The merchant’s son made no further attempt to interrupt the creature’s meal, which it was proceeding to despatch with characteristic voracity, when, on a sudden, several arrows were fixed in its body. Raising its head, it tore the shafts from its flanks; then with glaring eyes and erected fur, darted forward in the direction whence the arrows had been discharged. Its career was almost immediately arrested. It staggered and fell dead. As it advanced, there had been a second discharge of arrows, three of which entered its brain. Eiz-ood-Deen saw with regret the noble creature lying prostrate in death, remembering the peril they had shared in the late tempest, and the tiger’s consequent gentleness towards himself. While he was gazing at the body of the prostrate beast, several men advanced from the thicket and surrounded him. “Who are you,” said one of them, “that the brindled savages of the forest seem thus to respect?” “A poor traveller on his way to Ghizny, which he hopes, through your kind succour and direction, to reach.” “But how comes it that yonder grim brute, which so unceremoniously banqueted upon our companion, who lies yonder with his eyes to the broad heavens, whither his spirit will never enter, did not make a meal of thee? He seems to prefer flesh that has been forest-fed to the tough and dry product of the town.” “My history with reference to that beast is a strange one. We were hurled into the sea from the same ship, and clung to the same spar for preservation. The creature was near me in peril, and when we were cast on shore together, fawned before me instead of exercising upon me the savage propensities of its nature. Animal instincts are as inexplicable as they are wonderful.” “A likely story, in truth! but whether true or false, our companion has been killed and you must supply his place. A tall sinewy fellow of your growth and bulk is sure to make an apt as well as a comely robber.” “I am afraid you will find me but an awkward practitioner in a profession which I so little understand.” “Ay, I suppose you are what those fools who affect to be good and wise among us, call an honest man--whose whole life is only one broad varnished lie. Honesty is a mere term for a purpose. Where are there greater rogues than they who would be teachers of their fellows, and under the veil of religion commit the vilest abominations, and dub them with the name of honesty? We’ll soon teach you a different lesson. We pretend not to be honest, for thieving is our craft, and we glory in making the pampered pay for our civility when they happen to cross our path. You’ll quickly learn to get rid of your qualms, for with us hunger is a frequent visitor, and you’ve no notion how eloquently it persuades men to become rogues. But you must go with us, whatever may be your antipathies.”