led
blood. The little maiden was to be my sister. How pretty and bright
she looked: even my mother's eyes were not more gentle than hers.
Anastasia, as she was called, was to be my sister, because her
father had been united to mine by an old custom, which we still
follow. They had sworn brotherhood in their youth, and the most
beautiful and virtuous maiden in the neighborhood was chosen to
perform the act of consecration upon this bond of friendship. So now
this little girl was my sister. She sat in my lap, and I brought her
flowers, and feathers from the birds of the mountain. We drank
together of the waters of Parnassus, and dwelt for many years
beneath the laurel roof of the hut, while, winter after winter, my
mother sang her song of the stag who shed red tears. But as yet I
did not understand that the sorrows of my own countrymen were mirrored
in those tears.

One day there came to our hut Franks, men from a far country,
whose dress was different to ours. They had tents and beds with
them, carried by horses; and they were accompanied by more than twenty
Turks, all armed with swords and muskets. These Franks were friends of
the Pacha, and had letters from him, commanding an escort for them.
They only came to see our mountain, to ascend Parnassus amid the
snow and clouds, and to look at the strange black rocks which raised
their steep sides near our hut. They could not find room in the hut,
nor endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling till it found its
way out at the low door; so they pitched their tents on a small
space outside our dwelling. Roasted lambs and birds were brought
forth, and strong, sweet wine, of which the Turks are forbidden to
partake.

When they departed, I accompanied them for some distance, carrying
my little sister Anastasia, wrapped in a goat-skin, on my back. One of
the Frankish gentlemen made me stand in front of a rock, and drew us
both as we stood there, so that we looked like one creature. I did not
think of it then, but Anastasia and I were really one. She was
always sitting on my lap, or riding in the goat-skin on my back; and
in my dreams she always appeared to me.

Two nights after this, other men, armed with knives and muskets,
came into our tent. They were Albanians, brave men, my mother told me.
They only stayed a short time. My sister Anastasia sat on the knee
of one of them; and when they were gone, she had not three, but two
silver coins in her hair--one had disappeared