In his girdle were a pair of pistols and a scimitar.
He bade us welcome in bad Arabic, showing us into a good-sized room--the upper chamber we had seen from far.

Its windows, innocent of glass, were closed by wooden shutters, roughly bolted, which creaked and rattled in the gale.

A very fine-looking old man rose from the divan to greet us.
'What countryman art thou?
A Turk, or one of us ?' he asked, as I removed my head-shawl.

'An Englishman, sayest thou ?' He seized my hand, and pressed it.

'An Englishman--any Englishman--is good, and his word is sure.