"Guel-Bejaze! Guel-Bejaze!" he moans with a stifling voice, looking all
around the dungeon, and, at the sound of his whispered words, he sees a
white mass, huddled in a corner of the far wall, feebly begin to move.
He rushes to the spot. Surely it is some beggar-woman who hides her face
from him? Gently he removes her hands from her face and in the woman
recognises his wife. The poor creature would rather not be set free for
very shame sake. She would rather remain here in the dungeon.
Speechless with agony, he raised her in his arms. The woman said not a
word, gave him not a look, she only hid her face in her husband's bosom
and sobbed aloud.
"Weep not! weep not!" moaned Halil, "those who have dishonoured thee
shall, this very day, lie in the dust before thee, by Allah. I swear it.
Thou shalt play with the heads of those who have played with thy heart,
and that selfsame puffed-up Sultana who has stretched out her hand
against thee shall be glad to kiss thy hand. I, Halil Patrona, have said
it, and let me be accursed above all other Mussulmans if ever I have
lied."
Then snatching up his wife in his arms he rushed out among the crowd,
and exhibiting that pale and forlorn figure in the sight of all men, he
cried:
"Behold, ye Mussulmans! this is my wife whom they ravished from me on my
bridal night, and whom I must needs discover in the midst of this sink
of vileness and iniquity! Speak those of you who are husbands, would you
be merciful to him who dishonoured your wife after this sort?"
"Death be upon his head!" roared the furious multitude, and rolling
onwards like a flood that has burst its dams it stopped a moment later
before a stately palace.
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