He was evidently a wanderer, and, save the liberal means he had
received from the hands of the grateful Turk whom he had so
providentially rescued near the forest borders of Belgrade, he was
poor indeed. Yet with strict economy this purse had served him well,
and for a long while; whatever his errand in this capital might be,
he seemed to keep it sacredly to himself, and to wander day after
day, front morning until night, here, there, and everywhere, now in
the slave market, now in the opium bazaar, now among the silk
merchants, now among the splendid and picturesque dwellings along
the banks of the Bosphorus, and now in this quarter, now in that,
seemingly in search of some one he hoped to find; but as night
returned, he, too, came to his temporary home, tired, dejected and
unhappy.

But day after day and week after week had at last entirely emptied
his purse of its golden contents, and he stood now very near the
spot where we first introduced him to the reader. The purse was in
his hand, and he was consulting with himself now as to what course
he should pursue for the future, when his eyes rested once more upon
the jewelled receptacle he held in his hand. He had often marked its
richness, and the thought came across him that he might realize a
small sum by selling it at some of the fancy bazaars, and he had
even made up his mind to adopt this plan, when he suddenly
remembered, for the first time, that the Turk had told him to
present it at the gates of the seraglio gardens when he needed
further aid.

"Fool that I have been!" ejaculated the wanderer, vehemently,
"perhaps I might not only obtain the necessary pecuniary aid from
him, but also that information which I so sadly but earnestly seek.