At last—­at last.  The Kadi announced the verdict:  It was impossible to find Orion worthy of death, and equally so to give up all belief in his guilt; the court therefore declared itself inadequate to pronounce a sentence, and left it to be decided by the Khaliff or by his representative in Egypt, Amru.  The court only went so far as to rule that the prisoner was to be kept in close confinement, so that he might be within reach of the hand of justice, if the supreme decision should be “guilty!”

When the Kadi said that the matter was to be referred to the Khaliff or his representative, the Vekeel cried out: 

“I—­I am Omar’s vicar!” but a disapproving murmur from the judges, as with one voice, rejected his pretensions, and at a proposal of the Kadi it was resolved that the young man should be protected against any arbitrary attack on the part of the Vekeel by a double guard; for many grave accusations against Obada were already on their way to Medina.  The negro quitted the court, mad with rage, and concocting fresh indictments against Paula with the old man.

When Paula returned to her cell old Betta thought that she must have been pardoned; for how glad, how proud, how full of spirit she entered it!  The worst peril was diverted from her lover, and she and her love had saved him!

She gave herself up for lost; but whatever fate might have in store for her, life lay open before him; he would have time to prove his splendid powers, and that he would do so, as she would have him do it, she felt certain.

She had not ended telling her nurse of the judges’ decision, when the warder announced the Kadi.  In a minute or two he made his appearance; she expressed her thanks, and he warmly assured her that he regarded the disgrace of being perhaps a beguiled judge as a favor of Fortune; then he turned the conversation on the real object of his visit.

In the letter, he began, which he had received the evening before from his uncle Haschim, there was a great deal about her.  She had quite won the old merchant’s heart, and the enquiries for her father which he had set on foot. . . .

Here she interrupted him saying:  “Oh, my lord; is the wish, the prayer of my life to be granted?”

“Your father, the noble Thomas, before whom even the Moslem bows, has been . . . " and then Othman went on to tell her that the hero of Damascus had in fact retired to Sinai and had been living there as a hermit.  But she must not indulge in premature rejoicing, for the messengers had found him ill, consumed by disease arising from his wounded lungs, and almost at death’s door.  His days were numbered. . . .

“And I, I am a prisoner,” groaned the girl.  “Held fast, helpless, robbed of all means of flying to his arms!”