I had always believed that the place must have been honeycombed with secret passages.

No wonder that she could find a way to the battlements, mysterious to everybody else.

No wonder that she could meet me at the Flagstaff when she so desired.
To say that I was in a tumult would be to but faintly express my condition.

I was rapt into a heaven of delight which had no measure in all my adventurous life--the lifting of the veil which showed that my wife--mine--won in all sincerity in the very teeth of appalling difficulties and dangers--was no Vampire, no corpse, no ghost or phantom, but a real woman of flesh and blood, of affection, and love, and passion.
Now at last would my love be crowned indeed when, having rescued her from the marauders, I should bear her to my own home, where she would live and reign in peace and comfort and honour, and in love and wifely happiness if I could achieve such a blessing for her--and for myself.
But here a dreadful thought flashed across me, which in an instant turned my joy to despair, my throbbing heart to ice: "As she is a real woman, she is in greater danger than ever in the hands of Turkish ruffians.

To them a woman is in any case no more than a sheep; and if they cannot bring her to the harem of the Sultan, they may deem it the next wisest step to kill her.