But such an idea ill befits a Mussulman; it is not the mental expression of that pious resignation with which the Mohammedan fortifies himself against the future, submissive as he is to the decrees of Fate, with never a thought of striving against the Powers of Omnipotence with a mortal hand.  Ambitious, world-disturbing were the thoughts which ran riot in the brain of Halil Patrona—­thoughts meet for no mere mortal.  Poor indeed are the thoughts of man.  He piles world upon world, and sets about building for the ages, and then a light breath of air strikes upon that which he has built and it becomes dust.  Wherefore, then, does man take thought for the morrow?

The night slowly descended, the glow of the southern sky grew ever paler on the half-moons of the minarets, till they grew gradually quite dark and the cry of the muezzin resounded from the towers of the mosques.

“Allah Kerim!  Allah Akbar!  La illah il Allah, Mohammed rasul Allah!  God is sublime.  God is mighty.  There is one God and Mohammed is his Prophet.”

And after a few moments he called again: 

“Come, ye people, to the rest of God, to the abode of righteousness; come to the abode of felicity!”

Guel-Bejaze awoke.  Halil washed his hands and feet, and turning towards the mehrab[9] began to pray.

But in vain he sent away Guel-Bejaze (for women are not permitted to be present at the prayers of men nor men at the prayers of women); in vain he raised his hands heavenwards; in vain he went down on his knees and lay with his face touching the ground; other thoughts were abroad in his heart—­terrifying, disturbing thoughts which suggested to him that the God to Whom he prayed no longer existed, but just as His Kingdom here on earth was falling to pieces so also in Heaven it was on the point of vanishing.  Thrice he was obliged to begin his prayer all over again, for thrice it was interrupted by a cough, and it is not lawful to go on with a prayer that has once been interrupted.  Once more he cast a glance upon the darkened city, and it grieved him sorely that nowhere could he perceive a half-moon; whereupon he went in again, sought for Guel-Bejaze, and told her lovely fairy tales which, he pretended, he had been reading in the Talik book.

The next day Halil gathered together in his secret chamber all those in whom he had confidence.  Among them were Kaplan Giraj, a kinsman of the Khan of the Crimea, Musli, old Vuodi, Mohammed the dervish, and Sulali.

Sulali wrote down what Halil said.

“Mussulmans.  Yesterday, before the Abdestan, I was reading the book whose name is the ‘Takimi Vekai.’”

“Mashallah!” exclaimed all the Mohammedans mournfully.

“In that book the overthrow of the Ottoman Empire is predicted.  The year, the day is at hand when the name of Allah will no longer be glorified on this earth, when the tinkling of the sheep-bells will be heard on the ruins of the marble fountains, and those other bells so hateful to Allah will resound from the towers of the minarets.  In those days the Giaours will play at quoits with the heads of the true believers, and build mansions over their tombs.”