ry
mother's son who is likewise compassionate, is like him."

"Another Christian rule, thou strange Moslem!" said Orion interrupting
him.

"And yet," said Haschim, with tranquil dignity, "it corresponds word for
word with the teaching of the Best of men--our Prophet. I am one of those
who knew him here on earth. His brother's smallest pain filled his soft
heart with friendly sympathy; his law insists on charity, even towards
the shrub by the, wayside; he pronounces it mortal sin to injure it, and
every Moslem must obey him. Compassion for all is the command of the
Prophet. . . ." Here the Arab was suddenly and roughly interrupted;
Paula, who, till now, had been leaning against a pilaster, contemplating
the hanging and silently listening to the conversation, hastily stepped
nearer to the old man, and with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes pointed
at him wrathfully, while she exclaimed in a trembling voice-heedless
alike of the astonished and indignant bystanders, and of the little dog
which flew at the Arab, barking furiously:

"You--you, the followers of the false prophet--you, the companions of the
bloodhound Khalid--you and Charity! I know you! I know what you did in
Syria. With these eyes have I seen you, and your bloodthirsty women, and
the foam on your raging lips. Here I stand to bear witness against you
and I cast it in your teeth: You broke faith in Damascus, and the victims
of your treachery--defenceless women and tender infants as well as
men--you killed with the sword or strangled with your hands. You--you the
Apostle of Compassion?--have you ever heard of Abyla? You, the friend of
your Prophet--I ask you what did you, who so tenderly spare the tree by
the wayside, do to the innocent folk of Abyla, whom you fell upon like
wolves in a sheepfold? You--you and Compassionate!" The vehement girl, to
whom no one had ever shown any pity, and on whose soul the word had
fallen like a mockery, who for long hours had been suffering suppressed
and torturing misery, felt it a relief to give free vent to the anguish
of her soul; she ended with a hard laugh, and waved her hand round her
head as though to disperse a swarm of gadflies.

What a woman!

Orion's gaze was fixed on her in horror--but in enchantment. Yes, his
mother had judged her rightly. No gentle, tender-hearted woman laughed
like that; but she was grand, splendid, wonderful in her wrath. She
reminded him of the picture of the goddess of vengeance, by Apelle