The old Moor is struck by his manner, but, still moved by the passion that swept over him at mention of that name, he does not allow his anger to abate a particle.

“Because of the past you shall suffer.  You have ruined the life of this woman, whose only fault was in loving you, a base, heartless dog.  Say your prayers, wretched man, for you have but a few minutes to live.”

He faces his judge calmly.  An American can meet death with even the stoicism so characteristic of the Moslem race.

The terrible sentence has awakened one who has seemed to be in a stupor.  Sister Magdalen arouses herself.  The old feelings within her heart are not dead; they have only been slumbering all this while.

She steps between Duncan Craig and the Moor, her face shining with a new light.  She raises her hand as if to ward off the impending blow, and her voice is sweet and gentle.

“Ali Ben Taleb, great is thy house and the blessings of Allah hang over it.  I understand the motive that prompts you to thus undertake to avenge what you think are my wrongs.  But you must halt.  I demand a hearing.”

“Speak on; my ears are open to your voice.  You saved my child from the pestilence that stalketh at noon day, and the heart of Ben Taleb has been full of gratitude ever since,” replies the dignified native doctor.

“First, then, hear that, though I thought I should die when I no longer had a home in my husband’s house, my eyes were speedily opened, and I saw that Heaven was using me as an instrument to bring about good.  So I learned to be patient.  Confident of my innocence, I could calmly await the time when the truth would be made known.  That hour, Ali Ben Taleb, has come.

“The second point, which I particularly desire to impress upon your mind, is this:  You are pleased to say that I was instrumental in snatching your beloved child from the jaws of death.  Be it so.  Consider, then, what would have been the result had this misfortune never happened to me, if I had always remained in my husband’s home.”

“Great is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet, but I fear I should have lost my child,” declares the Moor.

“You see the ways of Allah are past finding out.  I have long since learned to trust myself to the guidance of a power stronger than human arms.

“You talk of avenging my wrongs, but time has already done that.  The result you see here in the actions of my husband.  If I forgive him freely and fully, what right have you or any other person to hate him and declare vengeance?  Does your Koran teach that; did Mohammed propagate such doctrines?”

The old Moor hangs his head.

“It is not for Ben Taleb to go against the will of the one who saved his child.  Take, then, his miserable life, oh, remarkable woman; and as for me, I have learned a lesson.”

Again he claps his hands, and the armed retainers disappear.  Peace once more smiles upon the scene.