"I could tell you how you might get out, if it were really good for you," Osman mused; "but the truth is, I do not want more of you to be killed. I am sick of all this misery and bloodshed." "Osman Effendi, I think you have a kind and pitying heart; therefore I pray you to help me now, and so may God help you if you ever come to a bitter hour like this. I must get out, or I shall go mad." "I wish I could do you a better service--but if you will try it, wait until the morning light. Then the killing will begin again. They are going to let the Moslem prisoners out that they may take part in it, and thus deserve their pardon from God and the Sultan. Tell the jailor, when he comes to us, that you want to walk in the courtyard. That he will allow. Once there, you may be able to slip out unnoticed among the rest. Take my scarlet fez instead of your crimson one, and see, here is a green kerchief to tie over it." "The fez I take, and thank you; the kerchief--no." "As you please. I wish you well, Grayson Effendi, and if I can help you in anything, I will. Should you want a refuge, come to my mother's house. You know where it is. In fact, that is the best thing you could do," he added. "My people will make it known you are an Englishman, and then no one will even wish to hurt you. There will be a mark set upon you, as it were." "Ay," cried Jack wildly--"the mark of Cain--'lest any finding him should kill him.' To save my own miserable life, and see all I love perish around me! Is _that_ what it means, the mark of Cain? He saved himself, others he did not save." "I do not understand you." "How should you? I don't understand myself. I think I am going mad. Only I know it was not _that_ mark which was put upon her forehead and mine; it was the cross of Christ, and that means just the contrary--'He saved others, Himself He did not save.'" The young Turk took the cigarette from his lips and stared at him, wondering. Into his hard, black eyes there came for an instant a perplexed, wistful look, like that of a dumb creature who longs and tries to understand, but cannot pass the limitations of his being. At length he said in a softened voice, "When I get out of this cursed place, with the help of Allah and a handful of good medjids, I will try to do what I can to help your people. But now it is the hour of prayer. I will pray, and then try to sleep. Grayson Effendi, you ought to pray too. It may be Allah the Merciful will hear you, though you do not acknowledge His Prophet. He may remember you are a Frank, and make allowance." For John Grayson there was no prayer that night. His anguish was beyond words; and as for tears, their very fount seemed dried up within him. Even the simplest cry to God for help seemed to freeze upon his lips. Where was the use of it? He had prayed with all his soul, and God had _not_ heard.