harem, where the Pasha, rising to receive her, conversed with her for an hour.  From Cairo she turned northwards, visiting Jaffa, Jerusalem, Acre, and Damascus.  Her travelling dress was of scarlet cloth trimmed with gold, and, when on horseback, she wore over the whole a white-hooded and tasselled burnous.  Her maid, too, was forced, protesting, into trousers, though she absolutely refused to ride astride.  Poor Mrs. Fry had gone through various and dreadful sufferings—­shipwreck and starvation, rats and black-beetles unspeakable—­but she retained her equanimity.  Whatever her Ladyship might think fit to be, she was an Englishwoman to the last, and Philippaki was Philip Parker and Mustapha Mr. Farr.

Outside Damascus, Lady Hester was warned that the town was the most fanatical in Turkey, and that the scandal of a woman entering it in man’s clothes, unveiled, would be so great as to be dangerous.  She was begged to veil herself, and to make her entry under cover of darkness.  ‘I must take the bull by the horns,’ she replied, and rode into the city unveiled at midday.  The population were thunderstruck; but at last their amazement gave way to enthusiasm, and the incredible lady was hailed everywhere as Queen, crowds followed her, coffee was poured out before her, and the whole bazaar rose as she passed.  Yet she was not satisfied with her triumphs; she would do something still more glorious and astonishing; she would plunge into the desert and visit the ruins of Palmyra, which only half-a-dozen of the boldest travellers had ever seen.  The Pasha of Damascus offered her a military escort, but she preferred to throw herself upon the hospitality of the Bedouin Arabs, who, overcome by her horsemanship, her powers of sight, and her courage, enrolled her a member of their tribe.  After a week’s journey in their company, she reached Palmyra, where the inhabitants met her with wild enthusiasm, and under the Corinthian columns of Zenobia’s temple crowned her head with flowers.  This happened in March 1813; it was the apogee of Lady Hester’s life.  Henceforward her fortunes gradually but steadily declined.

The rumour of her exploits had spread through Syria, and from the year 1813 onwards, her reputation was enormous.  She was received everywhere as a royal, almost as a supernatural, personage:  she progressed from town to town amid official prostrations and popular rejoicings.  But she herself was in a state of hesitation and discontent.  Her future was uncertain; she had grown scornful of the West—­must she return to it?  The East alone was sympathetic, the East alone was tolerable—­but could she cut herself off for ever from the past?  At Laodicea she was suddenly struck down by the plague, and, after months of illness, it was borne in upon her that all was vanity.  She rented an empty monastery on the slopes of Mount Lebanon, not far from Sayda (the ancient Sidon), and took up her abode there.  Then her mind took a new surprising turn; she dashed