"To protect and serve you," answered Chartley, "I would risk more than life, sweet girl, if I had any thing more than life to lose. A man's life is worth very little in these days; for there is so little certainty of its continuing from one hour to another, that, good faith, I am fain to shake my head every morning when I rise, to see that it is upon my shoulders. Buckingham and Hastings, Vaughan, Grey, and others, besides some hundreds more, would have done better to have died in the field, or in defence of some fair lady, than to have waited for the headsman's axe. I trust, whenever my hour comes, that it will find me sword in hand. It is the only way I ever could make up my mind to look upon death complacently. I suppose I am a sad coward, for the thought of a sick bed, and feverish pillow, and lamentable friends, and the grave doctor with a potion in his hand, frightens me immensely. Nor is the axe much better for it usually has its dull antecedents of trial, condemnation, gaping fools, and blocks and scaffolds; whereas, on the battle field, or in the lists, lance to lance, for a lady's honour, with stroke for stroke, and clanging trumpets, and charging horse, and shouts of victory, the spirit springs forth triumphant through the wounds of the flesh, and soars away to glory, with the light of renown upon its wings." Iola sighed, she knew not why; but still the enthusiasm touched her, and she felt a thrill run through her veins at his high words, which made her almost fearful of the sensations which were creeping over her heart. "You do not make me brave," she said; "and therefore I will come with you under the arch, for I shall feel frightened if I lose sight of you." "Oh, I will willingly live ever in your eyes," answered Chartley; "and he who reaches you must first pass over my corpse." Iola started; for it is not to be supposed that, in that age, she, or any one, was without superstition; and she read a sort of double sense in his words, which seemed to her almost to have the force of prophecy. She followed him closely, however, and only paused when she again got sight of the courtyard, with the Arab still standing quietly by the fire, upon which he had piled some more wood. "Has no one come?" demanded Chartley. "Have you heard the steps again?" "I have heard the steps," answered the Arab; "but no one has come. They seem to wander round and round the court; but the eye sees not the walker. 'Tis most likely an Afrit, watching this old castle. There may be treasures buried here."