We next tried to awaken the sympathy of a family living close at hand; but, much to our indignation, they refused help though they showed considerable interest in us, wondering why we took so much trouble about a stranger who was nothing to us. We could only be sorry that with the knowledge of English had not come the knowledge of our Lord's answer to the question, “Who is my neighbour?” Appeals to the passers-by met with the same heartless indifference. They stared at the unconscious cause of the commotion and looked at us with eyes which plainly said, “The English are mad, they are always minding other people's business.” In the meantime the man was in great danger from the heat. He was too heavy for us to move, and Elias, with true Oriental timidity, refused to touch him. The case was becoming desperate when we saw a benevolent-looking priest coming along the road. He joined the circle, looked at the wounded man, and turned to resume his journey. Elizabeth stopped him and eagerly accosted him in French, but he was evidently ignorant of that tongue. She then attacked him in German, but he shook his head deprecatingly. As a last resource she bombarded him in Italian, which language he did understand, for he immediately replied that he was at the signora's service. “Then,” said Elizabeth, “will you kindly tell us, signor, what to do with that poor man? He was thrown from his horse a few minutes ago. He is wounded, and may be dying. Could you not get him carried to a place of safety and find out who he is?” During this address the priest's countenance changed from courteous attention to grave disquietude. He scarcely waited for its conclusion before he gathered up his skirts and, murmuring that “he knew nothing--it was not his affair,” walked rapidly away. We were more perplexed than ever. Could there be defilement in the touch of the wounded man? Or did the fact of his wearing European clothes proclaim him an infidel and one whom it was best to leave alone? While we were deliberating on the best course to take, Elias shook off his fear and began talking to a big porter who was looking on. After what seemed to us an endless discussion, he came forward and intimated that the porter would carry the man to a _hakeem_ (doctor) in Jerusalem. It was not without a great deal of talking, appealing looks from the porter, and, I must add, evident reluctance on his part, that the wounded man was placed on his shoulders and the procession started for the city, Elizabeth riding on ahead in the hope of finding some intelligent person who would interpret for us, for we were still puzzled how to act for the best.