Out of these woods, we passed into a lonely plain, inclosed by piny hills that brightened in the thin, pure ether.  In the distance were some shepherds’ tents, and musical goat-bells tinkled along the edges of the woods.  From the crest of a lofty ridge beyond this plain, we looked back over the wild solitudes wherein we had been travelling for two days—­long ranges of dark hills, fading away behind each other, with a perspective that hinted of the hidden gulfs between.  From the western slope, a still more extensive prospect opened before us.  Over ridges covered with forests of oak and pine, we saw the valley of the Pursek, the ancient Thymbrius, stretching far away to the misty line of Keshish Dagh, The mountains behind Kintahya loomed up high and grand, making a fine feature in the middle distance.  We caught but fleeting glimpses of the view through the trees; and then, plunging into the forest again, descended to a cultivated slope, whereon there was a little village, now deserted.  The graveyard beside it was shaded with large cedar-trees, and near it there was a fountain of excellent water.  “Here,” said the old man, “you can wash and pray, and then rest awhile under the trees.”  Francois excused us by saying that, while on a journey, we always bathed before praying; but, not to slight his faith entirely, I washed my hands and face before sitting down to our scanty breakfast of bread and water.

Our path now led down through long, winding glens, over grown with oaks, from which the wild yellow honeysuckles fell in a shower of blossoms.  As we drew near the valley, the old man began to hint that his presence had been of great service to us, and deserved recompense.  “God knows,” said he to Francois, “in what corner of the mountains you might now be, if I had not accompanied you.”  “Oh,” replied Francois, “there are always plenty of people among the woods, who would have been equally as kind as yourself in showing us the way.”  He then spoke of the robbers in the neighborhood, and pointed out some graves by the road-side, as those of persons who had been murdered.  “But,” he added, “everybody in these parts knows me, and whoever is in company with me is always safe.”  The Greek assured him that we always depended on ourselves for our safety.  Defeated on these tacks, he boldly affirmed that his services were worthy of payment.  “But,” said Francois “you told us at the village that you had business in Kiutahya, and would be glad to join us for the sake of having company on the road.”  “Well, then,” rejoined the old fellow, making a last effort, “I leave the matter to your politeness.”  “Certainly,” replied the imperturbable dragoman, “we could not be so impolite as to offer money to a man of your wealth and station; we could not insult you by giving you alms.”  The old Turcoman thereupon gave a shrug and a grunt, made a sullen good-by salutation, and left us.