d of her virtue." "And suppose I make up my mind to marry
your daughter?" the stranger asked, after a moment's hesitation. "Then
I shall refer you to my child, for I shall never force Viteska to marry
against her will," her father said.

The stranger seized the pretty girl's hand, and spoke in glowing terms of
his love for her, of the luxury with which she would be surrounded in his
house, of the wonders of the East, to which he hoped to take her, and at
last Viteska consented to become his wife. Thereupon the stranger hurried
on the arrangements for the wedding, in a manner that made the most
favorable impression on them all, and during the time before their
marriage he lay at her feet like her humble slave.

As soon as they were married, the newly-married couple set off on their
journey to Smyrna and promised to write as soon as they got there, but
a month, then two and three, passed without the parents, whose anxiety
increased every day, receiving a line from them, until at last the father
in terror applied to the police.

The first thing was to write to the Consul at Smyrna for information:
his reply was to the effect that no merchant of the name of Ireneus
Krisapolis was known in Smyrna, and that he had never been there. The
police, at the entreaties of the frantic parents, continued their
investigations, but for a long time without any result. At last, however,
they obtained a little light on the subject, but it was not at all
satisfactory. The police at Pestle said that a man, whose personal
appearance exactly agreed with the description of Viteska's husband, had
a short time before carried off two girls from the Hungarian capital, to
Turkey, evidently intending to trade in that coveted, valuable commodity
there, but that when he found that the authorities were on his track he
had escaped from justice by a sudden flight.

* * * * *

Four years after Viteska's mysterious disappearance, two persons, a man
and a woman, met in a narrow street in Damascus, in a scarcely less
strange manner, than when the Greek merchant met Viteska on the
suspension bridge at Prague. The man with the black beard, the red fez,
and the long, green caftan, was no one else than Ireneus Krisapolis;
matters appeared to be going well with him; he had his hands comfortably
thrust into the red shawl which he had round his waist, and a negro was
walking behind him with a large parasol, while another carried his