on the fulfilment of which
depends the repose, nay, the very existence of your beloved."

"Demand," replied Peregrine, tenderly embracing her, "demand any thing,
my life,--any thing you will; your slightest wish is my command.
Nothing in the world is so dear to me that I would not with pleasure
sacrifice it to you and your affection."

"Woe is me!" lisped Master Flea; "who could have imagined that the
little traitress would have conquered? I am lost!"

"Hear then," replied Gamaheh, after having returned with equal fire the
glowing kisses, which Peregrine imprinted on her lips, "hear then; I
know how the--"

The door burst open, and in rushed George Pepusch.

"Zeherit!" cried the little one in despair, and fell back on the sofa,
senseless.

The Thistle, Zeherit, flew to the princess, took her in his arms, and
ran off with the speed of lightning.

For this time Master Flea was saved.

Fifth Adventure.

Thoughts of poetical young enthusiasts and female
blue-stockings.--Peregrine's reflections upon his life, and Master
Flea's learning and understanding.--Singular virtue and firmness of Mr.
Tyss.--Unexpected conclusion of an event that threatened tragically.

With the speed of lightning,--as the reader has already learnt at the
conclusion of the fourth adventure,--George Pepusch snatched the fair
one from the arms of the enamoured Peregrine, and left him behind
petrified with astonishment and terror. When at length the latter came
to his recollection, and would have followed his robber-friend, all was
still and desolate in the house. Upon his repeated calling, the old
Alina came pattering up the stairs from one of the farthest rooms, and
declared that she had not observed any, the slightest, part of the
whole business.

Peregrine was nigh going mad at the loss of Doertje, but Master Flea
began to console him in a tone that must have inspired the most
desperate with confidence: "You are not yet quite certain, my dear Mr.
Peregrine, whether the fair Doertje Elverdink has really left your
house. As well as I can judge of such things, she is not far off; I
seem to feel her nearness. But, if you will follow my friendly counsel,
you will leave her to her fate. Trust me, she is as capricious as the
wind; it may be, as you have said, that she now is really fond of you,
but how long will it be before she plunges you into such misery, that
you will be in danger from it of losing your