leapt upon him, felled him to the earth
with a single blow, tore the dagger from his hand, and sprang to his
feet again just in time to strike his new weapon full into the third
pursuer's face. The man put his hand to his head, and recoiled against
a fellow-ruffian, who was close on his heels. Philammon, flushed with
victory, took advantage of the confusion, and before the worthy pair
could recover, dealt them half a dozen blows which, luckily for them,
came from an unpractised hand, or the young monk might have had more
than one life to answer for. As it was, they turned and limped off,
cursing in an unknown tongue; and Philammon found himself triumphant
and alone, with the trembling negress and the prostrate ruffian, who,
stunned by the blow and the fall, lay groaning on the pavement.

It was all over in a minute.... The negress was kneeling under the
gateway, pouring out her simple thanks to Heaven for this unexpected
deliverance; and Philammon was about to kneel too, when a thought struck
him; and coolly despoiling the Jew of his shawl and sash, he handed them
over to the poor negress, considering them fairly enough as his own by
right of conquest; but, lo and behold! as she was overwhelming him with
thanks, a fresh mob poured into the street from the upper end, and
were close on them before they were aware .... A flush of terror and
despair,.... and then a burst of joy, as, by mingled moonlight and
torchlight, Philammon descried priestly robes, and in the forefront of
the battle--there being no apparent danger--Peter the Reader, who
seemed to be anxious to prevent inquiry, by beginning to talk as fast as
possible.

'Ah, boy! Safe? The saints be praised! We gave you up for dead! Whom
have you here? A prisoner? And we have another. He ran right into our
arms up the street, and the Lord delivered him into our hand. He must
have passed you.'

'So he did,' said Philammon, dragging up his captive, 'and here is his
fellow-scoundrel.' Whereon the two worthies were speedily tied
together by the elbows; and the party marched on once more in search of
Alexander's church, and the supposed conflagration.

Philammon looked round for the negress, but she had vanished. He was far
too much ashamed of being known to have been alone with a woman to say
anything about her. Yet he longed to see her again; an interest--even
something like an affection--had already sprung up in his heart toward
the poor simple creature whom he had d