is more probably a merchant in disguise.’
‘And carries hidden treasure,’ added Kisloch; ‘these rough coats often cover jewels. We had better search him.’
‘Ah! search him,’ said Scherirah, with his rough brutal voice; ‘do what you like, only give me the bottle. This Greek wine is choice booty. Feed the fire, men. Are you asleep? And then Kisloch, who hates cruelty, can roast him if he likes.’
The robbers prepared to strip their captive. ‘Friends, friends!’ exclaimed Alroy, ‘for there is no reason why you should not be friends, spare me, spare me. I am poor, I am young, I am innocent. I am neither a spy nor a merchant. I have no plots, no wealth. I am a pilgrim.’
‘A decided spy,’ exclaimed Scherirah; ‘they are ever pilgrims.’
‘He speaks too well to speak truth,’ exclaimed Kisloch.
‘All talkers are liars,’ exclaimed Scherirah.
‘That is why Kisloch is the most eloquent of the band.’
‘A jest at the banquet may prove a curse in the field,’ replied Kisloch.
‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Scherirah. ‘Fellows, why do you hesitate? Search the prisoner, I say!’
They advanced, they seized him. In vain he struggled.
‘Captain,’ exclaimed one of the band, ‘he wears upon his breast a jewel!’
‘I told you so,’ said the third robber.
‘Give it me,’ said Scherirah.
But Alroy, in despair at the thought of losing the talisman, remembering the injunctions of Jabaster, and animated by supernatural courage, burst from his searchers, and, seizing a brand from the fire, held them at bay.
‘The fellow has spirit,’ said Scherirah, calmly. ‘‘Tis pity it will cost him his life.’
‘Bold man,’ exclaimed Alroy, ‘for a moment hear me! I am a pilgrim, poorer than a beggar. The jewel they talk of is a holy emblem, worthless to you,
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