Outside his windows, on the calm waters of the bay, rode warships of many nations. The bright sun looked down, unkindly it almost seemed, upon the ruin and desolation around us. The arms of England, France and America were all there. Holland, he told me, had begged in terror for the protection of a warship. “Terror of what?” I asked. “Have you not heard, can you not see, we are on the brink of war? To-morrow you will be going home with the others. Our Government has given orders for the immediate evacuation of all our people. Later you will receive final instructions, and be told the meeting-place. This time it is war. There is no help for it. It has to come.” He showed me a flashlight, well hidden in a corner of that dilapidated office, which would send out its news of “safety” when every Englishman had left the town, and he, my friend, had followed them in a boat with its oars muffled—if he were able to get away. If not, well, he had done his duty! But I remained unmoved. “Do not worry about me. I have made all my plans, and shall start to-morrow for Angora. I know the risks, and I know, too, that all will be well for me.” At first, evidently, his official mind suspected that I was playing with his nerves, idly boasting of what no one would seriously attempt. When convinced, however, that I really meant what I said, he banged his fist on the table and just shouted: “By Jove, if you belonged to me, you should _not go_.” How I hoped he had lost his temper! But no, in another moment he was again all quiet concern, courteously persuasive. “But,” said I, “I have reached here against long odds. I have come entirely on my own responsibility, and at my own expense. The Turks who met me here will take care of me, not my family nor my Government. Even war will not stop me.” “And when there is war,” he replied, with a note of almost despairing entreaty, “for as there is a God above, it will come this time. Think of it! A woman absolutely alone among the Turks; not a European to help her. Six months, at least, in a concentration camp, illness, perhaps torture. God knows what will happen to you!” “I shall not be put into a concentration camp, for there will be no war. I am going to stop it!” I was smiling now, which only added to his distress. “My dear young lady,” he cried, “keep your courage for some wiser, finer cause. Britain needs you.... Seriously, you are not going, are you?—And the war!” “I shall nurse the British soldiers, or else return——” “You speak of the Turks as if you trusted them. Is this wise?” “Indeed, yes. I know them. The only way to treat a Turk _is_ to trust him. He has never yet let me down. Why should he now? Even at this crisis you will find there is no other way but trust with the Moslem.” Of course he was not convinced.