"I don't want to leave you, Daddy." "It won't be for long, not very long," he said, "and when you have grown up you will be able to keep your old Daddy always by your side--if you want him." "I shall always want you. There's--there's only us." There was a silence then between the man and the boy. Dean stared out across the valley. The stars glittered frostily and the moon was coming up behind the precipice. But he hardly noticed that, for his thoughts were far away in England. In two years or so he would be alone--out here, an exile, with his boy far away. The moon slowly climbed, peered over the precipice and then flooded the gorge. A breeze came wandering along the night and stirred the boy's hair as he lay sleeping in his father's arms. It was growing late, but Dean sat on, moving not, just looking down on the sleeping face of the tired boy. CHAPTER III In the shadow of one of the walls of the castle of Amasia two boys were resting during the hot noon-tide, for it was near the end of May and the summer sun was already scorching the plains and reducing the size of the Iris as it flowed along the gorge. Another two years had wrought a change in John and his friend, Ali the Turk. They were fourteen and fifteen respectively, but John had outgrown Ali, both in height and breadth. This slight period had further developed the English boy who now looked sturdy and thickset in comparison with the slim Turk. They had climbed all the morning, starting out before the sun had dried the dew on the ground. Ali's uncle had shown them over the castle, a treat that had been postponed through one cause and another until this day. The excursion had been made at last because the two boys would soon be parted.