At that hour, it being Ramadan, the Turk was feasting and taking his ease, while opposite the _han_ where I lived a Turkish soldier would come nightly and sing weird prayers under the window of the Governor of the _vilayet_, that perfectly useless official, whose authority extends only to the confines of the town itself, and who fears to exercise it lest he should rouse the slumbering ire of those fierce tribes who live in the Accursed Mountains above. Many strange sights I witnessed and many strange things I heard in Skodra. Men, fierce mountaineers who, in some cases, bore across their countenances marks of sword or gun-shot wounds, told me their stories—exciting narratives of love, war, and the blood-feud. All were Albanians, and believed Skodra to be the finest capital in the world. England, because it carried on no political intrigue among them, like Austria and Italy, they did not regard as a Power. Mine was a country far away, I was told, and therefore perfectly harmless. Hardly anybody had heard of London. Those who had, declared that it could not be so large or so beautiful as Skodra. The days I spent there were with the one object of obtaining, by some means, permission from one or other of the mountain chieftains to allow me to travel in the country. Palok had promised to endeavour to arrange it for me, and so had Pietro, but by their manner I saw that they considered any such attempt a piece of sheer folly, and far too hazardous. They were too polite to tell me so, but I read in their faces that they did not intend me to go, if it were possible to prevent me. Therefore surreptitiously I had recourse to my faithful friend of the bazaar, Salko, himself a member of the fierce tribe of the Skreli, who had more than once terrorised the town. When, through an interpreter, I one evening explained my desire, he rubbed his chin doubtfully and wagged his head. He would do his best, but it was dangerous—very dangerous, he declared. And yet, he went on, the thing might perhaps be managed. An Albanian of the mountains, though he might be a brigand and annoyed the Turks, and though he might shoot Turkish soldiers like dogs wherever met, was nevertheless a man of his word. If I was promised safe escort, then I might go into the mountains without even my revolver, for no harm would come to me. Yes; he would promise to see what he could do. But it was difficult, and it would take time. In the mountains they had no great love of foreigners. To the coming Feast of the Madonna many men from the mountains would arrive, and there would be opportunity to speak with them. No; he would say nothing to Palok—if I so wished. Therefore I waited, and hoped.