‘I am a Christian prince.’ ‘Yes!’ ‘A prince of the Lebanon, devoted to the English, and one who has suffered much in their cause.’ ‘You are not a prisoner here, like myself?’ ‘No, I am here, seeking some assistance for those sufferers who should be my subjects, were I not deprived of my sceptre, and they of a prince whose family has reigned over and protected them for more than seven centuries. The powerful tribe of which Sheikh Amalek is the head often pitch their tents in the great Syrian desert, in the neighbourhood of Damascus, and there are affairs in which they can aid my unhappy people.’ ‘It is a great position, yours,’ said Tancred, in an animated tone, ‘at the same time a Syrian and a Christian prince!’ ‘Yes,’ said the young Emir, eagerly, ‘if the English would only understand their own interests, with my co-operation Syria might be theirs.’ ‘The English!’ said Tancred, ‘why should the English take Syria?’ ‘France will take it if they do not.’ ‘I hope not,’ said Tancred. ‘But something must be done,’ said the Emir. ‘The Porte never could govern it. Do you think anybody in Lebanon really cares for the Pasha of Damascus? If the Egyptians had not disarmed the mountain, the Turks would be driven out of Syria in a week.’ ‘A Syrian and a Christian prince!’ said Tancred, musingly. ‘There are elements in that position stronger than the Porte, stronger than England, stronger than united Europe. Syria was a great country when France and England were forests. The tricolour has crossed the Alps and the Rhine, and the flag of England has beaten even the tricolour; but if I were a Syrian prince, I would raise the cross of Christ and ask for the aid of no foreign banner.’ ‘If I could only raise a loan,’ said the Emir, ‘I could do without France and England.’ ‘A loan!’ exclaimed Tancred; ‘I see the poison of modern liberalism has penetrated even the desert. Believe me, national redemption is not an affair of usury.’ At this moment there was some little disturbance without the tent, which it seems was occasioned by the arrival of Tancred’s servants, Freeman and True-man. These excellent young men persisted in addressing the Arabs in their native English, and, though we cannot for a moment believe that they fancied themselves understood, still, from a mixture of pride and perverseness peculiarly British, they continued their valuable discourse as if every word told, or, if not apprehended, was a striking proof of the sheer stupidity of their new companions. The noise became louder and louder, and at length Freeman and Trueman entered. ‘Well,’ said Tancred, ‘and how have you been getting on?’ ‘Well, my lord, I don’t know,’ said Freeman, with a sort of jolly sneer; ‘we have been dining with the savages.’ ‘They are not savages, Freeman.’ ‘Well, my lord, they have not much more clothes, anyhow; and as for knives and forks, there is not such a thing known.’