eager to learn a little of the tribulation through which they had fought their way to liberty and freedom.
"It seems to me," I began, "that were I the British High Commissioner, I should have found some means of, at least, paying a visit to Angora. What do our legislators yet know about this land under their charge, for which they have been made responsible? They can have no idea of the people's aims, their faults and their virtues. You might as well take charge of some province in heaven of which you only know that it exists."
"There is not a Turk to-day who would not welcome you as British High Commissioner," was the gallant reply. "We are, indeed, deeply grateful for your trust. You have found the key to unlock Moslem hearts—to trust us."
"Surely it is with nations as with individuals, the man who trusts and is deceived will yet prevail over his deceiver, whatever temporary profits that traitor may grasp. There can be no final conquest over truth. That was my late father's teaching, and if it has sometimes left me an easy prey to liars and thieves, it has not killed my faith in human nature or hurt my pride. Self-respect will always compel me to treat every man as my friend."
As we proceeded on our journey, one felt hourly more conscious of the barrier that has been so unwisely set up between the Allies and Angora. As railway and telegraphic communications had been cut off, news was not only delayed, but distorted beyond recognition. One only marvels that some grave disaster has not arisen from such confused reports, apparent contradictions, stern threats, and frequent misunderstandings. It would seem as if the Allied Commissioners had no desire to keep in touch with this "little Republic of the Mountains."
In all my wanderings I have never experienced such an overpowering sense of isolation. For me there have been no "personal" communications from Europe since October. That "English letters are not accepted in Anatolia," that all my friends' news will be returned
