“Well, that shall also be arranged,” returned the Pasha, as he left us.
“Never saw nothink like ’im,” observed Lancey; “’e sticks at nothink, believes nothink, cares for nothink, an’ can do hanythink.”
“You are showing want of gratitude now, Lancey, for it is plain that he cares a good deal for you.”
Lancey admitted that he might, perhaps, have been a little harsh in expressing himself, and then went off to prepare for the journey.
“We are going back again to your own country, Ivanka,” said I, gently stroking the child’s head, as we sat together in the same room, some hours later.
Ivanka raised her large eyes to mine.
“There is no home now,” she said, in a mournful voice.
“But we shall find father there, perhaps.”
The child dropped her eyes, and shook her head, but made no further remark. I saw that tears were trickling down her cheeks, and, feeling uncertain as to how far she realised her forlorn condition, refrained from further speech, and drew her little head upon my breast, while I sought to comfort her with hopes of soon meeting her father.
Snow lay on the ground when we bade farewell to our kind host. “Good-bye, Sanda Pasha; I shall hope to see you in England one of these days,” said I at parting.