The building extended so over the water that its owner could drop at once into his caique and be pulled to almost any part of the city, and, like all the people who live along the river’s banks, he was much on its surface.  Coiled away, a la Turk, with his pipe well supplied, a pull either to the Black Sea, or that of Marmora, with a dozen stout oarsmen, was a delightful way of passing an afternoon, returning as the twilight hour settled over the scene.

It was perhaps a week subsequent to the time when Selim and Zillah met at the Bey’s house, availing himself of the liberty so fully extended by her father, Selim, in his disguise as a Jew, again appeared at the palace gate, where he was received with a request and consideration that showed to him he was expected, and at his request he was conducted to the Bey’s presence, and by him, again to the apartment where his daughter was reposing.—­The pretended Jew followed his guide with the most profound sobriety, handling sundry vials and jars he had brought with him, and upon which the Bey looked with not a little interest and respect, as he strove to decipher the cabalistic lines on each.

“Have you found any improvement in the malady that affects your child?” asked the Jew, pouring a part of the contents of one vial into another, and holding it up against the light, exhibiting a phosphorescent action in the vial.

“By the beard of the prophet, yes; a marked and potent change has your wonderful medicines produced.  But what use do you make of that strange compound that looks like liquid fire?”

“’Tis a strange compound,” answered the other, seeming to regard the mixture with profound interest; “very strange.  Perhaps you would hardly believe it, but the contents of that vial cast into the Bosphorus, would kill every fish below your latticed windows to the Dardanelles.”

“Allah Akbar!” exclaimed the credulous Turk, holding up both hands.  “And this medicine, so powerful, do you intend for one so delicate as she?” he asked, pointing to Zillah, who was reclining upon a pile of cushions.

“I do; but with that judicious, care that forms the art of our profession.  So peculiar is the means that I shall operate with to-night, that should it harm her, it would equally affect me.  But I have studied her case well, and you will find when yonder fair moon now rising from behind the hills of Scutari shall sink again to rest, your daughter will be well.”

“Then will I stop and watch the wonderful operation of thy drugs.”

“Nay, they must be applied in the open air and beneath the moon’s rays, with none to observe, save the stars.”

“Then may the Prophet protect you.  I will leave my child in your care.  Shall I do this, Zillah?”

“Father, yes, with thy blessing first,” said the fair girl; for well she knew, that the medicine which was to cure her, would carry her away from his side and her childhood home, perhaps forever.