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I went out at three, but up to that time the boat had not been signalled. “And we shall not get out to-night?” “No, not to- night,” said the agent. “And what time to-morrow?” “If she comes in this evening, you will start by daylight. But they so manage her departure from Beyrout, that she seldom is here in the evening.” “It will be noon to-morrow then?” “Yes,” the man said, “noon to- morrow.” I calculated, however, that the old gentleman could not possibly be on our track by that time. He would not have reached Jerusalem till late in the day on which we saw him, and it would take him some time to obtain tidings of his nephew. But it might be possible that messengers sent by him should reach Jaffa by four or five on the day after his arrival. That would be this very day which we were now wasting at Jaffa. Having thus made my calculations, I returned to Smith to give him such consolation as it might be in my power to afford.

He seemed to be dreadfully afflicted by all this. “He will have traced me to Jerusalem, and then again away; and will follow me immediately.”

“That is all very well,” I said; “but let even a young man do the best he can, and he will not get from Jerusalem to Jaffa in less than twelve hours. Your uncle is not a young man, and could not possibly do the journey under two days.”

“But he will send. He will not mind what money he spends.”

“And if he does send, take off your hat to his messengers, and bid them carry your complaints back. You are not a felon whom he can arrest.”

“No, he cannot arrest me; but, ah! you do not understand;” and then he sat up on the bed, and seemed as though he were going to wring his hands in despair.

I waited for some half hour in his room, thinking that he would tell me this story of his. If he required that I should give him my aid in the presence either of his uncle or of his uncle’s myrmidons, I must at any rate know what was likely to be the dispute between them. But as he said nothing I suggested that he should stroll out with me among the orange-groves by which the town is surrounded. In answer to this he looked up piteously into my face as though begging me to be merciful to him. “You are strong,” said he, “and cannot understand what it is to feel fatigue as I do.” And yet he had declared on commencing his journey that he would not be found to complain? Nor had he complained by a single word till after that encounter with his uncle. Nay, he had borne up well till this news had reached us of the boat being late. I felt convinced that if the boat were at this moment lying in the harbour all that appearance of excessive weakness would soon vanish. What it was that he feared I could not guess; but it was manifest to me that some great terror almost overwhelmed him.

“My idea is,” said I, and I suppose that I spoke with something less of good-nature in my tone than I had assumed for the last day or two, “that no man should, under any circumstances, be so afraid of another man, as to tremble at his presence,–either at his presence or his expected presence.”

“Ah, now you are angry with me; now you despise me!”

“Neither the one nor the other. But if I may take the liberty of a friend with you, I should advise you to combat this feeling of horror. If you do not, it will unman you. After all, what can your uncle do to you? He cannot rob you of your heart and soul. He cannot touch your inner self.”