“No, Othman—­no, no indeed, my lords.  Do not believe her.  Not she, but I—­I wrote the letter that. . . .”

But Paula broke in: 

“He?  Do you not feel that all he wants is to save me, and so he takes my guilt on himself?  It is his generosity, his love for me!  Do not, do not believe him!  Do not allow yourselves to be deceived by him.”

“I?  No, it is she, it is she,” Orion again asserted; but, before he could say more, Paula declared with a flashing glance that it was a poor sort of love which sacrificed itself out of false generosity.  And as, at the same time, she again pressed her hand to her bosom with pathetic entreaty, he was suddenly silent, and casting his eyes up to heaven, he sank back on the prisoners’ bench, deeply affected.

Paula joyfully went on: 

“He has thought better of it, and given up his crazy attempt to take my guilt on himself.  You see, Othman, you all see, worthy men.—­Let me atone for what I did to help the poor nuns.”

“Have your way!” shrieked the old man; but the Negro cried out: 

“A hellish tissue of lies, an unheard-of deception!  But in spite of the shield a woman holds before you, I have my foot on your neck, treacherous wretch!  Is it credible—­I ask you, judges—­that a finished letter should be found, after weeks had elapsed, in the hands of the writer and not those of the person to whom it was addressed?”

The Kadi shrugged his shoulders and replied with calm dignity: 

“Consider, Obada, that we are condemning this damsel on the evidence of a letter which was found in possession, not of the person to whom it was addressed, but of the writer.  This document gave rise to no doubts in your mind.  The judge should mete out equal measure to all, Obada.”

The aptness of these words, spoken in a dogmatic tone, aroused the approval of the Arabs, and the Jew could not restrain himself from exclaiming:  “Capital!” but no sooner had it escaped him than he shrank as quick as lightning out of the Vekeel’s reach; and Obada hardly heard him, for he did not allow himself to be interrupted by the Kadi but went on to explain in wrathful words what a disgrace it was to them, as men and judges, to have dust cast in their eyes by a woman, and allow themselves to be molified by the arts of a pair of love-stricken fools; and how desirable it must be in the eyes of every Moslem to guard the security of life and bring the severest punishment on the instigator of a sanguinary revolt against the champions of the Khaliff’s power.

His eloquent and stormy address was not without effect; still, the Christians, who ascribed every form of evil to the Melchite girl, would have been satisfied with her death and have been ready to forgive the son of the Mukaukas this crime—­supposing him to have committed it.  And it was after the judges had agreed that it was impossible to decide by whom the letter on the tablet had been written, and there had been a great deal of argument on both sides, that the real discussion began.