romantic career. It was easy to see that Schwartzenburg had been the
love of her life, for her eyes would light up with a glory when she
mentioned him, and she whispered his name with bated breath. It was his
desertion which wrecked her life. Poor thing! she was far more sinned
against than sinning.

Our other friend at Damascus was the famous Abd el Kadir. Every one
knows his history: every one has heard of his hopeless struggles for the
independence of Algeria; his capture and imprisonment in France from 1847
to 1852, when he was set free by Louis Napoleon on the intercession of
Lord Londonderry. More than that Louis Napoleon was magnanimous enough
to pension him, and sent him to Damascus, where he was living when we
came, surrounded by five hundred faithful Algerians. He loved the
English, but was very loyal to Louis Napoleon. He was dark, and a
splendid-looking man with a stately bearing, and perfectly self
possessed. He always dressed in snow white turban and _burnous_, with
not a single ornament except his jewelled arms, which were superb. He
was every inch a soldier and a sultan, and his mind was as beautiful
as his face. Both he and Richard were Master-Sufi, and they greatly
enjoyed a talk together, both speaking purest Arabic.

When I look back on those dear days and friends in Damascus, my eyes fill
and my heart throbs at the memories which crowd upon me. When I think of
all those memories, none is dearer to me than the recollection of the
evenings which we four--Lady Ellenborough, Abd el Kadir, Richard, and
myself--used to spend together on the top of our house. Often after my
reception was over and the sun was setting, we used to ask these two to
stay behind the others and have a little supper with us, and we would go
up to the roof, where it was prepared, and where mattresses and the
cushions of the divans were spread about, and have our evening meal; and