how I was to get back the poor child. Alas! I knew that if the fact of her whereabout should be ascertained, she would be doomed to lifelong detention.
By combining what I was then told with what I subsequently learned from the poor little thing herself, I am enabled to give this reading of the riddle. Bessie had been deeply moved by seeing the lepers, and hearing what had been told her of their condition. On the intended last evening of her visit, she had been strongly impelled to go and have one more look at the place. Though generally most frank and open, she had, on this occasion, acted with a caution beyond her years. So it will sometimes be with children. It may be presumed that she had a general notion of being about to do something wrong—something at least which would be forbidden were its purpose detected. She had not let even the children know what she was about. On leaving them she had made her way directly to the village. What her purpose was she could not herself say. I can imagine that it was just that undefined impulse of benevolence which so often leads kindly hearts, in the first instance, into the midst of suffering. They go because the impulse is in that direction. They act as occasion offers itself. My informant happened to be the particular person who first discovered her presence. In the stillness of the evening he perceived her approaching. No time for warning was given, for she was well within the doomed precincts when he first saw her. He said that at first he had taken her for a little angel, but that in a moment he recognised her as the Frank child who had passed by a day or two before.
The full peril of her position flashed before his mind, but he determined at once to do his best to restore her to her friends. There were the legal perils to be guarded against, as well as the real dangers to herself from the juxtaposition into which she had fallen. Her wandering must be kept from the knowledge of the people outside, and she must be scrupulously guarded from all contact with the infected community.
So they had agreed among themselves not to touch her, nor anything that she was to handle, and to keep all children out of her presence. They would no doubt have sent her away at once, had it been possible for any one to accompany her. But this could not be, and it was out of the question to let her go alone. The only thing to be done was to keep her till some opportunity should occur of letting her friends know where she was, that they might quietly remove her.
An unoccupied outhouse, on the very line of enclosure, afforded the means of separate entertainment. It was near the place where contributions in kind were wont to be laid by the friends of those under detention. These were fetched away by the sick day by day. To this little Bessie was pointed, and from it bidden to fetch what she wanted.
She told me afterwards that they had been so good to her. The women, especially, stood around and watched her with smiles. She would have kissed them if they would have let her; but they religiously kept their distance. One man was found with sufficient broken English at command to make her understand that she must keep quiet, and no harm would happen to her, and that by-and-by her friends would come and fetch her. All through the dreary night she was preserved from fear by the consciousness that kindly souls were watching her.
And here, at last, I was come. Bessie caught the sound of my voice, and was at my side. Her exit was no more impeded than had been her entrance. Whether at any time the communications were guarded by sentries, I do not know. Perhaps the lepers were kept within their limits by the certainty of being shot if found straying. I fancy that subsequently to this period a system of improved caution was instituted, in consequence, probably, of some inkling of this, our adventure, having got abroad. But nothing then was in the way to stop her. Freely she had passed, and freely she came forth, and I had nothing to do but to make off with her to a place of safety.
How could I thank those generous preservers, who, being themselves in the vortex of calamity, had yet put forth their strength and ingenuity to thrust out a volunteering, though unwitting recruit? Two or three were gathered together to watch, and to hasten our departing. It was evident in the manifestations of their experience that the luxury of benevolence never loses its virtue. It must bring happiness under all human circumstances. Joy beamed forth from the eyes of all present. But time pressed. There was no real safety for us anywhere on shore, and our vessel must therefore be regained at once.
They urged me to depart, and to guard my secret, the divulging of which would be attended with penalties to themselves as well as to us. They sent us off with motions of tenderest farewell. Bessie would have kissed them, but I held her back. They were too well drilled to require any caution.
So we sped, expressing our thankfulness as well as we could. I hurried her down to the beach, where I knew that Quillet’s gig would be waiting for me. It was necessary to repress the joyous exclamations of the men, who would have roused the populace with three cheers. But we got on board first, and then let our news be known.
I simply announced that I had found her in the course of my search along the beach, and that all the mischief had arisen from the accident of her having gone astray in her ramble. Madame R. and two or three leading inhabitants soon came off to see her, and they were followed by a sufficient number of witnesses to authenticate the fact of her re-appearance, and to release the unfortunate Israelites from persecution. In twenty-four hours we sailed on our homeward voyage.
Whether since that time there have been any similar outbreaks at Rhodes, I do not know. I think, however, it is reasonable to hope that the lesson of this occasion has not been lost on them.
Bessie is now a grandmother—a bright, hale, useful, energetic old lady. She retains only a very dim recollection of her early adventure, and has never been able fairly to explain what was the nature of the impulse that led her into danger. She