e is most generous and most amiable. He
seems to spend most of his time in efforts to make us happy. There
must be many seamen in this nation who know the way. It would be worth
trying."

Almah shook her head. "You do not understand these people," said she.
"Their ruling passion is the hatred of self, and therefore they are
eager to confer benefits on others. The only hope of life that I have
for you and for myself is in this, that if they kill us they will lose
their most agreeable occupation. They value us most highly, because
we take everything that is given us. You and I now possess as our own
property all this city and all its buildings, and all the people have
made themselves our slaves."

At this I was utterly bewildered.

"I don't understand," said I.

"I suppose not," said Almah; "but you will understand better after you
have been here longer. At any rate, you can see for yourself that the
ruling passion here is self-denial and the good of others. Everyone is
intent upon this, from the Kohen up to the most squalid pauper."

"_Up_ to the most squalid pauper?" said I. "I do not understand you.
You mean _down_ to the most squalid pauper."

"No," said Almah; "I mean what I say. In this country the paupers form
the most honored and envied class."

"This is beyond my comprehension," said I. "But if this is really so,
and if these people pretend to be our slaves, why may we not order out
a galley and go?"

"Oh, well, with you in your land, if a master were to order his slaves
to cut his throat and poison his children and burn his house, would
the slaves obey?"

"Certainly not."

"Well, our slaves here would not--in fact could not--obey a command
that would be shocking to their natures. They think that we are in the
best of all lands, and my request to be sent home would be utterly
monstrous."

"I suppose," said I, "they would kill us if we asked them to do so?"

"Yes," said Almah; "for they think death the greatest blessing."

"And if at the point of death we should beg for life, would they spare
us?"

"Certainly not," said Almah. "Would you kill a man who asked for
death? No more would these people spare a man who asked for life."

All this was so utterly incomprehensible that I could pursue the
subject no further. I saw, however, that Almah was wretched, dejected,
and suffering greatly from home-sickness. Gladly would I have taken
her and started off on a desperate flight by sea or land--gladly w