erever he
went.

"Is it a Plenipotentiary or a furrin' Prime Minister they take me for?"
he muttered to himself over a mild cigar of the finest quality, "or
mayhap they think I'm a Prince in disguise! But then a man in disguise
ain't known, and therefore can't be follered, or, if he was, what would
be the use of his disguise? No, I can't make it out, no'ow."

Still less, by any effort of his fancy or otherwise, could he make out
why, after a week's residence at the village in question, he was ordered
to prepare for a journey.

This order, like all others, was conveyed to him by signs. Some parts
of his treatment had been managed otherwise. When, for instance, on the
night of his deliverance, it had been thought desirable that his
garments should be better and more numerous, his attendants or keepers
had removed his old wardrobe and left in its place another, which,
although it comprehended trousers, savoured more of the East than the
West. Lancey submitted to this, as to everything else, like a true
philosopher. Generally, however, the wishes of those around him were
conveyed by means of signs.

On the morning of his departure, a small valise, stuffed with the few
articles of comfort which he required, and a change of apparel, was
placed at his bed-side. The hotel attendant, who had apparently
undertaken the management of him, packed this up in the morning, having
somewhat pointedly placed within it his _robe de nuit_. Thereafter the
man bowed, smiled gravely, pointed to the door, beckoned him to follow,
and left the room.

By that time Lancey had, as it were, given himself up. He acted with
the unquestioning obedience of a child or a lunatic. Following his
guide, he found a native cart outside with his valise in it. Beside the
cart stood a good horse, saddled and bridled in the Turkish fashion.
His hotel-attendant pointed to the horse and motioned to him to mount.

Then it burst upon Lancey that he was about to quit the spot, perhaps
for ever, and, being a grateful fellow, he could not bear to part
without making some acknowledgment.

"My dear Turk, or whatever you are," he exclaimed, turning to his
attendant, "I'm sorry to say good-bye, an' I'm still more sorry to say
that I've nothin' to give you. A ten-pun-note, if I 'ad it, would be
but a small testimony of my feelin's, but I do assure you I 'av'n't got
a rap."

In corroboration of this he slapped his empty pockets and shook his
head. Then,