left him, without even
saying good-bye,--all except his guardian, who, on landing, made signs
that he was to follow, or, rather, to walk beside him. Reduced by this
time to a thoroughly obedient slave, and satisfied that no mischief was
likely to be intended by men who had treated him so well, Lancey walked
through the crowded streets and bazaars of Constantinople as one in a
dream, much more than half-convinced that he had got somehow into an
"Arabian Night," the "entertainments" of which seemed much more real
than those by which his imagination had been charmed in days of old.

Coming into a part of the city that appeared to be suburban, his keeper
stopped before a building that seemed a cross between a barrack and a
bird-cage. It was almost surrounded by a wall so high that it hid the
building from view, except directly in front. There it could be seen,
with its small hermetically-closed windows, each covered with a wooden
trellis. It bore the aspect of a somewhat forbidding prison.

"Konak--palace," said the keeper, breaking silence for the first time.

"A konak; a palace! eh?" repeated Lancey, in surprise; "more like a
jail, _I_ should say. 'Owever, customs differ. Oos palace may it be,
now?"

"Pasha; Sanda Pasha," replied the man, touching a spring or bell in the
wall; "you goes in."

As he spoke, a small door was opened by an armed black slave, to whom he
whispered a few words, and then, stepping back, motioned to his
companion to enter.

"Arter you, sir," said Lancey, with a polite bow.

But as the man continued gravely to point, and the black slave to hold
the door open, he forbore to press the matter, and stepped in. The gate
was shut with a bang, followed by a click of bolts. He found, on
looking round, that the keeper had been shut out, and he was alone with
the armed negro.

"You're in for it now, Jacob my boy," muttered Lancey to himself, as he
measured the negro with a sharp glance, and slowly turned up the
wristband of his shirt with a view to prompt action. But the sable
porter, far from meditating an assault, smiled graciously as he led the
way to the principal door of the palace, or, as the poor fellow felt
sure it must be, the prison.

CHAPTER TEN.

INVOLVES LANCEY IN GREAT PERPLEXITIES, WHICH CULMINATE IN A VAST
SURPRISE.

No sooner did the dark and unpretending door of Sanda Pasha's konak or
palace open than Lancey's eyes were dazzled by the blaze of light and
splendour