siege--the baffled fury of the Turk--the unshaken constancy and
unremitted valor of the few but fearless defenders. The blood in
his cheek might be seen hastening to and fro in accordance with the
events of which he read. His eye was glowing--his pulse beating,
and he half started from his seat, as, hearing a slight footstep,
he turned to encounter the respectful homage of his former pupil,
still his friend, our young acquaintance, William Hinkley.

The old man laid down his book upon the grass, extended his hand
to his visiter, and leaning back against the tree, surrendered
himself to a quiet chuckle in which there was the hesitancy of a
little shame.

"You surprised me, William," he said; "when I read old Vertot,
and such books, I feel myself a boy again. You must have seen my
emotion. I really had got so warm, that I was about to start up and
look for the weapons of war; and had you but come a moment later,
you might have suffered an assault. As it was, I took you for
a Turk--Solyman himself--and was beginning to ask myself whether
I should attack you tooth and nail, having no other weapons, or
propose terms of peace. Considering the severe losses which you--I
mean his Turkish highness--had sustained, I fancied that you would
not be disinclined to an arrangement just at this moment. But
this very notion, at the same time, led me to the conclusion that
I might end the struggle for ever by another blow. A moment later,
my boy, and you might have been compelled to endure it for the
Turk."

The youth smiled sadly as he replied: "I must borrow that book
from you, sir, some of these days. I have often thought to do so,