ls."

"No better indeed," returned the Pasha, with a sudden touch of sadness;
"that is true, but how to become better is the difficulty. Islamism
fills a land with injustice, robbery, and violence; while, in order that
such things may be put right, the same land is desolated, covered with
blood, and filled with lamentation, in the name of Christianity."

Here I could not refrain from reminding the Pasha that the professors of
religion did not always act in accordance with their profession, and
that the principles of the "Prince of Peace," when carried out, even
with average sincerity, had an invariable tendency to encourage peace
and good-will among men, which was more than could be said of the
doctrines of Mohammed.

"It may be so," said the Pasha, with a sigh.

"Meanwhile, to return to our point, you will find everything ready for
your journey at an early hour to-morrow."

"But what of little Ivanka Petroff?" I asked. "She must go with us."

The Pasha seemed a little perplexed. "I had not thought of that," he
said; "she will be well-cared for here."

"I cannot go without her," said I firmly.

"No more can I," said Lancey.

"Well, that shall also be arranged," returned the Pasha, as he left us.

"Never saw nothink like 'im," observed Lancey; "'e sticks at nothink,
believes nothink, cares for nothink, an' can do hanythink."

"_You_ are showing want of gratitude now, Lancey, for it is plain that
he cares a good deal for you."

Lancey admitted that he might, perhaps, have been a little harsh in
expressing himself, and then went off to prepare for the journey.

"We are going back again to your own country, Ivanka," said I, gently
stroking the child's head, as we sat together in the same room, some
hours later.

Ivanka raised her large eyes to mine.

"There is no _home_ now," she said, in a mournful voice.

"But we shall find father there, perhaps."

The child dropped her eyes, and shook her head, but made no further
remark. I saw that tears were trickling down her cheeks, and, feeling
uncertain as to how far she realised her forlorn condition, refrained
from further speech, and drew her little head upon my breast, while I
sought to comfort her with hopes of soon meeting her father.

Snow lay on the ground when we bade farewell to our kind host.
"Good-bye, Sanda Pasha; I shall hope to see you in England one of these
days," said I at parting.

"Farewell, Sandy," said my man, grasping the Pasha's h