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He calls for the third time; no one replies. "Masa, where are you, my child?" The sheik anxiously walks through the sitting-room to the little chamber where his daughter's bed stands: no one there either. " Masa, my child, my darling, where are you?"
He cares only for Masa, he thinks only of her, and his roving glance seeks her anxiously. He is being borne to the sea-shore. Do they intend to cast into the waves? Let it be so. Death is sweet, divine, when one has lost all on earth. And he feels that all, that his Masa, is lost. If she is lost to him, what further need of the stars in heaven, of the moonlight, of the bright sunshine?
You should tread on flowers only, and flutter from rose to rose as the butterfly from flower to flower. Alas, and yet your home is now a dark cave! Masa, it tortures me to see you here, under the earth and in darkness." "Is it then dark here?" asked she, in her sweet voice. "I thought we had the light of the stars here! Yes, look there, I am right; look there!"
You have often offended him with your hasty words and threatening manner, and Cousrouf Pacha is not the man to pardon any offence. Marina is well aware of this, and therefore observes and listens to everything." "Does Cousrouf Pacha know that there is any connection between me and Masa?"
It was thus that her father had cried out a few days before: "Masa, where are you?" Punishment has overtaken the undutiful daughter, and him who had harbored her. "Masa, where are you?" For the second time, the agonized voice of love resounded through the cave. Masa is gone. Ah, where can she be? All is still. A struggle has taken place here.
Djumeila no longer watches before the door; she has gone, and is perhaps busied with her morning occupations. The sheik opens the door of his daughter's sitting-room. "Masa" he cries, "it is time to come down to breakfast." He supposes she is within, in her bedchamber, and has not heard him. "Masa," he cries again, "come out, my child, come to your father." All is still as before.
But dying, I shall cry exultingly: 'Your wound still bleeds, and I am victor! Masa is dead, here stands her slayer, slay him!" For a moment Mohammed was silent; a deathly pallor had overspread his countenance, and his eyes gleamed fiercely. He grasped the dagger in his girdle, drew it from its sheath, and raised it high in his right hand. Cousrouf gazed at him with a triumphant expression.
"I bowed submissively to his commands; I left my solitude and raised myself by my sorrow as by a pillar. But in you I seemed to see my mother's spirit; then pain vanished from my heart, and my mother seemed to be regarding me through your eyes. Therefore, Masa, have I followed you.
No one can say that Masa, my daughter, is a slave; and may he who says it stand accursed before Allah and the prophets!" The two eunuchs threw themselves upon him and held him fast. They then called two of the soldiers to their assistance, and bound him hand and foot.
It seems to me there may be some connection between the young boulouk bashi and the flight of the slave. Let us keep our eyes open, for our heads are at stake." And with gloomy looks they presented themselves to their master on their return to the palace, to inform him that they had made thorough search for Masa in the sheik's house, and had not found her.
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