"Stop, though," he continued, after a
moment's reflection. "I am going to break the
sad news to your master, and I may find that
he is anxious to hear any last words that
Mrs.Treverton may have spoken in your
presence. Perhaps you had better come with
me, and wait while I go into Captain Treverton's
room."

"No! no!—oh, not now—not now, for
Heaven's sake!" Speaking those words in
low, quick, pleading tones, and drawing
back affrightedly, during their utterance, to
the door, Sarah disappeared, without waiting
a moment to be spoken to again.

"A strange woman," said the doctor,
addressing the nurse. "Follow her, and see
where she goes to, in case she is wanted and
we are obliged to send for her. I will wait
here until you come back."

When the nurse returned she had nothing
to report, but that she had followed Sarah
Leeson to her own bed-room—had seen her
enter it—had listened outside, and had heard
her lock the door.

"A strange woman!" repeated the doctor.
"One of the silent, secret sort."

"One of the wrong sort," said the nurse.
"She is always talking to herself, and that is
a bad sign, in my opinion. I don't like the
look of her. I distrusted her, sir, the very
first day I entered the house."

TWO DAYS AT SINOPE.

In one of the loveliest days of autumn,
when the extreme heat of summer had
passed away, and when russet and golden
tints were visible among the masses of
evergreen foliage that clothe the coast of
Anatolia, I landed for a brief visit at Sinope.
Independently of its historic interest, and
independently of that which attaches to it
from the massacre at the commencement of
the Russian war, the place is one that may
well stay the footsteps of the tourist, and
that cannot fail to furnish him with notable
sights and pleasing recollections.

Since its nests of pirates flourished
upon the distractions of the Byzantine
empire, Sinope has been famous as the
only safe and practicable harbour upon
the southern coast of the Black Sea. At
every other port, ships have no better haven
than an open roadstead, and landing is often
impossible for days or even weeks together,
by reason of the heavy surf which breaks
upon the shore. Batoum is an exception;
but its pestilential climate more than counter-
balances the excellence of its anchorage, and
renders it almost useless; so that Sinope, in
any future development of Turkish
commerce, must of necessity become the chief
centre of maritime enterprise. For this it is
also fitted by its position with regard to the
corn-bearing plains about Rustamouni; from
which, if there were but roads, produce
would be exported in vast quantities.

Sinope is indebted for its harbour to a
position the most singular that can be
conceived. From the centre of a widely-
expanded bay, a pear-shaped promontory
stands out to sea, in a northerly direction.
It is about four miles long, perhaps two broad
at the widest part, and appears to have been
once an island, although now connected with
the main land by an accumulation of sand
and shingle. The western and northern sides
of the little peninsula present an unbroken
wall of dark-grey rock, against which the
surf, raised by the prevailing westerly winds,
breaks wildly; throwing its clouds of spray
into the air, and leaving the water of the
eastern bay calm and undisturbed. Next the
main land, and upon the narrowest part of
the isthmus, stands a castle, its walls
extending across from sea to sea, and
the only road from the interior passing
through its western court. Further out
is the fortified Turkish town, its walls
washed by the sea on the western side,
like those of the castle. On the eastern side,
the widening isthmus leaves a strip of beach
between the town wall and the sea; and,
upon this strip, boat-building and various
other trades are carried on, while one or two
rude piers or landing-places lead to Turkish
warehouses. The Greek quarter has sprung
up outside the fortifications, and is
separated from them by a roadway; extending
for a short distance along the eastern shore
of the promontory. Here the houses are
neat and gay-looking; square in shape,
coloured yellow or white, relieved by blue,
with reddish-brown tiled roofs, and
surrounded by gardens planted with fig-trees
and olives. Beyond the houses the peninsula
rapidly increases in width; and a steep
hill leads to elevated table-land, which, along
the eastern side, descends by a gentle slope
to the sea.

As seen from the deck of a vessel entering
the eastern bay, the appearance of Sinope is
very picturesque. The gardens and trees
that cover so much of the space included in
the Greek quarter, are of themselves attractive
objects; and the bright colours of the
houses give an air of cheerfulness to the
prospect into which they so largely enter.
The foreground is occupied by a scene of
busy activity. In the government dockyard a
fifty-gun frigate was on the stocks. Stranded
upon the shore, the wreck of a corvette
preserves the memory of the Russian attack;
while scattered buoys point out the position
of sunken vessels that endanger navigation.
On looking intently down through the clear
blue water past the nautili and jelly-fish,
the bottom may be seen strewn with relics
of the brief engagement, such as hawsers
and bolts and chains, with here and there a
musket or a sword. The lofty but crumbling
walls conceal the destruction which they
enclose, and assist the venerable castle in
recalling associations of the past. In the