He entreated them to tell him more; but they would not. Evidently they had their orders. Did the Effendi want anything more? No. Then peace be with him. They departed, securing the door behind them, as he thought, with unusual care. Peace was _not_ with him. Instead of it, a fierce tumult raged in his heart. On that strange Christmas morning, when he thought himself about to die for the Name of Christ, there had been a calm over him which was wonderful, "mysterious even to himself." The conflict was not his, but God's. God had called him to it, and would bring him through. He was very near him, and would be with him, even to the end. But the chariots and horses of fire, which the prophet of old saw about him, did not stay. When the hostile hosts departed, the resplendent vision vanished too. Martyrdom at a distance, martyr strength seems at a distance also; sometimes it even seems unimaginable. Patient, powerless waiting is often harder than heroic doing or suffering. Perhaps the hardest thing of all is to be brave and strong _for others_, when they have the peril and the suffering, and we the bitter comfort of compulsory safety. But the longest day must end at last. Evening brought to John Grayson the doubtful pleasure of a companion in misfortune. This was a handsome young Turk, who seemed much amazed, and still more annoyed, at the predicament in which he found himself. Paying little heed to his companion, he walked up and down, cursing certain persons, apparently his own kinsfolk, in the name of Allah and the Prophet, with true Eastern volubility. In one of these perambulations he accidentally kicked over Jack's tray of food, and stopped to ask his pardon very politely, of course in Turkish. "I think," he said, looking at him attentively, "I think you are a Christian?" "Yes," said Jack. "In fact, I am an Englishman; though I have been in this country for some years." "Oh! Then I suppose you are the Mr. Grayson I have heard my friends speak of?" Jack bowed, then added immediately, "I am unutterably anxious about dear friends of mine who are in the Armenian Quarter. Can you tell me how it has been with them to-day?" The young man turned his face away and did not speak. "For God's sake, say _something_," Jack cried; "say _anything_; only tell me all!" "It was the will of Allah," said the Turk. "Have you killed them?" Jack gasped out. "Yes, a great many. Chiefly men and boys. But I did not see the end. That uncle of mine--Allah give him his deserts!--had me taken up and clapped in here." "What? For killing our people?"