In other ways they are the best of girls. I remember a scene, which shows marvellously well the characters of my three favourites. I was mounting a Syrian horse I had purchased, for the first time. He became excited, reared, and fell on me. Noémi flew at the horse, caught him by the bridle, and beat him with a whip. Daphné ran to help me up. Anathasia never moved, but burst into tears and then fainted away. Some time ago I tried to awaken the souls of these poor girls to some remembrances of their Fatherland,--a sentiment that is so strong in half-civilised natures. It was not without some hesitation that I made the attempt. I felt a certain remorse at the idea of awakening sad recollections. Poor girls! They lived in slavery, and their melancholy thoughts must often turn with regret to the land of their youth. Poor caged swallows! they only awaited an opportunity of flying home to their nests. I feared it would be cruel to raise false hopes in their breasts; still, I assembled my household, and told them that I was going to leave the island, and send them all back to their respective homes. I must declare, and with a certain amount of satisfaction, that they immediately broke into lamentations that would have done honour to the funeral of Achilles, or the dirge of some illustrious Albanian chieftain. Daphné wrapped her head in her veil, and sat silent and motionless on the ground, like an antique statue of grief. Noémi manifested her rage by beating one of the black dwarfs, while the fair Anathasia, falling on her knees, took my hand and kissed it; then raising her beautiful tearful eyes to mine, said, in her soft Ionian tongue: "Oh, master! master! When you have gone, what will become of your poor Grecian girls?" "But your aged fathers! Your poor old mothers! Your brave brothers and your handsome lovers!" I exclaimed. "Do you never think of them, forgetful creatures that you are?" Feeling sure that such magical words would have an effect, I drew my cloak around me with a majestic air. But the crying and sobbing only grew the louder, and they all cried out, in what I thought a threatening way: "We will never leave the roof of the good Frank; we are happy at Khios; we will stay at Khios with the good Frank." Though I was their "good Frank," I could not help having but a poor idea of their patriotism; the preference they gave me over their native soil and its accessories was certainly flattering. I resolved to make another attempt, and told them that I would give each of them two thousand piastres and their clothes, and let them go wherever they wished, for I meant to leave the island. The screams and curses that were the result of my innocent proposition so alarmed me, that for a moment I feared I should share the fate of Orpheus. Letting go of her dwarf, Noémi sprang towards me like a tigress, seized my yellak, for I wore the Albanian costume, and said to me, her eyes blazing with anger: