Pale, but prepared to meet the worst, Paula returned to the squalid room she occupied with her faithful Betta.

Her arrival at the prison had been terrible.  The guards had seemed disposed to place her in a room filled with a number of male and female criminals, whence the rattle of their chains and a frantic uproar of coarse voices met her ear; however, the interpreter and the captain of the town-watch had taken charge of her, prompted by Martina’s promise of a handsome reward if they could go to her next morning with a report that Paula had been decently accommodated.

The warder’s mother-in-law, too, had taken her under her protection.  This woman was the inn-keeper’s wife from the riverside inn of Nesptah, and she at once recognized Paula as the handsome damsel who had refreshed herself there after the evening on the river with Orion, and whom she had supposed to be his betrothed.  She happened to be visiting her daughter, the keeper’s wife, and induced her to do what she could to be agreeable to Paula.  So she and Betta were lodged in a separate cell, and her gold coin proved acceptable to the man, who did his utmost to mitigate her lot.  Indeed, Pulcheria had even been allowed to visit her and to bring her the last roses that the drought had left in the garden.

Susannah had carried out her purpose of sending her food and fruit; but they remained in the outer room, and the messenger was desired to explain that no more were to be sent, for that she was supplied with all she needed.

Confident in her sense of innocence, she had looked forward calmly to her fate building her hopes on the much lauded justice of the Arab judges.  But it was not they, it would seem, who were to decide it, but that black monster Orion’s foe; crushed by the sense of impotence against the arbitrary despotism of the ruthless villain, whose victim she must be, she sat sunk in gloomy apathy, and hardly heard the old nurse’s words of encouragement.

She did not fear death; but to die without having seen her father once more, without saying and proving to Orion that she was his alone, wholly his and for ever—­that was too hard to bear.

While she was wringing her hands, in a state verging on despair, the man who had ruined the happiness, the peace, and the fortunes of so many of his fellow-creatures was cantering through the streets of Memphis, mounted on the finest horse in Orion’s stable, and firmly determined to make his defiant prisoner feel his power.  When he reached the great market-place in the quarter known as Ta-anch he was forced to bring his steed to a quieter pace, for in front of the Curia—­the senatehouse—­an immense gathering of people had collected.  The Vekeel forced his way through them with cruel indifference.  He knew what they wanted and paid no heed to them.  The hapless crowd had for some time past met here daily, demanding from the authorities some succor in their fearful need.  Processions and pilgrimages had had no result yesterday, so to-day they besieged the Curia.  But could the senate make the Nile rise, or stay the pestilence, or prevent the dates dropping from the palm-trees?  Could they help, when Heaven denied its aid?