. Poor child, poor
child! Your father was the greatest and most redoubtable of our foes.
Whether still on earth or in heaven he yet, no doubt honors our sword as
we honor his. But your brother, whom we sent to his grave as a
bridegroom--he cursed us with his dying breath. You have inherited his
rancor; and when it surges up against me, a Moslem, I can do no more than
bow my head and do penance for the guilt of those whose blood runs in my
veins and whose faith I confess. I have nothing to plead--no, noble
maiden, nothing that can excuse the deed of Abyla. There--there alone it
was the fate of my grey hairs to be ashamed of my fellow-Moslems--believe
me, maiden, it was grievous t