sir--swear,
swear by all that's holy, and by all that's pure, that you do not
deceive me." "I swear by thyself, maiden, than all to me more sacred!" The casement closed, and in a short time a light appeared above. In a
minute or two more the door was opened to Philip by the fair daughter
of Mynheer Poots. She stood with the candle in her right hand, the
colour in her cheeks varying--now flushing red, and again deadly pale. Her left hand was down by her side, and in it she held a pistol half
concealed. Philip perceived this precaution on her part but took no
notice of it; he wished to reassure her. "Maiden!" said he, not entering, "if you still have doubts--if you
think you have been ill-advised in giving me admission--there is yet
time to close the door against me: but for your own sake I entreat you
not. Before the moon is up, the robbers will be here. With my life I
will protect you, if you will but trust me. Who indeed could injure
one like you?" She was indeed (as she stood irresolute and perplexed from the
peculiarity of her situation, yet not wanting in courage when, it was
to be called forth) an object well worthy of gaze and admiration. Her
features thrown into broad light and shade by the candle which at
times was half extinguished by the wind--her symmetry of form and
the gracefulness and singularity of her attire--were matter of
astonishment to Philip. Her head was without covering, and her long
hair fell in plaits behind her shoulders; her stature was rather
under the middle size, but her form perfect; her dress was simple but
becoming, and very different from that usually worn by the young women
of the district. Not only her features but her dress would at once
have indicated to a traveller that she was of Arab blood, as was the
fact. She looked in Philip's face as she spoke--earnestly, as if she would
have penetrated into his inmost thoughts; but there was a frankness
and honesty in his bearing, and a sincerity in his manly countenance,
which reassured her. After a moment's hesitation she replied--

"Come in, sir; I feel that I can trust you." Philip entered. The door was then closed and made secure. "We have no time to lose, maiden," said Philip: "but tell me your
name, that I may address you as I ought." "My name is Amine," replied she, retreating a little. "I thank you for that little confidence; but I must not dally. What
arms have you in the house, and have you ammunition?" "Both. I wish that my father would come home." "And so do I," replied Philip, "devoutly wish he would, before these
murderers come; but not, I trust, while the attack is making, for
there's a carbine loaded expressly for his head, and if they make
him prisoner, they will not spare his life, unless his gold and your
person are given in ransom. But the arms, maiden--where are they?" "Follow me," replied Amine, leading Philip to an inner room on the
upper floor. It was the sanctum of her father, and was surrounded with
shelves filled with bottles and boxes of drugs. In one corner was an
iron chest, and over the mantel-piece were a brace of carbines and
three pistols. "They are all loaded," observed Amine, pointing to them, and laying on
the table the one which she had held in her hand. Philip took down the arms, and examined all the primings. He then took
up from the table the pistol which Amine had laid there, and threw
open the pan. It was equally well prepared. Philip closed the pan, and
with a smile observed,

"So this was meant for me, Amine?" "No--not for you--but for a traitor, had one gained admittance." "Now, maiden," observed Philip, "I shall station myself at the
casement which you opened, but without a light in the room. You may
remain here, and can turn the key for your security." "You little know me," replied Amine. "In that way at least I am not
fearful; I must remain near you and reload the arms--a task in which I
am well practised." "No, no," replied Philip; "you might be hurt." "I may. But think you I will remain here idly, when I can assist one
who risks his life for me? I know my duty, sir, and I shall perform
it." "You must not risk your life, Amine," replied Philip; "my aim will not
be steady, if I know that you're in danger. But I must take the arms
into the other chamber, for the time is come." Philip, assisted by Amine, carried the carbines and pistols into the
adjoining chamber; and Amine then left Philip, carrying with her the
light. Philip, as soon as he was alone, opened the casement and looked
out--there was no one to be seen; he listened, but all was silent. The
moon was just rising above the distant hill, but her light was dimmed
by fleecy clouds, and Philip watched for a few minutes; at length he
heard a whispering below. He looked out, and could distinguish through
the dark the four expected assailants, standing close to the door of
the house. He walked away softly from the window, and went into the
next room to Amine, whom he found busy preparing the ammunition. "Amine, they are at the door, in consultation. You can see them now,
without risk. I thank them, for they will convince you that I have
told the truth." Amine, without reply, went into the front room and looked out of the
window. She returned, and laying her hand upon Philip's arm, she
said--

"Grant me your pardon for my doubts. I fear nothing now but that my
father may return too soon, and they seize him." Philip left the room again, to make his reconnaissance. The robbers
did not appear to have made up their mind--the strength of the door
defied their utmost efforts, so they attempted stratagem. They
knocked, and as there was no reply, they continued to knock louder and
louder: not meeting with success they held another consultation, and
the muzzle of a carbine was then put to the keyhole, and the piece
discharged. The lock of the door was blown off, but the iron bars
which crossed the door within, above and below, still held it fast. Although Philip would have been justified in firing upon the robbers
when he first perceived them in consultation at the door, still there
is that feeling in a generous mind which prevents the taking away of
life, except from stern necessity; and this feeling made him withhold
his fire until hostilities had actually commenced. He now levelled one
of the carbines at the head of the robber nearest to the door, who was
busy examining the effect which the discharge of the piece had made,
and what further obstacles intervened. The aim was true, and the
man fell dead, while the others started back with surprise at the
unexpected retaliation. But in a second or two a pistol was discharged
at Philip, who still remained leaning out of the casement, fortunately
without effect; and the next moment he felt himself drawn away, so as
to be protected from their fire. It was Amine, who, unknown to Philip,
had been standing by his side. "You must not expose yourself, Philip," said she, in a low tone. She called me Philip, thought he, but made no reply.