were due to Mr. Dromacaiti, a Greek merchant at Beyrout, who had lent her money at an exorbitant interest, but on her word, and this, therefore, she would pay, I knew, if possible. During all this time, my family remained in almost total ignorance of what was going on within Lady Hester's walls as much as if they had been living in China. I was also, as I have said above, obliged to conceal, in a great measure, her illness from them. They rode and walked out on the mountains, fed their bulbuls, enjoyed the fine climate, and wondered what made me look so thin and careworn: for thought and care preyed on my spirits, and I wasted away almost as perceptibly as Lady Hester herself.
Sunday, February 18.—To-day Lady Hester was sitting up in the corner of her bed-room. Her look was deadly pale, and her head was wrapped up in flannels, just like her grandfather the last day he appeared in the House of Lords. Without intending it, everything she did bore a resemblance to that great man.
Ali had returned from Beyrout without a letter. "Did Ali Hayshem," she asked me, "set off at sunrise on Friday? I am glad he did. Do you know, I once sent Butrus to Beyrout to fetch money; and I said to him, 'If you get in on Monday night, don't come away on Tuesday or Wednesday; for those are
