“And so do I,” replied Philip, “devoutedly 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 mantelpiece 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.”