I kept my eye on Osman: I wished to read his conscience. As the strain proceeded, his glance met mine; he saw my suspicions. Conscious that they were well founded, his countenance fell—he bit his lip in anger, and revenge fired his blood. Far differently was the innocent heart of Ulea wrought on. ‘I could weep,’ she said ‘for the poor maiden. Who would have thought the fair spoken knight would be false? But I hope it is only a tale of the olden time, fair and false as the lover of whom it sings.’ ‘It may be so,’ I said; ‘but let it serve as a warning to young maidens, how they listen to tales of love.’ Osman left the cottage while I was speaking. I saw the dark cloud lower on his brow, and I resolved to bring him to an acknowledgment of his passion, while he was under the influence of resentment—an unguarded hour with us all. I found him walking hurriedly, and muttering the words, ‘Villain, he shall pay dearly for this insult.’ I accosted him in a calm voice. I told him that my design was not to irritate or insult him, but to warn him in time of the danger of a passion which was growing upon himself daily, while he could not be insensible to the influence he was gaining over the affections of an unsuspecting girl. ‘And how does it concern you, cold hearted wretch,’ he exclaimed, ‘that I have excited the sympathy, the love of the only amiable being on this desolate island? Know, that love scorns the interference of such meddlers. It is enough that we can trust each other, and woe be to him who gives his counsel unadvisedly.’ With these last words he raised his arm in menace. ‘Osman,’ I replied, ‘you know I am superior to your threats. Unless you openly declare your love to the parents of Ulea, I shall consider myself bound to guard her from your arts.’ ‘Beware,’ he exclaimed, ‘how you injure me with her, or this dagger drinks your blood.’ Saying this, he strode away, and I returned with a heavy heart to the cottage. Not that I was personally afraid of Osman; I never feared the arm of man: but I had a {432} trying office to perform—to destroy the confidence of an amiable family, to show them that they had cherished in their bosoms a serpent, instead of a friend. It was evident that Osman wished to conceal his passion even from her who was the object of it. I determined before another interview, to endeavor to awaken her to the impropriety and danger of giving any encouragement to his attentions. The following day he did not come as usual. ‘How long the day seems,’ said Korner, ‘when Osman does not come. Ulea thinks so too, for she has not spoken a word to-day.’ ‘I have been thinking,’ replied Ulea, ‘that he looked last night as if something disturbed him. Did you observe him, Steinkoff? I hope nothing has happened.’ I said in a low tone, ‘Nothing, I believe. Suppose we walk: perhaps we may meet him.’ She sprang forward, animated with the hope; and we followed the winding path by which he generally came.