"Where am I?" she said, half-frightened. Then, recognising the young man, she added: "Yes, I know, you saved my life when I was drowning."
The mother, hearing her daughter speak, yawned, stretched out her arms and woke.
The storm had now abated. The dark clouds were quickly flitting, and the sun, which had risen upon that first day of the year, was now shining in all its splendour on the broad expanse of the blue waters and upon the huge crested waves; and the sight was as exhilarating as it was delightful.
The poor wrecked family having gathered together on deck, breakfast was got ready, and all sat down to the frugal meal which the ship's provisions afforded.
When the breakfast was over, the father of the young girl—who had been questioned several times as to the place from where he was coming, to the port whither he was bound, his occupation, and so forth—related to his hosts the story of his adventures, which can be abridged as follows:
"My name is Giulianic. Our family, though Slav and Orthodox, is said to have been of Italian origin, and that the name, years ago, was Giuliani. Still, I cannot swear as to the truth of this assertion. My father in his first youth had gone to the Levant, and had settled at Chios. He was a coppersmith; and, as far as I can remember, he was very prosperous. He had a large and well-furnished shop, and employed a good many workmen.
"I was the eldest of the family; after me there came a girl, who, happily for herself, died when she was yet quite a baby, and before trouble befel us; for had she been spared, she doubtless would have ended her life in some harem, if not in a worse way, losing thus both soul and body. After her came two boys; so that between myself and my youngest brother there was a difference of about ten years, if not more. I was, therefore, the only child of our family who knew the blessing of a happy boyhood, for my early years, spent either in my father's shop or in our country-house, were passed in bliss; but alas! that time is so far off that its remembrance is only like a dream.
"When I was about ten or twelve years—I cannot say exactly how old I was, as all the registers have been destroyed—a terrible revolution took place. It was, I remember, an awful time, when Christian blood ran in streams through the streets of towns and villages, when houses were burnt down, and the whole island remained a mass of smouldering ruins.
"My father was, if I am not mistaken, the first victim of that bloody fray; like all men of pluck, and indeed like most men of no pluck at all, he was butchered by the Turks. My mother——"
There was a pause. A tear glistened in the corner of the old man's eye, then it rolled down his wrinkled cheek and disappeared in the long, bristling white moustache; his voice faltered. Though more than half a century had passed since that dreadful day, still he could hardly speak about it. After a moment he added, drily: