open market-place, I laid my hand upon the
block; in which my own blood in thick streams flowed over me!

Valetty took me to his house until I had recovered, and then
generously supplied me with money for my journey, for all that I had
so laboriously acquired was confiscated to Justice. I went from
Florence to Sicily, and thence, by the first ship I could find, to
Constantinople. My hopes, which rested on the sum of money I had left
with my friend, were not disappointed. I proposed that I should live
with him--how astonished was I, when he asked why I occupied not my
own house! He told me that a strange man had, in my name, bought a
house in the quarter of the Greeks, and told the neighbors that I
would soon, myself, return. I immediately proceeded to it with my
friend, and was joyfully received by all my old acquaintances. An aged
merchant handed me a letter which the man who purchased for me had
left. I read:--

"Zaleukos! two hands stand ready to work unceasingly, that thou mayest
not feel the loss of one. That house which thou seest and all therein
are thine, and every year shalt thou receive so much, that thou shalt
be among the rich of thy nation. Mayest thou forgive one who is more
unhappy than thyself!"

I could guess who was the writer, and the merchant told me, in answer
to my inquiry that it was a man covered with a red cloak, whom he had
taken for a Frenchman. I knew enough to convince me that the Unknown
was not entirely devoid of generous feeling. In my new house I found
all arranged in the best style; a shop, moreover, full of wares, finer
than any I had ever had. Ten years have elapsed since then; more in
compliance with ancient custom, than because it is necessary, do I
continue to travel in foreign lands for purposes of trade, but the
land which was so fatal to me I have never seen since. Every year I
receive a thousand pieces of gold; but although it rejoices me to know
that this Unfortunate is so noble, still can his money never remove wo
from my soul, for there lives forever the heart-rending image of the
murdered Bianca!

[Illustration]

* * * * *

Thus ended the story of Zaleukos, the Grecian merchant. With great
interest had the others listened; the stranger, in particular, seemed
to be wrapt up in it: more than once he had drawn a deep sigh, and
Muley looked as if he had had tears in his eyes. No one spoke for some
time after the recital.

"And hate you n