“How far otherwise I had dreamed of ending this day, which has been for the most part spent in preparations for the flight of the Sisters; and I have found a pleasure in doing all that lay in my power for those kind and innocent, unjustly persecuted nuns.  We must hope for the best for them; and for ourselves we must look to-morrow for an undisturbed interview and a parting which may leave us memories on which we can live for a long time.  The noble governor Amru is, among the Arabs, such another as he whom we mourn was among the Egyptians . . .”  Here the letter ended; not quite three lines were wanting to conclude it.

The Kadi held the tablets for a few minutes in his hand; then looking up again at the assembly, who were waiting in great suspense, he began:  “Even if the accused was not one of those who raised their hands in mutiny against our armed troops, it is nevertheless indisputable, after what has just been read, that he not only knew of the escape of the nuns, but aided them to the utmost.—­When did you receive this communication, noble maiden?”

At this Paula clasped her hands tightly and replied with a slightly bent head and her eyes fixed on the ground.

“When did I receive it?—­Never; for I wrote it myself.  The writing is mine.”

“Yours?” said the Kadi in amazement.  “It is from me to Orion,” replied Paula.

“From you to him?  How then comes it in your desk?”

“In a very simple way,” she explained, still looking down.  “After writing the letter to my betrothed I threw it in with the other tablets as soon as I had no need for it; for he himself came, and there was no necessity for his reading what could be better said by word of mouth.”

As she spoke a peculiar smile passed over her lips and a loud murmur ran through the room.  Orion looked first at the girl and then at the Kadi in growing bewilderment; but the Negro started up, struck his fist on the table, making it shake, and roared out: 

“An atrocious fabrication!  Which of you can allow yourself to be taken in by a woman’s guile?” Horapollo, who had recovered himself by this time, laughed hoarsely and maliciously; the judges looked at each other much puzzled; but when the Vekeel went on raging the Kadi interrupted him, and desired that Orion might speak, for he had twice tried to make himself heard.  Now, with scarlet cheeks and a choking utterance, he said: 

“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.