When he opens his eyes, and sees the big, ragged Kabyle at whom he aimed lying flat on his back, with arms extended, the professor is horrified at first.
Then some of the warlike spirit that distinguished his ancestors at Lexington begins to flame up within him.
He gives a shrill war-cry that would doubtless please many a Greek scholar, and plunges headlong for the foe.
The way in which he swings that Arab gun is a sight to behold; in itself the apparition of Professor Sharpe thus advancing to the fray is enough to strike terror to the human heart.
One poor devil is in a position to receive a tremendous whack on the back with the gun, now used as a cudgel, and there is positively no fraud about the manner of his sprawling around.
After that the professor sweeps the air in vain with his weapon.

Men who have met the terrors of the Algerian desert for years, fall down and expire before he can hasten their exit from this vale of tears.
Really, it is wonderful--he never before knew the tenets of the Mohammedan religion made its devotees so accommodating; they seem to court dissolution in the longing for paradise, where the prophet promises eternal happiness for all who die in battle.
It ends; even such obliging fellows as these do not need to be killed more than a couple of times.

Lady Ruth had covered her eyes with her hands when the action began.
She is the daughter of a soldier race, and as brave as the majority of her sex; still she shudders to gaze upon the taking of human life.
Perhaps, too, she anticipates the death of the valorous Briton, who has hurled himself so impetuously into the breach, for under all ordinary conditions his chances would seem to be small.
When the dreadful racket is over, when the shouts, shrieks, and report of fire-arms die away, Lady Ruth uncovers her eyes.
She fully expects to see a slaughter-pen, with the valorous Sir Lionel and Philander among the slain.

As to the latter, there are no lack of them, for they lie in every direction, and in every position the human mind can conceive.
And here is the hero warrior rushing up to her, a smoking revolver in one hand.

His usual coolness and _sang froid_ are gone--Sir Lionel is actually excited.