// ppgen source fantasy-src.txt
// 20111104035100hume
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.dt The Island of Fantasy, by Fergus Hume

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Transcriber’s Note:

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.gk
.bn 001.png
.hr 100%
.hr 100%
.nf c
<xl><bl>The Island of Fantasy</bl></xl>
A Romance
.nf-
.hr 100%
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.ce
By FERGUS HUME
.hr 100%
<s><i>Author of “When I Lived In Bohemia,” “The Mystery
of a Hansom Cab,” “The Man Who Vanished,” etc</i>.</s>
.hr 100%
.sp 4
.pm start_poem
Sorrow and weariness,
Heartache and dreariness,
  None should endure;
Scale ye the mountain peak,
Vale ’o the fountain seek,
  There is the cure.
.pm end_poem
.sp 4
.hr 100%
.hr 100%
.nf c
<g><xl>R. F. FENNO & COMPANY</xl></g>
9 and 11 East Sixteenth Street, New York
1905
.nf-
.bn 002.png
.pb
.sp 8
.nf c
<sc>Copyright</sc>, 1892,

BY

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
.nf-
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<s>[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</s>
.sp 8
.bn 003.png
.pn 9
.pb


.h1
<xxl>THE ISLAND OF FANTASY.</xxl>

.hr 50%


.h2 nobreak
CHAPTER I. | <sc>A MIND DISEASED.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Your Eastern drugs, your spices, your perfumes,
Are all in vain;
They cannot snatch my soul from out its glooms,
Nor soothe the brain.
My mind is dark as cycle-sealèd tombs,
And must remain
In darkness till the light of God illumes
Its black inane.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
It was eight o’clock on a still summer evening, and, the
ladies having retired, two men were lingering in a pleasant,
indolent fashion over their wine in the dining-room of Roylands
Grange. To be exact, only the elder gentleman was
paying any attention to his port, for the young man who sat
at the head of the table stared vaguely on his empty glass,
and at his equally empty plate, as if his thoughts were miles
away, which was precisely the case. Youth was moody, age
was cheerful, for, while the former indulged in a brown study,
the latter cracked nuts and sipped wine, with a just appreciation
of the excellence of both. Judging from this outward
aspect of things, there was something wrong with Maurice
Roylands, for if reverend age in the presentable person of
Rector Carriston could be merry, there appeared to be no
very feasible reason why unthinking youth should be so ineffably
dreary. Yet woe was writ largely on the comely
face of the moody young man, and he joined but listlessly in
the jocund conversation of his companion, which was punctuated
in a very marked manner by the cracking of filberts.

Outside, a magical twilight brooded over the landscape,
and the chill odors of eve floated from a thousand sleeping
.bn 004.png
.pn +1
flowers into the mellow atmosphere of the room, which was
irradiated by the soft gleam of many wax candles rising
white and slender from amid the pale roses adorning the
dinner-table. All was pleasant, peaceful, and infinitely
charming; yet Maurice Roylands, aged thirty, healthy,
wealthy, and not at all bad-looking, sat moodily frowning
at his untasted dessert, as though he bore the weight of the
world on his shoulders.

In truth, Mr. Roylands, with the usual self-worship of
latter-day youth, thought he was being very hardly treated
by Destiny, as that all-powerful goddess had given him
everything calculated to make a mortal happy, save the capability
of being happy. This was undeniably hard, and might
be called the very irony of fate, for one might as well offer
a sumptuous banquet to a dyspeptic, as give a man all the
means of enjoyment, without the faculty of taking advantage
of such good fortune. Roylands had considerable artistic
power, an income of nearly six thousand a year, a fine house,
friends innumerable—of the summer season sort; yet he
neither cared about nor valued these blessings, for the simple
reason that he was heartily sick of them, one and all. He
would have been happier digging a patch of ground for his
daily bread, than thus idling through life on an independent
income, for Ennui, twin sister of Care, had taken possession
of his soul, and in the midst of all his comforts he was thoroughly
unhappy.

The proverb that “The rich are more miserable than the
poor,” is but a trite one on which to preach a sermon, for did
not Solomon say all that there was to be said in the matter?
It was an easier task to write a new play on the theme of
Hamlet, than to compose a novel discourse on the “All is vanity”
text; for on some subjects the final word has been said,
and he who preaches thereon says nothing new, but only repeats
the ideas of former orators, who in their turn doubtless
reiterated the sayings of still earlier preachers, and so on
back to Father Adam, to whom the wily serpent possibly
delivered a sermon on the cynically wise saying illustrated so
exhaustively by Solomon ben David. Therefore, to remark
that Maurice was miserable amid all his splendors is a plagiarism,
and they who desire to study the original version
for themselves must read Ecclesiastes, which gives a minute
analysis of the whole question, with cruelly true comments
thereon.

When Roylands ten years before had gone to London,
.bn 005.png
.pn +1
against the desire of his father, to take up the profession—if
it can be called so—of a sculptor, he was full of energy
and ambition. He had fully determined to set the Thames
on fire by the creation of statues worthy of Canova, to make
a great name in the artistic world, to become a member of
the Academy, to inaugurate a new era in the history of
English sculpture; so, with all this glory before him, he
turned his back on the flesh-pots of Egypt and went to dwell
in the land of Bohemia. In order to bring the lad to his
senses, Roylands senior refused to aid him with a shilling
until he gave up the pitiful trade—in this country squire’s
opinion—of chipping figures out of marble. Supplies being
thus stopped, Maurice suffered greatly in those artistic days
for lack of an assured income; yet in spite of all his deprivations,
he was very happy in Bohemia until he lived down
his enthusiasms. When matters came to that pass, the
wine of life lost its zest for this young man, and he became
a victim to melancholia, that terrible disease for which
there is rarely—if any cure. He lived because he did not
agree with Addison’s Cato regarding the virtues of self-destruction,
but as far as actual dying went it mattered to
him neither one way nor the other. If he had done but
little good during his life, at least he had done but little
harm, so, thinking he could scarcely be punished severely
for such a negative existence, he was quite willing to leave
this world he found so dreary, provided the entrance into
the next one was not of too painful a nature.

It is a bad thing for a young man to thus take to the pessimistic
school of philosophy as exemplified by Schopenhauer,
as, having nothing to look back at, nothing to look forward
to, and nothing to hold on by, the scheme of his life falls
into a ruinous condition, so, being without the safety anchor
of Hope, he drifts aimlessly through existence, a nuisance to
himself and to every one around him. Maurice, listless and
despairing, did no more work than was absolutely necessary
to earn a bare subsistence, and lived his life in a semi-dreamy,
semi-lethargic condition, with no very distinct idea
as to what was to be the ultimate end of all this dreariness.
When night fell he was then more at rest, for in sleep he
found a certain amount of compensation for the woes of his
waking hours. As to his modelling, he took a positive dislike
to it, and for this reason improved but little in his work
during the last years of his Bohemian existence. Profoundly
disgusted, without any positive reason, with himself, his art,
.bn 006.png
.pn +1
the world, and his fellow-men, heaven only knows what
would have become of him, had not an event happened
which, by placing him in a new position, seemed to promise
his redemption from the gloomy prison of melancholia.

The event in question was none other than the death of
his father, and Maurice, as in duty bound, came down to the
funeral. When the will of the late Squire was read, it was
discovered that, with the exception of one or two trifling
bequests, all the real and personal property was left to his
only son; thus this fortunate young man at the age of thirty
found himself independent of the world for the rest of his
days, provided always he did not squander his paternal acres,
a thing he had not the slightest intention of doing. Maurice
had no leanings towards what is vulgarly termed a “fast
life,” for he detested horse-racing, cared but little for wine,
and neither cards nor women possessed any fascination for
him. Not that he was a model young man by any means,
but his tastes were too refined, his nature too intellectual, to
admit of his finding pleasure in drinking, gaming, and their
concomitants. As to love, he did not know the meaning of
the word,—at least not the real meaning,—which was
rather a mistake, as it would certainly have given him an
interest in life, and perhaps have prevented him yielding
so readily to the influence of “black care,” which even the
genial Venusian knew something about, seeing he made her
an equestrian.

Of course, he was sorry for the death of his father, but
there had been so little real sympathy between them, that
he could not absolutely look upon the event as an irreparable
calamity. Maurice had always loved his mother more
than his father, and when she died as he was leaving home
for college he was indeed inconsolable; but he saw the
remains of the late Mr. Roylands duly committed to the
family vault without any violent display of grief, after
which he returned to live the life of a country gentleman at
the Grange, and wonder what would be the upshot of this
new phase of his existence.

Solitude was abhorrent to him, as his thoughts were so
miserable; therefore, for the sake of having some one to
drive away the evil spirit, he invited his aunt, the Hon. Mrs.
Dengelton, to stay at the Grange for a week or so. She
came without hesitation, and brought her daughter Eunice
also, upon which Maurice, finding two women more than an
unhappy bachelor could put up with, asked the new poet
.bn 007.png
.pn +1
Crispin, for whom he had a great liking, to come down to
Roylands, which that young man did very willingly, as he
was in love with Eunice, a state of things half guessed and
wholly hated by Mrs. Dengelton, who much desired her
daughter to marry the new Squire.

On this special evening, the Rev. Stephen Carriston, Rector
of Roylands, had come to dinner, and, Crispin having
retired to the drawing-room with the ladies, he found himself
alone with his former pupil, much to his satisfaction, as he
wished greatly to have a quiet talk with Maurice. Mr. Carriston
was the oldest friend the young man had, having been
his tutor in the long ago, and prepared him for college.
Whatever success Maurice gained at Oxford—and such
success was not inconsiderable—was due to the admirable
way in which he had been coached by the rubicund divine.

Certainly the Rector loved the good things of this life,
and looked as if he did, which is surely pardonable enough,
especially in a bachelor; for at sixty-five years of age the
Rector was still single, and much beloved by his parishioners,
to whom he preached short, pithy sermons on the actions
of their daily lives, which was assuredly much better than
muddling their dull brains with theological hair-splitting.
Being very fond of Maurice, he was greatly concerned to
see the marked change which six years of London life had
made in the young fellow. The merry, ambitious lad, who
had departed so full of resolution to succeed, had now returned
a weary-looking, worn-out man; and as the Rector,
during the intervals of his nut-cracking, glanced at his former
pupil, he was struck by the extreme melancholy which
pervaded the whole face. Comely it was certainly, of the
fresh-colored Saxon type, but the color had long since left
those haggard cheeks, there were deep lines in the high forehead,
the mouth was drawn downward in a dismal fashion
under the trim mustache, and from the eyes looked forth
an unhappy soul.

Yes, the Rector was considerably puzzled to account for
this change, and resolved to find out what ailed the lad, but
he hardly knew how to set about this delicate task, the
more so, as he feared the consolations of religion would do
but little good in this case; for Maurice, without being absolutely
a sceptic, yet held opinions of a heterodox type, quite
at variance with the declarations of the Thirty-Nine Articles
in which the good Rector so firmly believed.

At length Mr. Carriston grew weary of cracking nuts and
.bn 008.png
.pn +1
sipping port wine without the digestive aid of pleasant conversation,
and therefore began to talk to his quondam pupil,
with the firm determination to keep on talking until he discovered
the secret of the young man’s melancholy.

“Are you not going to fill your glass, Maurice?”

“No, thank you, sir. I am rather tired of port.”

“Inexplicable creature!” said the Rector, holding up his
glass to the light. “Ah, well, ‘<lang=la><i>De gustibus</i></lang>,’ my dear lad.
I have no doubt you can finish the quotation. Why not
try claret?”

“I’m tired of claret.”

“It seems to me, sir,” observed Mr. Carriston leisurely,
“that you are tired of all things.”

“I am—including myself.”

“Strange! A young man of thirty years of age, sound of
mind and body, who is fortunate enough to inherit six thousand
a year, ought to be happy.”

“Money does not bring happiness.”

“Ah, that proverb is quite worn out,” replied the Rector
cheerily; “try another, my boy, try another.”

Maurice, leaning forward with a sigh, took a handful of
nuts, which he proceeded to crack in a listless fashion. The
Rector said nothing, but waited for Maurice to speak, which
he was obliged to do out of courtesy, although much disinclined
to resume the argument.

“I’ve tried everything, and I’m tired of everything.”

“Even of that marble-chipping you call art?”

“I am more tired of that than of anything else,” said
Maurice emphatically.

“A bad case,” murmured the Rector, shaking his gray head;
“a very bad case, which needs curing. ‘Nothing’s new!
nothing’s true! and no matter,’ says my Oxford fine gentleman.
Maurice, I must assert my privilege as an old friend,
and reason with you in this matter. I am sadly afraid, my
dear lad, that you need whipping.”

The ghost of a smile played over the tired face of the
young man, and he assented heartily to the observation of
his old tutor—nay, even added an amendment thereto.

“I do, sir, I do!” he said sombrely; “we all need whipping
more or less—men, women, and children.”

“I am afraid the last-named get the most of it,” replied
Carriston, with dry humor.

“With the birch, yes. But ’tis not so pleasant to be
whipped by Fate.”
.bn 009.png
.pn +1

“My dear lad, you cannot say she has whipped you.”

“To continue your illustration, Rector, there are several
modes of whipping,—the birch which pains the skin, poverty
which pains the body, and despair which pains the soul.
The latter is my case. I have health, wealth, and youth;
but I feel the stings of the rod all the same.”

“Yes?” queried Carriston interrogatively; “in what
way?”

“I have not the capability of enjoying the blessings I
possess.”

“How so? Explain this riddle.”

“I cannot explain it. I simply take no pleasure in life.
Rich or poor, old or young, well or ill, I would still be as
miserable as I am now.”

“Hum! Let us look at the question from three points of
view—comprehensive points. The legal, the medicinal, the
religious. One of these, if properly applied, will surely
solve the enigma.”

“I doubt it.”

“Ah, that is because you have made up your mind to
doubt. ‘None so blind as those who won’t see.’”

“Who is quoting proverbs now, Mr. Carriston?”

“I am, sir, even I who dislike such arid chips of <pm corr 15.23 widsom wisdom>;
but ’tis an excellent proverb, which has borne the wear and
tear of centuries. Come now, Maurice, are you in any
trouble connected with money? are you involved in any
law-suit, or—or—well,” said the Rector, delicately eying
his glass, “I hardly know how to put it,—er—er—are
you involved in any love affair?”

“No; my worldly position is all right, and I am not
mixed up in any feminine trouble.”

“Good! that settles the legal point. Now for the medical.
Your liver must be out of order.”

“I assure you, sir, I never felt better in my life.”

Mr. Carriston’s face now assumed a grave expression as
he put the last question to his host.

“And the religious point?”

“I am not troubled on that score, sir.”

The Rev. Stephen looked doubtful.

“Whatever my religious views may be,” resumed Maurice,
seeing the Rector was but half convinced, “and I am afraid
they can hardly be called orthodox, I at least can safely say
that my past life is not open to misconstruction.”

“Good! good! I always had confidence in you, Maurice.
.bn 010.png
.pn +1
Yours is not the nature to find pleasure in gutter-raking.
Well, it seems that none of those three points meet the case.
Can you not give me some understandable reason for this
melancholy which renders your life so <pm corr 16.4 bitter. bitter?>”

“No. I went to London full of joy, energy, and ambition;
but in some way—I cannot tell you how—I lost all
those feelings. First joy departed, then ambition fled away,
and with these two feelings absent I felt no further energy
to do anything. It may be satiety, certainly. I have explored
the heights and depths of London life, I have read
books new and old, I have studied as far as in me lay my
fellow-men, I have tried to fall in love with my fellow-women—and
failed dismally. In fact, Mr. Carriston, I
have exhausted the world, and find it as empty as this.”

He held up a nut which he had just cracked, and it contained
no kernel—an apt illustration of his wasted life.

The rector shook his head again in some perplexity, and
filled himself another glass of port, while Maurice, rising
from his seat, sauntered to the window, and looked absently
at the peaceful scene before him. The moon, rising slowly
over the tree-tops, flooded the landscape with her pale gleam,
so that the gazer could see the glimmer of the white marble
statues far down in the dewy darkness of the lawn, the sombre
woods black against the clear sky, and away in the distance
the thin streak of silver, which told of the restless
ocean. A salt wind was blowing overland from thence, and,
dilating his nostrils, opening his mouth, he inhaled the vivifying
breeze in long breaths, while dully in his ears sounded
the sullen thunder of the far-away billows rolling backward
in sheets of shattered foam.

“Oh, Mother Nature! Demeter! Tellus! Isis!” he murmured,
half closing his eyes; “tis only from thee I can hope
to gain a panacea for this gnawing pain of life. I am weary
of the world, tired of this aimless existence, but to thee will
I fly to seek solace in thine healing balms.”

“Maurice!”

“Yes, sir.”

It was the rector who spoke, and the sound of his mellow
voice roused the young man from his dreaming; therefore,
resuming his normal manner, he lighted a cigarette and prepared
to listen to the conversation of his old tutor.

“Are you still as good a German scholar as you used to
be?” asked the rector deliberately.

“Not quite. My German, like myself, has grown somewhat
rusty.”
.bn 011.png
.pn +1

“Can you translate the word <lang=de><i>Selbstschmerz</i></lang>?”

“Self-sickness.”

“Yes; that is about as good an English equivalent as can
be found. Well, that is what you are suffering from.”

“Oh, wise physician,” retorted Roylands, with irony. “I
know the cause of the disease myself, but what of the
cure?”

“You must fall in love.”

“No one can fall in love to order.”

“Well, you must make the attempt at all events,” said
Carriston, with a genial laugh; “it is the only cure for your
disease.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because it is your egotism makes you miserable. You
care for no one but yourself, and are therefore bound to suffer
from such selfishness. True happiness lies in self-abnegation,
a virtue which all men preach, but few men practise.
‘Every man,’ says Goethe, ‘thinks himself the centre of the
universe.’ This is true—particularly true in your case.
You have been so much taken up with your own woes and
troubles that you have had no time to see those of your fellow-creatures,
and such exclusive analysis of one’s inner life
leads naturally to self-sickness. You are torturing yourself
by yourself; you have destroyed the sense of pleasure, and
can therefore see nothing good on God’s earth. You would
like to cut the Gordian knot by death, but have neither the
courage nor resolution to make away with yourself. Oh, I
know the reason of such hesitation.

.pm start_poem
‘’Tis better to endure the ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.’
.pm end_poem

I have no doubt that is your feeling about the hereafter.
Well, with all this you feel you are in prison and cannot
escape, because a last remnant of manliness forbids you opening
the only door by which you can go hence. Therefore you
are forced to remain on earth, and condemned yourself to
supply the tortures from which you suffer. Have I not described
your condition accurately?”

“You have,” replied Maurice, rather astonished at the rector’s
penetration. “I do torture myself, I know, but that is
because I cannot escape from my own thoughts. Pin-pricks
hurt more than cannon balls, and incessant worries are far
more painful than great calamities. But all you have said
touches on the disease only, it does not say how the cure
you propose will benefit me.”
.bn 012.png
.pn +1

He had come back to his seat, and was now leaning forward
with folded arms, looking at the benevolent face of his
friend. The discussion, having roused his interest, made him
forget himself for the moment, and with such forgetfulness
the moody look passed away from his face. The rector
saw this, and immediately made use of it as a point in his
favor.

“Ah, if you could but behold yourself in the glass at this
moment,” he said approvingly, “you would see the point I
am aiming at without need of further discussion. I have
interested you, and consequently you have forgotten for the
moment your self-torture. That is what love will do. If
you love a woman, she will fill your whole soul, your whole
being, and give you an interest in life. What she admires
you will admire, what she takes an interest in you will take
an interest in; and thus, being busy with other things, you
will forget to worry your brains about your own perfections
or imperfections. And if you are happy enough to become a
father, children will give you a great interest in life, and you
will find that God has appointed you work to do which is
ready to your hand. When you discover the work, aided by
wife and children, you will do it, and thus be happy. Remember
those fine words of Burns,—

.pm start_poem
‘To make a happy fireside clime
  For weans and wife,
That’s the true pathos and sublime
  Of human life.’”
.pm end_poem

“What you say sounds fine but dull. I don’t care about
such wearisome domesticity.”

“What you call wearisome domesticity,” said the Rector
in a voice of emotion, “is the happiest state in which a man
can find himself. Home, wife, children, domestic love, domestic
consolations—what more can the heart of man desire?
Laurel crowns cure no aching head, but the gentle kiss of a
loved wife in time of trouble is indeed balm in Gilead.”

Maurice looked at the old man in amazement, for never
had he seen him so moved.

“You speak feelingly, Rector,” he said at length, with a
certain hesitation.

“I speak as I feel,” replied Carriston with a sigh. “I
also have my story, old and unromantic-looking as I am.
Come over to the Rectory to-morrow, my dear lad, and I will
.bn 013.png
.pn +1
tell you something which will make you see how foolish it is
to be miserable in God’s beautiful world.”

“I am afraid it will give you pain.”

“No; it will not give me pain. What was my greatest
sorrow is now my greatest consolation. You will come and
see me to-morrow?”

“If you wish it.”

“I do wish it.”

“Then I will come.”

There was silence for a few moments, each of them being
occupied with his own thoughts. The Rector was evidently
thinking of that old romance which had stirred him to such
an unwonted display of emotion; and Maurice saw for the
first time in his selfish life that other men had sorrows as
well as he, and that he was not the only person in the
world who suffered from <lang=de><i>Selbstschmerz</i></lang>.

“But come, Maurice,” said the Rector, after a pause, “I
was talking about curing you by marriage.”

“Love!”

“Well, marriage in your case, I hope, will be love,” observed
Carriston, a trifle reproachfully. “I would be sorry
indeed to see you make any woman your wife unless it was
for true love’s sake.”

“Well, whom do you want me to love?”

“Ah, that is for you to decide. But, if I may make a
suggestion, I should say, Eunice.”

“Eunice!”

“She is a charming girl. Highly educated, good-looking”—

“But so prim.”

“Oh, that is but a suspicion of old maidism, which will
wear off after a month or two of married life.”

“Do you think she would make me a good wife?”

“I am sure of it.”

“So am I,” said Maurice, with a faint sneer. “She would
look well at the head of my table; she would always be
dressed to perfection; she would doubtless be an excellent
mother; but there is one great bar to our union.”

“And that is?”

“We only love each other as cousins.”

“It may grow into a warmer feeling.”

“I’m certain it won’t; and, Rector,” continued Maurice,
laying his hand on the old man’s arm, “could you advise me
to have a mother-in-law like Mrs. Dengelton?”
.bn 014.png
.pn +1

The Rector laughed heartily, and Maurice joined in his
mirth, much to Carriston’s delight.

“Ah, now you are more like the boy I knew!” he said,
slipping his arm into that of Roylands, and leading him to
the door; “did I not tell you I would cure you? I will
complete the cure to-morrow.”

“But it might give you pain.”

“No, no; don’t think about that,” said Carriston hastily.
“If I can do you a service, I don’t mind a passing twinge of
regret. But here we are at the drawing-room door. Let us
join the ladies.”

“And Crispin.”

“By the way,” said the Rector, placing his hand on Roylands
as he was about to open the door, “who is Crispin?”

“Every one in London has been trying to find that out for
the last two years.”

“What is he?”

“The new poet; the coming Tennyson, the future Browning.
No one knows who he is, or where he comes from.
He is called Crispin <lang=fr><i>tout court</i></lang>.”

“A most perplexing person. Are you quite sure”—

“If he is fit for respectable society? Oh yes. He goes
everywhere in London. Like Disraeli, he stands on his head,
for his genius—and he has great genius—has opened all
the drawing-rooms of Belgravia to him. Oh, he is quite
proper.”

“Still, still!” objected the Rector.

“Well, what objection have you yet to him, my dear sir?”

“I’m afraid, I’m afraid,” whispered Carriston, looking
apprehensively at Maurice, “that he loves Eunice.”

“Impossible!”

“Oh, I’m not so old but what I can see the signs and
tokens of love; and, placed on my guard by a casual glance,
I noticed Eunice and your poet particularly at dinner.”

“In that case,” said Maurice coolly, “I’m afraid Crispin
will have to put up with Mrs. Dengelton as a mother-in-law.”

The Rector laughed again, and they entered the drawing-room.
.bn 015.png
.pn +1


.h2
CHAPTER II. | <sc>DE RERUM PARVULA.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The smallest actions in a life
Betray the calm or inward strife:
From idle straws, as persons know,
One learns the way the breezes blow;
You love those Florentine mosaics,
Yet tiny stones the picture makes.
Complying with this rule’s demand,
Whate’er is meant you’ll understand,
So follow carefully this chatter,
And you’ll discover what’s the matter.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The three persons who occupied the drawing-room were
all employed according to their different natures, for Crispin,
being an ardent musician, was seated at the piano, playing
softly. Eunice, who rarely spoke, was listening, and the
Hon. Mrs. Dengelton was talking as usual. She was always
talking, but never by any chance said anything worth listening
to. With her it was all quantity and no quality. For,
wherever she was, in drawing-room, theatre, or park, her
sharp strident voice could be heard all over the place. Certainly
she was silent in church, but it must have been an
effort for her to hold her tongue, and she fully made up for
it when she was outside the door, by chattering all the way
home. Scandal said she had talked her husband dead and
her daughter silent; and certainly the Hon. Guy Dengelton
was safe in the family vault, while Eunice, as a rule, said
very little. Mrs. Dengelton knew every one and everything,
and, were it the fashion to write memoirs, after the
mode of the eighteenth century, she could have produced a
book which would have made a sensation, and been suppressed—after
the first edition. Owing to her incessant
stream of small talk, she was known in society as “The
Parrot,” a name which exactly fitted her, as she had a hook
nose, beady eyes, and always dressed in gay colors. Add
to this description her <lang=fr><i>esprit</i></lang>, as she called it, but which
scandal said was French for the vulgar American word
“jaw,” and you have a faithful portrait of the most dreaded
woman in London.

Reasons? two! She knew stories about every one, which
she retailed to their friends at the pitch of her voice; and
she was always hunting for a husband for Eunice. Eldest
.bn 016.png
.pn +1
sons had a horror of her, and the announcement that Mrs.
Dengelton was to be at any special ball was sufficient to keep
all the eligible young men away. Consequently, no one asked
“The Parrot” to a dance unless the invitation was dragged
out of them; but Mrs. Dengelton was skilful at such work,
and went out a good deal during the season. Hitherto she
had not been successful in her husband-hunting, as no one
would marry Eunice, with the chance of having Mrs. Dengelton
as mother-in-law. Crispin certainly was daring enough
to pay his addresses, but Crispin had neither name, title,
nor family, nothing but his genius, and Mrs. Dengelton
therefore frowned on his suit. When Maurice came in for
the Roylands estate, his aunt thought it would be splendid
for Eunice to marry her first cousin, “just to keep the
property in the family,” as Mrs. Dengelton put it, though
how such a saying applied in this case it is rather difficult
to see. However, The Parrot gladly accepted her nephew’s
invitation,—when she arrived, he regretted having asked
her—and came down with Eunice, with the firm determination
to talk Maurice into matrimony.

She was very angry when Crispin arrived, and forbade
Eunice to encourage the young man, but she could scarcely
turn him out of the house, as she would have liked to do,
so put up with his presence as best she could, and never
lost an opportunity of saying disagreeable things to him in
a covert fashion.

Eunice herself was a charmingly pretty girl, who very
much resented the way in which her mother put her up to
auction, but, being rather weak-willed, could not combat
Mrs. Dengelton’s determination, and submitted quietly to be
dragged about all over the place, with the hope that some
day a modern St. George would deliver her from this dragon.

St. George, long looked for, unexpectedly appeared one
day in the person of Crispin, and, though Mrs. Dengelton
laughed at the idea of her daughter throwing herself away
on a pauper, Eunice, nevertheless, fell in love with the
poet. Crispin would have married her at once, but, in spite
of her anxiety to get beyond the clack of Mrs. Dengelton’s
tongue, she was too much afraid of that strong-willed lady
to break out into open mutiny, so poor St. George had to
adore her in secret, lest the dragon should pounce down on
him.

Crispin! who ever heard of such a name? being the
more singular as it had neither head nor tail. If he had
.bn 017.png
.pn +1
been Henry Crispin, or Crispin Jones, people could have
put up with the oddness of the sound; but Crispin, all alone
by itself, sounded heathenish, to say the least of it. No one
knew who Crispin was, or where he came from, for he had
suddenly flashed like a meteor into literary London, two
years previous, with a book of brilliant poems, which made
a great success. For once the critics were unanimous in
praising good work, and pronounced “The Roses of Shiraz,
and Other Poems” to be the finest series of poetical Eastern
tales since Lord Byron had enchanted the world with “The
Giaour” and “The Bride of Abydos.” For the critics’ praise
or blame Crispin seemed to care but little, nor did he satisfy
the curiosity of those up to date people who desired to meet
him. Sometimes he would appear in a Belgravian drawing-room,
but only for a moment, and would then leave England
for a tour in his beloved East. Just when the world would
begin to forget him, he would suddenly reappear in society,
and fascinate one and all by his charming manners. Handsome
some he was not, being small and dark, but he was as lithe
as a serpent, and his dark eyes flashed with the fierce fire of
genius. All sorts of stories were told about him, and none
of them were correct, though Mrs. Dengelton was ready to
swear to the truth of at least half a dozen. In fact, he
puzzled society very much, and, as society always takes to
that which is not understandable, Crispin was quite the lion
of the season.

An article called “The Lord Byron of our days” appeared
in a leading society paper, which retailed wonders about
this unknown poet; but Crispin neither contradicted nor
affirmed the truth of these statements, therefore became
more of a puzzle than ever. He was a brilliant musician;
he talked several languages, and seemed to have been all
over the world; but beyond this he was a mystery. To no
one, not even to Maurice, who was his closest friend, did he
tell the story of his life, and even Mrs. Dengelton, who was
an adept at finding out things people did not want known,
could make nothing of him.

Then Crispin met Eunice, and all his heart went out to
this dainty, dark-haired girl, who spoke so seldom, but whose
eyes and gestures were so eloquent. “The Fairy of Midnight,”
he called her, and often wondered how such a
woman as Mrs. Dengelton ever came to have so silent and
lovely a daughter. To Crispin, steeped in the lore of the
East, she was like a Peri, and her love inspired him with
.bn 018.png
.pn +1
wondrous love poems, some of which appeared in <cite>The Nineteenth
Century</cite> and <cite>The Fortnightly Review</cite>. Whether he
told her who he was is doubtful—if he did, Eunice never
betrayed his confidence, for she was a woman who could
keep a secret, which was a miracle, seeing her mother was
such a gossip. They loved and suffered in silence with such
discretion, that even keen-eyed Mrs. Dengelton did not guess
the understanding which existed between them, and was
hard at work trying to arrange a marriage with Maurice,
quite unaware that her meek daughter had made up her
mind to marry no one but this mysterious Crispin.

Sitting at the piano, Crispin was playing a wild Eastern
air with the soft pedal down, and looking at Eunice, whose
eyes responded eloquently to his glances. Neither of them
paid much attention to the chatter of The Parrot, who was
quite ignorant of the love-making going on under her nose,
for both Eunice and Crispin had arrived at the stage of complete
union of souls which renders words superfluous while
eyes can talk.

Mrs. Dengelton was doing a parrot in beadwork for a
screen, and the gaudy bird might have passed for her portrait,
so like her did it seem. Luckily, the beadwork parrot
could not talk, but its creator could, and did, with as few
pauses as possible.

“As I was saying, my dear Eunice, there is something
very strange about this silence of my dear nephew. I’ve no
doubt it is smoking too much,—so many young men smoke
in that dreadful place, Bloomsbury, where he lived,—or perhaps
he feels a little out of society after living so long away
from it. Oh, I know Bloomsbury! yes! I sometimes visit
the poor there. How strange I never came across poor dear
Maurice! He is so sadly altered, not gay like he used to be.
I do not really think he knows how to laugh, and”—

At this moment, as if to give the lie to Mrs. Dengelton’s
assertion, her nephew entered the room, laughing, in company
with the Rector; but the good lady did not know that
she was the cause of this hilarity, and at once began to deluge
the new-comers with the fountain of her small talk.

“Now, my dear Rector and my dear Maurice, what are you
laughing at? Is it some amusing joke? Oh, I am sure it
is! Eunice, Mr. Crispin, we are going to be told something
funny”—

“But really, my dear lady,” began the Rector, with uplifted
hand, “I”—
.bn 019.png
.pn +1

“Now you need not tell me it is not funny, because it has
made Maurice laugh, and he has been as grave as a judge
since we came down. I was just saying to Eunice when you
came in”—

“My dear aunt, the joke is not worth telling you,” said
Maurice, in desperation cutting her short.

“Ah, I knew there was a joke! Do tell it to Eunice! she
is so fond of amusing stories, especially from you.”

Maurice flushed angrily.

“I don’t tell amusing stories,” he said curtly, and walked
across to the piano.

“Such a bad temper!” sighed the Parrot, shaking her head;
“so like his poor dear father, who foamed at the mouth when
in a rage.”

“Oh, come, not so bad as that,” said the Rector good-naturedly.

“My dear Rector, I assure you I have seen Austin”—And
then Mrs. Dengelton began a long, rambling story, which
had no beginning and certainly did not appear to have an
end, for she droned on until the poor Rector was quite weary,
and was much put to to conceal his yawns.

Meanwhile, Maurice, remembering what the Rector had
told him about the young couple, looked keenly at the poet
and then at his cousin, at which inspection they naturally
felt somewhat embarrassed.

“Yes?” said Eunice at length, in an interrogative fashion.

“Oh, nothing, nothing!” he responded hastily; “I was
only wondering what you were talking about.”

“We were not talking at all,” said Crispin, running his
fingers over the keys; “on the contrary, we were listening to
Mrs. Dengelton.”

Maurice smiled absently, and tugged moodily at his mustache.

“You have a charming place here, Roylands,” remarked
Crispin, more for the sake of saying something than for the
importance of the remark; “I would like to settle down in
this quiet village.”

“You!” said Maurice in astonishment; “the bird of passage
who is never off the wing! Why, you would die of ennui
in a week.”

“Ah, that depends on the company,” answered Crispin,
stealing a glance at Eunice, who sat silently playing with her
fan.

“I am afraid I am not very lively company,” observed
.bn 020.png
.pn +1
Maurice, with a sigh, not noticing the glance; “there is so
little to talk about nowadays.”

“Poetry.”

“I’m tired of poetry.”

“Music.”

“Too much music is dreary. I heard such a lot in London.”

“Then you must love scandal.”

“Ah, that is a hint that my dear aunt can amuse me.”

“Maurice!” said Eunice, with a frown.

“Now don’t be angry, my dear cousin. Talking scandal
is a very harmless occupation, and, as the Rector seems
interested, I think I will go and hear the latest story of Belgravia.
But, Crispin, I wish you would take my cousin on
to the terrace—the sky is worth looking at with moon and
clouds.”

Crispin darted a look of gratitude at him, and Maurice,
delighted at thus foiling his aunt’s schemes, went off to hear
that lady’s conversation.

The two lovers at the piano were afraid to move for a time,
lest they should attract Mrs. Dengelton’s attention, and thus
be stopped from leaving the room; but when they saw her
deep in conversation with the two gentlemen, they stole
quietly to the French window at the end of the room, through
which they speedily gained the terrace.

“Do you feel cold, Eunice?” asked Crispin, noticing his
companion shiver.

“A little.”

“Wait a moment, then. Your mother left a shawl near
the window, I’ll fetch it to you at once.”

“Take care she does not see you.”

“Not much fear of that; she has an audience, and is
happy.”

He went off laughing quietly; and Eunice, leaning on the
balustrade of the terrace, stared at the wonderful beauty of
the sky. Away in the west shone the silver round of the
moon, and below her were gigantic black clouds, the edges
of which were tipped with light. They looked like gigantic
rocks piled up from earth to heaven, and above them shone
the serene planet in an expanse of blue, as if she scorned
their efforts to veil her face. Far below Eunice heard the
musical splash of the fountains, and the chill odors of
flowers floated upward, as though drawn by the spell of her
beauty. She looked wonderfully lovely with her delicate
face turned upward to the moon, and so thought Crispin, as
.bn 021.png
.pn +1
he came lightly along the terrace with the fleecy shawl over
his arm.

“I shall no longer call you the Fairy of Midnight,” he
whispered, wrapping the shawl round her shoulders; “your
name will be the ‘Moon Elf.’”

“Ah, what a charming title for a fairy story!” said
Eunice, who was anything but silent when away from her
mother. “Why do you not write a fairy story?”

“Because I am living one now.”

“Flatterer!”

“No; I am speaking the truth. I adore a lovely princess,
who is guarded by an elderly dragon breathing the fire of
scandal”—

“You must not talk of my mother like that.”

“Then I will not. She is the most charming lady I
know.”

“Oh!”

“What! you are not pleased at that? My dearest
Eunice, how cruel you are! But indeed I do not love your
mother. She will not let me marry you.”

“No; she wants me to marry Maurice,” said Eunice, with
a sigh.

“I am afraid that ambition will never be gratified.
Maurice is our friend.”

“Do you think he knows we love one another?”

“I am sure he does. But he knows to-night for the first
time; I saw it in his eyes when he looked at us.”

“How can he have guessed?”

“He did not guess. No; Roylands has never been in
love, and only a lover can recognize the silent eloquence of
love. But I think that keen-eyed old Rector”—

“What! Mr. Carriston? Impossible! How could he
tell we loved one another?”

“Well, going by the theory I have propounded, he must
have at one time of his life been in love himself, and therefore
intuitively guessed our hidden romance.”

“But he is a bachelor.”

“Ah, then he has had a romance also! An extinct volcano
perhaps.”

“And Maurice?”

“Is not a volcano at all—at least, not so far as I know.
He has never been in love yet, but he will be some day.”

“When?”

“Pardon me, I cannot lift the veil of the future. But I
admit Maurice with his melancholia puzzles me.”
.bn 022.png
.pn +1

“Well, you puzzle every one yourself. They call you the
riddle of London.”

“I will explain my riddle self to you when we marry.”

“I am afraid that will never be.”

“Indeed it will,” he said gayly. “But you need not be
afraid of my mystery; I have no Bluebeard chamber to keep
locked, I assure you. Do you hesitate to marry me on
account of my so-called mystery?”

“No; I trust you too much for that.”

“My dearest!”

At this moment the moon veiled her face discreetly behind
a wandering cloud, and their lips met in a kiss—a kiss of
pure and enduring love. Then Crispin tenderly wrapped the
shawl closer round the shoulders of Eunice, and arm in arm
they strolled up and down the terrace, talking of their present
despairs, their future hopes, and their possible marriage.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Dengelton, quite unaware of the way in
which all her matrimonial schemes were being baffled by this
audacious poet, was holding forth to Maurice and the Rector
on the subject of a family romance. For once in her life she
proved interesting, for Maurice only knew the skeleton of
Roylands by name, and was quite unaware of the reason it
was locked up in the cupboard. It was wonderful what a
lot of good the conversation of the Rector had done him, and
now, having been once roused out of his melancholia, he was
quite interested by the story which his aunt was telling.
The Rev. Stephen Carriston noticed the bright look on his
usually sad face, and was delighted thereat.

“I will complete the cure to-morrow,” he repeated to himself;
and then prepared to listen to Mrs. Dengelton’s story,
which interested him very much, the more so as he knew the
principal actor concerned therein.

“Of course I only speak from hearsay, my dear Rector,”
she said, laying aside her beadwork so as to give her eloquence
every chance; “at the time these events took place
I was just a baby in long clothes. You, Rector, perhaps
know the story better than I do.”

“No; I had just left college when Rudolph Roylands ran
away, but I knew him at the university.”

“Ah yes; of course. You were very friendly with both
my brothers, I believe, so it is curious they never told you of
their love for Rose Silverton.”

“Well—I heard something about it,” said the Rector,
with a hesitating glance at Maurice.
.bn 023.png
.pn +1

“Oh, my dear Rector, I am going to say nothing against
my sister-in-law. She was a very charming woman.”

“She was all that was good and pure,” remarked Maurice
abruptly; annoyed, he knew not why, at the tone adopted
by Mrs. Dengelton in speaking of his dead mother.

“Yes, I know she was. Still, my dear Maurice, you must
pardon my plain speech, but she did flirt terribly with Rudolph.”

“My lost uncle? Ridiculous!”

“It is not ridiculous at all,” said the lady, drawing herself
up; “it was on your mother’s account Rudolph left England.”

“Who said so?” demanded Maurice indignantly.

“Every one; even your father.”

Maurice was about to make some remark, when he caught
sight of a warning look on Carriston’s face, therefore held
his peace.

“What I was about to remark,” pursued Mrs. Dengelton,
choosing her words carefully, “was that, when my brothers,
Rudolph and Austin, came home,—the first from his regiment,
the second from college,—they both fell in love with
Rose Silverton, whose father was a retired captain in the
army. Rudolph, as you know, Rector, was the heir to Roylands,
and Captain Silverton naturally wanted Rose to marry
him, as the match was such a good one. She, however, preferred
Austin.”

“Love <lang=la><i>versus</i></lang> Money, and Love was triumphant,” said
Maurice, smiling.

“If you put it like that, I suppose it was,” replied his
aunt frigidly. “Well, Rose, as I have said, flirted considerably
with Rudolph, though she loved my brother Austin
best. Oh, you need not shake your head, Rector—Rose did
flirt!”

“My dear aunt, spare the dead,” observed Maurice, with a
groan, for this old lady was really terrible with her malignant
tongue.

“I hope I am too good a churchwoman to speak evil of
any one, dead or alive,” said Mrs. Dengelton, with dignity.
“But I will make no further remarks if they are so displeasing
to you, though why they should be displeasing I cannot
conceive. Well, to gratify her father, Rose appeared to favor
Rudolph, but in secret she met Austin. Such duplicity!
I beg your pardon, Maurice, but it was duplicity.”

The Rector sighed, and Mrs. Dengelton looked curiously at
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
him, as if she guessed the meaning of the sigh, then resumed
her story without commenting thereon, to Carriston’s
evident relief.

“Rudolph in some way came to hear of these stolen meetings,
and surprised Austin walking with Rose one June
evening. The brothers came, I regret to say, to blows,
while Rose looked on in horror. Austin, being the younger
and weaker, could not stand against the furious onslaught of
Rudolph, who stunned him with a blow, then, thinking he
had killed him, kissed Rose, who had fainted, and disappeared
forever. He returned to London, left the army, and
went away to the East, with a considerable sum of money
which he inherited from his mother.”

“And my father and mother?” asked Maurice breathlessly.

“Were found by some laborers insensible; the one from
fear, the other from the blow given to him by his brother.
They were taken to their respective homes, and when Austin
got well again, he married Rose in due course. I believe
your father and mother were very happy in their married
life, Maurice, but they were singularly unfortunate in the
fate of their children. Your brothers and sisters, four of
them born during the early period of the marriage, all died;
and you, who came into the world nearly twenty years after
the marriage, were the only child who lived.”

“And how long ago did all this happen, aunt?”

“Cannot you think it out for yourself?” said Mrs. <pm corr 30.26 Denegelton Dengelton>
tartly. “You are now thirty-five; you were born—let
me see—about fifteen years after the marriage, so altogether
Rudolph disappeared fifty years ago.”

“And has not been heard of since?”

“No; all inquiries were made, but nothing came of them,”
replied the lady, shaking her head. “I suppose Rudolph
thought he had killed Austin, and left England to avoid arrest.
At all events, not a soul has heard of him since.
Where he went, no one knows; but by this time, I have no
doubt he is dead.”

“Poor Uncle Rudolph, what an unhappy fate!” said
Maurice thoughtfully.

“Ah, I always did blame Rose for that quarrel!” cried
Mrs. Dengelton sourly.

“My mother”—began Maurice indignantly, when the Rector
stopped him.

“Your mother was not to blame, my dear Maurice,” he
.bn 025.png
.pn +1
said, rising to his feet. “I know more about this story than
Mrs. Dengelton thinks.”

A sniff was the Hon. Mrs. Dengelton’s only reply, which
was vulgar, but eloquent of disbelief.

Carriston’s face, generally ruddy, looked somewhat pale,
and Maurice wondered what could be the reason for such a
loss of color. The old man saw his inquiring look, and arose
to take his leave.

“I must say good-night, my dear Maurice,” he said, giving
his hand to Mrs. Dengelton. “I am not so young as I
once was, and keep early hours.”

At this moment, as if guided by some happy fate, Eunice,
in company with Crispin, entered the room at the back of
Mrs. Dengelton, and returned to their seats without her having
noticed their absence.

“Good-night, sir,” said Crispin, coming forward to shake
hands with the Rector.

“How quiet you have been!” remarked Mrs. Dengelton
suspiciously. “Where is my daughter?”

“Here, mamma;” and Eunice came forward in the demurest
manner.

“Were you listening to my story?” asked her mother inquiringly,—“my
story about your Uncle Rudolph leaving
England?”

“No,” interposed Crispin quickly, before Eunice could
speak; “we were discussing photographs on yonder sofa.”

“Photographs, eh?” said Mrs. Dengelton, with a frown,
for she knew what looking over a photograph album meant
in this case, but did not see her way to make further remark.

The Rector said good-night to every one, and then departed,
accompanied by Maurice, who walked with him as
far as the park gates. Here they separated, after Maurice
had promised faithfully to call at the Rectory the next day,
and the old clergyman went home, while his pupil returned
to the Grange in a thoughtful manner.

“I wonder,” he said to himself, pausing for a moment in
the shadowy avenue,—“I wonder if my uncle is still alive.
If he is, I am wrongfully in possession of Roylands. Suppose
he came back and claimed it, I would once more be
penniless. Well,” he sighed, resuming his walk, “perhaps
that would be the best thing that could happen, for work
means happiness, and earning one’s bread forces a man to
take a deep interest in life whether he will or no.”
.bn 026.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III. | <sc>THE RECTOR’S ROMANCE.</sc>

.pm start_poem
In pity for our painful strife
  God aids us from above,
And every mortal in his life
  Plucks once the rose of love.

The flower may bloom, the flower may fade,
  As love brings joys or woes,
Still in the heart of youth and maid
  That sacred blossom grows.

’Tis cherished through declining years,
  Amid death’s coming glooms,
And watered by regretful tears,
  The flower eternal blooms.

Nor death that rose from us can part,
  For when the body dies,
All broken on the broken heart,
  That bud of heaven lies.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Roylands Rectory was a comfortable-looking house, distant
about a mile from the Grange, and near the village,
which was an extremely small one. Indeed, although the
parish was large, the Rector’s congregation was not, and his
clerical occupation did not entail much work. Nevertheless,
Stephen Carriston did his best to attend to the spiritual welfare
of the souls under his charge; and if the hardest day’s
work still left him with plenty of spare time on his hands,
that could hardly be called his fault. The Rector abhorred
idleness, which is said to be the mother of all the vices, and
managed to fill up his unoccupied hours in a sufficiently
pleasant manner by indulging in occupations congenial to
his tastes. He was now engaged in translating the comedies
of Aristophanes into English verse, and found the biting
wit of the great Athenian playwright very delightful after
the dull brains of his parishioners. For the rest, he pottered
about his garden and attended to his roses, which were the
pride of his heart, as well they might be, seeing that his
small plot of ground was a perfect bower of loveliness.

It is at this point that the pen fails and the brush should
come in; for it would be simply impossible to give in bald
prose an adequate description of the paradise of flowers contained
within the red brick walls which enclosed the garden
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
on three sides. The fourth side was the house, a quaint, low-roofed,
old-fashioned place, with deep diamond-paned lattices,
and stacks of curiously-twisted chimneys. Built in
the reign of the Second Charles, it yet bore the date of its
erection, 1666, the <lang=la><i>annus mirabilis</i></lang> of Dryden, when half
London was swept away by the fire, and half its inhabitants
by the plague. Rector Carriston liked this house,—nay,
like is too weak a word, he loved it,—as its antiquity, matching
with his own, pleased him; and besides, having resided
within its red-tiled roof for over thirty years, it was natural
that he should be deeply attached to its quaint walls and
still quainter rooms.

But the garden! oh, the garden was a miracle of beauty!
and only Crispin, who deals in such lovelinesses, could
describe its perfections, as he did indeed long afterwards,
when the good Rector was dead, and could not read the
glowing verse which eulogized his roses. Three moderately
high brick walls, one running parallel to the high road, so
that the Rector could keep a vigilant eye on the incomings
and outgoings of his villagers, fenced in this modern garden
of Alcinous, and these three walls were almost hidden by
the foliage of peach and apricot and nectarine, for it was
now midsummer, and nature was decked out in her gayest
robes. A dial in the middle of the smooth lawn, with
its warning motto, which the Rector did not believe, as
Time only sauntered with him; a noble elm, wherein
the thrush fluted daily, and a bower of greenery, in which
the nightingale piped nightly: it was truly an ideal retreat,
rendered still more perfect by the roses. The roses!
oh, the red, white, and yellow roses! how they bloomed in
profusion under the old red wall, which drew the heat of the
sun into its breast, and then showered it second-hand on the
delicate, warmth-loving flowers. Great creamy buds, trembling
amid their green leaves at the caress of the wind,
gorgeously crimson blossoms burning incense to the hot sun,
pale-tinted flowers, which flushed delicately at the dawn
hour, and bright yellow orbs, which looked as though the touch
of Midas had turned them into gold. All the bees for miles
around knew that garden, and the finest honey in the neighborhood
owed its existence to the constant visits they paid
to that wilderness of sweets.

Such a bright morning as it was! Above, the blue sky,
in which the sun burned lustily, below, the green earth,
pranked with flowers, and between these two splendors, the
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
Rector, armed with a pair of scissors, strolling contentedly
about his small domain. From the adjacent fields, where
the corn was yet young, sprang a brown-feathered lark,
which arose higher and higher in spiral circles, singing as
though his throat would burst with melody, until, the highest
point attained, he ceased his liquid warblings, and fell
earthward like a stone. Indeed, the Rector had no lack of
music, for the larks awoke him in the morning, the thrushes
piped to him at noon, and when night fell the divine nightingale
pouring forth her impassioned strains wooed him from
his study, where he was reading the Aristophanic rendering
of her song, to listen to the reality, before which even the
magical Greek verse seemed harsh. ’Twas an ideal place,
and in it the Rector lived an ideal existence, far away from
the noise and restlessness of our modern civilization. In his
study he had the books of genius, which he greatly loved,
but in his garden he possessed the book of God, which he
loved still more; and even had not he been a devout believer
in the goodness of the Almighty, surely that garden would
have converted him with its dewy splendors.

An odd figure looked Mr. Carriston, shuffling about in a
pair of comfortable old slippers, a very raven in blackness,
save for the wide-brimmed straw hat shading his gray hairs,
his benevolent-looking face. With a green watering-pan in
one hand, and the scissors in the other, he pried and peered
among his beloved flowers, with his two pets—a cat and a
magpie—at his heels, and clipped off a dead leaf here,
plucked a withered blossom there, with the tenderest anxiety
for the well-being of the roses.

“Dear, dear!” sighed the Rector, pausing before a drooping-looking
Gloire de Dijon; “this does not seem at all
healthy. It needs rain—in fact, I think the flowers would
be none the worse of a shower or so; but there’s no sign of
rain,” looking anxiously up to the cloudless sky. “I wonder
if a little manure”—

Down went the Rector on his knees, and began grubbing
about the roots of the plant, much to the discomfort of the
magpie, who hopped about near him in an agitated manner.

“A brass thimble,” said Mr. Carriston, making a discovery,
“a copper, and three blue beads. The roots of the
plant wounded, too, with scratching. This is your work,
Simon. I wish you would hide your rubbish somewhere
else.”

The magpie, otherwise Simon, made a vicious peck at the
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
Rector’s hand, to revenge himself for the discovery of his
treasure; then, anxious to save something, snatched up the
thimble and made off hastily.

“Too bad of Simon,” murmured Mr. Carriston, rubbing his
nose in a vexed manner. “I will have to ask Mukle to keep
him in the back yard. Ah, Mukle! what is it?”

Mukle—to the rector, Mrs. Mukle to her friends—was a
hard-featured, bony woman, who looked as if she had been
cut out of a deal board. Her cooking was much more agreeable
than her appearance, and, having been with the rector—whom
she adored—for many years, she knew to a turn
what he liked and what he did not like, therefore suited him
admirably in her double capacity of cook and housekeeper.

“Mr. Roylands, sir!” announced Mukle grimly.

“Oh, where is he?”

“Study, sir,” responded Mukle, who was a lady with a
firm belief in the golden rule of silence.

“Ask him to come here.”

An assenting sniff was Mukle’s only reply, and, turning on
her heel in a military fashion,—the late Mr. Mukle had been
a soldier,—she strode back to the house like a grenadier.

Meanwhile, Mr. Carriston, having risen to his feet, was
dusting his knees, and, while thus engaged, saw Maurice
coming towards him. Assuredly the master of the Grange
was a fine specimen of humanity, for he was over six feet in
height, and, being arrayed in shooting-coat, knickerbockers,
and deerstalker’s hat, looked a remarkably striking figure.
He would have looked better had his face borne a smile, but,
as it was, he came solemnly forward and took the rector’s
outstretched hand as if he was chief mourner at a funeral.

“You shouldn’t be a country gentleman, Maurice,” said
Mr. Carriston, after the usual greetings had been exchanged.
“The occupation of a monk would suit you better.”

Maurice said nothing, but sighed wearily.

“Come now, my dear lad; if you sigh in that fashion, I
shall suspect you of being a lover, in spite of your asseveration
to the contrary.”

“A man can’t marry his aunt, and as Crispin wants to
marry Eunice, no one is left for me but my honorable relation.”

“Try Mukle.”

“Too much of a grenadier.”

“I think you are the same—in height,” said the Rector,
looking approvingly at his tall friend. “If old Father Fritz
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
had seen the pair of ye, I think he would have insisted upon
the marriage, so as to breed a race of giants. But, dear,
dear! what nonsense we talk! Come and sit down, my lad.
Will you smoke?”

“No, thank you, sir. I’m tired of smoking.”

“Maurice, if you go on in this fashion, I will be angry
with you. It’s a beautiful day, so you ought to have a beautiful
smile on your face. Listen to that lark! Does not its
gush of song thrill your heart? Admire my roses! Where,
even in the gorgeous East, will you see such splendor? The
birds sing, the sun shines, the flowers bloom, and yet you are
as discontented as if you were shut up between four bare
walls. Maurice, I’m really and truly ashamed of your ingratitude
to God for His many gifts.” Maurice made no reply,
but punched holes in the gravel with his walking-stick.
“Now you wait here, my lad,” said the Rector, recovering
breath after his little lecture, “and see if yon lark will sing
you into a better frame of mind. It may be the David to
your Saul, and drive the evil spirit out of you. I am going
away to wash my hands, which are somewhat grubby with
my gardening, and will return in a few moments.”

Off went the Rector with a light step, as springy as that
of a young man, and Maurice looked after him in sheer envy
of such light-heartedness.

“Why cannot I be happy like that?” he sighed, baring
his head to the cool breeze.

Did ever a man ask himself so ridiculous a question?
Here was a healthy young man, of good personal appearance,
with a superfluity of the gifts of fortune, yet he commiserated
himself for nothing at all, and propounded riddles to
himself which he was unable to answer. But all such misery
came from incessant brooding and self-analysis, which is
bound to make even the most complacent person dissatisfied
with his advantages in the long-run. If Maurice, throwing
aside his books, art, broodings, and everything else, had gone
in for fishing, hunting, dancing, rowing, as he did in his
earlier youth, his mind would soon have resumed its normal
healthiness. Unluckily, the ten years’ life in Bohemia,
where he had no money nor time to indulge in such sports,
had weakened his interest in them, and he by no means
seemed inclined to take up the broken thread of his life.
This was a great mistake, as, had he reverted to his earlier
mode of living, he would in a short time have come to look
upon that weary decade as but a bad dream, and ultimately
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
have recovered this <lang=la><i>mens sana in corpore sano</i></lang> condition,
which is so essential to the happiness of one’s existence. If
there is a person to be envied, ’tis a healthy man with an
average stock of brains, for he does not live with shadows,
he has no torturing dreams, he does not rack his soul with
thinking out the problems of life; but simply takes the
goods the gods provide, enjoys them to the full measure of
his capacity, and throws all disturbing influences to the
winds. Maurice Roylands was a man of this sort in many
respects, but he had a trifle too much brain power, and therefore,
in accordance with the great law of compensation, suffered
from the excess, by using it to torture his otherwise
healthy mind. Unfortunately, he did not reason in this way,
but, feeling that he was miserable, hastily decided that such
misery was incurable. Not a wise way of looking at the
matter certainly, but then Maurice, though no fool in many
ways, was not a Solomon for wisdom; and besides, Melancholia,
who places all things in a dull light, had him in her
grip, which prevented him from giving his diseased mind
the medicine it required.

However, in accordance with his old tutor’s instructions,
he sat there in silence, drinking in the odors of the flowers,
and listening to the music of the lark. Not only that,
but a thrush in the tree above him began to pour forth his
mellow notes; and though it was nigh mid-June, he heard
the quaint call of the cuckoo sound in the distance. Nature
and Nature’s voices exercised their benign influence on his
restless spirit, and even in that short space of time soothed
him so much that, when Mr. Carriston returned, he missed
the frowning face with which Maurice had greeted him.

“Ah,” said the Rector, with a nod of satisfaction, “you
have benefited by the music of the birds already. I would
undertake to cure you, if you would only let me be your
physician. Now your soul is more at rest, but I have no
doubt your nerves need soothing, so try this churchwarden
and this excellent tobacco.”

Maurice burst out laughing at this odd cure for melancholy,
but did not refuse the Rector’s hospitality; and
any one who entered the garden a few minutes afterwards,
would have discovered the venerable Rector and the youthful
Squire puffing gravely at long clays, like two cronies in
a village taproom.

They chatted in a desultory manner of little things, such
as Mrs. Dengelton,—who would have been very angry to
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
find herself placed in such a category,—Eunice, love-making,
Crispin, the home farm, and such like trifles, when, after
a short pause, Maurice abruptly turned to the Rector, who,
lying back in luxurious ease, was watching the trembling of
the leaves above his head.

“And the story, Rector?”

This question brought Mr. Carriston from heaven to earth,
and he looked at the young man with a grave smile on his
face.

“Ah, the story,” he repeated, laying aside his pipe. “Yes,
I promised to tell you the one romance of my life. I am
afraid it is a very prosaic romance, still it may show you
how a man can find life endurable even after his heart is
broken.”

“Why, Rector, is your heart broken?”

“I thought it was once, but I’m afraid ’twas mended long
ago. <lang=la><i>Et ego in Arcadia fui</i></lang>, Maurice, although you would
never think so to look at me. Tush! what has an old man
pottering about among his flowers in common with Cupid,
god of love? Yet I, too, have sported with Amaryllis in
the shade, and piped love-songs to the careless ear of
Neæra.”

He sighed a trifle sadly, very probably somewhat regretful
of that dead and gone romance which still looked bright
through the mists of forty years, and glanced sorrowfully at
the wrinkled hands which had once played with the golden
tresses of Chloe. Ah, Chloe was old now, and her famous
golden locks were white with the snows of many winters;
or perchance she was dead, with the gentle winds blowing
across her daisied grave, and piping songs as beautiful as
those of her faithful shepherd. Is it not a painful thing to
be old and gray and full of sad memories of our fine days?
yet, mingled with such melancholics, we recall many bright
dreams which then haunted our youthful brains. Alas,
Arcady! why are we not permitted to dwell forever in thy
flowery meadows, beneath thy blue sky, instead of being
driven forth by the whip of Fate to crowded cities and
desolate wastes, wherein sound no gleeful melodies.

“It was at Oxford that I first met her,” said the Rector in
his mellow voice, which was touched with vague regret;
“for she, too, dwelt in that grave scholastic city. I was not
in holy orders then! No; my ambition was to be a soldier,
and win the V.C.; but, alas! such dreams came to naught.
You may not believe it, Maurice, but I was wild and light-hearted
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
in those days—to be sure, it was Consula Planco,
and youth is ever foolish. Her name was Miriam, and she
was a dressmaker. Ah, you are astonished that I, Stephen
Carriston, fixed my eyes on such a lowly damsel; but then,
you see, I loved her dearly, and that, I think, is a sufficient
answer to your unspoken objection. Love knows nothing of
rank or position, and sees beauty in the wayside daisy as
well as in the costly hothouse plant. I need not tell you
she was very beautiful, for that is the common saying of
lovers, who see no loveliness save in the nymph of their
affections. What is it the poet says about a lover seeing
Helen’s beauty in the brow of Egypt? Sure, my memory
is weak with age, and I misquote. Still, the saying is true.
Miriam was very beautiful, and I think must have had some
Jewish blood in her veins, for her dark, imperial beauty was
that of the East. Her hair was as dark as the wing of a
raven, her eyes liquid wells of light, and her mouth was as
the thread of scarlet spoken of in the song of the wise king.
You see, Maurice, old as I am, I can still rhapsodize on
Chloe’s perfections, though she basely deceived me. Alas,
Strephon! how the years have destroyed thy goddess!—nay,
she destroyed herself by her own act.”

“I did not know you were a poet, Rector.”

Mr. Carriston, whose brow was dark with bitter memories,
aroused himself with a forced laugh, and strove to speak
lightly of the past.

“Live and learn, Maurice. I no poet? Why, my dear
lad, I am even now courting the Nine, and turning Aristophanes
into good English verse. No poet? Why, every
man is a poet when in love; and if he does not write a poem,
he at least lives a poem. I, alas, have been in love these
many years with a shadow—the shadow of Miriam before
she left me!”

“Left you?”

“Yes. I call it my romance, but it is a painful story. A
deceitful woman, a wronged man, a treacherous friend—a
common enough tale, I think. Though, indeed, I need not
include ‘friend,’ for to this day I know not for whom she
left me.”

“She was your wife?”

“Yes. Wild as I was in those days, I was too honorable
to deceive a woman. In spite of the difference of our position,
I married her, and we were happy together for ten
years.”
.bn 034.png
.pn +1

“Ten years!” replied Maurice in surprise. “Surely she
did not leave you after all that time of married happiness.”

“Who knows the ways of women?” said the Rector bitterly.
“Yes, she left me—took from me all I loved in the
world, herself and her child.”

“Was there a child?”

“Yes. He was born in the tenth year of our marriage,
just when I had given up all hope of being a father. If he
is still alive, Maurice, he will be just five years younger than
you,—thirty years old,—and for that I love you, my dear
lad; you stand to me in the place of the son I have lost.”

“Did you not suspect any one of taking her away?”

“Yes; one man,” answered the Rector gloomily. “He
was a tall, black-bearded fellow, who had just come back
from the East; but I only saw him once. I was a hard-worked
London curate in those days, and had but little time
to spare. My wife met him—I think his name was Captain
Malcolm—at the house of a mutual friend; but perhaps I
am wrong, and it was not he who destroyed my happiness.
She had so many friends. I can hardly wonder at that, for
she was then in the full pride of her womanly beauty. There
was a Frenchman, the Count de la Tour, I also suspected,
but I was sure of no one. I suppose she grew tired of our
poor life; for, in spite of the way in which she went into society,
we were poor—that is, comfortable for a quiet life,
but too poor for a social one. I, never suspecting any evil,
was only too glad that she should go out and enjoy herself,
although at times I remonstrated with her, saying that such
gayety was not suited for the wife of a poor clergyman. She
said she would give up such frivolities shortly, and I, like a
fool, believed her. Then I was called down to see my father,
who was very ill. At length he died, and I remained to attend
to the funeral; but when I came back to London after
a three weeks’ absence, I found she had gone with the child.
She left no letter behind her to palliate her guilt; all I knew
was that she had gone with some gentleman who had called
for her in a brougham. The servants could not describe the
man, as he did not enter the house, but remained in the carriage.
My false wife told the servants she was called away
by me, as her father-in-law was dying; and it was only when
I returned that they learned the truth.”

“Did you ever see this Captain Malcolm again?”

“No, nor the Count de la Tour; so that is why I suspect
one of those men as being the ruin of my life. Besides, I
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
heard afterwards that she went a great deal about with
them, sometimes with one, sometimes with the other. One
of them I am sure it was, but I know not which. So you
see, at one blow, Maurice, I was bereft of wife, child, home,
and happiness. Afterwards I was offered this living, and,
wishing to leave the scene of my former happiness, my
former sorrow, my former disgrace, I accepted it, and came
down here, where I have lived in peace for thirty years.”

“Did you get a divorce?”

“Yes; for the sake of my guilty wife. I did not wish to
marry again myself, but I desired to leave her free, so that
she might marry the partner of her guilt. I hope he behaved
honorably to her and did so; but, alas! I know not.”

“And the boy?”

“I have never heard of him since. I was left rich by the
death of my father, and all that money could do was done,
but I heard nothing of either wife or child. Is it not a sad
story, Maurice?”

“Yes, very sad! You must have suffered terribly.”

“I did suffer terribly; but I tell you this, dear lad, to
show you how a man can force himself to be cheerful, even
when he thinks life has no further joys for him. Look at
me! When my wife left me, I thought that the sun of my
life had set forever. I looked forward to years of misery;
and probably my existence would have been miserable, had
I not, with the aid of God, resisted the evil one. I did resist
him, by accustoming myself to take an interest in all things;
and, by schooling myself into patience, I found life, if not
blissful, at least endurable. I now love my work among my
parishioners, I enjoy my Greek studies, I interest myself in
my garden, and am thus able to live a comparatively happy
life. Had I given way weakly to my misery, I would have
been an unhappy man all my life, and have done no good in
my generation; but I fought against the evil spirit, with the
aid of God I conquered him, and now can look back with
thankfulness to the calamity which tried and chastened my
soul.”

“And you are happy now?”

“Yes,” said the Rector firmly. “I am as happy as any
mortal can hope to be. ‘Man is born to trouble as the
sparks fly upward,’ says Job; but if we did not fight against
these troubles they would overwhelm us. So, my dear lad,
do as I have done, fight against the evil spirit, and, with
God’s grace, you will be victorious.”
.bn 036.png
.pn +1

“I thank you for your advice, sir, and I will try and follow
it.”

“My story is but a dull one, I am afraid,” resumed the
Rector, after a pause,—“dull and prosaic, with no romance
to render it captivating; but I only told it to show to you
what a man can do if he fights against his troubles, and does
not yield weakly at the first attack of the enemy. You have
no unhappy love, you have no regrets; therefore, my dear
lad, show yourself to be a man, and do not thus weakly yield
to a phantom of your own creation. Try to be interested in
life, fall in love and marry if you can, and I promise you all
will yet be well with you. Your troubles are but dreams of
a disordered brain, which can be banished by an effort of
will; so rouse yourself, Maurice, conquer your weak spirit,
and with God’s help you will be a happy man.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Maurice, grasping the Rector’s
hand; “I will do what you say. I have been weak, but I
will be so no longer. I will take up the duties of life, and
do my best to perform them well. Your sermon, your story,
has done me good, Mr. Carriston; and I feel that I would be
indeed a coward to flinch from the fray in which you have
so bravely fought and conquered.”

“Good lad! good lad!” replied the delighted Rector. “I
knew you would see things in their right light. But come,
the lesson is over, and now is the time for play. You must
look round at my roses, and the finest bud of the garden will
adorn your buttonhole as ‘a reward for your determination.’”

Maurice gladly fell in with the Rector’s humor, and
together they strolled round the garden to examine and
admire his floral treasures. Carriston was like a child in his
garden, and his bursts of delight at this or that particular
rose tree would have made many a person smile. But
Maurice did not smile; he loved his old tutor too well to
smile at his simple pleasures, and took scarcely less interest
than the Rector himself in the momentous question of transferring
this tree over there, or ingrafting a hardy shoot in
this sickly-looking plant. Suddenly the Rector stopped, and
began to rummage in the pockets of his long black coat.

“Dear dear!” he said in a vexed tone; “it is not here, and
yet I am sure I placed it in this pocket.”

“Placed what, sir?”

“A letter! a letter! No, I can’t find it. Maurice, I wish
you to stay to luncheon. I have a friend coming.”

“Indeed?”
.bn 037.png
.pn +1

“Well, not exactly a friend; but, the fact is, a young man
has arrived in the village with a letter of introduction to me
from a mutual friend in London. He is at present staying
at the Royland Arms, and sent his letter this morning, so I
wrote back and asked him to come to luncheon. You must
stay and meet him, Maurice, for I hear he is a most delightful
man.”

“What is his name?”

“I cannot remember. He is a Greek. The letter must
be in my study, so we will go and look for it. This young
Greek is a great traveller, and is now on a visit to England.
He had a letter of introduction to my friend, the Archdeacon
of Eastminster, who gave him one to me.”

“But what does he come to this out-of-the-way place for?”
asked Maurice, with that inherent suspicion he had acquired
in Bohemia.

“I don’t know. I expect he will answer that question for
himself at luncheon. Ah, here is the letter—I left it on the
table.”

“Well, what is his name?” asked Maurice again.

The rector adjusted his <lang=fr><i>pince-nez</i></lang>, and, smoothing open the
letter, read the name aloud:—

“Count Constantine Caliphronas.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV. | <sc>A MASTERPIECE OF NATURE.</sc>

.pm start_poem
            The pride of the human
              Does nature diminish,
            With spiteful acumen,
              She roughly will finish
            A man or a woman,
              He stout and she thinnish,
Till one is not fair, nor the other a true man.

            But Nature’s conception
              May not be pernicious,
            For know her perception
              At times is capricious;
            Her work bears inspection,
              In manner judicious,
For sometimes she turns out a man near perfection.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The above jingle of verses may sound somewhat abstruse,
but he who has the patience to search until he discovers the
kernel of this rhyming nut, will certainly find it to be a
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
truism. Nature does finish the mass of humanity in a somewhat
rough and ready fashion; true, she may equip them
with all the necessary limbs and organs necessary to the enjoyment
of life, but she does not trouble herself to put in those
delicate touches which go to the making of a perfectly handsome
man, or a faultlessly beautiful woman. At times, however,
just to show what she can do in the way of creative
beauty, she gives her whole mind to the task, and lo! Achilles,
and Helen of Troy. But such perfect specimens of humanity
are few and far between; therefore when Maurice, who
had an artistic eye, met Count Constantine Caliphronas for
the first time, he recognized with delight that he saw before
him one of Nature’s masterpieces.

There is nothing more detestable than that society horror,
“a beauty man,” who resembles a wax figure in his unnatural
perfectibility of face and form. Flawless he may be in
every part, but the ensemble is nevertheless unpleasing both
to eye and mind, for, in aiding Nature to show herself at her
best, he soon becomes a mere artificial figure, which ought to
be placed in a glass case for the edification of school misses
and gushing society ladies. This man, however, did not
belong to that over-civilized class, as at a glance one could
see he was a child of Nature, a nursling of the winds and
waves, whose physical perfections were kept in their pristine
beauty by the constant care of the great mother herself.
Caliphronas had all the grace and untamed beauty of a wild
animal, looking as if he claimed kinship with the salt sea,
the fresh woods, the strong sunlight, and the bracing air of
snow-clad mountain-tops. His physical beauty was truly
wonderful, and was as much the outcome of perfect health,
as of perfect creation. He lacked that self-restrained air
which is stamped on the face of every civilized man, and in
the modest little dining-room of the Rectory looked like some
graceful panther caged against its will. Nature’s child was
only in his right place with Nature herself, and in our dull
respectable England he seemed an exile from the healthful
solitudes which had given him birth.

“It is impossible to describe Caliphronas,” said Maurice
many years afterwards, in speaking of this man. “I can tell
you that his figure was as perfect as the Apollo Belvedere,
and say that his face was as flawless in its virile beauty as
the Antinous of the Vatican, but this will give you no idea
of his physical perfection. His body seemed to be instinct
with the lawless fierceness of wind and wave; he moved
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
with the stately grace of a nude savage unaccustomed to
the restraint of clothing. I never understood the phrase
‘child of Nature’ until I saw Caliphronas, and it is the only
way in which he can be explained. I believe his mother
was a Nereid and his father a hunter, for he was the offspring
of earth and ocean—the consummate flower of both.
Yet I do not think he had what we call brains—true, he
possessed the cunning and instinct of a wild animal, but that
was all. I think, myself, brains and culture would have
spoiled him; he was born to be a wild, free thing, happy
only on the hills, a type, a visible incarnation of Nature in a
male form. If you ask me whom he resembled in real life,
I cannot tell you, as I never saw any one in the least like
him. But in fiction—well, study the character of Margrave
in ‘A Strange Story,’ and Donatello in Hawthorne’s ‘Marble
Faun,’ and by blending the two you may arrive at some
conception of Count Caliphronas.”

Such was the man who now sat at the table of the Rector,
chatting gayly with his host and Maurice Roylands. Being
a hot day, the Rector had wisely provided a cold luncheon,
and himself presided over a noble piece of beef, which looked
as though it had been taken from one of Apollo’s oxen.
There was also a capital salad,—the Rector was famous
for his salads,—fruit, wine, cheese, and bread. A simple
repast, truly, but then the Rector was simple in his tastes,
and detested those highly-spiced dishes, which but create
thirst, and whose chief merit seems to be that the diner
cannot tell of what they are composed. An artificial life
creates artificial tastes, and the principal mission of cookery
now seems to lie in the direction of tickling the palate, not
of satisfying the stomach, with the result that gout and
dyspepsia have it all their own way. If half, nay, if the
whole of the French cooks now engaged in ruining the
healths of Englishmen and Englishwomen were bundled
back to their beloved Paris, the income of every doctor in
London would decrease with the rapidity of lightning. As
before mentioned, the Rector liked the good things of this
life, but he thought the simplest food the most enjoyable,
in which he was right, though epicures may doubt the truth
of such an opinion. Yet, after all, do not epicures hold the
simplicity of a well-roasted leg of mutton to be a dish fit for
a king.

If the Rector was simple in his eating, however, Count
Constantine was still simpler, for he hardly touched his
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
meat, and confined his attention to bread, cheese, salad, and
wine—the latter being some excellent claret, on which the
Rector prided himself.

“My dear sir,” he said in agony, as he saw Caliphronas
about to mingle water with his wine, “you will spoil the
flavor of the claret.”

“Pardon me, sir,” replied the Count, who spoke English
admirably, “but we Greeks are partial to such mingling.
We worship the Naiad with her urn as well as Bacchus with
his flask, and the union of both produces a drink fit for
Father Zeus.”

“You don’t seem to care much for meat,” said the Rector,
relinquishing the point about the wine, though it went to
his soul to see such a spoiling of the finest qualities of his
claret.

“No,” answered Caliphronas carelessly; “oddly enough, I
do not care much for flesh. I live so much in the open air
that, like Nature, I live on the simplest things. Bread,
cheese, and wine I love; add honey, and I want nothing
better to satisfy my appetite. Country fare for a country
man, you know.”

“You are a shepherd of Theocritus,” said Maurice, with a
smile.

“No; save in such tastes perhaps; otherwise I am no
Sicilian of the Idylles.”

“You speak English wonderfully well, Count,” remarked
the Rector politely.

“Thank you for the compliment, sir; yet it is the first
time I have been in England.”

“What! do they teach English in the schools of Athens?”

“Alas, no. The schools of modern Athens are not those
of the old Greek days. Socrates, Plato, Pythagoras, have
gone to the blessed isles in company with the heroes of
Salamis, and our Greek culture of to-day is primitive in the
extreme. No; I learned <pm corr 46.35 Greek English> from a roving Englishman—a
scholar and a gentleman who grew weary of this respectable
England of yours, and came back to the freer life of
the Greek islands.”

“He taught you admirably,” said Roylands, wondering
why the Greek eyed him so keenly while making this speech.
“Do you come from Athens?”

“I have been there,” answered Caliphronas, pushing away
his plate, “but I am an islander. Yes, I was born in Ithaca,
therefore am I a countryman of Ulysses.”
.bn 041.png
.pn +1

“Achilles, perhaps,” observed the Rector, fascinated by
the clear-cut features of the young man,—“the godlike
Achilles.”

“Ah no,” replied the Greek, with a shade of melancholy
in his tone; “I am like no hero of those times. Our ancestors
have transmitted to us their physical forms, but not
their brains, not their heroism.”

“Come now,” remonstrated Maurice. “I am sure your
countrymen behaved bravely in the War of Independence.”

“Yes, I agree with you there. Canaris, Mavrocordato,
Botzaris, were all brave men. I accept the rebuke, for I have
no right to run down my own countrymen. Perhaps in England
I may learn the meaning of the word patriotism.”

“Or Jingoism.”

“Your pardon?” queried the Count, a trifled puzzled.

“Jingoism,” explained Maurice gravely, “is a spurious
patriotism, composed of music-hall songs, the Union Jack,
and gallons of beer—it begins with a chorus and ends with
a riot. Tom, Dick, and Harry are very fond of it, as it expands
their lungs and quenches their thirst. But there, I am
only jesting. Do you stay long in England?”

Again the Greek eyed Maurice keenly, and hesitated a
moment before replying.

“I can hardly tell yet,” he said, with emphasis. “Mr.
Carriston, will you show me your garden?” he added, turning
to the Rector.

“I will be delighted,” said Carriston eagerly; “we will
stroll round it. Do you smoke?”

“No, thank you,” returned the count, waving away with a
gesture of repugnance the cigarette Maurice held out to
him. “I never smoke.”

“That is strange.”

Caliphronas shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps so, sir. For myself, I do not care about it.”

“Curious creature,” murmured Maurice reflectively, as he
followed the Rector and his guest into the garden. “I
wonder why he looks at me so keenly, and what he is doing
down here. Humph! I would like to find out your little
game, my friend.”

Ten years of fighting with the world had turned Maurice
from a frank, open-hearted fellow into a cold, suspicious
man, and he always doubted the motives of every one.
This is a disagreeable way of looking at things, but in many
cases it is a very necessary one, owing to the double lives
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
which most people seem nowadays to live. Social intercourse,
whether for pleasure or business, is no longer as
simple as it used to be in the old days, and our complex civilization
has introduced into every action we perform that
element of distrust which is at once disagreeable and necessary.
Maurice knew nothing about Caliphronas, and had he
met him in London would doubtless have accepted him for
what he appeared to be—a foreign nobleman on his travels;
but for this man to visit a quiet village like Roylands was
peculiar, and there must be some motive for his doing so.

“I’ll ask him how he likes England, and lead up to his
unexpected arrival here,” thought Maurice, as he walked
along smoking his cigarette. “He seems sharp, but I think
I’m able to distinguish between the real and the false.”

Caliphronas was loud in his expressions of admiration for
the Rector’s roses, and his delight seemed genuine enough
even to Maurice, who stood listening to his raptures with a
grim smile, as if he would like to cast over this bright being
the shadow of his own melancholy nature.

“I have a perfect passion for flowers,” said the Count, with
a gay smile, as he placed a red bud in his coat, “and roses
are my favorites. Were they not the flowers of pleasure
in classical times? did they not wreathe the brows of revellers
at festivals?—the flowers of love and of silence!”

“I am pleased you like flowers,” observed the Rector,
looking at the joyous figure before him, which was bathed
in sunshine; “’tis an innocent pleasure.”

“I love all that is of Nature,” cried Caliphronas, throwing
himself on the smooth sward; “Nature is my mother—my
true mother. Yes, I am a man born of woman, but such
maternity does not appeal to me. Nature is at once my
mother, my nurse, my goddess.”

“You were born in Ithaca,” said Maurice quietly.

“Was I born at all?” replied Caliphronas, throwing himself
back with a joyous laugh and letting the sun blaze on
his uncovered head. “I do not know! I cannot tell. Perchance
some nymph bore me to one of the old gods, who
Heine says yet walk the earth in other forms.”

“What do you know of Heine?” asked the Rector in some
surprise.

“Nothing!—absolutely nothing. I never heard his name
till the other day, when some one told me a story of the
Gods in Exile, and said one Heine had written it.”

“Are you fond of reading?”
.bn 043.png
.pn +1

“I never read. I care not for books—all my knowledge
comes from the mouth of my fellow-men and from Nature.
Such culture is enough for me.”

“You will get a sunstroke if you don’t cover your head,”
said Maurice, somewhat tired of this pseudo-classicism.

“No! I am a friend of Apollo’s. He will hurl no darts at
me, and your pale sun in England is but a shadow of the
glorious Helios of our Greek skies.”

And, lying on his back, he began to sing a strange, wandering
melody, of which the words (roughly translated) were
as follows:—

.pm start_poem
“The sun is my father:
He kissed my mother the sea,
And of their wooing the fruit am I.”
.pm end_poem

Both the Englishmen were strangely fascinated by this
stranger. He conducted himself in quite an unconventional
fashion, and seemed to follow the last thought that suggested
itself to his capricious brain.

“Come!” he cried, springing to his feet with a bound like
a deer. “Come, Mr. Maurice—are you a runner? I will
race you round this garden.”

“Really, Count,” said the Rector, somewhat startled.

“Eh! Am I wrong, sir?” replied Caliphronas apologetically.
“I ask your pardon! I do not know your English
ways; you must teach me. I act as I feel. Is it wrong to
do so?”

“Well, we English like to see a little more self-restraint,”
said Maurice, looking at the graceful figure of the young
man. “By the way, are you going to stay here long?”

The smile faded from the bright face of the Count, and he
turned half away with an abrupt movement.

“Who can tell?” he said lightly. “I am a bird of passage.
I alight here and there, but fly when I am weary of
the bough. You wonder at my coming down here, do you
not, Mr. Maurice?”

Thus addressed directly, Roylands was rather taken aback,
and reddened perceptibly through the tan of his skin.

“Well, for a gay young man like you, Count, I thought
London would have pleased you better.”

Caliphronas burst out laughing, and, putting his hands
behind his head, leant back against the trunk of the elm.

“Do you hear your friend, sir?” he said to the Rector.
“He thinks that I prefer that dull, smoky town to the country.
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
Why, Athens is too narrow for me! I love the open
lands, the plains, the mountains, the seas. Up in that city
of yours I was weary, and I spoke to the priest of my friend.
‘Oh,’ I cried, ‘I will die of want of air in this place. Take
me to the woods, where I can breathe and see the sun.’ So
he gave me that letter to you,” addressing the Rector, “and
I came here at once.”

So this was the explanation of his presence in the little
village—a very natural one surely, and Maurice felt somewhat
ashamed of his late suspicions; but a new thought had
entered his head, suggested by the statuesque pose of the
Greek leaning against the tree, and he came forward eagerly.

“Count Caliphronas,” he said quickly, “I am a sculptor,
and I have the idea for a statue of Endymion—would you—would
you”—

“Ah, you want me to be a model, sir?” said the Count,
laughing. “Eh, well, I do not mind in the least—you may
command me.”

“Thank you very much, if I”—

“If you could only introduce me to a Diana, that would
indeed be perfect.”

“I suppose you are a kind of general lover, Count,” said
the rector, turning round from a rose-tree with a smile.

“I am not as bad as that, sir. No! I love! I love!” He
stopped abruptly, and a shade came over his face. “Yes, I
love,” he resumed quickly; “but my love is unfortunate.”

“What! is any woman cold-hearted enough to refuse
you?” observed Maurice, looking at him in amazement; for
indeed a woman would be hard to please were she not satisfied
with this splendid-looking youth.

“There are women and women,” said Caliphronas enigmatically.
“This one does not love me yet, but she will.”

“When?”

The Greek shot a keen glance at Maurice, and then observed,
in an indifferent voice,—

“When I do what I am requested to do.”

Both men looked steadily at one another, and it seemed to
Maurice as though there were a certain amount of menace
visible on the face of Caliphronas, but such look speedily
passed away, and he bounded lightly across the turf to where
the cat was sitting.

To the surprise of both the Rector and Maurice, she let
this stranger take her up in his arms and smooth her fur.

“Dear, dear!” said the Rector in an astonished tone;
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
“what power do you possess over the animal world, Count?
That cat will not let any one touch her as a rule.”

“Oh, all animals take to me,” replied Caliphronas lightly,
letting the cat down gently on the ground. “I can do anything
with horses and dogs.”

“Donatello!” whispered Maurice to himself. “He looks
innocent enough, and yet that look—I must speak to Crispin,
and ask his opinion of this man.”

Meanwhile the Count was giving Carriston a description
of his miseries at the Royland Arms.

“Such a small room to sleep in,” he said in a disgusted
tone. “I know I will be smothered if I stay in it. No; I
shall wrap myself up in a blanket and sleep under the moon
like Endymion, which will be training for your friend’s
statue.”

“That will be dangerous,” objected the Rector.

“Not at all! In Greece—I mean my native islands—I
sleep out very often. Oh, there is nothing more beautiful
than slumber in the open air. I cannot bear houses; they
stifle me; they crush me. I love no roof lower than the sky.
And then to wake at dawn, to see the east glow with rosy
tints, to watch the dew moisten every blade of grass, the
awakening of the animals, the first songs of the birds, and
the rising of the sun. Oh, I worship the sun! I worship
him!”

The Rector was a trifle shocked at this peroration, as he
was not quite sure whether this fantastic being was not a
sun-worshipper in downright earnest; the more so as in a sudden
freak he flung himself down on his knees and held out
his arms to the glorious luminary.

“You are joking,” he said gravely.

“Not I,” replied Caliphronas, springing to his feet. “You
are not angry, are you, sir? Eh! I forgot myself you were
a priest in this country. I must explain. I am of the Greek
Church—yes! oh, I have been baptized.”

The Rector smiled, and said no more, for it was impossible
to talk seriously with a man who possessed so childish a soul.
Meanwhile, Maurice, who had been thinking over matters,
came to the conclusion that he would ask Caliphronas to stay
at the Grange for a few days. At first sight this seemed
rather injudicious, but when he remembered the high character
of the man who vouched for the respectability of the
Greek, all his scruples vanished. Besides, Caliphronas was
such a peculiar character that he desired a closer acquaintance
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
with him; and, above all, he could not hope anywhere
to find such a perfect model for his Endymion. Taking,
then, all these facts into consideration, he speedily made up
his mind to ask the Count to be his guest, and did so without
delay.

“Count,” he said politely, “I am afraid you will find that
inn very uncomfortable, so I would be glad to see you at the
Grange for a week or so, where I think you will find yourself
in more civilized quarters.”

The Count’s eyes flashed with what looked uncommonly
like triumph, but he dropped the lids over them rapidly for
the moment, so as to prevent this look being seen, and shook
Maurice heartily by the hand.

“Thank you very much! oh, very much indeed!” he said
effusively. “I hope I will not trouble you. I will be glad
to come—yes, that place in the village would kill me.”

“That’s all right,” replied Maurice, who had an Englishman’s
horror of a scene. “I will send over for your traps,
and you can come to the Grange in time for dinner. We
dine at seven o’clock.”

“Thank you, sir. I will be at your home to-night.”

The Rector, who had fully intended to ask Caliphronas to
be his guest, was rather startled by Maurice’s precipitancy,
but, on the whole, was not ill-pleased, for two reasons: the
first being that he did not much care about burdening himself
with this eccentric foreigner; and the second, that he
was delighted that, during the stay of the Count at the
Grange, Maurice would take to his modelling again.

“By the way,” said Maurice, turning suddenly to the
Count, “do you know any one called Crispin?”

“Creespeen!” repeated Caliphronas, with his foreign
accent; “no, I do not know that name.”

“He is a gentleman who is staying with me,” replied
Roylands carelessly; “and, as he is pretty well acquainted
with your part of the world, I thought you might have met
him.”

The Greek smilingly denied that he had the honor of
Crispin’s acquaintance, but it seemed to Maurice as though
there was a shade of apprehension on his face which somewhat
puzzled the young man.

“Can’t make this fellow out,” was his mental comment.
“Hope I’m not making a mistake in asking him to the
Grange. Still, the Archdeacon’s letter to Carriston is a
sufficient guarantee that he is not a swindler, so I will
chance it.”
.bn 047.png
.pn +1

“I must now say good-by,” said Caliphronas to the Rector,
“and thank you for your kindness. Of course I will see you
soon again.”

“Oh yes. You must come here as often as you can.”

“That will not be much if I am to sit for this artist,”
laughed Caliphronas, turning to Maurice. “Good-by, sir; I
will see you to-night at six o’clock.”

He turned away gayly and left the garden, followed by the
admiring eyes of the two men, especially of Maurice, who
congratulated himself on his good fortune in obtaining such
a perfect model.

Meanwhile Caliphronas was walking swiftly in the direction
of the Royland Arms.

“Good!” he muttered to himself in Greek. “The first
step is taken, so I have no fear now.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V. | <sc>CRISPIN IS PUZZLED.</sc>

.pm start_poem
I’ve seen you before
But where I forget,
Yet somewhere of yore
I’ve seen you before;
You meet me once more,
A stranger—and yet
I’ve seen you before,
But where I forget.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Up and down the long terrace in front of the Grange
walked Crispin, and, from the rapt expression of his face,
it would seem as though he were composing poetry; but, as
a matter of fact, he was thinking about Eunice. The course
of their true love did not run smooth by any means, for Mrs.
Dengelton, having found her daughter in the company of the
poet, had marched off the former in order to lecture her
about the latter. The substance, therefore, having been
taken away, Crispin was left with only the shadow; in
other words, from speaking to Eunice, he was reduced to
thinking of Eunice, which was not by any means so pleasant
a position of affairs.

This uncomfortable state of things was due to the discovery
made by Mrs. Dengelton, that her daughter had the
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
previous evening been engaged in moongazing with the poet,
a fact which the astute Parrot extracted with wonderful dexterity
from her reluctant daughter. Mrs. Dengelton had
talked a good deal about the family romance, as related to
the Rector and Maurice, whereupon Eunice, having been
asked questions concerning the same, was forced to admit
that she had been absent during the recital. Her mother at
once pounced down on this damaging admission like a hawk,
and pressed the poor girl so mercilessly with questions, that
she was obliged to tell of that pleasant half-hour on the
terrace in company with Crispin.

On making this discovery, Mrs. Dengelton was too wise to
reproach her daughter, and thereby run the risk of making
her deaf to the voice of the charmer, <i>i.e.</i>, resist her mother’s
desires in connection with matrimony. No, the elder lady
said nothing about what she considered to be an act of madness,
but privately determined to keep Crispin and Eunice
apart by every means in her power. She was on the watch
this morning, and, having finished the daily papers,—for
Mrs. Dengelton prided herself on her universal knowledge
of what was going on in the world,—went out to look for
Eunice, who had disappeared. As she expected, she found
her in the company of the poet, whereupon she made some
ladylike excuse,—Mrs. Dengelton was an adept at telling
white lies,—and took Eunice away to her room, where she
kept her busy with letter-writing.

Crispin, therefore, deprived of the company of his inamorata,
was by no means in a cheerful mood, and regretted
that Eunice had not sufficient strength of mind to defy her
mother, and end all his trouble by marrying him without
delay. He had a very impulsive nature, and would have
liked to sweep away these obstacles by sheer force of insistence
that the marriage should take place at once; but his
impulses were in a great measure restrained by experience
in the school of the world, and he saw that it would be wiser
to watch and wait. Already he was seriously thinking of ending
his visit, and returning to town, in order to enlist his great
friend, Lady Bentwitch, on his side, as such a fashionable
personage might be able to talk Mrs. Dengelton into assenting
to the marriage; but in spite of his strength of character
he was reluctant to leave Eunice even for the short space of
a week. So, like the ass between two bundles of hay, he
could not quite make up his mind which course to take,
when he saw Maurice coming leisurely along the terrace,
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
and the conversation which ensued between them enabled
him to at once settle his future movements.

When the master of Roylands reached his side, Crispin
was struck with the unusual vivacity of his face. The
gloomy look which it generally wore had quite disappeared,
and in its place was an alert, eager expression, which showed
that Maurice was deeply interested in some important matter.

“My dear Roylands,” cried Crispin in astonishment, “why
this transformation? Yesterday you were plunged in gloom,
to-day Romeo on his way to Juliet looked not so happy.
Who is the enchanter—or shall I say enchantress—who
has worked this miracle?”

“The Rector has been giving me a lecture,” said Maurice
gayly, lighting a cigarette; “a terrible lecture, which reminded
me of the days when I made false quantities in Latin
verse, and translated good Greek into bad English.”

“Ah, you ought to have a lecture every day if it benefits
you in this way. You are much pleasanter as Sancho Panza
than as Don Quixote.”

“Explain!”

“Well, the squire was always merry, and the knight doleful;
so I like you as the former more than the latter.”

“I am afraid we have changed characters, Crispin. You
are the Knight of the Rueful Countenance now.”

“Eunice”—

“<lang=fr><i>Cela va sans dire</i></lang>,” said Maurice, leaning his elbows on
the balustrade. “Oh, do not look so astonished, Monsieur
Cupid! I am not so blind but what I can see how things
stand between you and Psyche.”

“You take credit to yourself when none is due,” replied
Crispin significantly. “Mr. Carriston drew your attention
to our position. You did not see it for yourself.”

“That is true enough; but how did you guess that the
Rector told me?”

“Because you were too much wrapped up in yourself to
notice unhappy lovers.”

“Unhappy lovers?”

“Yes. I love Eunice, and my affection is returned; but
there is an obstacle which prevents our marriage.”

“And this obstacle?”

“Is yourself.”

“I?”

“You! Mrs. Dengelton wants Eunice to marry you.”

“There’s always two to a bargain,” said Maurice grimly.
“I don’t want to marry Eunice.”
.bn 050.png
.pn +1

“Oh, you don’t love her?”

“As a cousin, yes; as a possible wife, no.”

“Then there is some chance for me?”

“I should say there was every chance for you,” remarked
Roylands in a friendly manner. “You are young and
famous, you know every one, you go everywhere, you are the
adored of the gentle sex; so what more can Eunice or her
mother desire.”

“Eunice desires nothing—except myself; but as for Mrs.
Dengelton, she thinks I am poor.”

“Oh! and are you poor?”

“No; on the contrary, I am very well off.”

“Then why don’t you place all your perfections before my
dear aunt, and persuade her into consenting to the match.”

“I don’t want to do so—yet,” said Crispin, with some
hesitation.

“Why all this mystery?”

“I cannot tell you just now, but you may be certain there
is nothing wrong about the mystery. I will satisfy Mrs.
Dengelton on all points shortly, and then, perhaps, I will
have the felicity of being your cousin-in-law.”

“I wish you good luck.”

“You would not object to my marrying your cousin?”
asked Crispin timidly.

“I?” said Maurice in amazement. “Certainly not! I
believe in love matches; but, of course,—though I have but
little to say in the matter,—I would like to know who you
are, where you come from, and all that, before you become
the husband of Eunice.”

“I will explain everything to your satisfaction—shortly.”

“The sooner the better for your own sake.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Crispin, with some hauteur.

“I mean as regards Eunice,” explained Maurice quickly.
“If you don’t tell my aunt of your intentions, and put yourself
right as regards money and position in her eyes, she will
marry Eunice to some one else. Failing me,—and I have
not the slightest intention of marrying my dear cousin,—she
will angle for another rich man, who will probably not
be so blind to the charms of Eunice as I am. In that case,
my poor Crispin, I am afraid it will be all up with you.”

“What you say is very true,” replied Crispin reflectively.
“I will speak to Mrs. Dengelton before I leave the Grange.”

“I cannot understand what you are making all this
mystery about.”
.bn 051.png
.pn +1

“Because I am proud,” rejoined the poet, with a flush on
his dark cheek. “I cannot explain myself now, but I will
some day, and then you will see I have a good reason for my
reticence.”

“So be it. But at present you are a riddle.”

“Well, I suppose I am,” said Crispin smilingly; “but one
which will shortly be explained, and, like all riddles, turn
out to be very disappointing. By the way, you might offer
me one of those excellent cigarettes.”

“Certainly,” answered Maurice, holding out his open case.
“Unlike Caliphronas, you are fond of smoking.”

“Caliphronas! Who is he? what is it? man, woman, or
child, or something to eat?”

“The first—a Greek. Count Constantine Caliphronas.”

“Ph[oe]bus! what a name!” ejaculated Crispin, lighting his
cigarette. “Who is he?”

“A Greek nobleman.”

“Humph! I mistrust Greek noblemen.”

“Well, they have got a bad name,” said Maurice quite
apologetically; “but I don’t think this one is a <lang=fr><i>chevalier
d’industrie</i></lang>.”

“The exception which proves the rule, perhaps,” replied
Crispin idly; “but really I have no right to call the Greeks
names, as on the whole they are not bad. I have a good
many friends among the countrymen of Plato.”

“Do you know Caliphronas?”

“Ah, that I cannot tell until I see him.”

“Well, you will see him soon, as he is coming to stay here
for a few days.”

“Stay here!” said Crispin in some surprise. “My dear
Roylands, is not this a very sudden friendship?”

“It is not a friendship at all.”

“Well, when a man asks another to his house to stay—to
be introduced to his relatives—it is uncommonly like
friendship.”

“I am not so conventional as most Englishmen,” said
Maurice impatiently, “and therefore do not act by rule. I
daresay I should have made inquiries about the past of this
Greek before asking him to my house; but, as far as that
goes, you are a riddle yourself.”

Crispin’s sallow cheek flushed at this home thrust, but he
had great self-command, and replied quietly enough,—

“That is rather a hard thing to say of me. I thought you
were my friend.”
.bn 052.png
.pn +1

“Pardon me, old fellow,” said Roylands penitently. “I
did not mean to be so rude. I have an abominable temper,
and should be kicked for saying such a thing in my own
house.”

“I will let you off the kicking,” replied Crispin, recovering
his good-humor. “As you very truly say, I am a riddle;
but I will explain myself soon. Still, this Count Caliphronas”—

“Do you know the name?”

“I have a faint idea I have heard it before.”

“In Greece?”

“Most probably. I know the isles of Greece very well.”

“Ah, is that a quotation from Byron, or a pointed remark?
In other words, is it serious or a chance shot?”

“The latter—I only quoted from ‘Don Juan.’ Why do
you ask?”

“Because this Count does come from the isles of Greece.
He says he was born in Ithaca.”

“Ah, he is not reticent about himself,” said Crispin dryly.
“I will tell you what I think of him when I see him. At
present I cannot recall the name precisely, though I fancy I
have heard it before. Meanwhile, tell me all you know
about him.”

“I am afraid that is but little. He arrived this morning
at Roylands, with a letter of introduction to the Rector from
the Archdeacon of Eastminster, and came to luncheon at the
Rectory. During our conversation, he complained of how
badly he was put up at the Royland Arms, and as I knew
Carriston would ask him to stay at the Rectory, a thing I
know he dislikes doing, as he hates strangers in his house,
I took the bull by the horns, and asked Caliphronas to come
here for a time. He accepted, and is coming with his traps
this evening.”

“Was it only for the sake of taking the burden off Mr.
Carriston’s shoulders that you gave your invitation?”

“Not exactly. This Caliphronas is a splendid-looking
fellow, and I asked him to sit to me for my statue of
Endymion.”

“Oh! is he worthy to be a model?”

“My dear Crispin, he has the most perfect figure for a
man I ever saw in my life; wonderfully handsome, and with
a wild, untamed air about him that is quite unique.”

Crispin listened to this speech without moving a muscle,
but a strange look came into his eyes.
.bn 053.png
.pn +1

“Have you ever read ‘A Strange Story,’ by Lytton?” he
asked abruptly.

“Yes, several times,” replied Maurice, somewhat astonished
at the irrelevancy of the question.

“Then does this man resemble Margrave, the hero of the
book?”

“In what way?”

“In every way except the mysticism. Is he an ardent
lover of Nature? Does he talk a lot about classical times?
Is he impulsive and utterly selfish?”

“As to the last quality, I have not yet had an opportunity
of judging, but for the rest, you have described him exactly.”

“Caliphronas!” murmured Crispin in a pondering manner.

“Do you know him?”

Crispin did not answer at once, and seemed to be making
up his mind as to what he would say. At last he turned to
Maurice with an enigmatic smile on his face, and shrugged
his shoulders.

“Not as far as I can recollect. That description I have
given as applied to Margrave would suit a good many
Greeks. They are mostly handsome, and, especially among
the islands, from living so much in the open air, imbibe a
great love for Nature. Naturally, as they have no modern
glories to talk about, they boast of ancient times and ancient
heroism. They are all impulsive, so you see I simply described
the Greek at large, not this one in particular.”

“But you have described him exactly.”

“I tell you the description suits any Greek, as I have
explained.”

“Then you don’t know this man?”

“No; I know no one of the name of Caliphronas,” replied
Crispin, with a slight emphasis on the last word.

Maurice did not notice the quibble, and with cheerful
good-humor dismissed the subject from his mind, as, after
all, this mystery, with which he enveloped the Count, might
turn out to be but an unworthy suspicion. Plenty of Greeks
come to England, and one more or less did not matter. He
would trouble his head no more about this man who had
dropped from the clouds into this dull little village, but
make use of him as a model, and then say good-by to him
with the best grace in the world. Once he left the Grange,
it was unlikely he would ever cross his path again, as Maurice
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
had not the slightest intention of going to Greece, and
looked forward to a humdrum life at Roylands for the next
few years. How little did he know what was in store for
him, and that from this appearance of Count Caliphronas
dated a new era in his life.

Meanwhile, Crispin, who in reality knew a good deal more
than he chose to tell, was watching him keenly. “You
must not relapse into your gloomy fits again,” he said, laying
his hand lightly on his friend’s arm.

“I do not intend to,” replied Maurice cheerfully. “No;
I now see the excellence of the Rector’s advice. Take an
interest in life, and you will be happy. I am taking an interest
in life—in your wooing of Eunice, and in Caliphronas.”

“Why Caliphronas?”

“Because he is my Endymion in the flesh. I am going to
create a wonderful statue, Crispin, the like of which has not
been seen since the days of Canova. As to this riddle of
Caliphronas, we will solve him together.”

“Perhaps the solution may be easier than you think.”

“Crispin, you know something about this man!”

“Nonsense! I tell you I know no one called Caliphronas.”

“Names may be assumed,” said Maurice shrewdly, “and
I am sure you have met the owner of this one before.”

“I meet so many people,” replied Crispin carelessly, “it
is probable I may have seen him; but really I can tell you
nothing about him—yet.”

“Ah! then you will some day?”

“My dear Roylands,” said Crispin impatiently, “Caliphronas
and his past life is becoming quite a mania with
you. I don’t know the man, but from your description, I
fancy I have met him, though, as I said before, such description
would apply to dozens of other Levantine Greeks.
When I see him I will tell you if I recognize him; but what
then? he may be only a casual acquaintance, and therefore
I will not know his history. If you mistrusted his looks,
you should not have asked him to the Grange.”

“My dear fellow, it was on account of his looks I did ask
him. He is my Endymion, remember. But you are right;
I am making a mountain out of a molehill, still, there is
some excuse for me. A unique specimen of humanity like
Caliphronas does not appear every day in a village like Roylands,
so it is natural I should be curious about him. But
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
there, we will say no more about your brother mystery.
I am going to have an interview with my bailiff, and you
may thank your stars, my friend, you are a poet, and not a
landed proprietor.”

Maurice sauntered away laughing, looking by no means the
kind of man to overburden himself with work; but Crispin
remained leaning over the balustrade of the terrace, gazing
absently at the silver spray of the fountain glittering in the
sunlight, and thinking deeply.

“I wonder what he wants here,” thought the poet, with a
frown on his expressive face. “A man like that does not
come down to a quiet village for nothing. Can it be to see
me? No! that is impossible, as he could not know I was
here. Curious I never saw him in London, for he must have
been there at the same time as myself, unless, indeed, he has
just arrived in England. He has some scheme in his head,
I am certain—if I could only see him alone and fathom his
motives! Oh, you fox you! Cunning as you are, I will foil
you. It is no good. You are after my friend, I’m sure of
that.”

He walked forward a few paces, still pondering, then resumed
his soliloquizing in a muttered tone.

“Roylands said this Caliphronas was coming over about
six o’clock. He is staying at the Royland Arms, so I think
I will walk over there and see him; but no, that will attract
attention, and I wish to tell Roylands nothing yet. I will
send a note; no, that will not do. Ah! I have it. I will wait
at the park gates and speak to him before he comes up
to the house. No one will know, and I can find out the
reason of his presence here.”

Decidedly this poet was a remarkably mysterious person,
not only as concerned his own personality, but also as regarded
this brilliant stranger who was so equally enigmatic. If
Maurice found his life dull now, it evidently was not going
to be so for any length of time; and, although he knew it
not, the elements of romance had come into it in the most
unexpected way in the persons of Crispin and Constantine
Caliphronas.

Having made up his mind, the poet thought no more
about the Greek, but strolled round the side of the house
to see if Eunice was at her window. He knew that Mrs.
Dengelton especially affected a small boudoir in the left
wing of the Grange, the window of which was only slightly
raised above the terrace, and at this window Crispin felt sure
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
Eunice would be. Fortunately for himself, he was right in
his conjecture, for on arriving in sight of the casement, he
saw Eunice sitting at it in a dejected attitude, evidently
expectant of a visit from her lover.

“Miss Dengelton!” he said cautiously, not knowing but
that the dragon might be within hearing, and therefore
adopting society manners.

“She has gone out of the room for a few minutes,” said
his lady in a frightened whisper. “Do go away.”

“What! when the coast is clear! Not if I know it.”

“I expect her back every minute.”

“Very well; till she arrives we can talk about ourselves,
and even when she does we can surely chat about the
weather.”

“I heard you laughing with Maurice.”

“Yes; he is quite gay to-day. He has found a model for
his statue of Endymion.”

“Some village bumpkin?”

“No, a Greek gentleman.”

“A Greek! and pray what is a Greek doing down here?”

Crispin shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m sure I don’t know. You will see him to-night, so
don’t fall in love with him.”

“Why should I?”

“He is very handsome.”

“I don’t care for handsome men, they are so conceited.”

“Humph! that is not a compliment to me.”

“Well, you are not conceited, are you?”

“Nor handsome.”

“You are handsome enough for me, at all events,” said
Eunice coquettishly.

“What a charming compliment!” replied Crispin gayly;
“for that I will give you a rose.”

“Hush! here comes my mother.”

But Crispin, alas! had not heard the warning, and, having
plucked the finest rose he could see, returned to the window,
to find himself confronted by the gaudy figure of The
Parrot, whose beady eyes sparkled maliciously as he
approached.

“What! a rose for me, dear Mr. Crispin?” she said,
stretching out her hand, in which Crispin was unwillingly
compelled to place his flower; “how kind of you! The
young men of to-day are gallant after all. Look, Eunice, is
not this flower charming? almost as charming as you are,
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
Mr. Crispin. The Rose of Sharon—oh, Shiraz—you see
I’ve read your book. Now, I have no time to talk, my dear
Mr. Crispin, so you must go away for the present at all
events. We will meet at luncheon, and if you are very good
you may bring me in another rose.”

Mrs. Dengelton, having thus vanquished the enemy, disappeared
with her daughter and shut the window, upon which
poor Crispin walked away in a rage.

“Old cat!” he said, which was certainly neither polite nor
poetical.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI. | <sc>SUB ROSA.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Secrets absurd
Leading to woes,
Only are heard
Under the rose.

Maidens refuse,
Lovers propose,
Just as they choose,
Under the rose.

How scandals spread
Nobody knows,
For they are said
Under the rose.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
When anything marvellous occurs in real life, wiseacres
shake their heads, and say, “Wonderful! extraordinary!
Truth is stranger than fiction.” But when a novel contains
any incident out of the common, these same inconsistent
people refuse to believe it on the plea that “Fiction is not
stranger than truth.” They entirely forget that fiction is
but a reflection of real life, and that man can imagine nothing,
but merely reproduces what he sees around him. The
sceptic will object,—“Fairy tales!” Well, my dear
doubter, how do you know that fairy tales do not contain a
germ of truth? there may have been fairies in the earlier
ages of the world, and if so, the chronicles of Fairyland are
as authentic as those of England—perhaps more so, seeing all
histories are tinctured more or less with partisanship. Who
would have believed in the mammoth, had not the huge beast
been reconstructed by Cuvier? or in the moa, had not the
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
skeleton of that gigantic bird been discovered in New Zealand?
Nay, there is doubtless much truth in those extravagant
travels of Marco Polo, Sir John Mandeville, and such-like
wanderers. The middle ages were times of improbability,
not of impossibility, for but little was known of the geographical
world. Well, we of this nineteenth century have
discovered all possible continents, and assume that we
know everything; but such is not the case, for, though we
may have exhausted the geographical world, we know
comparatively few of the secrets of Nature. The pebble
parable of Sir Isaac Newton will here occur to many minds,
and it applies as truly to our times as to his own. Earth,
sky, and water are full of secrets, many of which yet defy
our efforts to learn and catalogue them. This century has
been prolific of discoveries, but even add another hundred
years of fresh revelations, and Nature will still give us
riddles to solve out of her exhaustless store.

Therefore, when a coincidence occurs in a fiction, though
it may be improbable, it is not impossible, and he who takes
the trouble to keep his eyes open, his mental as well as his
physical eyes, will, in nearly every case, find the counterpart
of the ideal in the real. Here, then, are two mysterious
individuals, who, masquerading under the names of
Crispin and Caliphronas, meet one another in the most
unexpected manner in the most unexpected place. Wiseacres
will at once say “Impossible!” but, going on the theory
set forth as before, such a meeting is not impossible, but
probable. Fate, Destiny, Fortune,—whatever be the name
of the power which guides our circumstances,—delights in
surprises quite as much as does the novelist; therefore, why
should we believe the first and doubt the second? This is
inconsistent! Therefore, if you who read are wise in your
generation, and broad in your views of probability, you will
see nothing impossible in this unexpected meeting of poet
and adventurer.

Caliphronas was an adventurer pure and simple, of course,
as regards his vocation as free lance, but not as touching his
moral or physical qualities. He had come to England with
a distinct end in view, and already had made the first step
to the accomplishment of that end. Whether his intentions
were good or bad remains to be seen, and if, my dear reader,
you cannot tell the quality of his designs from the character
of the man as before described, you must perforce remain in
ignorance, even as Crispin remained, for, truth to tell, that
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
astute individual was for once in his life really and truly
puzzled. He knew Caliphronas in Greek waters, under
another name, and, having had considerable experience of
his character, was quite confident that he had some object in
view for thus making his appearance at Roylands. With
the determination of finding out that object, and thwarting
it if he could,—for Crispin had no very great love for the
Greek,—our poet walked down to the park gates between
the hours of five and six, with the intention of having an
interview with this mysterious stranger.

In his own mind he was by no means certain of the identity
of this Caliphronas with the person he thought he was,
and such a doubt could only be solved by a personal view of
the Greek himself; but the description given by Maurice so
tallied with the image of a certain individual, that Crispin
felt sure that the conclusion he had arrived at was a correct
one. In order, however, to end all doubt on the subject, he
wanted to personally interview the Count before he set foot
in Roylands Grange, and had with considerable dexterity
carried out his plan without exciting suspicion, a thing
which he was anxious to avoid if possible.

Pleading a headache,—that convenient excuse,—he had
managed to give his friend the slip, though, truth to tell, he
took more trouble over securing such secrecy than was absolutely
necessary, for Maurice, fired by the idea of recommencing
work, had retreated to his studio, and remained
there all the afternoon. Mrs. Dengelton still kept a watchful
eye upon her daughter, and, on one plea or another, kept
her away from the too-fascinating poet: so, in reality, Crispin
was left entirely to his own devices, therefore utilized such
good fortune by seeking this important interview with the
unknown Greek.

So hot had been the day, that Crispin felt a certain sense
of relief when the coolness of night approached, and, lingering
under the mighty oaks which bordered the avenue,
luxuriated in that delightful twilight, which is neither
wholly of night nor day, but partakes equally of both. The
air was still warm, and there was a pleasant shade over the
sky, as Night gradually drew her dusky veil across the glaring
blue from east to west. Shafts of crimson light shot
through the wood and through the dense foliage. Crispin
could see at times the rosy flames of the setting sun. Still
vocal were the birds, for they were now singing their good-night
to day, and in a short time nothing would be heard
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
but occasional chirps from some belated thrush, until with
the moon came the divine nightingale to flood the thickets
with song. Restless gnats were dancing in front of his face
as he strolled down the avenue, and at times a bat would flit
noiselessly through the warm air, while, mellowed by distance,
the chimes of Roylands church rang musically on his
ear.

“Six o’clock,” said the poet to himself, glancing at his
watch. “I suppose this Caliphronas will be here shortly.
Roylands sent the dog-cart, but if this is the man I imagine,
he will send on his traps in charge of the groom, and walk
over to the Grange on such a perfect evening.”

At this moment he heard the noise of approaching wheels,
and shortly afterwards the dogcart, drawn by a fast-trotting
mare, flashed past him, containing only the groom and some
luggage. Finding his conjecture thus prove correct, Crispin
did not trouble himself to go farther on his way to seek
Caliphronas, as that gentleman was bound to meet him in
the avenue; so, lounging against the mighty trunk of an oak,
he lazily waited the approach of the individual concerning
whose intentions he entertained such doubts.

.pm start_poem
“I will crown myself with roses
To meet thee, beloved.
Why dost thou fly at the sight of my wreath?
The hot sun hath withered it truly.
And my heart is burnt up by thine eyes.
Dead heart! dead roses! but love undying.”
.pm end_poem

Caliphronas was singing these words in Greek, and Crispin
at once recognized the voice of the singer, a recognition
which immediately confirmed his suspicions as to the identity
of this gentleman.

.pm start_poem
“We will live in the woods, my beloved,
And berries will be our food;
On berries and kisses could I live always,
Till Fate destroyed us,
And robbed us of berries, and kisses, and life forever.”
.pm end_poem

“I’ve heard him singing that song at Melnos,” muttered
Crispin quietly to himself. “It is he! What can he be
doing here?”

At this moment the singer came in sight, walking rapidly
up the avenue with a springy step, swinging his stick to and
fro as he sang. He was indeed a sight worth looking at, as
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
he bounded lightly over the earth, Antæus-like, drawing
fresh vigor at every pressure of his foot on the ground; yet
his undeniable beauty but excited a feeling of repulsion in
the breast of Crispin, who now knew him only too well.
They were a strange contrast, these two men: the poet small,
dark, and unhandsome, but the fire of intellect in his eyes;
the adventurer a splendid animal, with nothing but his
physical perfections to recommend him.

Caliphronas did not notice the poet leaning against the
tree, and came on, carelessly singing as he walked,—

.pm start_poem
“What will I do for thee, beloved?
Oh, I will do many deeds of daring!
I will slay the Turk in his pride,
And his head will be my wedding gift.
Behold I”—
.pm end_poem

Here he stopped suddenly, catching sight of Crispin, but,
instead of being astonished at the unexpected meeting, as the
poet expected, he simply stood still, leaning on his stick, and
laughing at the look on the other’s face.

“Ah, ah, Creespeen!” he said in Greek, with a smile;
“you did not expect to see me in this place.”

“Certainly I did not,” retorted Crispin in the same language,
marvelling at the self-possession of the man; “and
I’ve no doubt the meeting is unexpected on both sides.”

“Not with me; oh no! That priest—the Papa I saw this
morning told me you were here, and your friend also informed
me of your presence.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah, that is a long story, my good Creespeen,” replied
Caliphronas coolly, “and one I do not choose to tell.”

“You have some design in your head.”

“Assuredly,” said the Count mockingly; “I would not
come to this cold island for pleasure.”

“Ah, I see you are as great a scoundrel as ever!”

Caliphronas laughed, and seemed in no wise offended at the
scornful tone of the other. For such an epithet an Englishman
would have struck its utterer, but Caliphronas did not
even frown. The only notice he took of Crispin’s rudeness
was to raise his eyebrows in mocking surprise.

“You have still a bad opinion of me, I see.”

“The very worst!”

“What a truly good young man you are!” said the Count
sardonically. “I regret that you should be forced to keep
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
company with such a scamp as I am; but I am afraid you
will have to make up your mind to that or—go away.”

“I shall certainly not do the latter until I find out the
reason of your presence in this place.”

“Then, my dear friend, you will have to stay here forever.”

“Are you going to stay here forever?”

“I! no. I am down here on business.”

“With the Rector?—with Roylands? with whom?”

The Count looked at him with a provoking smile, and
flung himself on the grass at the foot of the oak against
which Crispin was leaning.

“Perhaps with both; perhaps with neither.”

“Now you listen to me, Caliphronas,—as that is the name
you choose to go by; both Mr. Carriston and Mr. Roylands
are friends of mine, and if you have come down here with
any bad design in your head against either of them, I will
make it my business to thwart you.”

“Do so by all means, if you can.”

“I can do so by a very simple means, though you seem to
doubt it,” said Crispin quietly. “You brought an excellent
letter of introduction to Mr. Carriston, though how you
came by it I do not know. You have made friends with
Roylands, who is a simple fellow, by consenting to be his
model for Endymion”—

“And a very good model too,” interrupted Caliphronas,
looking at himself complacently.

“I don’t deny your outward goodliness;—it is a pity your
mind is not in keeping. But to come back to what I was
saying. You have made friends with both the gentlemen I
speak of, and perhaps such friendship is necessary to your
plans; if so. I will end it.”

“How will you manage that?” said the Count coolly, but
with a nasty glitter in his eyes.

“Simply by telling them who you are and what you are.”

“You will not do that!”

“I will, if your designs are bad.”

“How do you know my designs are bad?”

“Because to a man of your nature goodness is impossible.”

“I would not go so far as to say it is impossible,” said
Caliphronas, with a sneer, “but I agree with you that it is
improbable. To my mind, goodness is a weakness.”

“One you don’t possess, I’m afraid.”

“I do not; nor do I wish to possess it,” replied the Count
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
insolently. “But may I not draw your attention to the fact
that it is long past six, that Roylands dines at seven, and
that I am terribly hungry?”

“You can call my attention to all these facts,” retorted
Crispin promptly, “but you don’t enter that house until I
know what you are going to do.”

“Pay a visit. Sit for the Endymion.”

“I am tired of this fencing. Don’t go on like this with
me, An”—

“Caliphronas,” said the other quickly.

“Well, one name is as good as another; but you needn’t
waste all this diplomacy on me, my friend. I know you
too well to believe you would waste your time in coming
here for nothing. Now tell me what your schemes are, or I
will reveal all I know of you to Maurice Roylands.”

The Count was thus driven into a corner, and all his suave
manner vanished as he sat up on the turf with a scowl on
his handsome face, and a significant movement of his right
hand toward his waist.

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that, you scamp,” said Crispin
quickly; “you wear not the fusanella here, nor have you
knife or pistol with you. You are in a civilized country, my
noble Count, so must act in a civilized manner.”

The Greek, recovering his temper, burst out laughing, and
beckoned Crispin to sit down beside him on the soft green
turf.

“You have the whip-hand of me, Creespeen,” he said
lightly; “and I am too wise a man to waste time in argument,
so I will tell you the reason of my presence here.
You were quite right in thinking I did not come for pleasure;
on the contrary, I wish to carry out a very delicate
affair, and perhaps it is as well you should know, as I may
want your assistance in the matter.”

“I will help you in none of your villanies.”

“By St. Theodore, how pious you have become! Oh, I
forgot! you are Misterr Creespeen, the famous poet, the new
Chrysostom of the Golden Mouth. Eh yes; I heard all about
you in London. No one would think this great poet was
ever”—

“Hold your tongue!” said Crispin, roughly grasping the
Greek by the wrist; “whatever I have been, whatever I am,
I have done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Indeed! would you like them to know all?” retorted
the Count, jerking his hand in the direction of the house.
.bn 064.png
.pn +1

“I intend to tell them all when I choose; but not before.”

“Suppose I anticipate you?”

“Do so, by all means. You will relate the story of my
life, and I will relate the story of your life. I wonder which
will prove the more interesting.”

“Oh, I wonder,” rejoined Caliphronas, with consummate
impudence; “but do not let us quarrel, as I may want your
assistance. Oh, you need not frown; I have no ill intentions
towards your precious friends. In fact, to put you
completely at your ease, I may as well tell you Justinian
sent me to England.”

“Justinian!” repeated Crispin, with a start. “Well,
what of that?” he resumed carelessly. “You know I am
not now friends with Justinian,—I have not seen him for
nearly”—

“Three years, eh?” said Caliphronas quickly; “of
course, that is just about the time you came here. Oh, I
heard all about you in London; and Justinian will have
heard also by this time, for I wrote and told him all.”

“I trust he is pleased,” said Crispin grimly.

“As to that, I don’t know. True, his goose has turned out
a swan, and now, unlike a swan, sings songs the world listens
to; but such glory can hardly compensate him for the ungrateful
manner in which you treated him.”

“Enough!” cried Crispin hotly, his dark face flushing with
anger; “I can justify my conduct amply, but I do not choose
to do so to you. Leave Justinian, and Melnos, and all the
old life alone. I want to know the reason of your presence
in Roylands.”

“Well, you shall know. But do not get furious over
nothing,” said Caliphronas mockingly. “I am afraid you
have lost all your old Hellenic calm, and now resemble one
of these bad-tempered Englishmen, devoured with the spleen,
and greedy of money.”

“I am not greedy of money.”

“Eh? oh, I see! you sing your songs for the smiles of
women, not for the gold of their husbands, fathers, and
brothers. Well, I agree with you; the smiles of women are
very delightful, but one cannot live on them, so I would like
to know how you exist.”

“Would you, indeed?”

“Yes; and so would Justinian.”

“Well, you will neither of you be told. Come, now, it is
growing late, and I wait for your confession.”
.bn 065.png
.pn +1

“No one will hear us?”

“Of course not; besides, we speak in Greek, which is not
so common in England as in Hellas.”

Caliphronas let the smile die away from his lips, and looked
keenly at Crispin.

“You will not reveal what I have now to tell you?”

“Not unless it is some villany.”

“It is no villany. It is an act of justice. Listen.”

The story, which did not take long to tell, drew forth many
exclamations of surprise from Crispin, who for once in his
life was astonished at the revelations of Caliphronas, and
believed he was speaking the truth. Indeed, he could hardly
help believing it, as many points of the story coincided with
what he himself knew in connection with the Roylands
family. When Caliphronas finished his recital, he flung himself
back on the turf, and waited for Crispin to speak, which
the young man did after a long pause.

“What you have stated astonishes me very much,” he said
deliberately; “but, as far as I can see, there does not seem
to be any harm intended to my friend.”

“None in the least,” said the Count eagerly. “You do
not like Justinian now, for some mysterious reason, but I
think you know enough about him to trust him.”

“I know enough about him not to trust him overmuch,”
replied Crispin coolly; “but with regard to your scheme and
his scheme”—

“Yes?” cried the Count breathlessly.

“I will remain neutral.”

Caliphronas drew a long breath of relief, and sprang to his
feet.

“That is better than nothing; but I wish you would help
me.”

“No; I will remain neutral.”

“You can see for yourself there is no harm intended.”

“I tell you I will remain neutral,” said Crispin for the
third time, also rising from his recumbent attitude. “I will
neither help you nor thwart you; so you can do as you please,
but I don’t think you’ll succeed in your schemes.”

“Don’t you?” replied Caliphronas provokingly, as they
walked up to the house together. “Well, that remains to be
seen. If a man of my capacity”—

“Cunning.”

“Well, cunning if you like. If a man of my cunning cannot
circumvent this dull-headed”—
.bn 066.png
.pn +1

“Cautious.”

“Oh, is he cautious? Well, I will make this cautious
Englishman do as I wish. But here we are nearly at the
house, and I wait to know on what footing we stand.”

“You are an acquaintance of mine. I met you at Athens.
Talk of the best-known Athenians as our mutual friends.”

“And you will say nothing about Melnos?”

“No.”

“Nor about Justinian?”

“No.”

“Nor Alcibiades?”

“I tell you I won’t say a word about any one or anything,”
said Crispin impatiently. “You can carry out your plan if
you like. It does no harm to Roylands as far as I can see;
but if I find you playing double, my friend, I’ll put an end
to your games.”

“I always play fair when it is to my benefit to do so,”
retorted the Greek, with an unpleasant smile.

“What a pity it is not always to your benefit to do so!”
said the poet cruelly; “you would then be an honest man.”

“I am what I am,” answered Caliphronas sullenly; “had I
created myself, I might have made an improvement.”

“Not in your appearance,” observed Crispin, looking at the
splendid beauty of the man beside him. “I suppose you are
as vain as ever?”

“Possibly; but I never let my vanity interfere with my
business.”

“Ah, there is some sense in that splendid head of yours,
but precious little.”

“Quite enough to accomplish my wishes.”

“I doubt it. However, here we are, and here is Mr.
Roylands.”

It was indeed Maurice, who, arrayed in evening dress,
advanced to meet them, and greeted Caliphronas with a
smile.

“I had quite given you up, Count,” he said, shaking hands
with the Greek; “your luggage arrived, but not you, and
the dinner is now due. However, as neither of you gentlemen
is ready, I have just put it off for half an hour, so
you will just have time to dress. You know Mr. Crispin,
Count?”

“Yes; you must blame him for my unpunctuality,” said
Caliphronas gracefully. “I walked over here, and sent on
my luggage by your groom. In the avenue I met Mr. Creespeen,
and we talked of old times.”
.bn 067.png
.pn +1

“Ah, you know one another!” cried Maurice, flashing a
keen glance at Crispin, which that gentleman sustained
without blenching.

“Oh yes,” answered the poet calmly; “I was afraid I did
not know the name of Count Caliphronas, but my memory
played me false. I know it and him very well. We met
at Athens.”

“Three years ago,” continued the Count, laughing. “You
have no idea, Mr. Maurice, how astonished I was to meet my
friend here. By the way, you must allow me to call you
Mr. Maurice; I make such a mess of your English names.”

“I think you speak English wonderfully well, Count.
Where did you learn, may I ask, if it is not a rude question?”

“I had an English tutor,” replied Caliphronas, stealing a
glance at Crispin; “and I have been accustomed to your
tongue since a lad.”

“Ah, that accounts for it. Well, come with me, Count,
and I will show you your room. Crispin, Mrs. Dengelton
and her daughter are already in the drawing-room, so you
had better make haste.”

Crispin went off as quickly as possible, and Maurice hospitably
conducted his guest to the room prepared for him,
where Roylands’ valet was already spreading out the Count’s
evening dress. This duty having been performed, Mr.
Roylands hurried away to his guests in the drawing-room,
and the Count was left alone with the valet, whom he
speedily dismissed.

“Thank you; I won’t require anything else,” he said,
when the servant had arranged all his clothes. “I am
accustomed to wait on myself. Dinner is in half an hour?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the valet, and retired quietly.

The fact is, Caliphronas had a habit of thinking aloud,
and, as he had a good many matters to consider, he was
afraid of committing himself if a second person were in the
room; therefore, having got rid of the servant, he began to
dress slowly for dinner, thinking deeply all the time.

“I do not think Creespeen will say anything,” he said
aloud in Greek, as he arranged his white tie; “very likely
he will help me, if I can manage him. How upright he is
now—how very upright, and to think”—

Here the Count went into a fit of silent laughter, which
lasted until he arrived at the door of the drawing-room,
when he controlled his risible muscles, and went in gravely
to be introduced to the ladies.
.bn 068.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII. | <sc>SOUVENT FEMME VARIE.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Woman’s a weathercock,
Full of frivolity.
Men may together mock
At her heart’s quality.
But if a heart she steals,
Worth all the smart she feels,
There then her place is;
Lo, then the nether rock
Less firm of base is.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Needless to say, Count Constantine Caliphronas was
much admired by the two ladies, which was scarcely to be
wondered at, seeing his charm of manner was almost as
great as his physical perfection. Attracted in the first
instance by his good looks, they were quite prepared to find
the kernel of such a handsome nut somewhat disappointing;
in other words, they fancied that Nature could scarcely be
so profuse in her gifts, as to give this man great mental
powers in addition to his comely exterior. To their surprise,
they found the Greek to be a charming conversationalist,
and were much astonished at the purity with which he spoke
the English tongue.

It would be ridiculous to say that Caliphronas was a man
of any great intellectual powers; for, as before stated, he
was gifted with more cunning than brains, still, such cunning
enabled him to conceal his educational deficiencies, and
by a dexterous use of the little knowledge he possessed, he
managed to pass for a very intelligent man. Shallow Caliphronas
was, without doubt, and his education in many ways
had been wofully neglected; but he had travelled a great
deal, he was acute enough in picking up unconsidered trifles
of general information, he had plenty of small talk, so all
these advantages, in conjunction with his undeniable good
looks and ready wit, enabled him to fascinate the ordinary
run of people. A clever man or a brilliant woman would
have discovered the smallness of his intellectual powers at
once; but every-day folk are not so difficult to please, and
both Mrs. Dengelton and her daughter, being ordinary folk,
gifted with ordinary brains, found the flashy, frivolous chatter
of the Count infinitely charming.
.bn 069.png
.pn +1

Maurice, having got over his first suspicions of the Greek,
soon liked him extremely, as he was a pleasant companion,
and always in a good humor. On the other hand, Crispin,
who knew what Caliphronas really was, and how mean and
vile a soul inhabited that splendid body, was much put to in
order to conceal his distaste for the society of this brilliant
stranger. He saw through the thin veneer of good manners
and facile accomplishments, into the true nature of the man,
and was well aware that this apparently charming child of
Nature, all impulse and simplicity, was in reality a crafty,
selfish, sensual scoundrel, whose only aim in life was to
benefit himself at the expense of others.

“If we were only in the Palace of Truth now!” thought
the poet, as he sat silently watching the dexterous way in
which Caliphronas was using his small stock of accomplishments.
“I wonder what they would say were that man compelled
to give utterance to his real thoughts. They would
fly in horror from him as a vile thing, a beautiful flower,
whose appearance is exquisite, yet whose odor is death.
Still, he has improved wonderfully since the old days. I
wonder where he picked up these good manners—not from
Justinian or Alcibiades, I’ll be bound; but perhaps he has
been learning the art of pleasing from Helena.”

As this thought came into his mind, and he remembered
the charming woman who bore that name, knowing what
Caliphronas was, he could not restrain a shudder, which,
immediately drew the eyes of the Greek towards him.

“Eh, my friend, Mr. Creespeen,” he said slowly; for Caliphronas,
in spite of his intimate acquaintance with the English
tongue, picked up, heaven only knows where, could
never pronounce proper names without a strong foreign
accent,—“eh, my friend, you shudder. Some one is walking
over your grave.”

“Oh, what a horrible idea!” cried Mrs. Dengelton in her
liveliest manner, for the Count’s good looks had made a deep
impression on her elderly heart. “I declare, my dear Count,
you make me shudder also. It is exactly the kind of thing
my brother Rudolph would say. Ghouls, vampires, omens,
dreams, and all those grewsome things, he used to revel in.
Yes, positively revel in. Never shall I forget being told
how he brought some lady friend a book to read, called ‘Footprints
on the Borders of Another World.’ It nearly frightened
her into convulsions, and she threw it out of the
window.”
.bn 070.png
.pn +1

“My Uncle Rudolph must have been an interesting kind
of person,” said Maurice dryly.

“Oh, my dear Maurice, he was so terribly wild! Yes!
Why, in the old days, he would have been a buccaneer or a
pirate—it is just the kind of thing he would have liked to
be.”

At this last remark, Crispin looked straight at the Count,
who met his gaze with an uneasy laugh, and tried to turn the
conversation.

“This gentleman, madam? He was very adventurous, I
presume?”

“Oh dear me, yes! Your uncle, Eunice, I am speaking
of—your uncle, Maurice.”

“Yes, mamma—yes, aunt,” said both the cousins together.

“He had a fiery eye, and was over six feet in height. I
always thought him the image of the Templar in ‘Ivanhoe;’
but, of course, I speak from hearsay, as I was a babe when
he left England. Is there not a portrait of him somewhere,
Maurice?”

“It is just behind you, aunt, over the piano.”

Both Caliphronas and Crispin arose with a simultaneous
movement, and strolled across the room to look at this
modern Captain Kidd, for that style of man he appeared to
have been, judging from Mrs. Dengelton’s highly-colored
description.

The portrait was a full-length one of a handsome young
man in the old-fashioned costume <lang=fr><i>à la d’Orsay</i></lang> of the early
Victorian age, and assuredly he appeared to be a dandy of
the first water. But his strong commanding face, his eagle
glance, firm mouth, and prominent nose marked him at once
as a born leader of men. A man who, in Elizabethan times,
would have sailed the Spanish main and thrashed the Dons;
who, in later years, would have delighted in Jacobite conspiracies;
who would have fought his way to a marshal’s
baton when Napoleon led the armies of France: in fact, one
of those men who find no outlet for their energies in the
leading-strings of civilization, but who, in a lawless life,
develop those qualities whereof heroes are made. Maurice
was good-looking enough in an ordinary fashion, but he had
none of the power and daring in his face, such as showed so
conspicuously in his uncle’s countenance.

The Count and Crispin remained looking at the portrait
an unconscionably long time, considering the original was
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
unknown to them, and glanced meaningly at one another as
they went back to their seats.

“Your description is an admirable one, Mrs. Dengelton,”
said Crispin, as that lady evidently desired his opinion of
the portrait; “the face is that of a man who would be either
a hero or a scoundrel according to circumstances, but always
brave.”

“My dear Mr. Crispin!” cried the lady, somewhat scandalized
at the epithet applied to a Roylands.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Dengelton; I am speaking of
the type more than the man. Rudolph Roylands has the
bearing of a born leader of men, and I do not wonder he
left England for wider fields. He must have been stifled
in this narrow island.”

“How do you know he left England?” asked the lady
sharply.

“Why, your story of last night”—

“But you were not here when I told it. Ah, my dear Mr.
Crispin, I am indeed very angry at you for taking my
daughter out onto the terrace. She might have caught her
death of cold—but we will not speak of that. At all
events, you could not have heard my story.”

Crispin looked rather uncomfortable, as if he feared he
had committed himself; but, as Mrs. Dengelton’s beady eyes
were fastened shrewdly on his face, he had to make some
answer, though, truth to tell, he did not know what to say.

“Well, really, Mrs. Dengelton, I hardly know how to
reply,” he said, coloring. “I did not hear all your story;
but, if you remember, just before the Rector said good-night,
you talked about your brother leaving England.”

“Dear me, yes, so I did!” said Mrs. Dengelton, and
would have liked to add something anent the story of the
photographs, the falsehood of which she had discovered.
Maurice, however, guessed how the land lay, and feeling
sorry for Crispin, who was really very uncomfortable, made
the first remark that came into his head. Caliphronas, tired
of the conversation, had gone to the piano, where Eunice
was playing softly, and talked to her in an undertone. This
attention, however, was not noticed by Crispin, who was too
busy trying to extricate himself from his dilemma with Mrs.
Dengelton, to think about anything else. How he would
have managed to evade the photograph question, which Mrs.
Dengelton was bent on asking, it is difficult to say, but that
Maurice came to his aid with the apparently irrelevant
remark,—
.bn 072.png
.pn +1

“My dear Crispin, you say that, judging from his face, my
uncle would either be a hero or a scoundrel. Now what do
you mean by that remark?”

“Oh, I hope I haven’t offended you by making it,” said
Crispin, with a grateful smile, for he saw through Roylands’
stratagem; “but if a man like your uncle has such qualities
as he seems to possess, strongly developed, they are bound
to break out in some direction. Place him in the army, and
he will be a hero in time of war, but supposing he was born
in Whitechapel, I am afraid his heroic qualities would be
dangerous to society.”

“Then you think a hero and a thief are composed of the
same qualities?”

“I will not say a thief, but use the milder term, ‘adventurer.’
If the great Napoleon had not been an adventurer
of that quality, he would never have mounted the throne
of France. Sforza, the Duke of Milan, was of the same
species; so was William the Conqueror, and Roger de
Hauteville, King of Sicily. All these men, through force
of circumstances which aided the development of their
commanding qualities, obtained thrones—they were adventurers
who became kings. On the other hand, look at
Benvenuto Cellini. He had the same instincts for fighting,
commanding, and daring, the same longing for fame, riches,
adventures; yet, to the end of his life, he was but a quarrelsome
swashbuckler, simply because his circumstances did
not permit his qualities developing in the right direction.
Cromwell had these qualities and mounted a throne, Rienzi
had them and died on the scaffold—all through circumstances.
Believe me, my dear Maurice, whatever qualities a
man may possess, the development of them in the right or
the wrong direction depends on his surroundings. It is a
common saying that genius can override all obstacles—a
mistake which anyone who reads history can perceive. Circumstances
are sometimes too strong for the greatest soul,
and that genius which should have created empires dies in
obscurity.”

“Quite a historical lecture, I declare,” tittered Mrs. Dengelton,
who found this long speech a trifle wearisome; “but,
how does all this apply to my brother?”

“If your brother, Mrs. Dengelton, went to South America,
he probably rose to be president of one of those petty republics;
if he went as a free lance into the service of some
Eastern potentate, he very likely ended his life as a pasha of
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
three tails; but if he stayed in England, I feel certain that
his violent temperament, his adventurous longings, must
have brought him into trouble.”

“I don’t think he stayed in England,” replied Mrs. Dengelton,
shaking her head, “or we certainly would have heard
of his death. Probably he is a president, or a pasha, or some
of those dreadful things you speak of.”

“Do you think he is dead, aunt?” asked Maurice, who
had been listening quietly to this argument.

“I’m sure I don’t know. I haven’t heard of him for years
and years; but the Roylands are always long-living people,
so perhaps he is still alive. It is now fifty years since he
went away, at the age of twenty-five, so if he is still alive
he must be quite seventy-five years of age.”

“Seventy-five years of age,” repeated Crispin, and relapsed
into silence.

“Who is seventy-five years of age?” asked Caliphronas,
overhearing the remark.

“My Uncle Rudolph, if alive,” said Maurice lazily.

“Oh, indeed!” replied Caliphronas carelessly, but his
words conveyed volumes as he tried to catch the eye of
Crispin. In this, however, he was not successful, as Crispin
was wrapt up in a brown study, so the Greek turned towards
Eunice and asked her to sing something.

“I am passionately fond of music,” he said, turning over
some songs, “and nothing so delights me as to hear a
woman’s voice.”

Eunice blushed at this compliment to her sex, and, not
knowing how to answer it,—for she was still afflicted with
the shyness of the bread-and-butter age,—took up the first
song that came to hand.

“Do you know this song?” she said, placing the music
before her—“‘The Star Sirius;’ it is the new scientific style
of song, now all the rage.”

“A scientific song,” repeated Caliphronas, rather puzzled.

“Yes, blending instruction with pleasure,” said Crispin,
rousing himself out of his revery and walking over to the
piano. “The public are tired of love-songs, sea-songs, sacred
songs, comic songs, and sentimentalities of all kinds; so
some ingenious person has invented the scientific song. In
this song astronomy is brought to the aid of eroticism, and
the result is peculiar, to say the least of it. I presume such
ditties are written for musically-inclined Girton girls. Shall
I play your accompaniment, Miss Dengelton?”
.bn 074.png
.pn +1

“If you would be so kind,” said Eunice, vacating her seat
at the piano, which action brought a frown to the face of
her watchful mother. “I can sing better standing up.”

Crispin played the prelude in sufficiently good style, and
Caliphronas, sinking into a chair near the singer, looked up
into her face in a somewhat bold fashion, as she sang the
latest up-to-date song of the day.


.pm start_poem
          THE STAR SIRIUS.

                I.

    A glowing star of ardent ray
      In midnight skies we trace,
    It is a central sun, they say,
      Enshrined in distant space.
    Around it giant planets turn,
      In motion constant roll,
    With fiery force its splendors burn,
      As for thee burns my soul.
Oh, star ascendant at my birth!
For tears, for sadness, or for mirth,
You rule my destiny on earth.

               II.

    Oh, star of stars! in thee no flaw
      The telescopes reveal;
    Thine orbs obey attraction’s law,
      And round thy centre wheel.
    Beloved, thou and I are one,
      Nor parted e’er can be;
    I am thy planet, thou my sun,
      For all eternity.
Oh, star ascendant at my birth!
For tears, for sadness, or for mirth,
You rule my destiny on earth.
.pm end_poem

“Thank you, Miss Dengelton,” said Caliphronas, when
the song ended; “I like your singing much better than the
words. They are somewhat perplexing.”

“They are up-to-date words,” remarked Crispin calmly;
“the music is also up to date, of the most advanced school,
a blending of Dvoräk and Rubinstein.”

“What awful names!” cried Caliphronas, with a shudder;
“they grate on the ear.”

“So does their music in some cases; there is nothing like
consistency. Still, some of the advanced school of music’s
efforts are delightful. This dance of Dvoräk’s, for instance.”
.bn 075.png
.pn +1

Bringing down his hands on the keys with a crash, he
played one of those weird gypsy dances of the Bohemian
musician, which thrill the listener with their wild capriciousness,
and conjure up pictures of a mode of life quite alien
to our prosaic respectability. That strange chord resounds
loudly through the room, and at once we see the wild horses
flying across the illimitable gray plain, the fierce voices of
their gypsy riders pealing up to the sombre sky of midnight.
That rapid medley of sounds, and lo! the fires burn redly
under the trees, while round them bound tawny women with
flashing eyes, tossing their arms and clashing their tambourines
to the wild rhythm of the music. Death on the
cards, love in the stars, and the muttered prophecies of
crouching hags, terrified at the omen of flying bat, of shrieking
night-bird. Another whirl of glittering notes scatter
themselves through the air, crash, crash, crash, chord upon
chord sounds fiercely, with intervals of sparkling chromatic
runs like the falling of broken spray, and then one final
chord, bringing the red of the dawn, the chill winds of morning,
and the uprising of the cheerful sun.

“Wonderful!” cried Mrs. Dengelton, who knew nothing
about music, but admired Dvoräk because he was the fashion,
and not intelligible to the ordinary mind.

“So fantastic,” added Eunice, whose accomplishments did
not soar above the mild singing of a mild drawing-room
ballad, such as “Daddy’s Dancing,” or “Oh, if to thee my
heart is Welcome!”

“Well, for my part,” said the Count, shrugging his shoulders,
“I think your new music is horrible.”

“Ah, it does not appeal to your Hellenic spirit,” replied
Crispin carelessly. “Mephistopheles felt out of place at the
classical Walpurgis Night, so you, my dear Caliphronas, feel
equally at sea among this diablerie of a Northern composer,
so suggestive of the festival on the Bröcken.”

“I don’t know what you are taking about,” said the Count
uneasily, having a vague idea he was being laughed at.

“Of course you don’t,” replied Crispin coolly. “You
have never read ‘Faust,’ either the first or the second
part.”

Caliphronas knew that Crispin did not like him, and, thinking
he wanted to ridicule him in the presence of the ladies,
would have made some angry answer, but that Eunice, quite
unaware of this storm in a teacup, asked him to sing a Greek
song.
.bn 076.png
.pn +1

“Yes, do, dear Count!” said Mrs. Dengelton gushingly.
“I do so love foreign songs! They go to the soul.”

“And the soul—at least the English soul—does not
understand them,” observed Maurice, with a yawn, for he
was growing somewhat tired of this musical discussion.

“If the song is in Italian, French, or German, I can certainly
understand it,” said the lady, with dignity; “but
Greek I can hardly be expected to know.”

“I do not think you would care much for the words if you
did understand modern Greek,” remarked Crispin with a
smile. “The sonorous tongue of Hellas invests the most
commonplace poems with a dignity and a charm which they
would lose if translated. Come, Count, and sing that love-song
you used to be so fond of in Athens.”

“Athens!” repeated the Count, with a significant smile, as
he rose to comply with this request.

“Yes, Athens!” repeated Crispin, with emphasis. “I was
accustomed to play your accompaniment. How does it
go?”

He began playing a simple melody, which, wild though it
was, sounded quite poverty-stricken after the wealth of harmonies
which had so distinguished the music of Dvoräk.
Caliphronas watched the player’s fingers for a little time,
and then began to sing in an uncommonly fine tenor voice,
though of course somewhat rough for want of training.
What he lacked in delicacy, however, he made up in force
and fire; and the wonderful language he sang in also assisted
him greatly, though, as regards the song itself, neither melody
nor words were particularly striking.

.pm start_poem
Daphne, this summer night is full of singing;
I hear my comrades sigh at the windows of those they worship;
The windows are open, but thy lattice is closed.
“Love!” calls the lover to his beloved.
“Love!” answers the beloved with smiling lip.
But from your window you call not “Love!”
Wherefore the night is empty of singing to me:
Lean from your lattice, capricious one,
And I will sing the strain of the nightingale to the rose.
Yes! you have heard me: you open your window,
I can see the silver daggers gleam in your hair;
And you throw me a rose, which sighs “I love thee.”
Ah, you have spoken to the rose, and the message is told.
Good-night, my Daphne, sleep with the sound of my voice in thine ears;
But for me there is no slumber,
For all night will I demand of the rose your message,
And the rose will reply, “I love thee! I love thee!”
.pm end_poem
.bn 077.png
.pn +1

“Thank you so much,” said Eunice, coming over to the
piano. “I do not know what it means, but it sounds wonderfully
charming.”

“It is a love-song.”

“I wish I had a translation of it.”

“I will translate it if you wish, Miss Dengelton,” said
Crispin, by no means relishing the attention which Eunice
was paying to the Greek.

“What! do you know Greek?”

“Modern Greek; yes. I have been in Greece a great
deal.”

“A great deal,” echoed Caliphronas, with an evil smile.

Crispin faced round abruptly, and was about to say something
in an undertone, but, after a moment’s deliberation,
turned slowly away. The Count looked after him with a
smiling face, and then devoted himself to Eunice, who was
by no means averse to receiving his attentions.

Now, Eunice must not be misjudged. It is true that she
felt flattered by the attentions of such a strikingly handsome
man as Caliphronas; but she was not, as Crispin in his
jealousy thought, attracted in any marked degree by this
stranger. In fact, she was playing a little comedy for the
blinding of her lynx-eyed mother; for, afraid lest that lady
should discover that she was secretly engaged to Crispin,
with the instinctive craft of womankind, Eunice pretended
to be more taken up with the Greek than with the poet.
By following this course, she thought her mother’s mind
would be set at rest concerning the rivalry of Crispin with
Maurice. Alas! the plan was a good one, and excellently
well carried out; but such diplomacy met with but an ill
reward, as in avoiding Charybdis she fell into the clutches
of Scylla; for, in place of an angry mother, she had to put
up with an angry lover.

Crispin was puzzled to account for her sudden desertion
of him and this marked attention to Caliphronas, so at once
with masculine stupidity, deemed that the outward graces of
the Count had rendered her false to him. Had Crispin been
fortunate enough to possess a female friend to whom he
could have talked on such a serious matter, his suspicions
would speedily have been lulled to rest; for no one but a
woman can understand a woman, and, as Crispin was of the
masculine gender, he therefore failed to grasp the situation.
Eunice chatted gayly with Caliphronas, smiled on him, sang
songs to him, and quite neglected poor Crispin, who grew
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
towards the end of the night almost as melancholy as
Maurice, in his despair at such unlooked-for behavior on
the part of the girl he loved.

As to Caliphronas, that gentleman, who possessed a considerable
amount of vanity, and an overweening sense of his
own perfections, saw nothing in the conduct of Miss Dengelton
otherwise than what should be. He was so accustomed
to be petted and made much of by women, that it became a
matter of habit with him, and he would have been considerably
astonished had Eunice acted otherwise than she did.
At the same time, he was secretly very pleased at making
an impression in this quarter, as he saw at once from intercepted
glances that the poet was violently enamoured of
this fair English maiden. Caliphronas hated Crispin with
all the strong venomosity of a little soul, and if he could do
him an ill turn would certainly take advantage of the opportunity.
Thinking Eunice had succumbed to his fascinations,
he was quite prepared to take advantage of his conquest,
and deprive the poet of his ewe lamb, the more so as
Crispin’s ill-concealed jealousy added considerably to the
charm of the flirtation. Poor Eunice, who never thought her
motives would be misconstrued by her jealous lover, was
quite astonished when he permitted Caliphronas to present
her with her bedroom candle, and wished her a frosty good-night.
She would have liked to obtain an explanation,
but Mrs. Dengelton was at her heels, so she was obliged
to retire to bed, considerably disconcerted over the strange
behavior of this stupidly-jealous poet.

Caliphronas also went to bed very shortly, as he did not
smoke, and, alleging that it was his custom to retire early
and rise early, went off to his room, leaving Crispin alone
with Maurice. As soon as they were by themselves, Crispin
turned at once to his friend.

“Did you see Eunice to-night?”

Maurice leisurely filled his pipe.

“Yes; I saw her. You are jealous of our friend Caliphronas.”

“Well, I certainly think Eunice gave me good cause to be.
What is the reason of this sudden change?”

Roylands shrugged his shoulders and lighted his pipe.

“I don’t know; unless Francis I. was right,” he said
calmly,—“‘<lang=fr><i>Souvent femme varie</i></lang>.’”
.bn 079.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII. | <sc>ENDYMION.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Oh, goddess wise,
Disdainful of the sultry sun,
Thou waitest till his course is run
Then stealing where Endymion
In slumber lies,
With am’rous sighs
Awake him in that secret nest,
All drowsy with enchanted rest,
To lie upon thy silver breast;
While daylight dies,
In western skies,
And shyly peering one by one,
The stars gaze on that meeting blest.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
For the next week or so life passed very agreeably at the
Grange, and its inmates, becoming habituated to one another’s
society, settled down into a lotus-eating existence,
which, if not a useful one, was at least infinitely charming.
Caliphronas played his part in this country house comedy in
the most admirable manner, and, owing to his good looks, his
good manners, and his good temper, soon established himself
as a universal favorite. This splendid flower of humanity
which had bloomed to such beauty under the serene skies of
the East fascinated Maurice greatly, and he took a genuine
pleasure in modelling the Endymion from the Count; though
at times, in spite of his artistic capabilities, he almost despaired
of being able to mould the soft clay into a perfect
representation of this virile perfection. At the same time
the intercourse between the sculptor and his model was very
pleasant, as Caliphronas was a most delightful companion,
and told stories of his adventures in a manner worthy of
Ulysses or Munchausen. Yet, though he seemed to grow
quite confidential over his past life, he nevertheless withheld
many episodes which might have prejudiced his host against
him. Maurice, who was simple in many ways, despite his
ten years’ experience of Bohemia, thought Caliphronas was
laying bare his whole soul, whereas the wily Greek only revealed
the best side of that very complex article. This setting
forth of his moral excellences was of course in keeping
with the impression he was anxious to produce, and he thus
made himself very agreeable to Maurice, who took the Count
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
for what he represented himself to be, not for what he
really was.

Caliphronas was an excellent conversationalist, and during
the sittings beguiled the time with many stories of his
countrymen, and not infrequently of his countrywomen, for
this Apollo had achieved many conquests in the fields of
Venus, and seemed very proud of his prowess during some
charming campaigns. Probably most of his stories were exaggerations,
and at times even simple Maurice doubted their
truth, but so gracefully were these lies told that they sounded
as delightful as the tales of Boccaccio. The Count, with
considerable imaginative power, supplied to his host a charming
history of himself and his early life, which was more or
less fictitious; but, of course, his listener never dreamed
that a man could string together such a quantity of consistent
lies, and therefore believed those romances worthy of
Dumas the Elder. Maurice was no fool, but his own nature
was so simple and honorable, that he thought every one else
was like himself, and at the worst only deemed that these
histories were perhaps highly colored, but true in the main.

Meanwhile, Eunice had demanded at the most convenient
opportunity an explanation from Crispin, regarding his inexplicable
behavior on that first night of the Greek’s visit,
and had received one which considerably startled her, as it
plainly showed that Crispin was disposed to be jealous. This
rather pleased Eunice, as no woman cares about a meek lover,
and the more jealousy a man displays, the more his beloved
feels complimented at the power she exercises over his
affections. However, the situation between her and Crispin
being somewhat strained, Eunice, deeming honesty to be the
best policy, confessed all about her little scheme of misleading
Mrs. Dengelton regarding the true position of affairs.
On learning the truth, Crispin felt very much ashamed of his
groundless suspicions, and apologized profusely for having
doubted his intended, whereat, being satisfied with this humbling
of the proud, she took him into favor again, so the
course of true love once more ran smooth.

Notwithstanding the unpleasantness of such a thing,
Crispin rather approved of Eunice treating him with coldness
in the presence of Mrs. Dengelton, as it would probably
lull the suspicions of that lady, but he was not so sure about
his intended accepting the very pointed attentions of Caliphronas.
Crispin knew the Greek thoroughly. Eunice was
absolutely ignorant of his real character; but as, owing to
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
his being behind the scenes, he could make Caliphronas to a
certain extent do what he desired, he hinted very plainly to
this Hellenic Don Juan that his attentions were unwelcome
to Miss Dengelton, and that he was to give up the <lang=fr><i>rôle</i></lang> he
had elected to play. At first the Count was disposed to
rebel against this fiat, which put an end to a very pleasant
flirtation, but as he really did not care about Eunice, and
moreover Crispin was too dangerous to be provoked lightly,
he made a virtue of necessity, and ceased to overwhelm the
shy English girl with his florid compliments. At the same
time he promised himself to be revenged on Crispin at the
first opportunity, and Crispin, knowing this, could not help
feeling a trifle uneasy, for it was a difficult matter to fight
with an absolutely unscrupulous scoundrel like the Count,
whose laws were neither those of God nor man, but of his
own making. However, Crispin’s knowledge of his errand
to Roylands proved an effective weapon, and he was satisfied
that the Greek would do nothing to jeopardize the success
of his mission, even though his vanity demanded some
revenge for being thus slighted.

Of course, Mrs. Dengelton still contemplated a match
between her daughter and nephew, but Maurice evaded her
hints with great dexterity, yet at the same time, to protect
Crispin from a less complaisant rival, made such pointed
remarks about the necessity of marriage as led Mrs. Dengelton
to believe that he seriously contemplated entering into
the matrimonial state. Never was the good lady so puzzled
in her life, for she could not make up her mind as to what
Maurice really meant, with his blowing hot one day and cold
the next, but, being a great believer in the efficacy of time,
deemed it the wisest plan to wait the development of events,
and in order to watch the same kept her beady eyes wide
open. Owing to the neglectful manner in which Eunice had
lately treated Crispin, she apprehended no danger from that
quarter, and, as Maurice was very attentive to his cousin,
the Hon. Mrs. Dengelton felt sure that in the end she would
obtain her heart’s desire, and install Eunice as mistress of
Roylands Grange.

The Rector sometimes came over to the Grange, and was
friendly with every one saving Caliphronas, as for some inexplicable
reason he professed to heartily dislike that brilliant
gentleman. It was certainly a kind of Dr. Fell-ish aversion,
of which Mr. Carriston felt rather ashamed, as he could give
no plausible reason for such distrust. In reply to a question
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
of Maurice’s he simply said that, much as he admired the
physical beauty of the Greek, he was by no means sure that
his soul corresponded to the perfection of the body. Indeed,
on one occasion, while Mrs. Dengelton was eulogizing the
charms of Caliphronas from a feminine point of view, the
Rector pointedly quoted that line from the <cite>Odyssey</cite> which
says,—“Faultlessly fair bodies are not always the temples
of a godlike soul;” but as this remark was made in Homeric
Greek, the significance of it was lost upon the lady. It may
be that some subtle instinct warned him against this man,
whose evil nature was concealed under the semblance of
good; but at all events the Rector was always on his guard
against the Count, and delicately warned Maurice against
trusting him too far. Evidently Mr. Carriston had studied
the character of Ulysses to no small purpose, and found in
Caliphronas a reproduction, body, brain, and soul, of the most
crafty of the Greeks.

Regarding the outward appearance of Caliphronas, the
Rector was too deeply steeped in the serene literature of
Hellas to be unimpressed with the physical splendor of the
man. Making allowances for the subduing influence of
modern clothing, which detracts from the most perfect
beauty either in man or woman, Mr. Carriston at times, seeing
Caliphronas in the dazzling sunlight, thought he beheld,
as in a vision, the phantom of some joyous Hellenic divinity
untouched by sorrow or care. This man, gifted with exceptional
beauty, might have been Hylas, Hyacinth, or Theoxenos,
and strayed by chance from some unknown Arcadian
vale into the rush and turmoil of the modern world, with its
worship of money and position, so alien to the adoration of
Beauty and Genius which formed the cult of antique Hellas.
In truth, Caliphronas was out of place in England;—our
gray rainy skies, smoky air, stifling cities, and domesticated
Nature, formed but a dark background for this strongly
vitalized being, tingling from head to foot with the healthfulness
of wild life. He should have dwelt in the burning
south, beside the tideless ripples of serene seas, under the
cloudless blue of Attic skies, with the silver-gray olives, the
shining temples of the gods, and headland, mountain peak,
and island melting into phantom forms of aërial grace far
beyond the expanse of the laughing ocean. He was an
anachronism in this nineteenth century, the physical survivor
of Hellas as Keats was the mental survivor—one had the
body of Alcibiades, the other the brain of Theocritus, and
both were equally alien to the modern world.
.bn 083.png
.pn +1

Well was it for the Rector that he could see only the splendid
casket, and not the soul contained therein, for, in spite of
his instinctive distrust, the fancy he had that this Count was
not to be trusted fell far below the actual moral degradation
of the man. Caliphronas was as vain as a peacock, absolutely
ignorant of the morality of right or wrong, lazy in every
way save what touched his own desires, and crafty as a
fox. Crispin could have pointed out to the Rector all these
flaws, but Crispin had promised to hold his peace so long as
Caliphronas abstained from actual harm; therefore he remained
quiescent, and only reminded the Greek now and
then that there was a watchful eye on his doings.

Maurice believed in the Greek, the Rector doubted him,
and Crispin knew his worthlessness thoroughly, so among
the three of them the character of Caliphronas was pretty
well analyzed. From Maurice, the steady, respectable Englishman,
with occasional lapses of artistic wildness, to Caliphronas,
the brilliant cosmopolitan adventurer, was a long
step. Crispin stood midway between the two, as he had a
certain amount of British phlegmatism, with at times those
wild impulses which come from a wandering life and an
intellectual nature. Still, he could control his spontaneity,
while Caliphronas, obeying his own undisciplined mind, did
whatever came into his head; yet, if any one was scandalized
by such unconventionality, he would at once obtain forgiveness
by the graceful way in which he apologized.

“It is impossible to be angry with you,” said Maurice to
him one day, when the Count had been guilty of some ridiculous
escapade, “and yet you deserve to be sharply spoken to.
But you are a child in many ways, and we cannot be angry
with a child.”

“There you are right, my dear Mr. Maurice,” replied
Caliphronas, smiling. “I am a child, but that is as much as
to say, I am a Greek. You remember what the Egyptian
priest said to Solon,—‘You Greeks are always children.’
Therefore, if I am a child, and act impulsively like a child,
blame my nationality, not myself.”

“I expect you could be a very bad child if you wanted
to!” said Crispin, overhearing this defence.

Caliphronas darted a spiteful look at the speaker.

“Very likely,” he replied in a meaning tone; “but those
who dread stings should not disturb the wasps’ nest.”

There was a distinct menace in his tone, but Crispin felt
too confident of having the upper hand to take much notice
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
of this venom, and merely laughed, much to the wrath of the
Greek. However, as the time was not yet ripe for action,
he restrained his anger, and behaved so amiably to Crispin
that it was only the knowledge the poet possessed of his true
character that made him mistrust the suave smiles and kindly
actions of this Greek Machiavelli.

Caliphronas was an amphibious creature, and lived quite
as much in the water as on the shore. Whenever he had the
time to spare, he went off to Brasdimir for a dip in the sea,
and would plunge and wallow in the water like a dolphin.
Fortunately that summer at Roylands was unusually hot,
and what with the cloudless skies, the burning sun, and the
delicate emerald tints of foliage, grass, and herb, Caliphronas
might well have imagined that he was still in his beloved
Greece, bathing off some pebbly beach of the Ægean.

Brasdimir was a somewhat peculiar place, and was in
reality an arm of the sea (<lang=fr><i>bras de mer</i></lang>) which ran up like a
long tongue into the land, where it met the waters of the
Roy river. In olden times, Roylands, which was its Norman-French
name, had been the property of the crown, and had
been used by the Plantagenets for their favorite pastime of
hunting. Henry II. bestowed it on one of his barons who was
strongly suspected of being a son of the king, but who on
receiving this royal gift dropped his former name of Fitzroy
and took that of Roylands. It was certainly a splendid property,
and through all the turbulence of succeeding reigns
the descendants of the first Roylands had succeeded in keeping
their hold on these rich acres; so it was very little diminished
in size from the time of its bestowal on Fitzroy.
Brasdimir, which was a kind of estuary, ran about half a
mile up into the estate, and into it flowed the little river
Roy, which was a placid stream of no great beauty. All
round Brasdimir lay fat meadows containing some of the
finest land in the country, and clumps of beech and elm and
oak, remnants of the old hunting-forest of Plantagenet kings,
dotted their broad expanse of daisied sward.

Near the upper part of Brasdimir, where it met the waters
of the Roy and blended salt with fresh, stood a quincunx of
noble oaks which grew close to the bank. From thence the
smooth turf of the meadow sloped down to the turbulent
waters, and it was here that Caliphronas came to bathe, not
only every morning, but often three times a day. Being in
the middle of the estate, Brasdimir was far away from all
human habitation, and might have been the navel of some
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
great wilderness, so lonely it was. The Greek loved this
blending of fresh and salt water, as the softness of the one
assuaged the harshness of the other, and under the hot sun
would frequently cool himself in this unique pool, which was
neither river nor stream, but a mixture of both.

Very often Crispin and Maurice would come with him for
a morning dip just before sunrise, and then walk back to the
Grange with a tremendous appetite for breakfast.

One morning they set out for their usual walk, just as the
east was flushing redly with the dawn, and the chill morning
air nipped them keenly as they strolled along in the direction
of Brasdimir. That is to say, the poet and the sculptor
strolled, for Caliphronas simply danced along, as if to rid
himself of his superabundant energy. Across the dewy
meadows he bounded fawn-like, singing as gayly as the lark
already saluting the sun in the fresh blue sky. Like some
wild being of the woods, he leaped here and there from very
light-heartedness, with his head bare and his arms tossing in
the air. A number of horses pasturing in the field rushed
away at his approach, nor, though he called them loudly,
did they pause in their wild career.

“What a child he is!” said Maurice, watching the graceful
figure of the Greek bounding lightly towards the water.

“Yes, a nice child truly,” sneered Crispin, with strong
disfavor.

“You don’t seem to like Caliphronas?”

“Well, no, I cannot say I do. As an acquaintance he is
all very well, but as a friend”—Here Crispin shrugged his
shoulders in lieu of words.

“I suppose all he says about himself is true?”

“I suppose so,” replied the poet curtly.

“Do you think he will stay long down here? I hope he
will not go away before I finish modelling my Endymion.”

“I think you can safely depend on his staying till then,”
rejoined Crispin significantly, and the conversation ended—a
conversation which left an odd feeling of discomfort in the
mind of Maurice, which—why he could not tell—seemed to
revive his old distrust of this fascinating Greek. He would
have questioned Crispin further, but as they were now on the
edge of the bank, and Caliphronas was within hearing, he
had no opportunity of so doing, therefore put off such examination
till a more convenient season.

Caliphronas was already in the water, swimming like a
fish, and indeed he was as much at home there as on the land.
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
The two gentlemen undressed leisurely on the bank, Maurice
making fun of the Greek as he revelled in his favorite
element.

“You had better beware, Caliphronas, as the nymphs
might take a fancy to you as they did to Hylas.”

“River nymphs, sea nymphs, I do not mind in the least!”
cried the Greek gayly; “ladies are always charming, whether
they have tails or limbs.”

At this moment he reached the opposite bank and climbed
on the fallen trunk of a tree. As he stood there with his
arms raised above his head, the first yellow ray of the sun
flashed on his white body and enveloped him in glory, as
though he were indeed a stray Olympian. Then, with a
shout of glee, he shot downward like an arrow, cleaving the
blue water with a dash of snowy spray, which sprang upwards
glittering like diamonds in the yellow sunlight. By
this time Maurice and his friend were also enjoying their
bath in the cool element, and the three rollicked about like
schoolboys. Crispin swam down the estuary in the direction
of the sea with Maurice, and soon the surface of the water
roughened by the wind began to dash salt spray in their
faces. Caliphronas stayed where he was, amusing himself
with fancy strokes, but after a time he became tired, and
when the others came back, breathless with their long swim,
they found the Count standing on the bank drying himself.

As they also were tired, they also sought the bank, but at
this moment one of the horses, a powerful black one, came
timidly near them. Caliphronas, with that wonderful power
he had over all animals, advanced, nude as he was, up the
bank, and called to the horse in a coaxing tone. The animal
let him get quite close to it and lay his hand on the mane,
when with a sudden spring the Greek leaped on its back,
and the horse, startled by the action and by his shout, galloped
away at full speed. Round and round the meadow
went horse and man, forming so striking a sight that Maurice
and Crispin paused in their dressing to look at it. As the
horse at full gallop came sweeping past, with Caliphronas
laughing and holding on by the mane, Maurice involuntarily
thought of the frieze of the Parthenon, where nude youths
ride fiery steeds in a long serene procession of marble figures.
The Greek rode like a Red Indian, with the most consummate
ease, and as the horse for the third time darted past
the quincunx of oaks, he dropped lightly off, by some trick
known only to himself, and the steed galloped wildly away,
while the Greek came back laughing to his friends.
.bn 087.png
.pn +1

“What a child you are, Caliphronas!” said Maurice in a
vexed tone; “riding a bare-backed steed in that reckless
manner. You might have broken your neck.”

“Small loss if he had,” muttered Crispin under his breath.

“Oh, I can stick on anything,” answered Caliphronas carelessly,
taking no notice of Crispin’s remark, which his keen
ears immediately heard; “besides, that gallop has done me
good. See, I am quite dry.”

When they were dressed, the three of them walked quickly
back to breakfast, for the morning air had developed their
appetites enormously. Mrs. Dengelton and Eunice awaited
them on the terrace, and they were soon seated round the
well-spread table. Caliphronas, touching neither coffee nor
tea, drank water only, and confined his eating to bread,
honey, and eggs. His were the tastes of primeval man, and
he strongly disliked elaborate dishes which were pleasing to
the cultured palates of his more civilized neighbors.

“I do not know how you can eat such things,” he said in
some disgust, as Eunice took some curry. “Does it not
make you ill?”

“Not in the least, Count,” she replied, laughing. “It is a
very depraved taste, I suppose, but I am very fond of curry.”

“And tea—hot tea,” retorted Caliphronas quickly. “I
have heard it said that tea is bad for the nerves. Ladies
always complain of nerves, yet they drink tea.”

“I could not do without my tea,” said Mrs. Dengelton,
who was given to surreptitious cups of tea at odd hours of
the day, “and yet I have nerves. Oh, those dreadful nerves!
You don’t know what it is to be so afflicted, Count.”

“No, I do not. I never had an illness in my life, but then
that is because I live a natural life, whereas all you highly
civilized people live an artificial existence. If you gave up
your highly-spiced dishes, your strong wines, your late hours,
your breathing of poisonous air, you would be as healthy as
I am.”

“Well, you can hardly call the air of Roylands poisonous,”
said Maurice indolently.

“No, the air here is delightful because you live near the
sea. I could not dwell inland myself. I would die. I must
breathe the sea air, see the wide waste of waters, hear the
thunder of waves on the beach. That is the only life for a
healthy man.”

“You could not live in London, I suppose,” said Mrs.
Dengelton, frowning on Eunice, who was talking in a quiet
tone to Crispin.
.bn 088.png
.pn +1

“London!” cried the Count, with scorn. “I would as
soon live at the bottom of the sea. Indeed, I believe it
would be healthier there. London, that crushed-up mass of
houses inhabited by pale-faced people—I wonder they can
exist. Oh, I saw and heard a good deal of London when I
was there. Your people in the East End never leave those
narrow streets from one year to the other. They know nothing
of sunrise or sunset, for they only see those marvels
through a smoky veil. They cannot tell a bird by its song—they
know nothing of animals or their habits. Of the
wonderful life of Nature which is born and lives and dies in
the woods, in the seas, in the mountains, they are ignorant.
They are born blind, they live blind, they die blind, and call
such blindness life.”

“But what about the people in the West End?” asked
Mrs. Dengelton, with the air of making a crushing remark.

“They are scarcely better,” retorted Caliphronas promptly;
“they sit half the night in theatres breathing hot air, they
go to balls where there is such a crowd of people that no one
can dance, they walk for an hour in the Park and call it
exercise, they poison themselves at the clubs with cigarettes,
and in the boudoirs with tea—and all this feverish, unreal
life is called ‘the season.’ When they go abroad it is to
Monte Carlo and those sorts of places, where they lead the
same life on a smaller scale. No, the West End is no better
than the East End!”

“But you forget,” said Crispin, more from a desire to contradict
the Count than because he disagreed with him,
“plenty of people go mountaineering, game-shooting, yachting,
exploring.”

“I know all that, my dear friend, but the number of
people who do those things is very small. I am talking of
the great mass of the English people, and as far as I can see,
whether they are rich or poor, the life they lead is in both
cases equally opposed to health and enjoyment.”

“Here endeth the first reading,” said Maurice, rising from
the table, his example being followed by all his guests.
“Caliphronas, you are quite eloquent on the subject.”

“Yes! I am not usually so eloquent,” replied the Count,
going out on to the terrace, “but on all sides I hear from
your people complaints of being ill. Well, the remedy is in
their own hands. Why don’t they use it?”

“My good sir,” remarked Crispin, who had lighted a cigarette,
“you cannot overturn the whole complex civilization
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
of the West in that manner. Man can no more go back to
the simplicity of the existence you eulogize, than you could
settle down to a fashionable life in London and enjoy it.”

“Well, you at least can be cured easily,” said the Count,
with emphasis, for, as they were now beyond earshot of the
rest of the party, he could talk freely; “you all your life have
lived the life of a natural man, but now you smoke that horrible
tobacco, drink all kinds of wines, eat all kinds of dishes,
and will soon become as artificial as those people around you.”

“Perhaps I will come back to the primeval existence you
praise.”

“With that young lady, I suppose?”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, she is very charming! She is”—

“Thank you, I don’t want to hear your opinion of Miss
Dengelton,” said Crispin haughtily; “your primeval simplicity
at times verges on rudeness. How long are you
going to stay here?”

“I can’t tell you that; but I am going to take my first
step to-day.”

“In order to get Roylands to Melnos?”

“Yes. Oh, I have a lure, my friend. Yes; I have described
the fairyland of the islands, and that it is fairyland
you must admit. He is even now seized with a desire of
going there, so to-day I will get him to make up his mind to
go to the Levant with me.”

“How?”

“I will show him this.”

Crispin looked at the portrait the Count held out, which
was that of a marvellously beautiful woman in a Greek
dress.

“Helena!” cried the poet, recognizing the face. “When
did she get this taken? Has she been to Athens?”

“No. I took it myself. Oh, I am not absolutely the barbarian
you think me. I have gone in for photography.
Yes; this is one of my best efforts.”

“And do you think that face will lure Maurice to the
East?”

“It ought to,” said Caliphronas, gazing at the picture with
a burning light in his eyes; “she is as lovely as her namesake
of Troy, and I love her, oh, how I love her!”

“Is it wise, do you think, to introduce a possible rival?”

“That does not matter to me,” replied the Count, slipping
the picture into his pocket. “I have Justinian’s promise.”
.bn 090.png
.pn +1

“Yes, but you have not got Helena’s.”

“Oh, she won’t refuse to marry me.”

“For the sake of her happiness, I hope she will.”

“You are very complimentary,” retorted the Greek ironically,
turning away. “Well, I must leave your delightful
society, my friend. It is time for me to go to the studio.”

“Wait a minute! I have not thwarted your plans, because,
as far as I can see, they are innocent, but if you induce
Maurice to go to the Levant”—

“Well?” demanded Caliphronas insolently.

“I will go also.”

“And your reason?”

“A very simple one. I do not trust the scamp called
Andros.”

“Better known, at least in England, as Constantine Caliphronas,”
replied the Count coolly. “Well, come if you like,
to watch over your precious friend. I do not wish him
harm, but he, and you also, had better beware of Justinian.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX. | <sc>THE PORTRAIT.</sc>

.pm start_poem
        Dreary life,
        Aching fears,
        Endless strife,
        Bitter tears,
Lo, a lovely face I see,
Changing all the world to me.

        Love’s delight,
        Beauty’s face,
        Smilings bright,
        Woman’s grace,
Thus beholding these in thee,
Thou hast changed the world to me.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The studio which Maurice had fitted up for himself at the
Grange was a very workmanlike apartment, as it was quite
barren of the artistic frippery with which painters love to
decorate their rooms. Sculpture is a much more virile art
than painting, and, scorning frivolous adornments of all kinds,
the artist of the chisel devotes himself to the severest and
highest forms of beauty, so that, he finds quite enough loveliness
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
in his coldly perfect marble figures, without furnishing
his studio like a Wardour Street toy-shop. Of course, he
who works in colors loves to gaze on colors; and therefore
a fantastic Eastern carpet, a quaint figured tapestry, a gold-broidered
curtain of Indian silk, a yellow shield of antique
workmanship, a porous red jar from Egypt, and such like
brilliances, are pleasing to the artistic eye, and the constant
sight of their blended hues keeps the sense of color, so to
speak, up to the mark. The sculptor, however, has but one
color, white, which is not a color; and the less luxurious his
studio, the more likely is he to concentrate his attention on
the statue growing to perfection under his busy chisel.

These sentiments, which would seem to narrow down a
sculptor to the severest and least graceful form of art, were
uttered by Crispin in approval of that bare barn attached
to the Grange which Maurice called his studio. But then
Crispin knew nothing about art, and a painter or a sculptor
reading the above views of their profession will probably
laugh to scorn such fanciful notions. Yet it is true that the
sculptor by his art is shut off from the world of color, unless,
like the old Greeks,—according to some critics,—he tints
his statues, and thereby turns them into wax figures. But
doubtless those Hellenic sculptors who wrought nude gods
and draped goddesses from the marbles of Paros and Pentelicus,
did not fail to notice how the background of the blue
Attic sky enhanced the beauty of their creations, and therefore
must have concluded that the world of color, to which
they were strangers, could accentuate the fairness and beauty
of their statues. Again these are the artistic sentiments of
Crispin the poet, delivered to Maurice with much daring,
seeing the speaker was ignorant of the world of art, and but
promulgated his ideas in a purely poetical fashion. But
Crispin’s crude view of art and artists may doubtless fail to
interest many people; therefore, to come back in a circle
to the starting-point of the disquisition, Maurice’s studio was
a very workmanlike apartment.

The floor consisted merely of bare boards, although at one
end, in front of the fireplace, there was an oasis of carpet,
on which rested a table for pipes and tobacco, together with
two comfortable arm-chairs. Scattered here and there were
statues finished and unfinished, some completed in marble,
others incomplete in clay. Maurice had gratified his artistic
desires for the perfection of sculpture by surrounding
himself with copies in marble of some famous statues, for
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
now, as he was wealthy, he could afford to do so. Here
danced the Faun with his grotesque visage and lissome pose;
there smiled Hebe, holding her cup for the banquet of the
gods; Bacchus with his crown of vine-leaves gazed serenely
on the sad face of the draped Ariadne in the distance;
Apollo watched the lizard crawling up the tree-trunk; and
Hermes, with winged feet, poised himself on his pedestal as
if for flight. The whole studio was filled with the fair and
gracious forms of Greek art, and no wonder at times Maurice
despaired of producing anything worth looking at beside
these immortal productions of the Hellenic brain and hands.
The great necessity now is, not to know what one can do,
but what one cannot do; and if these complacent artists,
poets, sculptors, novelists, only abode by this rule, the world
would be spared the perpetration of many an atrocity in
marble, verse, or on canvas, which the conceited creators
think perfection. Maurice Roylands had a pretty taste for
chipping marble, but he was by no means a genius, and his
statues, while perfectly wrought in accordance with the
canons of art, yet lacked that soul which only the true sculptor
can give to his creations. It was a fortunate thing for
him that he was a rich man, for assuredly he would never
have become a great sculptor. His ideas were excellent, but
he could not carry them out in accordance with the figment
of his brain, as he lacked the divine spark of genius which
alone can fully accomplish what it conceives.

At present, clad in a blouse, he was standing in front of a
mass of wet clay, manipulating the soft material with dexterous
fingers into a semblance of the fanciful Endymion
of his brain and the real Endymion of Caliphronas. That
gentleman was posed on the model’s platform in the distance,
and was beguiling the time by incessant chattering of this,
that, and the other thing.

The artist had based his conception of this statue of Endymion
on these lines of Keats, poet laureate to Dian herself,—

.pm start_poem
“What is there in the Moon that thou shouldst move
My heart so potently?”
.pm end_poem

He intended to represent the shepherd sitting on Latmos
top, chin on hand, gazing at the moon with dreamy eyes, his
mortal heart thrilling at the thought that he would see the
inviolate Artemis incarnate in the flesh. In accordance with
the Greek ideas of nudity, Maurice did not drape his statue;
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
but the shepherd sat on his chlamys, which was lightly
thrown over a rock, while beside him lay scrip, and flask,
and pastoral crook. Caliphronas was seated thus,—with his
elbow resting on his knee and his chin on his hand, gazing
presumably at the moon, in reality at Maurice, while the
other hand lightly hung down by his side, and his right leg
was drawn back so that the foot bent in a delicate curve
calculated to show its full beauty. This pose showed all the
perfect lines of his figure, and with his nude body, his clean-shaven
face, and dreaming eyes, he looked the veritable Endymion
who was waiting the descent of the goddess from high
Olympus. Though it was a warm day, a fire burned in the
grate, for the Greek was very susceptible to cold, and after
working for some time Maurice was fain to rest, so great
was the heat; whereupon Caliphronas flung himself back on
the chlamys, placed his hands behind his head, and began to
talk.

“Will you be long at your work to-day, Mr. Maurice?”
he asked with a yawn.

“No, not if you are tired,” replied Roylands, throwing a
cloak over the Count. “You had better wrap yourself up,
or you will catch cold. If you don’t care to sit any more
to-day, we can leave off now.”

“Well, I have some letters to write, but I will wait
another half-hour.”

“All right!”

Maurice lighted his favorite pipe and established himself
in a comfortable chair, upon which the Count, finding the
rock of Endymion somewhat hard, forsook the platform, and,
wrapping the cloak closely round him, sat down opposite the
sculptor.

“I wonder you don’t smoke, Caliphronas,” said Maurice,
idly watching the Greek with half-closed eyes. “You will
find it an excellent way of passing the time.”

“Of killing time, I suppose you mean; but I have no need
to do that. At least, not when I am at home in Greece.
Here, yes, it is rather difficult to get through the day
comfortably; if it were not for these sittings, I really do not
know what I would do with myself.”

“I am afraid I will never be able to carry out my conception
of Endymion,” said Maurice, paying no attention to this
remark.

Caliphronas shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, your work is very good,” he said politely, “very
good indeed; but of course it is not perfect.”
.bn 094.png
.pn +1

“I know that, but practice makes perfect.”

“Not in the world of art. You may learn to paint in
strict accordance with the rules of art. You may sculpture
to the inch every portion of the human body, but that is only
the outward semblance of the picture or the statue. The
great thing which makes a great work is the soul.”

“Quite true. And you think I cannot create the soul of
my statues?” said Maurice, rather nettled at the outspoken
criticism.

“I say nothing, my friend. I know but little of art, so it
would be an impertinence of me to talk about that of which
I am ignorant.”

“The longer we live the less we discover we know,” said
Roylands sententiously.

“I suppose that is true,” replied Caliphronas indolently;
“but, thank heaven, I have not the soul of an artist, for it
seems to cause its owner perpetual anxiety. No; I live
healthy, joyous, and free, like the other animals of Nature,
and I am quite satisfied.”

“Is that not rather ignoble?”

“Perhaps; but that is nothing to me. I am happy, which
is, to my mind, the main aim of life. Why should I slave
for money? I do not wish it. Why should I toil for years
at art, and gain at the end but ephemeral fame? Besides,
when one dies, what good does fame do? A large marble
tomb would not please me.”

“Still, the fame of being spoken of by succeeding generations.”

“Who would do nothing but wrangle over their different
opinions regarding one’s work. Present happiness is what
I wish, not future praise; but in this narrow island of yours
you cannot understand the joy of life. Come with me to the
isles of Greece, and you will be so fascinated with the free,
wild life that you will never return to your prison-house.”

“If all men thought like you, the world would not progress.”

“I don’t want all men to think the same as I do,” replied
the Count selfishly. “I suppose there must be slaves as
well as freemen. I prefer to be the last.”

“Slaves!”

“Yes. I do not mean the genuine article, but all men are
slaves more or less, if they don’t follow my mode of life.
Slaves to gain, slaves to art, slaves to conventionality, slaves
to everything; and what do they gain by such slavery?
Nothing but what I do—a tomb—annihilation.”
.bn 095.png
.pn +1

“Well, you are a slave to your passions.”

“You mean I obey my impulses. Well, I do; but it is a
very pleasant kind of slavery.”

“And you believe in that horrible theory of annihilation?”

“Well, I don’t know what I believe. I trouble myself in
no-wise about the hereafter. I am alive, I am strong, I am
happy. The sun is bright, the winds are inspiriting,—I
draw delight from mountain and plain,—so why should
I trouble myself about what I know nothing? The present is
just enough for me. Let the future take care of itself.”

“A selfish philosophy.”

“A very enjoyable one. Come with me to the East, and
you will adopt my creed. Are you happy here?”

“No.”

“I can see that. You are melancholy at times, you are
devoured with spleen, you find the life you lead too dreary
for your soul. If you let me be your physician, I will cure
you.”

“And how?”

“By a very simple means. I will make you lead the same
life as I do myself,—open-air life,—and in a few months
you will find these nightmares of the soul completely disappear.
No prisoner can be happy; and as you are a prisoner
in this dungeon of conventionality, and are swathed in the
mummy cloths of civilization, you cannot hope to be happy
unless you go out into the wilderness.”

“The life you describe is purely an animal one. What
about the intellect?”

“Intellect! pshaw! I know more about Nature than half
your scientific idiots with their books.”

“What an inconsistent being you are, Caliphronas!” said
Maurice in an amused tone. “You say you love art, admire
pictures, adore statues; yet, if every man followed the life
you eulogize, such things would not be in existence.”

“I tell you, I don’t want all the world to follow my example.
I would be very sorry to lose all these delights of
the senses, so I am glad there are men sufficiently self-denying
to slave at such things for my delight; but as regards
myself, I desire to live as a natural man—an animal, as you
say. It is ignoble—yes; but it is pleasant.”

This speech somewhat opened the eyes of Maurice to the
kind of soul which was enshrined in the splendid body of
this man; and he saw plainly that the sensual part of Caliphronas
had completely conquered the spiritual. But with
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
what result?—that this ignoble being was happy. What an
ironical comment of Fate on the strivings of great beings to
subordinate the senses to the soul. The soul agitated by a
thousand fears, the brain striving ever after the impossible—what
do these give their possessor, but a feeling of unrest,
of unsatisfied hunger; whereas the body, untortured by an
inquiring spirit, brought contentment, happiness—ignoble
though they were—to the animal man.

By this time, Caliphronas, having made up his mind to sit
no more that day, was slowly dressing himself, singing a
Greek song in his usual gay manner.

.pm start_poem
“Three girls crossed my path in the twilight;
One did I love, but the others were nothing to me:
She frowned at my greeting, but her friends smiled sweetly,
Yet was she the loveliest of them all,
And I loved her frown more than their smiles inviting.”
.pm end_poem

“How happy you are, Caliphronas!”

“Thoroughly. I have not a care in the world. Come with
me to the Island of Fantasy, and you also will be happy.”

“The Island of Fantasy!”

“Yes; that is what Justinian calls it.”

“Who is Justinian? anything to do with the Pandects?”

“Pandects?” reiterated Caliphronas, puzzled by the word.

“Yes. Is he a ruler—a law-giver?”

“Oh yes; he is the king of the Island of Fantasy.”

“Which, I presume, exists only in your brain,” said Roylands
jestingly.

“Pardon me, no,” replied the Count seriously, resuming
his seat. “The Island of Fantasy, or, to call it by its real
name, Melnos, does exist in the Ægean Sea. It is a but little
known island, and Justinian, who is my very good friend,
rules over it as a kind of Homeric king. Ulysses was just
such another; and there you will find the calm, patriarchal
life of those antique times, which you of the modern world
think has vanished forever. My friend, the Golden Age
still exists in Melnos, and if you come with me, you will
dwell in Arcady.”

“My dear Count,” said Maurice, much impressed by the
fluency of the man’s speech, “I have never yet heard a foreigner
speak our tongue with such ease as you do. Where
did you learn such fluency—such a good accent?”

“Ah, I will tell you that when we arrive at Melnos.”

“You are almost as much a riddle as is Crispin,” said
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
Maurice, chafing at this secrecy, which seemed to be so
senseless.

“Doubtless; but if you are curious to know about us both,
come to the Ægean with me.”

“About you both?” repeated the Englishman: “why, do
you know anything of Crispin?”

Caliphronas knew a good deal about Crispin, but he was
too wise to say that he did. Silence regarding the past on
his part was the only way to secure silence on the part of
Crispin; and much as Caliphronas, in his enmity to the
poet, would have liked to reveal what Crispin desired to be
kept secret, he had too much at stake to risk such a gratification
of his spite, and therefore passed off the question
with a laugh.

“Know anything about Creespeen?” he reiterated, smiling.
“I’m afraid I know nothing more than you do. I met
him at Athens, truly, but we were but acquaintances, so I never
made any inquiries about him. He was as much a riddle
there as here. Oh yes, I heard all the romances about him
in London; and no doubt one story is as true as another.
The reason I made such a remark as I did, was that, as
Crispin says himself, he came from the East like a wise man
of to-day; you will probably learn his past history in those
parts.”

“And as to yourself?”

“Eh! I have told you all my past life, with the exception
of Melnos, and that I did not think worth while relating.
But it is a charming place, I assure you; and if you come
with me, I am sure you will find a community under the rule
of Justinian, which is quite foreign to this century.”

“I have a good mind to accept your offer,” said Maurice
musingly; “there is nothing to keep me in England, and a
glimpse of new lands would do me good. Besides, Count,
one does not get such an excellent guide as you every day.”

“Oh, I know every island in the Ægean,” replied Caliphronas,
smiling his thanks for the compliment. “I have
sailed all over the Archipelago, and am quite a sailor in a
small way. Lesbos, Cythera, Samos, Rhodes,—I know
them all intimately; so if you are fond of ruins, and the
remains of old Greece, I can show you plenty, tell you the
legends, arrange about the inns, and, in fact, act as a dragoman;
but, of course, without his greed for money.”

“It seems worth considering.”

“It will be a visit to paradise,” cried Caliphronas enthusiastically,
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
springing to his feet. “Here you do not know the
true meaning of the word beauty. Only under the blue sky,
above the blue waves of the Ægean, is it to be seen. Aphrodite
arose from those waters, and she was but an incarnation
of the beauty which meets the eye on all sides. You have
been my host in England. I will be your host in Greece,
and will entertain you in my ruined abode,—misnamed a
<pm corr 104.8 palace. palace,>—which is all that remains to me of my forefathers.
Together we will sail over those laughing waters, and see the
sun-kissed islands bloom on the wave. Paradise! It is the
Elysian fields of foam where rest the spirits of wearied
mariners. What says the song of the Greek sailors?

.pm start_poem
‘I will die! but the earth will not hold me in her breast,
For the blue sea will clasp me in its arms.
I will die! but let my soul not find the heaven of the orthodox.
Nay, let it wander among the flowery islands,
Where I can see my home and the girl who mourns me.
That only is the paradise I long for.’”
.pm end_poem

“You forget I do not know modern Greek,” said Maurice,
smiling at the enthusiasm of the Count; “nor indeed much
ancient Greek, for the matter of that. But see, Count, you
have dropped a photograph.”

“You can look at it,” said the Count, who had let it fall
purposely; “I have no secrets.”

“Oh!”

“Ah, you think it a charming face?”

“Charming is too weak a word. It is Aphrodite herself.”

“Alas!” cried Caliphronas. with a merry laugh; “that goddess
lived before the days of sun-pictures, else Apollo might
have photographed her. No; that is no deity, but a mortal
maiden whom I saw at Melnos. It is not bad for an amateur
effort, is it?”

“Oh, very good, very good!” replied Maurice hurriedly;
“but the face—what a heavenly face!”

“Ah, you see my paradise has got its Eve.”

“And its Adam, doubtless?”

“No, there is no Adam to that Eve,” said Caliphronas,
shaking his head; “at least, there was not when I was in
Melnos six months ago. Why should there be? You will
find plenty of women as beautiful as Helena.”

“Helena—is that her name? Yes, I have no doubt you
will find beautiful women in Greece,—’tis their heritage
from Phryne, Lais, and Aspasia; but none can be as beautiful
as Helen of Troy.”
.bn 099.png
.pn +1

“Possibly not; but that woman is Helena of Melnos, not
of Troy.”

“I’ll swear she is as beautiful as the wife of Menelaus,
whom Paris loved.”

“You seem quite in raptures over this face,” said Caliphronas,
with but ill-concealed anger. “Pray, do you propose
to be Menelaus or Paris!”

“Why, are you in love with her yourself?” asked Maurice,
looking at the Greek in some surprise.

This question touched Caliphronas more nearly than Maurice
guessed, but, whatever passion he may have felt for the
lady of the picture, he said nothing about it, but laughed in
a somewhat artificial manner.

“I in love with her, my friend? No; she is beautiful, I
grant you, but I look upon her as I would an exquisite picture.
She is nothing to me. Did I not tell you I have a
future bride in the East? Yes—in Constantinople; a daughter
of the old Byzantine nobles, a Fanariot beautiful as the
dawn, who dwells at Phanar.”

“Then I need fear no rivalry from you, Caliphronas?”

“Certainly not. But you seem to have fallen in love with
this pictured Helena.”

“I will not go so far as to say that; but you know I
have the artistic temperament, and therefore admire beauty
always.”

“Of course—the artistic sense,” sneered Caliphronas in
such a disagreeable way, that Maurice again looked at him
in astonishment.

The fact is, that Roylands’ admiration of the portrait
seemed to ruffle Caliphronas very much, and quite altered
his usual nonchalance of manner. Never before had Maurice
seen his joyous nature so changed, for he had now a frown on
his usually smiling face, and appeared to be on the verge of
an angry outbreak. All the wild beast in his nature, which
was so carefully hidden by the civilized mask, seemed to
show in the most unexpected manner, and with flashing eyes,
tightly drawn lips, and scowling countenance, he looked
anything but the serene Greek with whom Roylands was
acquainted. Maurice was astonished and rather annoyed at
this exhibition of temper, so, rising from his seat, he gave
the picture back to his guest with a dignified gesture.

“I have no wish to pry into your secrets, Count,” he said
quietly, walking towards the door; “you showed me that
portrait of your own free will, and if I admire it somewhat
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
warmly, surely the beauty of the face is my excuse. At
present I will say <lang=fr><i>au revoir</i></lang>, as I have some business to do,
and will be in my study till luncheon.”

When Maurice disappeared, the Greek stamped about the
room in sheer vexation at having betrayed himself, for he
could not but see that for once this simple Englishman had
caught a glimpse of his real nature, hitherto so carefully
concealed.

“I am a fool, a fool!” he said savagely in Greek; “everything
was going well, and I spoil all by letting my temper
get the better of me. Why did I not let him admire Helena
and say nothing? When we get to Melnos, that will be a
different thing, for Justinian cannot go back from his word;
and if I perform my part of the bargain, and bring this fool
to Melnos, he must perform his, and give me his daughter.
I must recover my lost ground if possible,—bah! it will not
be difficult. I can see he is in love with Helena, so that will
smooth everything. In love with my goddess!” he said
ardently, gazing at the lovely face. “Ah, how can he help
being so?—there is much excuse; but he can only worship
you at a distance, my Venus, for you are mine—mine—mine!”

He thrust the picture into his pocket, and, recovering his
serene joyousness of mood, pondered for a few moments as
to what was the best course to pursue. At last he decided,
and walked towards the door of the studio with the air of a
man who had made up his mind.

“I will give him the picture,” he said, with a great effort,
“and I feel sure he will make peace on those terms.”

Maurice was sitting at his desk, wondering why the even-tempered
Greek had thus given way to anger over the
picture.

“If he is engaged to a lady of Stamboul, he cannot be in
love with this Helena,” he said to himself. “Perhaps he
was jealous of my admiring the beauty of a woman more
than his own. All Greeks are vain, but, as far as I can see,
Caliphronas is simply mad with vanity. Come in.”

In answer to his invitation, the Count entered smiling,
and laid the picture on the desk before Maurice.

“You must not be angry with me, my friend,” he said
volubly; “I am like a child, and grow bad-tempered over
nothing. This Helena is nothing to me, and, to prove this,
I give you her portrait, which I do not care to keep. Come,
am I forgiven?”
.bn 101.png
.pn +1

“Of course you are,” said Roylands hastily; “and I will
not deprive you of your picture.”

“No, no, I do not want it back,” replied Caliphronas,
spreading out his hands in token of refusal; “you love the
face, so keep it by all means.”

“She is very beautiful,” said Maurice, gazing longingly at
this modern Helen.

“Is she worth a journey to the East?” asked Caliphronas
in a soft voice, like the sibilant hiss of a serpent.

Maurice made no reply; he was looking at the portrait.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X. | <sc>A MODERN IXION.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Oh, beware
Of a snare!
’Tis a phantom fair
Who will tangle your heart in her golden hair.

Tho’ he vowed
Would be bowed
Heaven’s Hera proud,
Ixion was duped by a treacherous cloud.

But in sooth,
Fate hath ruth,
And this dream of youth
May change from a dream to immutable truth.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
“What is truth?” asked Pilate, but to this perplexing
question received no answer, not even from the Divine Man,
who was best able to give a satisfactory reply. In the same
way we may ask, “What is love?” and receive many
answers, not one of which will be correct. The reason is
simply, no one knows what love is, though every one has
felt it. The commonest things are generally the most perplexing,
and surely love is common enough, seeing it is the
thing upon which the welfare, the pleasure, nay, the continuity,
of the human race depends. Yet no one can define
this every-day passion, because it is undefinable. “’Tis the
mutual feeling which draws man and maid together.” True,
but that may be affection, which is a lesser passion than love.
“’Tis the admiration of a man or a woman for each other’s
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
beauty.” Nay, that is but sensuality. “’Tis the longing of
two people of the opposite sexes to dwell together all their
life.” Why, that is only companionship. Affection, sensuality,
companionship, all three very pleasant, very comforting,
but Love is greater than such a trinity. He may not
give pleasure, he may not bring comfort, but, on the contrary,
may make those to whose hearts he comes very
unhappy. Love is no mischievous urchin, who plays with
his arrows; no, he is a great and terrible divinity, who
comes to every mortal but once in life. We desire him, we
name him, we delight in him; but we know not what he is,
where he comes from, or when he will leave us.

These reflections were suggested to Maurice by the extraordinary
feelings with which this dream-face of Helena
inspired him. Never before had he felt the sensation of
love—not affection, not admiration, not desire, but strong,
passionate love, which pervaded his whole being, yet which
he could not describe. He had not seen this woman in the
flesh, he was hardly certain if she existed, for all the evidences
he had to assure him that there was such a being
were the portrait and the name, yet he felt, by some subtle,
indescribable instinct, that this was the one woman in the
world for him. Maurice, who had hitherto doubted the
existence of love, was now being punished for such scepticism
and was as love-sick as ever was some green lad fascinated
by a pretty face. “He jests at scars who never felt a
wound;” but Maurice did not jest at scars now, for the
arrow of Cupid, shot from some viewless height, had made a
wound in his heart which would heal not till he died; or,
even granting it would heal, would leave a scar to be seen of
all men.

It was the old story of Ixion over again. Here was a man
embracing a cloudy phantom of his own imagination, for,
granting that this beautiful face belonged to a real woman,
Maurice knew nothing about her, yet dowered her with all
the exquisite perfections of feminality. He dreamed she
would be loving, tender, and womanly, yet, for aught he
knew, the owner of that lovely face might be a very Penthesilea
for daring and masculine emulation. But no; he
could not believe that she would unsex herself by taking
upon her nature the rival attributes of manly strength, for
the whole face breathed nothing but feminine delicacy.
That broad white brow, above which the hair was smoothed
in the antique fashion; those grave, earnest eyes, so full of
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
sympathy and purity; that beautifully shaped mouth, like a
scarlet flower, speaking of reticence and womanly shrinking.
No; he was quite sure that she was an ideal woman, so
therefore worshipped her—unseen, unheard—with all the
chivalrous affection of a mediæval knight.

Day and night that faultless face haunted his brain like
some perfect poem, and, waking or sleeping, he seemed to
hear her voice, full and rich as an organ-note, calling on him
to seek her in that Island of Fantasy whereof the Greek
had spoken. Was she indeed some fairy princess, detained
in an enchanted castle against her will? was this mysterious
Justinian, whose personality seemed so vague, indeed her
jailer, guarding her as the dragon did the golden fruit of
the Hesperides? and was Caliphronas a messenger sent to
tell him of the reward awaiting him should he take upon
him vows of releasing her from such thraldom, and accomplish
his quest successfully? Curious how the classic legends
and the mediæval romances mixed together in his brain, yet
one and all, however diverse in thought, pointed ever to
that beautiful woman dwelling in an enchanted island sea-encircled
by the murmurous waves of the blue Ægean.

True, he had fallen in love, and thus regained in one
instant the interest in life which he had lost erstwhile; but
the object of his adoration seemed so far away, her personality,
about which he could only obscurely conjecture,
was so lost in dream-mists, that the cure of his melancholia
seemed worse than the disease itself. He again became sad
and absent-minded, grieving—not, as formerly, for a vague
abstraction, for something, he knew not what—but for an
actual being, for an unfulfilled passion which seemed in
itself as elusive a thing as had tormented him formerly.
The indistinct phantom which had engendered melancholia
had taken shape—the shape of a beautiful, smiling face,
which mocked him with the promise of delight probably
never destined to be fulfilled.

All his guests noticed this lapse into his former melancholy,
but none of them guessed the reason save Caliphronas, who
was beside himself with rage at the discovery. The stratagem
with which he proposed to draw Maurice to Melnos had
succeeded beyond his highest expectations, but he was very
dissatisfied with his success, and began to wonder if Crispin
was not right after all concerning the folly of presenting a
possible rival to the woman he desired for himself. The
woman was to be the reward of his success; he had made
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
use of that woman’s pictured loveliness to achieve that
success, and by so doing had complicated the simplicity of
the affair by introducing a third element, that of a rival’s
love, which might place an obstacle in the way of his receiving
the reward. It was Mephistopheles showing Faust the
phantom of Gretchen, and the same result of love for an
unseen woman had ensued; but then, Mephistopheles was
not enamoured of the loveliness he used as a bait to catch
his victim, whereas Caliphronas was. However, it was too
late now to alter the matter, for the Greek could see that
Maurice had almost made up his mind to go in search of this
new Helen of Troy, and if he succeeded in gaining her
heart, circumstances might arise with which it would be
difficult to grapple.

After all, when Caliphronas compared the Englishman’s
every-day comeliness with his own glorious beauty, he felt
that no woman would refuse him for such a commonplace
individual as his possible rival. But, again, Caliphronas was
aware that Helena valued the inward more than the outward
man, in which case he suspected he had but little chance in
coming off best. Pose as he might to the world, Caliphronas
knew the degradation of his own soul, and when this
was contrasted with the honest, proud, straightforward nature
of Maurice Roylands, it could be easily seen which of them
the woman would choose as best calculated to insure her
happiness. Besides, the love which had been newly born in
Maurice’s heart was a highly spiritual passion, with no touch
of grossness, whereas the desires of Caliphronas were purely
animal ones for physical beauty. In point of outward semblance,
he would have been a fitter husband for the exquisite
beauty of this woman, but as to a marriage of souls, which
after all is the only true marriage, the one was as different
from the other as is day from night.

Maurice said nothing to Crispin about the portrait, and
though the latter guessed from his abstraction that Caliphronas
had played his last card with that hidden loveliness, he
made no remark, for the time was not yet ripe to unfold the
past. If, however, Maurice went to Melnos, Crispin, as he
had told Caliphronas, determined to accompany him, as much
on his own account as on that of his friend. Truly this poet
was a riddle, and so also was the Greek; but it is questionable
if Maurice, with his open and above-board English life,
was not a greater riddle than either of these mysterious men,
seeing that his perplexity was a thing of the soul, vague and
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
intangible, the solving of which meant the settling of his
whole spiritual life; whereas the lighting of the darkness
with which Caliphronas and Crispin chose to enshroud themselves
was simply a question of material existence. The
Parcæ held the three tangled skeins in their hands: Clotho
now grasped the intricate threads; Lachesis was spinning
the actions which were to lead to the unravelling of these
riddles of spiritual and material things; and Atropos was
waiting grimly with her fatal scissors to clip the life-thread
of one of the three. But the question was, which? Ah,
that was yet to be seen! for the middle Destiny was yet
weaving woof and warp of words, actions, and desires, the
outcome of which would determine the judgment of the
Destroying Fate.

Of all this intrigue, in which he was soon to be involved,
Roylands was quite ignorant, as he already had his plan of
action sketched out. He would go to Melnos with Constantine
Caliphronas, he would see this dream-woman in the
flesh, and if she came up to his ideal, he would marry her, at
whatever cost. Alas for the schemes of clever Mrs. Dengelton!
they were all at an end, simply because a man had seen
a pretty face, which he elevated into the regions of romance,
and made attractive with strange mysteries of fanciful attributes.
But Mrs. Dengelton did not know this, and, ignorance
being bliss, still hinted to Maurice of matrimony, still
threw him into the company of Eunice; while, as a checkmate
to her plans, and to aid Crispin, Maurice still puzzled
the good lady with hints of marriage one day, and neglect of
Eunice the next. Eunice herself saw through it all, and
was duly grateful to Maurice; so the only blind person was
Mrs. Dengelton, who but perceived the delightful future
which might be, not the disturbing present that was; if she
had, her lamentations would have surpassed those of Jeremiah
in bitterness and violence.

On such an important matter as going to the East in search
of a mistress for Roylands Grange, Maurice felt naturally
anxious to consult his old tutor, and accordingly one morning
walked over to the Rectory, where he found Mr. Carriston
as usual pottering about among his rose-trees. The hot
sun of July blazed down on that garden of loveliness, and
the sweet-smelling roses burned like constellations of red
stars amid the cool green of their surrounding leaves.

“This is decidedly a rose-year,” said the good Rector approvingly,
as he looked at the brilliance around him; “I
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
have never seen such a fine show of flowers. My nightingales
should sing their sweetest here, if the tale of their
love for the rose be true. Did you ever see such a glow of
color, Maurice?

.pm start_poem
<lang=it>‘Vidi Paestano candere rosaria cultu
Exoriente novo roscida Lucifero.’</lang>
.pm end_poem

But I don’t think the poet saw finer roses than mine, even
in Southern Italy.”

“‘<lang=la><i>Rosa regina florum</i></lang>,’” remarked Maurice, smiling.

“Eh! you match my quotation from Ausonius with a
wretched little saying culled from your first Latin reading-book.
My dear lad, I am afraid my labor has been in vain,
for your Latin is primitive.”

“No doubt it is,” assented Maurice cordially, “but I have
not the gift of tongues. I would that I had, as it will be
necessary in the East.”

“The East!” repeated Carriston, sitting down under his
favorite elm-tree. “What is this? Are you thinking of
visiting the cradle of humanity?”

“Yes; the summer is nearly over, so like a swallow I wish
to fly south to the blue seas of Greece.”

.pm start_poem
<lang=fr>“‘Tous les ans j’y vais et je niche
Aux mētopes du Parthenon,’”</lang>
.pm end_poem

quoted the Rector genially. “Do you know Gautier’s charming
poem? I wish I could go with you to see the land of
Aristophanes.”

“Why not come?”

“Nay, I am too old a tree to be transplanted. The comedies
alone must take me on the wings of fancy to Athens.
What would my parishioners do without me? or my roses,
for the matter of that? Still, I would like to be your travelling
companion, and we could visit together those places
which we read of in your days of pupilage. You will see
Colonos, where the Sophoclean nightingales still sing; and
the Acropolis of Athena Glaucopis, the ringing plains of
windy Troy, and the birthplace of the Delian Apollo. Truly
the youth of to-day are to be envied, seeing how easy travel
has been made by steam. Happy Maurice! the Iron Age
will enable you to view the Golden Age with but small
difficulty.”

“Yes, I will be delighted to see all those famous places
you have mentioned, sir; but I have a stronger reason.”
.bn 107.png
.pn +1

“Indeed! And that reason?”

“Is this.”

Maurice placed the portrait of Helena in the hands of his
old tutor, and awaited in silence his next remark. Mr.
Carriston adjusted his <lang=fr><i>pince-nez</i></lang>, and gazed long and earnestly
at the perfect beauty of the woman’s countenance.

“‘Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?’” he
quoted from Marlowe; “upon my word, I would not be surprised
to hear it was. A beautiful woman, Maurice; she has
the loveliness of the Argive Helen.”

“And the name also; she is called Helena.”

“Ah! then I understand she is a real woman?”

“Flesh and blood, according to Caliphronas.”

The Rector put down the picture with a sudden movement
of irritation quite foreign to his usual courtly manner.

“I do not like Count Caliphronas,” he said abruptly.
“Did he give you this portrait?”

“Yes.”

“Humph! And may I ask whom it is intended to represent?”

“A Greek girl, called Helena, who lives in the Island of
Fantasy.”

“The Island of Fantasy?” repeated the Rector in a puzzled
tone.

“I mean the Island of Melnos, in the southern archipelago
of Greece.”

“How did it come by the extraordinary name of Fantasy?”

“Caliphronas called it so,” said Maurice carelessly.

There was silence for a few moments, and the Rector
rubbed his nose in a vexed manner, as he by no means approved
of the frequent introduction of the Greek’s name
into the conversation, but hardly saw his way how to prevent
it. At length he determined to leave the matter in abeyance
for the present, and reverted to the question of Helena.

“Is it for the sake of this woman you are going to the
Levant?” he asked, picking up the picture and tapping it
with his <lang=fr><i>pince-nez</i></lang>.

“Yes.”

“Is this not rather a mad freak?”

Maurice did not answer for a moment, but moved uneasily
in his seat; for, although he was quite prepared to be discouraged
in his project by the Rector, he by no means liked
the displeased tone in which he spoke. Mr. Carriston waited
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
for an answer to his question, so Maurice was at length
forced to give him one, and burst out into a long speech, so
as to give his tutor no opportunity of making any remark
until he had heard all the views in favor of such Quixotism.

“I daresay it is a mad freak, sir, but not so very insane if
you look upon it from my point of view. You know I have
never been in love—true, I have always been fond of women
and delighted in their society, but I have never had what
you would call a passionate attachment in my life, nor did I
think, until a few days ago, I was capable of such a thing.
But when Caliphronas was sitting to me for Endymion, he
happened to let fall that portrait, and told me it was one he
had taken of a Greek girl at Melnos. As I admired the
beauty of the face, he made me a present of the picture,
and my admiration has merged itself in a deeper feeling,
that of love. Oh, I know, sir, what you will say, that such
a passion is chimerical, seeing I have never beheld this
woman in the flesh, but I feel too strongly on the subject to
think I am the victim of a heated imagination. I love this
woman—I adore her! she is present with me day and night.
Not only her face—no! It is very beautiful, but I can see
below that beauty. She has a soul, a lovely pure soul, which
I worship, and I am anxious to see the actual living, breathing
woman, so as to make her my wife.”

“Your wife! Are you mad, boy?”

“No, I am not mad, unless you call love a madness. Oh,
I know it is easy for one to advise calmly on the woes of
others. But can you not feel for me? You have been in
love, Mr. Carriston, and you know how such a passion overwhelms
the strongest man. Caution, thought, restraint,
prudence, are all swept away by the torrent. It is no use
saying that this passion I feel will pass, for I know it will
not; it is part of my life. Till I die I will see that face
before me, sleeping or waking. Why, then, should I pass
the rest of my days in torture when I can alleviate such
mental suffering? I am going to this unknown island, I will
see this unknown woman, and if she comes up to the ideal
being I have created from the picture in my mind, I will
marry her. It may not be wise, it may not be suitable; but
it is, and will be inevitable.”

The old man listened in astonishment to this lava-torrent
of words which swept everything before it. He could hardly
recognize his former calm-tempered pupil in this young man,
whose flashing eyes, eloquent gestures, and rapid speech
betrayed the strength of the passion which consumed him.
.bn 109.png
.pn +1

“‘<lang=la><i>Ira brevis est</i></lang>,’” quoth the Rector wisely; “I think love
is the same.”

“My madness of love will last all my life—yes, forever!”

“Forever is a long time.”

“Rector,” said Maurice entreatingly, “what do you advise?”

“I advise nothing, dear lad,” replied Carriston quietly;
“what is the use of my giving advice which is opposed to
your own desires, and therefore will be rejected?”

“True! true!” muttered Maurice, frowning. “I must go
to Melnos and convince myself of the truth of the matter.
See here, sir, at present I am worshipping a creature of my
own creation, with the face of that picture, but with the
attributes of fancy. This chimera of the brain, as you will
doubtless term her, haunts me night and day, so the only way
to lay this feminine ghost is to see her incarnate in the flesh.
She may be quite different from what I conceive, in which case
I will be cured of my fancy; on the other hand, she may
realize entirely my conception of beauty, purity, and womanliness:
if she does, I will make her my wife, that is, of
course, if she will have me for her husband.”

“As you put the matter in that light,” said Mr. Carriston,
after a pause, “I advise you to go to Melnos.”

“You do?”

“Decidedly! It is best to end this torture of the imagination,
which I also know only too well. See this woman, if
you like, but be sure she is all you desire her to be before
making her your wife.”

“There is no fear that I will let my heart govern my brain
in such an important matter.”

“There is a great fear,” replied the Rector gravely, glancing
at the picture; “a young man’s heart is not always under
his control, and this woman has the beauty which inspires
madness. Helen of Troy, Cleopatra of Egypt, Mary of Scotland,
Ninon de l’Enclos of France, they were all Lamiæ, and
their beauty was ever fatal to their victims.”

“Lovers,” corrected Maurice quickly.

“Victims,” reiterated Carriston firmly; “or, if you will,
lovers, for the terms are synonymous.”

“Well, I will take your advice, sir, and go to the East in
search of this lovely Helena of Melnos, but I promise you I
will not be a victim.”

“I hope not, but I fear so.”

“You need not,” said Roylands gayly, delighted to have
won over the Rector to his side. “I will come back alone,
cured, or with a wife, and more in love than ever.”
.bn 110.png
.pn +1

“How will you find this island?”

“Oh, Caliphronas”—

“As beautiful and as false as Paris of Troy,” interrupted
the Rector quickly, whereat Maurice shrugged his shoulders.

“Possibly he is, but I do not think I have anything to
fear from him.”

“There is certainly no reason why he should be your
enemy, yet I feel convinced he is so.”

“Why?”

“I cannot tell you unless I advance the Dr. Fell theory as
an argument; but, to speak openly, my dear Maurice, this
Greek seems to me to be like a sleek, soft-footed panther,
beautiful to look on, but dangerous to meddle with.”

“I am not going to meddle with him. He is simply returning
to his home in Greek waters, and I will go with him.
After we reach Melnos, very likely he will return to Ithaca.”

“Perhaps.”

“My dear old tutor,” cried the young man, laughing, “you
are full of fears, first of this Helena, again of this Greek.
Ten to one I will find both equally harmless.”

“I trust so; but I do not like your travelling alone with
this Count Constantine.”

“I am not going to do so. Crispin is coming also.”

“Ah!” said Carriston in a satisfied tone; “I am glad of
that, for I like that young man very much. I am sure he is
an honorable, straightforward fellow.”

“You are inconsistent. His life is as mysterious as that
of Caliphronas, yet you trust the one and mistrust the other.”

“I do; it is a matter of instinct. Well, here is your
Helena; I hope you will find the original as beautiful as the
picture.”

“I hope so too,” answered Maurice, restoring the photograph
to his pocket.

“By the way,” observed the Rector abruptly, “what about
Eunice?”

“Oh, she will not mourn me, for she has already consoled
herself with Crispin.”

“Humph! I thought as much; and what does your aunt
say?”

“She says nothing because she knows nothing.”

“Do you think that is wise?”

“No, I do not; so I am going to ask Crispin to explain
who he is, what he is, and all about himself, before he leaves
with me for the East. If his replies are satisfactory, I will
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
try and persuade my dear aunt to consent to the match; but
you may depend upon it, my dear Rector, if I find anything
wrong with our poet, I will do my best to prevent his marriage
with my cousin.”

“That is as it should be, but I fancy you will find Crispin
an honest man.”

“You seem quite taken with him.”

“Yes; I am curiously drawn to that young man. Why, I
do not know; but, from the frequent conversations I have
had with him, he seems very honest and good-hearted,
whereas your handsome Greek is, I am convinced, a worthless
scamp.”

“Well, we will see how your predictions are fulfilled. But
I must be off,” continued Maurice, glancing at his watch,
“it is past one o’clock. Will you not come over to luncheon
with me?”

“What! and leave my roses, which need water in this hot
sun! Go away, sir, and don’t ask impossibilities.”

Maurice laughed and went away, while the Rector returned
to his roses, and thought over the interview. He was doubtful
as to the result of Maurice’s quest for a wife, but, knowing
the sterling good sense and honorable nature of his pupil,
judged it best to let him take his own way.

“Everyman must dree his weird,” said Carriston, watering-pot
in hand. “However this journey turns out, it will do
Maurice good, for if it does not gain him a wife, it will at
least banish the evil spirit which is spoiling his youth.”

Meanwhile the object of this soliloquy was striding up the
avenue of the Grange at a rapid pace, and whistling gayly,
out of sheer light-heartedness. Never before had he felt so
happy, a circumstance which suddenly made him pause in
his lilting, as he thought of the saying of an old Scotch
nurse.

“I hope I am not fey,” he said to himself; “surely this
joy does not prognosticate sorrow. No; I will not look on it
in that gloomy light. I am going in search of Helen,—C[oe]lebs
in search of a wife,—and if I find her as lovely as
she seems to be, why, then”—

And he began whistling again, from sheer inability to
express his feelings in cold, measured words. As he neared
the house, the rich tenor voice of Caliphronas rang vibrating
through the still air. His song was, as usual, one of those
Greek fragments he was so fond of singing, and even the
modern Greek tongue, debased as it was by centuries of foreign
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
influences, sounded pliable and liquid as the vowelled
words soared upward like swift-darting swallows. How
bare and bleak seems the translation, bereft of its Hellenic
sonorousness of speech!—

.pm start_poem
“I will sail in a beakèd ship, impelled by rowers,
Over the waters to westward, where Helios sinks nightly in splendor,
And there in a hidden island of dreams
Will I see ray belovèd smiling with starry eyes.
Her arms will enfold me—oh, they will clasp me so closely,
I will kiss her lips which burn like scarlet of sunset,
Till the nest of our love will flow over—flow over,
With delicate singing, and sighings of lover to lover.”
.pm end_poem

Caliphronas was standing on the steps of the terrace, with
his classic face uplifted to the serene sky, and, as he sang the
song, with his hand resting lightly on the white marble vase
near him, he looked the incarnation of blooming adolescence.

“Ha!” he cried, as Roylands nimbly mounted the steps;
“I was just wondering where you were. What have you
been doing, Mr. Maurice?”

“I have been talking to the Rector, and for the last few
moments I have been watching you, my Attic nightingale.
Modern costume spoils you, Caliphronas, as it would spoil
any one, so hideous is it. You should be draped in white
robes, bear an ivory lyre, and minister to Apollo the Far-Darter.”

“Alas!” sighed the Greek, with sudden sadness in his
eyes; “Pan is dead, and with him Apollo. I have been born
too late, for my soul is Athenian, and longs for the plane-trees
of Ilissus. But enough of this classicism, and tell me
why you look so merry.”

“Because I have made up my mind to go with you to
Melnos.”

Caliphronas smiled in an enigmatic manner, and sang two
lines from his song,—

.pm start_poem
“And there in a hidden island of dreams
Will I see my belovèd smiling with starry eyes.”
.pm end_poem

“What do those words mean?” asked Maurice abruptly.

“Ah, that you will discover when we reach Melnos!”
.bn 113.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI. | <sc>THE CREED OF A MOTHER-IN-LAW.</sc>

.pm start_poem
In all good faith I do believe
That sons-in-law their wives deceive;
So, seeing marriage is a snare,
My daughter needs her mother’s care;
And if this couple young be wise,
Their life they’ll let me supervise.
For I can show the wife the way
To make the servants her obey,
Nor fail the husband’s acts to see,
And rob him of his midnight key,
Improve his faults with frown and snub,
Insist he should give up his club;
And if he’s an obedient boy,
His home will be a place of joy.
Thus ruling husband, home, and wife,
I will secure a home for life.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
“So you have decided upon Eastward Ho?” said Crispin,
as Maurice enveloped himself in clouds of smoke.

They were seated in the smoking-room by themselves, for
the ladies had long since retired; and Caliphronas, unable
to bear the fumes of nicotine, which, he averred, made his
eyes sore and his head swim, had just gone off to bed. Thus,
left to that sweetest hour of the night which is somewhere
about the stroke of twelve <sc>P.M.</sc>, the poet and his host had
established themselves in two comfortable arm-chairs, and,
each armed with a pipe, were incensing the Muse of Fancy,
who is frequently invoked by such worship. But the talk
of the two was anything but fanciful, as they were engaged
in discussing their projected tour in Levantine waters.
Maurice was rather glad Caliphronas retired so early, as he was
anxious to have a quiet conversation with Crispin, and what
better time or place could he have, than nearly midnight in
the smoking-room, with the soothing weed, and the exhilarating
whiskey diluted with soda, to stimulate the drowsy
brain.

It is wonderful how men at this mystic hour unbosom
themselves the one to the other, and tell secrets which they
certainly would not reveal in the daytime. Maurice knew
this peculiarity of midnight confabulations, and perhaps
thought that Crispin would take him into his confidence;
but if he did think so he was disappointed, for Crispin kept
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
his own counsel and held his tongue, save indeed to talk
generally about things Maurice was well acquainted with.

“So you have decided upon Eastward Ho?” said Crispin
for the second time, finding that Maurice did not reply immediately,
which negligence was due to the fact that he
wished to speak to the poet about Eunice, and was doubtful
of the wisdom of such a step. The second time of asking
this question, however, aroused him from his musings, and
he answered at once.

“Yes. I had a conversation with the Rector this morning,
and I have decided to travel abroad for a year or so.”

“Do you mean a general tour of the world, or a special
part?”

“A special part. I am going to Greece.”

“Oh! The mainlands or the islands?”

“The latter.”

“In that case, I know where you are going,” said Crispin,
carefully shaking the ashes out of his pipe; “your destination
is the Island of Melnos.”

“It is,” replied Maurice in some surprise. “Do you know
Melnos?”

“Very well. I also know the woman you are going to
see.”

“Helena? How do you know that? I have told you
nothing about it.”

“No; but Caliphronas mentioned something about your
spiritual passion for that picture.”

This was mere guess-work, as Caliphronas had mentioned
nothing of the sort; but Crispin was so well aware of the
deep game which the Greek was playing, that he had no
difficulty in arriving at a fair conclusion concerning his
tactics. Maurice was, however, ignorant of Crispin’s knowledge,
and at once assumed that Caliphronas had been discussing
his passion for this pictured Helena with the poet,
perhaps laughing at it, and his pride was up in arms at once.

“Caliphronas has no right to speak to you about my
private affairs,” he said angrily. “I intended to tell you
myself, but now he has forestalled me. I did not know he
was such a gossip.”

“Nor is he. I said he told me, and so he did, indirectly;
but if I did not know Caliphronas, Helena, and Melnos, I
would still be in the dark concerning your projected journey.”

“Where is this Island of Fantasy?”
.bn 115.png
.pn +1

Crispin looked up with a quick smile.

“Oh, he told you the name Justinian calls it! The Island
of Fantasy in imagination, and Melnos in reality, is situated
in the southern portion of the Ægean Sea, beyond Paros,
beyond Amorgos, nay, even beyond Anapli. As a matter of
fact, it is a little-known island, hidden, to speak exactly, in
the Cretan Sea, between Telos and Crete.”

“I thought I was rather good at geography, but I never
heard of the Island of Melnos before. Has it anything to
do with the Island of Melos?”

“No; that is more to the north. But I do not wonder at
your ignorance, as Melnos is known only to the sailors and
shepherds who are thoroughly acquainted with that portion
of the Archipelago.”

“What kind of an island is it?”

“A mountain—a volcanic mountain, extinct of course for
the present, though I would not be surprised if it blew up
one day and sent Justinian flying in the air with all his
subjects.”

“Is this Justinian a king, that you talk about his subjects?”

“Well, a kind of minor king, such as Odysseus might have
been. I know him very well.”

“And Helena?”

“Is his daughter.”

“His daughter!” repeated Maurice gravely. “Is she as
beautiful as this portrait shows her to be?”

“I should say more so,” replied Crispin, taking the photograph.
“Here you only get absolute stillness; the great
charm of Helena lies in the changeful expression of her face,
and in her bright manner. Yes, she is altogether charming,
and I do not wonder you have fallen in love with her face,
even though this photograph fails to do justice to the
original.”

In spite of his passion for Helena, which should have made
him delight in these praises of her beauty, Maurice did not
pay much attention to Crispin’s speech, as he was thinking
deeply, and the current of his thoughts was indicated by his
next remark.

“Crispin, you said Caliphronas was merely a chance acquaintance
you met at Athens; but, as far as I can judge
from the hints you drop, I believe you know him very well.”

“That is the real truth,” replied Crispin, without flinching.
“I did meet this Greek at Athens, but I knew him before
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
that—in Melnos. Oh, I can tell you many things which
would astonish you, but I cannot do so yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have strong reasons for such reticence,” said
the poet coldly; “either trust me in all or not at all.
This journey you are undertaking means more than you
think, but I will not fail you, and as long as I am by your
side you will take no hurt.”

“Are we in the Middle Ages? Is Caliphronas a freebooter,
that you talk as if I were in danger?”

“I will explain all some day, and you will be rather astonished
at my story.”

“I suppose there is nothing wrong in your story?”

“No. When I tell all about myself and my past life, I
think it will satisfy not only you—but Mrs. Dengelton.”

“It is on her account that I made that rather rude remark,
for, unless you can prove your name, your position, and your
income to be satisfactory, she will never consent to your
marriage with Eunice.”

“As to my name,” said Crispin, coloring a little at such
plain speaking, “I hope to prove that spotless, my position
will be beyond reproach, and my income is larger than your
own.”

“You are wealthy, then?”

“I am certainly well off, and I will give you my story at
some later date, but at present I will answer no more of your
questions.”

“And Mrs. Dengelton?”

“I am going to speak to her to-morrow morning, so as to
put things right before I leave England. Oh, I am not afraid
of being absent. Eunice loves me, and will be true, while as
to her mother, I can win that lady on to my side, and will do
so to-morrow.”

“You are an enigma, Crispin.”

“I am; but, as I said before, I can explain myself to your
satisfaction, and intend doing so when I consider it wise.
But you must trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“I am afraid you ask too many questions for absolute
trust,” said the poet dryly, relighting his pipe.

“I will ask you no more—save one.”

“Well?”

“Is Caliphronas to be trusted?”

“As long as I am with you, yes.”
.bn 117.png
.pn +1

“Ah, you have some power over him?”

“Now you are asking questions again.”

“I beg your pardon; but do tell me about Caliphronas!”

Crispin paused for a moment, as if to consider how he
would reply to this remark.

“Caliphronas,” he said at length slowly, “is a man who is
a slave to his own vices, and gratifies himself at all costs.
He lets no one stand in the way of such self-gratification;
but whether you are an obstacle or not remains to be seen.
At all events, you have elected to trust me, mysterious as I
am, and I promise you on my word of honor that you shall
have no reason to regret that trust. I foresee difficulties
ahead, but these you need not be afraid of as long as I am
by your side. You will leave Roylands with me, and you
will return with me, and I give you my word you will not be
a bit the worst for your journey, nay, I hope you will be
the better.”

“One would think we were going to Timbuctoo, the way
you talk,” said Maurice crossly. “You have no idea how
these enigmatic speeches pique my curiosity.”

“Well, such curiosity I will gratify—shortly.”

“But”—

“You said you would trust me, and ask no more questions.”

“I do trust you, and I will not.”

Certainly he could not complain of a lack of interest in
life now: this mysterious woman Helena, these equally mysterious
individuals, Crispin and Caliphronas,—all three
riddles. Surely the son of Laius was never so bothered by
enigmas as was this young country squire. However, it
added new zest to the wine of life, and gave him something
to look forward to, so on the whole Maurice was enjoying
himself.

“By the way,” said Crispin lazily, after a pause, “how are
you going to Melnos?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly. Go by train to Venice, I suppose,
and take an Austrian Lloyd steamer from there, or
leave Marseilles by the French packet which goes to Athens.
Once at the Piræus, and there won’t be much difficulty in
exploring the Archipelago in search of your Island of Fantasy.
To tell you the truth, however, as I only made up my
mind this morning, I have not yet looked up routes, steamers,
and all that sort of thing, but intend to go to town next
week and find out all about them.”
.bn 118.png
.pn +1

“There will be no need,” said Crispin quietly; “you can
come to Greece in my yacht.”

“Your yacht! Why, I did not know you had one.”

“I know you didn’t. Because I am a poet, you necessarily
think I am poor, which is a mistake. I am sufficiently well
off to keep a hundred and fifty ton steam yacht, which is at
present lying at Southampton, ready to start when I wish.
A poet and a yacht sound incongruous, I admit; and I suppose
I am the first rhyme-stringer who ever possessed such
an article, unless you except Shelley’s boat partnership with
Trelawny. But that was a small boat; my craft is a genuine
steam yacht, and in it I explore unknown seas. You look
astonished.”

“I am astonished. You are a poet-millionnaire.”

“Not quite as wealthy as that, and I need hardly tell you
I did not pay for the yacht out of my poems. But, of course,
you will come with me to Greece in The Eunice.”

“Eunice?”

“Yes; she was called The Aphrodite, but I rechristened
her The Eunice out of compliment to you know whom.”

“Have you any more surprises in store?”

“Plenty,” replied Crispin, rising with a yawn; “but this
one is quite enough to keep you awake for a night. Oh
dear, I am so sleepy!”

“Wait a minute. Does Caliphronas know you are a yacht-owner?”

“No; I expect he will be surprised and confoundedly
jealous.”

“Jealous! Why?”

“Because he thinks all the good things of this life should
go his way. But you have not yet given me your answer.”

“Oh, I will come by all means.”

“And so will our mutual friend, the Greek. What a
happy family we will be! Well, good-night. I wish Eunice
was coming in her namesake.”

“And Mrs. Dengelton,” said Maurice mischievously, lighting
his candle.

“No; in my wildest dreams I never wished that. She
would want to be captain of the ship. However, I am going
to astonish my future mother-in-law to-morrow; so I must
take a good night’s rest, and husband my strength for the
encounter. Good-night, once more.”

“Good-night, Crispin.”

They both retired to their respective rooms, and Maurice
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
fell asleep wondering who Crispin was, from what source he
derived wealth enough to keep a yacht, and what connection
he had with Caliphronas. All these things mixed together
in his drowsy brain until the real world faded away, and he
dreamed he was at Melnos, trying, like another Paris, to
carry off Helena, while Caliphronas, in the guise of Menelaus,
prevented such elopement.

Next day the brilliant sun had disappeared, and there was
a gray veil of clouds drawn across the sky, which neutralized
the brilliant tints of the summer’s luxuriance of foliage and
flowers. Caliphronas, ever impressionable to atmospheric
changes, shivered at the dreary look which now spread over
the earth, and it needed all his animal spirits to sustain his
normal condition of careless joy. Even then he lacked his
ordinary exuberance of life, and it appeared as if a great
portion of his vitality disappeared with the sun.

“St. Theodore!” he said to Mrs. Dengelton, as they looked
out of the window at the gray landscape; “do you often have
this weather here?”

“No, not often,” she replied, in a tone of regret; “I wish
we did.”

“What! this dulness, this melancholy, this want of
color!”

“Why, my dear Count, it is a most beautiful day!” cried
the lady, with great vivacity; “what have you to complain
of?”

“Complain of?” The Greek’s face was a study as he
repeated her words, and he stared at her in surprise. “Why,
I complain of this want of sunlight; it is not like yesterday,
which was passable.”

“Passable!” echoed Mrs. Dengelton, surprised in her turn.
“Why, Count, since you have come to Roylands, the weather
has been simply perfection. How long have you been in
England?”

“Two months.”

“Then you must have had this lovely weather all along.
You are an exceptionally lucky man, Count Constantine, for
you have seen England at her best.”

“Why, have you worse days than this?” asked Caliphronas,
with a shudder.

“Infinitely worse,” said Eunice, who at this moment joined
them with Crispin: “fog, snow, rain, hail, mist—oh, you
don’t know the capabilities of the English climate!”

“I am glad I am going away,” observed Caliphronas, with
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
a sigh of relief; “this place would kill me. Gray skies,
small cultivated landscapes, ugly cities, sad-looking men and
women. Oh, great saints! what do you know of life or
pleasure?”

“I assure you, my dear Count,” began Mrs. Dengelton
sweetly, “that in the season”—

“What is the season?”

“The London season, which begins in May.”

“Oh, that is what I have seen. Up all night, tired all
day, crowded rooms, unhealthy dinners, plenty of talk about
nothing, and no rest—is that what you call the season? is
that what you term life? St. Theodore! let me go back to
Greece, there at least I can live.”

“But Greece is not like London,” said Crispin, with the
intention of provoking the Greek.

“No, thank the saints, it is not, as you know well, Mr.
Crispin; there, at least, are fresh air, laughing seas, wide
plains, lofty mountains—one can breathe there—one can
live and delight in living, but here—oh, pardon me, I cannot
talk of it. I must go to Mr. Maurice for the Endymion,
and I am glad I leave your dull grayness soon.”

When Caliphronas with this parting shot had vanished,
Mrs. Dengelton turned to Crispin with a pitying smile.

“What an impulsive creature, is he not, Mr. Crispin? To
talk about such barbaric lands, and call existence there life!
Ah, he does not know what enjoyment is.”

“I think he does in his own way,” replied Crispin dryly,
thinking of the difference between the free, open-air existence
of the one, and the narrow, petty life of the other.

“Well, of course, you know a blind man never misses
color because he does not know what he loses,” said the lady
apologetically. “That poor dear Count is in exactly the
same plight. Eunice, my dear, I wish you would go and
write that letter to Lady Danvers at once. I want it to catch
the noonday post. We go to Lady Danvers when we leave
here,” she added, as Eunice left the room. “For my part, I
would have been glad to stay here till the autumn, but
dear Maurice has been ordered abroad for his health.”

“Yes, I know he is going,” said Crispin coolly; “he is
coming with me.”

“Coming with you?” repeated Mrs. Dengelton, indignantly,
wondering at the presumption of this, as she thought,
poor poet.

“Yes,” replied Crispin equably, as he prepared to startle
the lady; “he is going to the East in my yacht.”
.bn 121.png
.pn +1

“Your yacht!” gasped Mrs. Dengelton, in the same tones
in which she would have said, “Your throne!” “I did not
know you—you”—

“Were rich enough to possess one,” said Crispin dryly,
seeing the lady hesitated. “Oh, I have had a yacht for
many years. I hope you and Miss Dengelton will do me the
favor of coming a cruise in her some day.”

“Oh, I should be delighted!” cried Mrs. Dengelton, with
a shudder, for she was a very bad sailor; “but does it not
take a great deal of money to keep up such an expensive
luxury?”

“A great deal,” assented the poet, suppressing a smile as
he saw the dexterous way in which Mrs. Dengelton was
trying to find out the extent of his income; “but, fortunately,
I can afford it.”

“How lucky you are!” sighed the lady, now adopting a
more polite tone towards this wealthy young man. “Ah, it
is a splendid thing to be rich. My late husband was of good
birth, but poor, and he did not leave me very well off. However,
I have a sufficiently good income to live comfortably,
and of course my dear daughter for a companion.”

“What will you do when Miss Dengelton marries?”

“Oh, I will live with her still. You see, young wives are
inexperienced, and I could take all that sort of thing on my
shoulders.”

Crispin shuddered, for the prospect of living under the
same roof with this lady was anything but an inviting one.

“Of course, I do not mind speaking freely to you, dear
Mr. Crispin,” pursued Mrs. Dengelton, determined to crush
all thoughts Crispin might have regarding Eunice, “because
you are such a friend of dear Maurice. You know I wish
him to marry his cousin, it would be a perfect match.”

“Would it?” said Crispin grimly.

“Yes; it would keep the property in the family,” said
Mrs. Dengelton, who had arrived at this remarkable conclusion
by some means known only to herself; “and then, of
course, this would be my home, and I could live here with
my dear children. You see, I speak openly to you, because
I know you would like to see dear Maurice happily married.”

“I would indeed, Mrs. Dengelton, but not to your
daughter.”

“Indeed, Mr. Crispin! and why not?”

“Because I want to marry her myself.”

“Mr. Crispin!”
.bn 122.png
.pn +1

If a bombshell had dropped through the roof, Mrs. Dengelton
could not have been more astonished. She half
guessed that this audacious poet admired Eunice, but to
speak thus so boldly, and after she had given her views as to
the future settlement of her daughter in matrimony—it was
too horrible! Who was this man? Nobody knew. He had
not even two names like respectable people, and to propose
to bestow the only one he possessed on her daughter, was
too much for Mrs. Dengelton’s powers of endurance. She
was actually dumb with astonishment, and those who had
once heard this lady’s tongue could have seen from that
alone how she was thunderstruck. For a minute she gazed
at Crispin with horror-struck eyes, but as he did not turn
into stone before that Medusa gaze, or even have the grace
to blush, Mrs. Dengelton recovered her powers of speech
with a weak laugh.

“Oh, of course you are jesting!”

“I am not jesting. I wish to marry your daughter.”

“Impossible!”

“Why is it impossible?”

“Oh, because—because”—Mrs. Dengelton could not
really bring herself to give the real reasons, so fenced dexterously,—“Because
you see, I wish her to marry her
cousin, and keep the property in the family.”

“The property will remain in the family without such a
marriage,” said Crispin provokingly; “and as for your
daughter, she does not love Maurice.”

“Not love Maurice!” screamed Mrs. Dengelton wrathfully.

“No, she loves me.”

“Loves you!” gasped the good lady faintly, feeling for
her smelling-salts. “Oh, this is some horrible dream!”

“By no means,” replied Crispin quietly; “I really do not
see why you should make such an uncomplimentary remark.
I love your daughter, and I wish to marry her. Is there
anything extraordinary in that?”

“Eunice could marry any one.”

“No doubt, but she will not. I am the only man she will
marry.”

“Indeed! You forget her mother’s consent is necessary.”

“At present, yes, because she is under age—but afterwards”—

“Eunice Dengelton will obey me all her life,” said the lady
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
furiously; “and I will never, never consent to her marriage
with you, sir!”

“Why not?”

“Because I do not know who you are,” retorted Mrs.
Dengelton tartly.

“I will satisfy you on that point before the marriage.”

“Then I do not know if you can support a wife.”

“If I can support a yacht, I can certainly support a wife,”
said Crispin ironically; “but if you want me to be exact as
to figures, my income is twelve thousand a year.”

“Twelve thousand a year!” gasped Mrs. Dengelton in
amazement; “why, you are richer than Maurice!”

“Yes, twice as rich. Is there any other question you
would like to ask?”

“Well, I would like to know about your parents.”

“I have no parents. I am an orphan.”

“And where do you come from, Mr. Crispin?”

“From the East”

“Heavens!” cried Mrs. Dengelton, as a dreadful thought
struck her; “you are not a Hindoo, or a negro, or a
Hottentot?”

“Well, I am certainly dark,” replied the poet, laughing,
“but I am, as it happens, a pure-blooded Englishman. But
come now, Mrs. Dengelton, I have answered your questions,
so in common fairness you must answer mine. Will you let
me marry your daughter?”

“I—I—really I don’t know what to say,” said Mrs.
Dengelton, unwilling to let the chance of such a wealthy
match slip, and yet doubtful as to the position of the suitor.
<pm corr 129.30 I “I> must think it over. Tell me who you are.”

“Not now. I will satisfy you fully concerning my family
when I return from Greece.”

“Ah! am I right in saying you are going to the East to
see your relatives about this marriage?” said Mrs. Dengelton
archly.

“Partly right. I am going as much on your nephew’s
account as my own.”

“And what is <em>he</em> going for?”

“That I cannot tell you, Mrs. Dengelton,” replied Crispin
mendaciously, “you must ask him that yourself. But as to
this marriage”—

“I cannot give you an answer now—really I cannot.”

“Will you give me an answer when I return from the
East?”
.bn 124.png
.pn +1

“When will you return?”

“In three months.”

“Yes, I will give you an answer then,” said Mrs. Dengelton
glibly, having quite determined to throw Crispin over,
should she meet with a more desirable match for her daughter.
Crispin guessed this double dealing, and at once met the
feminine plot by a masculine counterplot.

“Mrs. Dengelton,” he said solemnly, “I love your daughter,
and she loves me. When I return in three months from the
East, I will satisfy you on all points you desire to know. If
those questions you ask are answered to your complete satisfaction,
will you agree to our marriage?”

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Dengelton, all the volubility frightened
out of her, “I will.”

“Then give me your word that during my absence you
will not try to induce your daughter to marry any one
else.”

“I hardly think it is necessary to ask that,” said the lady,
with dignity, though in her heart of hearts she knew it was
very necessary, as also did Crispin, who still pressed his
request.

“Perhaps it is not necessary; still I would like your word
for it that such a thing will not occur.”

“Well, well, I promise,” remarked Mrs. Dengelton peevishly,
rising to her feet. “What a pertinacious man you are,
Mr. Crispin! Mind, I will not consent to this marriage
unless I am thoroughly satisfied about your position, income,
and family.”

“I will satisfy you on all those points,” rejoined Crispin,
with a bow, as he held the door open for her to pass through.

“I feel quite upset,” said the good lady, as she hastily
departed. “I am sure I don’t know what Maurice will say.”

“I do,” thought Crispin, as he closed the door; “he will
be delighted. <pm corr 130.34 '“I talk' 'I talk'> very confidently, but I am doubtful.
Position—yes, that is all right, I am a poet; money—well,
she can hardly complain of twelve thousand a year, safely
invested; family—ah, that is the difficulty! I wonder if I
can get the truth out of Justinian, he alone knows. I cannot
marry with only one name, but I will have two before I
return from Melnos, or else”—

He paused, and struck his fist hard against his open hand.

“I will force Justinian to tell me,” he muttered between
his clinched teeth. “I also hold cards in this game he is
playing, and even with him and Caliphronas as adversaries
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
I will win. Maurice Roylands is Justinian’s stake, Helena
is the stake of Caliphronas, as he chooses to call himself, but
Eunice is mine, and with such a prize to gain I am desperate.”

His eyes fell on an open volume of Thomas à Kempis,
which Mrs. Dengelton, in strange contrast to her usual
worldliness, was fond of reading, and he saw the following
sentence:—

“Love desires to be aloft, and will not be kept back by
anything low and mean.”

“I accept the omen,” he said, closing the book slowly.
“I desire Eunice, and no lowness or meanness of Justinian
and Andros will keep me back. I accept the omen.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII. | <sc>THE NEW ARGONAUTS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
From distant isles of tropic blooms,
Enthroned on seas of hyaline,
Across the waters smaragdine,
The weak winds waft us faint perfumes
Of incense, musk, and fragrant balms,
That shed their scents ’mid lasting calms,
Beneath the shade of bending palms.

These perfumes rouse lethargic brains
From idle dreams and visions pale.
As modern Argonauts we sail
Far o’er the vast mysterious main;
We wish no golden fleeces sleek,
But in these islands of the Greek,
A woman’s lovely face we seek.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
All preparations having been made, it was decided to
start for Greece about the end of July; and these modern
Argonauts were in the highest spirits at the prospect of the
coming voyage,—Caliphronas because his object was gained,
and Roylands would soon be on his way to the island of
Melnos; Crispin because he had come to a comfortable understanding
with Mrs. Dengelton; and Maurice for the simple
reason that he was going to see in the flesh this beautiful
vision of fancy which haunted his brain. The Grange was
to be left to the guardianship of the housekeeper, and its
master, giving up, at least for the present, a life of ease, was
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
about to embark on one of those adventurous expeditions so
dear to the hearts of our restless young Englishmen. Mrs.
Dengelton and Eunice had arranged to stay with Lady Danvers
in London, and the good old Rector still remained in
his sleepy village, looking after his parishioners, his Aristophanic
translation, and his beloved roses.

In company with Maurice, the poet had taken a journey
to Southampton to see if the yacht was all in order for the
projected voyage, and had stayed there three days to attend
to all necessary matters. The Eunice was a beautiful little
craft, schooner-rigged fore and aft, and was manned by an
excellent crew; so with all this luxury the three adventurers
looked forward to having a very pleasant time. It was
now the season when the halcyon broods on the waves, so
they expected a smooth passage to Melnos, and as all three
were capital sailors, even if they did have stormy weather
they cared very little for such a possibility. Caliphronas,
delighted at leaving this dull island for his own brilliant
skies, was beside himself with delight, and talked incessantly
of the pleasures in store for them on the Island of
Melnos.

On the evening before they left England, Maurice invited
the Rector to a farewell dinner; and the company assembled
round the hospitable table of the Grange were very merry
indeed, perhaps with the exception of Eunice, who was somewhat
sad at the prospect of parting from her poet. The
weather was still dull and gray, and it was only the prospect
of a speedy departure that kept Caliphronas bright; but as
that departure took place next day, he was in the gayest
spirits.

“We are the New Argonauts,” he said merrily, with the
affectation of classicism which distinguished him; “we sail
for the Colchian strand.”

“It is to be hoped we find no Medea there,” observed
Crispin with a smile.

“No; our Medea is no sorceress, but a daughter of Venus,
the modern Helen of Troy. Mr. Maurice is her Jason. You,
Crispin, are Orpheus.”

“And you, Count?” asked Maurice, amused at this fancy.

“I?” said Caliphronas lightly. “Well, I hardly know.
Shall I say Hercules?”

“Or Hylas,” suggested the Rector idly.

“Neither!” interposed Crispin pointedly. “We will take
a passenger from another famous ship, and call him Ulysses,
the craftiest of the Greeks.”
.bn 127.png
.pn +1

Caliphronas frowned at this somewhat uncomplimentary
remark, but immediately recovered his gayety, and burst out
laughing.

“Oh, I do not mind in the least. Ulysses, by all means.
After all, he had some very pleasant times with Circe,
Calypso, and such-like ladies.”

“You seem to know your Homer, Count,” said the Rector,
rather surprised at the classical knowledge of this ignorant
young man.

“Or his Lemprière,” muttered Crispin significantly.

Decidedly Crispin was not polite; but, truth to tell, the
prospect of a voyage in company with a man he disliked was
almost too much for him, and it took all his self-restraint
to prevent him breaking out into open war against the Greek.
Caliphronas knew this, but, appearing to take no notice of
such a hostile attitude, resolved to bide his time, and make
Crispin suffer for such insolence at the first opportunity. It
seemed as though poor Maurice would not have a very pleasant
time of it, cooped up in a vessel with these two enemies;
but, doubtless, when Crispin played host in his own yacht,
he would treat the Count in a more courteous fashion. This
was exactly the view Crispin took of the matter; and as he
knew, according to the laws of hospitality, he would have to
be scrupulously polite to Caliphronas on board The Eunice,
he was taking advantage of the present time, and giving his
humor full rein in the direction of his real feelings. If he
could only have prevented Caliphronas coming by such a
display of hostility, he would have been very glad, as he
mistrusted the Greek very much; but Caliphronas was impervious
to the shafts of irony, and, as long as he gained his
ends, did not care what was said to him or of him. This
brilliant stranger was a man entirely without pride, and
would put up with any insults rather than jeopardize his
plans by resenting such discourtesy. It was the last opportunity
Crispin would have of showing his real feelings, so he
took advantage of it; and though it was scarcely gentlemanly
of him to do so, the Count was such an unmitigated scoundrel
that honorable and courteous treatment was entirely
lost on him.

However, Eunice overheard his ironical remarks, and
looked reproachfully at him, whereon Crispin restrained his
temper, and strove to be delightfully amiable, no very easy
task in his present frame of mind. With this good resolve
he talked as pleasantly as he was able, and heard Caliphronas
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
romance about his fictitious life without contradicting him,
which he felt sorely inclined to do. It must not be forgotten
that Crispin had hitherto led a semi-civilized life, and had
not acquired that knack of concealing his likes or dislikes so
necessary in our artificial society; besides which he was a
very honest-minded man, and, knowing the true story of
Caliphronas, the deliberate lies, flashy manner, and snake-like
subtlety of the Greek annoyed him.

Maurice also distrusted the Count, especially after his
conversation with Crispin regarding the real name, career,
and character of the man; but, being more versed in the
science of deception, behaved admirably towards his guest in
every way, thereby deceiving Caliphronas to take all this
enforced suavity for actual good-fellowship. As to the Rector,
he was extremely punctilious in his behavior, and neither
by word nor deed showed his dislike of this sleek-footed
panther, who was about to bear away his favorite Maurice
into unknown dangers.

“You must bring us all kinds of things from Greece,
Maurice,” said Mrs. Dengelton in her usual gushing manner.
“I adore foreign ornaments—those silver pins, you know,
like Italian women wear, and Moorish veils, and Algerian
lamps—so delightful—they fill up a room wonderfully.”

“Yes, and make it look like a curiosity-shop,” replied
Maurice, laughing. “Oh, my dear aunt, you may depend I
will bring you all kinds of outlandish things; but as to Italian
pins, Moorish veils, Algerian lamps, I don’t suppose I will
find any of those sort of things in Greece.”

“What will I bring you?” asked Crispin, as he held open
the door for Eunice to pass through.

They were beyond the hearing of the table, Mrs. Dengelton
had sailed on ahead to the drawing-room, so they were
virtually alone.

“What will I bring you?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yourself,” she replied in the same tone. And Crispin
returned to his seat with the delightful conviction that
Eunice was the most charming girl in the world, and he
was certainly the most fortunate of poets.

The Rector poured himself out a glass of his favorite port,
and began to converse with Caliphronas; while Maurice and
Crispin, lighting their cigarettes, chatted about the yacht,
her sea-going powers, the question of stores, the anticipated
time she would take to run down to the Ægean, and such-like
marine matters.
.bn 129.png
.pn +1

“Will you pay us another visit, Count?” asked the
Rector, more for the sake of starting a conversation than
because he really cared about such a possibility.

“No, I do not think so. I am going to be married and
settle down in my own island.”

“Ithaca?”

Caliphronas laughed a little on hearing the name.

“Yes; on Ithaca.”

“Are you a politician?”

“I? No. I care not two straws for the reconstruction of
the Greek Empire, the recovery of Byzantium from the
Turks, or any of those things which agitate my countrymen.
No. I am a terribly selfish man, sir, as you will doubtless
think. I only want to live in happiness, and for the good of
my fellow-creatures I care nothing.”

“Is that not rather an egotistical way of looking at
life?”

“Doubtless, sir, from your point of view, but not from
mine. You are a priest of your Church, what we call a
Papa in my country, and live the life of the soul, while I
live the life of the body. You believe in self-abnegation—I
in self-satisfaction. With this beautiful world I am content,
but you rack your soul with longings for the life beyond the
grave. In a word, I am real, you are ideal; but I am the
happiest.”

“The happiness of the beasts which perish!” said the
Rector emphatically.

“Well, the beasts, as a rule, have a very good time of it
during their lives; as to the rest, we all perish at last.”

“The body, but not the soul.”

“Ah, that I do not know. I may have a soul, but I am not
certain; but I have a body, and as long as that is at ease,
why should I trouble about things in the next life?”

“Do you ever think of the hereafter?”

“Never! If I die, I die! While I live, I live! I prefer
present certainty to future doubt.”

Mr. Carriston was silent, as he did not care about arguing
theology with this subtle Greek, whose religion, whose philosophy,
assumed Protean forms to meet every objection.
He was full of sophistry and double dealing, an unfair
adversary in every sense of the word, and was so encased in
his armor of self-complacency and egotism, that he could
never be brought to look at things either spiritual or material
in any light than that which satisfied the selfishness of
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
his own soul. The Rector, therefore, avoided the threatened
argument, and applied himself to his wine, which was a
much more agreeable task than attempting to convince this
egoist that the supreme aim of life was not the pampering
of the passions of the individual man.

“Apart from the theological aspect of the case,” said
Carriston good-humoredly, “it is rather a mistaken thing to
live only for one’s self. Where ignorance is bliss, I grant;
but, because you know no higher life than that of the body,
you at once assume that there can be no happier existence.”

“Oh, I do not say that,” answered Caliphronas lightly.
“No doubt you people who mortify the flesh, who listen to
the voice of conscience, who consider the soul more than the
body, and who look upon this life as a preparation for a
future existence, are happy in your self-torturings. All
that sort of thing came in with Anno Domini, and made the
mediæval ages a hell of anguish; but I—I am a Greek—a
pagan, if it pleases you—who looks on this world not as a
prison, but as a garden wherein to live happily. Your
mourning Man of Sorrows is entirely opposed to our joyous
Apollo, your gloomy views of life to our serenity of temperament.
The difference is plain: for you, a Christian, cannot
understand the joyous songs of Paganism; I, a pagan,
shudder at your penitential psalms of Christianity. We
would neither of us ever convince the other, therefore an
argument which has not a common basis from which to start
is unprofitable.”

“I am not going to argue,” replied Carriston, smiling,
“and I agree with you that arguments are unprofitable.
Unless the change takes place in your own breast, it would
be worse than useless for me to attempt to reason with you.
But you are evidently not of the opinion of an Elizabethan
ancestor of mine, among whose papers I discovered the following
lyric:—

.pm start_poem
“Oh, shall we pass contented days,
Unheeding Fortune’s crown of bays,
Which decks the brows
Of those whose vows
Compel them to incessant strife
And restless life?

Ah no; tho’ pleasing to the sense,
This cloying life of indolence
But fills the soul
With weary dole,
And turns the sweet, which doth us bless,
To <pm corr 136.46 bitterness.’ bitterness.>”
.pm end_poem
.bn 131.png
.pn +1

“Your Elizabethan ancestor was not healthy-minded,” said
Caliphronas coolly; “if he had been he would never have
written such silly verses. It is your unhealthy life, your unhealthy
bodies, which breed such restlessness in you.”

“At all events, that restlessness has made England what
she is,” replied the Rector, rather nettled at the rudeness of
the Greek.

“A land of money-worship, a land of noisy steam-engines, a
land of poverty and wealth—extremes in both cases. Yes,
I quite believe your restless spirit has brought you to this
satisfactory state of things. Come, sir,” added the Count,
with a charming smile, seeing the Rector was rather annoyed,
“let us agree to differ. For me, Greece—for you, England;
for me, Nature—for you, Art. Two parallel straight lines
cannot meet.”

Carriston laughed at this way of settling the question, but
made no further remarks, and after a desultory conversation
between all four gentlemen had ensued, they went into the
drawing-room to join the ladies.

Mrs. Dengelton was engaged on her everlasting fancywork;
and Eunice, with a rather disconsolate look on her
face, was idly turning over the pages of a book. Crispin
stole quietly behind her and glanced over her shoulder. It
was a volume of his poems, and he felt flattered.

“And to think,” said Mrs. Dengelton, without further
prelude, “that you will be so far away from home to-morrow.”

“The world is my home,” cried Caliphronas gayly.

“We Englishmen are narrower in our ideas,” observed
Maurice dryly; “we look on England as our home.”

“Ah, there’s no place like home,” sighed the Honorable
Mrs. Dengelton sentimentally.

“If by home you mean England, I am very glad of it,”
retorted the Count audaciously; “I would rather live in
exile in Greece. But come, I will say no more evil things
about your beloved island of fogs.”

“If you do, I will sing ‘Rule Britannia,’” said Maurice,
laughing.

“What is that?”

“Our national song. Do you know any national songs of
your <pm corr 137.40 country. country.”>

Caliphronas smiled with an expression of supreme indifference.

“No; I know nothing of patriotism. I have never given
it a thought. All my songs are of love and wine.”
.bn 132.png
.pn +1

“Oh!” said Mrs. Dengelton in a shocked tone; “really,
Count, you say the most dreadful things!”

“Other times other manners,” observed the Rector humorously.
“Horace, for instance, said things which would shock
you, my dear Mrs. Dengelton.”

“I’ve no doubt about it,” retorted the lady viciously;
“but, thank heaven, I do not know Latin.”

“But you know French, aunt,” said Maurice wickedly;
“and I am afraid Gyp, George Sand, and Belot, are quite as
bad, if not worse, than the Latin poet.”

“Maurice,” replied Mrs. Dengelton severely, unable to
parry this attack, “remember your cousin is in the room.”

“I beg your pardon, aunt.”

“And now, Count Caliphronas,” said the good lady, thus
appeased, “suppose you sing us one of your songs.”

“I am afraid it will shock you,” replied the Count slyly.

“Oh dear no! none of us know Greek.”

“That is hardly complimentary to me, who have given up
all my life to the study of the Greek poets.”

“I don’t mean you, Rector, but the young people.”

“Oh, I do not mind singing,” said Caliphronas, going to
the piano; “if the words of my songs were translated, you
would find them very harmless. They only contain the language
of love known to all the world.”

“Will I play for you?” asked Crispin, looking up from
the poem he was reading to Eunice.

“If you would be so kind.”

“What will you sing?” said the poet, sitting down at the
piano. “No love, no wine to-night. It is our last meeting
in England, so sing some song of farewell.”

“Will I sing ‘The Call to Arms’?”

“Yes, that will be stirring enough.”

Whereupon Caliphronas sang that patriotic song, which
was written by some modern Hellenic Tyrtæus during the
War of Independence. Crispin afterwards translated it into
the metre of Byron’s famous “Isles of Greece” for the benefit
of Eunice, who was anxious to know the words which,
clothed in their Greek garb, rang through the room like the
inspiriting blare of a trumpet.

.pm start_poem
“Thermopylæ! Thermopylæ!
  Give back your Spartan sons of yore,
To raise the flag of liberty,
  And dye its folds in Turkish gore;
Then will the crimson banner wave
Above the freeman, not the slave.
.bn 133.png
.pn +1

Arise, ye Greeks, and break your chains!
  By daring hearts is freedom won.
Behold, the Moslem crescent wanes
  Before the rising Attic sun;
Oh, let its golden beams be shed
On chainless Greeks, and tyrants dead!

Your fathers’ swords were laurel-wreathed,
  And wielded well by freemen brave;
Why are your swords so idly sheathed,
  While Greece is still a Turkish slave?
Shall Hellas, Mother of the West,
In servitude ignoble rest?

Oh, shame! that it should come to this,
  When by your side hang idle swords;
Arise, ye sons of Salamis,
  Whose fathers quelled the Persian hordes,
And drive the Moslem to the sea,
Till Hellas and her sons be free.”
.pm end_poem

When the song was finished, Caliphronas turned away
silently, and Carriston, who was seated near, saw to his
astonishment that the eyes of the emotional Greek were suffused
with tears.

“That man has some noble traits,” he said to himself
as he noticed this; “he is moved by the wrongs of his
country.”

“What a fine ringing melody!” cried Eunice, whose eyes
were flashing with excitement.

“It is like ‘Chevy Chase,’” said Maurice quickly, “and
stirs the heart like the sound of a trumpet.”

“The poet was evidently inspired by Byron,” remarked
Crispin, idly fingering the piano keys; “I expect he wrote
it after the ‘Isles of Greece,’ song. Ah, a Greek should
have written that.”

“I am afraid the days of Alcæus are past,” replied the
Rector, who had understood a considerable portion of the
song, owing to his acquaintance with the ancient Attic
tongue; “Greece prefers Anacreon. Still she won her freedom
bravely.”

“And to what gain?” said Caliphronas bitterly; “to be
ruled by a Danish prince. Better the republics of Athens,
Sparta, and Thebes, than such playing at monarchy.”

“To revive the ancient government you must have the
ancient patriots, poets, and scholars.”

“That I am afraid is impossible. No, the glory has departed
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
from Greece. Centuries of oppression have crushed
the creative faculty out of her.”

“Oh, let us hope, when the Greek Empire is reconstructed,
we will have a new Pindar, a new Sophocles, a new Plato.”

“That is a dream of the lyre, not of the sword,” replied
Caliphronas, carelessly glancing at his watch. “By the way,
it is very late, and, as we have to be up early, I suppose we
ought to retire early.”

“I am quite with you, Count,” said Mrs. Dengelton, rolling
up her work. “Come, Eunice, we must get our beauty
sleep.”

“Humph! the mother needs it more than the daughter,”
thought Crispin, but did not give vent to this very uncomplimentary
remark, and hastened to give the ladies their
candles.

“Are you going to bed, Caliphronas?” asked Maurice,
when the ladies had gone. “We intend to smoke.”

“Going to shorten your lives,” replied the Count, smiling.
“No; I am like Mrs. Dengelton, I require my beauty sleep;”
and at that he also departed.

The Rector, in company with his two young friends, went
to the smoking-room, and had a pleasant conversation, but it
was noticeable that all three gentlemen carefully avoided
mentioning the name of Caliphronas. Decidedly the Greek
was not in favor, and, in spite of the good impression he had
created in the Rector’s mind by his patriotic emotion, that
gentleman showed how deeply rooted was his distrust by his
parting words to Crispin.

“Remember, I leave Maurice in your hands, Mr. Crispin,”
he said in a faltering voice; “he is very dear to me, and you
must protect him from all danger.”

“My dear Rector, I am not a child,” interposed Maurice,
rather nettled; “nor are we going to the wilds of Africa.”

“You may meet with worse enemies than the savage
beasts of Africa,” replied the Rector obstinately. “I do not
trust your friend Caliphronas.”

“Be content,” said Crispin, shaking the Rector warmly by
the hand, “I will watch over Maurice; and as to Caliphronas
you need not be afraid of him. I know the man.”

“And know any good of him?”

“Ah, that is a secret at present; but you may be sure he
will not harm Maurice while I am near.”

“One would think we were going into danger, the way you
talk,” said Roylands impatiently, “instead of a pleasant
cruise in Greek waters.”
.bn 135.png
.pn +1

“The New Argonauts,” observed the Rector, laughing.
“Good-night, Mr. Crispin. Good-night, my dear lad; come
over and say good-by to-morrow.”

The Argonauts promised, and the Rector, quite at peace
concerning his dear pupil, departed.

“You doubt Caliphronas; the Rector doubts Caliphronas,”
said Maurice, when the old man had gone. “I am getting
rather wearied of such doubts.”

“Well, I will set your doubts at rest in—say a week’s
time.”

“And are your revelations startling?”

Crispin shrugged his shoulders.

“Not very; it all depends upon what you call startling.
Really I have made by my talk this molehill of a Caliphronas
into a mountain of dissimulation and deceit. He is not
a good man, but I have no doubt he is as good as his neighbors.”

“The mystery which environs him fascinates me.”

“No doubt; the unknown is always attractive,” replied
Crispin sententiously. “But after all, when I tell you
everything, you may be disappointed. The mountain may
only bring forth a mouse, you know. But, at all events, I
look forward to some pretty lively times.”

“Where?”

“In the Island of Melnos. My dear innocent Englishman,
you are being drawn into a network of intrigue and duplicity,
but, as I hold all the threads in my hand, you will come out
all right in the end.”

“You puzzle me! I hope I <em>will</em> come all right out of this
mystery.”

“I heard a vulgar saying at a music hall which applies to
this case and to you,” said Crispin gayly; “it was, ‘Keep
your eye on your father, and your father will pull you
through.’”
.bn 136.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII. | <sc>THE PAST OF A POET.</sc>

.pm start_poem
We all have histories. The meanest hind
Who turns the steaming furrow can unfold
Some story in his uneventful life,
Which stirs the wonderment of him who hears,
To thoughts bewildered, how so small a stage
Can thus contain so great a tragedy.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The Eunice left Southampton on an unpleasantly wet
day, and standing on the deck, under a dull gray sky, the
three adventurers felt quite dispirited as they watched the
receding shores of England veil themselves in chilly mists.
Going down the Channel they had moderately fair weather,
but no sunlight, and Caliphronas, who was a wretchedly bad
sailor, in spite of his Levantine cruisings, retreated to his
cabin in a very miserable frame of mind. Both Crispin and
Maurice, however, were in good health and spirits, mostly
remaining on deck to watch the gray sea heaving dully under
the gray sky. In the Bay of Biscay bad weather prevailed
as a matter of course, and the yacht tossed about a good
deal in the choppy waters. Not until they passed the
Straits did they have fine weather, for the first burst of sunlight
showed them the giant rock of Gibraltar frowning on
the left as they steamed rapidly into the blue waters of the
Mediterranean.

Had Maurice so desired, Crispin was quite willing to put
in for a day, but the young man was anxious to proceed to
Melnos, and the yacht soon left the picturesque sentinel of
the Mediterranean behind. The weather now became warm
and bright, bringing Caliphronas out of his cabin again, like a
brilliant butterfly, to bask in the sunshine. The arid island
of Malta came in sight, and they saw its precipitous shores
rising sternly from the tideless waters. For a few hours
they cast anchor in the Grand Harbor, and went on shore
to explore Valetta, with its steep streets, quaint houses, and
mongrel population. An afternoon spent in leisurely strolling
along the Strada Reale, and looking at the bizarre
mixture of Turks, Jews, Arabs, Italians, and red-coated
English soldiers, proved an agreeable change after their nine
days’ run from Southampton, and they re-embarked in much
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
better spirits than when they left England. Now they were
in tropical heat, with a cloudless sky above, and the brave
little yacht steamed merrily across the glittering waters,
leaving a trail of white foam behind her. Nearer and nearer
they drew to the enchanted shores of Greece, and to glowing
days succeeded warm nights lighted by mellow constellations
and delicately silver moons.

It was when they were in Adria, the ancient name of the
sea between Sicily and Greece, that Crispin told Maurice the
story of his life. Dinner was long since over, and the three
gentlemen lounged on deck smoking the pipes of peace—that
is, Crispin and Maurice smoked and lounged, for Caliphronas
did neither the one thing nor the other, but paced
restlessly about the deck, looking up into the darkly blue
sky, and singing snatches of Greek songs.

“Do you see Taygetus, Mr. Maurice?” he said, pointing
to the lofty snow-crowned range of mountains in the distance.
“This is your first glimpse of Greece, is it not? Yes, of
course it is. I am sorry you do not find our shores bathed
in sunlight to greet you; still yonder snowy mountain, this
calm sea, that serene sky, is beautiful, is it not?”

“Very beautiful.”

Whereat Caliphronas, leaning over the taffrail and looking
dreamily at the shores of his native land, broke out into song.

.pm start_poem
“I would I were hunting on rocky Taygetus,
Which kisses the starry sky with snows of chastity,
Then might I meet the lost nymph
Who beloved by a god was set as a star on high,
But fell from thence, and was lost in the snowy wilderness.”
.pm end_poem

“Taygeta!” said Crispin, who knew the song well. “Yes;
she was one of the Pleiades, certainly; but I don’t think she
was the lost Pleiad, nor do I think she had anything to do
with yonder mountain. If you hunted there, Caliphronas,
you would meet Bacchus and his crew, but no nymph.”

“I sing the song as ’twas sung to me,” said the Count
blithely, balancing himself on one foot. “This is a land of
fancy, not of fact; so why bring in your hard truths to
destroy the glory of tradition? No; Taygeta haunts those
hills, and if I wandered upward to the snows I would meet
her.”

“If you saw a nymph you would go mad,” remarked
Maurice, alluding to the old Greek superstition.

“I am mad now, Mr. Maurice,—mad with the scent of wind
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
and wave and shore. Can you not smell the perfumes blowing
from the land?”

“No; I’m sure I cannot, nor you either.”

“You are no believer. See, from the moonlit waters arise
the Nereides to welcome us to the seas of Poseidon. Arethusa,
Asia, and Leucothoe are all waving their white arms,
and singing songs of the wondrous caves beneath the
waves.”

“Ridiculous!” retorted Maurice stolidly.

“You are no idealist,” said Caliphronas petulantly.
“Dull Englishman as you are, the land of romance spreads
her wonders in vain for you. Creespeen, you are a poet;
behold the daughters of the sea!”

Crispin smiled absently, and tossed his cigarette into the
waters which rushed past, glittering in the moonlight with
the grayish glint of steel.

“You forget that this is no galley of Ulysses, my friend.
A modern steamer, with a noisy screw beating the waters, is
enough to scare away all the nymphs in the vicinity.”

“And this is a poet!” cried the Greek indignantly, addressing
the stars; “this dull-eyed being who can see no
wonders in the seas! Oh, shade of Homer, conjure up for
him the island nymph, Calypso, and her lovely train; conjure”—

“I think Homer will have to conjure up himself first,”
said Crispin flippantly.

“Which he certainly will not do on the ocean,” added
Maurice lazily; “your mighty poet was a land-lubber.”

Caliphronas looked indignantly at them both, then went
off in a rage.

“I will go and have a talk to the sailors.”

“Don’t addle their English brains with your classical rubbish,”
shouted Crispin satirically; “if you do, they may
wreck us.”

“Wreck you!” said the Greek to himself, with a start.
“There is many a true word spoken in jest, my friend; perhaps
you will be wrecked before we reach Melnos.”

When Caliphronas had gone. Maurice relighted his pipe,
which had gone out; and, freed from the chattering of the
Count, enjoyed the quiet beauty of the night, while Crispin
hummed softly a ballad which Eunice used to sing,—

.pm start_poem
“Oh, winds and waves, oh, stars and sea,
I would I were as blithe and free.”
.pm end_poem
.bn 139.png
.pn +1

Above, the sky was almost of a purple color in the sultry
night, and the stars, brilliant and large, burned like lamps in
the still air. A serene moon, half veiled in fleecy clouds,
arose above the chill snows of Taygetus, and a long glittering
bridge of light extended from the land to the yacht.
The steady beat of the screw, which impelled the vessel
through the silent waters, sounded in their ears, blending
with the rich voice of Caliphronas, who had climbed up the
mast, and was clinging to the weather rigging like a spectral
figure in the shadowy glimmer of moon and star.

.pm start_poem
“The earth breathes fragrant breaths to-night,
And the perfume blows from the land.
Oh, I can see the waters kissing her shores,
Even as I would kiss thee, my belovèd,
With thy breath more fragrant than these languid scents,
Floating from the distant isles of rose-filled gardens.”
.pm end_poem

“I wish I knew Greek,” said Maurice, as the Count paused
for a moment; “those snatches of song sound so beautiful.”

“They are beautiful,” replied Crispin idly; “I have often
thought of translating some of them into English. Listen!”

.pm start_poem
“I see Dione rising from the waters,
A Venus of the moonlight night.
Why wavest thou thy arms as ivory gleaming?
Why do I see thine eyes flash as the evening star?
Thy voice is as the murmur of breathing waves
In twilight on a sandy beach.
Callest thou me to thy home below?
Ah, I will come, and beneath the placid waters
Coldly white will I lie on thy cold white breast.
But thro’ the door of death must I pass to gain such blisses.”
.pm end_poem

“’Tis like the lyrics of Callicles in Arnold’s poem,” said
Crispin, taking off his cap; “stray fragments of song scattered
by the winds.”

“Or like the songs in ‘Pippa Passes,’” suggested Maurice
speculatively; “but I am afraid the singing of Caliphronas
will not do so much good as Pippa’s.”

A long sigh floated past them on the still waters, like the
melancholy cry of a bird, and died away sadly in the distance.

“Calypso sighing for Ulysses,” observed Crispin, without
altering his position; “though I dare say it is only the wind
moaning through the ropes.”

“Let us think it is the voice calling, Pan is dead!”

“We are classical to-night. Caliphronas has inoculated us
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
with his antique dreams. Well, when one is in fairyland,
one must dream romances.”

“Suppose you tell me your romance,” said Maurice
abruptly.

“Of my past life? Yes; I will do so; but you must promise
to keep it secret.”

“I promise.”

“I am afraid you will think but little of it when you know
all; but I promised to tell you, so I will now fulfil my promise.
In the first place, you know my name is Crispin.”

“Yes; and have often wondered at its terseness. Have
you no surname?”

“No legal surname.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am a natural son.”

“Illegitimate!” said Maurice, startled.

“Yes. Now you see the reason for my returning to
Melnos.”

“You wish to find out who you really are.”

“I do; from Justinian.”

“But who is this mysterious Justinian?”

“And this equally mysterious Caliphronas, and Alcibiades,
and Crispin. You are in a world of mystery here, and will
see many things on Melnos which will excite your wonderment.
But come, I will lift a portion of the veil, and place
you in possession of facts which may be of use to you in the
future.”

“I am all attention.”

Crispin settled himself more comfortably, and, fixing his
earnest eyes upon Maurice, began his story without further
remark.

“My first memories are of the Island of Melnos, where I
was <em>not</em> born. No; I was taken there with my mother when
I was an infant; but the land of my birth I do not know.
English I am, certainly; but for all I know, ocean may have
witnessed my coming into the world. As I grew up, I
thought Justinian was my father, for my mother always led
me to believe such was the case, and certainly he was very
kind to me. This Justinian, of whom you have often heard
me speak, is not a Greek, but an Englishman; but of his real
name I am ignorant, nor do I know the reason that he lives
in this island exile. Now you can see the reason I speak
English so well, for from my earliest years I was brought up
with the sound of it in my ears; so also was Caliphronas.”
.bn 141.png
.pn +1

“Is he related to Justinian?”

“No; nor was he born in Ithaca; nor is he a count; nor
is his name Caliphronas. Count Constantine Caliphronas,
better known in these waters as Andros, comes from the
island of the name; and Justinian, struck by his beauty as
a child, adopted him as a son, and brought him up with me.
The English tongue we were both taught from our cradles;
so you now know the reason we both speak it so well. In those
early days I always thought Justinian was my father, and
Caliphronas was my brother; but as I grew up I was undeceived
on these points. My mother died when I was still
a child, and I was therefore left to the sole guardianship of
this pseudo-Englishman. As I told you, he rules over a
kind of patriarchal community in this little-known island;
and the life seems to suit him, for he is a kind of freebooter
in his way, fierce and lawless, though years have now tamed
his spirit to a considerable extent. Caliphronas, or rather
Andros, and myself were brought up in a wild sort of fashion,—always
in the open air, on the waters, fishing, riding,
sailing, fighting”—

“Fighting!” cried Maurice in surprise.

“Yes. Oh, there are strange things in these Greek waters,
I assure you! On an adjacent island lived a kind of semi-pirate
called Alcibiades, who was, and is, a thorough blackguard.
He used to cruise about in a small craft in order to
levy blackmail on the inhabitants of the other islands, and
in these cruises Andros and myself very often joined. There
was no killing, you understand; but sometimes the peasants
objected to be robbed, so there was often a fight, ending in
broken heads.”

“But the law?”

“Oh, there is precious little law in these parts. Brigandism
is not yet extinct, whatever you English may think. Besides,
Alcibiades was a moderate sort of pirate, and was cunning
enough not to go too far. He would rob a poor man of his
last drachma, but he would not cut his throat. I don’t think
Justinian blamed him for this piratical existence; indeed, I
think he rather envied his wild life, and, had he been young
enough, would certainly have joined him in partnership.
As it was, he allowed Andros and myself to form part of the
band of Alcibiades, which we, wild, uncultured scamps as we
were, regarded as a great privilege.”

“And how long did this buccaneering go on?”

“As far as I am concerned, for some years; but as regards
Caliphronas, I dare say he is at it yet.”
.bn 142.png
.pn +1

“What! is he a thief?”

“Oh, no; a thief is a vulgar thing. Caliphronas is a picturesque
freebooter, and simply plunders on a large scale.
I’ve no doubt his visit to England was paid for out of his
ill-gotten gains.”

“And is this Alcibiades still living?”

“Oh yes; you will see him, I have no doubt, for he is a
great friend of Justinian’s.”

“But who is this Justinian?”

Crispin paused for a moment and seemed to consider, then
replied with great deliberation,—

“I can hardly tell you. He is an Englishman, so you
must be content with knowing only that. Later on I may
tell you something about him, but not now.”

“Well, and how did you escape from this piratical existence?”

“Oh, Caliphronas was the main cause of my leaving Melnos.
After my mother died, I made several discoveries—one,
that Andros was not my brother, as I had hitherto
supposed; and another, that Justinian was not my father.
Being a comparative child, I did not pay much attention to
these facts; but when I was about eighteen years of age, I
began to ask Justinian questions as to who I really was,
but he refused to tell me.”

“Were you always called Crispin?”

“Yes, always. Justinian, in spite of his fierce, wild
nature, has a vein of romance in him, and, as he arrived at
Melnos with myself and my mother on St. Crispin’s day,
called me after that saint. My mother fell in with his
humor, and from the time I landed at Melnos I was called
nothing else but Crispin.”

“Or Creespeen, as the Count calls you.”

“Yes; Caliphronas is a good English speaker, but he
makes mistakes in proper names. You observe he never
risks saying Roylands, but always addresses you as Mr.
Maurice—Maurice is of course a Greek name.”

“And how was Caliphronas responsible for your leaving
Melnos?”

“Oh, it was a kind of Esau and Jacob business. I was
Esau, and Andros Jacob, the favored one. Justinian thought
me rather a milksop, because I did not care about our piratical
excursions with Alcibiades, in which Caliphronas, born
scamp as he was, delighted. At all events, Caliphronas, in
order to curry favor with Justinian, and secure his own well-being,
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
did his best to estrange us still further, and very soon
my adopted father broke out into open hatred of me. One
day, when I refused to join in one of Alcibiades’ little trips
in search of plunder, he taunted me with being a man of
peace, like my father; and, when I demanded who my
father was, refused to tell me anything more than that I was
illegitimate. From words we came to blows, for both of us
were very hot-tempered, and the end of it was that Justinian
ordered me to leave the island, much to the delight of Caliphronas,
who wanted to secure it to himself.”

“And you left Melnos?”

“Yes; I could not help myself, as Justinian had plenty of
scoundrels to do his bidding; and, had he given the word, I
have no doubt Alcibiades would have put a stone round my
neck, and dropped me into the sea.”

“But, my dear Crispin, all this lawlessness nowadays!”

Crispin shrugged his shoulders with a smile.

“My dear fellow, you gentlemen of England, who live at
home in ease, do not know what lawlessness still exists in
the East. To be sure, I speak of over ten years ago, and
things are better now; still, I think a good many things go
on in the vicinity of Melnos which Justice would scarcely
approve of; but, as long as nothing very bad happens, why,
she winks at small crimes. If I had been dropped into the
sea, who would have been a bit the wiser? no one except
the islanders, and they would not have troubled themselves
over such a trifle, especially as I was not popular among
them. Caliphronas, Justinian, and Alcibiades are all their
divinities, not a poor poet like me, who shrinks from their
scampish ways.”

“So you left Melnos in the end?”

“Yes; like the boy in the fairy tale, I went out into the
wide, wide world to seek my fortune. I managed to work
my passage to Athens, and arrived there without even the
traditional penny. Fortunately, I knew modern Greek and
English thoroughly well, so was fortunate enough to obtain
a situation as a corresponding clerk in a firm of merchants
who traded with England, but I did not remain there long.”

“Where did you make all your money?”

“Ah, that is what I am now going to tell you. Fortune
evidently wished to make reparation for having brought me
into the world with a stigma on my name, so threw me into
the way of a rich Englishman, whom I met at the house of
my employer. He heard my story, and was much impressed
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
with it; and then discovered that I had the talent to string
verses together, and also a faculty for music. Being passionately
fond of such things he made up his mind that he
had discovered a genius; and, being without a relative in
the world, he adopted me as his son and made me his heir.”

“You seem to have passed your life in being adopted,”
said Maurice, who was deeply interested in this romantic
history.

“Only twice. First Justinian, then my English father.
I need not tell you his name, as I did not take it, preferring
to be called Crispin until such time as I discovered my real
parent. Well, my benefactor, who was very learned, began
to educate me, and also placed me at school. I suppose I
made good use of my time, as I soon became sufficiently
accomplished to win his approval. We travelled all over
the Continent—a great deal in the East—until I was about
twenty-seven years of age, when he died at Damascus, and
left me heir to all his property, amounting to about twelve
thousand a year.”

“Fortunate man!”

“Yes; I thought I was too fortunate, and had some compunction
in taking so large an income, fearing lest I might
be robbing some relative of my benefactor more entitled to
it. When I buried my adopted father at Damascus, I came
to England and saw his lawyers, who were quite satisfied
with my identity, owing to the papers which I produced. The
will, of course, was in their possession, as my benefactor had
returned to England when I was at school, and made his will
in my favor. The lawyers told me that there were no relatives
alive, and that I was justly entitled to spend the
money, so that is how I became rich. The rest of my life
you know.”

“You published a volume of poems, became the mystery
of London, saw Eunice, fell in love with her, and came down
to the Grange—yes, I know all that; but have you made
no effort to discover who you are?”

“Yes. I went to Melnos three years ago and saw Justinian,
but he refused to help me in any way; so I returned to
England in despair. Now, however, I am going back with
certain knowledge of Justinian’s past life, which I will
make use of to force him to tell me what I wish to know.”

“You don’t believe his story about your illegitimacy?”

“No. If I can get the truth out of him I believe I will find
I have a right to a legal surname, and I am anxious to establish
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
this fact in order to marry Eunice. As it is, I cannot
marry her without inflicting on her the disgrace I feel myself;
besides, her mother would not consent to the marriage,
nor would you.”

“My dear fellow, I am not so narrow-minded as all that.”

“Still, I know your English prejudices. You say that
out of kindness, but if your cousin marries, you would prefer
her husband to have a spotless name.”

“Certainly.”

“Then I am going to make Justinian give me one. I
know, if he tells the truth, I will discover I have been born
in wedlock. Of his own free will he refuses to tell me; now,
however, owing to my knowledge of his past, I can force his
confidence.”

“And what about Helena?”

“She is Justinian’s daughter. There is no stain on her
birth; so if you love her, as I am sure you will, you can
marry her without fear.”

“Her father seems rather a terrible old person.”

“He is a scamp, I am afraid. Still, he is a man of good
family.”

“How do you know?”

“I have made certain discoveries while in England, and
now know more about Justinian than he thinks.”

“Is Helena as charming as she looks?” asked Maurice
anxiously.

“Yes,” replied Crispin emphatically. “She is a pure,
good woman, and will make you an excellent wife; but you
have a rival.”

“Alcibiades?”

“No; Caliphronas.”

“I thought as much,” said Maurice, with a start, remembering
the Greek’s jealousy concerning the portrait. “But
if he loves Helena, why did he show me her picture, which
has been my sole reason for this journey?”

“Wheels within wheels!” replied Crispin significantly.

“More mystery?”

“Yes; there are still some things for you to learn, but I
cannot tell you of them now, as I have made a promise.”

“To whom?”

“Caliphronas.”

“Caliphronas!” cried that gentleman, who had approached
them quietly; “and what are you saying about Caliphronas?”
.bn 146.png
.pn +1

“A good many things,” said Crispin rapidly, in Greek.
“I have been telling him who I am.”

The Greek flushed with rage, and then he laughed.

“That is your business, but I trust you did not break
faith?”

“About Justinian, no; about Helena, no; but I have told
him all your early life.”

Caliphronas made a dart at Crispin with uplifted hand, but
Maurice sprang up and caught him in his arms, where he
writhed like an eel.

“Traitor!” he hissed in Greek; “traitor!”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV. | <sc>THE DEVIL’S PHILOSOPHY.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Why should I call mankind my brothers,
Or live but for the good of others?
’Twould bring me neither pain nor pleasure,
Nor give me comfort, joy, or treasure.
Myself by Nature’s law I cherish;
If I am saved, let others perish;
For if ill luck Dame Fortune gave me,
None would stretch out a hand to save me.
While life to me means wealth or laughter,
Themselves all paupers can look after;
Than me for hardships they are fitter,
I taste the sweet and they the bitter.
But if such selfish maxims hurt you,
Then live your life of silly virtue.
Let men defraud you in life’s barter,
And you will be—a social martyr.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The two men stood looking at one another in silence for
quite a minute, Crispin cool and composed, the Greek fuming
with anger. At length Caliphronas burst out laughing, and
Maurice, seeing he was now master of his actions, let him go,
whereon he flung himself into a chair, with a cynical smile
on his handsome face.

“So this dear Creespeen has told you who I am, and what
I am,” he said, looking insolently at Maurice. “Well, and
what do you think of me?”

“You would hardly feel flattered if I told you,” retorted
Roylands, lighting his cigarette once more.

“Ah, bah! Praise or blame is all the same to me. Oh,
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
I know your dull English respectability which shudders at
the truth. Yet I dare say, with my little excursions with
Alcibiades, my assuming of a false name, my philosophy of
enjoying myself at the expense of others, I am no worse than
many of your holy people, who go to church, and, under the
guise of self-denial, enjoy all that life can give. I may be
what you call bad, but I am at least not a hypocrite.”

“By which remark I presume you infer I am one.”

“No, I do not. You have not enough character to make
you either bad or good. You lead a dull, respectable life,
because you like dull respectability. If you had leanings in
the other direction, I will do you the justice to say that I
have no doubt you would not have concealed them from the
world.”

“Thank you,” replied Maurice dryly; “your opinion of
my character is most gratifying.”

“As to you, Creespeen,” said Caliphronas, turning to the
poet with an evil smile, “I knew you were prudish in many
ways, a milksop as Justinian called you, and a man afraid
of going against the opinion of the world, but I did not
know you were an oath-breaker nor a tale-bearer.”

“Nor am I,” answered Crispin, keeping his temper wonderfully
under the insults of the Greek, for, after all, it
would have been worse than useless to quarrel with him.

“I did not tell about Justinian, or of anything connected
with your visit to England. All I revealed was my own life
and your real character, which it is only right my friend
should know.”

“As for that,” retorted Caliphronas carelessly, “I do not
mind. Mask on, mask off, it is all the same to me; but, as
regards what I told you in confidence, I am glad you were
wise enough not to reveal it, as you would have to settle
accounts with Justinian, not with me.”

“I am not afraid of Justinian,” said Crispin, with supreme
contempt.

“What is this secret?” asked Maurice quickly; “if it
refers to me, I have a right to know it.”

“It does not refer to you,” replied Caliphronas mendaciously;
“it concerns Justinian, and what it is you will learn
before you are many days on Melnos.”

“I do not generally boast about myself,” said Maurice
quickly, “but if you and your precious Justinian are up to
any tricks, you will find me an awkward customer to deal
with.”
.bn 148.png
.pn +1

“No harm is intended, Mr. Maurice.”

“Upon my word, sir, your insolence is unbounded,” said
Roylands, sitting upright in his indignation. “I am going
to make a tour of the Greek islands, yet you talk as if I were
coming on a visit to you—being decoyed, as it were, into a
robber’s cave. I don’t care two straws about your ‘no harm
is intended,’ and you may be certain if there is any trouble
it will be for you, not for me. Really,” continued Maurice,
laughing at the comicality of the situation, “one would think
we lived in the days of filibusters and buccaneers the way you
talk.”

Caliphronas was not put out in the least by this speech,
and, leaning back in his chair, looked at Maurice with a lazy
smile.

“There is no pleasure without an element of danger,” he
said coolly, placing his hands behind his head, “and you
may have adventures before you leave Melnos.”

Struck by the significance of his tone, Maurice looked
keenly at him, and then turned to Crispin with a puzzled
air.

“My dear fellow, will you explain this riddle?”

“There is nothing to explain,” said Crispin, with a yawn;
“you know the way Caliphronas exaggerates. I suppose he
wants to make out that Melnos is a barbaric place, and that
this cruise partakes of the nature of a journey into Darkest
Africa.”

“I have heard more nonsense to-night than I ever heard
before in my life,” said Maurice, still ruffled. “Pseudo-counts,
patriarchal knights, islands of fantasy, hintings of
dangers. It is like a novel of adventure.”

Caliphronas laughed, but said nothing, while Crispin
knocked the ashes out of his pipe and refilled it finally for a
last smoke before turning in.

“I suppose you are very shocked at Creespeen’s flattering
description of me,” remarked the Count calmly.

“Hm! I hardly know. You are a picturesque scamp, but
only a scamp for all that.”

“This candor is delightful.”

“Caliphronas,” observed Crispin, settling himself into a
more comfortable attitude, “is a gentleman who believes
that Number One is the greatest number.”

“Every one in the world does that, my dear Creespeen.”

“Probably, but they don’t show it so openly as you do.”

“Hypocrites!”
.bn 149.png
.pn +1

“I dare say, but a certain amount of hypocrisy is necessary
in this world of shams.”

Maurice looked at Count Constantine with an amused
smile.

“Caliphronas, you are a most unique person, and I would
like to know your views of life.”

“Make money honestly if you can—but make money.”

“I thought you were a child of Nature, who cared nothing
for money.”

“You are right in one way, Mr. Maurice. For money as
money I care nothing, but I like luxuries which only money
can buy, and therefore desire money.”

“Epigrammatic, decidedly! but your free, open-air life—your
love of mountains, waves, winds, skies?”

“Certainly I love all those things very much. Still, I go
to Athens sometimes for amusement, and amusement requires
money.”

“You are certainly candid.”

“I am; when I have nothing to gain, I am always
candid.”

“And you have nothing to gain now?”

“No. I paid a visit to England—out of curiosity,” said
Caliphronas, hesitating over the last words. “I met there
my dear old friend Creespeen, and also yourself. Both of
you are returning with me to the land I love—so, what with
your company and my home-coming, I have absolutely nothing
to wish for.”

“So you are that <lang=la><i>rara avis</i></lang>, a thoroughly satisfied man?”

“I suppose so,” replied Caliphronas coolly. “No—stay—I
do desire one thing which I hope to obtain.”

“I can guess what that one thing is.”

“Indeed! pray tell me.”

“Well, it is not your mythical Fanariot at Constantinople.”

“Mythical?”

“Yes. Oh, don’t be angry, Count Caliphronas! I now
know the reason you were so angry over that photograph.”

“If you do,” said the Greek, restraining himself with difficulty,
“you will know how to act wisely.”

“Possibly; I have already arranged my plan of action.”

“Really?”

Caliphronas had a fleeting smile on his lips as he said this,
but looked so dangerous that Crispin touched Maurice on the
arm.
.bn 150.png
.pn +1

“Do not irritate him any more; remember he is my guest,
and I cannot be impolite.”

Maurice took the hint, and addressed himself to the Count
with an air of elaborate politeness.

“Don’t let us talk any more about possibilities, Count,”
he said, laughing. “After all, I have some right to be angry,
considering how you masqueraded as a count in England.”

“And now I am a wolf, eh?” said Caliphronas, showing
his white teeth; “bah! a wolf may be a very pleasant
animal.”

“Maybe, but from all accounts he is not.”

“That is as you take him; but then I know Creespeen has
prejudiced you against me.”

“I have done nothing of the sort,” protested the poet
quietly; “I only told him how you were accustomed to
associate with Alcibiades.”

“Eh, and why not? My friend Alcibiades is not a bad
man,—a good honest trader who sails about among the
islands of the Ægean. I will introduce you to him, Mr.
Maurice, and I am sure you will like him. After all, our
little piratical excursions are very innocent—no bloodshed—no
violence—no burning of houses; we—we only levy
toll, so to speak.”

“What a pleasant way of putting it!”

“What does it matter if you take openly or take secretly?
the thing is the same, but only the mode of doing it is different.
What we do in Greece, you do in England, but,
simply because the latter is done under the rose and the
former is not, your robbers of London are good, honest men,
whereas we poor Greeks of the islands are scamps. Never
mind, when we become as civilized as you, we also will mask
our wickedness under the cloak of sanctity.”

“Oh,” cried Crispin, suddenly rising to his feet, “I am
tired of this discussion! it is all aimless—about no one and
no thing. I am going to turn in.”

“And I—am not,” added Caliphronas, springing to his
feet; “fancy going down to a close cabin with such glories
as this outside!”

He waved his arms aloft, where the brilliant sky smiled
down on the still waters. Indeed, so placid was the sea that
the stars, moon, and clouds were all reflected therein as in a
mirror, and the yacht seemed to hang passive in the centre
of a scintillating, hollow ball.

“When do we reach Melnos?” asked Maurice abruptly,
as Caliphronas strolled away to the other end of the ship.
.bn 151.png
.pn +1

“To-morrow evening,” replied Crispin, pausing at the door
of the cabin. “We will sleep on board, and visit Justinian
in the morning.”

“Crispin, is there anything in those veiled threats of
Caliphronas?”

“Perhaps,” replied the poet vaguely. “Caliphronas is a
dangerous man, and is, as I have told you, a favorite of
Justinian’s. However, I would not be surprised if Justinian
dismissed Andros and put you in his place.”

“Thank you,” said Maurice in haughty surprise, “but I
have no ambition to occupy such a position.”

“Maurice,” said Crispin suddenly, “I wish I could tell you
all I know, but, unfortunately, I gave my word to Caliphronas
not to do so as long as you were not harmed in any way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot tell you, but only this, which may perhaps serve
as a warning,—Caliphronas came to Roylands on purpose to
get you to journey to Melnos.”

“And his reason?”

“I know it, but I cannot tell you. However, if you should
be in any danger,—and I will not conceal from you that
there may be danger,—I will consider my promise void and
tell you all.”

“All what?”

“All about Caliphronas, Justinian, and Helena.”

“Is she in this plot also?”

“Plot! yes, it is a plot, the reason of which I know not.
Helena is to a certain extent mixed up in it, but innocently,
you may be sure.”

“I cannot understand all this.”

“Never mind, as long as I understand it you will not suffer.
Caliphronas, as I have told you, is a scamp, and will pause
at nothing to gratify his own desire. He lured you to Melnos
for a purpose, but he did not count on my presence.
Listen! he thinks we have gone below, and is telling his
secrets to the stars.”

And at this moment, as if Caliphronas knew the subject-matter
of their conversation, in the far distance he broke out
into a rich burst of song, the gist of which Crispin rapidly
translated to Maurice.

.pm start_poem
“The net is spread and the prey is near,
Drive him into the entanglement.
Ho! my noble stag of Olympus, you are helpless,
And the spear of the hunter will drink your blood
Before the dawn sets rosy foot on blushing mountain-top.”
.pm end_poem
.bn 152.png
.pn +1

“You see,” said Crispin significantly, after translating
this, “he talks in parables, but you can guess his meaning;
but do not be afraid. You trust me, do you not?”

“Yes, I trust you,” replied Maurice, grasping the hand
held out to him.

“That is right, my friend—good-night.”

When Crispin disappeared, Maurice went to the stern of
the ship, and, leaning over the taffrail, fell into deep meditation
over the strange circumstances in which he was environed.
Caliphronas, sitting by the bowsprit, was swaying
up and down with the pitching of the yacht, singing songs,
now soft, now loud, but this was the only sound of humanity
heard. The sough of the wind through the rigging, the
dreary wash of the sea, as the ship cut her way through the
glittering plain; the rustle of the cordage, the beating of
the screw,—he could hear all these blending with the fitful
voice of the Greek. The moon had retired behind a thick
bank of black clouds, which foreboded storm, and the moonlit
world was now shadowy, vast, vague, and strange,—a world
of shadows and ghosts, with the swift steamer gliding
onward into the unknown seas—into the unknown future.

Maurice Roylands was not what one might call a strong-minded
man, for, as a matter of fact, he had that subtle touch
of indecision which is often found in artistic natures. He
was very impressionable, and surrounding circumstances had
a great effect on his temperament—still, when he saw his
way clearly before him, he was quite capable of making up
his mind, and carrying out his determination to the end.
But he could never make up his mind promptly, as he
wavered this way, that way, according as he was biassed by
circumstances. Had he been of a firm, decisive nature, he
would never have yielded to that pitiable melancholia which
seized him in London, and would thus have been spared much
suffering. Still, in spite of this latent weakness of character,
which always developed itself in time of trouble, he was
a brave man, with plenty of pluck. In England, notwithstanding
his Bohemian existence, his life had gone on too
smoothly to call his moral characteristics into any special
prominence, but now, surrounded as he was by vague mysteries,
he felt doubtful.

Hitherto his existence had been but prosaic, but now the
element of romance had entered into it, and he felt that he
was being passively drawn into a series of strange adventures,
the subsequent termination of which, either for good
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
or evil, lay not in his own hands. Caliphronas had come to
England with the deliberate intention of luring him to
Melnos; but what was his reason for this strange conduct?
Certainly Crispin knew, but Crispin, fettered by his promise
of secrecy, was unable to solve the problem. The strangest
thing of all was that Caliphronas had made use of the picture
of a girl he loved, to decoy Maurice to the East, which
line of conduct struck the young man as most unaccountable.

If Caliphronas was in love with Helena, it was foolish of
him to encourage, as he had undoubtedly done, the love of a
rival; and the result of two men loving one woman must be
unsatisfactory to one of them. Of course, Maurice saw that
Caliphronas, confident in his beauty of person and powers of
fascination, never for a moment doubted the final result;
still, what was the reason of his taking a trip to England
especially to bring a rival into the presence of the woman?
The more Maurice thought about this, the more extraordinary
did it seem, and, as the whole was a decided enigma, his
doubts arose as to what was the best course to pursue under
these very extraordinary circumstances.

True, Crispin, being in possession of the true facts of the
case, would help him, for the poet was an honest man,
and would not stand idly by in time of trouble; still,
there was something in the affair of which even Crispin
was ignorant, as he had confessed, and this mysterious
something was connected in some way with Justinian. Maurice,
after long pondering, came to the conclusion that with
Justinian lay the whole solution of the matter, and, as he
could decide on no course of action until he had seen Justinian
himself, all he could do was to remain passive and
trust to Providence.

“One thing is certain,” he said to himself, as he watched
the gray waters swirling past, “I can depend on Crispin, and
as he knows Caliphronas thoroughly, that consummate scamp
will hesitate before he takes any action adverse to my interests.
But Justinian seems so mixed up in the affair, and apparently
without any reason whatsoever. He has lived in
this Greek island all his life, Englishman though he is, so
why he should desire to see a complete stranger like myself
I do not know. Well, the only thing I can do is to trust
blindly in Crispin, for I am sure he will not fail me. Apart
from his friendship for me, it would be against his own interests
to play false, as he would then never be able to marry
Eunice. Time alone will unravel all this perplexity, so to
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
time will I trust. After all, I am young and strong, so can
defend myself if necessary. And then there is Helena;
whatever happens I shall see her—I will see Helena,
and”—

“Eh, Mr. Maurice,” said the voice of Caliphronas behind
him, “you have not gone to bed.”

“No, I am thinking.”

“I can guess your thoughts.”

Maurice made no reply to this invitation to argue, but,
with a curt “Good-night,” went below, while in his ears rang
the cruel, mocking laugh of the Greek, as he repeated rapidly
in a singing tone the name of his mistress,—

“Helena, Helena, Helena!”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV. | <sc>THE STORM.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Dark storm-clouds spread from pole to pole,
The lightnings flash, the thunders roll,
And lo, the sea, in mountains high,
With giant billows storms the sky,
While all the vast disturbèd main
Is veiled in whirling mist and rain.
Betwixt the flying scud and spume,
A ship drifts onward to her doom;
She flies before the raging gale,
With broken mast and tattered sail;
While up through pitchy darkness rolls
Despairing cries of drowning souls.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Having passed the Island of Cythera during the night, by
next morning the yacht was ploughing the placid waters of
the Cretan Sea. Placid waters these generally are, especially
during the months of the halcyon, but now a stiff breeze was
blowing steadily from the north, which by noon increased to
a fierce gale. As far as the eye could see, there appeared
nothing but a vast expanse of tumbling waves, their whiteness
above accentuated by the green blackness below, as they
flung their shattered spray as in derision against the grim
sky. Threatening masses of gloomy clouds lay along the
northern horizon, fronted by the bleak island of Santorin,
which scowled in savage grandeur in the cloudy distance.
Gray sky, gray sea, driving rain, and sudden gusts of wind,
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
making the streaming sails crack like pistol-shots with the
violent lurching of the vessel;—it was like a North Sea picture;
nor would any one surveying the dreary scene have believed
the boat was sailing over the enchanting waters of the
Mediterranean.

The three gentlemen, after an uncomfortable breakfast,
owing to the rolling of the yacht, which upset everything on
the table in spite of the fiddles, were now on deck, holding
on to whatever they could support themselves by, for The
Eunice tossing about like a cork in the yeasty surge, made it
no small difficulty for those on board to retain their equilibrium.
Wrapped up in oilskins, they were sufficiently dry
and warm, for, in spite of the mist and drenching rain, the
weather was not in the least chilly—a thing to be thankful
for in such a predicament. The yacht schooner, rigged fore
and aft, was a capital sea boat; so, apprehending no danger,
they joked and laughed during the lulls of the gale at their
hardships, and gazed with interest on the wild spectacle
afforded by the seething waters. Maurice and the poet were
comforting themselves with tobacco, while Caliphronas, excited
by the wildness of the scene, was clinging to the
weather rigging, and facing the keen whips of wind, rain,
and spray like some antique sea-god. Occasionally he would
shout out a few sentences to his companions, but, owing to
the tumult around, they could only catch his meaning every
now and then.

“Often like this—Ægean!—sudden gales—have no
fear.”

“Confound that man!” growled Maurice, who was standing
shoulder to shoulder with Crispin; “he thinks no one
has any pluck but himself.”

“On the contrary, he is trying to keep up his spirits,”
replied Crispin, steadying himself with difficulty as the
yacht took a big dip into the trough of the sea; “there is a
good deal of brag about Caliphronas, but if we were in any
real danger he would not crow so loudly. These Greeks are
all afraid of the sea; and if the colonization of the world
had been left to them, I am afraid America would never
have been discovered.”

“Why not?”

“Because they are always afraid of venturing out of sight
of the land. They slip about boldly enough among these
isles of Elishah, as Ezekiel calls them, but if they lose sight
of Mother Earth, all their courage leaves them. Their Hellenic
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
ancestors were just the same, for all their poets call
Ocean names, such as ‘a hungry beast,’ ‘a ravenous <pm corr 162.2 monster, monster,’>
and similar pleasant titles. I think Homer, with his
‘multitudinous laughter of the sea,’ is the only poet who
pays Ocean a compliment.”

“Yet the Greek genius has produced a great sea drama in
the ‘Odyssey.’”

“A voyage of necessity, not pleasure—Man the sport of
the unjust gods; but I fancy Ulysses had a touch of the adventurous
Ph[oe]nician in his blood. Besides, Greek bravery
produced a great sea drama at Salamis; yet, withal, I decline
to believe the Hellenes, ancient or modern, were
sailors.”

“Yet Arnold calls them ‘The young, light-hearted masters
of the wave.’”

“A charming line, which applies but to Ægean waters.
Masters of the wave, forsooth! Why, they were never masters
of anything liquid larger than a puddle. The Greeks
never loved Nature in her grandest moods, and—saving
Æschylus—both shaggy mountain and roaring waters were
alien to their genius.”

“Yet they loved Nature.”

“Nature the Mother, not Nature the Enemy. Hill,
meadow, wood, fountain, river, they loved; but mountain
and ocean they feared.”

“Would a Greek Wordsworth have been possible?”

“Ah, now you open up a large field of inquiry! No; I do
not think the actual spirituality of Wordsworth would have
appealed to a Greek. The Hellenic poet of that class would
have been like Keats—he would have sung exquisitely of vitalized
Nature, of her incarnate forces, Pan and Demeter, nymphs
and satyrs; but none but a modern poet, conversant with
the haggardness of modern life, with his soul steeped in the
religion of the unseen, could have produced those ‘thoughts
too deep for tears’ such as we find in Wordsworth. Theocritus
and Bion are your Nature poets of external loveliness,
but Arnold and Wordsworth sang deeper strains, and
sought the naked soul of Nature, which was but a veiled Isis
to the Greek.”

“Hallo! what island is that?” cried Maurice, who had
been idly listening to such fragments of this discourse as he
had caught. “Look to your left.”

In the misty distance a great black mass loomed vague
and indistinct on the lee side of the vessel, apparently about
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
seven miles off, though the magnifying vapor seemed to
bring it nearer.

“I am not sure,” replied Crispin, straining his eyes; “we
are in the middle of a number of islets.”

“The deuce! isn’t that rather dangerous?”

“It would be to any one who did not know these waters;
but Martin has been here with me often before, and knows
every rock in the vicinity. Besides, we are comparatively
safe, as the engines are of large horse-power compared with
the size of the boat.”

Martin was the captain of the yacht, and at present was
personally attending to the wheel, with an anxious expression
on his weather-beaten face, for it was no light task to
steer the boat safely through these clusters of islands, especially
when the magnifying properties of the mist cause
them to appear in dangerous proximity to the ship, thus deceiving
the eye into thinking she was entangled among hidden
reefs. Luckily Captain Martin had a clear head, and,
being a splendid seaman, knew the capabilities of The Eunice
thoroughly; so Crispin felt quite content to leave affairs in
his hands, so long as he was at the helm.

“Kamila!” shouted Caliphronas, alluding to the misty
island.

“No,” shouted back Crispin; “Kamila too far off.”

“Kamila!” cried the Greek for the second time, whereupon
Crispin was much impressed with his insistence.

“Caliphronas knows these seas thoroughly,” he said to
Maurice quietly; “he has sailed all over them with his rascal
friend; so if this is Kamila, we must be nearer Melnos
than I thought.”

“Had you not better see Martin?” suggested Maurice,
shaking himself like a huge water-dog, as a shower of spray
flew over him.

Crispin nodded an assent, and began to struggle towards
the wheel, where Martin was standing. It was rather difficult,
owing to the slipperiness of the wet deck and the tossing
of the yacht, which one moment would be poised on the
crest of a wave, and the next ingulfed in a foam-streaked
valley of green water, which threatened to swamp her.
However, by holding on to anything he could seize, Crispin
managed to get close to the captain, who, in his efforts to
keep the ship’s head right, was straining every muscle to
hold the wheel, which was almost torn out of his grasp in a
retrograde direction, every time a wave smashed against her
helm.
.bn 158.png
.pn +1

“Kamila!” screamed Crispin in Martin’s ear, as he pointed
to the dim mass.

Martin shook his head doubtfully.

“Too far south’ard. We’re nigher Anapli, I reckon.”

“And Melnos?”

“Straight ahead. Who says ’tis Kamila?”

“Count Caliphronas!”

“Hum! he knows these parts too. I’ll go and have another
look at the chart.”

“If it’s Kamila, Melnos is just round the shoulder.”

“Can’t believe we’ve got so far out of the course. Why,
if”—

At this moment a tremendous wave struck the yacht midships,
making her reel and strain under the irresistible
blows of the sea, and the jolly-boat on the port side was
smashed up like matchwood, the iron davits being twisted
out of all shape in the giant grip of the water. The Eunice
shuddered under the stroke, paused almost imperceptibly,
then sprung forward like a spur-touched horse, and in another
second was out of danger, riding lightly on the frothing
crest of a huge wave, from whence she slid down
smoothly into the smaragdine hollow beyond.

“Boat gone!” quoth the captain, regaining his breath;
“bad loss.”

Crispin thought so too, but had no time to reply, for at
this moment the raucous voice of the captain was heard
shouting to the second officer as he passed by,—

“Send Gurt here! look sharp!”

Gurt was a grizzled old salt with one eye, and an unlimited
capacity for rum, who, having knocked about in these
latitudes all his sinful life, knew the Archipelago like a
book. When he arrived, the captain put him in charge of
the wheel, and went off, not to his cabin to look at the chart,
but down to the engine-room, as he feared for the safety of
the propeller. Crispin followed him, and they staggered
like drunken men along the streaming decks towards the
hatch. Down the iron ladder leading to the engine-room
they scrambled, holding on like grim death, for the yacht
was now rolling at an angle of twenty-five degrees, an uncomfortable
motion which she occasionally varied by dipping
her bows so deeply into the water that her stern was
sticking nearly straight up in the air; in fact, to use a nautical
expression, she stood on her head.

The screw beat the waves regularly enough when in its
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
normal position, but the moment the yacht lifted, it was out
of the water, whirling round and round with tremendous
velocity, coming down again with a resonant smash, which
threatened to snap off short the huge fans of the propeller.
To obviate this danger, Martin spoke to the chief engineer,
who, at once recognizing the perilous position, took his station
beside the throttle-valve, and immediately the yacht dipped
her nose, shut off steam, so that, when she plunged her stern
again into the waters, the down-stroke was not so dangerous
to the motionless blades.

The enormous steel bars of the cranks, shining with oil in
the dim lamplight, arose and fell irregularly, owing to the
pitching of the vessel, one moment slowing down to half
speed, the next beating the air as rapidly as the wings of a
swallow. Round and round swept the giant wheels with
noiseless speed, and nothing could be heard but the lash of
the waves thrashing the sides of the yacht, the intermittent
throbbing of the machinery, and the sharp hiss of escaping
steam, but the moment the engineer put his hand to the
throttle-valve, in an instant the screw, already spinning like
a top, hung motionless, until, with the recurring lurch, the
great pistons again began to slide smoothly in and out of the
cylinders. It was wonderful to see the absolute command
this one man had over the colossal mass of machinery, which
worked or rested as he let on or shut off steam at every
plunge of the ship.

As Martin and the poet returned to the deck, they heard
the smashing of dishes in the pantry, the subsequent bad
language of the stewards, and The Eunice groaned, creaked,
strained, and shrieked like a living being as she strove to
make headway against the furious blast.

“All right!” yelled Crispin when they were once more
on the streaming decks.

“Right enough, as long as we’re in the open sea,” retorted
Martin gloomily, “but Lord help us if we touch any of them
darned reefs.”

The islands of the Ægean are very dangerous to ships, as
their ragged reefs, running out to sea like roots, can scarcely
be noticed save in calm weather, when the thin line of white
breaking on the smooth surface of the water betrays the hidden
teeth below. It was of these treacherous reefs the captain
was afraid, as in such a furious gale there was every
chance of the ship striking, in spite of the utmost care being
taken to navigate her properly. Fortunately, with her helm
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
and screw, which were to her as a bridle is to a horse. The
Eunice could skirt these perils with the greatest dexterity,
and the real danger lay in the chance of her running on some
sunken rock not set down in the chart. Martin, doubtful as
to the island on the lee side, went off to his cabin for the
chart, knowing he could safely leave the steering to Gurt,
who indeed was better than any chart, and knew more of
these seas than all the Admiralty put together.

Crispin returned to Maurice, and reported all that had
been done, much to Roylands’ satisfaction, for, however
brave a man may be, it is not pleasant to think that every
moment he may be hurled into eternity. Caliphronas was
still clinging to the weather rigging, but his face was graver
than of yore, for he too knew the dangers of these waters,
and good ship though The Eunice was, an unknown rock
piercing her bottom would sink her rapidly, while the furious
waves dashing against her, thus firmly held, would not
leave enough of her stout timbers to make a cigar-box.

All that afternoon they continued beating about in that
weary sea near the Island of Kamila, for Kamila it proved
to be on examination of the chart, much to the vexation of
Captain Martin, who was considerably startled to find he was
out of his course. However, such ignorance was not unpardonable,
as the divergence from the course arose from the fact
that, owing to the captain being constantly at the wheel,
and only hastily glancing at the chart when he was able, he
did not notice sufficiently the constant sagging of the vessel,
and she had therefore, unknown to him, drifted more to
the south than he fancied.

Contrary to his expectation, the gale, instead of abating,
increased in fury, and great masses of blinding rain came
sweeping down in torrents on the ship, while the gusty wind,
straining the wet sails to their utmost tension, tautened the
weather rigging like bars of steel. The crew were all picked
men, forty in number, the captain was a first-class sailor, the
engines powerful, the boat stanch, yet all these could avail
but little against the colossal force of wind and wave, which
seemed resolved to conquer this brave little craft struggling
so gallantly against their Titanic forces.

Meals that day they had none, for it was impossible to sit
at the table, but the steward cut some sandwiches, with
which, in conjunction with brandy and water, they were
able to sustain themselves. Even Caliphronas, quite contrary
to his usual custom, was so overwhelmed by the peril
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
of their position, that he took some spirits, which brought
the color back to his pale cheeks. Maurice was not at all
afraid, having plenty of British pluck, and, but for Helena,
would have cared but little if his unhappy life was ended by
the seething mass of waters raging on all sides.

Owing to the cloudy sky, the incessant rain, and the
absence of sunlight, the darkness fell sooner than usual, with
sudden transition from day to night. No more the enchanted
twilight of the previous evening, the calm sea, silver
moon, and glittering stars; nothing but pitchy gloom,
with roaring waves rising in liquid masses to the black sky,
and black sky raining down torrents on roaring waves, while
between the welkin and the spume flew The Eunice like a
stormy petrel, keeping afloat only through the dexterity with
which she was managed. At times a jagged flash of lightning
gleaming blue as steel divided the solid blackness with
sabre-like stroke, but the succeeding thunder, loud as it was,
hardly added to the deafening clamor of the storm, which
stunned the ears of those human beings, fighting so determinedly
for their lives against the appalling forces of Nature.

“‘Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre
of barren ground,’” quoted Crispin grimly, as he clung to a
stout rope. “My faith, I don’t think we are born to be
hanged, Maurice!”

“Do you think there is danger, Creespeen?” cried Caliphronas,
whose teeth were chattering in his head.

“Rather; we might go to the bottom any moment,” replied
Maurice, who, despite the peril of the position, could not
help smiling at the cowardice of the Greek. “Be a man,
Caliphronas!—you aren’t afraid of death, I suppose?”

“Oh, but I am!—I am!” shivered the Count in abject
fear. “To leave this world I love for I know not what.
Oh, what comes after?”

“God!” said Crispin solemnly.

“God!” echoed the Greek in a tone of despairing conviction.
“What is God? I know nothing beyond this world—what
I see!—what I feel!—nothing else. But you say
there is a God!—there is a God! Oh, what will He say to
me?”

“Ask your own conscience.”

“Conscience!” cried Caliphronas, with a sneer, which but
ill became his ghastly face; “what do I know of conscience?
I have been wicked, but no worse than my neighbors. After
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
all, it is death and then—annihilation. It is that I fear—to
no longer see the sun, nor feel the wind, nor life in the
veins. Life is so glad, death so terrible! But I will undo
some of my work that you saints call wicked. Yes, I will
tell you, Mr. Maurice, the reason I brought you to Melnos.”

“Oh, tell me, tell me!” cried Maurice eagerly; “you
brought me here to”—

He did not finish the sentence, for at this moment a gust
of unexampled strength tore past them with a shriek, and
snapped the mainmast by the board, crashing it downward
with tremendous force. Falling over the side, it impeded
the yacht’s course, and brought her gunwale dangerously
near the water. The black smoke poured in volumes from
her funnel, the screw beat the water with enormous power,
but the heavy mass, the huge canvas, the entanglement of
ropes, all held her back, and down on one side, to the great
imperilling of her safety.

“Axes!” roared Martin, in a voice of thunder; “cut away
the ropes! Look smart, my lads, for your lives! If she
pitches to wind’ard, and brings the mast against the bilge,
it’s all Davy Jones for sure!”

The sailors flew to do his bidding, and though, owing to
the perpetual pitching of the vessel, they could not work
continuously, yet in the space of half an hour they managed
to clear away the wreckage, which fell over into the boiling
waters, while the yacht righted herself like a trembling deer.
The man at the wheel of course kept the set course indicated
by the captain, but, the engines being slowed down during
the clearance episode, the ship sagged gradually to leeward,
until she drifted dangerously near to the rocks of Kamila.

All were so busily engaged clearing away the wreckage,
that this new peril was unnoticed, until the moon, half-obscured
by the flying scud, shone out palely on the wild scene.
Attracted by the glimmer of the planet, Martin looked up
suddenly from his work, only to see the towering cliffs of
the island near at hand, and the caps of the sea rising like
fountains of spouting foam over the cruel-looking rocks.

Roaring to pass the word to the engineer to give her every
inch of steam she was worth, in order to shoot her far enough
ahead to clear the rocks, Martin sprang with one bound to
the wheel, wrenched it out of the sailor’s hands, and put the
helm hard down, so that the yacht’s head flew up in the wind
just in time to avert a frightful catastrophe. Immediately on
the increased speed of the vessel, she plunged forward into
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
every wave, and all on board feared that each new dive into
the rough sea would be the last, for she shipped seas freely, and
tons of water swept her deck fore and aft. At the last fearful
dive, there was the sound of a sudden snap, as if the boat
had touched a rock; she shuddered through her whole length,
and after the engines had whirled for a minute with inconceivable
velocity, they suddenly stopped.

“My God!” cried Martin, guessing the reason of the stoppage;
“the propeller has gone! God help us now!”

Fortunately, the way the ship ran through the water shot
her to the windward sufficiently to clear the Kamila reef,
but, as she could not be kept ahead to sea, owing to the fury
of the gale, she had again to be kept off, so that the remaining
sails would tend to steady her from the violent lurching.
All this time the steam was blowing off; and then, the fires
being drawn, all the sooty inhabitants of the engine-room,
like so many Cyclops, poured on deck, to do what they could
in saving the vessel.

During the time she was clearing the reef, the moon had
withdrawn her light, but now she shone forth in her full
splendor through a rent in a cloud, whereupon a sight was
revealed which struck terror into the hearts of all on board.

“Melnos!” cried Crispin and the Greek in one breath.

“It’s all over!” said Martin gloomily. “No screw—only
one mast—we’ll never clear that island.”

Maurice, straining his eyes through the glimmer of moon
and star half-obscured by flying clouds, saw a high, conical-shaped
mountain, rising sheer out of the sea, at a distance
of about three miles. The snows of the summit gleamed
pale in the moonlight, below was darkness, but at the base
of the peak spouted fountains of white surf on the jagged
rocks running seaward.

“It’s kingdom come, gentlemen,” said the captain, with a
grim smile, as he looked at that sky-piercing peak looming
hugely in the vague light.

“The boats”—began Caliphronas, who was quite pale;
whereupon Martin turned on him sharply.

“The boats, sir! what boats could live in that sea? The
jolly-boat is gone—the steam pinnace is pretty well smashed
up, so there are only the gig and the lifeboat to save forty-five
lives.”

“You’ll try to launch the boats, at all events,” said
Crispin quickly.

“Oh yes! all that can be done will be done, you can
depend, sir; but it’s a poor look-out.”
.bn 164.png
.pn +1

With these dispiriting words, the captain went away to
see after the life-belts, and served out one to each man,
which gave them at least some chance of floating to land.
Martin neglected no chance of saving the ship, and put the
helm up, whereon the fierce wind filled the remaining canvas,
and drove The Eunice slowly ahead. For fully an hour she
drifted to leeward, now being quite unmanageable, owing to
the loss of screw and mast. Straight ahead lay Melnos,
with the fierce surf thundering at its base, and the ship,
unable to be guided, was drifting slowly but surely on to the
rocks. Maurice, with considerable forethought, took Crispin
with him below, and they filled their travelling-flasks with
brandy. Meanwhile, the crew, utterly demoralized by the
hopelessness of the situation, made for the spirit-room; but
the captain placed himself in front of it with a revolver, and
swore to shoot the first man who came forward. Still, as the
men were weary from work, and wet and cold with long
exposure, he ordered rum to be served out, which reconciled
them somewhat to his prohibition of too much drinking.

“Die like men, not beasts,” said Martin, thrusting the
revolver back again when the crew were more manageable;
“there is still a chance of saving our lives by the boats, and
that will be gone if drink is in you.”

By this time the yacht was so near the island that they
could hear the roar of the surf, and see the white tongues of
the waves running up the black rocks. Overhead heavy
masses of clouds were moving like battalions across the sky,
but the rain had ceased, and at intervals the moon shone out,
which gave them but small comfort, as it enabled them to
see only too clearly the perils which awaited them. The
wind was still furious, and the sea rolling mountains high;
its huge billows, topped with ragged fringes of foam glimmering
in the fitful light, kept sweeping over the deck. Several
men were swept overboard into the trough of the sea, but no
assistance could be rendered by those on board, and with
despairing cries they sank in the furious waters.

Crispin, pitying the terror of Caliphronas, in spite of his
dislike for the wily Greek, took him below and gave him
some brandy. The Count was just raising the glass to his
lips, when they were both levelled by a tremendous shock,
which made the ship tremble from stem to stern.

“God! she has struck!” cried Crispin, and tore up the
stairs as hard as he was able, followed by Caliphronas, who
was now nerved by despair.
.bn 165.png
.pn +1

The Eunice had struck about a quarter of a mile from the
shore, but so fierce were the waves between her and the land,
that it seemed as though no boat could live in that hell of
waters. However, as a last hope, the captain ordered the
lifeboat to be lowered, which was accordingly done; but the
moment it touched the water all discipline was at an end,
for the men, seeing the means of safety, rushed in a tumultuous
crowd to take advantage of it. In a few minutes the
lifeboat was filled with a black mass of human beings, in
spite of the captain’s efforts to maintain order, and cutting
the ropes they made for the shore. Hardly had the boat
left the ship, when, caught by a huge wave, she capsized,
and the waves were black with shrieking masses of humanity.

“O God! O God!” groaned Crispin, hiding his face;
“they will all be drowned.”

And so they were, for, in spite of their life-belts, the waves
griped the drowning men with irresistible force, and dashed
them mangled corpses against the rocks. Of the crowd of
living, breathing creatures that had gone off a few minutes
before, not one remained alive, and the survivors felt that
their fate would be the same.

“Lower away the gig!” shouted Martin, going up to
where the boat was hanging; “and if you cowards rush her,
I’ll shoot freely.”

Cowed by his revolver, which was covering them with its
six deadly cartridges, the men did as they were ordered,
and, placing the boat in charge of the mate, the captain
made them all get in in orderly fashion.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Martin to the three who stood
near him, “get in quick—the yacht will soon be under
water.”

“But yourself?”

“It’s my duty to stick to the ship,” said the brave old
man; “if she goes down, I go down—if she doesn’t, there
will be hope of safety; but I will be the last to leave her.”

“There’s room in the boat,” called the mate; “quick, for
your lives.”

Caliphronas needed no urging, but sprang into the boat,
then, either from treachery or terror, cut the rope which
held her to the yacht with a knife he had in his hand.
There was a shout of execration from the crew, but the act
was irremediable, and the gig plunged away into the darkness;
the last seen by the four survivors on deck being
Caliphronas, furiously fighting with two of the men, who
were trying to hurl him overboard.
.bn 166.png
.pn +1

The yacht was now nearly under water, and on her deck
stood Martin, Maurice, Crispin, and Gurt.

“Only one hope,” cried Martin, furiously shaking his fist
at the retreating boat; “climb up the mast!”

They flew to the weather rigging, and Maurice, Crispin,
and Gurt managed to climb up, but just as Martin was
springing for the rope, a heavy sea swept the yacht fore and
aft, and he was carried overboard. They heard his despairing
cry as he went down into the trough of the sea, but
there was no time to say anything, for with one final plunge
the yacht went down, and the three human beings scrambled
up the rigging as fast as they could, followed by the water,
which seemed loath to surrender its prey. Fortunately The
Eunice had sunk near the shore, so, when she finally settled
down, about thirty feet of the remaining mast was sticking
up out of the water, and to this clung the three survivors in
desperate anxiety, expecting every moment to be shaken off
into the depths below. At any moment the mast might
break off, or a roll of the submerged yacht send it into the
water; so, with this terrible dread in their hearts, these
three human beings clung madly to their only refuge.

Below raged the fierce waters, around was the darkness,
above the clouded sky and the veiled moon, while amid all
this horror hung those three unfortunates to their slender
spar, waiting with dread and hope for the morning’s light.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI. | <sc>MELNOS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Magic isles of beauty glowing
  Far in tideless sapphire seas;
Wanton winds, low breathing, blowing
  Perfumes from balsamic trees.
  Here no wintry waters freeze;
But the streamlets ever flowing,
  Murmur drowsy lullabies,
Which the eyelids close unknowing,
  Till the soul in slumber lies,
  Peaceful under peaceful skies.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Nature is fond of contrasts, and delights in the unexpected;
therefore, after the gloom and tumult of the previous
night, the morning showed the three castaways a scene
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
of peaceful beauty so enchanting, that they thought they
were in fairyland. The sea had gone down after midnight,
and only a heavy ground-swell remained to tell of the fury
of the storm which had wrecked The Eunice. All around
lay an expanse of sapphire sea, touched here and there with
white foam, which turned to crimson as the morn dawned
redly in the gray eastern skies. Far into the cloudless blue
arose the giant peak of Melnos, its lofty summit swathed in
snows already bathed in the heavy yellow beams of the rising
sun. Below its white cap appeared a green mantle of
foliage, which quite hid the bare rock with a profusion of
myrtles, plane-trees, arbutus, ilex, and branching heather;
and lower still the red tint of rugged cliffs, the black
chaotic bowlders of the beach scattered in huge masses, and
in and out of these the white threads of the surf like fairy
lacework. Far away to the north arose the Island of Kamila,
faint and cloud-like in the midst of the blue seas, and on the
murmuring waters played gentle breezes, breathing fragrant
balms robbed from aromatic trees. It was a scene of unexampled
beauty, and even the three unfortunates clinging to
the mast could not withhold their admiration, in spite of the
discomforts from which they were suffering.

“Once we are on shore,” said Crispin, with confidence,
“I will take you into the interior of the island, where we
will be well looked after by Justinian.”

“Has the island an interior?” asked Maurice sceptically,
for he saw nothing but a huge mountain resting on the azure
sea.

“Of course! Did I not tell you it was the Island of
Fantasy, and therefore full of wonders? But the first thing
is to get to land. What do you say, Gurt?”

“Swim, sir.”

“I feel too stiff,” said Crispin, shaking his head. “I
could not swim a yard—and you, Maurice?”

“I am in the same plight,” replied Roylands, whose joints
were aching with the exposure to the night. “If it’s a question
of swimming, I will have to remain here till doomsday.”

“I kin swim, gentlemen,” said Gurt stoutly. “Bless ye,
this ain’t nothin’, this ain’t. Why, I’ve bin wrecked in the
nor’ard, and precious cold it were. I kin get ashore all safe,
but I dunno ’bout you, sirs.”

Gurt’s face assumed the rapt expression of one who was
thinking out a deep problem, and Maurice, knowing the
inventiveness of sailors, did not interrupt him, having every
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
confidence that this mariner would hit upon some plan of
extricating them from this dilemma.

“There are plenty of ropes,” suggested Crispin hopefully,
“and if”—

“Right y’are, sir,” said Gurt energetically, his one eye
flashing with satisfaction. “I’ll tie ‘em together and swim
ashore. Fust I’ll tie the rope t’ th’ mast an’ then t’ th’
beach, an’ you two kin skip along like monkeys. D’ye see,
sirs?”

No sooner was the plan thought of than the energetic Gurt
proceeded to put it into practice, and spliced all the ropes
he could get hold of, being armed with that useful implement,
a jack-knife, which no sailor is ever without.

“It’s ’bout quart’r mile fro’ shore,” said Gurt, fastening
one end of the rope to the mast and the other round his waist;
“but if rope ain’t long ’nough, you gents tie on more, an’
pay out. Here’s knife.”

Crispin took the knife, so as to be ready for such emergency,
and then gave Gurt his spirit-flask, from which the
mariner drew new life, although he was pleased to regret
that the contents were not rum, instead of brandy. Having
thus revivified himself, Gurt, with the rope round his waist,
scrambled down into the calm water, and was soon striking
out boldly for the shore. Maurice and the poet watched his
black head bobbing up and down in the blue, and kept paying
out the rope carefully, lest any entanglement should
hamper the swimmer.

“Thank Heaven, he’s all right!” cried Crispin in a tone
of relief, as they saw the white figure of the sailor clambering
over the black rocks. “Now it’s our turn.”

In order to swim freely, Gurt had stripped naked, so the
two left on the mast had to carry his clothes to shore, a thing
easy enough, as all Gurt wore was a shirt and a pair of blue
serge trousers. Crispin took one article, Maurice the other,
and waited for Gurt to signal from the shore that the rope
was made fast. Soon they saw him waving his hand and
shouting to intimate all was right; whereupon they examined
the knot of the rope to see that it was fast to the mast,
and then slid down into the sea.

The rope was pretty well taut, as it ran from the mast to
the shore, so Crispin and Maurice, holding on to it, struggled
along towards the land. Their limbs ached with pain, owing
to their long exposure to the night-air, but a drink of spirits
each put new vigor into their wearied frames, and, after a
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
toilsome journey, aided by the rope, they managed to reach
the beach, up which they scrambled with thankful hearts.

“All right, sirs?” asked Gurt, dressing himself rapidly.

“Stiff,” replied Crispin ruefully. “I feel as creaky as an
old door!”

“Ain’t used t’ it,” grinned Gurt, shifting his quid; for,
during all the trouble and danger, he had retained that as
his only solace. “Well, I guess, sirs, we’d best take more
rum, an’ then explore this here island.”

“Oh, I know all about it,” said Crispin cheerfully. “But
see, the sun is up, so, as it is no use trudging about in wet
clothes, we had better dry them.”

The two gentlemen stripped at once, and spread their
clothing out to dry on the black rocks; but Gurt, disdaining
such luxury, perched himself in a sunny place, and watched
them swimming in the shallow waters near shore to refresh
their weary limbs. The sun was now considerably above the
horizon, burning hotly in a cloudless blue sky, and the sultry
rays soon dried the clothes spread out on the rocks, so in a
short time they were soon dressed again, and ready to start
out in search of Justinian.

True, they were very hungry, but Crispin had some biscuits
in his pocket, which appeased their appetites in some
measure, and, after a good drink of brandy each, they began
to trudge along the stony beach, guided by the poet, to whom
every inch of the island was as familiar as his own face.
The reddish cliffs and white sand of the beach, catching the
hot sunlight, threw out intense heat, and, from being cold,
the three adventurers soon became uncomfortably warm.

“Do you think Caliphronas is safe?” asked Maurice hesitatingly,
as they walked along.

“Caliphronas has nine lives, like a cat,” retorted Crispin
savagely; “but, after his treachery of last night, I hope he
will meet the doom he deserves. If it had not been for his
cutting that rope, Martin would have been alive now.”

“That is, if the gig reached shore safely.”

“Of course! The sea was wild, and she might have been
swamped, like the lifeboat; still, we must hope for the best.”

“I seed Bulk a-chuckin’ of that ’ere gent inter the water,”
said Gurt, addressing the air with elaborate indifference.

“I hope Bulk succeeded,” replied Crispin grimly; “but
what’s that?”

A dark object was lying on the white beach, and, as they
raced up to it, Crispin gave a cry of anguish.
.bn 170.png
.pn +1

“Why, it’s poor Stokins!” he said, recognizing the features
of the mate. “He was in charge of the boat. I’m
afraid she was smashed up like the other.”

“And ’ere’s Jimson and Bildge,” cried Gurt, from a distance,
where he had discovered two corpses. “They’ve all
gone t’ kingdom come, gents!”

“Caliphronas also, I suppose!” said Maurice sadly; for,
in spite of his dislike to the wily Greek, it seemed terrible
that his joyous youth should be ended so suddenly by the
cruel sea.

“It looks as if we were the only survivors,” remarked
Crispin moodily, as they resumed their journey. “We must
have those poor fellows buried. I will speak to Justinian.”

“Where is Justinian?” asked Maurice a little irritably.
“Does he live on this arid peak?”

“Yes; but do not judge by external appearances. This
rocky mountain, so sparsely clothed with trees, is only the
uninviting shell of a very fine kernel.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“I seem to have been doing that ever since I knew you,
judging from your frequent mention of the fact. However,
we will soon come to the tunnel, and then you will see.”

“What tunnel?”

“Oh, a wonderful piece of engineering skill carried out
by Justinian thirty years ago,—a tunnel which pierces the
side of this mountain, and will admit us into its interior.”

“Where we will find—what?”

“The patriarchal community of which Justinian is king!”

“What! does he rule over Troglodytes, like a Norwegian
gnome?”

“Gnomes have nothing to do with the south,” said Crispin
provokingly. “I tell you this is the Island of Fantasy—the
only fairyland yet remaining on earth. You anticipate
the realms of Pluto, but you will find Arcadia.”

“I’m hanged if I understand you!”

“Well, your curiosity will soon be satisfied. <lang=fr><i>En avant,
messieurs</i></lang>, for I am hungry, and wish to be seated at the
hospitable board of Justinian.”

High above, over the terra-cotta-colored cliffs, hung the
fresh green foliage which clothed the slopes of the mountain
high up to the verge of the eternal snows;—tall, dark
cypresses, funereal-looking even in the bright sunshine, the
silver-gray glimmer of olive trees, chestnuts, beeches, plane-trees,
and, nearest to the summit, gloomy pines accentuating
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
the whiteness of the snows, which, clinging to the rocky
peak, stood out in cold relief against the warm blue sky.
Ahead of them was a reddish promontory running out into
the calm waters, the trees fringing its crest like the mane of
some wild animal. Turning round the shoulder of this, they
saw in the distance a similar promontory, and between these
two headlands a range of reddish cliffs topped by vegetation,
a white sandy beach scattered over with bowlders, and a huge
arch in the middle of the cliff, which apparently led into
the bowels of the mountain.

“Here we are at the palace gate,” said Crispin gayly, as he
led the way towards the subterranean entrance. “We will
soon be in safety.”

Standing in front of this mighty arch, they saw a broad
flight of steps leading up into the darkness, so that it looked
like the entrance into the hall of Eblis. Outside, the brilliant
sunshine, the many-colored land, the sparkling sea;
but within, darkness, dank and unwholesome, which inspired
the two strangers with anything but hope. Crispin, however,
knowing the place well, sprang lightly up the steps, followed
hesitatingly by his companions, but suddenly he stopped and
held up his finger, the action being visible in the bright light
pouring in through the arch into this artificial cave.

“Listen! Maurice, do you recognize that voice?”

It was a man singing, and his clear high tones echoed in
the dark vault overhead, coming nearer and nearer as the
vocalist slowly descended the steps.

.pm start_poem
“Blow, wind, and swell the sail,
So that my boat may fly—may fly
As a swallow to its nest across the foam.
I am a swallow, and so am flying
To that dear nest of love, which is her heart.
Blow, wind! for I am filled with longing.
Her heart is empty till me she kisses.”
.pm end_poem

“Caliphronas!” cried Maurice and Crispin in one breath.

It was indeed Caliphronas who came slowly down the steps
and paused in alarm just where the light began to mingle
with the darkness;—a new and brilliant Caliphronas, arrayed
in all the bravery of the Greek national garb, with
gold-broidered leggings, snowy fustanella, gaudy jacket, and
red skull-cap. In this picturesque dress he looked handsomer
than ever, and had quite recovered his bombastic air, which
terror had deprived him of during the storm.
.bn 172.png
.pn +1

“Creespeen! Mr. Maurice!” he cried in a startled voice,
placing his hand on one of the pistols stuck in his belt, for he
was quite aware that his treachery deserved a warm reception
from those whom he had doomed to death.

“You needn’t do that,” said Crispin, curling his lip as he
observed the action; “we are not going to punish you.”

“Punish me!” jeered the Greek, recovering his insolent
manner. “Oh, never fear, I can defend myself. Punish me!
and for why? Because I chose to save my own life!”

“Yes, and nearly caused us to lose ours!” said Maurice
grimly.

“You know my philosophy, Mr. Maurice; so why expect
me to be false to it?”

“You are an infernal scoundrel, Caliphronas!”

The Greek smilingly showed his white teeth, as if a compliment
had been paid to him.

“We are all scoundrels more or less, only some are cleverer
at concealing it than other people,” he said carelessly. “So
you are all safe? I made sure you were drowned.”

“And wished too, I dare say,” replied Crispin dryly.
“Well, you see we have survived your amiable intention
of leaving us to die. What about the boat?”

“The boat! oh, that was swamped,” said Caliphronas in
a satisfied tone. “Two of your infernal sailors threw me
overboard.”

“I seed ’em a-chuckin’ of yer,” remarked Gurt in a pleasant
tone.

“Did you, indeed? Well, they were very soon chucked
themselves, and of the whole twenty in the boat, only half a
dozen are alive now.”

“Where are they?”

“With Justinian. He sent me to look for your corpses,
but I suppose he will be rather astonished when he finds you
can still use your own legs.”

“How did you escape?”

“I was tossed into the sea near the shore, and, buoyed
up by my life-belt, I managed to keep myself afloat till the
waves landed me on the beach.”

“Naught was never in danger,” quoth Crispin coolly. “I
suppose all your repentance of yesterday has passed.”

“Gone to the winds, my friend,” replied Caliphronas airily.
“Poof! what would you? There is a time for all things.
Yesterday I was nearly dead, and talked nonsense; to-day
I am dry and well, so it is evident I am not born to be
drowned.”
.bn 173.png
.pn +1

“Born to be hanged, more like,” said Maurice viciously,
hardly able to conceal his dislike of this heartless, cowardly,
beautiful animal before him. “Well, it is cold here, and we
are hungry, so I think you had better conduct us to Justinian.”

“Come, then,” answered Caliphronas, leading the way.
“But tell me, how did you escape?”

“With the help of God!” said Crispin, resolved not to
gratify the Greek’s curiosity.

“Ah, He helps the sinner as well as the saint; for you see
I also am alive and well.”

“You deserved death for your treachery!”

The mocking laughter of the Count rang through the
darkness.

“Neither virtue nor vice is rewarded in every case! I see
you are safe, and the poor good captain is dead.”

“He is; and you are to blame.”

“No doubt I will survive that accusation. Well, you have
lost your beautiful ship, Crispin.”

“It’s my loss, not yours.”

“Hark to this philosopher! Ha! how can you leave this
island again?”

“What! does Justinian intend to keep us prisoners?”

“Justinian will do what he thinks fit,” replied Caliphronas
significantly. “You are both rich, and can pay large ransoms.”

“You scoundrel, you have been putting these brigand
ideas into the old man’s head.”

Caliphronas laughed disagreeably.

“Perhaps I have. At all events, if you escape Justinian,
you won’t get away so easily from Alcibiades.”

“You forget six sailors still survive,” said Maurice sternly,
“and we are three, so I think nine Englishmen can hold their
own against a hundred cowards like yourself.”

The Count made a clutch at his pistol, and muttered an
execration, but, thinking better of it, recovered his temper,
and burst out laughing.

“Well, well, we will see! I regret, Mr. Maurice, I did not
bring a torch for this darkness, but you see I know this passage
well, and do not require it. Had I known you three
were coming, I would have brought men, torches, food, wine,
and all the rest of it, to make you comfortable.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” retorted Maurice angrily,
for the mocking tone of this scamp was intolerable; “but
‘<lang=fr><i>Timeo Danaos</i></lang>.’”
.bn 174.png
.pn +1

“I don’t understand Latin,” said Caliphronas coldly; “but
I’ve no doubt you’ve said something uncomplimentary. However,
we need not wrangle any more, for here we are at the
gate of Melnos.”

The gate was a huge structure of wood, formed by interlacing
beams into a kind of barred defence, which completely
closed up the tunnel, and in the centre of this was a small
heavy iron door. Through the interstices they could see the
faint glimmer of daylight, a still ascending staircase, the red
flare of burning torches, and in the doubtful lights three or
four men moving about.

“This is to guard against people like my friend Alcibiades,”
said Caliphronas, seeing the amazement of Maurice and Gurt
at this mediæval entrance. “Like the Pass of Thermopylæ,
this tunnel could be defended by four against many, so
Melnos is thus a city of refuge.”

“Ay, if treachery does not gain an entrance,” retorted
Crispin significantly; “and that is always possible when
there is a traitor within the walls.”

“Meaning myself?” rejoined Caliphronas tranquilly.
“There you are wrong, and I think, my dear Crispin, you
must have forgotten that, in or out, I can do nothing, as Justinian
alone possesses the key of this door. We must send
Alexandros for it. Oh la there, Alexandros!”

One of the men, bearing a burning torch, came to the bars
of the framework, and Caliphronas spoke to him in Greek,
while Crispin, understanding the language thoroughly, listened
attentively, as, after the Count’s conduct of last night,
he was quite prepared for further treachery, and desired to
guard against it. As soon as Caliphronas finished, the man
went off up the staircase, and the Count turned round to his
companions with a reassuring smile.

“He has gone to get the key from Justinian,” he explained
courteously. “This key, you must know, Mr. Maurice, is
the emblem of sovereignty in Melnos—the sceptre of the
island!”

“But it must be rather a trouble going to Justinian for the
key every time you want to go in or out!”

“There is not much of that,” said Crispin quickly; “the
people of Melnos stay at home in the heart of the mountain.
’Tis only wanderers like myself and the Count who are restless.”

“The heart of the mountain!” echoed Maurice, in a
puzzled tone; “is it a cavern?”
.bn 175.png
.pn +1

“No; fresh air and blue skies.”

“I cannot understand your Island of Fantasy. It is most
perplexing, and well deserves its name.”

“So Justinian thought, and that is why he called it so.”

“Who made this ’ere, gents all?” asked Gurt, who had
been surveying his nether world surroundings with much awe.

“Justinian.”

“Well, sir, arskin’ yer pardin, but I niver thought a lazy
Greek ’ud have had it in him to do sich a thing.”

Caliphronas laughed at the indolent character ascribed to
his countrymen, which, however, he could not deny with any
great show of reason.

“Justinian is not a Greek, but an Englishman.”

“I thought so, sir,” said Gurt triumphantly; “but ’eavins,
sir! wot’s he a-doin’ of in this ’ere lay?”

“Ah, that is a mystery!” replied the Count, smiling.

“Blest if ’tain’t all queer,” muttered Gurt in bewilderment,
and thereupon relapsed into silence.

The house of Justinian was evidently some distance away,
as they had to wait a considerable time before Alexandros
returned, much to the discomfort of the three shipwrecked
men, who were beginning to feel their privations keenly.
Maurice would have liked to ask after Helena, but the
knowledge that Caliphronas was his rival forbade him to
risk an inquiry. He now began to see that the anticipations
of Crispin regarding possible dangers were not without
some foundation, for, trapped in this mountain heart,
which appeared to his fancy to be a most extraordinary
place, he saw that Justinian could hold them prisoners as
long as he pleased. Besides, this scamp of a Caliphronas,
who hated both himself and Crispin thoroughly, was evidently
the right hand of Justinian, and thoughts of the
cruelties of Greek brigands began to pass unpleasantly
through his mind. Here, towards the end of the civilized
nineteenth century, was a genuine robber’s cave, into which
he was blindly walking, and, despite the presence of Crispin,
who stood beside him, Maurice did not feel quite at his ease
regarding their reception by this renegade Englishman who
was called Justinian.

At length rapid steps were heard descending the staircase,
and Alexandros came in sight, holding his torch in one hand
and the wished-for key in the other. Having unlocked the
door, he held it open for them to enter, and, when the four
men were inside, locked it carefully again, and thrust the key
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
into his belt in order to take it back to his master. As he
did so, he spoke to Caliphronas in Greek, upon which the
Count translated the speech for the benefit of Maurice and
the seaman.

“Justinian will see you at the Acropolis.”

“The Acropolis?”

“Yes! it is a fancy he has for calling his house so. ’Tis
too small for a palace, and too large for an ordinary house,
so the intermediate term Acropolis fits it exactly. Come,
Mr. Maurice. Crispin, you know the way, don’t you?”

“Considering I have lived all my life in Melnos, I should
think it highly probable,” retorted the poet in an annoyed
tone, for the patronage of Caliphronas was insufferable.

Conducted by Caliphronas and Alexandros, they walked
slowly up the giant staircase, and in a short time arrived
at a huge archway similar to the one into which they had
entered. Through this Maurice, to his astonishment, saw a
smiling landscape, and paused thunderstruck under the great
arch.

“Why, Melnos is in the cup of the mountain.”

“Exactly,” replied Crispin, who was enjoying his astonishment.
“Melnos is an extinct volcano, and this is the
crater. You see we have plenty of room for buildings, fields,
cultivation, and all such desirable things. We are two hundred
feet above the sea-level here.”

Maurice did not reply, being too much amazed for speech,
and standing there feasted his eyes on the beautiful picture
framed by the archway, of which he was only able to gain a
general idea. It was a vision of snowy hills, miniature forests,
yellow fields of corn, terraced vineyards, and a mass of
white houses in the hollow, while clinging to the mountain
side were other buildings showing white against the pale
green of the foliage. High above, encircled by the top rim
of the crater, which was broken into a dazzling circle of
snow-white peaks, was the blue sky, with the burning sun
blazing down into the hollow, wherein, like a mirror, flashed
a small lake, encircled by trees. Below, palms waved their
feathery fans, above, the light green of the pine trees burned
like emeralds in the hot sunshine, and over all this enchanted
scene brooded an intense rest, an air of serene calm, which
made it seem to Maurice like that sleepy land of the lotus-eaters.

And this was Melnos.
.bn 177.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII. | <sc>AN ISLAND KING.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Oh, I know naught of the work-a-day world!
  This is the land of eternal quiet,
Where I can nestle in indolence curled,
  Far from the clamor of modern riot.
Here are my wings of ambition close furled,
For I know naught of the work-a-day world.

I am the king of an indolent race,
  Working with pleasure, and not with regret;
Never the phantom of Money they chase,
  Never they feel in their bosoms a fret;
Nothing to alter, for all is in place.
I am the king of an indolent race.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
From the archway of the tunnel stretched two roads, one
to the left, leading down to the valley below by easy gradations,
the other to the right, running round the cup of the
mountain on a level with the place where they were now
standing. Along this latter road they walked, the three
gentlemen abreast, and Gurt, considerably bewildered, rolling
behind in his nautical way. Maurice’s admiration was
strongly excited by the perfection of this road, which was
level and broad, being apparently hewn out of the living
rock, while the side nearest the valley was bordered by cyclopean
masses of dressed stone, and a long line of mulberry
trees, now heavily foliaged. On the other side also, where
the rocks arose steep and smooth, was a corresponding line
of trees, so that they walked through a leafy arcade, formed
by the meeting of the branches overhead, and their path was
checkered with sunlight shadows moving restlessly under
their feet, as the wind rustled the leaves above. Through the
slim trunks of the trees, set some little distance apart, they
caught glimpses of the town below on the verge of the blue
lake, its white houses embosomed in trees, and straight
streets intersecting each other at right angles, so that it
looked like a miniature chess-board. Maurice was in ecstasies
over this Eden of the South, and could not express his
delight in high enough terms to his companions.

“It is a place to dream in!” he said enthusiastically; “a
land of the lotos! I don’t wonder Justinian desires to keep
all outside influences away from this paradise. Upon my
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
word, Caliphronas, with such a beautiful spot as this to dwell
in, I do not wonder you were discontented with our gray
island of the West. My only astonishment is that you
should ever wish to go beyond this enchanted circle of
mountains.”

“Oh, it’s pretty enough,” said Caliphronas carelessly, casting
a glance at the lovely valley below: “but one grows tired
of lovely places, the same as one wearies of the most beautiful
woman.”

“Every one is not so fickle as you are,” cried Crispin
sharply.

“Well, you did not stay in this paradise yourself, Creespeen.”

“I was banished from it, and you were the serpent who
caused my banishment.”

“Bah! do not lay the blame on me. You ate of the Tree
of Knowledge, and wanted to know too much; so Justinian
got rid of you.”

“I only wanted to know about myself.”

“Then you never will.”

“Won’t I? You forget that I am equal with Justinian
now.”

“Are you really?” said Caliphronas mockingly. “I
think not. Justinian has the wisdom of sixty years against
your thirty. The half is not equal to the whole.”

“Well, you have something to gain as well as I,” flashed
out Crispin fiercely; “so if I am beaten, you will not be in
a much better condition.”

“Eh! you think so? I have Justinian’s promise, remember.”

“You have; and if I know anything of Justinian he’ll
break it.”

“He dare not! Melnos is not impregnable.”

“Probably not; but you cannot storm it single-handed.”

“What about my dear Alcibiades?” sneered the Greek
significantly.

Crispin stopped, and looked Caliphronas up and down with
scorn.

“You had better not say any more, Andros, or I may be
tempted to tell Justinian of your intention.”

“All I say is not meant,” cried Caliphronas in evident
alarm; “but Justinian cannot go back from his word about
Helena.”

“Helena!” said Maurice, who had hitherto kept silence.
“What about Helena?”
.bn 179.png
.pn +1

“Nothing to do with you, sir,” retorted Caliphronas rudely,
and walked on quickly.

“What does he mean?” asked Maurice, turning to Crispin
with a frown.

“Nothing more than what I told you on The Eunice, when
we were off Taygetus.”

“You told me Caliphronas loved Helena; but this
promise”—

“That has to do with Justinian,” said Crispin hastily;
“you must ask him for information. After all, Maurice,
you had better wait and see how things turn out before you
cross swords with Caliphronas.”

“Ah! you think, then, we will cross swords?”

“I fancy it is extremely probable. This Helena will be
an apple of discord, as was her predecessor of Troy. But,
however much you two men fight for her, remember it is the
lady herself who decides whom she will take.”

“If she is the woman I judge her to be from her pure
face, she will never take that scamp of a Greek.”

“Oh ho! that is as much as to say she will take you, my
Lord Conceit; but never mind Helena just now. We have
to get into the good graces of Justinian, or else”—

“Well?” asked Maurice, seeing Crispin paused significantly;
“what will happen?”

“I can’t tell yet; but, after all, why anticipate evil?”

“Crispin, you are as ambiguous as a Delphic oracle.”

“And about as doubtful,” retorted the poet, laughing.
“But here we are at the Acropolis.”

“Well, I’m darned!” observed Gurt in astonishment;
and his exclamation of surprise was certainly pardonable,
for no one would have expected to find so splendid a building
in this lonely island of the Ægean Sea.

A broad flight of fine-grained red limestone stairs led up
to a lofty platform of the same material, this splendid ascent
being bordered on both sides by masses of dark green laurel
trees, which accentuated the roseate tint of the staircase.
On the platform, some distance back, arose a large edifice,
somewhat after the model of the Parthenon at Athens, with
graceful slender pillars of white marble supporting the
weighty entablature, the frieze of which was delicately
carved with god-like forms of nude youths, white-draped
maidens, severe-faced old men, rearing horses, and seated
deities. Above this the pediment, in the centre of which
was sculptured a life-sized figure of Hephaistos, with his
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
anvil and raised hammer, while the bas-reliefs on either side
represented long trains of unclothed men, with their faces
turned to the god, coming towards him with supplicating
hands, as if for the gift of fire. The Pentelican marble of
this temple was now toned down by the weather to a delicate
gray hue, which contrasted charmingly with the red staircase,
the dark laurels, and the faint green of the foliage
which clothed the mountain at the back of the building.

“Justinian never built this!” cried Maurice, transfixed
in amazement at the suave beauty of the whole building;
“no architects of to-day could have designed such perfection.”

“No,” replied Crispin, as they ascended the steps; “only
this staircase and the platform are modern, for the temple is
an old Greek one, built in Heaven knows what year of Hellenic
art, and Justinian, finding it in a ruinous condition,
restored it as you see. The front was fortunately intact, but
he has arranged the interior as a dwelling-house. It is a
shrine to Vulcan, and, I presume, was built here because this
island is volcanic in character, though indeed it is far away
from the Hephæstiades.”

“I do not wonder Justinian calls it the Acropolis, for it is
a magnificent building, and worthy of the name. Oh, Crispin,
look at that nude youth struggling with the rearing horse!”

“You can look at all that another time,” replied the poet,
laughing at the sculptor’s enthusiasm; “meanwhile, Justinian
is waiting us.”

They entered the great door of the building, followed by
the awestruck Gurt, who was too much astonished to speak,
and advanced along a lofty hall towards an archway draped
with heavy blue curtains. Drawing these aside, they entered
into an open court, bordered by ranges of white marble columns,
for the temple was hypæthral in character, and the
sun shone brightly through the opening of the roof. Between
these snow-white pillars hung heavy curtains of azure tint,
embroidered with bizarre figures in yellow silk. The pavement
was of smooth white marble, and there was a small
fountain in the middle, splashing musically into a broad pool
which brimmed nearly to the verge of its marble marge. A
number of Turkish mats, comfortable-looking cane chairs,
silk-covered cushions, and dainty bamboo tables were scattered
about, and finally, the whole court was one mass of
flowers.

Slender palms, bowing their feathery fronds, stood in huge
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
red jars, which added a bright touch of color to the general
whiteness; while there were oblong boxes filled with heterogeneous
masses of violets, pansies, golden crocus, anemones,
gladioli, and cyclamen, all glowing in one dazzling blaze of
color. There were also cytisus trees with their bright yellow
blossoms, great bushes of roses red with flowers, delicate
white lilies springing virgin-like from amid their green
leaves, and the pink buds of the gum cistus with its aromatic
odors, while between stood the myrtles, sacred to love. All
this gorgeous mass of colors was blended skilfully with a
prevailing tint of green foliage, and what with the blue curtains,
the dazzling white of the pillars and pavement, even
under the hot southern sun it did not pain the artistic eye
with a sense of incongruous hues, but rather pleased and
satisfied it by its bright beauty and variety of hue.

“What flowers! what flowers!” cried Maurice, with genuine
admiration. “Why, this is finer even than the Rector’s
rose-garden.”

“These are Helena’s flowers,” said Crispin, smiling; “she
is so fond of them that she ought to be called Chloris.
Hush! here is Justinian.”

There was a grating sound of rings being drawn along a
rod, and Maurice turned to the left, to see the blue draperies
held to one side by an exceptionally tall man, with a long
gray beard and keen black eyes, who was dressed in a graceful
robe of soft white wool, falling in classic folds to his
feet. Maurice himself was over the ordinary height, but this
ancient, holding himself erect as a dart, seemed to tower
above him, and, as he moved towards Maurice with outstretched
hand, the Englishman involuntarily thought of
the Homeric description of Nestor.

“Mr. Roylands,” said Justinian, taking the young man’s
hand, and looking keenly at him, “you are welcome to my
island. I am the Demarch of Melnos.”

Behind Justinian came Caliphronas, who looked rather
dismayed when he saw the courtesy with which the island
king received his guest; and even Crispin made a gesture of
surprise, which movement at once drew the old man’s eyes
towards him.

“You also, truant!” he said, taking the poet’s hand, but
without releasing his hold of Maurice; “you have come back
to Melnos?”

“Yes, for a purpose,” said Crispin boldly, evidently not to
be duped by the suave greeting of Justinian.
.bn 182.png
.pn +1

As a flash of lightning leaps from the heart of a dark
cloud, so gleamed a glance from Justinian’s dark eyes, and
he was evidently about to make some fierce retort to the
bold poet, when he restrained himself with wonderful self-command,
and released the hands of both the young men.

“Before I ask you any questions, gentlemen,” he said,
striking a silver bell that stood on one of the small tables
near, “I must attend to the rites of hospitality.”

A man made his appearance, and bowed submissively to
Justinian.

“The bath! the meal! for these guests,” said the old man
in tones of command, speaking in Greek. “You can attend
to Mr. Crispin—tell Georgios to see to the other gentleman.
When you are quite refreshed,” he added in English, turning
to his guests, “I will speak to you here.”

“But Gurt?” said Maurice, pausing a moment.

“Oh, the sailor!” observed Justinian, carelessly looking
at him; “let him follow you, and Anasthasius can look after
him. Go now! I will await your return here.”

The young men, astonished at the courtesy of their reception,
Crispin being not less so than Maurice, went out with
Gurt after the man; and Justinian, flinging himself into a
chair, with a deep sigh, covered his face with his hands.
Caliphronas, leaning gracefully against one of the pillars,
looked at this exhibition of what he considered weakness
with disdain, but did not dare to break upon the revery of
Justinian, of whom he had a wholesome dread. He picked
a pink oleander blossom and placed it in his belt, then, after
walking about for a few minutes with a frown on his face,
sat down on a stone margin of the fountain and began to
dabble in the water with his hands. After a time, Justinian
looked up with a second sigh.

“Well, what do you think of him?” asked the Count in
Greek, at the sound of which the old man made a gesture of
annoyance.

“Speak English, you fool! I love to hear my own language.”

“You will get plenty of it shortly, then,” said Caliphronas
coolly. “Nine Englishmen already on the island,—bah! it
is a British possession.”

“You are right, Andros. I am British, and as this island
is mine, it is a British possession.”

Caliphronas frowned, as if this way of looking at things
was distasteful to him, but, not caring to argue about such a
delicate matter, repeated his first remark.
.bn 183.png
.pn +1

“Well, what do you think of him?”

“Maurice Roylands?”

“Yes.”

Justinian pondered a moment, and was about to reply,
when, catching sight of the eager gleam in the Greek’s eyes,
he altered his mind at once.

“I will tell you when I know him better; I never make
up my mind in a hurry. You ought to be aware of that by
this time.”

The other, ill-contented with this reticence, would have
persisted in his questioning, but the old man, seeing this,
shut him up sharply.

“Be silent, Andros! I will give you my opinion in my
own good time. Meanwhile, mind you treat my guests with
all courtesy.”

“Even Creespeen?” said Caliphronas, with a sneer.

“Yes, even Crispin,” reiterated Justinian in a fiery tone.
“I have my reasons for acting as I do now. If you dare to
disobey my orders, I have a way to silence you.”

Caliphronas turned pale, for he knew that Justinian was
absolute ruler of Melnos, while he was thoroughly well
hated by the inhabitants, one and all.

“I have no intention of acting contrary to your desires,”
he replied sulkily, rising to his feet; “but I cannot understand
the meaning of your actions. However, I have done
what you desired, and Mr. Maurice is in Melnos. Now, I
presume, you will fulfil your part of the bargain.”

“Certainly; you have my permission to pay your addresses
to my daughter.”

“And you will make her marry me?” asked Caliphronas
eagerly.

The King sprang from his seat with a gesture of anger.

“I will force my daughter in no way!” he roared fiercely.
“I forbade you to think of Helena as a bride, but, provided
you brought Roylands here, I gave you permission to woo
her. As to forcing her into a marriage with you, there was
no question of such a thing.”

“I thought there was,” retorted the Greek, who was white
with rage.

“You put your own base construction on my motives.
How dare you question me, Andros! Am I master here, or
are you? Helena is free to marry you if she wishes; but,
as far as I am concerned, I would rather you were drowned
in the sea than become my son-in-law.”
.bn 184.png
.pn +1

The Count went alternately red and white as Justinian
spoke, and when the speech was ended tried to answer, but
his rage was such that he could say nothing, so, with a
choking cry of anger, he turned on his heel and darted out
of the court; while the King, much agitated, walked up and
down hurriedly, his white robe sweeping the pavement.

“What does the boy mean?” he muttered angrily. “I
do not like these veiled threats. Melnos is well defended,
but I mistrust Andros—he is too much a friend of that
rascal Alcibiades. Bah! I have no fear—treachery for
treachery!—and if Andros dares”—

He paused abruptly, and, raising his hands, shook them
impotently at the sky, then resumed his seat with a frown,
which boded ill for Caliphronas in the event of any double
dealing on his part being discovered. A peacock came walking
proudly along the court, with his splendid tail erect,
shining like some rich product of the Eastern loom, with
its manifold colors, fantastic moons, and iridescent sheen,
which flashed gloriously in the sunshine. Evidently irritated
at not being noticed, the vain bird uttered a discordant
shriek, which had the effect of making his master look up
suddenly.

“Ha, Argos!” he said, with a sardonic smile; “you are
like Andros, my friend, fine to look at and nothing else.
But it would be as easy to wring your neck, with all your
bravery, as it would that of my handsome scamp yonder.”

The bird strutted proudly along, the feathers of its neck
glistening with every movement of its head.

“You have many eyes, my Argos,” resumed Justinian,
after a pause, “but your human prototype has none at all.
He sees no farther than his own straight nose, else he would
be more cautious in his deeds, and less daring in his words.
It looks as if he were going to dispute my will; well, he
can do so, and we will see who will come off best—Andros
or Justinian.”

At this moment Maurice and the poet entered the court,
whereupon Argos fled in dismay.

“An omen!” thought Justinian, as he arose to receive
them; “with these I need not fear the machinations of Peacock
Andros.”

The two gentlemen, refreshed by their bath and a hearty
meal, were now arrayed in loose, flowing robes of white
wool, similar to that of Justinian. Crispin wore this antique
garb gracefully enough, very evidently used to managing
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
such draperies; but Maurice found them awkward, and as
he sat down seemed rather ashamed of the effeminacy of
the dress. The King noticed this, and smiled broadly at the
Englishman’s want of dexterity.

“You do not like these?” he said, touching his own robe
lightly; “but, believe me, they are very comfortable within
doors in this climate. When you go out to look at my island,
I will supply you with a less embarrassing dress—more
adapted for walking and climbing.”

“I like my legs to be free, sir,” observed Maurice, striving
to look at his ease in these long white draperies, whereon
Justinian laughed again at this naïve confession.

“Yes; we English are an active race,” he said, leaning
back in his chair, “and like all clothing to be tight and trig;
but indoors you will find these flowing robes more adaptable
than a shooting suit would be. When one is in the East,
one should adopt Eastern customs. For myself, I have become
a Sybarite in luxury since dwelling in Melnos.”

“Where is Caliphronas?” asked Crispin, looking about
him for the Greek.

“Caliphronas? Oh yes; I forgot his travelling-name. A
count, is he not, of the Greek Empire? He took a fine name
to match his fine feathers. Well, Andros has just left me in
a fit of bad temper.”

“You do not appear to like Andros so much as you did,
Justinian.”

The Greco-Englishman smiled significantly.

“Andros is—Andros,” he replied dryly, “and is anything
but reliable. What do you think of my handsome Greek,
Mr. Roylands?”

“I think he is a scamp,” retorted Maurice briefly.

“How long did it take you to find that out?” asked Justinian,
without showing any sign of surprise.

“I did not find it out at all. He confessed his scampishness
himself with the most appalling <pm corr 191.35 cynicism. cynicism.”>

“Oh, as far as cynicism goes, Andros might be a boulevardier
soaked in absinthe. It is the soul makes the man,
not the surroundings. But never mind this scamp; I wish
to hear all about your cruise.”

“Hasn’t Caliphronas told you?”

“Caliphronas has told me his version of the story, which
is all to his own credit; but those six sailors who are at
present in Melnos seemed to disagree with his praises of
himself, so I would like to hear what you two gentlemen
have to say.”
.bn 186.png
.pn +1

Whereupon Crispin, being the more fluent of speech, told
the whole story, from the time of the Greek’s arrival at Roylands,—narrated
the beginning of the voyage, the arrival in
Greek waters, the storm, the loss of the yacht, and the subsequent
treachery of Caliphronas. Daring the recital, Justinian,
with compressed lips, listened to it in silence, only
uttering a smothered exclamation of rage when he heard how
Caliphronas had cut the rope, and left those on board the
yacht to perish.

“Thank you, Crispin,” he said, when the poet brought his
narrative to a close; “your story is worthy of being told by
Ulysses at the court of Alcinous. I am glad you escaped
the fate intended you by Andros; but if he had succeeded,
I don’t think he would have dared to show his face here.”

Crispin glanced at Maurice significantly, and Justinian
caught the look with his accustomed keen-sightedness.

“I speak for you as well as Mr. Roylands,” he said quickly.
“We did not get on well in the past, Crispin, but let us hope
we will be more friendly in the future.”

The poet, considerably astonished at this unwonted emotion
of Justinian, accepted the proffered hand of the old
man,—although he did so with a somewhat doubtful air.

“I cannot forget you were kind to me in my youth, Justinian,
and brought me up; but I cannot understand these
sentiments, now so different from those you expressed when
we last met.”

“You were yourself to blame in the matter, Crispin.
Force is of no avail with me, and you came in a rage to
demand what I refused to tell you. I have been a wild man
in my day, but I am not so absolutely bad as you think me,
and it depends upon yourself as to whether I tell you what
you wish to learn.”

“I have a right to know!” cried the poet impetuously.

“That I question,” retorted Justinian, with a flash of his
keen eyes. “I will tell you or not entirely at my own pleasure;
but the tone you adopt will not make me answer your
questions. The storm cannot bend the oak, but the gentlest
breeze will make its branches quiver. Lay that parable to
heart in your demeanor towards me, Crispin, and all will yet
be well; otherwise—well, you know how you left last time.”

The young man made no reply, but relapsed into moody
silence, whereupon Justinian turned to Maurice with a
winning smile.

“You must bring this obstinate boy to reason, Mr. Roylands.
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
Believe me, it is as well we should be all firm friends
and allies, as I have reason to believe there will be trouble.”

“From Caliphronas?”

“Exactly. He has made a demand of me which I refuse
to grant.”

“About Helena?” said Crispin, suddenly looking up.

“Yes; did he tell you?”

“He said you had made him a promise to give him Helena
for his wife, if he carried out your plans.”

“That’s a lie!” cried Justinian impetuously. “I said he
could pay his addresses to Helena, but the question of marriage
I left entirely in her own hands.”

“Oh,” said Crispin quickly, “that puts quite a different
face on the affair.”

“At all events, Helena will never marry him,” said Maurice
abruptly, whereon the King turned on him in surprise.

“What do you know of Helena?”

“Only this,” replied Maurice, handing the portrait of the
girl to her father. “Caliphronas showed me that face, and
I fell in love with it.”

“Oh, you fell in love with it!” remarked Justinian in a
tone of satisfaction.

“Yes; in fact, it was that which brought me to Melnos.”

Justinian smiled in a satisfied way, but suddenly frowned.

“So Andros dared to use this as a lure!” he muttered in
Greek; “well, he has succeeded to his own undoing.”

“I thought you would think so,” said Crispin, who overheard
the speech; “as soon as I heard the reason of Andros’
coming to Roylands, I guessed your intention.”

“How could you do that?” asked the old man quickly;
“you knew nothing.”

“I know all—Andros told me.”

“Traitor!” said Justinian fiercely. “Well, Crispin, if
you do know, keep your own counsel until such time as I
choose to tell my own story.”

“I promise you.”

“And in return I will, at my own convenience, tell you
what you desire to know about your parentage.”

“Do this,” cried Crispin, springing up and clasping Justinian
by the hand, “and I will be your friend for life!”

“You had better be my friend for your own sake,” retorted
the King angrily; “united we stand, divided we fall. Remember,
Andros is your and my enemy.”

“And Alcibiades?”
.bn 188.png
.pn +1

“Alcibiades would like nothing better than an excuse to
plunder Melnos. However, we are nine Englishmen, not
counting my Greeks, and I think with all we will be a match
for Andros, Alcibiades, and their brother blackguards.”

This conversation took place in Greek, so was therefore
quite unintelligible to Maurice, who looked from the one to
the other in astonishment. On seeing this, Justinian turned
towards him with a courteous apology, and restored the
portrait.

“As Andros gave you this, I will not deprive you of it,
Mr. Roylands,” he said politely; “but shortly I hope to present
you to the original.”

“Now?” asked Maurice eagerly.

“No; you must go and sleep this afternoon,” replied Justinian
authoritatively; “and you also, Crispin. After your
dangers of last night, you must be quite worn out.”

“Well, the bath and a meal have done wonders,” said
Crispin, yawning; “but I must say a few hours’ sleep would
complete the cure.”

“And when will we see Helena?” demanded Roylands
persistently.

“This evening,” answered Justinian, taking him by the
hand. “We must be good friends, Mr. Roylands, for I like
your face. Tell me, do you resemble your father or your
mother most?”

“My mother,” said Maurice, rather astonished at this
strange question.

Justinian looked at him steadily, then, dropping his hand
with a sigh, turned away, as if to conceal some sudden emotion.
After a time he recovered himself, and spoke sharply,
as if to atone for his faint-heartedness.

“Come, come, gentlemen, be off to your rooms!” he said
testily; “sleep is what you need.”

“And Helena!” said Crispin, as he and Maurice left the
court.

“And Helena!” repeated Justinian in a satisfied tone;
“yes, this is her husband, not Andros.”
.bn 189.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII. | <sc>VENUS URANIA.</sc>

.pm start_poem
To rose-red sky, from rose-red sea,
  At rose-red dawn she came,
A fiery rose of earth to be,
  And light the dark with flame;
Then earth and sky triumphantly
  Rang loud with men’s acclaim.

A rose art thou, O goddess fair,
  And bloom as men aspire,—
Red rose to those whom passions snare,
  White rose to chaste desire;
Yet red rose wanes with pale despair,
  And white rose burns as fire.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
After all that he had come through, Maurice found no
difficulty in inducing sleep to come to his pillow. The room
he occupied was one of those built by Justinian when he
renovated this antique fane, and the walls, floor, and ceiling
were of that fine-grained red sandstone of which the staircase
was built. The pavement was bare, save for Turkish
rugs scattered here and there, which lack of carpeting made
the apartment wonderfully cool and pleasant, but the walls
were draped with a heavy kind of woollen tapestry similar
to those in the court, saving that the color was a pale gray,
and the embroideries terra-cotta color to match the floor.
A wide window, shaded by Indian beadworked blinds, looked
out on to a pleasant prospect of forest which clothed the
side of the mountain, and the cool wind, heavy with aromatic
scents, stole into the room. It was also furnished in a
somewhat antique fashion, though here and there an anachronism
betrayed the nineteenth century, but the couch
whereon Maurice rested was purely Greek in design, and
lying on this in his white robe, with a purple coverlet flung
carelessly over his feet, he might have been taken for some
dweller in ancient Athens. True, the mustache on his lip
savored somewhat of the barbarian, but in all other respects
the comparison was close enough, for if his features were
not quite so classic in outline as those of Caliphronas, they
were sufficiently so to pass muster in the carrying out of
such fancy.

Lying there with his eyes half closed, the young Englishman
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
in a drowsy fashion felt the balmy odors permeating
the warm air, and saw as in a dream the antique room, the
pleasant prospect beyond, which was but mistily seen
through the veiling beadwork blind. He was puzzled over
the kind reception accorded to him by this strange Justinian,
who he had been led to believe was a kind of modern
freebooter. No swarthy, fantastically-dressed, savage marauder
was this island king, but a gracious, courteous gentleman,
arrayed in the white robe of Socrates, with a winning
smile on his face, and polite words on his lips. Crispin
seemed to mistrust him indeed, but even Crispin seemed
somewhat astonished at the suavity of his greeting, and now
appeared inclined to recant his former dislike of the old
man. Maurice longed to have a confidential chat with
Crispin, and find out his feelings on the subject, as it was
evident that, far from inclining to Caliphronas, their host
seemed more disposed to side with them.

Again, Maurice found it difficult to account for the old
man’s sudden liking for himself, for the satisfaction with
which he had received the information that his daughter’s
face had lured the young Englishman to his island retreat,
and for many other things.

“Mystery, mystery, nothing but mystery!” said Maurice
to himself, as he closed his aching eyes. “I cannot
make these folks out; but, at all events, King Justinian
does not seem to disapprove of my passion, and is inclined
to give Crispin the information he desires, so I trust all will
go well. Sooner or later I will solve all these problems
which are now so tantalizing; but, come what may, one
good thing is in store for me. I shall see Helena to-night!”

A wave of sleep seemed to roll over his weary brain, now
relaxed from the terrible tension of the previous night, and
he gradually sank into a deep slumber, with the name of his
unseen goddess still on his lips.

Then he dreamed strange dreams of romance, filled with
the serenity of Hellenic calm, which floated magically
through his brain, and made his slumber delightful with
forms of exquisite beauty. He was standing with Helena
in the temple of Athena, and together they touched the
knees of the undying goddess; but the face of Helena was
veiled, and he could see but vaguely the perfect features
which had hitherto been so clear in his dreams. Again, they
were wandering like lovers beneath the serene Attic sky,
beside the bright, gushing Ilissus, and he strove to kiss
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
her, the kiss of betrothal, but she faded away as did the
cloud-Juno in the arms of Ixion, and a voice blown by some
faint winds cried, “Love, but win.” Then he was on board
a galley, putting off from the green shore towards the purple
mists of sea, and Helena was lying in his arms, while the
Greek Caliphronas strove fiercely to snatch her from him.
Arrows rattled on the shields of his men, the watch-fires
blazed on the high mountain tops, and the air was hot with
the flame of battle. In his dream he saw the phantom of
himself lay down the cloudy Helena, and dash on the phantom
Greek with a mighty sword. A strident cry, a flash as
of flame dividing the night, then the phantom Caliphronas
vanished, and the galley was sailing, sailing far into the purple
night, while, clasped in each other’s arms, Helena and
himself murmured the songs of love, until they melted
ghost-like into the misty splendor of the sinking sun.

When he awoke, it was quite dark, and, springing from
his couch, he hastily took his watch to the window, and found
it was nearly eight o’clock, so his sleep had lasted over six
hours. Feeling greatly refreshed by this rest, he bathed his
face and hands in cold water, with the intention of going
outside into the delicious night air. That the moon was up
he could see by the doubtful glimmer of her pale light, but,
the shadow of the house being in front of her, she could not
be seen in her full splendor.

Wondering where he would find Crispin, and whether that
gentleman was yet awake, Maurice stole quietly from his
room, and, drawing aside the curtains, looked out into the
middle court, where he saw a sight which chained him to the
earth. Not Paris sitting in judgment on Mount Ida saw
such a vision of loveliness as now appeared to the enraptured
eyes of Roylands. The picture—ah, that was but a pale
reflection of this rich, ripe, glowing beauty! Venus, the
goddess of love herself, yet with a touch of the chaste
purity of Artemis—not Venus Pandemos, with flushed face
and wanton glance, but Venus Urania, chaste, cold, pure, and
serene as the moon-huntress herself.

The moon, hanging like a great silver sphere in the darkly
blue sky, shone serenely through the hypæthral opening of
the court, and in her pale light the ranges of white columns
glimmered like faint ghosts in the doubtful gloom.

Like a silver rod the fountain’s jet shot up to meet her
kiss, and the splashed waters of the pool trembled restlessly
with faint flashes within the marble marge. The cold, sweet
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
odors of the flowers made the night air drowsy with their
perfumes, and a distant nightingale began to trill deliciously
in the still beauty of the evening. But the onlooker saw
not the moon, the fountain, or the solemn range of pillars;
he had no ears for the liquid notes of the unseen bird; for
his eyes were fixed in an enamoured gaze on a tall, beautiful
woman, who stood with upturned face gazing at the sky.

In that tremulous light she looked more than mortal in
her spiritual loveliness—some goddess of ancient Hellas
once more visiting the dear-loved islands of the Ægean—perchance
Aphrodite herself, haunting the fane of her husband
Hephaistos. To add to the plausibility of this fantastic
idea, this girl was draped in the long white chiton of
antique times, and her golden hair, dressed after the fashion
of the Venus of Cnidos, was bound with triple bands of silver,
while her slender arms, bare to the shoulder, were devoid
of any ornament. So fair, so pure, so ethereal she appeared,
that Maurice might well be pardoned for deeming her some
pale sweet spirit of classic times, haunting the scenes of her
former life, and listening, as she had done in the past, to the
golden notes of the divine nightingale, thrilling to ecstasy
the heart of the dusk.

For a few minutes Maurice stood spellbound in the contemplation
of this lovely incarnation of Venus Urania, then
inadvertently made a movement which made the girl start
from her rapt attitude, and look in his direction. Being thus
discovered, he came forward to meet the awakened divinity,
looking himself, in his sweeping robe, like some young
disciple of Plato or Parmenides. To his surprise and delight,
this beautiful woman, with a smile on her exquisite
face, came forward to meet him half-way with outstretched
hands.

“You are Mr. Roylands,” she said in English, with a delicate
sweetness in her voice that seemed to shame the notes
of the nightingale, at least, Maurice thought so; but then,
in his amazement, he was scarcely capable of cool reflection.

“Yes, I am Maurice Roylands,” he replied, taking both
her outstretched hands within his own; “and you are
Helena.”

“I am Helena,” she repeated gravely, drawing him a little
to the left, so that the moonlight fell on his face. “You
can have no idea how anxious I was to see you, Mr. Roylands.
I do so love to see one of my countrymen.”

“Are you English?”
.bn 193.png
.pn +1

“Yes,” said Helena proudly, dropping his hands, much to
his regret; “my father is English, so I am also, although
my mother was a Greek. Still, I have spoken your language
all my life, and have been brought up like an English girl,
so I must be English.”

She spoke in a tone of such conviction that Maurice
began to laugh, in which merriment she joined freely.

“My father would not tell me anything about you,” she
resumed gayly; “and as you are the first Englishman that
has come to Melnos, I was anxious to see what you were
like.”

“I hope your anxiety has been repaid,” observed Maurice,
with a smile.

“Oh, indeed it has. You are very good-looking, especially
when you smile.”

Roylands was rather taken aback by this naïveté, and,
being unaccustomed to such direct compliments, blushed like
a girl, much to the amusement of Helena, who stood looking
at him with clear, truthful eyes.

“Do you not like me saying that?” she observed innocently.
“Andros always likes to be told he’s good-looking.”

“Well, I am not so conceited as Andros—at least, I trust
I am not,” answered Maurice, quite touched by her rustic
innocence; “but, you know, ladies in England do not speak
so—so—very plainly.”

“Do they not? Why, do they tell their friends they are
ugly?”

Maurice roared in spite of her presence, upon which she
looked at him rather reproachfully.

“It is too bad of you to laugh at me, Mr. Roylands,” she
said pettishly; “you can’t expect me to be like an English
lady after living all my life at Melnos.”

“You are much more charming than any English lady I
know.”

A charming smile dimpled the corners of her mouth.

“Really! Ah, I see it is the custom for the gentlemen to
pay compliments to the ladies, not the other way about. I
must not tell you you are good-looking, but it is quite proper
for you to say I am charming.”

“Well—that is—really, you know, I hardly know what
to say,” said Maurice, finding himself somewhat in a dilemma.
“The fact is, neither English men nor women pay each other
compliments at all—at least, it’s not supposed to be good
form.”
.bn 194.png
.pn +1

“What is good form?” asked Helena innocently.

“I must undertake your education, Miss Justinian.”

“I am not Miss Justinian. You must call me Helena.”

“Oh, is that so? then you must know, Helena, I am not
Mr. Roylands—you must call me Maurice.”

“Maurice! Maurice! Ah, that is much nicer to say than
Mr. Roylands. Yes, I will call you Maurice. I like Maurice,”
she continued reflectively; “yes, I like Maurice.”

“I am very glad you like me,” he said artfully.

“Oh, I mean the name,” replied Helena, laughing at what
she thought was his mistake. “But tell me, Maurice, do
you now feel quite well?”

“Yes, thank you. The sleep of this afternoon has quite
cured my fatigues of last night.”

“Oh, it must have been terrible!” said Helena, with a
shudder; “papa told me all about it. I was so glad when
Andros told us of your safety.”

“My safety, or that of Crispin?”

“I was glad for both your sakes, and indeed I am very
fond of Crispin. You know, we are just like brother and
sister.”

“Are you? Well, will we be brother and sister?”

“Oh yes,” she answered, frankly putting her hand into
his; “I will be very glad to have another brother.”

Maurice felt a trifle disappointed at this calm acquiescence
in his audacious proposal, but, finding her little hand within
his own, clasped it warmly; whereupon she suddenly seemed
to feel a touch of maiden modesty, and withdrew her hand,
blushing shyly. Certainly she was the most ingenuous,
delightful woman in the world, and Maurice was quite fascinated
by this timid audacity, which was so different from
the artificial modesty of many girls he had met. She was
Undine without a soul, she did not know the meaning of life
in any way whatsoever, yet, like some gentle wild thing, she
started back with an instinct of caution when his touch thrilled
her virgin soul with a deeper feeling than friendship. Both of
them felt tongue-tied and awkward, Helena at the strange,
unexpected feeling which made her heart beat and her
cheek burn, Maurice with regret for having even unconsciously
permitted his touch to convey anything further than
the brotherly friendship of a man for a pure young woman.

Fortunately for them both, Crispin, alert and cheery,
entered the court with Justinian, and they came towards the
couple with careless unconsciousness. Justinian, indeed, did
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
cast a rapid glance at the flushed faces of the pair, which
betrayed their late emotion, but, far from being angry, an
imperceptible smile passed over his lips, as if he were quite
satisfied that this should be so.

“Helena!” said Crispin, coming forward and kissing her
hand; “I am so delighted to see you again! You are more
lovely than ever.”

“Maurice says English gentlemen do not pay ladies compliments.”

“Don’t they?” answered Crispin humorously. “My dear
Maurice, that storm last night must have destroyed your
memory. So you two have met?”

“Quite unexpectedly,” declared Maurice hastily. “I came
to look for you, Crispin, and, glancing into this court, I saw
Helena, so we have been talking ever since.”

“And Maurice has been telling me about England,” said
Helena, clapping her hands together with a burst of girlish
laughter, delicious as the carol of a thrush.

“Maurice! Helena!” repeated Justinian, smiling.
“Really, you young people are getting on very well together.”

“Your daughter had some difficulty in saying Roylands,”
said Maurice apologetically.

“And you do not know Helena’s other name, eh?”

“What is her other name, sir? If you don’t like me to
call her Helena, shall I say Miss”—

“You can say Helena,” answered Justinian shortly; “she
has no other name.”

“No; we are simple people here,” observed Crispin mischievously,
“and dispense with such cumbersomeness as two
names;—Justinian, Helena, Crispin, Andros; so you, Roylands,
will drop your harsh English surname, and be henceforth
known as Maurice.”

“I am quite content to be so as long as Helena speaks the
name!”

“Another compliment!” laughed Crispin gayly; “I
thought, according to you, gentlemen never paid ladies
compliments?”

“This is the exception to prove the rule.”

“Helena,” said her father suddenly, “where is Andros?”

“I do not know. He was here an hour ago, and said he
would be back to supper.”

“It is supper-time now,” said Justinian, moving towards
the side entrance. “You must be hungry, gentlemen. I
trust you feel quite recovered?”
.bn 196.png
.pn +1

“Speaking for myself, I do,” answered Maurice brightly;
“that sleep has quite set me up. And Crispin”—

“Subscribes to all you have said, and feels as hungry as a
hunter.”

“Hark! there is Andros,” observed Helena, placing one
white finger on her lips, in which attitude she looked like
some exquisite statue of Silence; “do you hear him singing?”

.pm start_poem
“The rose is shedding its crimson leaves,
Sadly they fall at the caress of Zephyrus;
And I, O beloved, shed tears in plenty,
Feeling thy kiss on my mouth;
For I must lose thee—ah, I must lose thee!
Another richer than I desires to wed thee,
Therefore do I shed tears, as the rose sheds her crimson petals.”
.pm end_poem

“An omen!” breathed Justinian under his breath, as the
Greek drew aside the curtain of the main entrance; “he will
not marry Helena!”

Against the dark draperies veiling the archway the slender
figure of the handsome Greek stood out in bold relief. He
also had assumed a robe of white, and, with his clear-cut
features and graceful pose, looked the incarnation of that
delicate Greek adolescence whereof Pindar sings in his
Olympian Odes. As he caught sight of Maurice standing
near Helena, he frowned perceptibly, and advanced hastily,
as if to come between them, but, meeting the keen, significant
look of Justinian, he faltered in his hasty step, and broke
into a charming smile.

“Are you waiting for me?” he said cheerfully, as they all
went to have supper. “I have been down in the valley
speaking to your sailors.”

“Are they all right?” asked Crispin anxiously, for carelessly
gay though he seemed to be, he was terribly disturbed
at the loss of so many lives in the storm.

“Oh, they are quite happy. All your subjects, Justinian,
are making heroes of them, especially the women, much to
the dismay of the men of Melnos.”

“I hope they won’t be getting into trouble,” said Justinian,
with a frown. “I want no quarrels here.”

“Then you had better go and see about them to-morrow,
for if this hero-worship goes on, trouble there certainly will
be.”

“And doubtless you would be very glad to see such
trouble,” thought Justinian to himself, as he eyed Caliphronas
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
with a doubtful face. “I must lose no time in putting
things to rights. Trouble at this juncture would play
into your hands, my friend.”

There was a very merry party that night, as even Caliphronas
seemed to forget all his jealous feelings with regard
to Maurice, and lay himself out to be entertaining. The stern
face of Justinian relaxed, and Helena, full of girlish glee,
was evidently quite charmed with this handsome Englishman
who had arrived so unexpectedly in Melnos. As for Crispin,
he was very happy, for he now began to hope that Justinian
would tell him all he wanted to know, and thus sweep away
all obstacles to his union with Eunice. In fact, one and all
laid aside their secret cares and plans to indulge in light-hearted
merriment at the simple meal. Simple it was in
every way, and yet infinitely charming, consisting as it did
of goat’s flesh, white bread, golden honey, fresh cheese; and
for drink, that strong resinous Greek wine, which Maurice
found so rich for his palate, that he was fain to follow the
temperate example of Caliphronas, and mingle it with water.

After supper they all went out into the court, and with
the exception of Caliphronas, began to smoke Turkish tobacco
provided by Justinian, who was rather proud of his Latakia,
while Helena, seating herself on the marge of the fountain,
joined gayly in the trifling conversation in which all indulged
out of sheer light-heartedness.

At the end of the court a charcoal fire burned in a kind of
tripod, and, perfumes being cast thereon, a thick white
smoke ascended like incense to the clear sky. Near this
stood Caliphronas, and the red light streaming on his statuesque
face, his white garb, made him a very striking figure.
The other gentlemen were seated decorously in chairs, and
the moon streaming down on their snowy robes, on the
exquisite upturned face of Helena, produced an effect quite
antipathetical to their excessively modern conversation.
Pale moon, glittering stars, solemn court, soaring incense;—they
should have been a company of philosophers talking of
the destiny of the soul, of the sacred festivals, and unseen
deities; but, by the law of contrast, they talked nothing but
frivolity, and laughed at their own light badinage; Helena’s
girlish laugh ringing clear above the deep tones of the men.

“I was wrong,” said Maurice to himself, as he watched
this perfect girlish picture; “she is not Venus, but Nausicaa,
and I am a modern Ulysses at the court of Alcinous.”

“Are you worshipping at the altar of Vulcan, Caliphronas?”
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
called out Crispin to the Greek, who stood almost
veiled in the clouds of incense.

“No,” said Caliphronas, walking forward in his stately
fashion; “I have no love for the swarthy god of the Cyclops.
For me, Venus!”

“Pandemos!”

“Or Urania, I care not which, provided the goddess is
herself,” replied the Greek coolly. “Ah, we all worship
those old pagan gods, who were but the incarnation of our
own desires. You, Crispin, bow to Apollo; Mr. Maurice,
you adore the Muse of Sculpture, of whose name I am ignorant;
and Justinian loves the supreme Zeus, who gives power
and dominion.”

“And I?” asked Helena gayly; “whom do I worship,
Andros?”

“The inviolate Artemis!”

“There’s a good deal of truth in what you say,” observed
Justinian serenely; “but I should have thought your deity
was Hermes.”

The remark was so pointed that Caliphronas winced, but
at once smiled gayly and replied in the same vein,—

“Venus and Hermes—Love and Trickery! Well, doubtless
the one helps the other.”

“Such aid is not always effectual,” said Justinian significantly,
whereat the Greek shrugged his shoulders, but made
no reply.

“Well, for my part,” observed Helena reflectively, “I do
not worship Artemis so much as I do Demeter. There is
something grand about the earth goddess who causes the
earth to break into the glory of flowers.”

“I think she must have been here,” said Maurice, looking
round at the profusion of flowers.

“Ah, these are all my treasures, Maurice. I adore flowers,
and there is not a nook in Melnos where I have not hunted
for blossoms. Yes, even up to the verge of the snows,
where grow tiny saxifragas. Wait till you see our harvest—our
vintage—then you will see Mother Demeter in her
glory.”

“Do you celebrate those festivals?”

“Yes,” said Justinian quickly; “I keep up all the old
Greek customs, though, of course, I adapt them to the needs
of my people. The Bacchanalia of Melnos do not include
the debauchery of Athens, nor are the Anthesphoria anything
more than innocent flower festivals.”
.bn 199.png
.pn +1

“In honor of Proserpina,” exclaimed Helena gayly.
“Crispin, do you remember the Flower Hymn to Demeter
you wrote long ago?”

“Yes, very well; but I’m afraid my poems were very bad
in those days. Can you remember it?”

“Of course; but not in Greek, in English, I translated it
myself.”

“Sing it, Helena,” said her father, and his request was
eagerly seconded by the whole company, especially by
Maurice, who was anxious to hear a voice which he was sure
would outvie the nightingale.

Helena clasped her hands round her knees, and, lifting up
her face to the stars, began to sing in a clear, sweet voice,
which, though entirely untrained, had a trill in it like the
liquid notes of a bird.

.pm start_poem
              I.

“Wild roses red as dawn
  When nymphs awaken,
Frail lilies white and wan
  As love forsaken.
With primrose pale and daffodil,
Forget-me-nots from hidden rill,
  And blossoms shaken
By wintry breezes thin and chill,
From orchards on the distant hill,
With flowerets richer, rarer still,
  From thy breast taken,—

              II.

“Brave marigolds who in the fields
  Outstay the swallow,
Sunflowers whose burning shields
  Do eye Apollo,
With pansies dark as honeyed wine,
And reeds beloved by Pan divine
  For pipings hollow;
Wild olive, laurel, scented pine,
All these I offer at thy shrine,
If thou wilt smile on me and mine,
  And blessings follow.”
.pm end_poem

When her sweet voice died away, an emulous nightingale
began to sing as if in rivalry, and Helena burst out into girlish
laughter.

“Do you like my translation, Crispin?”

“It is charming—much better than the words.”
.bn 200.png
.pn +1

“No, indeed!” said Maurice, who was enchanted with the
song and the singer; “as Wordsworth would say, it is a very
pretty piece of paganism.”

“Oh, that faint praise is worse than blame.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Justinian, rising from his seat, “I
am going to retire to rest, as I cannot do without my sleep.
Old age is not like youth, you know. Helena!”

“I am going, father,” she cried, springing to her feet.
“Good-night, Andros—Crispin! good-night, Maurice!”

“‘Good-night, and sweet dreams be thine,’” murmured
Maurice from some poet.

Their departure was a sign of breaking up, for Caliphronas,
not feeling inclined for a conversation with two men he disliked
so much, went off immediately; and after they had
finished a last pipe, Maurice and Crispin sought their repose.

“Well,” said Crispin, as they parted, “what do you think
of Helena?”

“Think of her!” echoed Maurice in an indescribable tone.
“That she is simply perfection, far above what you told me.
If your poetry is not better than your description, Crispin, it
must be poor stuff.”

“You are bewitched, Maurice. Beware the spells of
Circe.”

“Circe! No! she is no malignant enchantress, but a beautiful
girlish angel.”

“Nausicaa!” said Crispin gayly, and went off to bed.
.bn 201.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX. | <sc>A MODERN ARCADIA.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Courage, my poet!
The age of iron is not yet supreme,
For youth still throbs in the old veins of Mother Earth, wan and weary with sorrowful centuries.
Tho’ girdled our world by wires multitudinous transmitting the swift message
of electricity;
Tho’ the straight and curved lines of the railway run parallel along the immensity of continents for the advancement of culture;
Tho’ ships, steam-driven, even against storms, plough the waters of perilous oceans;—
Yet somewhere beyond the confines of our selfish civilization
There lies an Arcadia among the lone mountains, or perchance encircled by tideless seas,
Wherein dwell delicate beings who know not ambition or avarice,
And work but for bread—for bread alone, tempering such toil with singing melodious, and merry pipings at sundown.
Therefore, courage, my poet!
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
They were early risers in Melnos, for in that invigorating
climate it was impossible, even for the most indolent, to lie
sluggishly in bed, and the sun was hardly above the eastern
horizon before Justinian, his household and guests, were
seated at breakfast. Helena was not present, having already
gone out in the deliciously fresh morning air on some expedition
connected with flowers; so the meal was a strictly
masculine one, and the four men made their plans for the
day. Crispin and Caliphronas decided to remain at the
Acropolis, as they were already well acquainted with the lions
of the island, the one to write letters, the other to await
the return of Helena, over whose movements he kept watch
with all the jealous solicitude of a doubtful lover; and Maurice,
in company of Justinian, went down to the valley, in
order that the Englishman might be shown all the wonders
of this unique place.

The white indoor robes of the previous evening were now
discarded in favor of a serviceable costume similar to that
worn by the rough Cretan mountaineers,—long boots of
brown leather, loose blue trousers thrust therein at the
knees, a red sash, white shirt of wool, and blue jackets,
together with a flowing capote and hood to cover the head
when the sun grew unpleasantly strong. Justinian wore a
red fisherman’s cap with a gold tassel on his white locks, but
Maurice was supplied with a large gray felt sombrero, the
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
shade of which was very grateful. The island king looked
truly regal in this picturesque dress, with his long gray
beard, his sun-tanned skin, fierce black eyes, and reverend
locks; lithe and active as a young man, he carried his burden
of sixty-five years with the greatest of ease, and as he walked
beside Maurice, with a light springy step, the sculptor began
to think that his companion must have discovered the secret
of perpetual youth.

They walked leisurely along the mulberry avenue, in the
direction of the entrance to the tunnel, and enjoyed the exquisite
coolness of the morning, for the sun was not yet over
the shoulder of the mountain, and the cup was still in comparative
shadow. Notwithstanding this, however, the air
was warm, and balmy with the scent of aromatic herbs,
which delightful temperature rather puzzled Maurice, as it
did not agree with the marked absence of sunlight for a
greater part of the morning, and he mentioned this to
Justinian.

“Certainly we do not get much of the sun in the morning
owing to the mountain,” answered the old man, stroking his
silver beard; “but in the middle of the day, and most of the
afternoon, his beams are very powerful, for at noon he is
right above our heads, and the western side of the Melnos
Peak is so low, that until near sunset his rays stream on the
valley.”

He pointed to the west, and Maurice saw that the high
peaks fell away into a kind of low semicircle, which enabled
them, from their position, to catch a glimpse of blue sea and
distant island. On each side of this gap, however, the jagged
summits stood up stern, rigid, and snow-clad against the
delicately blue sky, girding the valley at the same height all
round, save at the western side before mentioned.

“Still,” said Maurice pertinently, “the sun is still below
the eastern side of the mountain, yet the air is quite warm.”

“Cannot the temple to Hephaistos solve the riddle?”

“Oh, you mean that the island is volcanic!”

“Yes; this is the crater of an extinct volcano, extinct for
thousands of years, for even when the temple was built, the
fires must have died out, or its builders could hardly have
placed it on the inner side of the crater. It is the volcanic
character of Melnos that makes it so warm and fertile. You
see the slopes are covered with corn, vine, olive, in profusion,
while dates, lemons, orange-trees, citrons, and all such delicate
plants grow wild without cultivation. This valley is the
veritable Horn of Plenty so lauded by the Hellenes.”
.bn 203.png
.pn +1

“If we are to believe the ancient historians,” said Maurice
gravely, as he looked at the fertile sides of the mountain so
admirably cultivated, “this was also the case with the crater
of Vesuvius, yet it proved to be still active.”

“What! do you think Melnos will break out again?”
observed Justinian, with a shade of thought on his fine face.
“Indeed we have earthquakes occasionally, but not much to
speak of. I fancy the islands of the north are more of a
volcanic centre than these; still the volcano may break out
again—in that case I am afraid all my work will go for
nothing.”

“Is this island entirely your work?”

“Every bit of it,” answered the old man emphatically.
“Forty years ago, I came into these waters to look for this
extinct volcanic island, of which I had received full information
from a wandering Greek, who knew Melnos well. I
duly sighted it, and, having landed, I climbed up to the summit,
when I discovered this enchanting valley, also the
Temple of Hephaistos still in a tolerably good state of preservation.
I had left England smarting under a sense of
injury, from—from—well, it was about a woman; and I
swore never to return to it. Always of an uncivilized disposition,
I determined to fix my home here, and, being possessed
of plenty of money, I bought this island of the
Turkish Government at a pretty heavy price. They were
anxious for money, especially as it was after the Greek War
of Independence, which had emptied the coffers of the Sublime
Porte; besides which, the Ottomans did not care about
this barren rock, which was of no use to them in any way;
so I bought it, and settled in the old temple, where I have
now dwelt for forty long years.”

“But this community—the tunnel?”

“All my works! I have, so to speak, carried out the projects
of Goethe’s Faust. Ah, you are astonished at my referring
to that, but I am a University man, Mr. Roylands,
and have not yet forgotten my learning. <lang=la><i>Et ego in Arcadia
fui</i></lang>, and know the ancient colleges of Cambridge, the oozy
Cam, and the delights of a town and gown row.”

“You have had a strange career.”

“A very happy one at all events. It was fortunate my
superabundant energy found vent in the direction of making
this island blossom like a rose, otherwise I would have remained
a restless adventurer to the end of my days. I could
not settle down to the placid life of an English gentleman;
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
I wanted room to breathe, opportunities for daring, work—gigantic
work—to do; and I found them all in Melnos.”

“You have carried out your self-imposed task nobly.”

“I am glad you think so. Yes; I trust I have been of
some use in my generation. And, at all events, I have
erected one thoroughly happy, peaceful spot,—a modern
Eden,—and that is no easy thing to do in this riotous
century.”

“It is a modern miracle!”

And it was little else, seeing that all these gigantic works
had been planned and carried out by a solitary human being;
for by this time they were at the entrance to the tunnel, and
as Maurice looked down the enormous flights of red limestone
steps, which led to the valley below, he was truly
amazed at the engineering science displayed by the man
beside him. Flight after flight, now to right, now to left,
stretched down the gentle slope of the mountain, and these
mighty stairs were all carefully finished with heavy balustrades
of the same material, neatly joined together. At certain
platforms, statues of white marble, pedestalled on red
blocks, stood up in proud beauty, and, seeing his guest’s eyes
fixed on these heroic forms, Justinian laughed.

“I am a bit of an antiquarian, Mr. Roylands,” he explained
as they descended, “and all over these islands I pay men
to dig among ancient ruins for statues, which I do my best to
restore, and then place here. This Apollo, for instance,” he
said, as they paused before a life-sized nude figure holding a
lyre, “was found at Delos and brought to me. True, the
Greek Government claim all these things, but I do not see
why I should not secure them if possible, and I am sure they
look better in this enchanted valley than in some stuffy
museum.”

Maurice, with sculptor-like enthusiasm, would fain have
lingered before this masterpiece of Greek art, but Justinian
hurried him impatiently away.

“You will have plenty of time to look at them again,” he
said as they resumed their descent, “but at present I have
plenty to show you. I am glad you like my staircase.”

“It is wonderful, but I think the tunnel is still more
so.”

“Yes; it is a fine piece of engineering,” said Justinian
complacently. “You see it was impossible to constantly
climb up over the peaks, which involved waste of time, and
a weary ascent, so I got an engineer from England, supplied
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
him with plenty of Greeks, and they finished that tunnel in
five years. I am very proud of it, I assure you.”

“What about the gate in the middle of it?”

“That is absolutely necessary, not so much now as
formerly, but forty years ago the Ægean was very lawless,
and the government could not put down the pirates.
Of course, hearing a rich Englishman had bought Melnos,
those rascals thought it contained all kinds of treasures, and
have made frequent assaults on it. Fortunately I have
always managed to beat them off. I think the rascals have
a wholesome dread of me now,” finished the old man grimly.

“Now I suppose there is no danger of any attack being
made.”

“I am not so sure about that. King George’s Government
is more feared by these scamps than was King Otho’s; but,
though the majority of them have disappeared, there are
still some left who would like to storm Melnos.”

“Alcibiades?”

“What do you know of Alcibiades?” asked Justinian
sharply.

“Nothing more than that he is an equivocal character.
Caliphronas told me so much.”

“Andros! Yes, he is far too friendly with that scamp of
an Alcibiades, who is an excessively dangerous man. I do
not trust Andros, and he knows it; so, out of sheer anger,
he may urge Alcibiades to assault the island. An enemy
without, a traitor within—it is very dangerous.”

“If you distrust Caliphronas, why don’t you turn him
out?”

“I have no proof against him yet, but I fancy he has
some scheme in his mind. Believe me, Mr. Roylands, if you
have a stomach for fighting, I fancy there will be plenty of
opportunity for you to indulge in it shortly.”

“Oh, as for that, I should like nothing <pm corr 211.34 better? better.>”

“I like that,” said Justinian decisively; “you are a true
Roylands!”

“I trust so. But how do you know the Roylands are a
fighting family?”

“All Englishmen fight, more or less,” answered Justinian
carelessly; “besides your name is a Norman one, and
descendants of William the Conqueror’s vassals are always
soldiers. Hitherto you have led a quiet and peaceful life,
but if we do have an island war, I don’t think you will be
the last to help me defend my kingdom.”
.bn 206.png
.pn +1

“You can rely on that—nor Crispin either!”

“Oh, Crispin!” replied Justinian, a trifle disdainfully;
“he is too much a man of peace to suit my fancy. But here
we are at the village.”

“By the way, how did you populate this new Rome of
yours?”

“Oh, in the old days I was rather a celebrity in the islands,—a
kind of insular Lord Byron,—and of course had my
followers. When I settled here, I made all my followers
come also, and admitted none but young men. They brought
their sweethearts and wives, so gradually the community
grew up here. Recruits come from time to time, but I
admit none but those who are physically perfect and passably
moral. We now number, with women and children, two
hundred souls, and you will not find a deformed or lame person
among the lot.”

“Then you have no old people?”

“Oh yes. I am old myself, and many of my followers are
of the same age. We were all young men in those days of
colonization, but now age has come upon us, as you see.
Some of my old comrades have died, but many are well and
hearty, thanks to the salubrity of this climate. They are the
sages of the village.”

“Local rulers, I suppose?”

“No,” retorted Justinian, with fiery earnestness; “there
is only one ruler in Melnos—myself.”

They were now walking down the principal street of the
village, a broad thoroughfare, running between two rows of
red limestone houses, from the foot of the grand staircase to
the blue lake, the distance in all being about a quarter of a
mile. On each side, between the pathways and the road itself,
ran two lines of elm trees, the foliage of which formed a
pleasant shade, while the houses, built in a tropical fashion,
with wide verandas, were gay with flowers. Helena had evidently
inoculated her father’s subjects with a love for flowers,
as on every side the eye was dazzled with a profusion of bright
tints. At the lower end of the street was a wide semicircle,
facing the lake, and planted with lines of beech, elm, and
plane trees, while in the middle of this pleasantness stood a
tall pedestal of white marble, bearing a huge bronze Zeus,
seated half-draped, with thunderbolt and eagle beside him.
Indeed, the statues of gods and goddesses were so frequent,
that Maurice began to think his eccentric host, in order to
complete his revival of ancient Athens, had re-established
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
the hierarchy of Olympus, with himself as Pontifex Maximus.
Evidently his face betrayed his thoughts, for, seeing his eyes
fixed on the garlands decorating the base of the statue, the
King laughed in an amused manner.

“No, no, Mr. Roylands, we are not pagans, in spite of the
presence of the gods,” he said, with a smile. “All my
people belong to the Orthodox Church, and we have a priest,
a sacred building, and everything necessary for such religion.”

“Are you also of the Greek Church?”

“No, I am no renegade,” replied Justinian haughtily;
“but, at the same time, I am not what you would call a
Christian.”

“But I trust your religious principles are not those of
Caliphronas?”

“No; I believe in working for the good of others, as you
can see. Morally speaking, I am what you call an agnostic,
though truly I believe in a supreme power. I erect my altar
to [Greek: to\n a)/gnaston Theo/n], Mr. Roylands, and strive to propitiate
him by helping my fellow-creatures.”

The conversation now becoming rather delicate in its
trenching on religious beliefs, Maurice turned it dexterously
by remarking on the number of mulberry trees.

“Those are for the silkworms,” explained Justinian, striking
the trunk of one of these trees with his staff; “we export
a great number of cocoons, and do a large trade with the
mainland. We also weave silks for ourselves; the factory is
to the right.”

There were a great number of people in the streets, all in
a similar dress to their own—that is, the men, for the
women were mostly arrayed in the graceful Greek dress of
the Cretans, which consisted of full white trousers reaching
to the ankle, brightly colored tunics, embroidered jackets,
gaudy handkerchiefs twisted round the head, and long white
veils, though the latter were but assumed for festive occasions.
Both men and women were very fine-looking, with
oval faces, olive skins, somewhat pointed chins, and aquiline
noses, and their gait was remarkably graceful, with the
stately bearing of a free race. The adults all saluted Justinian
respectfully, and he acknowledged their greetings
with haughty condescension, although he unbent somewhat
towards the children, who crowded round him with cries of
“Kalli imera Kyrion!”

“You are as populous as a hive of bees,” said Maurice, as
they walked down to the lake; “soon the island will be too
small.”
.bn 208.png
.pn +1

“Not for many years I hope and trust,” answered Justinian,
casting a look round at the now sunny sides of the
mountain, which encircled them like a cup. “There is
plenty of room yet; for my colony, in spite of its forty years,
is only yet in its infancy. Lots of room yonder for dwellings;
the soil is fertile, and affords plenty of food, and as to
necessaries from the outside world, we export olives, cocoons,
silks, wine, and dittany, receiving in return what we require
from more advanced civilization.”

“Dittany! what is that?”

“I am afraid you don’t know your Virgil, Mr. Roylands.
Dittany is an herb of rare medicinal power, which is found
in Crete, and also in Melnos. It is excellent for illness of
all kinds, especially fevers, and is as valued now as it was in
the days of Pliny. Plenty of it up in the mountain yonder,
as the goats are very fond of it.”

“Have you goats?”

“Of course! and also sheep, though I am afraid the goats
are the more numerous. Indeed, I have imported here some
of the rare Cretan breed—a kind of ibex, which grows to a
great size. These, of course, I will not allow to be killed;
but for food we have plenty of the smaller wild goats, such
as exist in many places in Greece, particularly on the summits
of Olympus. You probably forget we had goat’s flesh
for supper last night.”

“And the lake, sir?”

“Artificial purely.”

“Sea-water?”

“Oh dear no. The level of this valley is considerably
above that of the sea. I should be sorry were it otherwise,
as, were it lower, we might run a chance of being swamped
by the influx of waters. I am sure Alcibiades and his friends
would be delighted to drown us like rats if they could. This
lake comes from the snows yonder.”

“The snows?”

“Precisely. I have had a reservoir constructed far below
the snow-line, and a shoot into it from the summit of the
mountain. At certain intervals I send men up, who detach
great masses of snow and send them down the shoot into the
reservoir. There the heat of the sun soon melts them to
water, and from thence the water is taken down to the
lake.”

“But water always rises to its own level.”

“Hence you think my valley should be an entire lake; but
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
there is no danger of such a catastrophe happening, as my
reservoir is filled in a purely artificial manner, and I take
care to keep it within bounds. The pipes also down to this
lake are contrived so as to regulate the influx of water, therefore
there is no fear of a flood. Now you must come and
see the theatre.”

“The theatre! Have you playwrights and actors here?”

“Our playwrights date from old Hellenic days, and are
called Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; the actors are
my Greeks. Sometimes Crispin writes us a play bearing on
local events, which he satirizes after the style of Aristophanic
comedy—at least he did so when he lived here, but
since his departure we have fallen back on Hellas for our
plays.”

“How often do you give performances?”

“Only once a year, at the vintage feast. Oh, we follow
old customs closely here, and I hope to show you a veritable
Dionysiade before you leave us. We have a three days’ festival
of simple mirth, without any of the coarse elements
which were introduced by the later Hellenes. The first day
we have the vintage festival, the second our plays, and on
the third there are Olympian games.”

“With what prizes?”

“As of yore, the laurel wreath. I am particularly anxious
to keep up these games, as it makes my Greeks athletes,
and hardens them by muscular exercises, else in this lotus-eating
valley they would be apt to become indolent, and
then where would Melnos be without brave men to defend
her?”

“You are a perfect Spartan!”

“I believe in the Spartan training to a great extent, but I
do not think the body should be trained exclusively and the
mind neglected; therefore I have the tragedies performed
which were unknown to Sparta. The Spartans were a fine
nation of materialists.”

“You are right!” said Maurice earnestly; “one should
never let the material nature overpower the spiritual.”

“You speak warmly.”

“As I was taught. My mother was a religious woman,
and trained me carefully. One cannot rid one’s self of
youthful teachings; we may forget them for a time, but
they always force themselves before the mind sooner or
later.”

“Not always. I also was taught as you, but forty years
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
of solitude—comparative solitude—and pondering have
turned me into what I am—an agnostic. So your mother
was a good woman? is she alive?”

“No; she died many years ago.”

“And your father?”

“Is also dead. I am an orphan. No relations in the world—at
least, none I care about.”

Justinian gazed at the young man as if he would read his
very soul, then, turning away with a half-suppressed sigh,
entered the theatre.

It was modelled on that of Athens,—a large semicircle
hewn out of the volcanic rock, with seats of the red limestone
so frequent in Melnos. The stage faced the mountain,
and had an altar beautifully sculptured in front of it, and
life-sized statues of Dionysius and Ph[oe]bus on either side.

“This is our Temple of Thespis,” said Justinian, as they
stood in the centre of the semicircle, which was at a moderate
distance from the stage. “You see it is not very large, and
suitable to the size of the island and the number of population;
so, as the actors can easily be seen, we need neither
cothurnus nor mask. Our plays, I am afraid, are not so
gigantic as those of ancient Hellas; but there is one advantage,
the face is seen, and the Greeks are wonderfully expressive
in revealing their feelings by the countenance.”

“All Melnos seems to be built of this red stone.”

“Yes; I get it from the cliffs of the island. The tint is
pleasing, and warms up the landscape. I am sorry we cannot
see the ocean from the theatre, as I am very fond of the
sea; but, shut in by this circle of mountains, of course that
is impossible. Now we must go and see the silk factory.”

After they had gone through this thoroughly,—for Justinian
insisted upon Maurice taking notice of every detail,—the
King showed him some hot springs just outside the village,
which bubbled up from the earth, amid rugged blocks
of black lava, streaked fantastically with sulphur.

“These springs are full of medicinal properties, which are
useful for the cure of many diseases,” he said, as they
watched the light clouds of steam rising; “but we of Melnos
are so healthy, that we rarely use them. Plenty of work,
plenty of physical exercise, careful attention to births, and
fresh air and water in abundance, keep the whole population
in splendid health. It is a case of quality, not quantity.”

“Have you any poets, painters, sculptors?”

“Not yet. True, sometimes rude songs are made, and
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
rude pictures painted, but I am afraid centuries of slavery
have crushed all the creative power out of the Hellenic race.
However, they are free here, and have a city of refuge in this
island; so, in the future, who knows but what Melnos may
become a second Attica, and have her Plato, her Sophocles,
her Phidias!”

“It will take years to develop all that genius,” said Maurice,
as they once more began to climb up the staircase.

“I am afraid so. And I dread who may come after me.
I am old, and cannot live long; so when I die, unless my successor
is actuated by the same desire to found a miniature
Attica, as I have been, he may turn this place into a nest of
robbers, in which case, I am afraid, King George’s Government
would interfere, and the aspirations of Melnos to revive
Hellenic culture would be at an end.”

“Who is to be your successor?”

“That I do not know. True, I have a daughter, but it
needs a man to manage my Greeks. I took Crispin and
Andros, in order to train them up as my heirs, but Crispin
has become wealthy, and prefers to live in England; while
Andros, or, as he now calls himself, Caliphronas, is nothing
but a scamp. If he succeeded me, all my work would go for
nothing. He would be a tyrant, a robber, a selfish seeker
after pleasure, who would destroy the simplicity of Melnos,
break all my laws, and transform it into a nest of criminals.”

“Surely you have some clever men among your people?”

“Clever to serve, but bad to rule. None of them have the
administrative power required for even so small a community
as this. No; to succeed me, I must have an Englishman.
We are a dominating race, fit to rule; and a glance round
the world will show you our colonizing capabilities. By a
cool head and a firm hand, I have transformed a barren island
into a centre of prosperity; and if my successors only follow
my policy, in a few hundred years, this little unknown island
may become the centre of a great intellectual power. The
Athenians, you know, were small in number, yet see the intellectual
effect they produced in the world’s history. These
Greeks of mine are descendants of the ancient Hellenes, and
the spark of genius, nearly trampled out by centuries of
Turkish misrule, is still within them. Place a plant in the
dark, and it grows not; give it plenty of air and sunlight,
and first the green leaves appear, then the bud, lastly the
flower. These are my green leaves, which I have placed in
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
the light; and let them be tended and looked after, who
knows but what a glorious flower may be produced.”

“It is a splendid—dream!”

“A dream which may yet turn out truth,” answered Justinian,
with energy. “See how well I have prepared the
ground. My people here are physically perfect; their morality
is much above what is to be found in the islands of the
Ægean. I have taught them to love work and loathe idleness.
The island they dwell in contains all the beauties of
nature in a small space. ‘Infinite riches in a little room,’
to quote Marlowe. They are starting fairly under my guidance,
and they will develop, as their prototypes of Athens,
into a keen, cultured, intellectual race, who may give this
modern world as splendid gifts of genius as did their fathers
of old. But the plant needs fostering, and I, the gardener,
alas! am growing old; so when I die, who will attend to this
delicate flower of artificiality. What I want is to find a successor
who will do as I have done.”

“He will be difficult to find.”

“I fear so; unless”—

Here Justinian paused abruptly, and walked rapidly along
the mulberry avenue, in which they were now. Maurice
waited to hear him speak, but he said nothing until he stood
under the graceful Corinthian capitals of the temple pillars,
when he suddenly came to a full stop, and looked at Maurice
keenly.

“Mr. Roylands, do you know what I think?”

“No, sir.”

“That it would be an excellent thing for you to give up
your country-gentleman life in England, and come here.”

“But for what reason?”

“To be my successor.”

Maurice stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment, but
in another moment Justinian vanished.
.bn 213.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX. | <sc>A DIFFICULT QUESTION.</sc>

.pm start_poem
If you this question strange decide,
This way, that way, at your pleasure,
It surely cannot be denied,
If you this question strange decide,
That Fate’s prerogative’s defied,
And thus may grudge your self-won treasure,
If you this question strange decide,
This way, that way, at your pleasure.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Certainly Maurice felt in a somewhat embarrassing position,
on hearing of Justinian’s offer to instal him as future
King of Melnos, and he hardly knew what decision to make
in the matter. At present the affair was so unexpected and
bewildering that he hardly grasped the fact of its reality,
and remained where he was, leaning against a pillar, wondering
if he was asleep or awake. He had come to an unknown
island of the Ægean Sea, and therein had beheld a
miniature civilization of a most unique character, which in
itself by its very fancifulness was enough to unsettle his
calm reasoning powers, when lo! the man who had created
this vision of dead classicism proposed to bestow it on him
as a gift. There was something singularly tempting in this
offer, especially to a man of Roylands’ artistic temperament;
for here, in this sea-girt island, he could lead a life of dreamy
seclusion, and work at his art amid these rejuvenated Hellenic
times, which breathed all the serenity and calm necessary
to foster the craving soul of genius. In the riotous
modern world of England he had often felt like an alien,
and his work, imbued with modernisms, seemed feeble and
meretricious after those masterpieces of Greek art which
still remain to remind us of the supremacy of Attic sculptors
in delineating the human figure. Devoted to his art, had
Maurice been asked by some fairy to name his desire, he
would certainly have demanded to be placed in kindred circumstances,
calm, untroubled, serene, to those masterly
Athenian creators who adorned the Parthenon with god-like
forms. Lo! without the intervention of an unseen power,
his wish had been unexpectedly gratified, yet, now that the
boon long dreamed of was gratified, he hesitated as to the
advisability of accepting it.
.bn 214.png
.pn +1

It was difficult for him to make up his mind, from the
very contrast of the two existences which lay before him,
either of which he could begin from that moment, by a mere
acceptance of the one or the other. On the one hand was the
turbulent nineteenth century, full of invention, discovery,
feverishness, anguish, ambition, like a terrible yet fascinating
dream, which involved the straining of every nerve to attain
a thankless end; and on the other hand were years of quietness,
of dwelling in a modern paradise under a serene sky,
with all the incentives to awaken and foster his artistic soul,
a reconstruction of that calm Attic existence which seemed
so far off and mist-like beyond the stormy waters of mediævalism
and modern restlessness. Maurice, always impressionable
to his surroundings, felt as did the Ulyssean sailors in
the lotus-land, when they were loath to leave the drowsy
island for fruitless toilings on the main; he thought this
serene existence of Melnos, unvexed by the tumults of nations,
was perfect: yet the ambitious spirit of the nineteenth-century
interest in his being called out to him to come forward
and take his place in the fierce fight for fame, for gold, for
bread, which vexed the world of to-day. Peace or war—for
social war it was in this modern struggle for existence—he
did not know which to choose, and, leaning against that relic
of the old classic times, when earth was young, fresh, and
joyous, he dreamily pondered over the choice offered to him.

Had Keats, that born Greek, been offered the chance of
dwelling in this Hellenic Elysium, how eagerly would he
have accepted, and revelled in the serenity of the life, like
one of his own young deities, who live so joyously in his
delicate verse. Perhaps Heine, longing for the infinite
charm of the antique on his mattress-grave in the Rue
d’Amsterdam, might have accepted with joy this opportunity
to dwell in the placid Greek world he loved so well, and
of which he sang so mournfully, so exquisitely. But no!—Heine,
bitter, dual soul as he was, had too much of Judaism
in his soul to accept gladly a serene existence, unflavored by
that bitter irony, those pen and ink wars, those modern
sophistries in which his spirit delighted. Keats—yes! for
he was a born Hellene. Heine—no! for the genius of the
Jew fought ever with the genius of the Greek to master his
soul, and his irony, his orientalism, his Shiraz roses, and
blue Ganges, would have rendered him restless even under
the changeless blue of the Attic skies, amid the divine
beauty of serene Hellenic art.
.bn 215.png
.pn +1

Maurice was neither Keats nor Heine, yet partook of the
nature of both. He was not a genius, having just escaped
the fatal gift of artistic supremacy, still, he had a strong
craving for the beautiful, a wish to create, a desire to know;
but in his soul the blind craving of Keats for Beauty and
Truth was marred by that fatal scepticism which blighted
the genius of Heine. He had the faith of the one, the doubt
of the other, and, drawn strongly either way by these opposing
forces, paused irresolutely between the two. First he
would accept and live the old Hellenic life, then he would
refuse, lest such life should lack the sharp, salt flavor of
modern existence. An ass between two bundles of hay was
Maurice, but, unlike that animal, he knew that each bundle
contained what the other lacked, and, greedy of both, doubtful
of both, afraid of both, he was quite unable to make up
his extremely unstable mind.

A man in such an embarrassing position always makes up
his otherwise wavering mind to one thing, and that is, to
ask advice, though in nine cases out of ten he never means
to take it when given. Maurice was not sure if he would
accept advice, yet nevertheless went to seek Crispin, in
order to lay the matter before him, and ask what he thought
was the best course for him to pursue. Crispin was wise,
Crispin was friendly, and, moreover, had tried both the ancient
and the modern modes of existence, as his youth had
been spent in Melnos, his early manhood in civilized Europe;
so surely Crispin, with a knowledge of both sides of the
question, was the best to decide for the one or the other.

All the morning Crispin had been hard at work on a formidable-looking
epistle to Eunice, in which he told all his
perils and adventures, the departure from Southampton, the
voyage down the Mediterranean, the wreck of The Eunice,
and their safe arrival at Melnos. In addition to this narrative,
worthy of Marco Polo at his best, he related the comforts
in which he and Maurice were now dwelling, in order
to set the mind of that gentleman’s friends at rest; but, with
considerable craft, the wily poet did not put in any words of
loverly affection, as he knew well the Hon. Mrs. Dengelton
would read the letter before giving it to her submissive
daughter.

In order to circumvent his future mother-in-law, Crispin
intended to write a separate letter to Eunice, full of his passion,
and then slip it into an epistle by Maurice, whom he
intended to get to write to the Rector. Mr. Carriston was a
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
friend to the lovers, and would doubtless be able to deliver
the letter unseen by the dragon; thus Mrs. Dengelton would
be thwarted should she try to destroy Eunice’s affection
for the poet by keeping back his letters.

Near Crispin sat Gurt, at the open window, chewing the
quid of reflection, and looking excessively dismal, as he
found this semi-classical existence somewhat dull, and moreover,
true seaman as he was, viewed a prolonged sojourn on
land with much disgust. He brightened up, however, when
Maurice came in, and twisted his forelock in approved forecastle
fashion with a scrape of his foot.

“Which I ses t’ this ’ere gent,” growled Gurt in his raucous
voice, “‘w’ere is he?’ meanin’ you, sir, and Mr. Crispin
ses he, ‘Oh, he’s gone down t’ valley,’ so ses I, ‘He’ll
see the crew,’ and ses he, ‘It’s werry likely.’“

“I’m very sorry, Gurt,” said Maurice in some dismay,
“but the fact is, I’ve been exploring the village with Justinian,
and quite forgot to see after our mariners.”

“I wish you had done so, Maurice,” said Crispin in a
vexed tone, looking up from his writing; “the poor fellows
will think we have forgotten all about them.”

“Oh, we will go down this afternoon,” replied Maurice
hastily. “I’ve no doubt they are all right down there. Lots
of food and liquor and pretty girls! eh, Gurt?”

Crispin laughed and stroked his chin thoughtfully, while a
gleam of humor shone in the solitary eye of the mariner.

“I seed,” said Gurt, addressing no one in particular, “as
light a little craft as I ever clapped eyes on, gents. Her
deck lights raked me fore and aft, they did.”

“Justinian will rake you fore and aft,” observed Crispin
dryly, “especially if you make eyes at his womankind.
This is a virtuous island, Gurt.”

“Well, sir, I ain’t a-goin’ agin’ it, sir,” growled Gurt
reproachfully. “I care nothin’ for the petticoats. I don’t.
Now if it was Dick, now”—here the old sinner cast up his
eyes, as if unable to guess at Dick’s enormities.

“Oh, that is the smart young boatswain,” said Maurice
quickly. “I’m glad he is all right. Why don’t you go
down and see him, Gurt?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, gents both, but I dunno the bearin’s
of this ’ere island.”

“Go along the mulberry avenue,” said Crispin, as Gurt
waited for an explanation, “and when you come to a flight
of steps near the tunnel, go down them. When you’re
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
in the village, you’ll soon find out your comrades, and tell
them Mr. Roylands and myself will come down to see them
this afternoon.”

“Right y’ are, sir,” answered the seaman, going to the
door with another nautical salutation. “I don’t want Dick
a-comin’ up here to cast anchor aside my little craft.”

“You’ve begun early, Gurt,” observed Maurice, taking a
seat. “What is the name of your little craft?”

“Zoe, sir; she’s maid to Miss Helena.”

“Well, you can go away with a contented heart, Gurt,”
said Crispin, laughing. “Dick won’t see her if he comes here
in your absence. She’s gone up the mountain with her
mistress.”

“Right y’ are, sir,” said Gurt again, all of him except his
head behind the curtains of the doorway. “I don’t trust
Dick. He’s a fly-away chap, gents both, and a deal sight too
handsome for my idea, sirs.”

The head vanished, and Crispin laughed uproariously.

“That mahogany image is jealous, Maurice,” he said, throwing
himself back in his chair. “Behold the power of love!
Why, Zoe wouldn’t look at him; and if that good-looking
young bo’swain comes on the scene, I’m afraid old Cyclops’
chance will be but a poor one.”

“Zoe’s gone up the mountain with Helena?”

“Yes; on some flower-gathering expedition. They have
been absent some hours, so Caliphronas has gone to look for
them.”

“Confound his impudence!”

“Why, you are as jealous of the mistress as Cyclops is of
the maid! However, you need not be afraid, for Helena
hates our Greek friend, and I shrewdly suspect she has taken
an uncommon liking to you.”

“Nonsense!”

“It’s a fact, I assure you. Love in her eyes sits playing,
so if you love her, and she loves you, no power can cut your
love in two.”

“Except Caliphronas.”

“Yes, he is rather in the way; but I’ve no doubt Justinian
will settle him. By the way, where is Justinian?”

“He left me at the steps, after making me a most extraordinary
proposal.”

“Indeed! and this proposal?”

“I’ll tell you all about it shortly. What are you doing?”

“Writing to Eunice. This,” laying his hand on the letter,
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
“is a proper epistle which might be published to all the
world, and is prepared especially for the pacification of my
dear mother-in-law that is to be. I, however, want you to
write to our mutual friend, Mr. Carriston, and enclose a note
of mine meant for the eyes of Eunice alone. The Rector is
our friend, and will manage to give it to her unknown to
Mrs. Dengelton.”

“Oh, I will write with the greatest of pleasure, and enclose
your letter. Besides, I wish to ask the Rector’s advice
on a very important matter.”

“I can guess what that important matter is,” said Crispin
gayly; “but why not ask my advice?”

“I am going to, in a few minutes. By the way, to revert
to the letters, how are you going to get them posted?”

“Oh, Justinian has a felucca laden with currants, silks,
and what not, going to Syra to-morrow,—Syra, you know,
is the great mercantile station of the Cyclades,—and these
letters will go in charge of the skipper. From Syra they will
easily go to England by the French packet, via Marseilles.”

“Have you any other letters to write—I mean about the
shipwreck?”

“Of course; I have written to my solicitors, telling them
all about the wreck, and instructing them to see the insurance
people; but I suppose nothing can be done till I go
back to town myself, and take all the survivors with me.
They, I suppose, will have to give all kinds of evidence
about the smash-up of The Eunice before the insurance
money will be paid.”

“What about Martin’s relations and the dead sailors’?”

“I am writing about that also. By the way, Maurice, we
must get Justinian this afternoon to take his men and go
down to the sea-shore to look after the bodies of those poor
fellows. It seems horribly heartless of us talking and laughing
like we did last night, when so many human beings have
lost their lives.”

“It does rather, Crispin; but if we had mourned it would
not have made much difference. Hang it! that sounds
rather cruel. Crispin, I am afraid a semi-barbaric life is
making me heartless.”

The poet said nothing, but, with a sad expression on his
face, stared at the table. It did seem heartless for them
both to be light-hearted and merry when Martin and the majority
of his brave crew had gone to the bottom; but there
was some excuse, for they themselves had narrowly escaped
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
a similar fate, and that in itself was enough to make them
buoyant. After all, the dead are dead, and crying will not
bring them back; but both the Englishmen determined to
search for the bodies that very afternoon, and give them
Christian burial, which was the only thing they could really
do for their lost comrades.

“What about those sailors?” asked Maurice, suddenly
looking up.

“Oh, they must remain here until we can find some chance
of sending them to Syra. In fact, I’m not sure if I won’t
tell my agents to send me out another yacht to replace The
Eunice, and then they can all ship on board of her.”

“You extravagant fellow; another yacht! Even twelve
thousand a year will not stand such reckless use of money.”

“Oh, I won’t lose anything,” replied Crispin cheerfully.
“I am not too much of a poet to neglect business, and The
Eunice was heavily insured. When the money is paid by
the underwriters, as it must be on my return to England, it
will go a long way towards the purchase of another boat.”

“So much for the buying; but can you trust your agents
to get you a yacht as good as the one you have lost?”

“Perhaps not in an ordinary case, but fortunately the twin
ship to The Eunice is in the market, and resembles her in all
respects. That was a few months ago, so if she is still to be
had, I will instruct Danton & Slabe to purchase her on my
behalf, and send her to the Piræus. Then, when we are tired
of Melnos, we can cross over to the mainland, and have a
cruise up the Black Sea before returning to England.”

“That does not sound as if you were anxious to see
Eunice,” said Maurice dryly.

“I will be very glad to see Eunice again,” answered Crispin,
reddening slightly; “but the fact is, I have a small
scheme in my head to get Eunice and her mother, in company
with Mr. Carriston, to come out to Athens in my new
yacht.”

“But with what idea?”

“Well,” said Crispin, looking down, “the fact is, Maurice,
I do not trust your aunt.”

“As to that, I don’t blame you,” answered that lady’s affectionate
nephew quietly.

“If she sees a better match for Eunice than I am,” resumed
Crispin calmly, “she will force the poor child into a
marriage, and give me the go-by. Mind you, Maurice, I love
Eunice dearly, and in my eyes she is nearly perfect, but I
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
cannot conceal from myself that she has a somewhat weak
nature, and is dominated by her terrible mother. Once she
is my wife, and away from that influence, she will learn to
be more self-reliant, and less biassed by other people. Now,
I see perfectly well that there is going to be trouble here
about Caliphronas.”

“I agree with you there. Caliphronas evidently wants to
marry Helena, who does not like him; and, moreover, Justinian
refuses to favor the marriage in any marked degree,
so Caliphronas is just the kind of sneaking scamp to go
over to Alcibiades, and, if possible, make trouble.”

“If that is the case, we are here for some time, and as I
see you take the same view of it as I do, you must perceive
that we are here for some months. If, then, I am
away from England all that time, Mrs. Dengelton will certainly
try to persuade Eunice that I will not come back, and
marry her to some one else. However, if I can get Eunice
out here, I think I can trump Mrs. Dengelton’s best trick.
Do you think, if I instruct my agents about the yacht, and
write to Mrs. Dengelton and the Rector, that they will come
out to Athens?”

“As to that, I am not sure,” replied Maurice slowly, “but
I trust so, with all my heart, as I wish to ask the Rector’s
advice.”

“So you mentioned before, and promised to ask mine. I
will be delighted to give it to you, so tell me what is the
matter. Helena?”

“Partly.”

“Hum! Caliphronas?”

“Partly.”

“Ho, ho! and Justinian?”

“Yes.”

“A very pretty trinity,” said Crispin, lighting a cigarette.
“Well, what’s to do?”

Maurice tilted his chair back against the wall, and followed
Crispin’s example with regard to tobacco, and prepared for
a long talk on—to him—a serious subject, viz. the settlement
of his future life in one way or the other.

“First of all,” said Maurice slowly, “I have been all over
the village with Justinian, and I cannot tell you how amazed
I am. That such a community, that such great works, should
owe their origin to one man, is, I think, a miracle. This
dream of Justinian’s regarding a new Hellas may or may not
come to pass, but he has certainly laid the foundations of a
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
small independent state in a wonderfully judicious manner.
What his real name is, I, of course, do not know, but the one
he has taken certainly suits him admirably; he is a Justinian—a
born law-giver, and his system meets all the requirements
of this simple community. As he says himself, so
long as he is at the helm, things will go on all right, but
should he die—which at his age is not unlikely—the success
or failure of this infant intellectual state depends on his
successor. A wise, clear-headed man will carry out the
scheme to a successful issue; but a hot-tempered, selfish
ruler would doom the whole thing to destruction. Justinian
told me that he had brought up both you and Caliphronas as
his successors; but as to yourself, you went in search of fame
and love in England, and severed yourself entirely from his
island community.”

“I did not know Justinian desired me to succeed him,”
said Crispin in a tone of wonderment; “but even had I
known, I hardly think things would have gone differently. I
am a poet, not a ruler; and Napoleons are made of stronger
stuff than mere bards piping their idle song, and letting the
world go by. No; Justinian never hinted at such a thing;
and I always thought that he favored Caliphronas as the heir
to his island throne.”

“Caliphronas!” echoed Maurice in a tone of deep disdain.
“No; Justinian is too keen a judge of character to mistake
our Greek goose for a swan. He told me himself that
he does not trust Caliphronas, and more than suspects him
of having an understanding with that rascal Alcibiades
regarding the capture of Melnos.”

“The deuce!”

“Yes; you may well be astonished; but, from what I
have seen of Caliphronas, I believe it is quite likely to happen,
the more so as this handsome Greek’s vanity will receive
a severe blow when he is refused—as he certainly will be—by
Helena. Well, you can see that Justinian will not have
Caliphronas to succeed him on his island throne, so, you two
candidates for the purple being thus disposed of”—

“Yes?” asked Crispin curiously, as Roylands hesitated.

“He wants me to ascend the throne when vacant.”

“You?”

“Myself! Are you not astonished?”

Crispin twirled his cigarette in his fingers, looked thoughtfully
at the red tip as if consulting it as an oracle, and then
made slow reply.
.bn 222.png
.pn +1

“Yes, and no. Justinian evidently sees in you a clear-headed
man, who would carry out his scheme if you honorably
promised to do so. He is English, you are English, and
he trusts none but his own countrymen, so I cannot say that
his offer to make you his successor startles me very much.”

“But, my dear Crispin, granted I have these capabilities
you so kindly gift me with, of which I am doubtful, Justinian
has only known me two days, and a clever man as he is
could scarcely come to a conclusion so quickly.”

“Justinian is a good judge of character, and can tell the
nature of a man in five minutes, where you or I would take
five years in the search. Besides,” added the poet, with
an imperceptible smile, “he may have another and stronger
reason.”

“You mean Helena, I suppose?”

Now Crispin did not mean Helena at all; but as what he
did allude to was not his own secret, he let Maurice believe
that his supposition regarding Helena was the right one.

“Well, yes; I suppose Helena is a reason.”

“Do you think he would let me marry her?” asked Maurice
breathlessly.

“I am certain he would,” answered Crispin, looking straight
at his companion; “quite positive. But you—what about
yourself?”

“I love her dearly.”

“Two days’ acquaintance—you love her dearly! Is that
not rather sharp work?”

“Two days!” echoed Maurice contemptuously. “I have
known her longer than that. I fell in love with her portrait,
as you know, and resolved, if she had the qualities I
thought she had from her face, I would marry her. From
what I have seen of her, I am certain she has those qualities,
and would make me a good wife, provided always she consents
to marry me. Beautiful, pure, charming, simplicity
itself; oh, my friend, she is indeed a prize I may think
myself lucky in winning!”

“When a man is in love,” said Crispin intensively, “it is
no use reasoning with him; and, as regards Helena, I quite
approve of all you say. She will make you an admirable
wife; but, think to yourself, how will this uncultured, simple
girl look beside the cultured ladies of England?”

“That is the very point about which I desire to ask your
and the Rector’s advice,” said Maurice eagerly. “Will I
marry Helena, and accept the post of governing this island?
or will I marry Helena, and go back to Roylands?”
.bn 223.png
.pn +1

“In any case, I see it is ‘marry Helena,’” rejoined his
companion dryly; “but really I hardly know what to say.
Life here is charming and indolent. You like charm and
indolence, so why not stay here? On the other hand, you
have your ancestral acres, your position in the world, to think
of, and if you value these more than a life in this delightful
Castle of Indolence—well, go back.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I have given you my advice, and, as is usual in
such cases, you will not take it.”

“It is such a difficult question.”

“Granted! but you will have to decide one way or the
other shortly. One thing is certain, that it would be beneficial
to your art.”

“That is true enough.”

“After all,” said Crispin seductively, “what better life
can you desire? A ready-made kingdom, small and compact—a
delightful climate—obedient subjects—a lotus-eating
existence—and Helena!”

“It is delightful—but duty?”

“Oh!” cried Crispin, shrugging his shoulders, “of course,
if you are going to invoke that bogie, I have nothing further
to say. Ask the Rector.”

“What do you think he will say?”

Crispin burst out laughing, and, sauntering to the window,
threw his burnt-out cigarette into the green grass beyond.

“Did ever any one hear such a man? My dear fellow, I
cannot tell you what the Rector will say. He is an ardent
Hellenist, with his Aristophanic studies, and may say, ‘Stay,
by all means!’ On the other hand, he is an English Church
clergyman, with strong opinions as to the absenteeism of
landlords, and the duties they owe their tenants, in which
case he will certainly make you come back. But in either
event you will have your dear Helena.”

“I’m not so sure of that, Crispin. If I refuse Justinian’s
request, he may refuse me Helena.”

“Certainly; that is not impossible,” replied Crispin, returning
to his writing. “However, I will write to my agents
about the yacht, to Mrs. Dengelton and the Rector about
their joining us at Athens. At my invitation the Rector
may not come, at yours he will.”

“Why?”

“Because you, my dear, simple old Maurice, are the apple
of his eye; and if you write him on the question of your
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
staying here, he will certainly hurry out at once, so as to see
for himself how matters stand, and advise you for the best.”

“Will you write as you intend? and I will also send a
letter to Carriston.”

“Don’t forget to enclose mine,” said Crispin warningly.
“Remember you are to that extent responsible for my wooing
with Eunice. Will you write your letter now?”

A delicious burst of girlish laughter sounded from the
court.

“Helena!” cried Maurice, rising up so quickly as to upset
his chair.

“Go away! go away!” said Crispin resignedly; “no chance
of your writing now with that sound in your ears. But, as
the boat does not go till to-morrow, you can have a holiday
with Helena this afternoon; therefore, go away.”

“Caliphronas is with her,” said Maurice, hesitating.

“And has been all the morning. Faint heart never won
fair lady, so if you don’t oust your rival, I am afraid she will
be married by him under your nose.”

“I’m hanged if she will!” cried Maurice angrily.

There was a second burst of laughter, upon which Crispin,
with raised eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, pointed to the
door, and resumed his writing.

Maurice paused irresolutely, looked at the poet, and then
darted out of the door like a swallow, to find Helena standing
alone in the court, with her arms full of flowers.

“I have been flower-hunting on the mountains,” said
Helena graciously; “and this wild rose is for you.”
.bn 225.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXI. | <sc>CAPTAIN ALCIBIADES.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Sir! there are three degrees of robbery,
With different names, but meanings similar:
For he who does his thievish work himself
Is but a common foot-pad! quite unfit
To mix in gentlemen’s society.
A bandit, brigand, robber chief, is he
Who has a dozen men or so to rule,
And steals your daughter, burns your tenement,
Or holds you prisoner till a ransom’s paid.
But he who, having armies at command,
Robs brother monarchs of their territories,
Is called a conqueror, because he thieves
Upon a large and comprehensive scale.
Thief, brigand, conqueror! believe me, sir,
The size o’ the theft is all the difference;
For, call them what you please, they’re criminals.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Justinian, having ascertained all particulars about the
wreck of The Eunice the previous day, had sent a number
of men to look after the bodies of those unfortunates who
had been cast up on the beach of Melnos, and now, in company
with the three young men, and the surviving sailors,
went to the sea-shore in order to give the corpses decent
burial. Conducted by a body of his Greeks, bearing torches,
he went down through the tunnel, and speedily arrived at the
outer entrance, from which a sandy beach sloped down to
the harbor. Not that it was exactly a harbor, but Justinian
had aided Nature to form one, by erecting a breakwater
from the end of a jutting promontory, which breakwater,
built of huge undressed stones, ran out in a curve into the
tideless sea, and thus embraced a calm pool of water, which
sufficiently protected ships at anchorage. Beyond, the ocean
at times was rough enough, and at stormy seasons dashed its
white waves over the rocky mole, but within that charmed
circle there was no danger, and the smallest boat was as safe
there as it would have been on the serene waters of a mountain
lake. This was the work of the English engineer who
had planned and carried out the piercing of the tunnel, and
Maurice could not withhold his admiration at the perfection
of the whole scheme, for without this breakwater it would
have been impossible for any sized craft to cast anchor off
the craggy coast of the island.
.bn 226.png
.pn +1

“I have two harbors of this kind,” said Justinian, as they
looked at the small boats, feluccas, and caïques which filled
the pool; “one you see, the other is on the opposite side of
the island. As it faces to the west, of course it suffers more
from storms than this one, but I built it in order to facilitate
escape in time of trouble should the tunnel be taken by
assault.”

“I hardly understand.”

“There are only two ways of getting into the interior of
Melnos. The one is by this tunnel, the other is a pass which
cuts through the western side of the mountain where it falls
away in a semicircle, as I showed you. Owing to the height
of the peaks around, their ruggedness, their being covered
all the year round with snow, it is impossible for any outside
enemy to climb over them. This tunnel and the western
pass are the only modes of ingress and egress, as I have
explained. Should this tunnel therefore be forced, and we
find ourselves unable to defend the island, all we have to do
is to retreat through the pass I told you of, down to the harbor
on the other side, where there are plenty of boats ready
to take us to a place of safety. Of course I trust in the
courage of my Greeks, and the difficulties an enemy would
encounter in capturing the tunnel, so I hardly expect such a
contingency as flight by the western pass would occur; still,
it is always as well to be prepared for emergencies.”

“You have thought of everything,” said Maurice admiringly.

“Danger sharpens a man’s wits,” replied Justinian coolly;
“and when I first came to Melnos, I was surrounded on all
sides by rascals of the Alcibiades type.”

“Alcibiades is only a smuggler,” observed Caliphronas,
who was listening to this discourse.

“Alcibiades is whatever pays him best,” retorted the king
in great ire; “it is only fear of King George’s Government
that keeps him from hoisting the black flag, and making
these islands of the Ægean a nest of iniquity. I believe you
are a filibuster at heart yourself, Andros.”

The Greek laughed consciously, but did not contradict the
old man.

“I am like Alcibiades, sir,” he said at length, “and go in
for what pays me best—Mr. Maurice there knows my sentiments
regarding life.”

“I do; and very bad sentiments they are!”

“I wonder what you would say to the views of Alcibiades!”
.bn 227.png
.pn +1

“He may carry his views more into practice than you do,”
retorted Maurice warmly, “but I defy them to be worse.”

Justinian laughed at the blunt way in which Maurice
spoke, so Caliphronas, having his own reasons for keeping a
fair face to the old man, discreetly held his peace, and they
all trudged along the beach, towards the place where the
bodies of the ill-fated sailors lay.

The mast of The Eunice was still above water, but the
yacht herself lay far below the blue sea, where she would
probably remain until there remained nothing of her save the
engines, which would of course defy time and the ocean,
until between them these mighty destroyers rusted them
to nothing. From the position in which she lay, and the
general calmness of the water, it is probable the yacht
could have been set afloat again; but the Greeks of the
Cyclades have not sufficient energy for such a task, and the
underwriters would no doubt rather pay the insurance money
than waste more in an attempt to raise the wreck from the
depths below.

Twelve bodies had been thrown up by the sea, but the
rest of the crew—with the exception of the ten sailors, including
Gurt—were buried deep in the ocean. Far up in
a sheltered nook, under the red cliffs, twelve graves had been
dug in the soft sand, and in these were the ill-fated seamen
laid. Martin’s body was not among them, and it doubtless
lay in a sailor’s grave nigh the island, encircled by sand,
seaweed, and many-colored shells. The funeral ceremony
did not take long, but, as Justinian refused the office,
Maurice undertook the task of chaplain, and, with a voice
full of emotion, read the beautiful burial service of the
Church of England over the remains of the dead sailors,
which were then covered up, and roughly-made wooden
crosses placed at the head of each humble grave, with the
name of each and date of death carved thereon. All those
present stood bareheaded during the ceremony, even the
Melnosians, who were gentlemen enough not to offend the
prejudices of the strangers wrecked on their rugged shores.

Everything having thus been done, in order to show
respect to the dead, Justinian and his party returned to the
entrance of the tunnel, and Dick, the smart young boatswain
before mentioned, attached himself to Maurice, for whom he
had a great admiration. Dick had received an education
much above that of the average British tar, and Maurice
found him a very companionable fellow, but one who bore a
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
great hatred for Caliphronas, as he seemed to think the
lively Greek was the cause of all the misfortunes which had
overtaken The Eunice.

“A kind of Jonah, sir!” said Dick in a whisper, for Caliphronas
was walking just ahead of them with Justinian;
“if we’d a-chucked him overboard, I don’t believe the boat
would have gone ashore.”

“Come, Dick, you cannot say the Count had anything to
do with the storm.”

“Well, I don’t know, sir,” replied Dick doubtfully, “but
I don’t believe in him one bit. Why, sir, he cut that rope
on purpose!”

“I know he did!”

“D—n him!” muttered the boatswain in a tone of suppressed
rage; “why don’t you have it out with him, sir?”

“I can’t very well, Dick. Doubtless he cut that rope, as
you say, on purpose; but he was so overcome by terror that
he might not have known what he was doing.”

“He’s a coward, sir—a miserable coward! and he wasn’t
overcome so much by terror, as not to save his own life.
How long do we stop here, sir?”

“I can hardly tell you. Mr. Crispin has sent to England
for a new yacht, which will proceed to Athens. I expect
we will be here at least a month.”

“Lord bless you, sir, I don’t mind! It’s a jolly sort of
place, though I can’t say I like their sour wine, but the girls
are pretty.”

“Dick, Dick, you are too inflammable! Take care you
don’t get into trouble over these women. Greeks are jealous,
you know!”

Dick grinned, as much as to say he considered jealousy of
little moment where a pretty woman was concerned, and
then asked Maurice a question which made that gentleman
laugh heartily.

“You don’t happen to know a girl here called Zoe, sir?”

“Oh, Gurt has been speaking about her,” said Roylands
with a smile; “she is Miss Helena’s maid, and Gurt has laid
his heart at her feet.”

“She won’t have anything to say to a battered old hulk
like that, sir.”

“Perhaps you think a tight young craft like you would
succeed better. Now, Dick, you behave yourself. I’ve no
doubt all the girls in the island are in love with you, so leave
Gurt’s ewe lamb alone.”
.bn 229.png
.pn +1

“Oh, I’m not going to poach on Gurt’s preserves, sir,”
said Dick apologetically; “but the way he brags about Zoe
is sickening, and I want to have a look at her. She must be
the beauty of the island.”

Maurice had his own opinion as to who was the beauty of
the island, but, of course, did not impart such information to
Dick, who, after respectfully saluting, fell back among his
brother sailors, and began to tease the one-eyed Gurt about
Zoe, a proceeding which had but little effect on that hardened
mariner.

The boat which was going to Syra that day was now lying
in the harbor ready to start, and Justinian went on board to
give some final orders to her captain, while Crispin also
accompanied him, in order to place his bundle of letters in
charge of the skipper. He had told Justinian about his proposed
purchase of another yacht, a proceeding of which the
astute ancient much approved, as, if any of the anticipated
troubles came to pass, the yacht would be useful to bring
soldiers from Syra to aid him in defending the island.

“Your sailors can stay here until the new boat comes out,”
said Justinian thoughtfully; “for if Caliphronas, as you call
him, plays the traitor, we will require as many men as we
can to defend ourselves.”

“But Alcibiades has not an army.”

“Alcibiades knows all the scum of the Levant, and I have
no doubt can get a few hundred scamps together. They have
no fear of the Government, for if they stormed and took
Melnos, after plundering the island, they would only have to
dissolve again among the population in order to escape. No
one could accuse them of their teacup war.”

“But have we weapons for our men?” asked Crispin,
with considerable trepidation.

Justinian smiled grimly.

“When we go back to the Acropolis, I will show you my
armory. I have plenty of guns and pistols of the most modern
construction, and many of my Greeks are good shots too.
Oh, I haven’t neglected the useful for the ornamental, I
assure you. What are you looking at?”

“Alcibiades.”

“Alcibiades!” cried Justinian, with a roar like a lion,
looking towards the shore, where a number of men were
standing, among them a heavy-looking fellow talking eagerly
to Caliphronas. “So it is. I wonder what brings the rascal
here! I must get him away from Melnos at once. Crispin,
Roylands, get into the boat—there is no time to lose!”
.bn 230.png
.pn +1

The active old man rapidly delivered his final orders to
Captain Georgios, and then hastily scrambled down to the
boat, followed by the two young men. They were speedily
pulled ashore, and Justinian, springing on to the rocks, strode
up with a frowning face to the group surrounding Alcibiades
and Caliphronas, pushing the men on either side with haughty
roughness.

“Now, then, Captain Alcibiades, what do you want at
Melnos?”

Maurice looked curiously at this celebrated individual, of
whom he had heard so much, and beheld a squat, heavily-built
man, with fiery eyes, an evil countenance, and a long
black beard. He was clad in the usual dress of Greek sailors,
consisting of rough blue trousers and jacket, boots of untanned
leather, a red shirt, and a tasselled cap of the same
color. To mark his rank, however, he wore a handsome
gold-embroidered belt round his waist, in which were placed
a rusty-looking knife and a brace of pistols. This, then, was
the renowned Captain Kidd of these waters, who, had he
lived fifty years earlier, would have been a declared pirate,
but who now, owing to the establishment of New Hellas,
had to carry on his rascally calling under the pious guise of
smuggling and peaceful trading. With his rough dress, his
squat figure, his tangled black beard, he formed a great contrast
to the slender form of Caliphronas, with his clean-shaven
face and dandy costume of an Albanian Palikar. Yet,
in spite of the difference in good looks, the two men had the
same cunning expression in their shifty eyes, and there was
but little doubt that the rough blackguardism of the one was
only refined into the astute scoundrelism of the other.

“Well, Alcibiades!” demanded Justinian, imperiously
stamping his foot; “what do you want with me?”

“Kyrion Justinian,” said the smuggler in a cringing manner,
“I but landed here to see you and the Kyrion Andros
about a cargo of wine I wish to obtain for Crete. I will
pay you a good price for it, as the grapes of Melnos are
much thought of at Khanea.”

Justinian, on receiving this diplomatic answer, ran his
fingers thoughtfully through his silver beard, and pondered
as to what answer to give. He was never averse to turning
an honest penny by trading, and he knew Alcibiades would
pay a good price, as the wine of Melnos was much liked by
the Cretans on account of its resinous taste, for the insular
Greeks do not as a rule preserve their vintage in this way,
which is peculiar to the mainland.
.bn 231.png
.pn +1

“How much do you want?” he said abruptly.

“Two hundred skins,” replied Alcibiades glibly; and
named what he considered a fair price.

“Do you think I desire to make you a present of the
wine?” retorted Justinian scornfully. “Double your offer.”

“Kyrion! impossible!” cried Alcibiades, throwing up his
hands with a look of dismay on his crafty-looking face.

“You won’t get it for less.”

Alcibiades cast a stealthy look at Caliphronas, and considered
a few moments.

“Effendi, I will do it,” he replied, with the air of one
who has made a great sacrifice; “but I will be ruined—yes,
ruined!”

Justinian nodded curtly, and, turning on his heel, went
towards the tunnel, followed by all. Maurice, of course, had
not understood a word of the preceding conversation, conducted
as it was in Greek; and even Crispin found the
speech of Alcibiades a little difficult at times, as that piratical
individual was in the habit of mixing up his own tongue
with Turkish, French, Italian, and sometimes a scrap of
English.

“Crispin, walk with me—I wish to speak to you,” said
Justinian; and, the poet having obeyed this command,
Maurice was left in the congenial company of Alcibiades and
the Count.

Captain Alcibiades kept casting curious glances at Maurice,
for Caliphronas had told him about this rich Englishman,
and the agreeable old pirate was wondering, in his guileless
way, if it would not be possible to kidnap this wealthy foreigner,
and hold him in his own little rocky island until
such time as his relatives paid a good ransom. Alcibiades
was a genuine brigand of the type described by M. About,
and, but that he had fallen on evil times of peace and quietness,
would doubtless have risen to high rank in his adored
profession. With a view to satisfying himself personally as
to the wealth of this traveller, Alcibiades, guessing Maurice
did not know Greek, spoke to him in French, with which
Maurice was sufficiently well acquainted to enable him to
hold an interesting conversation with this accomplished
<pm corr 237.40 cut-throat.” cut-throat.>

“Monsieur is staying here?” asked Alcibiades, blinking
his little eyes.

“For a time—yes!”

“Aha! Monsieur is the friend of my dear Andros, so to
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
myself he is also a dear friend. I lay myself at your feet,
monsieur.”

“Very kind of you,” retorted Maurice, who was not at all
pleased by the implied friendship.

“Monsieur is rich?”

“What’s that to do with you?”

“Eh, my faith! do not be angry, monsieur. All Englishmen
are rich.”

“That is a common delusion with you foreigners. All
Englishmen are not rich.”

Alcibiades shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands
in the French fashion.

“Monsieur is disposed to be witty.”

By this time they had arrived at the entrance to the tunnel,
and Justinian who had been in earnest conversation with
Crispin, turned round sharply to Alcibiades.

“You will wait here,” he said imperiously.

“Will not my men come up in order to carry down the
wine?” said Alcibiades, looking as black as thunder at this
peremptory order.

“No. I will send my men down with it, and you can pay
the money to Andros here.”

“But, Effendi”—

“Enough! I have spoken!”

“Holy St. Elmo! you will not let me visit your island?”

“No farther than this,” retorted Justinian significantly.
“You know the proverb, Captain Alcibiades,—‘Ill to him
who shows his treasure freely.’”

He turned his back on the baffled cut-throat, and ascended
the stairs, followed by his own men, while Alcibiades and
his ruffians remained below, evidently mad with anger at
having admittance refused them. Rumor said Melnos was
full of treasure, and the crafty smuggler wanted to convince
himself of the truth of this with his own eyes, so the prohibition
against passing the palisade made him very wrathful.
The king, however, paid no attention to his black looks, but
resumed his journey, with Crispin <pm corr 238.37 aud and> Maurice on either
side of him. Caliphronas, on the weak pretext of asking
Alcibiades some question about the wine, remained behind,
a fact which was at once noted by the lynx-eyed Justinian.

“Traitor!” he growled in his deep voice, stroking his
beard, as was his habit when angered; “the fox to the fox.
Ah, well I know those two rascals are hatching plots against
me.”
.bn 233.png
.pn +1

“If you think so, why do you want Caliphronas to go with
Alcibiades?”

“Cannot you see, Crispin. You will never make a diplomatist.
I will tell Roylands here, and I am sure he will
discover my reason. Roylands, I am going to deliver this
wine to Alcibiades, although I know he does not want it.”

“Why does he buy it then?”

“Because he thought it would be a good pretext to get
into Melnos and spy out the weak points of our defence.
Oh, I know this is so, else he would not have given me my
price so freely. I knew his plan the moment he agreed to
give me what I asked, which was a very large price, and one
which no honest trader could afford to give. Andros also
knows of this scheme. Can you guess how I found that
out?”

“Yes; because Alcibiades, looked at Caliphronas before
agreeing to your price.”

“Exactly!” said Justinian, with great satisfaction. “Roylands
is quicker than you, my dear Crispin. When I refused
to sell him the wine unless at my own price, that look to
Andros was one of inquiry, and the answer was, ‘Give him
what he asks, or you will not see the interior of Melnos.’
The rascals! I know their scheme, and will baffle them.”

“Yet, with all this, you propose to send Caliphronas on a
trip with Alcibiades, when they will be able to bring their
plot to a head,” said Crispin impatiently.

“Blind, blind, my poet! You forget Andros has not yet
made up his mind on which side to be. If I give him
Helena, and make him my successor, he will betray Alcibiades
as readily as he would betray me if I refused. Well,
the only way to meet treachery is by treachery, so I intend
to lead Andros to believe that I will do what he wishes, and
will then send him to cruise about with Alcibiades, quite
devoted to my interest. Alcibiades, thinking Andros is on
his side, will tell him all about his plans, the number of his
army, and when he proposes to assault the island, all of
which my good Andros will repeat to me. Once I have that
information, Andros will find out that I neither trust nor like
him, and that he will have neither my child nor my island.”

On hearing this treacherous scheme, Justinian fell in the
estimation of Maurice, who, true Englishman as he was,
liked everything to be done openly; whereas this Greco-Briton
partook more of Ulyssean craft than honest, fair
fighting.
.bn 234.png
.pn +1

“Punic faith,” he said at length, not knowing quite what
remark to make.

“Punic faith with Punic neighbors,” retorted Justinian as
they paused at the gate. “If I don’t baffle Andros by turning
his own weapons against him, the chances are that he
will side with Alcibiades, and one fine day Melnos will be
attacked unawares, and we will all have our throats cut.”

“Still, your mode of defeating Caliphronas is hardly English.”

“My good sir,” said the old man, with quiet irony,
“Englishmen in their time have had to do just such underhand
work. You forget Lord Clive and his false treaty with
the Hindoo Omichund, which bound that slippery rascal to
the British interest at the time of the battle of Plassy. It
promised him everything before the battle, and gave him
nothing after it. That is Punic faith, and is necessary in
such cases. Straightforward honesty doesn’t pay in these
waters.”

“Well, do what you think best, sir,” replied Maurice, who
saw Justinian was right. “It’s a case of ‘When Greek meets
Greek,’ I suppose.”

“‘Then comes the tug of war,’” finished Crispin gayly.
“My dear Maurice, you will be happier in the actual battle
than in all the statecraft which leads to it.”

“I hope my statecraft will avert the struggle,” said
Justinian sombrely; “but with an enemy like Andros to
deal with, I fear for the worst.”

“What are you waiting for here?” asked Maurice, seeing
they still lingered at the gate.

“For Andros,” replied Justinian quietly. “I alone possess
the key, and the gate is never left unlocked. Ah, here
is my Carthaginian. Now, you two gentlemen, go on, and
leave me to Andros and my Punic faith.”

Maurice and the poet, followed by all the English sailors,
entered the gate and resumed their ascent, while the wily
Justinian waited with an inscrutable face to entrap the
equally wily Caliphronas, who this time, however, had found
his master in treachery.

“What do you think of Justinian, Maurice?” asked
Crispin, when they were once more in the open air, standing
at the head of the staircase, and watching the sailors
descending to the village below.

“To speak frankly, I like Justinian.”

“In spite of his Punic faith?”
.bn 235.png
.pn +1

“As for that,” replied Maurice, coloring a little, “necessity
knows no law; and Caliphronas is such a consummate
scoundrel, that I can hardly blame Justinian for trying to
beat him with his own weapons.”

“Justinian is a serpent of wisdom,” said the poet reflectively,
taking off his sombrero. “You can have no idea how
dexterously he manages these slippery Greeks. They have
a wholesome respect for him, as they well may have, seeing
that not one of them has ever yet had the better of the King
of Melnos.”

“You used to speak bitterly of Justinian yourself, Crispin.
Are your opinions changed?”

“Yes; I must admit they have changed, and for the better.
What you told me the other day about Justinian desiring
me for his successor has opened my eyes. It was a
fear of losing me that made him refuse to tell me my real
name, for he thought I would forsake him and go back to
my kinsfolk.”

“Well, you have certainly forsaken him.”

“Yes; but I don’t think he regrets it, as he sees I am not
made of the stuff necessary to rule this colony of serpents;
so now he has no further reason to keep me in the dark, and
will, I feel sure, tell me what I wish to know before we
leave Melnos.”

“But you said Justinian thought you were not brave
enough.”

“So he did! so he does! But I fancy I am indebted to
my dear friend the Count for that. In all our expeditions
with Alcibiades, Justinian was absent, so he could not have
personally seen me fighting, and I can only think that Caliphronas,
to oust me out of the possible throne, told this
about me.”

“I am sure you are not a coward,” said Maurice warmly.

“No, I don’t think I am,” replied Crispin equably. “I
fancy if Justinian had seen the storm he would have changed
his opinion about Caliphronas; but, as to myself, I hope yet
to right myself in the eyes of the old man. I am glad you
have such a good opinion of me, Maurice.”

“My dear fellow,” cried Roylands, grasping him by the
hand, “I have the best possible opinion of you in every way,
and always had!”

“Even when I was a mystery?”

“Yes; though I own you were puzzling at times. But
you are a coward in one way, Crispin.”
.bn 236.png
.pn +1

The poet flushed redly, and Maurice hastened to finish his
sentence.

“In the presence of Mrs. Dengelton.”

“He would be a bold man who felt no fear in the presence
of that lady,” answered Crispin, his face clearing again. “But
here comes Caliphronas with a smiling face.”

“A sign that Justinian has succeeded.”

The Greek advanced towards them with a merry laugh,
and looked triumphantly at Maurice, who bore his insolent
self-complacency with wonderful composure.

“I will not see you two gentlemen for a few days,” he
said gayly. “I am going on a cruise with Alcibiades.”

“More piracy?”

“Perhaps,” answered Caliphronas mysteriously. “Good-by
for the present. I must go down to look after the wine,
and if you go back to the Acropolis, tell Helena I will see
her before I go.”

With a jeering look at Maurice the duped scoundrel sprang
down the steps, his snowy fustanella fluttering in the breeze,
and he glittered down the descent like a brilliant falling
star.

“You fool!” said a voice behind them, and they turned to
behold Justinian with a complacent smile on his face.

“Well, you have succeeded, sir,” observed Maurice
doubtfully.

“I have. Caliphronas thinks he has it all his own way.
I see you don’t yet like my tactics.”

“Well, sir”—

“Tush!” replied Justinian coolly. “Punic foes—Punic
faith!”
.bn 237.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXII. | <sc>THE APPLE OF DISCORD.</sc>

.pm start_poem
A woman caused the fall of man,
A woman caused the fall of Troy;
An apple both these woes began,
Which brought beneath pale Sorrow’s ban
All earthly joy.

For Eve was fair, and Helen fair,
Each wrought destruction by her face;
They captured hearts in beauty’s snare,
And made mankind the burden bear
Of their disgrace.

To-day the story we repeat:
A woman wins or loses all;
She plucks the fruit for us to eat,
We taste and find the apples sweet,
And then we fall.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The ill-fated Eunice had been wrecked about the middle
of August, and it was now nearly the end of September,
close on the celebration of the vintage feast, which Justinian
determined to celebrate with great splendor, so as to gratify
Maurice with an accurate representation of the ancient
Dionysia of Athens.

Crispin for the moment had resumed his old occupation of
playwright, and had furbished up one of his old dramas, not
having the time to write an absolutely new one. In this
play both Caliphronas and Helena were to take part, and the
author himself, like a modern Æschylus, acted as stage
manager, drilling the chorus, arranging the scenery, attending
to the music, and coaching the principal actors in their
parts. The people of Melnos were also busily preparing for
the vintage feast of the first day, and for the Olympian
games of the third; but amid all these peaceful occupations
Justinian kept a watchful eye on Caliphronas, and neglected
nothing that might guard the island against a sudden assault
by Captain Alcibiades and his gang.

Completely deceived by the manner of the Demarch, which
was Justinian’s local title among his people, Caliphronas,
now assured both of Helena and Melnos, eagerly entered into
the plans of the cunning old man, and, on returning from
a week’s cruise with Alcibiades, revealed a wide-stretching
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
conspiracy among the Levantine Greeks for the capture of
Melnos. Far and wide Alcibiades with great art had instilled
a belief into the minds of all the idlers, vagabonds,
and scamps of the Ægean, that Melnos contained immense
treasures, and weekly, leaders of bands of men repaired to
Alcibiades’ rocky little island to receive instructions as to
how their plans were to be carried out. Of course, the wily
old pirate was the leader, and arranged all his schemes in the
most dexterous manner, for he gave his commands to those
chief men who came to see him, and they, returning to their
own islands, communicated such orders to their own followers.
By this means Alcibiades had collected quite an army,
all eager for plunder, and they had arranged among themselves
to attack Melnos, either by the tunnel or the western
pass, at the first convenient opportunity.

It may seem strange in the eyes of civilized people that
such a conspiracy should be planned and carried out under
the very nose of the Greek Government, but all the operations
were conducted with great caution; the different portions
of the proposed army were scattered piecemeal over
the islands of the Ægean, so there was really nothing to
arouse the suspicion of the authorities that any revolutionary
movement was in course of formation. Besides, Melnos
being in the extreme south of the Archipelago and close to
Crete, that home of Turkish misrule, any local disturbance
would be taken comparatively little notice of, as such disturbances
were quite common; so it seemed as though Alcibiades
and his brother scamps were going to have things all their
own way. Once they captured and plundered Melnos, they
had no fear of the future, as, once they dissolved into small
companies and returned to their own islands, it would be
quite impossible for the Greek Government, even if they did
interfere, to punish a body of men which to all appearances
had no existence.

The plans of Alcibiades were very simple, for, having
arranged with the leaders of the several bodies of men that
they would join in his schemes, he commanded that they
should all meet on his own island on a certain day,—as yet
unfixed,—when in the aggregate they would number quite
three hundred men, and could thus storm Melnos, which
could only be defended, as they knew, by two hundred,
inclusive of women. In fact, the population of Justinian’s
island capable of bearing arms, even including the English
sailors and his guests, scarcely numbered more than one
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
hundred and twenty men; so when the fiery old Englishman
heard from Caliphronas of the strength of the enemy, he saw
that the danger was indeed serious.

Melnos, however, was strongly fortified against the inroads
of these ill-armed pirates, for the tunnel, defended by its
palisade, could hardly be forced if held by a small body of
resolute men, and the western pass was commanded by two
pieces of ordnance, one on either side, which would sweep
down the stormers by the score should they attempt to carry
this natural entrance by assault. As to the rest of the
island, it was quite impossible for the marauders to climb
over the rugged, snow-clad peaks; so what with his cannon,
defences, arms of the most modern construction, and his
resolute men, Justinian felt that he could defy Captain
Alcibiades and his ill-armed crew.

The old Demarch still permitted Caliphronas to remain in
his fool’s paradise, as matters were in a delicate position,
and he resolved to wait until after the three days’ festival
before coming to a perfect understanding with the treacherous
Greek. Caliphronas, therefore, regarding himself as entirely
favored by fortune, became almost unbearable in his
insolence, and had not Maurice known the real facts of the
case, a serious quarrel would certainly have taken place between
them. As it was, however, the young Englishman
saw that the Greek was completely duped by his false prosperity,
and would almost have pitied his blind confidence in
his good fortunes, had not the arrogance, insolence, and spite
of the Count inspired him with the utmost contempt.

Caliphronas, indeed, was hated by every one in the island:
by the common people, owing to the haughtiness and scorn
he invariably displayed towards them; by the English sailors,
who thought him a coward, and had never forgiven his
treachery on the night of the wreck, which had cost their
captain his life; and by all the inmates of the Acropolis,
who despised this brilliant butterfly heartily. Quite unaware
of the delicate ground on which he was treading, Caliphronas,
in his gorgeous Albanian costume, swaggered about
the place in a most offensive manner, and quite assumed the
demeanor of a despot, much to the amusement of Justinian,
who chuckled grimly as he saw the blind confidence of the
Greek. However, it was the calm before the storm, and
everything went along smoothly enough, save for an occasional
outbreak between Maurice and the Count about
Helena, who was a veritable apple of discord between these
fiery young men.
.bn 240.png
.pn +1

Helena herself disliked Caliphronas intensely, as she was
only too well aware of the mean, petty soul contained in
that splendid body, and his outward beauty had no effect
upon her, knowing as she did what a truly despicable wretch
the man was. His admiration for her was purely a sensual
one, for he knew nothing about true, pure love, and all he
wanted was to have this lovely woman to himself, to be his
mistress and slave. Doubtless this was the same animal
passion as was cherished by Paris, son of Priam, for that
other Helen, whose beauty could scarcely have been greater
than that of her namesake of Melnos; and Caliphronas as
his Trojan prototype was inspired by no purer deity than
Venus Pandemos. When the Count paid her compliments,
Helena shuddered, so instinctively did her virginal soul feel
the impurity of this persistent suitor, and treated him with
marked coldness, much to the anger of Caliphronas, who complained
bitterly to Justinian of the scorn with which his
advances were met.

“My good Andros,” said Justinian one day, when he had
been inveighing against the caprices of women, “why do
you come to me for assistance? If that handsome face, that
fine figure, that smooth tongue, cannot win the affections of
a woman, nothing else will.”

“I believe she likes that Englishman,” muttered the
Greek, in no wise pleased at the ironical tone of the
Demarch.

“I am not responsible for her likes and dislikes,” retorted
Justinian coldly, although he heard this remark with much
inward satisfaction. “However, you have my promise.”

“And you will keep it?”

“Only on condition that you keep me informed of the
schemes of Alcibiades.”

“Oh, I will do that. I will do anything to win Helena,
but if you deceive me, it will be the worst day’s work you
ever did.”

“There is no necessity to threaten without cause,” replied
Justinian, bridling his anger at the insolence of the Count;
“you will have both Helena and Melnos. but before announcing
this publicly, I wish to wait until after the Dionysia.”

“Very well,” answered Caliphronas, turning on his heel;
“a week or so will make no difference to me. But when I
am publicly acknowledged as your son-in-law and successor,
the first thing I will do will be to turn Crispin and this insolent
Englishman out of the island.”
.bn 241.png
.pn +1

“Well, well, we’ll see about that,” said Justinian, with
great indifference; “wait till after the Dionysia.”

After this conversation. Caliphronas went away perfectly
satisfied that everything was going in his favor, which was
extremely foolish, as he might have guessed something was
wrong from the unnatural calmness of Justinian. Formerly
the old Demarch had been given to outbursts of fiery wrath
when his will was crossed, however slightly; but now he
bore the insolence of the Greek so quietly, that a less astute
man than Caliphronas would have been placed on his guard
by this unusual suavity. The Count, however, blinded by
his good fortune, rushed madly forward, unseeing the abyss
yawning before him, and deemed that the self-restraint of
his proposed father-in-law arose from the feebleness of age.
If he could have seen the passion of Justinian when he was
once more alone, he would have changed his mind; but this
he was unaware of, and his self-conceit and egotistical blindness
kept him in perfect ignorance of the approaching storm.

It was with great satisfaction that Justinian saw the great
admiration Maurice Roylands had for Helena, and with still
greater, when he noticed that his daughter was disposed to
look favorably on the suit of the handsome young Englishman.
Helena, indeed, in spite of her real simplicity, was a
born reader of character, which happy trait she inherited
from her father, as she inherited the fair beauty of her
Greek mother; and the more she saw of Maurice, the more
she loved him for his kindly heart, his honorable nature, and
the delicacy with which he treated her. Caliphronas, confident
in his manly beauty, paid his addresses with the air
of a conqueror,—a mode of wooing which no woman likes,
and Helena least of all, as it fired her proud soul with indignation;
and when she saw how deferential was Maurice in
his courting, she naturally enough preferred the diffident
Englishman to the over-confident Greek. True daughter of
Eve, however, she was, for, in spite of her dislike to Caliphronas,
she could not resist at times the temptation of
speaking kindly to him, in order to arouse the jealousy of
Maurice. In this she was quite successful; and though
Roylands could not but deem her wise to lull Caliphronas
into a false security at the present crisis, still he was madly
jealous of every look she bestowed on the Greek, and the
two suitors were always on terms of ill-concealed enmity
with one another.

Of course Helena was quite ignorant of all her father’s
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
plans, and merely treated Caliphronas with unexpected kindness
out of pure coquetry, being quite delighted when she
saw how such caprice annoyed the man she truly loved.
A woman may worship a man, and look upon him as the
sole object of her adoration, yet even the wisest, the purest,
the kindest woman cannot help teasing her god a little, out
of sheer capriciousness. It is playing with fire, certainly,
and many women burn their fingers at this perilous game
of “I-love-you-to-day-and-you-to-morrow,” yet they will indulge
in such coquettish triflings, either to make the man
they love value them the more, or out of pure malicious
desire to see his anger. Women instinctively know that
what is won with difficulty is more valued than that which
is gained with ease; and besides, it flatters a man into thinking
he is superior to his fellow-creatures in fascinations, when
he secures an affection which has fluttered doubtfully here
and there before centring finally in his precious self. Think
you Cleopatra would have kept Antony so long her slave,
had she not stimulated his love occasionally by giving him
cause for jealousy? By no means. Octavia was humble,
faithful, true, and loving, so Marcus Antonius grew weary
of such domestic virtues, and turned to Cleopatra, who kept
him in a constant state of alarm lest her fickle nature should
choose another lover. Helena knew nothing of Cleopatra’s
wiles, but she instinctively knew that the way to win a man
is to place a prize almost, but not quite within his reach;
so she flirted with Caliphronas, and would have flirted with
Crispin, had he given her a chance, yet cared more for Maurice,
whom she thus tortured, than for all the rest put together.

To-day she was on her best behavior, however, and was
seated with Maurice in the court, weaving a coronal of flowers
for her adornment at dinner. Helena was fond of wreaths,
and rarely made her appearance at any meal without a chaplet
of roses, or ivy and violets, or delicate white lilies adorning
her golden tresses. Crispin was in his room, engaged
in writing his drama. Caliphronas was holding the above-mentioned
conversation with Justinian; and the two young
people sat lazily in the sunshine, Maurice smoking cigarettes,
and Helena weaving her wreath with myrtle and roses and
sweet-smelling violets.

The sun shone brightly on the white marble court, with
its treasures of many-colored blossoms, the fountain flashed
like fire in the lustrous light, and the white pigeons whirling
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
aloft in the cloudless brilliance of the sky, at times
settled down on the roof in milky lines with gentle cooings.
Helena, with her hands buried in flowers and many-colored
ribbons, was humming a quaint little song of the madrigal
type, set to a simple, sweet melody, which rendered it very
charming.

.pm start_poem
“Chloe, take you rose and myrtle,
Weave them in a dainty fashion,
Deck with such your rustic kirtle,
They are type of Colin’s passion.
For with roses do I woo thee,
Sue thee! woo thee! woo thee! sue thee!
Hey, pretty maiden, I come a-courting,
Join me, I pray, in such merry, merry sporting,
With a fa-la-la-la, pretty maiden.

Colin, take you pansies only,
From your dream of love awaken,
Deck with such your cottage lonely,
They are type of love forsaken.
For with pansies do I flout thee,
Doubt thee! flout thee! flout thee! doubt thee!
Hey, jolly shepherd, come not a-courting,
Join will I not in such silly, silly sporting,
With a fa-la-la-la, jolly shepherd.”
.pm end_poem

“Where did you learn that pretty song?” asked Maurice,
whom the air struck as familiar.

“My father taught it to me,” replied Helena, putting her
head on one side to observe the effect of a newly added rose.
“Is it not dainty? Ribbons, and silks, and flowers, and
pipings; quite unlike the real shepherds and shepherdesses
of Melnos, but deliciously delicate for all that.”

“I wonder where your father picked it up?”

“Oh, father knows plenty of old tunes, and I am so fond
of them. Why do you ask?”

“Because, curiously enough, that song was written by a
Carolean ancestor of mine, and I cannot think how Justinian
came to know it.”

“It is strange, certainly,” said Helena thoughtfully.

“Helena, who is your father?” asked Maurice impulsively.

“Demarch of Melnos.”

“Yes, I know that; but what is his English name?”

“That I cannot tell you,” replied Helena, shaking her
pretty head. “I know nothing beyond that he is Justinian,
that I am his daughter, and that this is our island.”
.bn 244.png
.pn +1

“It’s like ‘The Tempest,’ is it not? You are Miranda,
Justinian Prospero, and I”—

“And you?” queried Helena, with a slight blush.

“Cannot you guess?” asked Maurice significantly.

The girl laughed, and looked down at her flowers.

“I suppose Ferdinand.”

“Oh, you know ‘The Tempest!’” said the young man,
with some surprise.

“I know all Shakespeare’s plays. Do you think I am so
very ignorant?”

“I think you are very delightful.”

“Maurice! I thought English gentlemen did not pay compliments.”

“I am the exception that proves the rule,” he replied
audaciously. “However, I might have guessed Justinian
would have an odd volume of Shakespeare about with him.
The Englishman believes in the Bible and Shakespeare, the
Englishwoman in the Bible and Burke.”

“Who is Burke?”

“The man that wrote the ‘English Peerage.’”

“What is a peerage?”

“You have read Shakespeare, and do not know what a
peerage is! Helena, I’m ashamed of you!”

“If you talk like that, Maurice, I will certainly not give
you this rose.”

“Then I won’t talk like that; so give me the rose.”

“Not yet; you must win it first.”

“Helena! you are as hard-hearted as the Chloe of your
song.”

“Am I? but if I don’t give pansies”—

“Helena!”

He made a sudden movement towards her of ill-suppressed
eagerness, whereupon she, having betrayed herself more
than she wished to do, feigned anger to escape from
the declaration which she saw was trembling on his lips.
Why she did this, it was hard to say, as she loved Maurice
very much, and longed to hear him tell of his passion, yet
she nipped his declaration in the bud. Why? Ask a
woman to solve the mystery; for it is beyond the power of
any man to unravel.

“See!” she said playfully; “you have upset all my flowers.
Pick them up at once.”

The obedient Maurice went down on his knees before this
pretty tyrant and began to collect the flowers. The position
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
was worse than the words, so Helena, seeing the danger,
hastily began to talk of the first thing that came into her
head.

“Talking about ‘The Tempest’—who is Andros?”

“Ariel for looks, Caliban for wickedness.”

“And Crispin?”

“Crispin is Gonzalo, the honest old counsellor.”

Helena made a pretty grimace, and ordered Maurice back
to his chair, which was at a safe distance, and did not admit
of any embarrassing endearments.

“Miranda was very fond of Ariel, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but she hated Caliban. Do you like
Caliban?”

“Well, I like Ariel.”

“Then what about Ariel-Caliban—Caliphronas?” asked
Maurice, vexed at her fencing.

“I can’t bear him—and yet,” continued Helena reflectively,
with a certain spice of malice, “there is something
nice about him.”

“You can’t bear him, and yet there is something nice
about him!” echoed Maurice bitterly. “I don’t understand
you.”

“I don’t understand myself.”

“Can I explain you?” asked Roylands eagerly, drawing
his chair a little <pm corr 251.25 nearer.” nearer.>

Helena hesitated, blushed, then made a very irrelevant
remark.

“Tell me about Roylands.”

Maurice very nearly uttered a bad word, he was so angered
at her coquetry, but, thinking the best way to pique her was
to meet her with the same weapons as she used, at once
acceded to her request, much to her secret dismay.

“Stupid!” thought the lady.

“Flirt!” thought the gentleman.

<pm corr 251.35 Decidely Decidedly> these two young people were at cross-purposes.

“Roylands,” said Maurice, pushing back his chair into its
former place, “is a large park formerly owned by one of the
Plantagenet kings.”

“What is a Plantagenet king?”

“I shall have to give you a book of Mangnall’s Questions
to learn,” said Roylands in despair. “<lang=la><i>Planta genista</i></lang> is the
Latin name for broom. Do you know what broom is?”

“Yes; the mountains are sometimes quite yellow with it.
Father told me it was called broom.”
.bn 246.png
.pn +1

“Well, some of the English kings used to wear it in their
helmets as a badge, so that is how they got the name of
Plantagenet.”

“You are quite a dictionary.”

“I am glad to be so when my pages are turned by so fair
a hand.”

This answer nonplussed Helena, and for once she was fain
to hold her peace.

“The park,” resumed Maurice, observing this with inward
satisfaction, “was given to one of my ancestors by the then
sovereign of England, and has been in our family ever since.”

“Is it a pretty place?”

“Well, it has not the exquisite beauty of Melnos, but it is
very lovely in my eyes.”

“Is the house like this?”

“No; quite different. Such magnificence would not do
for a poor country gentleman like myself. It is an old
Tudor house, built in the reign of Henry VIII.”

“I know Henry VIII.,” said Helena vivaciously.

“Shakespeare, I suppose? What a charming way of
learning history! Yes, Roylands Grange is a Henry VIII.
house of red brick, and is covered with ivy. Green lawns
with flower-beds are before the terrace, and the whole is
encircled by the park.”

“How lovely it must be, Maurice! And is it all your
own?”

“Yes; at least, it is unless my uncle Rudolph turns up.”

“Your Uncle Rudolph!”

“Oh, that is our one family romance. Rudolph Roylands
was my father’s elder brother, and they were both in love
with my mother. She favored my father, Austin, and the
brothers had a quarrel which ended in blows. Austin got
the worst of it, and Rudolph, thinking he had killed him,
fled. Since then, nothing has been heard of him, and that
is quite forty years ago.”

“But how does this affect your owning the Grange?”

“Because I am only the second branch. Uncle Rudolph
was the heir to the Grange, not my father; so if he turns up
alive, or if he has left heirs, I will have to give up all my
property to them.”

“Would you mind very much?” asked Helena in a pitying
manner.

“Not at all. I would have once, but now I have a chance
of staying in this delightful island, I don’t think it would be
such a great loss after all.”
.bn 247.png
.pn +1

Maurice had hardly said these words when he heard a
grunt of satisfaction behind him, and on turning his head
saw Justinian standing beside him, in company with Caliphronas.

“So you don’t mind if you lose your English property,”
said the Demarch in a peculiar tone.

“No; not when I can stay here. Did you hear the story
I was telling to Helena?”

“Some of it. Do you think your Uncle Rudolph is
alive?”

“Hardly, after forty years.”

“What is forty years to a long-living race like the Roylands?”

“How do you know we are long living?”

“Why, you told me so yourself,” said Justinian hastily;
“but, after all, your uncle may be alive, and claim the property,
in which case you will be penniless.”

“Oh, then, I shall stay here as sculptor to your public
works.”

The old man laughed approvingly, and nodded his head.

“I will be glad of that. None of my Greeks can sculpture.
It is a lost art with the Hellenes since the days of
Praxiteles.”

“I will make a statue of Helena here as Venus Urania.”

“Better as Chloris,” remarked Caliphronas, with a forced
smile, coming forward; “Chloris, the goddess of flowers.”

“For that charming suggestion,” cried Helena, rising to
her feet, “I will give you a rose, Andros!”

“I will treasure it as my life,” he replied in a low, passionate
voice, as she fastened the flower in his embroidered
jacket.

“What about my rose, Helena?” asked Maurice, who
viewed this proceeding with silent rage.

“Here is one for you,” answered Helena quickly; “both
roses are red, so you can’t complain I don’t treat you fairly.”

“Perhaps you had better make the roses white, in order
to mean silence,” said Caliphronas, pale with anger as he
saw Maurice receive a flower; “the red rose means love,
you know.”

“Sisterly love,” retorted Helena, looking at him with an
undeniable frown.

Caliphronas, with a sudden outburst of rage, tore the flower
from his breast, flung it on the pavement, and walked out of
the court without a word. Helena in astonishment turned
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
to Maurice, only to find that he also had vanished, but, with
more self-restraint than the Greek, had taken his rose with
him. Only Justinian was left, and he, looking sadly at his
daughter, placed his hand reproachfully on her shoulder.

“My child,” he said reprovingly, “do not make ill blood
between these two men by your woman’s wiles. Ate flung
the apple of discord on the table of the gods, but it would
have done no harm but for woman’s jealousy. Your name
is Helena: you are, I doubt not, as fair as she of Troy, so
beware lest your beauty be as fatal to Melnos as it was to
Ilium.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIII. | <sc>BACCHANALIA.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Clash of cymbals, beat of drum,
O’er the mountain peaks we come,
Far from parchèd Hindostan
To these laughing realms of Pan.
Nymphs and satyrs reel about,
Frenzied in the frenzied rout,
Crowned with ivy, fir, and vine,
Leading on the god of wine.
Far and near, and near and far,
Flock ye to his conquering car;
Lo! he comes in merry mood,
O’er the hills and thro’ the wood,
While the startled Dryads see
From their trees our revelry;
As we shout so loud and free,
Io Bacche! Evohë!
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
“We celebrate the <lang=fr><i>fête</i></lang> of St. Dionysius to-day,” said Justinian,
as they stood, in the early morning, on the platform
of the Acropolis, awaiting the arrival of the Bacchanalian
band from below.

“St. Dionysius!” repeated Maurice, with emphasis. “I
thought the gentleman of that name was an Olympian!”

“He was,” interposed Crispin before Justinian could
speak; “but have you forgotten Heine’s account of how the
heathen divinities were transformed into mediæval saints.
St. Dionysius is our old friend Bacchus in a new guise;
Athena has given place to the Virgin Mary—the Panagia,
as they call her in Attica;—Zeus is still the Supreme
Being, with awful locks and thunderbolt, while Apollo the
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
Far-Darter masquerades in classical adolescence as St.
Sebastian.”

“And Venus, Mr. Professor?” asked Helena, with a gay
smile.

“Venus,” answered Crispin, with a profound bow, “still
lives in the Ægean Seas as Helena of Melnos.”

“What a charming compliment!” cried the girl, who,
in her plain white chiton, purple-edged peplum, and silver-banded
hair, looked indeed like Aphrodite incarnate.
“What about Andros here?”

“Hermes!”

Caliphronas, poising himself lightly on the verge of the
staircase, certainly was the herald of Olympus, the divinized
athlete, the more so, as, instead of his voluminous fustanella,
he wore a simple tunic of fine white wool, which displayed
his fine figure to the greatest advantage. His curls, yellow
as those of Achilles, a true Achaian color, were bare, as he
never wore a head covering unless forced to do so, and thus,
stripped of all artificial aids to beauty, he looked the incarnation
of Hellenism, the genius of Greece, ever fair and
blooming in eternal adolescence. Even Justinian was struck
with the manly grace and perfect vitality of the young man,
yet, after an admiring glance at this physical perfection,
turned to Maurice, and quoted a line of Homer,—

“‘Faultlessly fair bodies are not always the temples of a
godlike soul.’”

“It is curious you should say that, sir,” observed Maurice;
“for my old tutor, Mr. Carriston, said the same thing about
the same man.”

“Carriston!” echoed Justinian hoarsely.

“The Rev. Stephen Carriston, Rector of Roylands,”
replied Maurice, amazed at this emotion; “did you know
him?”

“Know him?” said the Demarch, with a forced smile;
“no. I have been absent from England these many years.
Rector of Roylands!” he muttered in an undertone; “strange,
strange!”

“What is strange?” asked Roylands curiously.

“Nothing, nothing!” answered Justinian, turning away
with a frown. “I was thinking of something which you
would not understand. But here come our Bacchanalians,
Maurice. Now you will see a glimpse of ancient Hellas.”

Maurice pondered over the strange emotion of Justinian,
which he found himself quite unable to explain, and, coming
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
to the conclusion that the Demarch must have met some one
of the same name under unpleasant circumstances, he dismissed
the subject from his mind as trivial, and concentrated
his attention on the rapidly approaching procession.

Justinian had closely followed the old lines of the
Dionysian ceremonies, saving that he expurgated all the
coarser elements of drinking and debauchery, and during
the whole three days’ festival, modelled on the ancient feasts
of Hellas, Maurice did not espy one offensive thing, which
could bring a blush to the cheek of modesty. Indeed,
Helena and all the women of the island were present, so
their mingling in the ceremonies would alone have prevented
any coarseness, even without the stern interdiction of the
Demarch; for the Greeks have a great sense of delicacy,
being especially careful not to offend the delicacy of women
in any way whatsoever. This modern Bacchanalia, then,
represented the antique solemnity, as it was in the earlier
Attic days, before later worshippers defiled the rites of the
god with their vile orgies.

It was a perfect day, but, as there had been a slight rainfall
in the morning, in the east loomed a sombre cloud,
which, however, foreboded nothing, as across its darkness,
like a many-hued scarf, was flung a splendid rainbow.
Helena caught sight of this first, and clapped her hands
merrily.

“Oh, father, see how red is the rainbow!—that is a good
sign for the vintage.”

“How so?” asked Roylands, somewhat puzzled at this
Iris prophecy.

“It is an old Greek superstition,” answered Justinian,
smiling at his daughter’s glee; “if red prevails in the rainbow,
there will be plenty of grapes; if yellow, a fine harvest;
and when green it will be a year for olives. This one is
reddish, as you see, so our Bacchanalia will turn out successfully.”

In front of the procession marched the musicians, men
playing on pipes, flutes, drums, and goat-skin sabounas, a
kind of bagpipe, while beside them danced young ivy-crowned
girls, clashing cymbals together. All the men were
dressed in their dancing costumes, similar to that of Caliphronas,
save that all the colors of the rainbow were represented,
though the women, still in their loose white chitons,
neutralized to some extent the vivid tints of the male dresses.
Behind the musicians came lads garlanded with wreaths of
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
intermingled violets and ivy, bearing thyrsi. Afterwards a
number of maidens, with vine-leaf-decorated amphoras of
wine, baskets of figs, and bunches of grapes. A goat, with
a child on its back, was led by two elderly women waving
pine branches. Then came the elders of the village, in white
robes, with tall linen mitres, followed by a joyous band of
young men, profusely bedecked with flowers, who capered
round a sedate ass, on which rode the wit of the village,
representing Silenus. An empty chariot, drawn by goats as
a substitute for panthers, then appeared, and in this was to
be installed the Count, who undertook the <lang=fr><i>rôle</i></lang> of Bacchus.
The procession finally closed with the ten sailors walking
two abreast, their stiff march contrasting strangely with the
acrobatic dancing and careless grace of their fellow revellers.

Arriving at the foot of the steps, the chief elder made a
speech in sonorous Greek, in which he invited Justinian and
his friends to come down to the village festival, and bring
good fortune to the vintage. Justinian graciously accepted
the invitation, and, in company with his guests, placed himself
in the rear of the procession; while Caliphronas, who
had been crowned with vine leaves, arrayed in a leopard skin,
and bearing a pine-cone tipped sceptre, sprang into his chariot
with a laughing glance, as the revellers saluted him—“Evohë
Bacche!”

Back to the head of the grand staircase returned the procession,
with its wild music and merry dancers, while the
god, lightly brandishing his sceptre, looked benignly on his
motley crew. Some had fawn skins, all were crowned, and
before the procession ran children strewing the road with
flowers, while the company sang songs in praise of St.
Dionysius, whom Caliphronas was supposed to represent,
rather than the genuine son of Semele. Silenus, by his
drunken gestures, and difficulty in keeping his seat, evoked
roars of laughter, and was quite the hero of the hour.

“I never did see sich tomfoolery,” growled Gurt, who was
enjoying himself hugely; “this Baccus is all tommy rot.
Like a Lor’ Mayor’s show it is.”

“Oh, it’s a great spree,” said Dick cheerfully, who was
Gurt’s companion in the march. “Ain’t these girls like the
ballet at the Alhambra?”

“Never was there,” growled Gurt, who, when not absent
from England, generally remained in the neighborhood of
the docks; “but I’m blessed if I ever did hear sich music,
with their Hi ho Baccus! Who’s Baccus?”
.bn 252.png
.pn +1

“The god of wine.”

“I wish he was the god of rum,” said the old toper; “for
this ’ere sour stuff as th’ give us is ’nough to give us all cold
in our insides. Lor’, wot music! Let’s give ’em a shanty.”

“The skippers might not like it,” objected Dick anxiously.

“Oh, they don’t mind. I ain’t going to let these coves
have it all their own way.” Whereupon Gurt, in a raucous
voice, struck up, “Rule, Britannia,” much to the amusement
of Justinian. His messmates joined in the chorus, and
though the wild orgiastic music still continued, it was almost
drowned in the lusty chorus of “Britons never shall be
slaves,” roared out by ten pairs of lusty lungs.

The chariot of the god had perforce to be left at the head
of the staircase, and Caliphronas, descending, led the way
down to the valley, followed by all his barbaric crew. Shrill
sounded the pipes, loud clashed the cymbals, and the bright
sunshine shone on as merry a company of wine-worshippers
as ever it did in the Athens of Æschylus.

The vineyards of Melnos were planted on the sides of the
mountain, where they rose terrace by terrace nearly up to
the dark pine woods, which divided the vegetation from the
snow with a broad green band. A wine-press was placed in
nearly every one of these vineyards, but the place where the
ceremonies were to take place lay near to the theatre, and
was a particularly large enclosure, filled with long straggling
vines, in the centre of which a huge whitewashed tank, piled
with purple grapes, stood ready to be tramped out to the
lower tank into which the juice flowed.

Justinian and his guests were conducted to a kind of raised
daïs, on which were placed seats tastefully wreathed with
flowers, the most elaborate of all being reserved for Caliphronas,
who, as the presiding deity of the feast, ranked for
the day higher than the lord of the island. The scene was
singularly picturesque: far above, piercing the blue sky,
arose the snowy peaks, lower down the pine forests, then
fields of yellow corn, divided by belts of gray olive trees and
grape-laden vineyards, while the near slopes near the scene
of the festival were covered with red-berried mastic bushes,
delicate white cyclamens, rose-blossomed oleanders, pomegranate
trees, and beds of strongly-scented thyme, filling the
still warm air with aromatic odors. Amid all this beauty
were the Bacchanalians with their many-colored garbs, the
whiteness of the women’s dresses predominating, and the
whole laughing throng swaying, leaping, whirling, bounding,
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
gyrating to the wild music, shrill and plaintive as the wind,
of their rude instruments. In such a vineyard might Dionysius
appear to some modern Æschylus, and command him to
kindle anew, with the breath of genius, the fire of the ancient
goat-song, with its solemn splendors, gigantic scenes, and
majestic figures of god, goddess, and hero.

As a rule, the vintage of the insular Greeks begins early
in August, but this year, for some unexplained reason, the
grapes had ripened slowly, hence the Melnosians feared a
bad year of the vine, and were much delighted to find that
it was one of the most prolific ever known, a fact which was
further confirmed in their eyes by the prophetic red of the
rainbow.

Papa Athanasius, the priest of the island, arrayed in the
gorgeous sacerdotal vestments of his Church, now came forward,
surrounded by a number of acolytes, bearing censers
and sacred ichons, in order to pronounce a blessing on the
first-fruits of the vine year. The ceremony did not last long,
and at its conclusion the Papa retired, while, amid cries of
rejoicing and noisy music, a dozen men with bare feet sprang
into the vat and began to tread the grapes. Their white
tunics and naked feet were soon stained red with the juice
of the vine, which shortly afterwards began to gush freely
into the lower vat, amid the songs of the onlookers. Soon
afterwards cups of last year’s wine were passed round to all
present, and, though the Greeks as a rule are a very temperate
people, yet the thin, sour liquor speedily rendered them
slightly intoxicated, and the singing became more vociferous
than ever.

“I hope they will give us some national dances,” said
Maurice to Helena, who sat beside him—who looked lovely
as the Queen of Love herself.

“Indeed they will!” she answered vivaciously: “you
will see the syrtos, which has a good deal of the Pyrrhic dance
in its steps; the moloritis, in which Zoe, Andros, Crispin,
and myself will take part. Then there is the dancing on the
slippery wine-skin, which is very amusing. See, this is the
syrtos!”

A party of young men in their tight-fitting white dancing-costumes
now came forward, saluted Caliphronas as the
master of the revels, and, placing their arms round one another’s
necks, began to sway slowly backward and forward,
with a kind of mazourka step, to the inspiriting music of
tabor and pipe. These evolutions increased in rapidity, and
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
were interspersed with wild acrobatic boundings by single
dancers, until Maurice became quite giddy watching their
whirlings.

Afterwards the women, linked together with handkerchiefs,
in order to make the line more flexible, danced gracefully
to a slow melody, with frequent genuflexions of the
body and bendings of the head.

“Greek dances are rather monotonous, I am afraid,” said
Roylands, who found this incessant swaying a trifle wearisome.
“Why don’t the men and women dance with one
another?”

“They do sometimes, as in the moloritis,” replied Helena,
rising from her seat. “We will dance it now, and I think
you will like it better than the syrtos.”

It was a graceful dance, and the music was more melodious.
First, the four people danced together, then separately,
and finally Crispin and Caliphronas indulged in wild
saltatory leapings, while Helena and Zoe stood still, swaying
from side to side, like nautch dancers.

“I think a waltz would be jollier than that,” said Maurice,
when she returned to her seat.

“A waltz! what is that?” asked Helena innocently.

“I will show you some time during the day—that is, if
we can get any one to play us the music.”

“Oh, Andronico, that old man with the violin, can pick up
anything by ear. But see, we are now going to have some
singing!”

A handsome young fellow stepped forward, escorted by a
number of women, who joined in the chorus of the song,
which was in praise of Dionysius and the vineyards. Maurice,
owing to the skilful tuition of Helena, now knew enough
Greek to understand the words, which, irregularly translated,
were as follows:—

.pm start_poem
           <sc>Solo.</sc>

Oh, my love, we went to the vineyards,
And there beheld bunches of purple wine fruit,
Full of the milk of earth our mother.

           <sc>Women.</sc>

Wine, like thee, is my heart-gladdener.

           <sc>Solo.</sc>

Thro’ the vine leaves peeped St. Dionysius,
Who laughed when he heard the sound of our kisses:
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
“These are not mad with wine,”
So cried St. Dionysius;
“Not with wine are they mad, but with love and kisses.”

           <sc>Women.</sc>

Wine, like thee, is my heart-gladdener.
.pm end_poem

There were about twenty verses of this delectable song,
interlarded at times with the rude music of the sabouna.
Maurice grew tired of this dreariness, and went off, in company
with Helena, to where the feasting was going on.
Tables were spread out in the open air with cheeses, bread,
honey, goats’ flesh, piles of grapes, and other rustic dainties,
to which the hungry revellers were doing full justice. Some
of them were dancing the Smyriote, others singing interminable
songs; but Roylands by this time had quite enough of
Greek dance and song, so asked Helena to show him the hot
springs, which were near at hand.

They were at the base of a little cliff, volcanic in character,
with curiously-twisted streaks of red, green, and black lava,
which presented a bizarre appearance. The water, owing to
the presence of oxide of iron, was of a yellow tint and boiling
hot, while occasional puffs of steam rising skyward veiled
the variegated tints of the rock behind, so that it looked
strangely weird and horrible.

“I wonder you are not afraid to live here, Helena!” said
the Englishman, going down on his knees to examine these
Ægean geysers. “I don’t believe this crater is an extinct
one.”

“It has been quiet enough for over a thousand years,”
replied the girl carelessly, “so I don’t see why it should
break out now.”

“If it did, the loss of life would be terrible.”

“Oh, don’t, Maurice! The idea is too frightful. Why, not
one of us would escape alive, and then good-by to father’s
idea of a new Athens.”

“Your new Athens has other things to fear besides volcanoes.”

“What do you mean?”

“That if Caliphronas is appointed your father’s heir, it
were better for this crater to become full of seething lava
once more, than the hot-bed of scoundrels such as that scamp
will surely make it.”

“I don’t think you need be afraid of that,” replied Helena,
with great scorn; “Andros is not likely to rule Melnos.”
.bn 256.png
.pn +1

“You don’t like him?”

“I hate him!”

“And why? He is very handsome.”

“Do you think I am a woman likely to be taken with mere
good looks in a man?” she answered, with an angry light
in her eyes. “I thought you knew me better than that,
Maurice.”

“Forgive me, Helena; but indeed I am glad you do not
like Caliphronas.”

Helena knew the reason of this pointed remark, and, looking
down with a blush, was about to reply, when the man
they were talking about came quickly along the narrow path,
with a savage scowl on his handsome face.

“Helena, your father is asking for you,” he said abruptly.

“Oh, I will go at once,” replied the girl lightly, in order
to conceal her confusion; and rapidly left the spot, where
Caliphronas still remained looking angrily at Maurice.

The Englishman saw that the Count was in a terrible rage,
and ready to overwhelm him with invective, but, nevertheless,
was not sorry to come to a complete understanding with
this treacherous scamp, who had no regard for truth, honor,
or daring. Caliphronas was a thorough bully by nature;
and, having succeeded in browbeating his own countrymen
by arrogance, thought he would try the same plan with
Maurice, quite unaware that the seemingly easy-going young
man was made of sterner stuff than yielding Hellenes, and
would hold his own against all odds with true British doggedness.

“Well, Bacchus,” said Maurice, trying to pass the matter
off lightly at first, “why have you deserted your revellers?”

“To punish a scoundrel,” burst out the furious Greek,
stamping his foot.

Maurice looked around serenely; and then, sitting down
on a block of black lava, streaked with sulphur, began to roll
a cigarette, which innocent proceeding irritated Caliphronas
beyond all powers of self-control.

“Do you hear me?” he cried, mad with rage. “I came
here to punish a scoundrel!”

In a quarrel the victory is generally to him who keeps his
temper, as Maurice knew very well; so, in this case, the
more enraged grew the Greek, the calmer became the Englishman.

“So I see,” he replied phlegmatically; “but, as I see no
scoundrel here but yourself, I hardly understand you.”
.bn 257.png
.pn +1

“Understand this, Mr. Maurice—you are the scoundrel!”

“Really!” said Roylands, lighting his cigarette with provoking
coolness; “and your reason for applying such a name
to me?”

“You make love to the lady who is to be my wife.”

“I was not aware your offer of marriage had been accepted.”

“I have her father’s consent.”

“True; but you have not the lady’s consent.”

“Bah! what of that? Women and dogs are born to
obey.”

“My dear Count Constantine Caliphronas,” said Maurice
deliberately, “you have called me a scoundrel, for which
epithet, coming from a despicable wretch like yourself, I care
nothing. But if you dare to speak disrespectfully of Miss
Helena, I will certainly throw you into that boiling spring
over there.”

The Greek was young, strong, and athletic, and could
doubtless have held his own against the Englishman to a
considerable extent,—although he would have been beaten in
the end, owing to his ignorance of boxing, an art in which
Maurice excelled,—but so craven was his soul that he did
not dare to resent this calmly insulting speech, but merely
stood his ground, quivering with fury.

“<lang=fr><i>Và!</i></lang>” he hissed through his clinched teeth, and shaking
five fingers at Maurice, which is about the strongest imprecation
a Greek can use. “I will be even with you, pig, English
as you are!”

“I see you want pitching into that stream,” replied
Maurice, rising. “You dare to apply such another epithet
to me, and, as sure as I stand here, in you go.”

Caliphronas trembled with mingled fear and rage, for he
had seen the man before him box with Boatswain Dick, and
knew he had but small chance against such pugilistic science.
He was as careful of his beauty as a lady, and dreaded lest
some sledge-hammer blow should mar his perfect features,
therefore he deemed it wise to restrain his temper, and
laughed derisively.

“Bah! to-day for you, to-morrow for me,” he said jeeringly.
“You cannot hold yourself against the future ruler
of Melnos. I will have the island and Helena! You will
have nothing.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, Caliphronas! I don’t want
Melnos, but I certainly do want Helena, and shall certainly
refuse to give her up without a struggle.”
.bn 258.png
.pn +1

“Try!” sneered the Greek, snapping his fingers under
Royland’s nose; “try!”

Hitherto Maurice had kept his temper well under control;
but this last insult was too much, so, lifting up the
light frame of the Greek in his athletic grasp, in spite of his
struggles, he calmly sent him splash into the nearest pool,
which was fortunately but tepid in character, otherwise the
Count might have run a chance of being parboiled.

“Next time you dare to use your vile tongue on me, I will
sling you down the grand staircase,” said Maurice quietly;
then, without waiting to hear the bad language of his enemy,
calmly strolled away towards the scene of the festival,
smoking with great enjoyment.

Caliphronas, considerably cowed, crawled out of the pool,
looking like a drowned rat; and few would have recognized
in this despicable object the daring, handsome Hermes of
the morning. Had he possessed a knife, he would certainly
have pursued Maurice, and done his best to kill him; but,
being without a weapon, he had a wholesome dread of the
Englishman’s fists, so, swallowing his rage for the time
being, went off in search of dry garments.

As Maurice approached the vineyard, he heard shouts of
laughter, and found it was owing to the latest amusement,
that of dancing on the slippery surface of a skin of wine,—a
pastime as old as the days of the Dionysia itself. Many
skilful dancers fell off; and it was long before any one
succeeded in carrying off the prize, which was the skin of
wine itself; but ultimately it fell to the lot of the handsome
young Palikar who had sung the song about St. Dionysius.

Helena looked apprehensively at him when he appeared,
as she was afraid there had been a quarrel between her two
suitors; but Maurice calmed her fears by a smile, and
together they watched a sailor’s hornpipe danced by Dick to
the music supplied by old Andronico, who had picked up the
air from Gurt’s whistling.

Justinian was in ecstasies over the dance, and made Dick
sing some sea-songs, which, with the rude but tuneful chorus
of his messmates, made the old man’s eyes flash with patriotic
fire.

“I’m only Greek on the surface, you see,” he said to
Crispin, with a somewhat sad smile; “but my heart is English
still.”

“Hearts of oak!” replied Crispin gayly. “After all,
there is no place like England; for you see Melnos, with all
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
its tropical loveliness, is still unsatisfying when memories of
white-cliffed Albion awaken in your heart.”

“Bravo, Crispin!” cried Maurice, who had heard this
speech; “you are a true patriot, and must confirm your
views by singing ‘Home, sweet Home.’”

Crispin, nothing loath, did so; and the Greeks, attracted
by the beautiful air, crowded round to listen. The darkness
was falling fast, for the long day was nearly at an end, and
through the still night sounded the liquid notes of a cock
nightingale calling to his mate; but higher than the voice
of the bird arose that tender old melody, which brings tears
to the eyes of those absent from their own fireside. Justinian,
leaning his white head on his hand, listened intently;
and when the song was ended, Maurice could have sworn in
the dim light that a sudden tear flashed like a jewel down
his withered cheek. It was extraordinary to see this man
of iron, astute, keen ruler as he was, so touched by the
simple little song, which he had heard perchance at his
mother’s knee; and from that moment Maurice always
believed in Justinian, whom he was certain must have a
good heart, when so affected by that pleading air.

Torches were now brought, the wild music burst out anew,
and the revellers prepared to escort their Demarch back to
the Acropolis. Caliphronas, apparently as merry as ever,
made his appearance in new clothes, and resumed his sceptre
and vineleaf crown. Along the street danced the procession,
with clash of cymbal and throb of drum; torches flaring in
the windless air on the excited faces of their bearers; and it
was like a confused dream, with the flash of white robes,
the tossing red lights, the barbaric pomp, and the swaying,
restless, dancing crowd.

At the foot of the grand staircase Maurice burst out
laughing.

“What is the matter?” asked Crispin, who walked near him.

“I am thinking of Caliphronas, whom I flung into one of
the hot springs.”

“The deuce you did! It’s a pity he was not drowned.”

“He is not born to be drowned,” retorted Roylands sardonically;
“he is born to be hanged.”

At the Acropolis the Bacchanalians left them; and they
saw the long procession stream like a serpent of light along
the road, down the staircase, with glimmer of white robes
and distant sounds of mirth. A last flash of innumerable
torches, a last burst of frenzied mirth, then darkness and
quiet—the Dionysia was ended.
.bn 260.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIV. | <sc>THESPIAN.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The silvery smoothness of sweet Sophocles,
The rolling thunder of Æschylean verse,
The subtle twistings of Euripides

To prove the better reason by the worse;—
Such poets gained the light Athenian’s praise
By daring dealings with the universe,

And yearly won the envied crown of bays;
But not on Attic shores alone,—for we
Yet know their greatness in these modern days,

In alien lands across the stormy sea,
Where with much painful learning do we dare
In pristine splendor to revive the three,

Till, foiled by antique genius high and rare,
We quit the task with unalloyed despair.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The theatre of Melnos was crowded the next day to witness
the one performance of the year, and the whole semicircle
of seats was occupied by a chattering throng, resembling,
doubtless, the gossip-loving Athenians of old. All were in
gala dresses, the men brilliant in Albanian costumes of
fustanelli, embroidered jackets, gaudy gaiters, and vivid red
silk sashes; while the women, in accordance with the edict
of the Demarch, still wore their graceful, antique robes of
white; indeed, the male bird here had the more splendid
plumage of the two, but what the female lacked in color, she
made up for in grace. The population of Melnos were,
indeed, fine specimens of humanity, as, owing to the selective
genius of Justinian, none but the physically perfect were
admitted to the privileges of the island, and in the case of
births he exercised an almost Spartan rigor. Certainly he
departed so far from the laws of Lycurgus as to permit any
child born with a blemish to live, but it was sent away from
Melnos at the moment of its birth, and provided for elsewhere.
In consequence, therefore, of this untiring care in
such matters, the Melnosians were all strong, healthy, and
beautiful; while their constant out-door life and congenial
occupations kept them in a wonderfully vitalized condition,
which was eminently calculated to form a race as physically
perfect in form and health as is possible on this earth.
.bn 261.png
.pn +1

“I am a great believer in the <lang=la><i>mens sana in corpore sano</i></lang>
theory,” said the Demarch to Maurice, who sat beside him.
“The first law of this new Athens is, that all the citizens
shall be healthy in every way; and the body being thus perfected
by degrees, who knows but what the intellect may
not ripen the sooner to the first-fruits of genius?”

“Is that not rather against the Homeric line you quoted
the other day, sir?” observed Maurice thoughtfully. “I
mean as regarding Caliphronas; he is physically perfect,
thoroughly healthful, and yet you can hardly call him intellectual.”

“Andros,” said Justinian emphatically, “is not a true
Greek, but a mongrel from the island of that name, where I
found him a shepherd lad. I have no faith in mixed races,
as their genius, if they have any, is apt to be confusing. We
English are essentially a mixed race, therefore our literature,
although marked by great versatility, lacks that dominant
note which denotes the special characteristic of a pure-blooded
race. Look at the Jew and the Hellene, which are,
perhaps, the sole examples of unmixed blood we have,—at
least in the West,—and you will see that their works of
genius, however different in outward form, are still instinct
with the individuality of their particular race-nature. The
Psalms of David, the tragedies of the Greek dramatists, could
only have been written by men of unmixed blood, steeped in
the color of their peculiar branch of the human family.”

“What about Shakespeare?”

“None but a mixed race could have produced an all-comprehensive
mind like his; and though you may perhaps
think me narrow in desiring the formation of pure-blooded
nations, which may be barren of such versatile genius, yet,
believe me, Maurice, every plant should bear its own natural
flowers. Now, my Melnosians have been carefully selected
from the most untainted blood of the insular Greeks, who
are the real survivors of the old Attic stock. I allow no
mixed marriages—I protect them from all outward influence—I
encourage them to develop their inherent characteristics
of race, so, in all human probability, they, in years
to come, will produce a blossom of genius entirely their
own.”

“Is that not rather a hot-house forcing style?”

“Well, yes; but such artificiality is needed in these days
of easy communication and cosmopolitan races. The tribes
of mankind are not now isolated each from each as in former
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
times, when that very isolation forced them, uninfluenced by
contact with alien tribes, to develop their own special race-nature
in literature, music, and art. Mixed races produce
mixed results, splendid, I own, in many cases, but not so
severely unique and classic as would be the case with untamed
tribes.”

“Did not Disraeli discuss this question in ‘Coningsby’?”

“Touching the Semitic race,—yes, I think so; but it is so
long since I have read the book that I almost forget his line
of argument. But we have strayed from our subject, which
was physical and not intellectual perfection; and I verily believe
that if as much attention were given to the breeding of
humanity as is given to the rearing of race-horses, the race of
mankind would be much benefited thereby.”

Justinian had quite a mania regarding this question of
race, and Maurice would gladly have continued the interesting
argument, but the play was shortly about to begin, so he
deferred the discussion until a more fitting occasion, and
meanwhile examined the theatre with careful attention.

The stage facing the semicircle was long and narrow, with
slender columns on either side supporting the pediment,
which, unfortunately, was quite plain, as Justinian’s theories
had not yet developed a Pheidias to sculpture the red limestone
into god-like forms of hero and deity. A broad flight
of steps led downward to the orchestra, which had entrances
to the right and left for the convenience of the chorus; while
a veritable altar of Dionysius, wreathed with sculptured
grapes and nude figures of dancing faun and nymph, taken,
doubtless, from some ruined temple, stood on a raised platform
fronting the stage, and on it burned a small fire, whereon
incense was occasionally flung.

“Is that not rather pagan?” asked Maurice, referring to
the altar.

“Everything herein is ideal, not real,” replied the Demarch
wisely. “When you see the chorus throw incense on the
altar, think not that they are sacrificing to the wine-god of
their ancestors. No, they are all of the Orthodox Church,
and obey devoutly the precepts of Papa Athanasius; but I
like to carry out the old ceremonies, even to this altar, which
means nothing, and is highly characteristic of the antique
festival.”

As Crispin, Helena, and Caliphronas were all actors for the
day, the Demarch and Maurice sat alone in the centre of the
semicircle, surrounded by the sailors, who were much puzzled
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
at the strangeness of this stately, open-air theatre, so different
from the air-tight boxes to which they had been accustomed
in London.

“If it was only an Adelphi melodrama!” said Dick, whose
inclinations leaned to the bloodthirsty play; “but I suppose
it will be something like that squalling they called singing
yesterday.”

“Or a moosic ’all,” observed Gurt, chewing his quid reflectively.
“I seed a gal in one of ’em down Wappin’ way
as guv a song called, ‘Tap me on the shoulder, Bill.’ My
eyes, but it were a good un, that ’ere.”

Decidedly this unique dramatic representation, which
many English scholars would have beheld with delight, was
quite thrown away on these conservative tars, who preferred
melodrama and comic songs to the solemn splendors of ancient
tragedy, which was, naturally enough, Greek to them
in more senses than one.

In accordance with the instructions of Justinian, the poet
had composed a play embodying an allegory of the aims of
this island colony of Melnos, and, forsaking to a great extent
the severe classicism of Æschylean tragedy, had modelled
his drama on the loose-flying splendors of Shelley’s Hellas.
This piece, entitled ‘The Ph[oe]nix,’ was intended to represent
the degradation of Greece under the Turkish yoke, her escape
from such bondage, her material civilization, and her subsequent
rise to intellectual supremacy, which end the formation
of the colony of Melnos was supposed to foster. Crispin had
no fear of his allegorical drama not being understood by his
audience, for the Greeks are a singularly keen-witted people,
and, besides, Justinian had so imbued the whole population
with his hopes of reviving the ancient glories of the Athenian
genius, that all present were quite able to comprehend
the hidden meaning of the play. The Ph[oe]nix was to occupy
the whole morning, and, after an interval of two hours for
rest and refreshment, the satiric pendant to the more solemn
piece was to be represented in the afternoon, consisting, in
this instance, of a local incident, developed and expanded by
Crispin into a wild Aristophanic farce, blending wit with
irony, laughter with tears, and stately chorus with clownish
play of rustic actors.

Crispin, moreover, was not only author, actor, and stage
manager, but also an accomplished musician, therefore had
made use of his Western training in this respect, to get
together an orchestra, and, with the aid of Andronico, had
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
adapted the plaintive music of the Hellenic folk-songs to his
choruses. The quick-eared Greeks speedily picked up the
airs, many of which they already knew, and thus the drama
followed closely in the footsteps of its Athenian prototype;
and the wild, rude music, sounding at intervals between
the long speeches of the principal characters, prevented the
monotony which otherwise would have certainly prevailed.
With violin, flute, pipe, drum, symbols, and sabouna, the
musicians therefore took their places unseen by the audience;
for Crispin, adopting Wagner’s theory, did not want
the attention of his audience distracted in any way by the
presence of the orchestra between stage and auditorium.

The back of the stage represented a smooth, white marble
wall, fronted by a range of Corinthian pillars wreathed with
milky blossoms, and in the centre, great folding doors ready
to be flung open when required by the exigencies of the
play. Against this absolutely colorless background moved
the brilliant figures of the performers in measured fashion,
with stately gestures, as moved those serene, side-faced
figures on the marble urn dreamed of by Keats. The clear
light of the sun burned on the great half-circle of eager faces
with steady effulgence, and left in delicate shadow that wide
white stage, whereon was to be enacted a drama such as we
in England, lacking all things necessary to such colossal
majesty, can never hope to see.

All being read, the curtain arose, or rather fell, for Crispin,
with strict fidelity to Athenian usages, had adopted this
curious mode of withdrawing the veil between audience and
performers.

The stage is empty, but a wild chant sounds in the distance,
and a long train of Moslems, headed by their Sultan,
sweeps in, bearing with them Hellas, a captive in her own
land to the barbaric power. Helena, draped in black and
manacled with chains, represented Hellas, who stands with
melancholy mien amid the gaudily dressed chorus of Moslems,
listening to their songs of triumph over her downfall.
“We have chained you to our chariot,” they sing tauntingly,
“yet thou need’st not look so downcast, for a slave hast thou
been before, and a slave thou wilt be hereafter. Thy
shrines, thy palaces, thy city walls have fallen, and fallen
too art thou.”

The chorus having ended their exalting strains, the Sultan
addresses Hellas, and offers to make her his wife, thus incorporating
the ancient land of loveliness with the newly constructed
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
power of the Turk; but Hellas, who is Athena
incarnate, scorns his offer to make her <pm corr 254.2 anodalisque 'an odalisque'> of the
harem. “Virgin I was, virgin I am, virgin I remain,” says
the fallen queen, with haughty grace; “my body you may
chain with iron, but the soul is under the protection of Zeus,
the Supreme; therefore will I sit here in desolation rather
than partake of the splendors you offer me.” Furious with
rage, the barbarian smites her, but she, still smiling, repeats
constantly, “The body is thine, but the soul is mine;” so in
wrath he leaves her, with a promise that her woes shall
never end, and the Moslem chorus follow him from the
stage, with triumphant shouts of joy at the success of their
arms.

Left alone, chained and desolate, amid the ruins of her
temples, Hellas bewails her downfall, which contrasts so
darkly with her former brilliance in classic times. Crispin
afterwards translated the play into blank verse for the benefit
of Maurice, but the English verse gives but a poor idea
of the fire and majesty of the sonorous Greek original.
“Woe is me!” cries the fallen queen—

.pm start_poem
For I am but the sport of jealous gods,
Who, envious of Athenian gloriousness,
Have crushed the city of the Violet Crown
Beneath the force of overwhelming hordes;
Thus blotting out my heaven-aspiring sons,
Who, burning with a new Promethean fire,
Would fain have scaled god-crowned Olympus high
To match themselves ’gainst gods in equal strife.
.pm end_poem

Then, with the sudden energy of despair, she calls upon
the heroes of Salamis, of Thermopylæ, of Marathon, to aid
their mother in the time of need. Alas! no voice answers
to her cry of anguish, and, overcome with a sense of hopelessness,
Hellas, discrowned and chained, sinks weeping on
the broken column of her fallen shrine.

Now enters the chorus proper of young Greek maidens,
dressed in black stoles, to denote the sorrowful condition of
their country. They sweep into the orchestra, and, having
sprinkled the altar with incense, begin to question their
fallen queen, as though they were ignorant of the cause of
her grief.

.pm start_poem
                    CHORUS.

What madness drives thee, queen, to rend thine hair?

                    HELLAS.

Curst Ate bides upon the threshold stone.
.bn 266.png
.pn +1

                    CHORUS.

Now see I plainly thou art bound with chains.

                    HELLAS.

In this no fatal blindness dims thine eyes.

                    CHORUS.

Say whence these chains which check free-moving limbs?

                    HELLAS.

The Eastern hordes have bound me helpless thus.
.pm end_poem

Question and answer thus goes on for some time, and then
the chorus break out into a wailing song, in which they
remind Hellas that, having forsaken the old gods who helped
her in her need, she is now reaping the reward of such folly.
“The curse of Ate is on thee,” they cry pitifully, “nor will
the goddess be satisfied until she has exacted her due penalty
for neglect of the Olympians.” They relate the former woes
of Hellas, how she first was slave to the Macedonians, then
to the Roman power; how the Latins set their mailed feet
on her neck; and now the Moslems have again reduced her
to the position of bondswoman. Ever a slave, ever desired,
she is thrown from the one to the other, as it pleases them,
unable to free herself from such degradation. When this
chorus of reproach is ended, Hellas calls upon the tutelar
genius of Greece to help her ere she perish.

In answer to her cry, Apollo (represented by Caliphronas)
appears, and blames her for foolishly forsaking the old gods
for the new, and thus falling into the hands of Nemesis.
His power, which was engendered and kept alive solely by
belief, has departed, and he cannot help her, much as he
desires to do so. “I myself,” he says—

.pm start_poem
E’en I whose fanes were ever reverenced,
Am now bereft of shrine and oracle;
No longer do I hear the Delian hymn,
Nor taste the savors of the sacrifice,
But, lyre in hand, go wandering through the night,
Lamenting for my skyey chariot,
Wherein I bore the fierceness of the sun
Up eastern hills and down to western seas.
.pm end_poem

Finally, Apollo tells his renegade worshipper that she
must sing the battle-songs of Tyrtæus, which may perhaps
awaken thoughts of freedom in the breasts of her degenerated
sons, and then departs, promising to return again when
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
she is once more the stainless Hellas of old. Fired by the
speech of the god, Hellas rises, and, assisted by the chorus,
begins to sing fierce battle-songs, and call upon her sons to
remember the heroes of the past. A clamor is heard without
as of men fighting, then the chains of Hellas fall off,
and with them her dark robe. Now she is free once more,
and clad in purest white, so, while rejoicing in her liberty,
a herald (Crispin) appears, and tells how well the Greeks
have fought for their independence. This gave the poet an
opportunity for a stirring speech, descriptive of the modern
Greek heroes, Canaris, Botzaris, and Conduriottis, which
names were received with shouts by the audience, fired with
patriotic fervor.

Once more Apollo, the genius of Greece, appears, and
declares that no longer can Hellas dwell in desecrated
Athens, but that, even as his mother Latona, she must seek
shelter in an Ægean isle, and there, after long years, give
birth to a supreme race, who will revive the ancient glories
of violet-crowned Athens. Leading her by the hand, the god
then conducts the newly liberated Hellas up the steps of the
temple. The great doors are flung open to the sound of
trumpets! and lo! appears the Acropolis of Melnos in all its
beauty. Here is Hellas to dwell in seclusion, until her
antique glory is revived by a new race of her sons, instinct
with genius; and down the steps come strings of white-robed
youths and girls, bearing fruits, to welcome this Ph[oe]nix of
Greece, new risen from the ashes of the past. Then the
chorus, wreathing in a mystic dance round the altar of Bacchus,
sing the coming glories of New Hellas, which are soon
to be realized in the Island of Melnos.

.pm start_poem
Long, long hast thou lain as in prison, our mother, our goddess, our queen,
But lo! to the eastward hath risen a splendor serene,
And glorious day follows darkness, the darkness of hundreds of years,
Reviving thy corpse from its starkness, with laughter and tears,
Ay, tears for the past and its anguish, and laughter for glories to come,
For never again wilt thou languish, a bondswoman dumb.
The trumpets of triumph are blowing, their clangor swells north from thy south,
And jubilant music is flowing anew from thy mouth.
Man, dazzled, obedient shall render his homage to thee as of yore,
And thou wilt stand forth in thy splendor, a goddess once more.
.pm end_poem

After this introductory chant in unison, the chorus divided
in twain, and semi-chorus replied to semi-chorus, in
fiery speech and jubilant music, that rang like a pæan through
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
the wide theatre. Ever moving figures, kneeling youths and
maidens, soft radiance of sunlight, and triumphant bursts of
choral song, while Hellas, serene in her freedom, stands beside
tutelary genius, with the light of the glorious future on
her face, listening to the eagle flight of liquid words, greeting
her as queen of the world.

The play being ended, all the lively Greeks streamed out
of the theatre, loudly praising the entertainment, and, having
had an intellectual feast, now proceeded to the tables set in
the open air, which were covered with all kinds of food to
satisfy their physical wants. Maurice and the Demarch
waited in the theatre alone for the actors, and very shortly
Crispin came to see how they liked his play. He received
warm congratulations of his success from the two men, while
Helena and Caliphronas also received their due meed of
praise. The Greek was radiant with self-complacent delight,
for his vanity had been much gratified by the approval of
the audience, and for the rest of the day he regarded himself
as the hero of the hour, quite forgetting both Crispin and
Helena in his serene egotism.

“I hope I have succeeded in showing your aims clearly,
Justinian?” said the poet, as they sat down to a comfortable
meal.

“You have succeeded admirably, especially in that last
chorus. I only hope that all will see the piece is meant for
more than the amusement of an hour.”

“If you heard how the villagers are talking,” remarked
Caliphronas, with a laugh, “I do not think you would have
any doubt on that score, for they already regard themselves
as the saviours of Hellas, intellectually, physically, and
politically.”

“Did you intend your genius of Greece for Lord Byron,
Crispin?” asked Maurice, who had understood and admired
the allegory.

“Well, the character was supposed to blend both the god
and the poet,” replied Crispin, after a pause; “let us say it
was the Olympian incarnate in the body of the Englishman.”

“And both the Olympian and Englishman incarnate in a
Greek,” said the Demarch graciously.

Caliphronas smiled at receiving this compliment, which
was intended to further blind him to the reality of Justinian’s
feelings towards him.

“There is nothing I should like better than to become a
leader in reality,” he said gayly; “to inspire my countrymen
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
with the desire of once more making Hellas supreme queen
of the world.”

“Of the intellectual world?”

“Or the material—it matters not which.”

“Pardon me, but it matters a great deal,” replied Justinian
quickly. “Politically, Greece has a place among the Powers—she
has a constitution and a king. So, as far as material
prosperity goes, I wish not to meddle with her, but my
aim is to revive her intellectuality, and Crispin’s play was
entirely written to illustrate that point. Hellas will never
be a modern Roman empire—she never was an all-conquering
power, and her strength lay in the brains, not in the
hands of her sons. After all, is it not greater to control
the minds than the bodies of men?”

“You want to turn Hellas into a school.”

“The pen is mightier than the sword,” rejoined Justinian
sententiously. “Let other nations be merchants and warriors,
while Greece reasserts her ancient vocation of teacher.
An aptitude for a special line is as true of the many as of the
one. You would not give the lyre to the soldier nor the
sword to the poet, so every race should exercise the talents
with which it is especially gifted; not, of course, to the
exclusion of others, but make its peculiar gift its greatest
aim. At present, the great human family of Europe is in a
state of transition, and, unaware of each other’s aims, are
watchfully in arms the one against the other. Let us hope
that before the end of the twentieth century they will recognize
that one special faculty predominates in every nation,
and permit each other to cultivate that special faculty.”

“What!” exclaimed Maurice, somewhat astonished,
“would you have the English nothing but shopkeepers
and colonizers—the French, a nation of warriors—the Germans,
philosophers only, and the Italians, musicians? That,
indeed, would narrow down the talents of the world to one
special field each.”

“You do not understand me, Maurice,” said Justinian
impatiently. “I quite agree that every nation should have
its own literature, art, music, philosophy, and drama, but the
one special gift of the race should be cultivated more than
the others; it should be made a state law—a political
necessity. However, this question admits of much argument,
and we have no time to argue now, but, in illustration
that I am not so narrow-minded as you think, I will merely
point out, that I educate my Greeks in military and civil
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
occupations quite as much as I attend to their intellectuality.”

“After all,” said Caliphronas pointedly, “only civil occupations,
such as touch agriculture, are necessary, for intellectuality
is yet in the future with us, and it is not likely
Melnos will ever require to resort to arms.”

“I trust not,” replied Justinian, looking steadily at the
Count. “But if she does, I am quite sure you will find her
sons able to defend their island, even against enmity and
treachery.”

Caliphronas smiled uneasily, and held his peace, upon
which there ensued a rather embarrassing pause, which was
only ended by the departure of Crispin to look after the
afternoon’s entertainment. Maurice strolled off in the
pleasant company of Helen, much to the disgust of Caliphronas,
who now pointedly avoided the company of the
Englishman, owing to the fracas which had occurred during
the previous day. Truth to tell, Roylands was pleased with
such avoidance, as, now that open war was declared between
himself and the Greek, he had no need to cloak his distaste
for the society of this precious scamp.

The satiric comedy of “The Honey Bees,” was a fantastic
piece based upon an incident which had lately occurred in
Melnos. Justinian had lately imported a potter to teach his
people the ceramic art, but this new acquisition turned out
to be but an idle scoundrel, who spent his time in drinking
and making love to his neighbors’ wives. On this basis the
poet had worked out an amusing plot, not devoid of point,
in which Aristides, an idle scamp, forces himself into an
industrious hive of honey bees, whose queen he desires to
marry, in order to be independent for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately, he falls a victim to a counter-plot of the bees
themselves, who, in order to disillusionize the queen, get a
pretty young girl called Myrtis to pay court to the adventurer.
He makes love to Myrtis, and is discovered by the
enraged queen, who orders her bees to drive him forth from
the hive.

This slight framework was filled with pointed allusions to
passing events, and the weaknesses of many of the Melnosians
were slyly pointed out, so that the gossip-loving audience
enjoyed every stinging remark to the full, nor, indeed,
failed to laugh when the irony was directed at themselves.
The scene was the public square of the village, with the lake
and the bronze statue of Jupiter, so that, with such a well-known
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
setting, every local point was understood and applauded.
The chorus consisted of the “Honey Bees,”
dressed somewhat after the fashion of Aristophanic Wasps,
with pinched waists, yellow black-banded bodies, and spears
for stings. Alternating with the rude buffoonery of the play,
were bursts of choric song lauding the community of Melnos
and the industry of its inhabitants, with many sly hits at
the idle lives of the adjacent islanders. In fact, with great
judgment the poet had constructed the whole comedy to
glorify the Melnosians at the expense of their labors, and
thus render them the more resolved to work hard at their
appointed tasks, and thus fulfil the aims of their Demarch.

The following scene of the arrival of Aristides and the
entrance of the chorus will give, some idea of the play,
though, of course, what with local allusions and the flexibility
of the Greek language, the comedy is more amusing in
the original.

<i>Aristides.</i> O Pan, to what land of honey have I come!
Truly, I see naught but wild thyme and yellow comb.
Poseidon, has thou then girdled Hymettus with the azure
scarf of ocean?

<i>Queen.</i> No hill of Attic fame do you here behold, but the
sky-piercing Melnos, beloved of the gods.

<i>Aristides.</i> Jupiter! I behold a graceful creature. Have
I then been thrown on the alluring coast of fatal
Circe?

<i>Queen.</i> Sun-god’s daughter I am not, but one who rules
over honey-seeking bees in this hollow island. Cleverly do
they extract the sweet juices of flowers to fill the emptiness
of many-celled combs.

<i>Aristides</i> (<i>running away</i>). Ah me, I fear the sharpness of
their stings.

<i>Queen.</i> In no wise will they hurt thee save at my behest.
Be still, O handsome stranger, and I will invoke for thee
the industrious tribe, whose ambrosia is sweeter than the
food of undying gods.

<i>Aristides.</i> Already I shake in my cowardly knees.

<i>Queen.</i> O Pan, inspirer of vague fears, do I call on thee
to send hither the swift-flying bees. Whether ye lurk in
honey-throated flowers industrious, or speed lightly through
the measureless sky, do I summon ye hither, O sting-bearers.
.bn 272.png
.pn +1

.pm start_poem
      ENTER CHORUS OF BEES.


      Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Indeed I heard thy cry, O queen,
When seeking on a mount serene
Sweet-tasting honey for our store,
Drawn from the core
Of rose and daisy, violet,
In sparkling dews of meadows set,
With patient labor do I strive
To fill the hive,
Alas! too often plundered, when
Espied by all-devouring men.
      Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
But lo! whom see I lurking here?
The form of man, whom much I fear.
Buz—z—z—z—z!
Let me prepare my angry sting
To slay this greedy-passioned thing,
Who would devour
Our honey in a single hour.
Buz—z—z—z—z.
.pm end_poem

The audience, lovers of laughter as they were, much preferred
this amusing play to the solemn teachings of the
morning, and yet from both they learned something necessary
to their well-being. From the one, how Justinian
wished to make them the centre of a new intellectual force;
and from the other, how his aim could be achieved by industry
and perseverance: so, grave or gay, the performance
instilled the policy of the Demarch into their minds.

On the conclusion of the comedy, the rest of the evening
was devoted to feasting, while Justinian and his guests
returned to the Acropolis, well pleased with the success of
the performances.

“Well, what do you think of my sermons from the
stage?” asked Crispin, as he strolled along beside Maurice.

“I think very highly of them,” answered the Englishman.
“It is a pity we dare not be so out-spoken in our own land.
But if you set forth the foibles of Londoners as plainly as
you did in ‘The Honey Bees,’ I am afraid you would have
half a dozen libel cases.”

“It would be impossible to transplant the Aristophanic
comedy to England, for modern civilization is too complicated
to admit of such free speaking. Besides, the average
Briton is too serious and too practical to relish the truth, even
when uttered by the comic muse, and only the light-hearted
Athenians could have appreciated and enjoyed such plain
speaking. The French are more given to open criticism, and
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
I daresay a political comedy constructed on these lines
would appeal greatly to their sense of humor.”

“When one is in Rome one must not speak evil of the
Pope!”

“And every nation has its pope of conventionality. I
agree with you there. After all, it is impossible to revive
the past, and even a new Shakespeare would be as out of
place in these <pm corr 279.8 post-revoluntionary post-revolutionary> days as a new Aristophanes.
The modern world deals with the drama of little
things, and the individual idiosyncrasy is caricatured instead
of the national policy. We have only one plain-speaking
Aristophanes nowadays, and his name is <em>Punch</em>.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXV. | <sc>OLYMPIAN.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Like statues fair the naked runners stand,
Poised for the start on Elis’ sacred plain,
Their limbs resplendent shine with fragrant oil,
And every eager athlete is fain
To win the wreath of olives for his toil,
In honor of his laud.
Like flying arrows from a stretchèd bow,
They onward speed with every muscle strained.
A breathless pause—then shouts to heaven go
In token of the victory hardly won.

A triple cry of “Hail, Victorious!” sounds;
With dance and choral song the victor goes
To bend before the statue of the god.
Then one with glad rejoicing proudly throws
A robe of triumph o’er his shoulders broad,
And with wild olives crowned,
The athlete unconquered, in his state
Waits silent in the awful god’s abode
To hear, with pride of victory elate,
The rushing splendor of Pindaric ode.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Owing to the comparatively small size of the valley,
which was much taken up with the dwelling-houses, manufactories,
and public buildings, the place wherein the yearly
games took place was not very large. Still, with a sparse
population, the arena was large enough, and when all were
assembled it was comfortably filled, leaving a large open
space in the centre for the runners, leapers, boxers, and
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
other athletes who took part in the sports. Despite his dislike
to anachronisms, Justinian was obliged to deviate from
the special sports of Elis, and introduce a number of modern
pastimes, in order to keep his men in an efficient state of
training for the defence of the island. To this end, shooting
matches were arranged, and the Demarch supplied the
Melnosians with guns for the day, which were afterwards
returned to the armory of the Acropolis, and many of the
villagers were excellent marksmen. Justinian also, who
appeared to know something of military tactics, drilled and
man[oe]uvred his men in fine style; and last, but not least,
Gurt, who was an old man-of-war’s man, had taught a special
number the cutlass drill of the British navy.

The arena was a large open space near the grand staircase,
surrounded with many trees of the beech, elm, pine, and
plane sort; and thus, to some extent, shaded the ground
agreeably from the sun, which beat fiercely down at noonday.
There was no amphitheatre, but rows of stone benches
on which the women could seat themselves, while their husbands,
fathers, sons, and brothers stood around, or lay luxuriously
on the grass. Justinian himself, however, had a kind
of stone throne, rudely carved, and all his guests were supplied
with seats adjacent, so that they could view the games
quite comfortably. The athletes were clothed in their tight-fitting
dancing costumes, which gave free play to their
bodies, and were comfortably cool, while their feet only were
bare, so as not to impede their speed in the racing. On this
final day of the festival, the colors changed sexes, for most
of the men were garbed in white for the sports, while the
women had decked their snowy chitons with brilliant ribbons
and gold coins, while they wreathed their dark locks
with fragrant chaplets of flowers. Only Helena was in pure
white—Helena, who sat near her father like a queen, and
wore a robe the hue of milk, a snowy wreath of delicate
cyclamen, yet who looked the fairest of all the fair women
assembled. In spite of the attractions, vine-feast and goat-song,
which had occupied the two previous days, these
Olympian games were the favorites with the lively Melnosians,
as all could take part in them, and win the praises of
the Demarch, and the smiles of the women, which was
greatly flattering to the harmless vanity of the Greek
nature.

Maurice, in common with Crispin, was arrayed in the
white wool athletic dress, as Caliphronas had challenged
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
him to compete in jumping, and for the honor of his country
he accepted the glove so insultingly thrown down. Insultingly,
because Caliphronas, confident of his superb
physical perfection, had taunted the Englishman with not
being able to hold his own in athletic sports, save in boxing,
which taunt had stung Maurice so much, that he had
wagered himself against Caliphronas in the running jump.
At college, Maurice had been a famous athlete, and though
six years of idleness in London had impaired his powers,
yet the pure atmosphere of Melnos, the constant open-air
life of mountain-climbing and swimming had completely
reinvigorated him; and what he lacked of his former skill
was counterbalanced by the endurance of his spare frame,
the hardness of his muscles, and his general feeling of
exuberant vitality. He was all in white, save for the colors
of his college, and a wreath of red roses, which Helena had
woven round his gray sombrero, in which headgear he looked
like the Sicilian shepherd, Acis, when he went a-courting
Galatea by the sea.

Seated by Justinian, they all watched the progress of the
games with great interest, which was fully shared by their
surrounding guard of sailors, who thought this festival the
most sensible of the three. All the ambitious mariners had
entered themselves for every game, running, wrestling, leaping,
boxing, and shooting; nor did they fail to uphold the
honor of England, for if the Greeks had the speed, the
Britons had the strength, and, in their dogged determination
that an Englishman could not be beaten, managed to secure a
respectable number of victories over the nimble-stepping
islanders.

“I think I like the games best myself,” said Justinian, as
he surveyed the races from his throne, like one of the old
Olympian Hellanodikai; “for I know that strength is what
Melnos now requires from her sons. Amusement and intellectuality
are in the future, but, with the chances of a probable
war, we need as many skilled athletes and trained
soldiers as possible.”

“I notice you make everything subservient to your
schemes,” observed Maurice, who every day was more and
more impressed with the administrative capabilities of the
Demarch.

“Of course. I think the entire life of a people should be
the means to an end, and thus they will be able to live healthfully,
mirthfully, and intellectually, yet be able to guard
themselves in time of dangers.”
.bn 276.png
.pn +1

“Quite like Sparta!”

“No; I have told you I never did approve of Sparta, which
destroyed the individuality of every man, and turned her
nation into nothing but a warlike machine. A plant will not
grow in a pot too small for it, nor will a child constantly confined
in swaddling clothes develop its physical nature freely.
Mankind requires four things,—amusement, education, work,
and physical exercise; and on these requirements I base my
system of rule. All the year round, my people work for the
well-being of the community, and these festivals, although
they please them, are not without their objects. The first
day is the pure amusement only of the vintage feast; during
the second day, I educate their minds to understand the
reason of their existence; and now, on this third day, they
indulge in physical exercises, which keep them healthy, and
also train them to defend their land from outside dangers.”

“You are a modern Solon!”

“The Solon of an unnoticed island,” replied Justinian,
with a smile. “Well, you see, owing to the exigencies of
modern life, I am forced to go in for quality rather than
quantity—to rule a tribe instead of a nation—to govern an
island rather than a continent. Nevertheless, you know the
saying, ‘From small events, what mighty causes spring;’
so, perchance, my miniature government, when it develops
into a larger one, may not be without some influence in this
often misgoverned world.”

“Justinian,” said Maurice, with irrepressible curiosity,
<pm corr 282.28 who “who> are you?”

“Demarch of Melnos.”

“Forgive me!” replied Maurice, flushing, as he noticed
the pointed rebuke. “I know the question I have asked is
a breach of good-breeding; but you are such a wonderful
man, that I must be excused for wondering where you came
from.”

“I am not angry at your question,” returned Justinian,
touched by the frankness of the young man; “the spectacle
of an old Englishman with such projects is, perhaps, calculated
to arouse curiosity. However, I will promise to tell
you all about myself when a certain event, which I dearly
desire, comes to pass.”

“And that event?”

Justinian smiled meaningly, and let his eyes fall upon
Helena, upon which Maurice flushed red with delight, and
would have spoken, but that the wary old man shook his
head, as a sign that he was to keep silence.
.bn 277.png
.pn +1

“Andros!” he whispered significantly; “another time.”

Maurice saw that Caliphronas was walking towards them,
and wisely held his peace, although it was difficult for him
to repress the delight which the hint of Justinian had
awakened in his breast. To have this queen among women
as his own, to pass his life by her side, to always have her
beautiful face before his eyes,—it was too good to be true.
Yet true it was, for Justinian had unmistakably shown his
approbation of the match. As to Caliphronas, the young
Englishman had no fear; he had given his rival plainly to
understand that he would strive his hardest to win Helena,
and the Greek could not say that he was involved in any way
in Justinian’s crafty diplomacy. Maurice Roylands was
essentially an honorable man, and, despite the necessity for
such treachery, the underhanded dealings of the Demarch
were revolting to his sense of honesty, and he was glad he
had come to a complete understanding with the Count, so
that, when Justinian showed his hand in the deep game he
was playing, Caliphronas could not accuse his rival of underhand
dealings in any way. As to Helena, this straightforward
lover was not so ignorant of the ways of women as not
to know she liked him best, in spite of her coquettings with
Caliphronas; therefore he felt quite confident that Helena
would not be cruel enough to refuse him.

His meditations were put an end to by Crispin, who approached
with Dick, on whose behalf he proffered a challenge
to Mr. Roylands.

“Here you are, Maurice,” said the poet cheerily. “Dick
wishes to know if you will be his antagonist in a boxing contest.”

“Certainly, I will be delighted; but I am afraid, Dick,
you will have the best of it, as I haven’t touched the gloves
for the last six months.”

“I’m not in good training myself, sir,” replied Dick modestly;
“but I’d dearly love to have a turn with you, sir, if I
may make so bold, just to show these darned Greeks how to
use their fists.”

“Don’t you speak contemptuously of these darned Greeks,
my friend,” said Crispin dryly; “some of Justinian’s men
have no small skill in boxing, I can tell you.”

“Not Caliphronas,” remarked Maurice, recalling his contest
with the Count on the first day of the feast.

“Caliphronas!” echoed Crispin scornfully. “No; he is
too much afraid of his beauty being spoiled to go in for hard
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
knocks; but he is a good leaper, Maurice, so you will have to
look to your University laurels.”

“‘And can I fail before my lady’s eyes?’” quoted Maurice
jestingly.

“Perhaps not; but remember Caliphronas is also exhibiting
his prowess in his lady’s eyes: so you are like two
knights of the Middle Ages tilting before the Queen of
Beauty. If you fail, my poor Maurice”—

“<lang=la><i>Væ victis</i></lang>”, retorted Roylands, with a laugh; “keep your
lamentations till after the contest, Mr. Aristophanes. Jove!
how that fellow scuds!”

A one-mile race was going on, four times round the arena,
which was a quarter of a mile in circumference, and about
half a dozen men had started, among whom was Temistocles,
the young Greek who had won the wine-skin dance on the
first day of the festival. He had shot slightly ahead of his
competitors, who were making great efforts to catch him up,
but Maurice, an adept in such things, saw that he was exhausting
himself in the effort to keep the lead, and, as it was
only the first lap, would not be able to hold out to the end
going at such a pace.

“Crispin, tell that fellow leading to reserve himself for
the last round.”

“What for?”

“Because he’s taking too much out of himself, stupid.
Quick, shout as he passes.”

The runners were now flying past the winning-post, which
was directly in front of Justinian’s throne, so Crispin sang
out loudly in Greek to Temistocles as Maurice had instructed
him. The young Palikar was no fool, and saw that the advice
was good, so he let the two behind him gain his side,
and took a second place between them and the ruck. Only
these three men were in the race, for the remaining three
were already well blown, and Temistocles, acting on the wary
advice given, wanted his two most dangerous opponents to
exhaust themselves. During the second lap, one of the last
three men threw up the sponge, as also did another at the
third round, and as the hinder man was completely out of it,
the interest in the race centred in the two leading runners
and Temistocles, who followed closely behind. Neck and
neck ran the first two, making violent efforts to pass one
another, quite unaware of the danger behind them, so that at
the final lap they were getting somewhat stale. Half-way
round the arena, one gained slightly on the other, and, thinking
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
he was now pretty certain of the victory, ran home at
full speed, but Temistocles, who had been mustering his
strength, saw that the decisive moment had come, and, shooting
past him like an arrow, gained the goal four lengths
ahead. The applause during this exciting race was tremendous,
and the onlookers cheered themselves hoarse when
Temistocles won; while that grateful young man came to
thank Crispin for the hint which had gained him the victory.

“Do not thank me,” said Crispin, smiling, as he drew Roylands
forward; “Kyrios Maurice told me what to say.”

Temistocles expressed himself much beholden to the lord,
and went off to receive the congratulations of his friends,
while the next item on the programme, which was a boxing
contest, began. Both Maurice and Dick watched this exhibition
of pugilistic science critically, and came to the conclusion
that while the islanders were active enough in dodging
and hitting, they had not sufficient strength to make their
blows effective enough when they hit home. It was all dexterity
and avoidance with them, which made the fight pretty
enough to look on, but scarcely exciting from an English
point of view. Still, one of these light-weight Greeks was
enough to tire out any ordinary boxer, and, once having exhausted
his antagonist, could hope to tap him pretty freely,
and thus come off victor.

At last, after several contests, Maurice and Dick put on
the gloves and stepped into the arena, and, after shaking
hands in time-honored fashion, began to spar warily at
one another. Both were heavier-built men than the spare-framed
Greeks, but were pretty equally matched in point of
weight and science. If anything, Dick had the quicker eye
of the two, while Roylands possessed the longer reach.
Justinian, an old boxing man himself, was as keen as a
needle over this glove match, and came down from his seat,
in order to get a closer view of the battle, while the Melnosians,
equally interested, crowded round eagerly to watch
the contest.

After sparring lightly for a time, Maurice made a feint,
and led out straight home, but Dick was on his guard, and
parried the blow with his right, catching his antagonist a
lifter on the jaw with his left. Secretly annoyed at this,
Roylands made rapid play, and succeeded in landing a stunner
on Dick’s eye before the active sailor could dodge.
Maurice got the worst of the first round, Dick of the second,
so it seemed difficult to foresee who would finally triumph.
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
In the third Maurice got a nasty one in the ribs, but, feinting
with his left, extended his right rapidly in that dexterous
blow known as “the policeman’s knock,” which, catching
Dick full on the face, had the effect of tumbling him over
on the grass. In the fourth round, however, Dick recovered
his lost ground by blowing his antagonist first, then coming
home with a tremendous rap on the left ear which made
Maurice see stars. The Greeks were frenzied with excitement,
and even Justinian, Caliphronas, and Crispin caught
the contagion, and yelled as loudly as the rest at every successful
blow. Not so active as the cat-like sailor, Maurice
was getting a trifle blown, and thought he was going to disgrace
himself in Helena’s eyes, and, what was worse, in Caliphronas’,
by being beaten, so, when the fifth round began,
made up his mind to come off best. By this time he was
pretty well versed in Dick’s <pm corr 286.16 tatics tactics>, and when the sailor closed
in with a right-hand feint, in order to come home with his
left, Maurice dodged like lightning, and, breaking down
Dick’s guard, punished him severely on the nose. Both
men’s blood was up now, and indeed Dick’s was showing, as
it streamed from what is called, in the graceful language of
the prize ring, “his smeller,” and at the sixth round the onlookers
saw that the final bout would be severe.

All the women were rather nervous at this savage contest,
and Helena, pale as a lily at the sight of blood, was clinging
to her father’s arm, inwardly breathing prayers for the success
of her hero, for so she now regarded Maurice. Dick had
now quite lost his head, and was quite reckless, while
Maurice was as cool and calm as ever, his self-control standing
him in good stead in parrying Dick’s furious onslaughts.
Still the sailor managed to draw blood freely, much to the
secret joy of Caliphronas, who would have liked nothing
better than to see Maurice’s handsome face spoiled, when
Roylands, setting his teeth like a vise, tried to close in with
his opponent for the final tussle. For a minute the two men
dodged rapidly, feinted, parried, sparred, and did their best
to break down one another’s guard, when Dick, losing his
self-control, hit out recklessly in a wild fashion, upon which
Maurice sent one blow after another home like a sledge-hammer,
and ended the fight with a tremendous left-hander,
which levelled Dick almost insensible on the ground.

Every man on the ground, aroused by the sight of blood,
fairly went mad, and when Dick went off, supported by two
of his messmates, wanted to carry the victor in schoolboy
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
fashion round the ground on their shoulders, a triumph
which Maurice declined, and retired to cleanse himself of
blood. Long after was that fight remembered, and the local
poet made a kind of Iliad out of the struggle, which was one
compared to the triumph of Achilles over Hector, Maurice
of course being the son of silver-footed Thetis.

The sports went on during the whole of the long day, as
if the competitors would never tire, and there were <pm corr 287.8 flat-racing flat-racing,>
hurdle-racing, jumping, wrestling, and further boxing, until
late in the afternoon. Then Gurt put his men through their
cutlass drill, and Justinian man[oe]uvred the whole male population
of the island, much to his own satisfaction and that
of Maurice, who saw that the Melnosians were capitally
drilled.

“Where did you learn all your military science?” he asked
Justinian when the drill was over.

“I was in the army once,” replied the old Demarch, with
great pride.

“What regiment, may I ask?”

“I cannot tell you that yet.”

“You are as mysterious as Crispin.”

“There are a good many mysteries in this Island of Fantasy,
Mr. Roylands,” retorted Justinian good-humoredly,
“and when they are all solved, you will be surprised in more
ways than one. Have you been a soldier yourself?”

“No! I am a man of peace, but my Uncle Rudolph was
a lieutenant in a line regiment, the —th.”

“Ah, your lost uncle!” said the Demarch, with an ambiguous
smile. “You must tell me your family history some
day.”

“I am afraid it will be necessary soon,” replied Maurice,
glancing at Helena.

“Ah, you think so? Well, remember my desire about
you being my successor, Maurice. I wish your answer
shortly.”

“You will have it as soon as I hear from England.”

“Well, that will be soon. I have a boat waiting at Syra
for your letters, so I trust you will your reply, and Crispin
his yacht, shortly.”

“Then you still anticipate trouble?”

“I do! Remember we have one possessing the fatal name
of Helena here. She is the firebrand, as you well know;
but we will talk of these things another time, my son.
Meanwhile, let us come and look at the shooting.”
.bn 282.png
.pn +1

As Maurice turned to accompany the old man, he felt a
soft touch on his arm, and, on looking down, saw that Helena,
with an expression of pity on her beautiful face, was looking
at him.

“Are you hurt, Maurice?” she said anxiously.

“No, not at all!” he replied, laughing. “Dick gave me
a nasty one on the nose, which is rather painful, but nothing
to speak of. But to-morrow, I will be such a sight, as you
will shudder to look on me.”

“I would rather see a brave man disfigured, than a handsome
coward,” retorted Helena, with disdain, casting a side
look at the distant form of Caliphronas.

“Oh, and you think Caliphronas is”—

“Very nice,” interrupted Helena cruelly. “Yes, he is delightful!”

“I believe you are very fond of Caliphronas,” said Maurice,
displeased at this speech.

“I don’t think you are, Maurice,” pouted the girl, looking
down.

“Assuredly I’m not, and to prove this, I will do my best
to beat him at the high jump!”

“If you do,” said Helena gayly, “I will give you a rose.”

“Of what color, you coquette,—red for love, or white for
silence?”

“Neither! Yellow for jealousy!”

She ran away after her father with a silvery laugh, in
which Maurice, in spite of his vexation, could not help joining,
as the charming coquetry of this young girl was delightful
enough to fascinate him, and annoying enough to pique
his pride, of which Mr. Roylands had no small share.

“She is the loveliest woman in the world,” he said to himself,
sauntering towards the shooting party, “and if I win
her I will be the most fortunate of beings. But I am afraid
she is a coquette, or else it is a woman’s way of provoking
love. Hullo, Dick! is this you?” he added aloud, as the
boatswain, considerably battered, approached him. “I’m
afraid I’ve knocked you up a bit.”

“Not a bit of it, sir,” replied Dick, heartily grasping the
young Englishman’s extended hand. “I’ll be as right as a
trivet to-morrow; but, my word, sir, I shouldn’t like to meet
you without the gloves!”

“I don’t know so much about that, Dick. You were a
pretty tough antagonist, I can tell you!”

“So Zoe thought, sir, when she saw me,” grinned Dick,
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
displaying his white teeth; <pm corr 289.1 she “she> thought it was Gurt,
sir!”

“And was sorry it wasn’t, perhaps?”

“I’m blest if she was, Mr. Roylands! I’m the white-haired
boy in that quarter, sir.”

“And Gurt?”

“Oh, he don’t mind, sir. He’s not a marrying man—I
am.”

“And you intend to marry Zoe?”

“If she’ll have me, sir.”

“I don’t think there’s much fear of that, Dick,” replied
Maurice genially.

“I hope not, sir, but women are queer creatures.”

“They are, indeed, Dick,” answered Maurice, with a sigh,
thinking of Helena and her dexterity in avoiding his wooing,
yet keeping him a fast captive in her chains.

“What I’d like you to do, sir,” said Dick reflectively, “is
to have the gloves on with Mr. Caliphronas.”

“Why so?”

For answer Dick pointed to his own swollen face, and
grinned meaningly, whereupon Maurice walked away, laughing
to think of the Count’s handsome countenance in such a
scarred condition.

The shooting was going on splendidly, and all the Melnosians
proved themselves good marksmen, more or less,
while Justinian himself was a crack shot, and made one
centre after the other in a most surprising manner.

“Will you have a try, Maurice?” he said, when the young
man reached him.

“Not to-day, sir. I’m too shaky after that fight, and wish
to keep up all my strength for the high jump.”

“You have a tough antagonist in Caliphronas.”

“I know that,” rejoined Maurice uneasily, “but I’m
hanged if I’ll let him beat me. His bragging would never
cease. Bravo, Crispin!”

Crispin had just made a bull’s eye, and was rejoicing in a
modest way over his success, so Maurice, to encourage him,
patted his shoulder.

“What a pity Eunice is not here to see!” said Roylands,
laughing.

“I’m afraid Eunice would not appreciate my skill!”

“My dear lad, she would appreciate anything you did.”

“I don’t think her mother would!”

“As long as you have twelve thousand a year, Mrs. Dengelton
will think you an Admirable Crichton.”
.bn 284.png
.pn +1

“Not without a name!”

“You have a name as good as any in England,” said Justinian,
touching the poet on the shoulder, “and what it is I
will tell you, when all these troubles are over.”

This was the first time the Demarch had spoken so plainly,
and Crispin was much rejoiced thereat.

“I am quite content, for I know you will keep your
promise.”

“You are right!” rejoined Justinian proudly. “I never
break a promise, unless with regard to Punic faith.”

Caliphronas heard this saying, but of course did not understand
the significance of the remark, and strolled away
in order to look at the high jump, which was being put up
near the throne of Justinian. The shooting being at an
end, the rest of the party followed, and took their seats for
the final contest of the day, which was to be the competition
of the Greek and the Englishman in the high jump.

The two competitors came forward, as lightly clad as possible,
in order to give themselves every advantage in the
contest, and two finer specimens of manly grace it would
have been hard to find. Caliphronas was as lithe and sinewy
as a panther, with a sinuous grace in every movement;
while Maurice, who was the heavier-built of the two, had
not a spare ounce of flesh on his body, thanks to his active
athletic training during his residence in Melnos. Both
were fair-haired and handsome, but the delicately moulded
face of the graceful Greek had a cunning expression which
was quite absent from the more manly looks of the Englishman.
With supreme conceit Caliphronas quite expected to
gain the victory, while Maurice in spite of his University
record, could not help feeling a trifle uneasy as he looked at
the springy grace of his antagonist, besides which he still
felt a trifle shaken by the glove-fight, even though it had
taken place during the earlier part of the day.

Caliphronas jumped first, and, poising himself on the ball
of his foot about ten yards off, made for the tape, which was
extended between two upright poles, with the speed of a
deer. It was four feet ten high, and, presenting no obstacle
to an accomplished leaper like himself, he cleared it easily
with the lightness of a flying bird. Maurice followed, and
also went over without the least difficulty, amid the applause
of the spectators, much to the Greek’s secret vexation, as he
saw his antagonist was fresher than he thought, and no mean
athlete to be scorned. Four eleven was also cleared cleanly
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
by both, though in the air Maurice’s feet were perilously
near the tape, a fact which Caliphronas, who was eagerly
watching, noted with delight. The height was now five feet,
at which Caliphronas, unfortunately for himself, went with
over-confidence, so that he touched the tape lightly. Intensely
vexed at his failure, he could only hope that Maurice
also would touch, but the Englishman set his teeth determinedly,
and cleared the five feet with the bound of a deer.
The Greek, mad with anger at thus being beaten, and furious
at the applause of the spectators, loudly swore that the jump
was a chance one, whereupon Maurice walked straight up to
him, with an angry face.

“Count Caliphronas, you forget yourself, and you forget
me, to make such a statement. There was no fluke about the
matter, and, to prove it to you, we will both jump the five
over again.”

Justinian disapproved of this, but Maurice was firm, and
Caliphronas was only too delighted to have another chance
of beating his hated enemy; so, once more going to the start,
he made a rapid run, and cleared the jump, by a hair’s
breadth, it is true—still he cleared it.

“Now, Mr. Maurice,” he said ungenerously, forgetting the
noble way in which the Englishman had acted. “Let us
see if you can do that twice.”

“I will not do it twice, sir.”

“I thought not!” retorted the Greek exultantly; “so I
have won.”

“Not yet! you forget I also have cleared the five; but, to
prove to you that my jump was no fluke, I challenge you to
five one.”

“You’ll never do it, Maurice,” whispered Crispin in alarm.
“Jump the five again, and let the match be a tie.”

“I’m hanged if I will!” retorted the Englishman fiercely;
“I have done better than five one at Oxford, and if it had
not been for the gloves, I’d do it again. At all events, I’ll
try this jump, Count Caliphronas.”

In fair play the Count could not refuse the challenge,
although he was pale with anger, so, knowing he would
never clear that extra inch, went half-heartedly towards the
start. Such a faint spirit is not conducive to victory, and
Caliphronas not only touched, but fell heavily on the ground,
much to his chagrin. Then it was Maurice’s turn, and,
measuring the distance with his eye, he placed himself a
little more than ten yards from the tape. Helena clasped
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
her hands with nervous fear, the spectators held their breath,
as Maurice, pale in face, but stout in heart, came flying forward,
and, soaring upward like a bird, cleared the five one
with consummate ease. There was a wild cheer from the
crowd, especially from the British tars, who rejoiced greatly
at the way in which Maurice was upholding the honor of
England, and the victor found his two hands nearly shaken
off by Crispin and Justinian. As soon as he could get free,
he looked for Caliphronas, but the Greek, too petty-souled
to bear his defeat, had vanished, nor was he seen in the
arena for the rest of the afternoon.

The games being concluded, Helena distributed the prizes,
which were useful articles, especially selected by Justinian
for these occasions. Caliphronas had won several races, and
also the wrestling contest, but could not receive his prize,
owing to his non-appearance, concerning which no one seemed
sorry, so universally was he hated for his arrogance. Temistocles,
Dick, Gurt, and others were duly rewarded for their
prowess in the athletic field, and then Maurice knelt before
Helena to receive his prize. Justinian had been somewhat
puzzled what to give his guest, as the simple articles loved
by the villagers were hardly acceptable to the travelled
Englishman. Helena, however, solved the problem, and
hastily twisted together a wreath of wild olives, which she
placed lightly on his bent head.

“For you,” said Justinian, as he arose a crowned victor,
and kissed the hand of Helena, “we can have no fairer
prize than the Olympian wreath of old.”

“You should now have a Pindaric ode,” exclaimed Crispin
gayly; “but alas! I am not Pindar, and you must be content
with the old Archilochian shout, ‘Hail, Victorious!’”

The valley rang with the cries of the delighted Greeks;
and Caliphronas, seated on a summit of the grand staircase,
heard the triumphal shouts with wrath in his heart.

“He has beaten me in the games,” he hissed between his
clinched teeth, “but he shall not beat me in love. I will
ask Helena to be my wife, and then, my Englishman!”

A third shout came from the valley below, but Caliphronas
only laughed scornfully.

“And then, my Englishman!”
.bn 287.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVI. | <sc>BEAUTIFUL PARIS, EVIL-HEARTED PARIS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
What! wouldst thou force me to thine evil will,
And bear me far away in benchèd ships,
A second Helen to a second Troy,
Whose flight would raise a second ten years’ war?
Nay, sir! the gods are dead! and not in me
Beholdest thou proud Aphrodite’s slave.
My judgment’s as I will, and uncontrolled
By Venus, who would fain bestow on thee
The fairest woman, so that thou proclaim
Her fairest of Olympian goddesses.
Go hence alone! I’ll none of thee or thine.
Troy’s fallen, and Helen dead,—so Paris loses
The game which Ate’s cursed fruit began.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
“You beat me fairly,” said Caliphronas frankly to Maurice
that night. “It was foolish of me to be angry, but you
must admit defeat is hard to bear.”

The Greek did not mean a word of this very pretty speech,
as Maurice was well aware; still he could not but accept it
as meant in good faith, and thus a hollow truce was made
between the two young men which either was ready to
break on the slightest provocation. However, it was a pity
to mar the pleasantness of the evening by continuous bickering;
so, with smiles on their faces and distrust in their
hearts, Caliphronas and his declared enemy sat down to
table on apparently the best of terms with one another.

On their return from the games, all had enjoyed the
delights of the bath, no small pleasure after a fatiguing day,
and now, in their loose indoor robes, were partaking of
refreshment. All was going merrily, and, from an outside
point of view, a more united party could scarcely be found;
yet one and all felt that this was but the ominous calm before
the breaking of the storm. The Demarch, astute in the
interpreting of signs, saw that matters were approaching a
crisis which could not be averted, and that the disaffection
of Caliphronas, consequent on his refusal by Helena, would
take place sooner than had been anticipated. That the Count
would propose to his daughter that evening he had but little
doubt, as he saw that, smarting under his defeat in the games,
Caliphronas was determined to equalize himself in the eyes
of all by gaining Helena’s consent to the marriage, as a
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
set-off against the Englishman’s triumph. This being the
case, Justinian was equally sure that Helena would promptly
refuse the Greek, whom she so much disliked; in which case
Caliphronas would call upon him to enforce the marriage, and
then the whole truth would have to be revealed, after which
the Demarch had little doubt but that the Count’s next step
would be to leave the island and range himself openly on
the side of Alcibiades.

Truth to tell, the old man was rather anxious for the storm
to burst, as the suspense was rapidly becoming unbearable;
and as, judging from the review that day, all the Melnosians
were well prepared for war, he did not mind if Caliphronas,
out of wounded vanity, precipitated the affair quicker than
was expected. Again, as the Greek had told him all the
plans of Alcibiades, he had no further use for him; so,
being prepared in every way for trouble, Justinian was in
no wise sorry that affairs should come to a head, and that
Alcibiades and his threatened invasion should be crushed at
once. The insolence of Caliphronas also was becoming unbearable
to the proud old Demarch, therefore he desired to
hasten rather than retard the explosion; and, had he not
seen that Caliphronas was bent upon bringing matters to a
crisis himself, would have doubtless hinted the necessity of
a marriage proposal being made at once.

With Maurice and Caliphronas veiling their hatred of each
other under artificial smiles, with Justinian watchful for the
expected catastrophe, with Helena anxious, she knew not
why, at the Greek’s burning glances, it will be easily seen that
the merriment over the supper-table was rather forced. The
only truly happy member of the party was Crispin, who,
unsuspicious of ill, and rejoicing in having the promise of
the Demarch to reveal all about his parentage, was laughing
and jesting gayly in the highest of spirits.

“I think you can congratulate yourself on the three days
of the festival being a perfect success,” he said to Justinian,
who sat veiling his real feelings under a quiet smile.

“Yes; everything went off very well. Andros, you, as
the god of wine, were the hero of the first day.”

“And Crispin, as Æschylus-Aristophanes, of the second,”
cried Maurice brightly.

“Not forgetting Maurice, as the athlete Milo of the third,”
replied the poet, raising his glass.

“Oh dear, dear!” said Helena, with a merry smile; “I
am afraid this is a mutual admiration society. God, poet,
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
athlete; you are all flattering yourselves, but no one says a
good word for me.”

“It is impossible to flatter perfection,” remarked Caliphronas
with one of his burning glances; “besides, you have
been the queen of the three days, and we are all secondary
characters. The stars are not the rivals of the sun.”

“Why did you not say the moon?” said Helena, fastening
a red rose in the breast of her robe. “I love the moon
better than the sun.”

“You are the inviolate Artemis!”

“Without an Endymion.”

It was an unlucky remark, and Helena regretted having
made it when she saw how fiercely her two lovers glanced at
one another.

“Artemis waited a long time for her shepherd, but he
came at last,” said the Greek significantly.

“And did nothing but sleep when he did come,” cried
Maurice angrily; “a pretty lover truly! Helena, you are no
moon-goddess, but your namesake of Troy—the world’s
desire.”

“Yet even Helen had her Paris,” interposed Caliphronas
quickly.

“Every woman has her Paris nowadays,” said Crispin
quickly, to forestall the angry reply of the rival lover;
“only it is a city instead of a man, which is just as charming
and more manageable. If Menelaus had been ruler of
Lutetia, Helen would never have been persuaded to leave it
for a dull provincial town like Troy.”

“‘Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris!’” observed Justinian
quietly. “Tennyson’s line would apply equally to
the son of Priam or the city of pleasure. There, Crispin, is
the subject for a song, which idea I will make you a present
of for nothing.”

“Sing of Paris the city,” cried Helena vivaciously.

“No, Paris the man,” said Maurice, with a glance at
Caliphronas.

“Sing of both,” rejoined that gentleman quickly, out of
sheer contradiction.

“It is a hard task to improvise on so difficult a subject as
‘the Paris of Paris,’” remarked Crispin jestingly; “however,
I will try, although I have no lyre.”

“Take this myrtle,” said Helena, tossing him a twig across
the table, “and sing to it in the Greek fashion.”

“Maurice, you ought to give me your crown, so that myrtle
and olive inspire me with the breath of the god.”
.bn 290.png
.pn +1

“‘King Pandion he is dead,’” rejoined Maurice lightly.
“The gods inspire no songs to-day, nor would they be
answerable for a mixture of the classic and romantic, such
as your ‘Paris of Paris’ is bound to be.”

“Judge for yourself, Thersites,” retorted the poet; and,
holding the sprig of myrtle in his hand, after a few moments’
thought, he began to sing in his pleasant voice the following
words to a lively French air.

.pm start_poem
“Paris came to Helen when
  Earth was younger;
He was handsomest of men,
She was fairest woman then;
  And love’s hunger
Made them long to run away,
Which they did one pleasant day—
So, at least, does Homer say—
  Scandal-monger!

Helen comes to Paris now
  Earth is older.
But no love shines on her brow,
Nor breaks she a marriage-vow,
  Love is colder.
She but comes for triumphs here,
Dressed by Worth in costumes dear,
Lets existence gay <lang=fr><i>pour rire</i></lang>
  Lightly mould her.

Yet if Paris, town of joy,
  Holds a Paris,
Charming as the Trojan boy,
Life is bliss without alloy;
  There no bar is
To indulge in love once more;
So with Paris, as of yore,
Flies she as she fled before,
  But she marries.”
.pm end_poem

“Oh, ‘Roses of Shiraz!’” sighed Maurice comically,
“what would your admirers say if they heard such <lang=fr><i>vers de
société</i></lang>?”

“Improvisation is hardly serious work!” retorted Crispin
coolly, drinking his wine.

“And your sentiments!” cried Caliphronas in mock horror.
“You have made Helen prim.”

“’Tis in keeping with this virtuous century.”

“For my part,” said Helena of Melnos playfully, “I think
your modern reading of the story is charming. Crispin, I
appoint you my poet laureate.”

“And my wages?”
.bn 291.png
.pn +1

“A wreath of artificial laurels, for, indeed, your song is but
worthy of such.”

“Cruel! And I always thought you so soft-hearted.”

“Never judge by outward appearances,” said Helena,
rising from her seat. “I am as hard-hearted as papa—on
occasions.”

“I hope not on all occasions?” observed Caliphronas, with
emphasis.

“Entirely depends upon the situation. To you, now, I
could refuse nothing—if I were inclined to grant your
request.”

She vanished, laughing, through the curtains, and Maurice
looked at Justinian, to see if he had espied any hidden
meaning in his daughter’s words; but the face of the old
Demarch was as expressionless as a mask, while the Count’s,
bright with joy, betrayed the certainty he felt of receiving
an answer in the affirmative to his proposal of marriage.
Truly, women are queer creatures, as Dick had observed the
previous day. And if Helena did not intend to marry
Caliphronas, it was curious that she should thus raise up his
hopes, only to dash them down again. Juliet, with her
simile of a silk-gyved bird, trying to fly away, yet ever
drawn back again by the detaining thread, is a typical
woman, who scorns her lover, so that he departs angrily, yet,
when she sees him leaving her, woos him back with tender
words, only to repeat her former cruelty. Helena, in spite
of her girlish simplicity, yet knew these two men were in
love with her, and tortured the one and was kind to the
other, turn and turn about, just as it suited her humor—why,
it is impossible to say, unless the legend that every
woman was once a cat be true, and they yet retain a sufficiency
of the feline nature to make them love such cruel
mouse play. Yesterday Helena said she disliked the Greek,
now she roundly asserted she could refuse him nothing; and,
whether she was in earnest or fun, there was no doubt that
the Count was about to take her at her word, and ask her to
become his wife.

In spite of Crispin’s valiant efforts, the conversation languished
after the departure of Helena, the Demarch being
somewhat preoccupied, and Maurice too cross to talk;
while Caliphronas, after replying mechanically for a time,
finally went off in search of the lady he had made up his
mind to marry. All the three men left at the table looked
meaningly at one another, for they guessed the reason of his
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
sudden exit, yet none of them made any reference to the
affair, as it would be quite time enough to discuss it when
Caliphronas was refused.

Meanwhile, Caliphronas rushed onward to his fate, in
utter ignorance of the real feelings which Helena entertained
towards him, and found her leaning against one of
the pillars in the court, listening to the singing of a nightingale,
much in the same position she had occupied when
first seen by Maurice, two months previous. She turned
with a smile when the Greek entered the court, but he held
up his hand for her to keep silence, and both of them for
some time continued to listen to the delicious music. The
passionate song of the distant bird flooding the warm night
with melody, the thin, pale light of the moon pouring in
white radiance on the white marble court, the intoxicating
perfume of the flowers around, and the delicate noise of the
falling fountain, all thrilled the heart of the impressionable
Greek with a sensuous feeling of delight, and stretching out
his hand gently, he laid it lightly on the bare arm of the
girl he loved.

Startled by the touch, Helena rather indignantly turned
round to reprove him for taking such a liberty, but the
words died on her lips, as she saw the handsome face of this
man, irradiated with passionate love, bending towards her.
Tall and straight as a cypress, his lithe figure gracefully
draped in a white robe, he looked like some gracious deity
of the past, wooing a mortal maiden, while the burning gaze
of his eyes seemed to scorch her with its ardor. It was
the animal look in them that thus made her flush hotly, and,
with a sudden movement of outraged virginal dignity, she
retreated slowly towards the silver pool of the fountain.

“Do not shrink from me like that, Helena!” murmured
Caliphronas in Greek, as he came towards her lightly as a
fawn. “I wish to tell you the meaning of the bird’s song.”

“What do you mean, Andros?” she asked uneasily.

“Do you think Aristophanes understood it?” pursued the
Greek, taking no notice of her question; “he put it into
words, you know. Tio! tio! tio-tiolix—No, that is not the
song, but a mere assemblage of words. What is the divine
nightingale now singing? Can you not guess? It is of
love—of love—of love! My love for you—your love for
me, my queen. Hark! out the strains gush rapturously
through the night—it is speaking of love eternal—my love
for thee, joy of my heart!”
.bn 293.png
.pn +1

“You jest, Andros!” said Helena faintly, not at all liking
the tone of this poetical rhapsody.

“Jest!” cried Caliphronas, ardently seizing her hand;
“no, I speak true to you, rose of this isle! I love you! I
worship you! I desire you for my wife!”

“Your wife!” she echoed, snatching her hand away.
“Are you mad?”

“With love of thee—yes!”

“Do not touch me, sir. How dare you insult me!”

“Insult!” said Caliphronas, starting as if he were stung.
“What do you mean, girl? Is the offer of a man’s heart an
insult?”

“You are surely not in earnest,” said the girl, much perplexed
what to say. “I had no idea you loved me!”

“I am in earnest, and I do love you,” declared Caliphronas
with fiery energy, coming so close to her that she could feel
his hot breath on her cheek. “You must have seen my passion
long since. I want you to be my wife—your father
and I have settled it between us.”

It was the worst speech that he could have made, for Helena,
with a cry of rage, pushed him fiercely back, and stood
before him with clinched hands, her eyes bright with indignation.

“How dare you! how dare you! Am I not to be consulted
in the matter—do you think I will allow myself to
be handed over to you like a slave? Never! I would
rather die! I will not be your wife! I refuse to listen to
you!”

“But you do not understand,” said Caliphronas, rather
crestfallen at this sudden outburst of anger.

“I do understand. You have spoken to my father, and
he has permitted you to ask me to be your wife, but, as to
its being settled—how dare you! I will not be your wife!
Don’t you dare to suggest such a thing to me!”

“I mean to be heard,” began the Greek, but she cut him
short with a sudden stamp of her foot.

“You can mean what you like,” she said imperiously,
“but heard you will not be!”

“You beautiful fury!”

“Go away and leave me!”

“Helena,” cried the Count, falling on his knees, “I love
you! I adore you! Do not refuse to be my wife.”

“I do refuse!”

“But your father?”
.bn 294.png
.pn +1

“Leave my father out of the question, Andros. You have
asked me to be your wife, and I tell you plainly, No. Perhaps
I have been rather angry, but when you ask a woman
to honor you by becoming your wife, you should not treat
her as if she were a bundle of goods to be handed from one
man to another.”

“You refuse me?” asked Caliphronas, hardly able to
believe his own ears.

“I do, once and for all! Come, Andros, stop talking such
nonsense, and forget all this scene.”

“Why will you not be my wife?” asked the Count doggedly,
rising from his knees.

“Because I do not love you.”

“Not love me!”

“No, my sultan. Do you think I am a woman to fall at
your feet when you thus throw the handkerchief?”

Caliphronas, who had suppressed his rage with difficulty,
now burst out in a passion of furious anger, hardly knowing
what he was saying.

“I know the reason you refuse me. Yes, you do well to
turn away your head. You love this cursed Englishman.
Ah, you cannot deny it! you are afraid to look me in the
face.”

“I am not afraid—there!”

She faced him boldly, and the Greek, maddened beyond
control, seized her by the wrist with a grasp like iron, yet
she neither winced nor cried.

“Is it thus a woman should proffer her love?” hissed
Caliphronas, white with passion; “this Englishman loves
you not, and yet you throw yourself at his feet.”

“I do not. Let go my hand!” she cried, wincing with
pain, yet keeping a bold front, upon which he flung her from
him with a furious oath.

“I will marry you, in spite of your refusal.”

“Never! I will die rather than be your wife.”

The young man tried to speak, but, choking with passion,
could say nothing, so, stamping with impotent fury, he
rushed to the principal entrance of the court and tore aside
the curtains.

“You have refused to marry me,” he cried in a strangled
voice. “I accept your refusal, but you will be mine soon.
I will storm the island, I will drag you in chains away, and
when I tire of you then will I sell you as a slave to the
Turk!”
.bn 295.png
.pn +1

He dashed out of the court with a scream of rage, leaving
Helena standing white as a marble statue, with her hands
across her breast, which was heaving tempestuously with
rage at the Greek’s insolence. If she had, girl as she was,
refused the offer of Caliphronas in a somewhat undignified
manner, she was now every inch a woman, who, not knowing
the meaning of the word “fear,” was fiercely angered at the
insult to her womanly pride. The soft, graceful girl had
disappeared, and in her place stood Clytemnestra, fearlessly
daring the dagger of Orestes. Suddenly she felt a touch on
her arm.

“Father!”

“I know what has occurred. You are worn out with
excitement, so go at once to bed.”

“But Andros”—

“I will deal with him.”

“You know I refused him.”

“Yes, I heard you say so.”

“Was it your wish I should marry him, as he said?”

“Girl, I would rather see you dead than the wife of that
despicable coward,” retorted the Demarch fiercely. “Now
retire at once, and leave me to settle the matter. Good-night.”

“Good-night, father.”

She turned to go with an air of utter lassitude, but the
strain of the last half hour had completely broken her down,
and suddenly, with a low cry, she burst into tears. Justinian
caught her in his arms, and began to soothe her tenderly
with endearing words, which moved the girl strangely, for
she was quite unused to such caresses from her iron-natured
father.

“My girl, my little child, you must not weep!” whispered
the old man, kissing her white face. “All will yet be well,
and never shall you see this vile Andros again. He shall
leave the island at once. You did well to refuse him, and I
am proud of the spirit you displayed. Come, come! you
must weep no more. I know all.”

“You know?” she faltered, looking at him in astonishment.

“Yes, I know, and I approve. Now, good-night, my darling,
and sleep well.”

He led her slowly to the door, and, having summoned Zoe,
sent the girl to bed at once in charge of her maid, then
returned to the centre of the court and looked frowningly
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
at the entrance through which Caliphronas had disappeared.

“You dared to speak like that to my child!” he murmured
fiercely. “It is well you fled, or, old as I am, you would not
have left this court alive. It is war between us now, Andros,
and if I gain the victory, you had better have died than
spoken as you have done to-night.”

Maurice, whistling gayly, came into the court, having left
Crispin behind at the table, but, when he caught sight of
Justinian’s face, stopped short in dismay.

“What is the matter, Justinian?”

“Nothing more than what I expected.”

“About Caliphronas?”

“Yes; he has proposed to Helena, and she has refused
him.”

Maurice drew a long breath of relief.

“I am glad of that; now there will be a chance for me.”

“You love my daughter?” asked the Demarch suddenly.

“Yes, I love her,” replied Roylands simply; “I have
always loved her.”

“I am glad of that, Maurice.”

“You will permit me to ask Helena to be my wife?”

“Willingly. It is my dearest wish; in fact, it was for
that reason I brought you here.”

“Brought me here, sir!” said Roylands in amazement.
“Why, did you know I was coming?”

“Yes; I sent Caliphronas to England to persuade you if
possible to pay me a visit.”

“But how did you know such a person as I was in existence?”

The old Demarch took Maurice by the hand and spoke
solemnly.

“When you propose to and are accepted by my daughter,
I will tell you all, and the mysteries which have so perplexed
you shall do so no longer.”

“I will speak to Helena to-morrow.”

“Good. Then to-morrow I will tell you who I am, and
how I was able to know all about you.”

“But suppose Helena refuses me?”

Justinian smiled slightly.

“She has refused Andros, but you—ah, that is quite a
different thing.”

“Still”—

“Tush, my son, you are too modest! In my days young
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
men were not so faint-hearted. Helena’s a woman, therefore
may be wooed.”

“True, but the question is, may she be won?”

“My good Mr. Roylands, did I not promise to tell you all
about myself when you presented yourself as my future son-in-law?”

“Yes.”

“Well, by this time to-morrow you will know all, so as to
what will occur in the mean time, I will leave to your imagination.”

“And Caliphronas?”

“Caliphronas,” repeated the Demarch slowly, “means
mischief, so, like the knights of old, you will win your bride
at the point of the sword.”

“Oh, Justinian, if you only knew how I love her!”

The nightingale, hitherto silent, now began its song, upon
which the old man good-humoredly pushed Maurice to the
door.

“Go to bed, my son; that bird will tell me the tale of love
much better than you will.”



.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVII.| <sc>THE ALTAR INSCRIBED [Greek: THEO/N].</sc>

.pm start_poem
By this altar stone I swear
  Never more to part from thee;
  Thine in life and death to be,
And thy future fortunes share

Be the weather wild or fair,
  Dry on land or wet at sea,
  This vow shall be kept by me,
By this altar stone I swear.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The next morning neither Helena nor Caliphronas was
present at breakfast, as the girl, in company with Zoe, had
gone up the mountain shortly after sunrise in quest of
flowers, and the Greek had not been near the Acropolis since
he had left it the previous night.

“Can he have left the island?” said Maurice anxiously to
the Demarch.

“Hardly,” replied the old man grimly; “unless he has
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
borrowed the wings of Icarus, for I alone have the key of the
tunnel.”

“There is the western pass,” suggested Crispin thoughtfully.

“True; but even supposing he did get to the sea-beach,
he will find it difficult to obtain a boat,” said Justinian calmly.
“All the boats are fast chained and padlocked to the rocks;
so, unless his friend Alcibiades finds him waiting, like a second
Ulysses, on the beach, I hardly see how he can take
French leave.”

“What are you going to do about him, Justinian?” asked
Maurice curiously.

“I am waiting until you and Helena come to an understanding,
and then I will tell Caliphronas that he has been
beaten with his own weapons of treachery.”

“Helena has gone up the mountain. Will I await her return?”

“By no means. Follow her at once to her favorite <pm corr 304.16 haunt- haunt.>
There is a narrow path leading to it—a glade near the western
pass, in the center of which is an altar inscribed [Greek: Theo/n].”

“Oh, I know it! Helena showed it to me some time ago.
Crispin, I am going a-wooing!”

“I wish you every success.”

“Do you think my fortunate star is in the ascendant?”

“You are as faint-hearted as you were last night,” said
the Demarch, laughing. “Do you think, if I were not sure
of Helena’s answer, I would send you on a fruitless errand?
Go, my son; and when you and Helena come to ask my
blessing, I will deal with Andros.”

“Punic faith!” remarked Crispin a trifle sadly.

“Well! what would you?” demanded the Demarch with
energy. “Had I not made use of Andros, he would have
made use of me. It is a mistake in being too honest when
dealing with a scoundrel. One cannot go straight on a
crooked road. If I were dealing with you, or with Maurice,
I might not stoop to diplomatic lies; but as to that serpent
of an Andros—pah!—the end justifies the means.”

“Do you think he will come and see you again?”

“Of course! He will come to demand the fulfilment of
my promise, and ask me to force Helena into this distasteful
marriage. Then I will reveal all, and drive him from the
island.”

“But is it wise to let him go free, seeing he is our declared
enemy?”
.bn 299.png
.pn +1

“What! you wish me to keep him as a hostage?” said
Justinian good-humoredly. “Nothing would be gained by
such an act. Alcibiades intends to attack the island, with
or without Andros; and the only thing this scamp can do is
to urge his friend to assault Melnos at once. Everything is
ready: the men are in splendid training; I have arms in
plenty; and we are thirteen Englishmen, so the sooner the
strife is decided the more satisfied I will be.”

“Well, I will leave you to talk over your military schemes
with Crispin,” said Maurice, as he arose to go, “and meanwhile
will go in search of Helena.”

“Good luck go with you!” cried Crispin, as he left the
room; and Maurice heartily seconded the kindly wish.

It was an exquisite morning, and the sun was just below
the eastern peaks of the island; but as Maurice lightly
climbed up the slopes behind the Acropolis, the luminary
came into view, and flooded the high elevation of snowy pine
forest, and olive trees, with yellow radiance. The cup of the
valley lay in shadow; but amid these lofty solitudes all was
luminous light and brilliant sunshine. The little path which
led to the glade had been worn into a narrow earthen track
by the light feet of Helena; but on either side grew the long
lush grass, starred with primrose, violet, anemone, and
cyclamen—all delicately blooming in the warm atmosphere.
From this floral carpet arose stately plane-trees, arbutus, and
here and there lance-shaped cypresses; while, between the
luxuriant foliage, Maurice could catch glimpses at intervals
of the terraced vineyards, yellowish-green with the autumnal
tints of the vine-leaves, and purple with bunches of grapes;
sometimes the white gleam of a winepress, from whence
arose the merry song of peasants treading the ripe clusters;
and far overhead, seen like a vision through the ragged framework
of leaves, the serrated peaks of milky hue cutting the
intense azure of the sky. All this loveliness was irradiated
with the strong sunlight, and steeped in the luminosity of
the atmosphere, so that the variety of tints, the infinite delicacy
of the colors, the almost imperceptible blendings of the
one into the other, made a picture enchanting to the most
careless observer. Added to this, the air, rising warm from
the valley below, yet coolly tempered by the higher snows,
produced an atmosphere exhilarating in the extreme; and a
pleasant murmur of song of bird and peasant sounded on all
sides, blending with the rustle of the boughs, and the gentle
sigh of the wind moving innumerable leaves to airy whisperings.
.bn 300.png
.pn +1

It was truly wonderful how rapidly Maurice had adapted
himself to the mountaineering life of Melnos; and he breasted
the steep path with a vigor which had been quite foreign to
him, when listless, enervated, and melancholic, in England.
The artificial life of six years in London, amid a deleterious
atmosphere, surrounded by ugly houses and stony streets,
had saddened and depressed his spirits; but now that he had
returned to Nature for cure, her calm and soothing medicines
had stilled his fretful spirit, had smoothed the wrinkles from
his brow, removed the haggard anguish of his heart; and
now, reinvigorated and vitalized, he felt that it was good to
live. Doctors can do much, but Nature can do more; for,
while physical ills are to a certain extent under the control
of the former, only the latter can minister to the mind; and
the intangible influence of landscape, mountain air, rustic
quiet, and woodland music, on the diseased mental faculties,
cannot be over-estimated in their curative powers. Wise,
indeed, were the Greeks to fable how the giant Antæus drew
fresh vigor for his frame from his mother Tellus; and if we
in modern days did but apply this parable of nature-cure to
our crowded city populations, how infinitely less would be
the physical and mental ills to be endured by our worn-out,
exhausted toilers of this over-anxious age!

What wonder if the Hellenes were a joyous race, dwelling
as they did in a radiant climate, amid scenes of undying
beauty, in healthful communion with the Earth-spirit! They
exercised the body in the palæstra, the mind in the portico,
and, ever drinking in health, beauty, and the music of leaves,
winds, and waves, were therefore easily able to attain and
preserve that serene calm of existence, which we see stamped
in vivid beauty on the faces of their marble masterpieces.
The countenances of Egyptian sphinx and granite king express
the awful solemnity of communion with the unseen;
the rapt faces of mediæval saints a spiritual unrest to escape
from the world they despised; but in the frieze of the Parthenon,
in the statues of god, goddess, hero, and nymph, we
but see the calm of contentment, of serene satisfaction,
arising from the healthful minds and bodies of the race,
whose joyous tranquillity was the gift of Nature to her
believing children. Yet we, while envying their beatitude,
and desirous of emulating their intense calm, make no effort
to do so; for we leave the country, and rush to the already
overcrowded cities, wrangling, toiling, worrying, striving to
attain an unsatisfying end. Wiseacres talk of the complexity
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
of modern civilization, of the over-population of the
world, of the survival of the fittest; but this is, so to speak,
merely laying the blame of our own mistakes on the stars,
for we ourselves have produced this age of unrest, which we
profess to loathe. When the humors of the body run to one
spot, a tumor ensues, which throws the whole system out of
order; and it is the same with the misdirected way in which
we govern our modern nations. If, instead of rushing to
cities, and thus begetting what may be called geographical
tumors, our rustics and wearied toilers stayed in the open
country, then would our civilization become less restless,
and more akin to the envied calm of Hellenic life. Food
would be more plentiful, minds would be more at peace,
bodies would be more healthy, and the world happier. But
we will not do this;—fired by ambition, by desire for gold,
by longings for luxury, we crowd together in noisy multitudes,
and turn away from the calm serenity of Nature, who
would take us to her breast and make us happy, even as she
did those wiser children of old. Nature sent her herald,
Wordsworth, to proclaim this truth, but alas! he piped in
vain; and his songs of purity were drowned in the jingle of
gold and the shouts of ambition.

These were Maurice’s thoughts as he clambered up the
mountain-path; and so rapt was he in his dreamings of
Nature-worship, that, all unconsciously, he emerged into the
glade near the western pass.

It was encircled by ilex, tamarisk, beech, and elm, woven
together as in brotherhood by straggling creepers, festooned
gracefully from bough to bough, from branch to branch; and in
the centre, amid the flowing grass, was placed a small marble
altar, on a low flight of steps. In front the trees had been
cut down, and there was a glimpse of the white houses in
the valley, the waving red line of the grand staircase; and,
high above, the bizzarre colors of the volcanic rocks, fringed
by a dark green belt of forest, from which luxuriance the
arid peaks shot up into the blue sky like white marble
cones. But not at valley, nor forest, nor aerial peaks looked
Maurice, for his eyes were fixed on Helena, who, robed in
her favorite white, crowned with a wreath of roses, stood by
the altar with a mass of brilliant flowers thereon, looking
like the nymph of the place.

She flushed red with delight as Maurice drew near, and
paused in her dainty task of arranging the blossoms with
the air of some startled shy thing of the woodlands. Like
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
stars her eyes, like sunshine her glinting hair, and as for her
face, the roses in her wreath were scarce so delicate in hue.
The lovely glade, the solemn, flower-piled altar, the beautiful
priestess—it was not Melnos, it was not the nineteenth
century, for this was Arcadia; and in this bird-haunted dell
was Flora discovered, weaving flowers for future summer’s
adornment.

“Are you Nymph, Dryad, or Oread?” he asked, pausing
with one foot on the lowest step.

“No; I am Chloris, the goddess of flowers,” she answered,
entering into the spirit of his jesting speech.

“Give me, then, O goddess, of your treasures!”

“Violet, rose, and cyclamen! take them all,” she cried
merrily, and threw a rain of many-colored flowers on the
laughing, upturned face of the young man. Then, while he
bent to pick up one crimson bud which had fallen at his feet,
she burst out into one of those old English songs her father
had taught her:—

.pm start_poem
“Rose and myrtle all are twining,
In their beauty thus combining,
To become a chaplet fair
For my shepherd’s golden hair.
Fa la! la! la!
My Colin dear.”
.pm end_poem

“Clearly,” quoth Maurice, with a smile, “this wreath is
meant for me, for I have golden hair.”

Helena smiled, and continued both her garland-weaving
and her song.

.pm start_poem
“If you ask who is my dearest,
It is he who loiters nearest;
And for him this chaplet fair
Do I weave with flowerets rare.
Fa la! la! la!
My Colin dear.”
.pm end_poem

“Better and better!” said the lover, mounting the steps.
“I am nearest! I have yellow locks, so I decidedly am Colin
dear!”

They were now standing on either side of the altar, with
the rainbow heap of flowers between them; and, despite
Maurice’s boldness in thus coming so close to his goddess,
he was now seized with a fit of shyness, which communicated
itself to the sympathetic Helena, so they gazed with
embarrassment at one another, tongue-tied, with burning
cheeks.
.bn 303.png
.pn +1

“Where is Zoe?” asked Maurice, breaking the awkward
silence.

“Zoe,” replied Helena demurely, “is assisting Dick to
find more flowers.”

“And, pray, what is Dick doing here?”

“Aha! you must ask Zoe.”

“I would rather ask you.”

Helena glanced at him with a laugh, then suddenly flushed
crimson, and sat down on the steps, with the white lap of
her gown full of flowers.

“I am no oracle to give answers,” she replied, carefully
selecting some buds.

“That means you are no goddess,” said Maurice, sitting
down a step lower, and looking up into her charming face.
“Well, I prefer you as a mortal maiden. But what about
Colin’s wreath?”

“I am weaving it now.”

“Roses for love, myrtle for joy, violets for modesty.
What a charming wreath!”

“Ah, you know the language of flowers!”

“I know what this wreath means—‘Modest love is a
joy.’ Am I right?”

“Yes—no—yes—that is—Oh dear me! Is it not a
lovely day?”

“Is it not a lovely face? Very lovely.”

“I speak of the day.”

“And I of you.”

Decidedly Maurice was getting on capitally in the art of
saying nothings which mean somethings, and Helena was
woman enough to know what he was hinting at, yet also
woman enough to indulge in a little coquetry. She had
burnt her fingers with Caliphronas; yet, quite forgetful of
the warning, began to tease Maurice with charming persistence.

“Am I very lovely?”

“You are as beautiful as Helen,” replied Maurice, rather
taken aback at the directness of this question.

“I am as beautiful as Helen! Well, I am Helen; so you
mean I am as beautiful as myself. That is not a compliment.”

“What a vain child you are! I am speaking of the Trojan
Helen.”

“I am not a child. I am nineteen years of age—and a
woman.”
.bn 304.png
.pn +1

“I believe that, for you possess all the art of a woman in
tormenting a man. Where did you learn it?”

“Learn what?”

“The art of being cruel, kind, merry, sad, delightful, yet
tormenting.”

“Do you mean to say I possess all these contradictory
qualities at one and the same time?”

“Well, you are capricious at times.”

“Oh, indeed!” said Helena pettishly, resuming her task.
“Then I must be full of faults.”

“They are very charming faults, at all events.”

“I am not listening, Maurice. I am too busy with this
wreath.”

“My wreath.”

“I did not say it was yours.”

“Not in words, perhaps; but then, you see, I can read the
language of the eyes.”

Helena blushed at this, but, purposely misunderstanding
the hint, made demure reply.

“Ah, you see my education has been neglected in that particular
branch.”

“Shall I teach you?”

“I am afraid you will find me a bad pupil.”

“I don’t mind taking that risk, Helena.”

He laid his hand on one of hers with a caressing gesture,
upon which she let it remain, but snatched up a cornflower
with the other.

“Look what a beautiful blossom!”

“It is the color of your eyes.”

“No, no; I mean this red rose.”

“The tint of your cheeks.”

“I hate compliments,” said Helena in a dignified way, trying
to release her hand from his warm grasp.

“Always?”

“Yes, always; unless I like the person who pays them.”

“And in this case?”

“I—I—don’t know.”

“Let me read the truth in your eyes.”

She looked up with a pretty gesture of mock despair, but,
meeting the tenderness of his look, dropped her eyes in confusion,
while Maurice, shifting his seat, slipped his left arm
round her slender waist, still holding her hand gently.

“Helena!”

No answer.
.bn 305.png
.pn +1

“Helena, do you know what your eyes tell me?”

No answer.

“They say that you will not be cruel enough to refuse me
your love.”

“My love!” she murmured confusedly.

“Yes,” he whispered passionately. “I said you were
capricious. You are not capricious, but true, loving, and
charming beyond expression—a very woman, whom I love,
and who loves me in return. Helena!”

All the virginal passion of this island maiden burned like
red roses in her cheeks, as Maurice drew her slender form
closer to his breast, and murmured broken sentences of love
in her ear.

“I love, you! I love you, Helena! I saw your face in a
picture, and I loved the face; now I see the woman, and I
love the woman. My dearest! my darling! say you love
me just a little!”

“I cannot say that,” she whispered, hiding her face on
his shoulder.

“Oh, Helena!”

“Because I love you a great deal.”

“My darling!”

She lay in his strong arms, with her head on his shoulder,
blushing with maidenly fear at the ardor of his passion;
then Maurice, bending down his comely head, pressed a kiss
on her lips.

“My dearest! my own!” he murmured rapturously; “how
I love you! love you! love you!”

Lost in the overwhelming deeps of each other’s affection,
they remained silent, filled with feelings too deep for words,
too inexplicable to be translated otherwise than by sighs and
glances. The delicate voices of the woodlands sounded in
their ears, the brilliant colors blazed in the luminous light,
the sun shone, the birds sang, but they heard nothing, saw
nothing; for, with their hearts beating, their souls blending,
their lips meeting, they were far away from this earth in the
heaven of love.

There was something sacred about this outburst of passion,
which sent a thrill of fear through their breasts; for
this was no vulgar affection, no sensual desire, no mere
adoration of outward beauty, but a chaste union of two
souls, in which the woman’s melted into the man’s as a
dream into a dream. The virginal purity of the young girl
experienced no repulsion in this case, as it had felt when
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
near to the frank animal passion of the handsome Greek;
and Helena, exquisite blossom of maidenhood, lay in her
lover’s arms without shame or dread, for she knew that this
clinging clasp, these broken sighs, this vivid ardor, were the
outcome of a love as pure and chaste as was her own; so
there she lay, cradled on his beating heart, and the birds
around sang their betrothal song, as doubtless they carolled
to our first parents in the garden of Eden. Time was not,
earth had vanished, humanity was but an empty name, for,
clinging together with passionate ardor, they were all in all
to one another, and the divinity which clothed them with
his splendors was no rosy, mischievous urchin, with his
bundle of arrows, but a terrible, unseen, unknown, unfelt
deity, who now, for the first time, had permitted them to
enter into his Holy of holies, and touched with their lips
the burning coals of his sacred altar.

Alas! mighty as are the pinions of Love, they weary in
that divine atmosphere of transcendentalism; so, folding his
wings, he ceased his song of bliss, and dropped like a tired
lark to the earth. The lovers awoke from their mystic
trance, and looked at one another with wide-eyed rapture;
then Helena, with a happy sigh, once more laid her head on
her lover’s shoulder, and began to talk of earthly matters.

“My father!”

“Your father will be delighted, my dearest. He told me
that this was the dearest wish of his heart.”

“Ah! is he so anxious, then, to lose me?”

“No, he will not lose you, my sweet queen. For when we
are married we will still dwell in Melnos, and reign over it
through years of happiness.”

“My father wants you to be his successor?”

“Yes; and to marry you. So if you fulfil the first, I will
accept the second.”

“I will marry you whenever you like,” said beautiful
Helena, smiling through her tears. “But will you not weary
of staying here?”

“With you? never!”

“Ah, it is I who am the attraction—not Melnos!”

“It is both; but in my eyes you are before everything
else in the world.”

“And if you grow tired of me?”

“I will never grow tired of you!”

Helena picked up a rose from her lap and held it up to
him.
.bn 307.png
.pn +1

“This rose is very beautiful, but it fades. Is your love
like the rose?”

“Yes; but not because the rose fades. My love is like
the rose-plant itself, which renews itself afresh with every
coming of summer. In this island it blooms all the year
round; and my love will be the same.”

“Will you not regret your home, your money, your
position?”

“My dearest, none of those things brought me happiness.
I was a weary, mournful man, tired of life, tired of myself,
tired of all around me; then by chance I saw your face, and
it was as a star in the darkness of my night. I followed
that star, and it led me to happiness, and to you!”

“So we will live here?”

“Till our days be ended. You will be queen, and I your
very humble slave and lover. No; I do not desire to return
to the world, with all its tumult, ambitions, and fret. I am
weary of the crowded cities, the haggard faces, the gray
skies of England. I only care to live in this lotus-land with
you, my angel, to wander with you amid the fair flowers,
yourself the fairest of all; to sleep at dusk with your loving
arms around me, to awake at dawn under your caress; and
thus to live in paradise until we meet in a still brighter
paradise beyond the grave.”

“Will we meet beyond the grave?”

“Helena!”

“I know nothing of religion, my dearest. Indeed, it is
not my fault, for my father has always refused to answer
my questions. He would not allow old Athanasius to speak
to me of sacred things, and I know nothing, save that there
is an Almighty Being called God.”

“And your father?”

“Believes the same. Look!”

She pointed to the majestic block of white marble behind
her, and there was deeply sculptured the one word “[Greek: Theo/n].”

“So of old the Athenians erected an altar to [Greek: pro\s to\n
a)gnaston Theo/n],” said Maurice sadly, rather puzzled to know
what to do. “My dearest, I am no saint, to be able to instruct
you in such things; and I am afraid my views are not what the
Church would approve of. However, my dear old friend and
tutor, Mr. Carriston, is, I trust, coming out here to see me;
and he will marry us, and tell you all you wish to know of
sacred things.”

They had risen to their feet, and were standing looking at
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
that solemn altar, so noble in its hugeness amid the encircling
green. No relic of paganism sculptured with nude
figures, with wreathes and nymphs and long-drawn pomp of
Panhellenic festival, but a severely plain mass of stainless
stone, with no other indication of its meaning than the
mystic word “[Greek: Theo/n]” cut thereon. After looking at it in
silence for a few minutes, Helena gathered up her flowers in
order to return home, for the sun was now at his zenith, and
the heat intolerable.

“Oh, not yet!” entreated Maurice, anxious to prolong the
sweet communion; “you must make me my wreath.”

“Are you Colin?”

“I think so,” he said, kissing her fondly.

“So do I,” she replied demurely; “therefore, Colin, I will
finish your garland.”

Once more she sat down on the steps and began busily
wreathing the flowers together in long fragrant strings,
while Maurice, lying lover-like at her feet on the flowery
turf, looked ever up into the delicate beauty of her face,
and wondered at his good fortune in being loved by such an
enchanting divinity.

Zoe and Dick came back armed with flowers, and Dick
grinned somewhat sheepishly as he saw Maurice smile. A
fellow-feeling, however, makes us wondrous kind, so Maurice
made no remark, but sent Zoe and her swain with their
newly gathered flowers down to the Acropolis.

“Do you think Dick is in love with Zoe?” asked Helena,
when the laughter of the sailor and his companion had died
away.

“Do I think you are in love with me?” retorted Maurice
lazily. “My dearest, Dick is as much in love with that
wicked little brunette, as I am with a certain charming
blonde.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Helena complacently. “I do not
wish to lose Zoe.”

“You must when she marries.”

“Oh no! If Dick becomes her husband, he will stay here.
I’m sure he would not mind, as he is very fond of you.”

“That’s very kind of him, considering the battering I
gave him yesterday.”

“Oh, Maurice, it was terrible!”

“For Dick?”

“No; for you.”

“Poor Dick! he got the worst of it, yet you pity me.”
.bn 309.png
.pn +1

“Ah, but you see I’m not engaged to Dick,” said Helena
gravely, holding out a wreath to him.

“No; but Zoe is. At least, if she is not now, she soon
will be. But come, Helena, fasten this wreath round my
hat.”

Helena obediently did so, and then placed it on her lover’s
head, upon which he gave her a kiss, and insisted that she
should deck herself with the remaining flowers. Nothing
loath, Helena did so, and was shortly one mass of delicious
bloom, from which her face peered out like some laughing
Dryad. Rose-wreath on her golden head, green myrtle girding
her slender waist, and flowers of myriad hues bedecking
her dress, she looked indeed like Chloris, the goddess of
flowers, to whom Maurice had so often compared her.

“Come, my dearest,” he said, taking her hand, “and I
will lead the Spring down to the valley. We are not
Maurice and Helena, but Florizel and Perdita, shepherd and
shepherdess; so come, my dearest, adown the mountain.”

They walked slowly along, talking all kinds of charming
nonsense, and laughing merrily, he rose-wreathed like an
ancient Hellene, she decked, like a goddess of the spring,
with delicate blossoms, and both full of mirth and joy and
happiness, which bubbled from their lips in gushes of liquid
song.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII. | <sc>PUNIC FAITH.</sc>

.pm start_poem
’Tis difficult, when dealing with a knave,
  To know what course of conduct to pursue,
Yet if to win the victory you crave,
  Strict honesty you must perforce eschew;
Like him, all craftily you must behave,
  Or else he certainly will conquer you.
This golden rule remember when you meet him,
A scoundrel’s weapons must be used to beat him.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
It took Caliphronas some considerable time to recover his
usual serenity of temper, as never during his whole life had
his vanity received such a blow as this refusal of Helena’s to
marry him. Hitherto the Greek had been so much petted
by all on account of his beauty, especially by women, that
he had become quite a spoiled child, and looked upon it as
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
his right that every whim he took into his handsome head
should be gratified. To express a wish, and have it at once
fulfilled, appeared to him to be the proper mode of behaving
towards him, and it was a severe wound to his arrogant self-complacency
to find that the only woman he cared about
should refuse to yield to the dearest wish of his heart.

His love for Helena was purely a sensual feeling, based on
the feminine beauty of the girl, so, when he found himself
scorned in such a way, this animal affection speedily merged
in the stronger feeling of intense hatred. Formerly he had
regarded Helena as a charming toy, who would do him
credit as his wife, and satisfy his artistic requirements by
her womanly grace; but now he regarded her in the light
of a bitter enemy, one who deserved to be punished for the
infamous way in which she had slighted his addresses.
Nothing would have given Caliphronas greater gratification
than to mar that lovely face he had so much admired, and
he would have liked to drag Helena through the gutter, and
render her an object of pity and derision to all the world,
in order to satiate his vengeance against her.

Had he been a Turkish Bashaw, he would doubtless have
tied the offending beauty up in a sack and dropped her into
the Bosphorus; had he been a Russian boyar, he would
have done his best to get her exiled to Siberia; but, as he
was neither the one nor the other, and was in his present
position quite unable to treat her as cruelly as he wished,
with devilish ingenuity he hit upon the only mode in which
he could hope to gratify his petty spite against a woman,
whose only crime was that she did not admire him as much
as he admired himself.

The Count’s little scheme of revenge was not complex, as
he merely intended to call upon Justinian to keep his word,
and force his daughter into the marriage, and, once she was
his wife, punish her in a way of which he felt himself thoroughly
capable, that is, by worrying her to death. A petty,
spiteful, narrow-minded man like the Greek had quite a gift in
annoying those people whom he disliked, and by assiduously
exercising this ignoble talent, could hope to render unbearable
the life of even the happiest and most long-suffering person.
Besides, if he grew tired of Helena, he could easily force her
to leave Melnos, for her father was so old that he would soon
be in his dotage, and thus could not protect the girl, in which
case Caliphronas would be free to act as his spiteful nature
dictated.
.bn 311.png
.pn +1

<pm corr 317.1 “As As> to Justinian’s breaking faith with him, such a thing
never entered into the Count’s mind for a moment, and,
scoundrel as he was himself, he hardly dreamed that any one
would be astute enough to beat him with his own weapons,
least of all the Demarch, who had hitherto acted towards him
in a strictly honorable way. Strong diseases, however, require
strong remedies, and, had the deceiving of Caliphronas
not been imperative for the salvation of the island, Justinian
would certainly not have stooped to such duplicity.
Caliphronas, therefore, ready to betray the Demarch if the
fancy took him, never thought the Demarch would betray
him, and thus relied blindly on the promise of the forced
marriage being fulfilled, in which case this consummate
scamp decided to sacrifice Helena in the most painful manner
which he could devise, for the gratification of his
wounded pride.

That Maurice loved Helena he knew well enough, for had
not the mere sight of that lovely face brought the young man
from England to this semi-civilized island of the Ægean;
but as to whether the passion was reciprocal, Caliphronas
felt doubtful, as he had never espied anything in the girl’s
demeanor towards his rival to inspire him with such a belief.
But whether she loved this young Englishman or not, the
Count was quite indifferent, as he had Justinian’s promise
that, with her consent or without it, Helena should be his.
As it turned out, the marriage, if it took place, would be
without her consent, but this the Greek deemed a small matter,
and therefore repaired to the Acropolis with the full determination
to force the Demarch to keep his word. It was
in this rosy light that Caliphronas looked at the circumstances
of the case, and he never thought of what he should
do in the event of things turning out otherwise, for the
simple reason that, in his blind arrogance, he deemed himself
too powerful to be thwarted in any way; so, disguising his
chagrin under an air of triumph, he went in the afternoon to
meet Justinian, and his fate.

Strolling along the mulberry-tree avenue, Caliphronas, anticipating
quite a brilliant career of scoundrelism, began to
build castles in the air, which were all inhabited by one person—himself.
Justinian was old, and would soon die, or,
at all events, putting his much-desired death out of the question,
would shortly become incapable of managing the affairs
of the island, therefore this goodly heritage would soon revert
to Count Constantine Caliphronas, better known as Andros,
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
the shepherd boy. This humble birth, however, he would
sink in oblivion, and become widely known as Prince Caliphronas,
the sole survivor of a famous Fanariot family.
Helena, of course, he would marry, in order to revenge himself,
and when he grew weary of her beauty and his revenge,
there were plenty of ways of getting her shipped off to Stamboul,
where she could be finally disposed of in some jealously
guarded harem. Then he would be sole ruler of the
Isle of Melnos, and make it a dwelling after his own heart,
for, after turning both Crispin and the Englishman off the
island, he would set up a princely establishment in this
Ægean paradise.

What with the exports of wines, silks, pottery, olives, and
grapes, he would be able to realize a magnificent income,
which he would apply, not to the aid and assistance of the
Melnosians, but to his own enjoyment. He would build a
palace, have troops of servants, a pleasure yacht, and could
also give rein to his sensuality in the matter of the most
beautiful women. As to carrying out Justinian’s foolish
dream of a new Hellas, of course that was ridiculous, and his
first act on becoming Demarch of Melnos would be to abolish
the three days’ festival, so that the Melnosians could live like
other insular Greeks, on such amusements as they could provide
for themselves. Besides, the title Demarch only meant
Mayor, and was hardly lordly enough for such a magnificent
person as he intended to be. He would call himself Prince
of Melnos, and who knows but what, with the assistance of
Alcibiades and a few other scoundrels of the same kidney
with whom he was acquainted, he would not be able to extend
his principality so as to include all the surrounding
islands. Then Crete, under Turkish misrule, would be glad
to come under his protection, and Rhodes also—in fact, a
few years might see the whole Cyclades acknowledging him
as their sovereign. In that case, he would be powerful
enough to measure himself against the Greek Government,
who, perhaps, weary of a foreign king, might be persuaded or
forced to drive away King George, and place the Prince of
Melnos on the vacant throne.

In fact, while indulging in these Alnaschar-like visions,
Caliphronas was rapidly foreseeing the conquest of Constantinople,
and himself seated on the golden throne of the
Palæologi, as Emperor of the East, when the sight of the
Acropolis, directly in front of him, dispelled these glowing
dreams, and he ascended the steps rather dolefully, with the
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
conviction that, as yet, all his fine schemes were in the
clouds.

Pausing a moment on the threshold, in order to quite recover
his usual jaunty manner, the future Emperor, but present
adventurer, drew aside the curtain and entered the court, to
find himself confronted by Justinian, his daughter, and their
two guests. The old Demarch reclined in a capacious chair
beside the fountain, smoothing the golden hair of Helena,
who was seated at his feet. On the back of the chair leaned
Maurice, laughing at some trivial remark, and Crispin, balanced
perilously on the marble rim of the pool, was irritating
Argos, who strutted near with his gorgeous tail spread out
to its fullest extent. All of them looked remarkably happy,
especially Justinian, whose stern face was glowing with
pleasure, and in Helena’s eyes shone the light of undying
love as she glanced shyly, from time to time, at her joyous
lover, so strong, so handsome, and so noble.

When Caliphronas appeared at the entrance, however, all
this merriment vanished; for Helena, mindful of the previous
night, sprang to her feet, with an indignant look at the
advancing Greek, and the faces of Maurice and the poet
assumed a cold expression of keen disapproval. Not so Justinian,
who, quite enjoying the situation, received his enemy
with a bland smile, which, had Caliphronas but known it,
boded ill for the success of his mission.

“Helena, my child,” said the Demarch quietly, “will you
leave us for a little while. I have some business with Count
Caliphronas.”

Helena needed no second bidding, but, with an angry
glance at her rejected lover, walked quickly to the curtains,
through which she vanished, but not before sending a sweet
smile in the direction of Maurice. Caliphronas saw that
smile, and felt uneasy as to the meaning of it, but he became
still more uneasy, when the Demarch, without asking him to
be seated, addressed him formally as Count Caliphronas.

“Why do you not call me Andros?” asked the Greek
apprehensively.

“I understood you called yourself Count Caliphronas,”
replied Justinian smoothly, “and, naturally, I give you that
title. Of course, I thought you were but a shepherd boy,
who, in default of god-parents, had to be called by the name
of your birthplace. However, I am wrong, as it seems you
are the offspring of a noble family, and have a title.”

“I don’t know what you mean by talking to me like this!”
.bn 314.png
.pn +1
said the Count in rather a cowed manner, feeling that the
speech of the Demarch was decidedly hostile in tone. “I
wish to speak to you alone.”

“You can speak to me in the presence of these gentlemen,”
retorted the old man coolly; “they know all my secrets.”

“All?” said Caliphronas in a meaning tone.

“As far as you are concerned—yes!”

“Beware, Justinian!” cried the Count in Greek, whereupon
the Demarch ruthlessly interrupted him.

“You had better speak English. I prefer it.”

This was quite the dictatorial Demarch of old, strangely
unlike the yielding Justinian of the last few weeks, so
Caliphronas, feeling more and more uneasy, burst out into a
torrent of rapid English.

“What do you mean? Why do you talk like this? Have
you forgotten your promise to me?”

“What promise?”

“Your promise that I should marry Helena!”

“Oh yes, yes! I remember something about that. Well,
have you asked her to marry you?”

“I have, and she has refused me,” said Caliphronas sullenly.

“In that case, I am afraid you cannot marry her.”

“Cannot marry her!” stammered Caliphronas, the rich
color of his face fading to a dull gray; “but you promised
to make her marry me.”

“Did I? then I break that promise!”

“You break it! And what about my succeeding you as
Demarch of Melnos.”

“I break that also!”

Caliphronas, too startled to speak, stood looking blankly
at the Demarch, pale as the marble pillar against which he
leaned. Much as he disliked him, Maurice could not but
feel sorry for the shame and agony felt by the baffled schemer.
Twice, thrice, he tried to answer Justinian, but the words
died away feebly on his parched lips, while the Demarch,
relentless in his anger, spoke cruelly and deliberately, as if
to torture still further the wretched man before him.

“You are astonished at my thus acting so dishonorably.
I am astonished myself, as never before have I broken a
promise once made, even to the meanest person. However,
in this case, necessity demanded that I should make use of
you as a tool, in order to gain my own ends, and I have done
so, with the fullest intention of defeating your schemes.
.bn 315.png
.pn +1
Ah yes, my dear friend, I know perfectly well that you
would have betrayed me to Alcibiades, had I not, by a stroke
of diplomacy, secured you to my interests, by promising to
give you my daughter and make you my successor. Had I
not done so, you would have joined the ranks of my enemies,
and I, being ignorant of their schemes, would have been at a
disadvantage in defending my property. Therefore, knowing
you were ready to play the traitor, unless bribed to
remain true to your benefactor, you can hardly wonder that
I made use of you, to learn the plans of those who were dangerous
to me in every way. A man cannot serve two masters,
and as the question of whose side you would embrace
was simply one of bribery, I took advantage of your baseness.
I bribed you! I promised you all you wished, without
the slightest intention of fulfilling such promise. From
you I have learned all I wish to know, and am now in a
position to baffle both your ambition and that of Alcibiades.
Between two stools you have fallen ignominiously to the
ground; and now, having no further use for you, traitor and
ingrate as you are, I command you to leave my island this
very day.”

During this long speech the Greek made neither sound nor
movement, but, like a beaten hound, cowered before the lash
of Justinian’s scornful words. When the Demarch ended,
he raised his head with a bitter smile on his pallid face, and
flung out his hand threateningly towards the speaker.

“You do well, Justinian, to say you are prepared,” he said
in a hoarse voice; “you do well to be on your guard; for I
swear by the Panagia herself to ruin you and your schemes
before the end of another month. Had you been true to me,
I would have remained true to you; but now”—

“Most virtuous scoundrel!” cried Justinian scornfully;
“you were anxious to guard what you thought was already
your own, and now make a boast of doing that which you
were bribed to do. As to your threat to ruin me, go and do
your worst! I defy both you and your precious friend
Alcibiades!”

“You have every reason to be grateful to me. I have told
you all the schemes of your enemies.”

“Yes; you betrayed them as you would have betrayed me,
had their bribe been the larger. Gratitude! gratitude! you
dare to speak of that to me, to whom you owe everything!
Who were you? Nobody! What were you? Nothing! I
found you a poor rustic in the Island of Andros, and trained
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
you up to be my successor—which you would have been,
had I not discovered in time your heartless, fickle, scoundrelly
nature. Gratitude, forsooth! and you, ingrate, turning
to bite the hand that has fed you all these years. You
owe me everything, I owe you nothing, save the contempt
that an ungrateful hound like you deserves for such treachery
as you meditated. You would have sold me, you Judas! you
would have betrayed a man who has been a father to you!
But I have baffled you! I have tricked you! and you are
now reaping the reward of your own vile actions. Go! quit
my sight, ungrateful wretch! lest I pass from words to
actions, and spurn you from the threshold which your very
presence pollutes.”

“I will go,” cried the Greek, with venomous spitefulness;
“but I will return, with an army at my back, to ruin you and
yours. I will wreck your island, I will make of you a slave;
and as for your daughter”—

“Not a word about that lady,” said Maurice firmly, stepping
forward and taking part in the conversation for the first
time; “she is to be my wife!”

“Your wife!” hissed the Greek furiously. “Never!
never! I will drag that fine piece of purity from your arms
to the gutter. I will”—

“You d—d reptile!” cried the Englishman, white with
passion; “say another word, and I’ll break your neck!”

Caliphronas, having had some experience of Royland’s
strength, judged it wise not to say another word; but, turning
on his benefactor, poured out the vials of his wrath on
the old man’s head.

“So this is why you brought him from England!” he said
fiercely; “to marry Helena! You promised that if I fulfilled
your desire, and lured him to Melnos, I would be your
daughter’s husband”—

“If she accepted you, yes—if she refused you, no!”

“So you say now. Oh, I have been your tool and slave all
along!”

“You have. I have met treachery with treachery, and baffled
you.”

“I have obeyed your wishes,” hissed the Greek venomously;
“I have kept your secrets, but I will do so no
longer. Whom you are, and what you are, I will tell this
man.”

“Be silent, wretch!”

“I will not be silent; I have been silent too long. You
.bn 317.png
.pn +1
have betrayed me, so now I will betray you. Maurice Roylands,
look at this so-called Justinian. Do you know whom
he is? An outcast Englishman, a renegade adventurer—your
uncle Rudolph!”

“My uncle Rudolph!” replied Maurice, aghast.

“Yes. It was he who sent me to England for you; it is
he who is heir to your fine estate; and you—you are nothing
but a pauper!”

“Crispin, turn that man out!” commanded the Demarch,
rising. “Go to the western pass, Count Caliphronas, and
there you will find a boat in charge of Alexandros. Leave
this island before nightfall, or, by heaven, I will have you
drowned like the rat you are!”

“I go,” retorted the Greek fiercely, retreating before Crispin,
and clutching the curtains. “I go; but when I return,
I swear by all the saints that you shall suffer agonies for
every word you have uttered to-day. Scoundrel! wretch!
renegade! outcast! <lang=fr><i>Và và!</i></lang>”

And, uttering the bitterest malediction he could think of,
the beaten schemer vanished from the Acropolis, and later
on from the island itself; from whence he doubtless went to
Kamila, in search of Alcibiades, to assist him in his plans of
revenge.

“Thank heaven, that is all over!” said Justinian, when
they were once more alone. “Now, at least, it will be open
war, and not hidden treachery, Maurice!”

“And you are really my uncle Rudolph?” said Roylands,
grasping the outstretched hand of the Demarch.

“Really and truly! Now you know the meaning of so
many things which have so often puzzled you. Did you never
suspect the truth?”

“Never!” answered his nephew emphatically; “but Crispin”—

“Crispin knew it all along,” said the poet quickly; “but,
as I had given my sacred word to keep silence, of course I
could say nothing.”

“I am glad you are my uncle, Justinian.”

“Oh, I am still Justinian, then!” said Rudolph, with a
smile, as he shook his nephew heartily by the hand. “Well,
it is better so; I am too old to learn new tricks, and, after
forty years of Greek life, I cannot turn Englishman in one
moment.”

“Of course Roylands Grange is now yours.”

“Boy, boy,” observed the old Demarch, laying his hand on
.bn 318.png
.pn +1
the young man’s shoulder, “do you think so meanly of me as
that? Were I a pauper, I would not deprive you of a single
acre; but, being as I am, rich and happy, I would indeed be
base to take your estate when I have all this.”

“Still, you are the head of our house.”

“A head that will soon be in the grave. No, no, my son,
the property is yours; and if you have any scruples, why,
then, are you not going to marry your cousin? so the Grange
will still belong to you, and yet remain with the elder branch
of the family.”

“Why, Helena is my first cousin!”

“Of course she is!”

“A second Eunice,” said Crispin, smiling, “only not so
charming.”

“Crispin! Helena is the most beautiful woman in the
world.”

“So is Eunice.”

“Come, that’s nonsense, you know!” objected Maurice
warmly; “there can’t be two most beautiful women in the
world.”

Justinian settled the matter by bursting out laughing.

“Every one thinks his own crow the whitest,” he said
gayly; “but come, leave off arguing about the merits of your
respective lady-loves. We have other things to think of.”

“The coming war, eh?”

“Yes. Andros will do as he says, and bring Alcibiades
here with his band of scoundrels. Well,” added the Demarch,
with a grim smile, “they will get a rather warm
reception when they do come. The Roylands are a fighting
family.”

“Ah, now I understand how you made that allusion before,”
said Maurice quickly; “and now I come to think of it, what
with the many hints you dropped, I must have been blind not
to guess the truth.”

“When a man has been numbered with the dead forty
years, it is hard to believe that he is alive,” said the Demarch
philosophically.

“You must have had a strange life, uncle.”

“Very,” replied Justinian, gratified by the title. “To-night,
when Helena has retired to bed, I will tell you all my
adventures since leaving the Grange.”

“Does Helena know I am her cousin?”

“She knows nothing beyond the fact that I am Demarch
of Melnos. No, my son, you have wooed and won your bride
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
entirely on your merits, so now you can understand how <pm corr 325.1 dedelighted delighted>
I am at the prospect of this marriage, which will
blend both the elder and younger branch of the family in
one common line.”

“Can I tell Helena?”

“Certainly, whenever you please.”

“Here is Helena now,” said Crispin, as the girl, looking
rather pale, entered the court. “Come here, sister Helena;
Maurice has something to tell you.”

“About Caliphronas?” asked Helena, coming up close to
her father.

“No, my dear,” said her father, kissing her fondly. “Caliphronas
has received the reward of his treachery, and has
left Melnos forever.”

“I am glad of that, father,” said the girl, with a sigh of
relief. “You can have no idea how I disliked him. But has
he been treacherous?”

“Very; he wanted to give up Melnos to Alcibiades.”

“Did he dare?”

“Yes; and was only deterred from doing so by being
promised both yourself and the island.”

“But, father,” cried Helena in great distress, “you did not
want me to marry Caliphronas?”

“Never! I wished you to marry Maurice.”

“Well, your wishes are going to be fulfilled,” said Helena,
with a lovely smile, turning to her lover.

“Helena,” remarked Maurice, with mock solemnity, taking
her hands, “look at me carefully.”

“I am doing so with both eyes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Of course—Maurice Roylands.”

“And what else?”

“My—my future husband,” said the girl, with an amused
smile.

“Still, I am something even more.”

“I don’t understand,” began Helena in bewilderment,
when Justinian interposed.

“Do not tease the child so, Maurice. Helena, this is your
future husband and your first cousin.”

“My cousin!”

“By all the laws of the Medes and Persians,” said Maurice,
kissing her. “Your father is my long-lost uncle
Rudolph, of whom I have spoken, and you, my sweet bride
to be, are my dear coz Helena.”
.bn 320.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIX. | <sc>A ROLLING STONE.</sc>

.pm start_poem
In olden days folks mostly stayed at home,
Nor e’er in quest of unknown lands departed,
And tho’ some ne’er-do-weels at times would roam,
They came back poorer than the day they started:
From which disastrous lives there comes alone
That foolish proverb of a rolling stone.

If such advice in earnest we obeyed,
Its narrow views would certainly benumb us;
The progress of the world would be delayed,
For lack of Marco Polo and Columbus!
They tore aside the veil which hid our eyes,
And showed us unknown worlds and unknown skies.

So now that proverb trite is obsolete;
Our enterprise has made far lands alluring,
And north and south our fellow-men we meet,
With Cook and Gaze in restless parties touring,
A rolling stone gains something for its loss,
And polish is more valuable than moss.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
In due time Alexandros came back to the Acropolis, and
reported that Caliphronas had left the island in a small boat,
and when last seen his craft was running before the wind in
the direction of Kamila. On hearing this, Justinian had no
doubt but that the Greek was on his way to stir up Alcibiades
to immediate action; therefore resolved to lose no time
in putting Melnos in a thorough state of defence. In the
meantime, he placed a strong guard at the gate of the tunnel
and in the western pass, so as to prevent the island being
taken by surprise. At all events, there was no special necessity
for prompt action, as Caliphronas had only departed
that day, and in all probability Alcibiades would not attack
Melnos for at least one week.

Privately, Maurice wondered if the Greek, adrift in a small
boat, would succeed in reaching land safely, as, judging from
his terror on the night of the shipwreck, he had not much
pluck in foul weather. The sky, however, was perfectly clear,
and there was no chance of the castaway being caught in a
storm, so Justinian laughed at the fears of his nephew, and
bade him set his mind at peace. Caliphronas, he said, knew
the waters of the Ægean Sea well, he had but a few miles to
sail before reaching Kamila, and once there he would doubtless
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
meet with some of Alcibiades’ followers to guide him to
their chief. In his innermost heart, the old Demarch rather
regretted that Caliphronas should thus escape safely, and
would not have grieved much had the treacherous scamp
been drowned in the sea, instead of reaching Alcibiades without
harm, and stirring up that accomplished cut-throat to
immediate war. There was no chance, however, of such an
event happening, and Justinian quite expected within the
week to see the Melnosian waters covered with the boats of
his bitter enemies.

Helena was much astonished and delighted to find that
Maurice was her cousin, and though she could scarcely be
more in love with him than she already was, yet felt that
this bond of blood-relationship bound him to her by a nearer
and dearer tie than even that of her future husband. They
talked of a thousand things in connection with their future
life, but neither of them dreamed of returning to the family
seat in England, but hoped, when this war-cloud had blown
over, to pass the rest of their lives untouched by sorrow in
this lotus-land of the East. Maurice, in common with Crispin,
was anxiously expecting letters from home, but as yet
none had reached them; so to all appearances it looked as
though they would be blockaded in the island by the pirates
before any communication arrived at Syra.

On the day of Caliphronas’ departure, however, they were
thinking but little of these things, as Maurice was anxious
to learn the history of his uncle; while Rudolph Roylands
on his part—now being able to talk <pm corr 327.28 feely freely> of himself, owing
to the revelation of his identity—was desirous of hearing
all about his late brother, the ancestral estate, and the present
position of the Roylands family. He did not want to
speak of these things before Helena, as he judged the girl
had undergone quite enough excitement for the present, and,
besides, there were many things in his own career which he
did not care about speaking of before this innocent child.

Justinian was not a bad man; but, having one of those
restless, adventurous spirits, whose impulsiveness leads them
into strange scrapes, had during his sojourn in the Levant
indulged in many escapades, which, if not exactly criminal,
were yet daring and lawless enough to startle a sober-minded
person. The serious Justinian of the present was very different
from the dashing Rudolph of the past; and as his
daughter knew him only in his reverend old age, and respected
him as the wisest, kindest, and best of men, he
.bn 322.png
.pn +1
naturally did not want to disturb that feeling by a narration
of the wild adventures of his somewhat scampish youth.

Therefore it was not until Helena had retired to rest that
he told Maurice his story; and the three men sat up till
nearly morning; the eldest talking in the Arabian Nights vein,
and the two younger listening with rapt attention to the
fascinating career of this free-lance of the Middle Ages, born
by some strange chance among the respectabilities of the
nineteenth century. Passionate as Benvenuto Cellini, ambitious
as the first Napoleon, reckless as Cæsar Borgia, and
fascinating as Lord Byron, this extraordinary being possessed
all those vices, virtues, charm, and astuteness, we find,
not in our military machines of to-day, but in those brilliant
adventurers of the Renaissance, who burned fiercely over
the troubled world of those days like wandering stars; terribly
grand to look upon, but carrying destruction and dread
everywhere as they swept onward in their fatal path.

After supper Helena retired, and Justinian went with his
guests into the cool court, where they comfortably seated
themselves under the star-strewn sky with coffee and tobacco.
But the coffee grew cold and the tobacco burned untasted to
ashes, as Maurice and Crispin, with their elbows on their
knees, leaned forward to listen to the wondrous story of
this modern Ulysses, who had seen many lands, knew many
people, and had done many reckless, wild deeds during his
stormy career.

Justinian himself grew excited like an old war-horse, as
he told of his early life; and it was easily seen that his
spirit was as dauntless as ever, that a thirst for adventure
still possessed his soul, and that he chafed bitterly at the inglorious
ease to which his frail body condemned him. His
bright eyes flashed at the memories of his hot youth, and his
grand voice pealed trumpet-like through the still air, as he
strode up and down before his enthralled listeners, reciting
deeds of derring-do done in the times that had been.

“Yes, those were grand days in Bolivia,” he said, resuming
his seat, after an outburst of stormy passion, as old
memories awoke in his brain. “I feel carried away to the
past when I talk of them. If Jumez had only brought his
troops up in time, I might have been President of a South
American Republic instead of Demarch of Melnos. Well,
at all events, my late years have been peaceful enough; and
as President I would have had but a stormy time, ending,
very likely, in a violent death.”
.bn 323.png
.pn +1

“And after you left South America, uncle?”

“I came back to England in a sailing vessel. There was
a mutiny on board of her, which I and three other fellows
managed to quell; but we held our lives in our hands all
the way until we got to England. When I left the ship, I
went down to Roylands in disguise, to look after my people,
and found them all happy. I had not killed your father, as
I had feared; and he was now married to Rose. They
seemed happy enough, so I had not the heart to disturb them.
It would have been no pleasure to me to take the estate
from Austin, as I had plenty of that treasure I found
in Bolivia, and the life of a country gentleman was irksome
to me. Besides, the woman I had loved so fondly was now
my brother’s wife; so I had nothing to gain by revealing myself.
I strayed about the old place for a time, and then
returned to London, in order to think of my future. I was
very wealthy, in the prime of life, and anxious for adventure,
so at first I thought of returning to the army, but on reflection
I decided that my first experience of soldiering had
been quite enough, so turned my attention to travelling, and
went all over Europe, which tour I found but tame work.
Asia was more exciting, however; and I had some good tiger-hunting
in India. When I left that place, I went down
Cape Town way, and explored the southern wilds of Africa,
which were even more savage than they are now. I got this
wound there in a row with the niggers.”

He drew up his sleeve, and showed a white cicatrice on
his arm, which must have been a dangerous wound; and
then began to tell of his African adventures, of battles with
savage tribes, of explorings in unknown wilds, fights with
wild beasts, elephant hunts, witchcraft ceremonies of the Obi
kind, until the listeners did not know at which to marvel
most, his memory or the bizarre existence he had led.

“I had five years of that sort of thing,” he went on, after
a pause, “and it became rather tiresome. Besides, I was
now thirty-five years of age, and thought it was best to settle
down, but where I could not make up my mind. He who
has prairie fever once always gets it again, and it sends him
off on his travels into the wilds as if he were stung by the
gadfly of Io. What I wanted was some big work to keep
my mind and body busy; but, with all my wealth, I really
did not see where I could find such occupation. True, I
might have remained in Africa, and become a kind of savage
king; but, with all my buccaneering leanings, I had intellect
.bn 324.png
.pn +1
enough to despise such rusting away in tropical forests
beyond the reach of civilization. I wished to exercise my
brain as well as my body; yet, in spite of all my hard thinking,
no scheme appeared feasible enough to give me work,
interest, and pleasure when I had passed the meridian of
life. England I disliked returning to, as a cramped existence
in that gray little island would have sent me mad; and
unless I had asserted my right to Roylands, and entered
Parliament, I did not see how I could employ my time. Besides,
I was averse to disturbing Austin; and the prejudices
I would meet with on all sides from narrow-minded stay-at-homes
would have sent me back again to a savage life. Unlike
the Genii in the “Arabian Nights,” I could not go back
to my jar after once being released therefrom.

“England, therefore, being out of the question, I had serious
thoughts of returning to South America, and exploring
up the Orinoco river, where they say all sorts of buried
cities, civilized Indians, and golden temples are to be found.
Then, changing my mind, I almost decided to go to San
Francisco, and have a try at gold-digging. Feeling doubtful
of this being worth undertaking, I fancied Australia, where
fortunes were being made up Ballarat way, would suit me;
but this idea I also abandoned. I did not wish to make my
fortune, as I already had more money than I knew what to
do with; and it was all safely invested in England. You see,
Maurice, I had the price of my army commission, which was
no great sum, my mother’s fortune, which was considerable,
and also that enormous Incas treasure I dug up near Lake
Titicaco, which nearly cost me my life, as I told you; so you
can fancy I was quite a millionnaire long before the days of
Chicago pig-sticking and Pennsylvanian oil wells.”

“How did you decide to come to the Ægean?”

“Well, that came about in a queer sort of way,” said the
Demarch, lighting his pipe. “When I was up at Zanzibar,
which was about as far north as I had then got, I met a poor
devil of a Greek who was starving, so took him about with
me as a kind of companion. He had been mixed up in the
War of Independence, and got on the bad side of King
Otho, who was, at that time, ruling Greece about as badly as
it could be ruled. My Greek had a dream of reviving the old
Hellenic learning; but with the country under a Bavarian
king, and overrun with brigands, he did not see how this
could be done. I told him of my desire to find something to
occupy my mind and body; so he suggested, as I had such a
.bn 325.png
.pn +1
lot of money, I ought to try to start a little kingdom of my
own on an intellectual basis. The idea took my fancy
greatly, as I was always of an administrative turn of mind;
and then he told me about this island of Melnos, and how it
could be cultivated, fortified, and made into a kind of Elysium
by a man with capital. After some deliberation I decided
to do this, and pose as a second Lord Byron; therefore, with
my Greek, I went up the coast in a trading vessel, and into
the Red Sea. It was very uncivilized in those days, and we
had all kinds of adventures, in one of which my poor Hellene
was knocked on the head; so I was left to battle my
way on alone over the isthmus to the Mediterranean.”

“I wonder you were not killed.”

“I was pretty nearly,” rejoined Justinian grimly; “especially
up Suez way. Of course, at that time, there was no
canal, and no Suez; but I managed somehow to get across
the isthmus to Alexandria. I need not tell you all my adventures
from the time I left Zanzibar, as it would take too
long; but they were just as exciting as the Bolivian escapades,
if not quite as bloodthirsty.”

“You ought to publish a book of your career.”

“My dear Crispin, they would call me a second Baron
Munchausen, for many of my adventures would seem impossible
in these tame days of Cook’s tourist parties. The
thirties were a great falling off from the buccaneering times,
but in these days the thirties seem quite bloodthirsty; and
where the next generation of born adventurers, such as I was,
will find scope for the exercise of their talents, I am sure I
do not know.”

“Well, uncle, and what did you do after Alexandria?”

“I came on to Athens to see about my new Hellas. There
I hired a kind of small schooner, and, with picked men, went
down among the islands, until I came across Melnos. I recognized
it from the description of the Greek at Zanzibar;
and, having landed, climbed up over the peaks. When I saw
this valley, I was enchanted, for it was indeed a fortress,
formed by the hand of Nature herself. True, at first, I hesitated
about establishing a colony in the crater of an extinct
volcano, for one would never know when it would break out
again. However, when I saw this Temple of Hephaistos, I
felt pretty safe, as the crater must have been extinct when
it was built by the old Hellenes, thousands of years before.
So I thought, if the volcano had kept quiet since the days
of Pericles, it would surely keep quiet for the next thousand
years.”
.bn 326.png
.pn +1

“And probably will!”

“I hope so; at least I have seen no signs of eruption; besides,
there is a vent for the volcanic forces at Santorin, so that
ought to preserve Melnos intact forever. Well, as I said,
I saw this island, found it suitable for my proposed scheme,
and went back to Athens, to buy it of the Greek Government.
There I was told the island belonged to Turkey,
as the Greek tributary islands only extend as far down as
Santorin. Nothing daunted, I went to Stamboul, and, after
about a year’s hard work, managed to buy Melnos for a good
round sum—it was a pretty stiff price, I can tell you, but
my Incas treasure proved equal to it, and even when I had
paid down the money, I still found myself with plenty in
hand with which to start my colony.”

“So Melnos is absolutely your own?”

“Absolutely! I can leave it to whom I please. It is my
private estate, and, as I have always kept friends with the
Sublime Porte, there is no chance of it being taken from me.
When you succeed me here, Maurice, you will find everything
drawn out, fair and square, with my lawyers in
London.”

“What! have you not the Sultan’s firman here?”

“No. London is safer; for even if Alcibiades were to
take the island, I can still prove my right to it by my papers
in London. I paid too sweetly for it to those greedy Turks,
not to take all precautions to keep my title safely stowed
away, where it would meet with no accidents. London is
the safest city in the world for the preservation of such
things; so in London I placed all papers recognizing my
right to the ownership of this island.”

“Well, uncle, now you had your new Rome, but what about
the citizens?”

“Oh, as to that, I did not find any difficulty in obtaining
plenty of men eager to settle down under my protection. In
those days, what with Turkish misrule, pirates at sea, and brigands
on land, the islanders fared badly enough, and when I
promised such as became my subjects absolute immunity from
such ills, the difficulty I found was as to quality, not quantity.
It was the pure Hellenic stock I wanted, from which to
develop my new learning, and there is a good deal of mixed
blood, even among these insular Greeks. However, by careful
selection, I managed to get together a goodly number of
pure-blooded males, and these brought their wives and sweethearts
to my island colony. Children and old men I would
.bn 327.png
.pn +1
not have, as the latter were useless for my purpose; and
with regard to children, I wanted to regulate the births
myself, so as to keep the new race up to my standard. In
time, I populated Melnos accorded to my mind, and then set
my new subjects to work on dwellings and industries. First,
I repaired this temple for my own accommodation, and
arranged my system of government; planted mulberry trees,
obtained silkworms, built factories, and so on. Olives, vineyards,
and currant vines, I also planted, and after a few
years they began to flourish greatly, so gradually I established
a commerce with the surrounding islands, and thus
Melnos, by its exports, was able to earn an income for itself.
What with keeping the island going in its infancy, buying
what was required for my people, and carrying out engineering
occupations, my capital, large as it was, had dwindled
considerably, and I was delighted when I found that from all
my outlay I was now realizing an income sufficient not only
to carry out further works, but also to leave a surplus, which
I saved up against bad seasons. Every year I devote part of
the income derived from my industries to public works in
connection with the place and the people, and the balance I
place out at interest in London.”

“Still London!”

“Well, you would not have me risk all my hard earnings
in Athens, would you? A commercial crisis, a revolution, a
war, and where would my money be; while London, though
liable to social depression, is at least safe as regards the
other two contingencies. No! year after year, I have sent
my money to England, and now Melnos has an assured
income which would keep her going, even though she earned
nothing for many years.”

“And have you been to England since you settled here?”

“Yes,” replied the Demarch, with a half sigh. “I went
once, in order to arrange about the safe investment of my
Melnosian moneys, and remained in London some months.
When I returned, I brought back your mother, Crispin, and
you.”

“My mother!” echoed Crispin, with a deep flush; “and
her name?”

“I cannot tell you that now,” answered Justinian, a trifle
sadly; “but when all these troubles are over, I will do so.”

“Why not now?”

“I have a reason for not doing so.”

Crispin did not like this further putting off, but he knew
.bn 328.png
.pn +1
Justinian was iron when once he had made up his mind, so submitted
to the further procrastination of the important secret
with a sufficiently good grace, although he made one objection.

“You might be killed in the mean time.”

“If that happens, you will find all papers necessary to
establish your legitimacy with my London solicitors. You
think I am harsh and unkind, Crispin, in not telling you
what you wish to know now, but, when I reveal all, you will
see I have a good reason for my not doing so. One thing I
can comfort you with, however,—your father is alive, and I
will restore you to his arms.”

“And my mother?”

“She is dead. You know she died here, my boy. It is a
sad story I will have to tell you, but, at all events, you will
have a father, and a name as good as any in England.”

“With that promise I am content,” said Crispin gladly;
“as you have brought me up from infancy, I would be indeed
ungrateful if I did not trust you to the end.”

“Yet you left me in anger!”

“I think you must blame Caliphronas for that. It was
his machinations that caused you to misjudge me, as I misjudged
you.”

“Caliphronas has been the bad genius of us all,” said Justinian
decisively; “but now, thank heaven, he is gone, and
will trouble us no more.”

“My faith!” cried Maurice lightly, “he will trouble us a
good deal, if he brings Alcibiades here.”

“Ah, that is open war! I do not mind that. It was his
hidden treachery to which I referred.”

“By the way,” said Roylands meditatively, “I suppose
that Caliphronas thinks you have untold treasures in this
Acropolis?”

“He does; and that is one of the reasons he desires to
plunder Melnos. Fortunately, all my money derived from
the island is in London.”

“What a disappointment for Alcibiades & Company when
they find no treasure here!” cried Crispin, laughing.

“They must never get here!” said the Demarch resolutely;
“I will defend the island to the bitter end, and, in spite of
their strength, I fancy they will find it difficult to force
either the western pass or the tunnel.”

“If you had the western pass as an entrance to Melnos,
why did you pierce the tunnel?” asked Maurice curiously;
“would it not have been better to have only one entrance?”
.bn 329.png
.pn +1

“Decidedly. But you see the western side of Melnos is
exposed to the gales; and, in spite of the harbor, its anchorage
is hardly safe; so I was forced to build a breakwater
on the eastern side of the island. Of course, this being the
case, when ships were loaded or unloaded there, the goods
could not be taken round to the western pass,—hence the
tunnel.”

“I think your scheme is a wonderful one,” said Maurice,
with great admiration; “and wonderfully carried out.”

“It is yet only in its infancy, and needs a wise ruler to
carry it on to ripe fruition. That ruler, Maurice, I expect
to find in you.”

“I trust you will not be disappointed in my administrative
ability.”

“Well, I am satisfied so far. You have courage, judgment,
and self-control, which are the main things needed to control
these excitable Greeks. But let us not go too fast, for
I know not yet if you intend to stay in Melnos.”

“Assuredly I do; especially now I have discovered you
are my uncle. Why did you not tell me of our relationship
before?”

“Because I wished you to fall in love with your cousin on
your own account. Had I revealed myself, and suggested
the marriage, with the natural dislike of a young man to be
forced into matrimony, you might have objected. Oh, my
dear nephew, I have had these plans in my head for a long
time. Long ago I saw that neither Crispin nor Andros,
whom I had trained as my successors, would suit the post.
You, Crispin, are a poet, and not a ruler, while as for Andros,
whom you know better as Caliphronas, he is but an idle
scamp, who would undo all my forty years’ work. When I
saw my failure in this respect, I married a Greek girl, more
from policy than love, in order to beget an heir, but she died
when Helena was born, and thus I was disappointed of a
son.”

“But you surely do not regret it, uncle, when you have
Helena.”

“No; I do not now, as I love my child dearly, but I did
then, as I was at my wits’ end whom to select as a successor.
Then I heard all about you, Maurice, from my agents in England,
and resolved to send for you here, and, before revealing
myself, ascertain for myself whether you were fit for
such a responsible post as ruler of Melnos. The task of
bringing you in ignorance here was a delicate one, and I entrusted
.bn 330.png
.pn +1
it to Andros, who promised to fulfil it on the ground
that I would permit him to pay his addresses to Helena. I
agreed to this, and the result you see; but there was no
question of a forced marriage until lately, when it was rendered
necessary to mislead Caliphronas, out of policy. He
brought you here, Maurice, and the rest you know, as everything
has turned out better than I expected. You are going
to marry Helena, and succeed me here,—that is, if you
have quite decided to stay.”

“I have decided,” replied Maurice, grasping his uncle’s
hand warmly. “I hesitated at first, but now do so no
longer. There is nothing to keep me in England, and when
Crispin marries Eunice, they can stay at the Grange and
look after the estate, while Helena and myself stay
here.”

“But your old tutor?”

“If my old tutor comes out, I am sure he will be delighted
for me to stay here and forward your plans of a new Hellas.
He is an ardent Greek scholar, and will approve thoroughly
of my undertaking a good work like the revival of learning,
rather than idling away a discontented existence in England.”

“Good!” said Justinian, with great satisfaction; “all this
sets my mind at rest. Never fear about this Alcibiades
trouble, Maurice, for Melnos is strong, and I think we can
defend her stanchly. When all these storms are at an end,
I will devote the remainder of my days to teaching you all
the necessary rules of my policy, so that you can carry it out
completely when I die. You, as my heir, Maurice, will inherit
this island, and all the invested moneys in London; so
you will find everything smooth before you to carry on the
work which I have begun.”

“Well, after all this conversation, I think we had better
go to bed,” said Crispin, rising with a yawn.

“I am afraid it will be morning soon,” replied Justinian,
with a smile, as he followed his example, “so you will not
get much sleep; but I am glad I have told you all my history.”

“It is wonderful!” cried Maurice enthusiastically; “and
quite gives the lie to the proverb, that ‘A rolling stone
gathers no moss.’”

“Stones that rest in inglorious ease gain moss,” said Justinian
wisely; “but rolling stones which circle the world
gather polish. Marco Polo, Columbus, Drake, Napoleon,
.bn 331.png
.pn +1
Cæsar, were all rolling stones, and I think have been of more
benefit to the world than those wiseacres who remain gathering
moss in the dulness of their homes, in the belief that
such vegetating is the true aim of existence.”



.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXX. | <sc>KEEPING VIGIL.</sc>

.pm start_poem
All day, all night, with anxious eyes,
  I vigil keep,
To watch the ever-changing skies,
  The changeless deep;
Yet though for rest the spirit sighs,
  I dare not sleep.

For in the skies will comets pale
  Burn warningly,
When filled with foes black vessels sail
  Across the sea.
To wake upon our shores the wail
  Of misery.

Yet though such ships and stars appear
  As portents vile,
Our faces will devoid of fear
  With courage smile,
For Greek and Englishman will here
  Defend the isle.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Two weeks passed since the departure of Caliphronas to stir
up war against Melnos. Yet Alcibiades made no sign of
attacking the island, so doubtless his plans had not yet matured
sufficiently to permit of the assault, or else he was trying
to lull the Melnosians into a false security, so as to storm
them unawares. Justinian himself thought this latter supposition
the more likely, but was too old a campaigner to be thus
caught napping, and day and night had sentinels posted on
the highest peaks of the island to give notice of the approach
of the enemy by lighting watch-fires which were all ready
prepared.

As before stated, the defenders of Melnos, inclusive of
the Englishmen, numbered about a hundred and twenty;
certainly a small force to hold the island against three hundred
enemies, which, as Caliphronas had told Justinian, was
the strength of Alcibiades’ army. Melnos, however, strongly
.bn 332.png
.pn +1
fortified by nature, was quite the Gibraltar of the Ægean,
and, owing to the ruggedness and height of the surrounding
peaks, no enemy could gain the crater of the volcano save
by the western pass or the tunnel, both of which were skilfully
defended by wooden palisades. Maurice himself
thought it a mistake that these barriers were not constructed
of stone, but Justinian explained that they were thus built
so as to admit of the approach of the enemy being seen, when
a few determined men intrenched behind could keep at bay
a large force in the narrowness of the tunnel or of the pass,
whereas, if a stone wall intervened, an outside foe could
perhaps batter it down without hurt from the defenders.

Another advantage which Justinian had over a hostile
force was the fact of the tunnel being a staircase, as his men
posted on the heights could sweep down the enemy climbing
slowly upward. In order to do away with the necessity
of fighting in the dark, or by the feeble glare of torches,
Justinian had a powerful electric search light placed at the
had a powerful electric search light placed at the
inner entrance of the tunnel, so as to command the palisade.
Indeed, the Demarch, having unlimited money at his disposal,
had the latest European inventions obtainable for the
defence of his island, and much regretted that he had been
unable to obtain the new magazine rifle which had lately
been served out to the English army. This rifle holds six
cartridges, which can be fired one after the other, and, unlike
the revolver, has no barrel, as the cartridges lie in a line one
at the back of the other; but as Justinian was not able to
obtain this efficient weapon, he was obliged to put up with
the Martini-Henry rifle, which was a deadly enough weapon
in the hands of his excellent marksmen.

The western pass was a narrow, winding gorge, created by
some primeval convulsion of the volcano, which severed the
low semicircle of mountains in a deep cleft; and at the inner
entrance was commanded by two old brass cannon which the
Demarch had found in some dismantled tower of the Venetians.
These cannon, however, in spite of their age, were
in an excellent state of preservation, and could do a deal of
damage when sweeping down the narrow pass. The middle
of the cleft was fortified by a strong wooden palisade, and
at the outer entrance was another of similar construction;
thus the defenders, intrenched behind these barriers, held
the invading enemy at considerable disadvantage. Justinian
had also another search light sweeping the pass in the event
of a night surprise, and thus, the two entrances being so
.bn 333.png
.pn +1
well defended by nature and art, it was feasible enough that
the little band could keep at bay even a larger host than
that which Alcibiades was bringing against them.

Even if the beleaguerment of the island lasted for months,
there was no danger as long as the pass and tunnel were
defended, for there was plenty of provision, and all food
eaten by the inhabitants was grown on the fertile sides of
the crater; so it was likely Alcibiades, despairing of taking
the place by storm, would retire his men after a few weeks.
The Demarch was perfectly satisfied that he occupied too
strong a position to be dislodged, and the only chance of
capture lay in inside treachery, or the enemy scaling the
peaks and coming down unawares in the rear. Neither of
these things was likely to happen, as there was no chance
of treachery from the Melnosians, who were all devoted to
Justinian; and the enemy, consisting of all the scum of the
Levant, had neither the engineering skill nor the courage to
climb over the forbidding-looking mountains which enclosed
the central crater of the volcano.

During the two weeks the watchmen on the heights kept
a constant watch for the foe, and Justinian, assisted by
Maurice and Dick, looked after the military preparations
with right good will. The rifles were duly served out to
the men, who practised shooting daily, also swords and cutlasses,
in the use of which Dick instructed them; yet all
this time they went on with their work, and only after it
was over did they attend to their military duties. There
was no fear of the ammunition giving out, as the Demarch
had constructed a magazine in a lonely part of the valley,
which was filled with cartridges, cannon balls, and plenty of
powder.

All this elaborate military preparation to defend a rocky
little island may sound childish enough in Western ears
accustomed to the gigantic military powers of Europe; but
the coming assault on Melnos was no holiday battle, but
would probably involve a good deal of hard fighting, as the
desperadoes of Alcibiades were by no means to be despised.
They thought that Melnos was full of treasure, quite unaware
of Justinian’s wise precaution of sending the public
revenue of Melnos to London to be in safety; and, lusting
for gold, they were ready to fight like demons in order to
plunder the island. The defenders, on their side, valued
their homes, wives, and children too much to permit a loose
band of absolute wretches to gain entrance into their stronghold;
.bn 334.png
.pn +1
so it seemed as though the fight on both sides would
be fought with dogged determination to the bitter end.

Maurice and Dick were the principal assistants of Justinian
at this juncture, as Crispin knew nothing about military
matters, and the testy old Demarch said he was more
trouble than use; so he wandered about a good deal with
Helena, quite the idler of the community. In spite of this,
however, all knew that Crispin was as keen as any one on
fighting, and would defend the island with the best of them;
besides which, being the minstrel of the party, he wrote
war-songs after the mode of Tyrtæus, to fire the Melnosians
with martial enthusiasm.

The old fighting blood of the Roylands showed itself
plainly in the Demarch and his nephew, for they both looked
anxiously forward to the anticipated invasion, and would
have been seriously annoyed had it not come off. Justinian
himself quite renewed his youth at the idea of once more
smelling powder, and his fiery energy, overriding all obstacles,
occupying itself ceaselessly with all military matters, at
times even tired out his muscular nephew. Yet Maurice
worked bravely, and showed himself to be made of the
stuff required for leaders of men, and, despite his ignorance
of matters military, made several valuable suggestions from
a common-sense point of view, which were greatly approved
of by the Demarch.

“Egad, Maurice!” he said, grimly surveying his nephew,
“if I had only had you instead of Caliphronas, I would
have made a man of you.”

“Meaning I’m not a man now,” said Maurice, rather
nettled.

“By no means. You’ve got the Roylands spirit, my boy,
and will fight like the devil himself when needs be; but
when I think of all those years of idleness in England, it
makes me angry. Such a loss of good material which could
be made use of, and I dare say there are hundreds of fellows
of your physique and stamina, who write their lives away
in offices instead of going in for an adventurous career and
dying rich. What I mean is that you are made of the same
stuff as I, and had I possessed you as my right hand when
I started this scheme, egad, I’d have had a kingdom instead
of an island!”

“You forget, I was not born forty years ago.”

“No more you were—more’s the pity! Those were glorious
times, and, in spite of my years, I do not regret having
.bn 335.png
.pn +1
been born early in the century. Life is too tame now, all
bread and butter and explosive machines. Give me the
good old days of hand-to-hand combat, lots of adventure,
rows galore, and the devil take the hindmost.”

“I never met such a man as you, uncle.”

“Then you never met yourself. I don’t mean your <lang=de><i>doppelganger</i></lang>,
but your inner self, for you are exactly what I was,
though how the deuce your father ever came to have such a
son, I do not know. He was as mild as milk, my brother
Austin.”

“Was he?” said Maurice grimly, thinking of the many
family rows that had taken place.

“Oh, I don’t deny he had a spice of the Roylands temper,
but as to ambition and enterprise, he might as well have
been born a carrot. Why, he nearly ruined you, my boy,
with neglecting to put you on the right track—no wonder
you got melancholia and all that rubbish. You are a worker,
not a dreamer.”

“I have brains, I suppose?”

“Yes, and so has Crispin; but he uses his brains in the
right way, you don’t. Crispin is born to sit down and tinkle
a lute, you are born to handle a sword and lead an exciting
career. Why didn’t you go into the army?”

“My father wouldn’t let me.”

“Of course!” said Justinian, with a snort of disdain;
“he wanted to make you a mollycoddle like himself. I
wonder you did not go out of your mind in that smoky London,
chipping away at marble and cutting it out. Why, you
have been here only a couple of months, and already you
are in your right mind. Go back to England indeed!—you
are a fool if you do. Like myself, you are born to be
a ruler, not a unit in English civilization. I’m glad I got
you to myself before it was too late.”

“Well, if my career has begun late, I am at least young,
and have a long life before me.”

“Yes; I envy you that, Maurice. Look at me! youthful
in spirit, old in years. I shall die in the prime of my spiritual
strength, just because my wretched body is of an
inferior quality to my soul.”

“Still you are good for a few years yet. And, uncle,
don’t you think it would be wise of you not to expose yourself
in battle?”

“What!” roared the old Demarch in a voice of thunder;
“stay in the background! Never while I can handle a
.bn 336.png
.pn +1
sword. I’m not going to let every one else have the fun,
and leave myself out of it. Why, this coming war in a teacup
is the first bit of amusement I have had for years, and
yet you grudge it to me.”

“I don’t want you to be killed, uncle.”

“Oh, I’ll look after myself, never you be afraid! I won’t
live any the longer for wrapping myself up in cotton wool,
and if I die, why, like Tennyson’s farmer, I die, but I’ll
have one stirring fight before I give up the ghost.”

“You have the Baresark fury in you, uncle.”

“An inheritance from our Norman ancestors, my boy.
You are more of courtly old Sir Guyon, who went to the
Crusades, but I resemble Jarl Hagon, who came sailing to
Normandy with Rollo. Indeed, if the theory of transmigration
be true, I believe the spirit of that old Norse savage
is incarnate in my body. I am born too late! I am an
anachronism in this dull, peaceful century, all gas and
steam engines. I ought to have fought with Drake and
Frobisher. However, I have done my best to make my surroundings
agree with my nature, and the result is—Melnos.”

“Which is the result, not of war, but of peace!”

“Eh!—oh, I daresay—it is a toy with which I can
amuse myself; but you forget that before I colonized Melnos,
I had battled all over the world, and thus expended a
good deal of my Baresark fit.”

“And now it comes again!”

“The last upleaping of the flame, my boy,” said Justinian
sadly; “and then death. But there, I talk so much about
myself, that you must think me egotistical. What about
that electric light I wish to try?”

“Alexandros and Gurt are fitting it up on the platform.”

“Good! but say Gurt and Alexandros in future. An Englishman
goes before every one else.”

“How patriotic you are, uncle! Yet you have forsaken
England.”

“England was an unjust stepmother to me, but absence
makes the heart grow fonder, and, in spite of my residence
here, I have as patriotic a spirit as any of your jingoists,
who shout War! war! war! on the least provocation. Come,
let us go and look at this search light on the terrace.”

Justinian, during the last few years, had dabbled considerably
in electric matters, and had sent Alexandros to
England in order to learn all about the science. Alexandros,
.bn 337.png
.pn +1
keen-witted in all things, had soon picked up all that was
necessary, and was quite an accomplished electrician; so
when he returned to Melnos, he brought with him, by Justinian’s
instructions, all machines necessary for the production
of the light. The powerful engine for working the
dynamo was placed at the back of the Acropolis, under the
eye of the Demarch himself, and from this centre the wires
were laid to the tunnel and the western pass. Thus the
machine, being, so to speak, in the heart of the island, was
safe from being captured by enemies, and the lighting of
both places was quite under the control of Alexandros. The
Demarch had also a third apparatus rigged up on the terrace,
in order to make a trial of the power of the light, which was
to be tried that night; for Justinian wished everything to
be in thorough working order against the arrival of Alcibiades
and his army.

While they were examining the electric apparatus on the
terrace in front of the Acropolis, Helena, in company with
Dick and Zoe, came to them in a great state of excitement.

“Papa, give me the key of the tunnel, for Crispin says the
boat has arrived from Syra with letters!”

“By Jove, that’s good news!” cried Maurice, as the Demarch
handed the key to his daughter. “Now we will know
all about the new yacht, uncle, and if Melnos is taken, we
can go to Syra, and escape on board of her.”

“Melnos won’t be taken,” said Justinian with a frown.
“I am quite astonished at your suggesting such a thing,
Maurice. Besides, the yacht is going to Athens.”

“Yes, but Crispin sent a letter to the telegraph office
there, telling them to wire to the agents that the yacht was
to stop at Syra.”

“Humph! well, that is not bad news. As you say, it is
as well to be prepared for emergencies. Here is the key,
Helena. Where is Crispin?”

“Waiting at the tunnel entrance!” replied Helena
brightly, and went away with the key of the island, guarded
by Dick and Zoe.

There was every sign that these two were following in the
footsteps of their master and mistress, for as Zoe, tutored by
Helena, could speak English very well, there was no obstacle
to Dick’s wooing. The bos’n was a handsome young fellow,
with a masterful manner about him, which the Greek maiden
found very pleasant, so she was not at all indisposed to yield
to his solicitations, and become Mrs. Dick, the more so, as
.bn 338.png
.pn +1
she thought this marriage would not part her from Helena,
whom she loved dearly. Her early flame, Gurt, had quite
vacated the field in favor of his handsome young rival, and
now took a paternal interest in the match. As yet, Zoe,
with innate coquetry, had not given Dick a direct answer,
but there was little doubt, in the end, she would accept this
assiduous lover who worshipped her very shadow.

While the three had departed to take Crispin the key of
the gate, Justinian continued examining the electric apparatus,
and questioning Alexandros concerning the mode of
working.

“The moon is not up till late to-night,” said the Demarch,
looking at the sky, “so in the darkness we will be able to
test it splendidly. Are the lights at the tunnel and the
western pass in order, Alexandros?” he added in Greek.

“Yes, Kyrion. I attended to them to-day, myself.”

“And the engine?”

“Works perfectly, Kyrion.”

“Capital!” said Justinian in English, turning to Maurice.
“I think our electric powers will rather startle Alcibiades!”

“No doubt; but do you know, uncle, I think it is a pity
you did not place a search light on one of those peaks, so as
to sweep the ocean, and thus reveal their approach if they
try to steal in to the beach under the cover of darkness.”

“True, true!” said the Demarch thoughtfully, nursing his
chin, “we will think of that, but meanwhile try this light
to-night. As to the watchmen on the peaks, Maurice, you
know there are also two on the beach, one on each side of
the island, so if they see Alcibiades’ approach first, they will
light their fires to signal to the peaks, and those above will
fire theirs to warn us. It is easier to see from the beach
than from above, where everything looks flat. Besides, the
nights are so still, that the sound of oars can easily be heard
a long way off, especially by men trained to hear like my
Greeks.”

“But suppose Alcibiades uses no oars?”

“Oh, well, in any case we will be warned in time. But in
case of a night attack, the men can muster rapidly, I suppose?”

“In a few minutes.”

“And the guard?”

“There is a strong one in the tunnel, under the command
of Gurt, and another in the pass, commanded by Temistocles.”
.bn 339.png
.pn +1

“Good! With such precautions we cannot very well be
surprised. But here is Crispin.”

“In a state of great excitement, too,” said Maurice, laughing.
“He has got a satisfactory answer to his letter.”

“It’s all right!” called out Crispin, mounting the steps,
waving an open letter in his hand; “the yacht has left England
for Syra, with Mrs. Dengelton, the Rector, and Eunice!”

“Is there a letter for me?” asked Maurice, nodding his
satisfaction at this intelligence.

“Yes, one from the Rector. See if it encloses one from
Eunice to me.”

Maurice tore open the letter of his old tutor, and out
dropped an envelope, directed to “Crispin,” in dainty feminine
handwriting, of which the poet at once took greedy
possession. On the balustrade of the terrace, Maurice sat
down to read his letter, and Crispin, after glancing at
Eunice’s private note, rattled on to Justinian about the
contents of his own correspondence, which he had read on
the way hither from the tunnel.

“The agents got my letter all right, sir,” he said gayly,
“and had no difficulty in securing the yacht I wanted, which
was still in the market. She left England a week ago.”

“For Athens?”

“Why, no. As there was danger of a row, I thought it
best she should be near at hand, so wired to the agents that
she was to stop at Syra, where she ought to arrive shortly.”

“She left Southampton after your letters, I presume?”

“Yes, a day or so after. Of course they came overland to
Brindisi, which gained them five days, or thereabouts, and
then caught the boat to Syra, and came straight on here with
Georgios. The Eunice!”

“Oh, is that the name of the yacht?” cried Helena
roguishly.

“Yes; the old Eunice is under water, but I call the new
boat by the old name.”

“So The Eunice is carrying her namesake?”

“Exactly. Well, The Eunice will run down to Syra in
about twelve days; a week has already gone by, so we may
expect her there in a few days.”

“When she arrives, what do you propose to do?”

“With your permission, go over to Syra and bring her
here.”

“By all means, if we are not blockaded in the mean time;
but if we are, you will have to stay here.”
.bn 340.png
.pn +1

“And The Eunice at Syra!” rejoined Crispin in a vexed
tone. “Well, perhaps it will be for the best, as your sister,
niece, and Mr. Carriston are on board, and won’t care about
being mixed up in a battle.”

“My sister!” repeated Justinian thoughtfully; “she was
born after I left England, and I only caught a glimpse of
her when I went back, so she is quite a stranger to me. Is
she a—a pleasant sort of person?”

“Well, she talks a good deal,” said Crispin, with some
hesitation.

“Then I am afraid she will tire me dreadfully,” said the
Demarch dryly, “for I do not like chatterboxes. However,
Helena will be glad to see her aunt. Will you not, child?”

“Of course, papa. I will be glad to see all my relations
if they are as charming as Cousin Maurice.”

“Eunice is an angel.”

“Of course,” said Helena mockingly; “that is because
you love her. Why, Maurice says the same thing about
me.”

“What does Maurice say?” asked that gentleman, looking
up from his letter.

“That I am the dearest girl in the world,” laughed
Helena, going up to him.

“I will find that out when your milliner’s bills come in.”

“Milliner!” said the child of Nature; “what is a milliner?”

They all laughed at this, particularly Justinian, who
pinched his daughter’s ear gently.

“Ah, a milliner is a very important person, my child.
She makes gowns.”

“Like this white one of mine?”

“No, more’s the pity,” said Crispin, with a laughing
glance at the simple white garment; “if all gowns were of
that style, the bills would not be so large, and husbands
would frown less. Well, Maurice, and what says the
Rector?”

“He declines to commit himself to an opinion until he
sees Melnos with his own eyes,” said Maurice, putting the
letter in his pocket, “and is coming out especially to see the
new Hellas. There, uncle, is that not a compliment?”

“I will be glad to see Mr. Carriston,” observed Justinian
a little stiffly, as Maurice thought. “Crispin, did Georgios
see anything of Alcibiades?”

“No, nothing.”
.bn 341.png
.pn +1

“Or hear anything?”

“Not a word.”

“They must be keeping all their preparations very quiet,”
muttered the Demarch to himself as he went inside; “but,
for all that, I believe an attack will take place within the
week.”

The party on the terrace broke up after his withdrawal,
leaving Alexandros still busy at his electric apparatus, which
was in complete order by night-time. After a merry supper,
every one came out again on to the terrace to make experiments
with the light, and Alexandros went away to look after
his dynamo.

Such a still night as it was, with not a breath of air to
cool the hot atmosphere, and the sky in the shimmering heat
seemed closer to the earth than usual. No moon was yet in
the heavens, but the dark blue vault was bright with innumerable
stars, large and mellow, like tropical constellations.
The valley below was in complete shadow, not the glimmer
of a white-walled house being visible, and the sides of the
gigantic cup which formed the crater of the volcano were
veiled in diaphanous darkness. So intensely quiet was
everything, that even the nightingales were silent, and there
seemed something awesome in this breathless stillness of
Nature, as though the whole earth were dead, and only the
handful of people assembled there alive.

“I don’t like this sultry night,” whispered Helena to
Maurice uneasily, as he stood by one of the pillars with his
arm round her waist. “I hope nothing is wrong with the
volcano!”

“What! after thousands of years’ quiet?” laughed Maurice
gently. “My dear child, the volcano is as extinct as the
dodo.”

“I don’t know what a dodo is,” replied Helena, panting;
“but the whole place seems so unnaturally still that it gives
me the idea of some coming trouble.”

“Perhaps Alcibiades!”

“Oh, we can fight against him, but we can’t fight against
an eruption.”

“Who is talking about an eruption?” said Justinian, turning
round from the electric apparatus he was examining.

“Helena. She is afraid there will be one soon.”

“Nonsense, nonsense!” said the old man testily, yet with
an anxious frown on his face. “If there was danger of an
upheaval, we would be warned by the hot springs, but they
.bn 342.png
.pn +1
are just bubbling as usual. Besides, Georgois tells me there
is an eruption at Santorin, so with that vent for the volcanic
forces we are quite safe. Why, I have lived here for forty
years in safety, and the crater has been extinct for thousands
of years, so we need not be afraid of anything going
wrong now.”

Thus pacified, Helena, in common with the rest, turned
her attention to the electric light, which at this moment
flashed out from the carbon points in terrible splendor.
Alexandros began to move it about, and like the flaming
sword of St. Michael, or the tail of a comet, it swept in a
tremendous arc across the dark sky. Turned down on the
valley, it revealed everything as if it were day, the lake,
the houses, the trees, the streets—all sprang out of the
darkness with the minuteness of a photograph. Then the
intolerable brilliance began to move slowly round the sides
of the crater, the black pine forests, the arid rocks, and then
the rugged peaks, white with chill snows. But, lo! as it
travelled eastward along the jagged heights, on one burned
a huge red star.

“The watchfire!” cried Maurice, springing to his feet.

“Turn off the light!” commanded Justinian hastily.

Alexandros did so, and there on the cold peak, amid the
luminous twilight, flamed the bonfire of the watch like a
baneful star, telling of destruction, war, and death.
.bn 343.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXI. | <sc>THE BATTLE OF TROGLODYTES.</sc>

.pm start_poem
I hear the noise of battle tumultuous!
It is not on the earth, nor do spectral hosts contend in the cloudy sky;
Under my feet it is raging, in the heart of the globe skirmish the struggling armies.
The cries of horror, the clash of weapons, the sharp crack of the deadly rifle,
Strike dully on my ear, as though the crust of the earth intervened between them fighting, and I listening.
Yes, the battle is subterranean! Do the gnomes assault one another
Over some new vein of gold but lately discovered?
Or do the dead, not rising from stone-sealed sepulchres,
Renew those quarrels below, which on earth ended their existence?
I know not indeed whether it be the dead or the gnomes,
But I hear the noise of battle tumultuous!
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
There was no doubt that a night attack was intended, and
that Alcibiades, hoping to take Justinian by surprise, trusted
he would be able to break in through the tunnel before his
secret arrival was discovered. Unfortunately for himself,
he did not know the military alertness of the Demarch, who,
warned by the watchfires, marshalled his men with the greatest
rapidity, and in the space of half an hour every man on
the island was drawn up, under arms, in the space before the
Acropolis. The powerful electric light flooded the whole
crater, so that the little army man[oe]uvred as though it were
day, and in profound silence every man took his place in the
ranks, ready to march to the front.

Justinian held a hurried council of war with Maurice,
Crispin, and Dick, as to the disposal of the troops, for the
question was whether Alcibiades would concentrate his forces
in the tunnel, and make one bold dash for the island, or,
dividing his men into two bodies, attack both entrances simultaneously.
Messengers had now arrived from the watchmen
on the heights and on the beach, from whose report it appeared
that the advancing enemy were all making in a body
for the eastern side of the island, therefore the Demarch
came to the conclusion that for the present only the tunnel
was threatened by the invader. However, to obviate any
chance of the western pass being taken by surprise, about
thirty men, under the command of Crispin and Dick, marched
in that direction, and the remaining eighty-six, with Justinian
.bn 344.png
.pn +1
and his nephew as leaders, took up their station inside
the tunnel palisade. Alexandros, of course, remained behind
at the Acropolis to attend to the working of the electric
lights, which were burning with full power at the western
pass and in the tunnel, the middle apparatus being turned off
after the departure of the men, so as to increase the brilliance
of the other two. Temistocles was employed as a messenger
between the two forces, so as to keep the four leaders thoroughly
cognizant of what occurred either on the western or
eastern side of the island.

The watchmen on the beach had waited until the boats of
Alcibiades were near shore, then rapidly fled up the tunnel
to the palisade, through the door of which they were admitted
by Justinian, who listened to their excited report concerning
the number of the enemy with the greatest calmness.
Indeed, the Roylands capability for command showed itself
in both the Demarch and his nephew, for the more perilous
did the situation become, the cooler they were, and never for
a moment lost their heads in giving orders to their men.
This self-control had a wonderful effect on the nerve of the
Melnosians, who, thoroughly efficient as regards drill, and
absolutely blind in their implicit obedience to their leaders,
carried out all commands with the utmost skill and promptitude.

At the entrance of the tunnel burned the great round of
the electric light, like a full moon, illuminating the neighborhood
of the palisade with steady splendor, so that the
defensive operations could be carried out to the minutest
detail without the slightest difficulty. Earthen works had
been built half-way up the wooden structure to the height of
a man’s shoulders, and now on top of this the Melnosians
laid bags of sand diagonally, the one overlapping the other,
to either side of the tunnel, with interstices between them at
intervals for the barrels of the rifles. All this was arranged
so as to afford those inside a good view of the attack, while
protecting them in a great measure from the fire of the
stormers. The electric light also gained them a considerable
advantage, as, being at their backs, they could carry on their
operations with ease, while it dazzled the eyes of the enemy,
who in front of them would see but the black mass of the
palisade, and at intervals catch a glimpse of the defenders
like silhouettes against the bright glare, which would have a
considerable influence on the fire of the attacking party.

Both Maurice and the Demarch were armed with revolvers
.bn 345.png
.pn +1
and sabres, while the sailors had their cutlasses, and the Melnosians
their Martini-Henry rifles; thus, what with these and
the protecting palisade, everything was in their favor, especially
as the steepness of the ascent hampered the enemy
considerably in their dash to carry the barrier by storm.
Thus intrenched, they waited in absolute silence, with calm
courage, for the onslaught, and shortly heard the tramp of
approaching feet, the ring of guns and swords, and the exclamations
of astonishment uttered by the invaders, when the
powerful rays of the electric light flashed on their advancing
mass.

Alcibiades might be a good commander, but he was a confoundedly
bad drill-sergeant, for his men came up the staircase
in a singularly disorderly fashion, rushing forward
pell-mell, as though they anticipated an easy victory. However,
at the sight of the electric light, and the barricade,
from which protruded the deadly barrels of the rifles, their
impetus received a decided check, and the foremost, recoiling
on those in the rear, threw the whole body into confusion.
Hesitating thus for a second in bewilderment, they offered a
fair mark to the defenders, who, at a given signal by Justinian,
poured a heavy fire into the huddled mass of human
beings. Some fell dead, many wounded, and the yells of the
discomfited assailants vibrated under the vaulted roof of the
tunnel, as they retired in disorder.

Then the stentorian voice of Alcibiades was heard urging
them forward, and with sudden resolution they dashed forward
like a wave on a rock, only to retire again before the deadly
volley of the Melnosians. The ground was cumbered with
the dead and dying, while the air was so thick with gunpowder
smoke that it hung like a veil between the contending
parties, and not even the powerful rays of the electric
light could break through the opaque cloud. As yet, protected
by their earthworks, the Melnosians had not lost one man, for
the bullets of the enemy passed harmlessly over their heads
or buried themselves in the sand and turf. Justinian ordered
his men to reserve their fire, as the attacking party were now
retreating for the third time in confusion, and therefore,
being considerably scattered, did not offer so good a mark as
when they rushed forward in a dense mass.

Evidently they were holding a consultation, for when they
again assaulted the barricade, one party dashed forward
under a heavy fire, with hatchets to cut away the timbers,
while the others remained behind and kept up a fusillade at
.bn 346.png
.pn +1
a safe distance. In order to avert this danger, and save the
palisade from being cut down, the marksmen returned the
fire of the rear rank, while, using the bayonets at close
quarters, their comrades stabbed the stormers whenever
they could get a chance. Notwithstanding this warm reception,
the assaulting party still stuck to their work, and amid
the infernal din of yells from wounded and fighters, could be
heard the steady blows of the hatchets, the sharp crack of the
guns, and the ping, ping, ping of the bullets whizzing through
the smoky air. At last, in spite of their valor, the stormers
were forced to retire, but not without doing considerable
damage, for they had cut through a considerable number of
the barrier posts, so that the palisade was now in a somewhat
shaky condition.

“Egad! they’ll have this down in no time, Maurice,” said
Justinian to his nephew, with a grim smile, “and then it
will be hand-to-hand fighting.”

“All the better!” replied Maurice, coolly examining the
edge of his sword. “I fancy they will find it hard to drive
us back from this position. Here they come again. The
devil!”

“What’s the matter?”

“They are going to fire the barricade! that is Caliphronas’
idea, I’ll bet!”

A party of men now surged forward, bearing huge bundles
of brushwood, smeared with tar and inflammable oils, which
they threw at the foot of the barrier, and ignited without a
moment’s delay. The Melnosians, adopting their former
tactics, shot and stabbed with right good will, but the advantage
was with the enemy, for, in the space of a few minutes,
the wooden poles and crossbars of the barricade were in
flames. Against this new peril nothing could be done, as,
not anticipating this stratagem, Justinian had not provided
himself with water; so the flames, leaping redly out of the
thick smoke, roared upward to the roof of the tunnel, while
the little band, some with bayonets fixed, others with guns
loaded, awaited the assault which would follow the downfall
of the protective palisade.

As if to hasten this catastrophe, the enemy, with infinite
labor, dragged a small cannon up the steep stairs, and, having
placed it in position, fired recklessly into the centre of
the blazing mass, with the hope of the ball cutting a lane
through the Melnosians. Luckily, owing to the irregularity
of the ground, they were unable to depress the muzzle of the
.bn 347.png
.pn +1
gun sufficiently, and the shot passed innocuously overhead,
having no other effect than to bring down a small shower of
stones from the roof of the tunnel. Justinian was rather
dismayed when he found they had succeeded in bringing up
a gun, but when he saw the effect of the shot, he smiled
contemptuously.

“That’s no good,” he said confidently; “they can’t get the
muzzle low enough to be effective.”

“Nevertheless, if the roof”—

The end of his sentence was lost in a tremendous explosion,
which nearly stunned them all, for, in their eagerness to fire,
Alcibiades’ men had overloaded their cannon, with the result
that it burst at the application of the light, and killed five
men.

“Glory! glory!” yelled Gurt, when he heard the row;
“they can’t do much now, d—n them!”

“No!” cried Maurice rapidly; “the barricade will soon
be down, and it will be a hand-to-hand fight. If they bring
up another gun, we’ll take it by storm.”

The heat by this time was something intense, owing to
the near neighborhood of the fierce flames, while the thick
white smoke, rolling upward in clouds, nearly choked them
with its pungent odor. The Melnosians were getting the
worst of it in this case, as the draught blowing upward from
the sea drove the eddying wreaths of acrid vapor full against
their faces, while the enemy was quite free from such
annoyance. Headed by Alcibiades and Caliphronas, who,
for a wonder, had pluck enough to place himself in front of
his men, they awaited with impatience the fall of the barricade,
and, quite anticipating that the Melnosians would be
choked by the pungent smoke, were prepared to dash forward
and carry the earthworks by storm while the defenders
were yet stupefied. Justinian saw this danger, made up his
mind, and acted thereon with promptitude and decision.

“Maurice, we must make a sally, and get into the clear
air beyond, else this smoke will suffocate us, and thus give
them the advantage.”

“Right!” replied his nephew, recognizing the necessity
for immediate action. “The flames are now pretty low, so
let us dash through at once and take them by surprise. I
will lead. You stay here, sir.”

“I’m hanged if I will!”

“You must, uncle, so as to help me if I need it. Tell the
men to follow me, as I am not well enough up in Greek.”
.bn 348.png
.pn +1

At this moment, the barricade fell down with a crash, amid
a sudden shower of sparks and rolling vapors. They could
hear the triumphant shouts of Alcibiades at the achievement
of this result, and Maurice ground his teeth with anger, as
he caught the taunting tones of Caliphronas’ voice, rejoicing
over this catastrophe.

“You wait here with some men, uncle, and build up the
earthwork higher, while I make a dash with a handful, and
see if I cannot drive them down the staircase.”

This suggestion was more palatable to Justinian than the
former one, as it gave him something to do, so he hastily
told the men of Maurice’s suggestion. A number of the
Melnosians, who were lying on the ground with their heads
wrapped in their cloaks to escape the stifling smoke, sprang
up, on hearing this, with a joyous shout; so, hastily selecting
his men, Maurice unsheathed his sword, grasped his revolver,
and made ready for a dash. Owing to the fall of the palisade,
the flames were now very low, but the smoke still
rolled upward in blinding clouds, thus effectively concealing
their movements from the enemy.

“Good-by, my lad! God bless you!” said the old lion,
grasping his nephew’s hand. “Drive them down as far as
you can, and, while you keep them at bay, I will have the
barricade built up again, with sand-bags and turf.”

Followed by Gurt and about twenty men, Maurice leaped
up on the earthwork, and dashed downward through the
smouldering ruins of the beams with a fierce cry. In a moment
they were out of the smoke and into the clear atmosphere,
while the enemy, thrown into confusion by their
unexpected sally, recoiled in confusion. Alcibiades, however,
seeing the smallness of the party, soon rallied them with
curses and prayers, so the next instant Maurice and his men
were in the thick of the fight.

It was now a hand-to-hand struggle, maintained with equal
fierceness on either side, but, fortunately, the narrowness of
the tunnel prevented the small band of the Melnosians being
overwhelmed by their enemies, while the fact that they were
on the higher ground gave them a decided advantage, which
made up somewhat for lack of numbers. The electric light
again pierced the now thin veil of smoke, so that they
could see what they were doing, and the Melnosians used
their cutlasses with deadly effect, while those who had bayonets
fixed to their guns stabbed the enemy relentlessly, as
they dashed forward again and again. Gurt kept close beside
.bn 349.png
.pn +1
Maurice, fighting like the old sea-dog he was, and got a nasty
stab in the thigh, which brought him to the ground. Alcibiades
saw this, and sprang forward to finish the unfortunate
sailor, when Maurice, having cut down a wiry Greek, who was
pressing him closely, turned just in time to see Alcibiades
lift his sword for the blow. As quickly as possible, he raised
his revolver to firing level, and broke the captain’s arm near
the elbow, causing him to drop his weapon with a yell of
pain.

Hitherto the fighting had all been in one place, as neither
party would give way an inch; but now, disturbed by the
reverse of their leader, the enemy began to fall slowly back.
Caliphronas indeed tried to rally them, but, on seeing this,
Maurice sprang forward to encounter him, clearing a space
for the fight by whirling his sabre round and round his head;
but the Greek, seized with sudden panic, flung himself into
the centre of his men, so that Roylands’ efforts to reach him
were futile.

Maurice’s band was now much diminished, and he had
serious thoughts of retreating back to the barricade, which
Justinian by this time must have almost rebuilt, but seeing
that the advantage was now on his side, he was unwilling to
lose it; so, with his men stretched out into a single line from
side to side, he continued advancing, driving the enemy step
by step down the staircase. Alcibiades, who was a brave
man in spite of his villany, had now shifted his sword to
his left hand, as his right arm hung useless at his side, and
with many prayers, curses, entreaties, and taunts, strove to
rally his forces, but all to no purpose, for slowly but surely
they retreated before that devoted little band, who, with
flashing eyes and clinched teeth, pressed them steadily
downward. Gurt, having bound up his thigh with a piece
torn from his shirt, was again by Maurice’s side, fighting
with a dogged determination, in spite of all entreaties to
retreat back to the barricade.

“Go back, Gurt! go back and tell Justinian to send more
men.”

“What! and leave you with these devils? Not if I know
it, sir. Hurrah! England for ever!”

“But you are wounded.”

“Only a prod in the thigh. Look out, sir, for that black
wretch!”

Maurice sprang aside, just in time to avoid a slashing-down
blow, and, turning on his foe, made a dash at him with
.bn 350.png
.pn +1
his sabre. He managed to run him through the left shoulder,
but the Greek like lightning cut at his defenceless head,
and, but for Gurt, who intervened with his cutlass, Maurice’s
career would have been ended. As it was, the Greek’s
weapon smashed against the sailor’s sword, and before he
could recover himself for another blow, Maurice had slashed
him through the neck, so that he fell dead at once.

The enemy were fighting like demons, and, the electric
light having been shut off by the angle of the tunnel, the
battle was raging in complete darkness, save for the fitful
glare of the torches held by Alcibiades’ men, and the pale
glimmer of daylight forcing itself in at the cliff entrance
of the tunnel. As long as Maurice could keep his enemies
in front, and his line steadily advancing, he had no fear,
while, owing to the confusion of the retreat, the foe kept
fighting the one with the other in the semi-darkness. Step
by step they fell backward, until nearly the lowest platform
of the staircase, when Maurice, having thus accomplished
his object, began to think of turning back, especially as he
had now but ten men left.

At the entrance of the tunnel, however, he saw the cowardly
Caliphronas in the rear, keeping out of harm’s way,
and, forgetting his caution of keeping the enemy in front,
sprang forward to battle with the Greek. Alcibiades saw
the false move, and, when Maurice’s men followed him rashly
forward, dashed back with a handful of his troops, and
in a moment the little band was surrounded by a horde of
howling savages. This was immediately under the entrance
of the tunnel, on level ground, so, the advantage being with
the enemy in every way, it seemed as though the Englishman
and his handful would be cut to pieces. Seeing his mistake,
Maurice, with his devoted followers, strove to fight his way
back up the stair, but, environed on all sides by a tumultuous
crowd, gave himself up for lost.

“My God! if Justinian would only come!” he prayed, as
he fought back to back with Gurt and surrounded by his
band. “Will nothing save us?”

At that moment, as if in answer to his prayer, a low moaning
sound came sweeping over the ocean, making every heart
sink with fear. The island began to tremble, and for the
moment so terrible was the suspense, that the fighting
ceased. Friend and foe stood alike pallid with fear, as the
ground began to shake convulsively, and the whole host
looked as though turned into stone. The ground, heaving
.bn 351.png
.pn +1
convulsively, hurled every one to the ground, including
Maurice and his band, who were just beyond the entrance
of the tunnel. Suddenly there was a sound like thunder,
and on the prostrate mass of humanity lying on the quivering
earth, a great mass of rock fell from above. What with
the dust, the noise, the yells of fear, and the imprecations,
Maurice was almost stunned, and when he arose to his feet,
he saw that the enormous slip caused by the earthquake
had not only killed a number of the enemy, but had also
blocked up the entrance to the tunnel.

Seeing that there was no hope to return that way, and well
aware that Alcibiades and those of his men who still survived
would kill him as soon as they recovered from their
fright, Maurice sprang to his feet and seized Gurt by the
arm.

“To the boats! the boats!” he gasped, hurrying the
astonished sailor down to the water’s edge. “Tunnel
closed. We must try the western pass.”

About four Melnosians had followed him, and these, with
superhuman strength, pushed off a boat from shore. When
all six were afloat, the islanders took the oars and commenced
to pull outward, so as to skirt the breakwater. By this time
the enemy had recovered from their first terror, and, seeing
the escape of the fugitives, came rushing down to the sea.
There seemed to be about two hundred of them left, and
being pretty well used to such trifles as earthquakes, especially
those who came from Santorin, now that the danger
was past, they were determined to follow and kill the little
band.

Luckily, Maurice, by his prompt action, had gained a good
start, and was already outside the breakwater, making for
the western side of the island, where he hoped to re-enter
through the western pass. He could see Alcibiades and
Caliphronas gesticulating fiercely on the beach and urging
their companions to follow, so, just as the fugitives came in
sight of the wreck of The Eunice, their enemies started in
pursuit.

“Thank God for that earthquake!” said Maurice thankfully,
taking off his cap. “It saved our lives.”

“Don’t holler till you’re out of the wood, sir,” said Gurt
dryly, pointing to the sea. “I’ve seed that sort o’ thing at
Thera, and it ain’t no child’s play.”

The waters around them were boiling like a furnace, and
had changed from their normal blue tint to the color of
.bn 352.png
.pn +1
milk. Maurice, in astonishment, dipped his hand over the
side of the boat into this opalescent sea, but withdrew it
immediately with a cry of pain.

The water was boiling hot!

“Bless you, sir, there’s lots of that sort of thing about
here.” said Gurt in a philosophical tone. “I’ve seed it
a-bilin’ round Santorin like a kittle. These Greeks don’t
mind it much.”

“Don’t they?” replied Maurice in a disbelieving tone.
“Well, Alcibiades and his lot seemed pretty sick.”

“While it lasts they’re frightened enough, but they soon
get over it, sir. Look at ’em follering.”

By this time they were rounding the angle of Melnos, and
the breakwater of the western harbor was in sight; but the
boat containing Alcibiades, manned by able rowers, was
gradually gaining on them. Two of the Melnosians, though
they tugged away pluckily, were yet in great pain from
wounds, while Gurt, feeble from loss of blood, could hardly
rise to his feet.

“Give way, men!” cried Maurice in Greek, as he examined
his revolver. “I’ve got two shots left, Gurt, so, if that
boat comes too near, I’ll try to pick off one of the rowers.”

“We’re not far from home now, sir,” said Gurt hopefully;
“and Mr. Crispin will be at the gate.”

“I hope he will, Gurt; but this earthquake must have
demoralized everything, and perhaps Mr. Crispin went back
to see Justinian.”

“Not he, sir; he’d send Temistocles. But Mr. Justinian
must think us dead.”

“It’s not improbable. However, we will soon show him
we’re alive, though the tunnel is closed up forever.”

“Good job too, sir,” replied Gurt cheerfully; “there’s no
getting in that way now; so if these villains want to take
Melnos, they’ll only have the western pass to enter by. I
guess that there rock, sir, killed a few.”

“What with the battle and the earthquake, they must
have lost at least a hundred men, while our deaths are comparatively
small.”

“We’ve got nigh on a hundred left, I think, sir; but if it
weren’t fur you, sir, gittin’ that idear of the boat, we’d be
all dead men, for sure.”

“Egad, we’ll be dead men now, if we don’t look out!”
said Maurice, as the foremost boat of their pursuers came
within pistol shot. “Look out, Gurt; I’m going to pick off
that fellow standing up in the prow.”
.bn 353.png
.pn +1

The Melnosians, in their sudden rush for the boat, had
naturally enough dropped their guns; but Maurice, with an
Englishman’s determination to stick to anything he has once
got a grip of, had carried off his sword, and still possessed
his revolver. Gurt also had his cutlass, so, in the event of
their foes catching them on land before they could gain the
shelter of the stockade, Maurice and one of the Melnosians
would have to defend the three wounded men and the
remaining one, who had no weapon. Meanwhile, their boat,
impelled by the rowers with the energy of despair, had
rounded the breakwater, and was rapidly sweeping inward to
the land. Some little distance above they could see the narrow
entrance of the pass, but, as Crispin and his men were
intrenched behind the palisade, farther up the gorge, of
course the fugitives could not hope for their help. Maurice,
however, thought that the pistol-shots might attract attention,
as the sound carries far in that rarefied atmosphere, and
he also told his Melnosians to shout loudly, so as to let their
friends know they were in peril.

Just as the boat was nearly touching the land, a bullet
from the rifle of the man standing up in the prow whizzed
past Maurice’s ear; but, fortunately, being widely aimed,
did not touch him. The Englishman, resting his revolver
muzzle on his left arm, fired carefully, and, luckily, hit his
enemy full in the chest; whereupon the man flung up his
hands and fell splash into the water. The rowers, startled
at this, paused for a moment; and in that time Maurice ran
his boat ashore, and giving Gurt, who could not walk, into
the care of the two Melnosians, one of whom was unhurt,
and the other only wounded in the arm, thrust Gurt’s cutlass
into the hand of the remaining one, and began to retreat
slowly up the hill.

Alcibiades’ boat was yet far distant, but the one near
shore, its rowers having recovered from their surprise at the
loss of their leader, landed as quickly as possible, and began
to run as fast as possible after the fugitives. The Melnosians
shouted with right good will for help, and, while
retreating slowly, Maurice managed to drop one of his pursuers
with his remaining cartridge. They had now nothing
left to fight with but a sword and cutlass, both of which were
useless against the rifles carried by their pursuers, and the
look-out was all the worse, as Captain Alcibiades, with a new
crew of cut-throats, had now landed on the beach.

The two Melnosians hurried Gurt along as quickly as possible,
.bn 354.png
.pn +1
the other wounded man ran ahead, shouting for help, and
Maurice, with the remaining islander, covered the retreat
with stern determination. Several shots sung past them, but
their pursuers were evidently bad marksmen, and they gained
the entrance of the gorge without being hurt.

The palisade now could be seen some little distance away,
and the foremost fugitive had nearly reached it, so Maurice
took heart, in spite of the near proximity of Alcibiades and
his men. In his heart, however, he was praying that Crispin
might be still at his post, as, if he were not, the whole four
of them would certainly be murdered on the spot.

One of his pursuers was now close at hand, and raised his
rifle to the shoulder; but Maurice, with sudden inspiration,
threw himself flat on his face, and the ball passed over his
head. Then, springing to his feet, he commenced to run
rapidly after his companions, followed by the baffled marksman,
who did not wait to reload.

Maurice heard a shout of joy from the palisade, so knew
that Crispin was at his post, and would bring him help; but
at this moment the foremost man caught up with him. The
Englishman slashed at his neck with his sabre, but the wily
Greek dodged lightly, and, clubbing his musket, brought it
down on Roylands’ head with tremendous force. Instinctively
Maurice put up his sword to guard himself, but the
weapon shivered to pieces under the blow, and, stunned by
the stroke, he fell insensible to the ground.
.bn 355.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXII. | <sc>THE WARNING OF HEPHAISTOS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Hence, ye mortals! hence away!
Dare not on this isle to stay;
For in grim seclusion here
I a mighty forge would rear,
So that in this sea-girt grove
I can work for mighty Jove.
Thunder-bolts doth he require,
Swift to follow lightning’s fire,
When his wrath he would assuage,
And on mortals wreak his rage.
Never more will Melnos isle
With the corn of Ceres smile;
From its crater flames will rise,
Roaring to the frighted skies;
Bubbling from the depths below,
In its cup will lava glow;
And the sea around will boil
At my never-ceasing toil:
Therefore, mortals, haste away!
Dare not on this isle to stay.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
When Maurice came to himself, he was lying on the grass
inside the palisade, and Crispin was bending over him with
the greatest solicitude. His head ached dully with the
effects of the blow, and the blood was clotted in a nasty
scalp-wound on the right side of his skull, where the butt of
the musket had struck him. Dizzy as he was, yet by a
violent effort he managed to sit up and inquire in a feeble
voice what had become of the companions of his flight.

“Oh, they are all right, Maurice!” said Crispin, holding
out his brandy-flask. “Take a drink of this, and lie down
again for a time.”

Maurice did as he was told, and resumed his recumbent
attitude on the grass; but, anxious to know everything,
looked inquiringly at Crispin, who at once replied to his mute
questioning.

“I have been here ever since you left for the tunnel this
morning,” explained the poet quickly, “as Justinian sent
word by Temistocles that I was on no account to forsake my
post. We heard your pistol-shots and cries for help, but
thought it was some stratagem on the part of the enemy.
Then Theodore, whom you sent on for aid, made his appearance
at the barricade, and gasped out some incoherent story.
.bn 356.png
.pn +1
As soon as I ascertained it was you, I sallied out with some
men, and saw Gurt being helped up the hill, and yourself,
with Basil, protecting the rear. Alcibiades and some others
were scrambling up after you; and then we saw you engage
with that foremost blackguard. He knocked you over, and
would have finished you, but for Dick, who took a pot shot,
and bowled him over like a ninepin. Then we rushed up,
and brought you here, with Alcibiades and his friends yelling
like fiends at the escape of their prey.”

“And Alcibiades?”

“Oh, he and the other fellows have gone back in the boats
to the eastern harbor, I suppose. Jove! I was never so
surprised in my life as when I saw you scudding up that hill,
for both Justinian and myself thought you were dead!”

“Does Justinian know I am alive?”

“Yes. I sent Temistocles off to tell him as soon as you
were in safety; I expect he’ll be here every minute.”

“What about the earthquake?”

“Oh, we felt it, I can tell you. It was a tremendous
shock, and has filled up the tunnel completely.”

“At which, I suppose, my uncle is heart-broken?”

“No fear. He never thought about the tunnel while you
were in danger. But how did you manage to escape?”

“That is a long story,” said Maurice faintly, for he felt
sick with fatigue. “Give me some more brandy.”

“Here you are. Don’t talk any more till Justinian
comes.”

“But tell me, where is Gurt?”

“Oh, he and the rest have gone off to the Acropolis to
be looked after. Now, do be quiet, Maurice, or you’ll be
fainting again.”

Roylands closed his eyes, and obeyed; while Crispin, with
a sponge and water, brought by the swift-footed Temistocles,
carefully bathed the wound, and dexterously bound it up
with lint and linen, so that Maurice felt more comfortable.

“It’s only a flesh wound,” he said in a satisfied tone; “but
it is a mercy you did not get your head smashed.”

“What is the time?”

“Nearly ten o’clock in the morning. You’ve been fighting
all night, so I don’t wonder you are dead beat. The sun
will be up over the eastern peaks soon.”

It was indeed long after dawn, for in the darkness of the
tunnel no one had taken any count of the hours; and when
the earthquake had occurred it was just that time between
.bn 357.png
.pn +1
the fading night and the coming day. So upset and excited
had Maurice been with the fight, the earthquake, and the escape,
that neither he nor any one else remembered that the
fighting had begun at midnight, and lasted till sunrise. And
now he remembered that the sun had risen while they were
rounding the angle of the island; but, having forgotten the
flight of time, he had not thought this strange. It was a
great blessing that they had escaped in the boat at daylight;
else even in the luminous night it would have been difficult,
with the sea in such a perturbed condition, to have made the
voyage safely.

Very shortly Justinian arrived, full of thankfulness for
Maurice’s escape, and fear concerning his wound; but by this
time the young man, though much shaken, was quite himself
again; and, leaning on the Demarch’s arm, with occasional
assistance from Crispin, managed to crawl along as far as the
Acropolis, where they were joyously received by Helena.

As the tunnel was now completely closed up, there was no
chance of the pirates getting in that way; so Justinian sent
all his men over to the western pass, where, under the command
of Dick, they remained on guard. The women from
the village came up the first thing in the morning with provisions
and wine to minister to their wants; so, thus, everything
being in order for the present, the Demarch was anxious
to hear all the details of his nephew’s miraculous escape.

He told them the whole story over the breakfast table,
with occasional help from Gurt, who was admitted to the
symposium on account of his bravery during the battle.
The old Demarch, self-contained both by nature and training,
did not say much during the recital, beyond expressing his
heartfelt joy at the escape of his nephew, but it could easily
be seen that he was inordinately proud of Maurice’s prowess
and promptitude of action; for, though the hero himself
modestly suppressed such details as tended to self-glorification,
Gurt, in his blunt sailor way, came out with the true
unvarnished facts of the case, which caused Maurice to blush,
and his audience to exclaim admiringly.

“By Jove, Maurice, you ought to be a V.C.!” cried Crispin,
when the story came to an end. “If you hadn’t had your
wits about you, and seized that boat, you would have been a
dead man to a certainty!”

“It is the Roylands’ blood!” said Justinian proudly. “I
knew I was not mistaken in my estimate of your character,
Maurice. You will make an admirable ruler of Melnos!”
.bn 358.png
.pn +1

“That is, if there is any Melnos to rule over,” replied
Maurice, with an uneasy laugh; “for, by Jove, uncle, when
that earthquake came, I thought everything had gone to
kingdom come.”

“Ah, you see, father, I was right about the earthquake
last night!” said Helena in triumph; “I felt that something
was going to happen!”

“Yes, but you thought it would be an eruption,” answered
Justinian, with apparent indifference, though there was an
anxious look on his face; “as to an earthquake, why, these
Greek islands are all volcanic, so that means nothing.”

“How did you get on after I left you, uncle?”

“Why, I set my men to work, to build up the barricade
again, with turf and bags of sand. You were a long time
gone, my son, and I became afraid that you had been cut to
pieces, so, when the work was done, I intended taking some
men and going after you. Then the earthquake occurred,
and we heard the fall of the roof at the cliff entrance. I
thought you were dead for sure, and cannot tell you of the
anguish I felt at your loss. However, Temistocles brought
me the news of your safe arrival at the western pass, and I
breathed freely again. Oh, my dear Maurice,” continued
the Demarch, taking his nephew’s hand, “how fervently do
I thank God that you are alive! for if those scoundrels had
killed you, indeed I do not think I would have had the heart
to continue living in Melnos.”

Maurice was greatly touched with his uncle’s emotion,
which was a rare thing for the iron old Demarch to display,
for as a rule he took both good and bad fortune with the
utmost equanimity, and seldom gave any outward signs of
his feelings on such occasions. His nephew, however, was
very dear to his heart, and he looked upon him with great
pride, both as his future son-in-law and successor, so it had
been a terrible blow to him, to think he had lost a young
man on whom all his future hopes depended.

As for Helena, she said nothing, but, genuine offspring of
her father as she was, bore up pluckily, though it could be
plainly seen that she had suffered much during the absence
of her lover. Fortunately, the time which had elapsed between
Maurice’s supposed death and subsequent reappearance
had been too short to permit of her knowing of the
calamity, else, brave as she was, she would certainly have
given way under such a cruel misfortune. As it was, however,
he now sat beside her safe and sound, so all the terrible
.bn 359.png
.pn +1
events which he detailed with such coolness only seemed to
be some hideous nightmare which had vanished at the coming
of morning.

She insisted upon Maurice’s going to bed for a good sleep
after breakfast, in which insistence she was supported by
her father, who saw that Maurice was more shaken by his
late fatigue than he chose to acknowledge.

“You can sleep for a few hours at all events, my son,” he
said affectionately, “for Alcibiades has lost too many men
to think about making another attack, at least for some
time.”

“Are you not going to sleep yourself?”

“No, I am going down to the valley to look at those hot
springs. This earthquake has rather unnerved me, and I
wish to see for myself if there is any probability of an eruption.
Crispin, will you come with me?”

“If you desire it; but, to tell you the truth, I also am
rather tired.”

“Pshaw!” said the man of iron, with good-humored scorn;
“you have no stamina, Crispin. If you had been through
all that Maurice has undergone, you might talk. However,
take your sleep for an hour or so.”

Crispin really was very delicately constituted, and could
not do without that sleep which Justinian despised, but, in
order to be ready for any emergency, he curled himself up
on a divan in the court, and rested there without removing
his clothes. Maurice, on the contrary, completely worn out
with fatigue and anxiety, to say nothing of his scalp wound,
went straight to bed, and slept soundly most of the day,
while Helena, tenderly solicitous of his comfort, watched
beside him the whole time, with her little hand lying in his
warm grasp.

Meanwhile, Justinian, who, in spite of his age, scarcely
seemed to feel the effect of the previous night’s vigil, took a
cold bath to freshen himself up, and then started on a journey
of inspection round the island. Like a careful general, his
first visit was to the outposts at the western pass, where he
found everything in an extremely satisfactory condition.
Part of the men were sleeping, while the others kept guard,
waiting to take their turn of rest when their comrades awoke.
Notwithstanding the hard fighting, all those who had been
engaged in the defence of the tunnel seemed in a wonderfully
good condition, while Dick and his nine sailors, hardened by
a seafaring life, seemed to feel no fatigue whatsoever, in spite
of constant watchfulness and anxiety.
.bn 360.png
.pn +1

With a view to seeing the position of the enemy, Justinian
climbed up a small path which led to the hills from
the inner side of the outward palisade, and, using his field-glass,
soon discovered that Alcibiades was concentrating his
forces below in order to storm the pass. Boat after boat
filled with desperadoes came sweeping round the breakwater
into the smooth sea of the harbor, and tents were being
erected on the beach by the besiegers. Evidently they had
discovered that there was no chance of entering by the
tunnel, which was completely blocked up by the fallen rocks,
so were determined to effect an entrance by the western
pass, where at least they would have the advantage of fighting
in daylight. Carefully surveying the disorderly host,
Justinian calculated that there still remained about two
hundred men, against which he could only bring ninety-five
or thereabouts. Still, intrenched behind his barricades, and
having the pass swept by two cannon, he thought the invaders
would find it somewhat difficult to dislodge him from such a
strong position, the more so as they lacked discipline, and
their leaders were quite ignorant of military tactics.

Having ascertained all this, Justinian descended into the
gorge again, where he gave Dick his final instructions, which
were simply to keep a sharp lookout on the enemy, and, in
the event of seeing any movement uphill towards the mouth
of the pass, to at once send off Temistocles to the Acropolis
with the information.

Dick having promised faithfully to obey these instructions,
the Demarch, escorted by a couple of his men, went along
the mulberry avenue, in order to survey the tunnel, which he
had not entered since driven from thence by the earthquake
some hours previous. The electric light was turned off, as
the Demarch, now that the danger lay more in the west than
the east, judged it advisable to reserve all the power of the
dynamo for the one light which swept the western pass, and
therefore, bidding his men take torches, went downward into
the darkness of the tunnel with such illumination only.

Passing down to the ruins of the palisade, where so fierce
a fight had taken place, he crossed that boundary, and, turning
the angle of the staircase, came in sight of the landslip
caused by the earthquake. The red flare of the torches but
feebly showed the amount of damage done, but Justinian saw
sufficient to assure him that there was no chance of the tunnel
being made use of again for at least some months.
Extending from the cliff entrance to some considerable distance
.bn 361.png
.pn +1
back, the whole roof had collapsed, and tons of débris
piled upward from floor to vault completely sealed up the
mouth of the passage. It would take a goodly amount of
dynamite and blasting powder to remove those massive
blocks; and, now that he knew Maurice was safe, the
Demarch had time to grieve over the damage done to his
beloved tunnel. Justinian, however, was too practical a man
to waste time in useless lamentation, and promptly decided
that, as soon as Alcibiades was beaten back,—an event
which he was assured would come off without much difficulty,—he
would set gangs of men to clear away the obstruction,
and restore, with as little delay as possible, the tunnel
to its pristine excellence. The burning of the palisade also
had taught him a lesson, and, to obviate the chances of such
defence being destroyed by fire, he decided to build a kind
of stone bastion in the same place, with loopholes for guns,
and also to fortify it with two field-pieces, which would
simply mow down an enemy advancing up the staircase like
ripe corn.

The inspection of the tunnel being concluded, Justinian
returned upward to the light of day, and descended the grand
staircase in order to pay a visit to the springs. He looked
upon these as a kind of thermometer, useful in warning him
of seismic disturbances, for, in spite of the long silence of
the volcano, Justinian knew that the subterranean forces
were still at work under the crust which covered the crater;
and with the remembrance of the great eruption of Vesuvius,
in the year 79, constantly in his mind, was not without certain
fears that this long-slumbering monster might reawaken
from the sleep of centuries. The volcanic forces, however,
having a vent in the adjacent island of Santorin, he had
hitherto calculated that Melnos would remain quiescent, but
the terrible earthquake which had so unexpectedly occurred
inspired him with great uneasiness, and he was in deadly
fear lest it should prelude the renewed activity of the mountain.

As before described, the hot springs of Melnos somewhat
resembled the geysers of Iceland, save that they were less
active, and did not send up jets of water to any great height
from their uncanny mouths. On this day, however, when
the Demarch approached the desolate gorge where they had
hitherto rested as slightly bubbling pools of water, he was
astonished and dismayed to find them in full activity.
Clouds of thin steam almost obscured the yellow, red, and
.bn 362.png
.pn +1
green lava of the rocks behind, and amid this ominous vapor
the springs were spouting furiously at intervals. Thick jets
of boiling water would gush up from the ragged clefts in the
sulphur-streaked blocks to a considerable height, and, after
expending their fury, would sink down again into the bowels
of the earth. After a time the muttered bellowing of the
monsters would be heard, and amid groanings and gurglings,
which told of the colossal forces at work beneath, the great
columns of water would again shoot skyward with hideous
roars.

The Demarch noticed this unusual disturbance of the
springs with great uneasiness, as during his whole forty
years’ residence on the island never had there been such
signs of danger. Even where he stood, the earth was
cracked in many places, and little jets of steam escaped with
a whistling noise, which could be heard shrilly when the bellowing
of the geysers ceased. All the Melnosians were in a
terrible state of alarm, and it took all Justinian’s eloquence
to persuade them that this was simply a local disturbance
caused by the earthquake, and that there was no danger of
an outbreak on the part of the long-sleeping volcano.

Truth to tell, in spite of his speech, he was not at all easy
in his mind as he climbed up the staircase to the Acropolis,
for these ominous signs boded but ill for the safety of the
island, and he dreaded lest without further warning the crater
should burst out into full fury, in which case every being
therein would certainly be killed. He was unwilling, however,
to communicate his fears to Helena or to Maurice, and
thus disturb their minds at this critical period of the siege;
but, feeling that he must have some one with whom to talk,
awoke Crispin from his siesta, and, taking him into his own
room, gave him a description of the geysers’ activity.

“The deuce!” said Crispin in dismay, when he heard this
unpleasant recital. “I hope we are not going to have the
destruction of Pompeii over again; but I must say it looks
uncommonly like it!”

“Do you think Melnos will break out again?”

“Those spouting geysers certainly don’t bode any good,
sir, nor that earthquake either. Perhaps it is a warning
from Hephaistos that we had better leave the island.”

“I won’t leave the island,” said Justinian obstinately,
drawing his iron-gray brows together: “after forty years of
incessant toil, I would indeed be a coward to leave Melnos
simply because things look a trifle ominous.”
.bn 363.png
.pn +1

“Yes; but volcanoes are delicate things to deal with.
These signs are slight; but who knows but what they may
be followed by a blowing up of the crater’s crust, in which
case I am afraid everything in connection with Melnos will
be at an end.”

“But the volcano has been extinct for thousands of
years!”

“So was Vesuvius,” replied Crispin coolly, “and that
mountain in New Zealand—Tarawera, was it not?—that
awoke to activity after centuries of quiescence. You can’t
trust volcanoes, sir. They are most treacherous monsters,
and when least expected break out in full fury.”

“An eruption is going on at Thera.”

“All the more reason that the volcanic action will extend
to Melnos.”

“There I don’t agree with you. If the subterranean
forces find vent in one place, there is less chance of them
breaking out in another. Besides, Thera has always been
active. Herodotus, Appollonius, and Plutarch all speak of
previous eruptions. Then there was one in 1457, when the
Venetians occupied the island; another in 1707; and I
think the last outburst took place in 1866.”

“Well, according to Georgios, there is one going on now,
which is a bad sign for us.”

“On the contrary, a very good sign. Don’t you see, Crispin,
that, whereas Thera has burst out every hundred years
or so for many centuries, there is no record of Melnos being
active. This temple of Hephaistos was built long before
Christ, during the supremacy of Hellas in these seas, and
had the crater not been extinct then, it could not have been
built on the inner cup, nor could any eruption have taken
place since, as it would have been destroyed; so as the
mountain, to all appearances, has been extinct for thousands
of years, and the volcanic forces find vent at Thera, I really
do not see why, because of an earthquake and a spouting
geyser, we should think it likely the crater will break out
again.”

“Still, you see the Hellenes must have known this was a
volcanic island, and, perhaps, put up this temple to the god
of fire in memory of an eruption. If I remember rightly,
the Rhodians built a temple to Poseidon Asphalios after
some early eruption, in order to propitiate the gods; so
this shrine may have been erected for a similar reason.”

“Scarcely, if the volcano was active then. I don’t think
.bn 364.png
.pn +1
even the pious Hellenes would have risked their lives in
building a temple under the very nose of Vulcan in full
work. But what do you think is best to be done?”

“Well, certainly it would be foolish to leave Melnos,
after all the work you have expended upon it, without very
good reason, and, until something more serious occurs, I
should be inclined to remain. In spite of these signs, the
volcano has been as quiet as a lamb for thousands of years;
so I do not see why it should break out now, save out of
sheer contrariness. We had better go on defending Melnos
from Alcibiades, and take no notice of the volcano; but if
anything serious occurs, we must get away as quickly as
possible.”

“But how? Alcibiades has destroyed all our boats.”

“Well, we will seize his; or else, as soon as I can guess
The Eunice is at Syra, I will go over and bring her to Melnos;
so that in case of danger I can save every one.”

“Over a hundred and fifty people! Impossible!”

“There won’t be a hundred and fifty people by the time
Alcibiades is beaten,” replied Crispin dryly. “It is not that
I am afraid of; but if such a contingency as the volcano
becoming active does arise, my difficulty will be to get
through the besieging army out into the open sea.”

“I’m afraid there’s no chance of that,” replied the
Demarch gloomily.

“Well, it certainly looks impossible, but there’s nothing
like trying. However, there may be no necessity for such
daring. Don’t trouble about the volcano, Justinian; I’ve no
doubt Hephaistos will warn us again before proceeding to
extremities.”

“I am of the same opinion myself. Still, your words
have given no great comfort, Crispin; for, after all the
money and labor expended on this island, it would indeed be
a terrible thing if it became nothing but a smoking mass of
black lava, to say nothing of the destruction of my schemes.”

“You won’t tell Maurice or Helena of this?”

“No. Maurice has quite enough on his mind already, and
it would only frighten Helena to death. She is brave
enough at most dangers, but I think a volcanic eruption
would frighten the most stout-hearted. I have to a great
extent calmed the feelings of those in the village, so it will
be best for you and I to keep our own counsel, and not uselessly
alarm our friends.”

“I hope it is a useless alarm,” said Crispin uneasily.
.bn 365.png
.pn +1
“But it is a very unpleasant idea to think that one is living
on top of a powder-magazine which may explode at any
moment.”

“As far at that goes,” answered the Demarch dryly, “the
whole globe is nothing but an egg full of fire, and we all live
on the surface of an explosive bombshell whirling through
space, which may burst at any moment. My island is only
a sample of the whole earth.”

“I wish you wouldn’t look at things in such an unpleasant
light,” cried Crispin, laughing. “My nerves will be destroyed
before I leave this island. However, I am going to finish
my sleep.”

“And Maurice?”

“He also is asleep, and I’ve no doubt will wake up quite
fit for another midnight attack.”

“Egad, and he’ll get it!” said the Demarch grimly.
“That villain Alcibiades is getting ready for another
assault.”

“Well, in spite of the benefits conferred, it is to be hoped
Hephaistos won’t interfere this time with his earthquakes.”

“He has warned us twice,” replied Justinian, as he
walked out into the court with the poet; “once by the
earthquake, again by the springs. Heaven help us when the
third warning comes!”

“Oh, there’s luck in odd numbers,” said Crispin flippantly.
“And, in any case, if we come to grief, our enemies
will be in the same plight as ourselves.”
.bn 366.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXIII. | <sc>THE INVOCATION OF ARTEMIS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
O Moon! thou risest from the western seas,
A virgin Aphrodite fair and chaste,
And by thy votaress on bended knees
These stainless flowers are on thine altar placed:
Pale lilies, roses wan, and cyclamen,
Whose petals have ensnared thy pallid rays;
Frail hyacinth as chill as mountain snows
Beneath thy wintry ken;
With many blossoms plucked in dewy ways,
For thee, O goddess! who canst end my woes.

O Moon! I pray thee in thy tenderness,
Watch with thy silver eye my lover gone,
And soothe him with thy virginal caress,
For thou hadst also an Endymion.
Astarte! Dian! Tanith! Artemis!
Whate’er men name thee in thy mystic might,
With sacrifice and songs I worship thee:
So grant, O Moon! the bliss
Of feeling in my heart the pure delight,
Which tells my love is coming back to me.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Evidently Alcibiades had but little stomach for midnight
fighting, for he made no attempt to storm the pass
under the cover of darkness, and was apparently making
preparations to begin the fight at the first flush of the dawn.
In thus deciding, he was wiser than he knew, for many of
his men had been killed in the tunnel by their own friends,
owing to the confusion which prevailed during the retreat
down the staircase. Moreover, with the electric light showing
the position of the enemy to the defenders, and dazzling
their eyesight when they advanced to the attack, there was
nothing to be gained by a night sortie, and Alcibiades
thought it best to storm the pass by day, so that he, at least
in the matter of light, might have the same advantage as
Justinian.

All day long, the Demarch and his nephew posted themselves
on the heights above the gorge, and from their vantage,
with the aid of strong field-glasses, saw the preparations
which were being made for the final attack. Alcibiades,
with more military precision than of yore, had
divided his two hundred men into two bodies, one of which
was commanded by himself and the other by Count Caliphronas.
.bn 367.png
.pn +1
Under these two leaders were four other commanders
responsible for fifty troops each, but these deferred
to Caliphronas and Alcibiades, while the Count in his turn
took his orders from the old pirate as the supreme head of
the whole army.

Without doubt, Alcibiades desired to attack the island in
two separate places, for he knew, thanks to the treachery of
Caliphronas, that Justinian’s force was too few in numbers
to admit of division, and thus, while the one body was attacking
the palisade in the gorge, the other could get at the
rear of the Melnosians by another way. Unfortunately for
this daring scheme, the cliffs on either side of the pass were
perfectly inaccessible, as they arose smooth and arid from
the beach to the height of two hundred feet, and as the besiegers
had not wings, they could scarcely hope to climb up
these sterile steeps, which would not have afforded foothold
even for a goat. The only path available for this plan was
perfectly well known to Caliphronas, but, unluckily for the
besiegers, was inside the outer palisade, from whence it
wound up to the heights where the Demarch and his nephew
were seated, and from thence went through the altar glade,
down to the back of the Acropolis.

Once the outer defence was taken, Caliphronas intended to
lead his century of men up this secret way, which he knew
thoroughly, and thus gain the heart of the island as exemplified
by the Acropolis, while the Demarch was keeping back
the feigned attack at the stockade. This stratagem was
very clever and very feasible, but the difficulty in carrying it
out consisted in the fact that, before the path could be
ascended, the outer defence would have to be taken, which
was no easy task, when defended by such determined men as
the Melnosians. However, it was <pm corr 373.32 'to to' to> all appearances the
only chance of gaining speedy possession of the island, without
risking prolonged fighting; so Alcibiades adopted the
plan without hesitation, and arranged with his subordinates
to assault the palisade at early dawn, carry it with a dash,
and then, while he made a feigned attack at the inner defence,
Caliphronas and his men, gaining the interior of the
island by this path, could attack the defending party in the
rear.

It never for a moment struck Messrs. Alcibiades & Company
that Justinian was far too wide awake not to have
thought of this contingency, and had made his preparations
in consequence. The entrance of the path from the gorge
.bn 368.png
.pn +1
was up a narrow, winding staircase, cut in the live rock,
which could only hold two men abreast, so, in the event of
the outer defence being beaten down, this staircase could be
easily defended by a dozen or so of men. Added to this, an
iron gate closely locked was placed at the entrance; therefore,
even if the enemy did gain an entrance into the pass,
they had considerable difficulties to overcome before marching
in triumph into the Acropolis. Justinian would, indeed,
have been a bad general had he not foreseen this danger, but
even though he thus guarded against it to the best of his
ability, he trusted that his men would be able to hold the
outer defence until Alcibiades retired in discomfiture.

As a matter-of-fact, the fiery old adventurer would have
liked nothing better than to sally forth at the head of his
handful of men and drive his enemy into the sea, but he was
no longer the reckless Rudolph Roylands of the past, and
judged it best to be cautious, nor risk the chance of a pitched
battle in the open with unequal numbers. Intrenched in
the strong outworks of the pass, his little band could hope
to face their enemies with more than a fair chance of victory,
but if he was foolish enough to make a sally, his ninety-five
men would, in spite of their bravery, be quickly cut to pieces
by more than double the number. Of course their military
precision would doubtless tell against the undisciplined hordes
of Alcibiades; still the risk was too great, and Justinian,
much as he desired to make a bold dash for victory, deemed
it best to take advantage of all the shelter and advantage
his fortifications afforded.

The western pass was not unlike the tunnel in conformation,
for, extending from inside to outside, a distance of a
quarter of a mile, it ran upward from the cliffs of the beach
for some little way, then, turning in an abrupt angle, pursued
a straight way into the interior of the crater. Evidently
created by a volcanic eruption for the outlet of lava,
the sides, rent apart by some convulsion, arose precipitous
and sterile to the height of over two hundred feet. No vegetation
softened the nakedness of these rugged rocks, which,
streaked with green, yellow, and red, presented a singularly
forbidding appearance. On the top grew ancient pines,
whose sombre branches, nearly touching one another as they
stretched across the gulf, only permitted a thin streak of sky
to be seen; so that the depths below were singularly gloomy,
and to the imaginative Hellenes might well have suggested
the thought that it was the Gate of Hades, by which name it
.bn 369.png
.pn +1
was traditionally known. Justinian, however, abandoned
such cognomen as of evil omen, and called it “The Western
Pass,” by which title it was generally called by the Melnosians.
It was indeed a remarkably eerie place even on the
brightest day, and the light which filtered downward from
between the branches of the pines but half revealed, in a
glimmering gloom, the horrent rocks, the lack of flowers and
grasses, and the chill, vault-like seeming of the whole tremendous
cleft.

Maurice, having slept all day, felt wonderfully refreshed
when he awoke, just as the sun set, and, though his head was
still painful with the wound, yet his brain was perfectly
bright and clear; so, after making a hearty meal, he started
with his uncle and Crispin for the western pass, where he
was to remain all night. The enemy might, or might not,
make a night attack, and Justinian rather inclined to the
belief that they would wait till daylight. Nevertheless, to
guard against any chance of such a thing occurring, he
resolved that every one, both leaders and men, should remain
in the pass during the hours of darkness.

The men thus being at the front, a number of the women
were sleeping up at the Acropolis with Helena, so as to be
near their relations, and the interior of the island was thus
given over entirely to feminine influence; while the extreme
end of the pass, near to the outer palisade, was occupied by
the male defenders. At times the sunlight came into this
cliff entrance, so there was a scanty vegetation for some distance
inward, so on this sparse grass Justinian and his men
made themselves comfortable. Many of the soldiers, wearied
out with watching, were sleeping around, but there was a
strong guard at the barricade, under the command of Gurt,
who was much better, and had insisted upon coming to the
front.

Round a fire sat the Demarch, his nephew, Crispin, and
Dick, all talking earnestly about the coming struggle, for the
bos’n, having snatched a few hours of sleep during the afternoon,
was now quite alert and active. The fire was lighted
more for the sake of comfort than because of cold, though,
indeed, the bottom of this abyss was chilly enough, and the
cheerful flames flickered redly in the intense darkness, while
high above glimmered the pale stars, and to the right arose
the frowning mass of the palisade black against the faint
gleam of the luminous night. To their nostrils came the salt
savor of the sea, and at intervals they could hear the songs
.bn 370.png
.pn +1
and revelry of their foes on the beach below. What with the
recumbent forms of the sleeping men, the firelight hollowing
out a space for itself in the blackness, and the intense
stillness of the night, broken only by the pacing of the sentries,
and the fitful snatches of song from the near distance,
the whole scene was extraordinarily weird, so much so, that
Crispin, with his impressionable poet’s nature, soon relapsed
into silence.

“Crispin, why don’t you think of business?” said Maurice
mischievously, as he noticed the poet’s abstraction.

“I was thinking of—of—other things.”

“My niece for instance,” observed the Demarch, with a
grave smile.

“It’s not improbable,” replied Crispin, reddening a trifle;
“but, after all, I am in good company, for Maurice is doubtless
thinking of Helena.”

Maurice, smiling, did not deny this remarkably accurate
guess, and his uncle, smoothing his silver beard, laughed
silently.

“I’m afraid Dick and myself are the only persons who are
thinking of war.”

“I’m certain of it as far as you are concerned, but I will
not answer for Dick there.”

“Dick, Dick!” said Justinian, shaking his head gravely;
“what is this I hear?”

“About Zoe, sir,” answered the bos’n innocently.

“Oh, it is my daughter’s maid!”

“Well, you see, sir,” said Dick bashfully, “it was like this,
sir. Zoe, you see, gentlemen, likes me, and I like Zoe; so,
with your permission, Mr. Justinian, we were thinking of
marriage.”

“My permission!” echoed the Demarch, with a lurking
smile; “as far as that goes, it doesn’t seem to be needed.
This is surely pairing time, for you three young men seem to
be all choosing mates. Eunice, Helena, Zoe! Maurice, when
your old tutor arrives, we must have a triple marriage.”

“We’ve got to drive away Alcibiades first, uncle.”

“No doubt; but that, though difficult, is not impossible.”

“I hope not. Crispin, wake up, sir! You are thinking
about Eunice again.”

“Indeed I am not,” answered Crispin, with some dismay.
“I am thinking of my revolver, which I have left behind at
the Acropolis.”

“There’s a warrior for you,” said the Demarch, with a
.bn 371.png
.pn +1
hearty laugh; “he forgets the modern substitute for a shield.
Well, my lad, as your revolver is an important matter, you
had better go back and get it.”

Crispin jumped gayly to his feet.

“I’ll go at once,” he said, putting on his sombrero; “but
I hope the battle will not begin without me.”

“I think you may make up your mind there will be no
row till dawn, sir,” said Dick, who was peering between the
bars of the palisade; “there would not be all that kick-up
going on down there if they meant business.”

“In that case,” observed Maurice, rising slowly, “I think
I’ll go back for your revolver, Crispin.”

“Or for your heart,” replied the poet, laughing.

“Oh, I don’t wish to bring that back, especially in wartime.
It is safer with Helena. Uncle, can I go?”

“By all means. I agree with Dick, and do not think
there is any chance of a night attack. However, you had
better make haste to come back to your post.”

.pm start_poem
“So Paris flies harsh war’s alarms
For dalliance in fair Helen’s arms.”
.pm end_poem

“Crispin, keep your rude couplets to yourself, or I’ll forget
to bring back your revolver. Adieu, gentlemen. I will
return anon.”

Maurice stalked away up the gorge, like a tragedy actor,
much to the amusement of Justinian. Indeed, this light-hearted,
desultory conversation did a good deal to keep up
their spirits, and, in spite of the serious danger at their
gates, all the Englishmen were wonderfully merry. It is
characteristic of the British, that, if they take their pleasures
solemnly, they keep the balance even by being gay in
the presence of danger, and he who doubts the truth of this
statement has only to read Kinglake’s account of the battle
of the Alma, in order to assure himself of its truth.

As before mentioned, the gorge was very dark, but Maurice
knew every inch of the way, and, being sure-footed as a
goat, never stumbled in his step, but strode merrily along in
the darkness, whistling “Garryowen.” It was curious, amid
all this Greek life, revival of paganism, and piratical invasion,
to hear the quaint Irish air, but Maurice found it an
admirable melody to which to march, and moved his legs so
rapidly to the tune, that in a very short space of time he
emerged from the pass into the moonlit road skirting the
crater.
.bn 372.png
.pn +1

It was only about ten o’clock in the evening, and the
moon, full and round, burned like a lamp in the sky near the
Milky Way, which she was slowly drawing near. Brightly
gleamed Sirius amid the feebler twinkle of minor stars, and
eastward like a ruby glittered Mars, the planet of the soldier,
foreboding war and blood. The wind gently moved the
branches of the mulberry-trees above the head of the pedestrian,
and, moderating his pace, he strolled lazily along the
shadow-strewn road, while the nightingales sang in every
thicket, thrilling his heart with their delicious notes.

Soon, however, another song mingled with theirs, a strange,
wild melody, which, chanted in a clear, high voice, arose and
fell sadly in the chill moonlight; then an imploring chorus
of voices sounded in unison. Again the one singer cried in
an appealing manner; then silence and the hurried notes of
the hidden birds.

Curious to know the meaning of this strange singing,
Maurice walked rapidly onward, bounded up the steps of the
Acropolis, and entered into the vestibule. The music, shrill
and fitful, sounded close at hand, so, stealthily approaching
the curtains hanging before the entrance of the court, Roylands
peered in, to discover the reason of such fantastic melodies.
He was evidently disturbing the mysteries of the
Bona Dea, for the court was thronged with women, and they
seemed to be engaged in the performance of some rite—a
kind of invocation to the moon, which appeared shining
brilliantly in the sky through the hypæthral opening of the
building.

A small brazier filled with burning coals, and elevated on
a tripod, stood near the fountain, before which stood Helena,
in her long white robe, with loosely flowing hair and slender
arms outstretched towards the serene planet above. Around
the court knelt a number of Melnosian women in their long
chitons; but Maurice’s eyes were fastened on that beautiful
central figure which stood so motionless before the tripod.
The moonlight softly fell on her lovely upturned face, on
her snowy robe, her milky arms, and touched with chilly
beam the disordered gold of her hair. Maurice, who felt
that he was looking on at some ceremony not meant for masculine
eyes, would have stepped forward and announced his
presence, but at that moment, Helena broke out into a song
so wild and thrilling, that he involuntarily paused in amazement.
The words were in Greek, but he was now sufficiently
master of the language to understand them. They were
.bn 373.png
.pn +1
evidently some antique invocation to the inviolate Artemis,
and he wondered where she could have discovered them,
as they rippled from her lips, rising and falling with fitful
sobbings, like the voice of some complaining wind on a lonely
beach.

.pm start_poem
                HELENA.

Oh, waning moon! why hidest thou thy face?
Fair is the night, but less fair than my lover absent;
Unveil thyself from the jealous cloud-woof,
And thou wilt see how fair is he I worship.

               CHORUS.

O Dian! sun of the lovers’ night, I call thee.

               HELENA.

Thou canst control the tides of ocean,
The tides obedient, who are slaves to thee,
Surely then thou canst control the heart of my lover,
And make him long to return to my arms so loving.

               CHORUS.

O Baalit! mistress of the tides, I call thee.

               HELENA.

Save him from danger, for he is daring, my lover,
He rides the surges of battle as thou ridest the flying clouds.
Save him, Tanith!
And bring him safely to the arms of her who calleth.

               CHORUS.

O Ashtoreth! thou also hast loved! I call thee.
.pm end_poem

At this moment, Helena took something from her bosom,
and, throwing a few grains of incense on the coals, held it
in the thick white smoke which arose. Afterwards she advanced
to the fountain and dipped it thrice, singing all the
time that strange melody.

.pm start_poem
               HELENA.

This amber heart I place in the rising odors,
So that thy virtues may pass into it;
Thrice do I dip it in lustrous water in which thou hast beheld thine image;
.bn 374.png
.pn +1

For thus will it draw the magic from thy breast,
On my lover’s neck will I place it—on his beating heart will it rest,
And it will save him when red runs the blood of battle.

               CHORUS.

Hecate! controller of spells, I call thee.
.pm end_poem

When she ended, the chorus of women arose to their feet,
and slowly filed out of one of the side doors, leaving the
court empty, and Helena still standing by the brazier,
from whence the burning incense still rolled skyward.
Maurice, quite astonished at this strange scene of magical
incantation, stole quietly forward, and, looking over her
shoulder, saw that she was gazing at the amber heart, which
she had converted into an amulet by her moon spells.

“Helena!”

She turned with a cry of astonishment, and then fell into
his arms with a joyous laugh.

“Oh, Maurice! my dearest! my darling! Are the old
stories true, and have my spells drawn you back to my
side?”

She was much excited, so Maurice drew her gently to one
of the chairs near the fountain, and, placing her therein,
knelt at her feet, smoothing her two hands, which he held
between his own, to quieten her alarm at his sudden appearance.

“My dearest Helena, I came back to fetch Crispin’s revolver,
which he has left behind. Hearing you singing, I
looked in.”

“Oh!” cried Helena, with a blush; “and what did you
see?”

“Nothing very dreadful,” he replied, laughing, “I only
saw a symposium of women, and felt like Clodius surveying
the mysteries of the Bona Dea. What on earth were you
doing?”

“Oh, it was only a game, Maurice,” she replied, burying
her head on his shoulder. “I am ashamed you should have
seen me acting so childishly, but, the fact is, there is a
woman here who told me about it.”

“About what?”

“This incantation to the moon. In spite of father’s being
so particular about purity of blood, some of the women are
of Arab descent. This one who told me how to make a talisman,
.bn 375.png
.pn +1
comes from Africa, and, I believe, is a descendant of
the old Carthaginians.”

“Nonsense! they were all stamped out by the Romans.
Well, what about this modern Dido?”

“Well, she saw how anxious I was about you, and told me
if I invoked the moon, and bathed some small article in
moon-water and incense, it would become endowed with
powerful virtues, and protect its wearer from danger.”

“You foolish child!” said Maurice, tenderly stroking her
loose hair; “and was all this mummery on my account?”

“Yes; but if you laugh at it, the talisman will lose its
power.”

“Then I’ll be as grave as a judge. Where is this wonderful
amulet?”

Helena held out the amber heart which lay in the centre
of her little white palm, from which Maurice lifted it daintily,
and pressed his mustache against her hand.

“And am I to wear this?”

“Round your neck.”

“But there is nothing to fasten it there.”

“Oh dear me, I must get some string, or silk, or—Oh,”
she cried, struck with a sudden thought, “have you a
knife?”

“No.”

“Then lend me your sword.”

“What! are you going to cut my head off for overlooking
your Bona Dea ceremonies?” he said laughingly, drawing
the keen weapon from its sheath.

For answer, she arose to her feet, and shook the loose gold
of her hair over her shoulders. Carefully selecting one long
tress, she smoothed it down with her hands, and held it out
towards her lover.

“Cut it off.”

“What! your beautiful hair!” cried Maurice, who stood
before her with his sword gleaming in the moonlight. “Oh,
Helena, I could not do that.”

“Then give me your sword, and I’ll do it myself.”

“My dearest, you would hurt yourself. Why do you want
to cut this lock?”

“To make a chain for the heart.”

“There’s a chain round my heart already,” said her lover,
still hesitating. “Won’t it spoil your hair?”

“Maurice! how tiresome you are! Cut it off at once.”

She stamped her foot with pretty petulance, so, seeing she
.bn 376.png
.pn +1
was obstinate, he carefully sheared off the tress close to her
head. This being done, she shook her locks over the shorn
place, and, sitting down in her chair once more, began to
weave the shining hair into a delicate chain.

“You silly child, making me despoil you of your glory!”
said Maurice, touched by her action. “There, let me put
my sword up again, and I will help you.”

“Hold the end of the chain then, and do not talk, or you
will break the charm.”

Maurice, sheathing his sword, knelt down before her, and,
taking one end of the glittering coil daintily between finger
and thumb, watched her weaving the threads rapidly together,
crooning the while a strange old song in a low voice.

.pm start_poem
“Weave the threads of golden hair,
  Golden future also weaving.
Happy be thy fortunes fair,
  Plenteous joy but scanty grieving.
In and out, and out and in,
Thus thy coming life I spin.

Bind the chain to golden heart,
  Golden heart to thee be binding,
Meet together ne’er to part,
  Love will come with little finding.
In and out and out and in,
Thus thy future life I spin.”
.pm end_poem

“There!” said Helena, having finished the chain; “now let
me tie up the ends—give me the heart.”

“My heart?”

“I have that already,” she answered mischievously. “The
amber heart, please; I must bind it to the chain.”

“Where did you learn that song?”

“I made it up all by myself,” said Helena triumphantly,
dangling the chain before him. “Do you think that only
Crispin is a poet?”

“No, my Sappho.”

“There is a chain of my hair and a talisman attached to
keep you from harm, so bend your head, my knight, and I
will give it to you.”

Maurice, entering into the spirit of her charming humor,
bowed his head, over which she flung the slender chain of
hair, then, kissing him on the forehead, leaned back and
clapped her hands gayly.

“There! now you are safe. Nothing can harm you while
you wear that.”
.bn 377.png
.pn +1

“Nothing can harm me while I think of you,” he whispered
tenderly, taking her in his arms; “your love is my
safeguard both in peace and war.”

“Oh dear me!” sighed Helena, as she pillowed her head
on his shoulder; “what nonsense it is, Maurice! Still, it’s
very pleasant nonsense.”

“Very pleasant.”

“And I am very nice?”

“You are very vain,” he said, kissing her and rising to his
feet. “There, you charming sorceress!”

“A new Circe.”

“Precisely; but I must not stay with Circe any longer.
Let me go to Crispin’s room for his revolver, and then good-by.”

As quickly as possible he ran into the poet’s bedroom, and
found the weapon on the bed, where the neglectful poet had
left it. Slipping it into his belt, he came back to say good-by
to Helena.

“Now mind you go to bed, dear,” he said, kissing her
tenderly; “no more magical ceremonies to-night.”

“No, I will go to bed. Oh, do take care of yourself,
Maurice!”

“I will, both for your sake and my own. Besides, your
talisman.”

Helena threw her arms impulsively round his neck.

“I give you the talisman, and I give you my love.”

He bent down and kissed her, then without a word went
away into the moonlit night on his way to battle, and perhaps—death.
.bn 378.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXIV. | <sc>A MODERN THERMOPYLÆ.</sc>

.pm start_poem
In the gap say fifty fighters waiting for the coming shock,
Guns and sabres, pikes and bayonets holding tight,
And two hundred stormers dashing up, like surges on a rock,
With a grim determination for their foes’ extermination
In the fight.

Clash of weapons, cannon’s thunder, and the rifle’s deadly crack,
Mingle fiercely with the shrieking of the wounded in their pain,
Till, in spite of all their toiling,
Valor stanch their efforts foiling,
Down the slope again recoiling,
Reels the shattered column back,
All their dauntlessness in vain,
And the battle-ground is cumbered with a multitude unnumbered
Of the slain.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
At the first flush of dawn in the gray eastern skies, the
Melnosians were on the alert and ready for the fight. Owing
to the early hour, and the fact of their having passed the
night in the open air, many of the men were shivering with
cold, on noticing which, Justinian ordered hot coffee to be
served out all round. They also took a light meal, then
went through a few evolutions on the narrow space of their
bivouac ground, which suppled their limbs, and sent the
lethargic blood once more speeding rapidly through their
veins. Both Crispin and Maurice felt somewhat stiff, especially
the latter, owing to his wound, but the hot coffee, the
food, and an indulgence in a few gymnastic exercises soon
brought them back to their normal condition of physical
fitness. Unlike their less seasoned frames, Justinian’s iron
constitution never seemed to feel the strain to which it was
subjected, and, in spite of his years, he was as brisk and
active as the youngest member of his band.

As it was imperative that this outer defence should be
held against all odds, owing to the proximity of the side
path, the Demarch had the two cannons which were planted
inside the second barricade brought down as rapidly as possible,
and placed them on either side of the entrance to the
gorge, in order to sweep down the enemy as they dashed up
the sloping ground from the beach. Their muzzles, protruding
from the earthworks, could pour confusion into the ranks
of the stormers in a most effective fashion, especially as they
.bn 379.png
.pn +1
were loaded with grape-shot, which would scatter widely in
the discharge. As in the tunnel palisade, a thick wall of turf
was built half-way up against the beams, while on this sand-bags
and gabions, with loopholes for the rifle barrels, were
also laid. The whole front of the battery was therefore
bristling with danger to the besiegers, while the garrison,
intrenched behind their outworks, were in comparative
safety. The inner palisade farther up the pass was defended
in a similar manner, saving in the matter of cannon; but
Justinian determined to use his best endeavors finally to
crush the enemy in his present position, so as to do away
with the danger of their gaining possession of the side path
which led into the heart of the island.

Directly in front of the battery, the ground sloped away
down to the beach in a gentle declivity, and up this a winding
road was cut by slight gradations which afforded a sufficiently
easy approach. Still, so undisciplined were the troops
of Alcibiades, that the Demarch thought, instead of marching
along the road in a regular line, they would scramble
confusedly upward either by the path or by the slope, so that
his guns could play on their scattered ranks with deadly
effect.

Maurice and his uncle took their field-glasses up to the
point of vantage above the side path, from whence they
could survey the preparations of the enemy, who were now
deploying in irregular lines under the amateur leadership of
Alcibiades and the traitor Greek. Justinian laughed contemptuously
as he saw the confusion into which Caliphronas
was throwing his men, and, without removing the glass from
his eyes, remarked on this bad generalship to Maurice.

“I always thought Andros had a certain amount of brains,
but, seeing what a mess he is making of things after all my
training, I am wrong in believing him capable of anything
except grinning in the mirror.”

“Well, he has very bad soldiers, uncle. They seem to be
ignorant of the simplest rules of discipline.”

“And no wonder! The very scum of the Levant. Peasants,
sailors, Turkish scamps, and stupid islanders. Still,
even out of the most hopeless materials a good commander
can form a disciplined corps, and I am sure they have had
plenty of time to drill their men; but Andros has not the
slightest capability for military matters. As for Alcibiades”—

The Demarch’s opinion of Alcibiades’ generalship was so
.bn 380.png
.pn +1
bad that he could not find words sufficiently contemptuous
to express his scorn; but as at this moment the enemy began
to move irregularly towards the road which led to the mouth
of the pass, he shut up his glass and went down to his men,
followed by Maurice.

“The dance is about to begin,” said Crispin, when the
garrison were all in order at their several posts. “I expect
it will be a merry one.”

“Faith! we will be the pipers,” replied Justinian grimly,
pointing to his cannon; “they will caper gayly enough when
these play the tune.”

“We had better lose no time in beginning then,” said
Maurice, who was looking at the approaching enemy, “for
here come the dancers.”

As Justinian had foreseen, the stormers, instead of advancing
by the road in a compact body, and thus neutralizing
the danger of the opening fire, rushed irregularly up the
slope in hopeless confusion, yelling wildly in order to keep
up their courage.

“Scum!” cried Justinian scornfully, as he saw the motley
crowd climbing upward. “Give it ’em, lads!”

Dick presided over one of the guns, Gurt at the other, as
both of them, having been in the English navy, knew all the
necessary business for loading, adjusting the sight, and firing
the cannon. The Demarch’s finances had not run to the
expense of importing cannon of the new type, so these brass
guns were somewhat old-fashioned; still, loaded with grape-shot,
they were very effective when fired, especially when
sighted with considerable science by the old men-of-war’s-men.

Up came the enemy, shrieking like fiends, and broken
into irregular bands, dotting the green slope with patches of
blue topped by the red of their Turkish headgear. Dick,
who was to fire first, waited till they were within an easy distance,
and then put the lighted match to the touch-hole of
his cannon. There was a roar as the deadly grape-shot
splashed among the advancing crowd, and then a shriek of
rage as the column reeled, wavered, and for the moment
paused. Encouraged by Alcibiades, they still advanced,
only to be mown down by the dozen with the discharge of
Gurt’s cannon, upon which, dismayed at the carnage, they
retreated down the hill in confusion, leaving the ground
thick with the slain.

On seeing this, the sailors set up a hearty British cheer,
in which all joined but Justinian, who smiled grimly at the
.bn 381.png
.pn +1
effective work done by his guns. Alcibiades was stamping
with rage, for his little scheme of firing the barricade, as
on the previous occasion, was quite impracticable, owing to
those deadly muzzles which gaped through the palisade.

With considerable caution, however, he scattered his men
so as to avert the danger of huddled masses being cut down
by the grape-shot, and kept up a continuous fire at the frowning
front of the battery. The Melnosians returned the fire
with their Martini-Henry rifles, and managed to pick off a
few of the sharp-shooters, while, protected by their gabions,
they managed to escape without the loss of a single man;
for the bullets either buried themselves with a dull thud in
the sand-bags or else went ripping above their heads to
flatten themselves harmlessly against the lava walls of the
pass.

“They can’t last long against our cannon, uncle,” said
Maurice, who was watching Dick reloading his gun; “that
first dash has lost them nearly twenty men.”

“It will take some time to polish off two hundred,” replied
Justinian, who had his glass to his eyes; “besides,
Alcibiades has some scheme in his head. All this sharp-shooting
is done to divert our attention. I thought so!”

“What’s up now?”

“He’s bringing up a field-piece to that hill.”

“The deuce!” cried Maurice, hastily focussing his glasses.
“We must silence that. Dick, do you think you could bring
one of the guns to bear on that hill to the right?”

Dick, after some consideration, thought he could, and did;
for, with the assistance of his sailors, he wheeled round the
gun-carriage to an angle of thirty-five degrees, so as to bring
the muzzle of his piece in a direct line with the conical-shaped
mound up which the enemy were dragging their battery.
This hill, which was slightly to the right of the pass,
would have been utilized long before for his guns by any
able commander; but not until the loss of twenty men had
taught Alcibiades experience, did he think of making use of
the position. The crest of the mound was slightly lower
than the palisade; but, by depressing the muzzle of his gun,
Dick got a fair opportunity of disabling the battery of the
enemy. Owing to their numbers, they soon succeeded in
dragging the field-piece up to the top, and, placing it in position,
raised the mouth slightly, so as to aim at the upper part
of the barricade. Just as they were preparing to fire, Dick,
who had loaded with round shot, discharged his cannon, and
.bn 382.png
.pn +1
the great mass of iron went hurtling viciously through the
air.

“Badly aimed, Dick,” said Maurice, who had his glasses
up. “Your eye is not quite in. Look out, they are returning
the compliment.”

There was a puff of smoke, a sudden flash, an infinitesimal
pause, and a ball came ripping along at tremendous speed,
only to strike the ground in front of the battery, and ricochet
harmlessly down the hill.

“Their gunner isn’t much better than myself, sir,” cried
Dick, carefully training the sight of his piece; “but I won’t
miss this time.”

His aim was much better, for the second shot, while not
touching the cannon, knocked over two men standing near,
who dropped down quickly over the brow of the hill.

“Egad! I wish those two had been the leaders,” said Justinian
cheerfully; “both the scamps are there. Here’s the
return fire.”

This time the ball struck the palisade fair in the top centre,
and smashed down several of the cross-beams. The
sharp-shooters, seeing this, gave a cry of triumph, which was
echoed by those on the hill, and the gunner rapidly loaded
again, so as to follow up the advantage gained. Dick, however,
was already prepared, and before the cannon of the
enemy could be fired again, a shot from his gun struck it on
the carriage, causing it to fall out of position. The besiegers
set at once to work about restoring it to its former level; but
by this time Gurt also had directed his gun towards the battery,
and shot after shot from the two cannon followed so
rapidly that in a short time the enemy had to vacate their
position.

“I wish I could make a dash, and spike that gun,” said
Maurice, as the Melnosians cheered loudly.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, sir,” replied Justinian
sharply. “I don’t want to run the chance of losing you
again. Besides, Alcibiades is going to make a dash for the
gate.”

“Old fool!” said Crispin scornfully. “He can’t bring his
men up against our guns.”

“He’s going to try, at all events, as he evidently thinks
his shot has told heavily on our defences.”

All this time there was a constant flash, flash, flash along
the line of sharp-shooters, as they kept up a continuous fire;
and, in spite of all precautions, two Melnosians were killed.
.bn 383.png
.pn +1
Under cover of this musketry it was apparent that Alcibiades
was about to make a dash; but, having learned a lesson from
the previous advance, he led his men along the right side,
close under the cliffs, where the cannon could not reach them.
Justinian saw this man[oe]uvre, and, rapidly serving out fresh
ammunition, told his men to be in readiness.

Round the right corner of the battery came a furious
crowd, headed by a huge negro, for Alcibiades had no liking
for heading such a forlorn hope. The attack was received
by the garrison with a volley from their muskets; but, in
spite of many dropping off dead and wounded, the besiegers
still continued to struggle fiercely up the outward beams, in
order to reach the upper gap made by the cannon. The
sharp-shooters had, of course, to cease fire, lest they should
hit their comrades; and, seeing that they had swarmed up
nearly to the top of the barrier, ran forward to help them.
The Melnosians, in two lines, one kneeling, the other standing
at the back, fired continuously at the writhing mass,
while those behind the gabions stabbed with bayonet and
cutlass with right good will. Both cannon were discharged,
cutting two lanes of blood through the furious throng; yet,
notwithstanding their losses, the stormers still stuck to their
intention, and it became evident that nothing now remained
to the garrison but to beat them back in a hand-to-hand fight.

One pirate leaped from the parapet through the gap, but
was speedily despatched by a bayonet-thrust in the chest.
Others, however, followed like a flock of sheep, and there
was little doubt but that the Melnosians would have been
driven back had they not been so expert in the use of the
bayonet. Justinian, an old army man, had taught them the
exercise splendidly, and, raising the bayonets first high,
and then back over the right shoulder, their weapons told in
every thrust; so they were thus enabled to keep the foe at
bay.

While the top of the barrier was thus being assaulted, a
number of men, under Caliphronas, were hacking away at
the lower beams; for, unwilling to harm his men, Alcibiades
refrained from setting fire to the palisade as he had done
before. The weight of the stormers on the top made the
now weakened lower portion rock ominously, and it was evident
the whole structure would soon be in ruins. When this
happened, the danger would be imminent, as Justinian knew
that the enemy far exceeded in numbers his own little band,
and, even with the advantage of the narrow gorge, it was
.bn 384.png
.pn +1
doubtful if he could hold his ground. Giving way, however,
meant that the side path would be left to Alcibiades, and,
however bravely defended, would be certain to be captured
at once. Besides, he dared not leave the guns in possession
of the enemy, as they would at once use them with deadly
effect against his own men.

Rendered reckless by despair, the Melnosians fought like
demons against the enemy, and, though Alcibiades hurled
body after body of men against them, they stood their
ground, and did not give way one inch. At any moment,
however, the barrier might fall, and Justinian lost no time
in rendering the guns innocuous, if he were forced to retreat
up the gorge.

“Dick! Gurt! spike the guns! spike the guns!” he roared
in English, and the Greeks, not understanding the language,
did not guess how important was the order. Caliphronas,
however, heard it on the other side of the barrier, and made
immediate report to Alcibiades, who grasped the idea at
once.

“Make for the guns! capture the guns!” he yelled in
Greek; “they will spike them!”

A body of men leaped down from the parapet and made
for the gun held by Dick, but Maurice sprang in front of it,
and, while the bos’n was busy putting in the spike, kept the
enemy at bay. He soon emptied his revolver, and thus had
to fight solely with the sword, but the Demarch, seeing his
danger, re-enforced him with four Melnosians, who speedily
beat back the assailants. However, Dick’s task was accomplished,
and, Gurt having also obeyed orders, both guns were
now spiked and perfectly useless, should the enemy gain
possession of them. The only danger remaining was the
side path, which, in spite of its iron door, might be forced;
so the Demarch and his men stanchly held their ground, in
spite of the havoc which was being made in their ranks by
the overwhelming force of the enemy.

Fighting fiercely, with obstinate determination not to give
way one inch, slowly but surely the Melnosians drove back
the stormers to the barrier, clambering up over the heaps of
slain in their efforts to force the enemy to vacate their position.
The air was blinding with gunpowder smoke; the
clash of the swords, the fierce shouts of the besiegers, and
the cheers of the Melnosians created a most infernal din;
but high above this was heard the crash of the palisade, as,
yielding to the axes of the enemy, it fell outward. Many
.bn 385.png
.pn +1
were unable to retreat in time, owing to the crush behind,—for
Alcibiades had long ago given up every attempt to keep
order,—and in its fall a great number were crushed to death,
while their comrades, not heeding their death agonies,
rushed forward across the platform thus formed, in order to
follow up their advantage as speedily as possible.

At this critical juncture Justinian bethought himself of
the stratagem of scaring the enemy by a fictitious force, and
hastily bade Temistocles to run to the Acropolis and tell all
the women to come down the gorge with drums beating and
colors flying. There were plenty of kettledrums and flags at
the Acropolis, which Justinian had not cared to use, so these,
used by the women advancing down the pass, might inspire
the enemy with fear that re-enforcements had arrived. The
only proviso that Justinian made was that the women, on
their arrival, should keep out of musket-shot and not risk
their lives.

Temistocles sped away like a deer, and Justinian hastily
advanced to the front, in order to assist Maurice and Crispin,
who were both fighting with the desperation of despair.
The Melnosians, two deep, extending right across the gorge,
and, being at close quarters, were using their bayonets for
stabbing, and their clubbed muskets for dealing blows. The
sailors were almost in a ring round Maurice and Crispin,
slashing away vigorously with their cutlasses, cutting principally
at the faces and necks of their assailants, so as not to
transfix their blades in the bodies, and thus render themselves
defenceless.

Maurice, whose stature gave him considerable advantage
over his opponents, was sweeping his sword as rapidly as
possible among the enemy, cutting, thrusting, slashing, and
stabbing; but he was much encumbered by one of the
wounded enemy, who was clutching his leg, and thus impeding
his movements. Justinian saw this, and, firing at the
wretch, knocked his brains out; while Maurice, thus freed,
sprang resolutely forward, followed by his sailors, in order
to get at Alcibiades, who was urging on his men to the attack
from the vantage-ground of the fallen palisade. Justinian
and Crispin, thus left alone in front of their line, fought
vigorously to keep back the enemy, while the old Demarch,
seeing his nephew’s aim, shouted out words of encouragement.

“Cut off the head and the body will follow!” he cried in
English, then rapidly added in Greek, “Close up, men! close
up! give them no chance of getting to the rear.”
.bn 386.png
.pn +1

In obedience to this command, as soon as a man in the
front rank fell, another stepped in from the rear to fill up a
gap, or else the foremost soldiers closed up shoulder to
shoulder so as to preserve an unbroken front. By this
means they kept the enemy in front, and, notwithstanding
the fierceness of the fight, held their ground stanchly, waiting
the signal to advance. Between them and the fallen
palisade was a furious crowd heaving like a stormy sea, and
at the back Alcibiades giving his orders, which, however,
were not heeded. Justinian was waiting until Maurice killed
Alcibiades, when he determined to advance with all his force,
and thus drive the disheartened enemy over the verge of the
barrier.

It was with some difficulty that Maurice managed to fight
his way through the crowd, but, protected in the rear by
Dick and his sailors, he at length managed to get clear, and,
leaping on the parapet, confronted Alcibiades, bare-headed,
but waving his sword with a stern resolve to kill the pirate.
Alcibiades was no coward, but had kept in the background,
as he deemed his life too valuable to risk, as indeed it was,
for lacking a head the invading army would be worse than
useless. Face to face with the Englishman, however, he did
not shirk the combat, but, whirling his sword with a fierce
cry, dashed boldly at his enemy. He could not call upon his
followers to aid him, as the sailors with their cutlasses kept
a clear ring for the combat; so he saw plainly it was a duel
to the death, and one upon which depended the whole issue
of the battle.

Not having the reach of arm or the stature of the Englishman,
he found himself at considerable disadvantage, but
nevertheless fought on bravely, and, adopting stabbing
tactics more than slashing, tried his best to give his opponent
a mortal wound. Maurice, however, having a quick
eye, was enabled to ward off his blows by a dexterous use of
his now emptied revolver, and made rapid play with his
sword firmly grasped in his right hand. The pirate captain
managed to wound him in the left arm just below the elbow,
but at that moment Maurice passed his sword through his
chest. Alcibiades, though not fatally wounded, gasped out
“Christos!” and fell back over the palisade into the outward
mass of his men, who would have carried him off, but Justinian,
hearing the distant roll of a drum, and seeing that
Maurice was alone on the parapet, gave the order to advance.

On observing his uncle’s action, Maurice cried out in
.bn 387.png
.pn +1
Greek, “Alcibiades is dead!” whereupon the intervening
enemy were filled with alarm, and began to retreat before
the advancing Melnosians. Dick, the sailors, and Maurice
leaped down to take Alcibiades prisoner, and, while busily
engaged in fighting, the whole inward crowd, driven forward,
came rolling pell-mell over the fallen barrier, carrying those
who would have fain stayed with them. Maurice had enough
to do to keep his feet against the torrent, but managed to
divide it into two streams with the use of his sword and the
aid of his sailors.

In another moment Justinian and Crispin were by his side,
and down the slope fled the foe in headlong confusion, with
the Melnosians in full chase.

“Keep together, men! keep together!” yelled the Demarch,
as he raced down the slope like a school-boy; but the
Melnosians had been too long held back to pay any attention
to his orders. Right and left fled the enemy, making for
the boats, but Gurt, seeing this, tried to intercept them with
a few sailors. Unfortunately he could not run, owing to his
wound, so he had to abandon the pursuit, and the foremost
fugitives managed to get afloat. Justinian had forbidden all
useless killing, but his islanders, frenzied at the loss of their
comrades, and elated by their victory, were quite beyond
control. Those who could not reach the boats were slaughtered
on the spot, and the Demarch, in despair of saving the
lives of any, could do nothing but stand on the beach with
Maurice and Crispin beside him. A goodly number of the
fugitives, however, were now pulling for the open sea, among
them Caliphronas, who, standing up in the boat, shook his
two hands with despair on beholding the rout. In a short
space of time, what with the fierceness of the Melnosians,
who gave no quarter, and the flight of the fugitives, there
remained not a single enemy on the island, except the wounded
men who had been unable to fly.

There was a roll of many drums, a shrill cry of delight,
and, turning their faces landward, the three men saw Helena,
with a company of women, standing on the ruins of the palisade.
The setting sun illumined the group, and, grasping
the staff whence floated the victorious folds of the Union
Jack, she seemed to be the Goddess of Victory come down
to sanctify with her presence the triumph of the Melnosians.
Her women behind her, the blackened ruins of the barrier
beneath her feet, and the Englishmen below on the beach,
she lifted up the staff proudly, and the great flag flung out
.bn 388.png
.pn +1
its mighty folds to the breeze, as if it too rejoiced in the
triumph of success. The three Englishmen’s hearts thrilled
with patriotic pride as they saw the symbol of victory flaunting
in the wind, and the British sailors, uncovering their
heads, saluted the invincible flag with three ringing cheers.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXV. | <sc>A COUNCIL OF WAR.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The snake is scotched, but is not dead,
  Beware! the snare!
Soon will it lift again its head,
  Beware! nor dare!
The fangs contain their poison still,
The wounded creature yet may kill,
  Beware! take care!

With cautious speech, good council take,
  Beware! the snare!
Nor trust the seeming lifeless snake,
  Beware! nor dare!
For unexpected it may spring,
And slay thee with its venomed sting,
  Beware! take care!
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The immediate danger was over, but Justinian was by no
means inclined to think that, even with the death of Alcibiades,
the island would be left in peace, particularly as Caliphronas
was still alive. That the foiled Greek would tamely
submit to be beaten thus, was out of the question, and the
Demarch was quite certain that he would again gather an
army to assault Melnos. If such an event took place, matters
would become very serious, as, notwithstanding their
loss was less than that of the enemy, scarcely fifty Melnosians
survived, and many of these were severely hurt. Four
sailors had also been killed, so the total of able men left to
defend the island, making allowance for those incapable
through wounds, amounted to scarcely forty souls, or thereabouts.
Even with the carnage which had ensued during the
battle, Justinian felt sure that nearly a hundred men had
escaped in boats, and, as Caliphronas must know that the
garrison was considerably weakened by loss of men, the Demarch
feared lest he should return almost immediately with
added numbers and risk another battle, in which case it
.bn 389.png
.pn +1
seemed impossible for the Melnosians escaping total extermination.

This belief was confirmed in a strange way on his return
to the palisade, for Alcibiades was found under a heap of
corpses, apparently lifeless, and though for a short time he
was revived with brandy, had died immediately afterwards,
assuring Justinian that re-enforcements were on their way to
avenge his death. Whether this was mere bravado or not,
Justinian was not quite sure, yet, in spite of his intimate
knowledge of the dead smuggler’s rascality, he hardly thought
even such a scamp would die with a deliberate falsehood on
his lips, therefore at once hastened to rebuild the barrier, in
case of invasion by possible foes. Some of the women went
back to the village for provisions, while others remained
behind to look after the wounded. There was no time to
bury the dead, present safety being the great question of the
hour, so the bodies of friend and foe were laid gently down
on the beach under the cliffs, to be buried as soon as possible,
when all danger was past. The gorge thus being cleared of
the slain, Justinian made his men sit down to refresh themselves
with wine and food, after which, wearied as they
were, all hands went bravely forward to rebuild the barrier.
Even the women helped in this important task, and by the
time it was ten o’clock in the evening, a goodly portion of the
desired barricade was erected.

As soon as he heard about the approaching re-enforcements
from the dying Alcibiades, the Demarch foresaw that, to be
prepared for such an emergency as a fresh attack, his men
would have to work all night, therefore desired Alexandros
to bring down the electric light, so as to permit the toil to
be carried on continuously until the battery was finished.
This was easily done, by the electrician joining other wires
on to those already at the head of the pass, and then fixing
the apparatus near the outer entrance. So speedily did he
perform this difficult task, that in a few hours all was in
order, and the powerful rays flooded not only the immediate
neighborhood of the works, but even the beach and a portion
of the harbor inside the breakwater.

Helena had obstinately refused to go back to the Acropolis,
and, as the other women remained to help, her father did
not insist on her return, so she attended to Maurice’s wound,
which, after all, was a mere scratch. In common with the
rest, she also took her turn at nursing, and aided to carry the
wounded into the interior of the island, for so busy were
.bn 390.png
.pn +1
the men at the repairing of the barrier, that none could be
spared, so the women, proving themselves thorough heroines,
took all the hospital work on their shoulders.

“I wonder, in your scheme, you did not include a doctor,
uncle,” said Maurice, as he stood by the Demarch, superintending
the rebuilding of the palisade. “A medical man
would have come in handy now.”

“That is true! Had Crispin not left me as he did, I
would have sent him to study medicine, but, as it is, I put
off the affair from time to time, and now, when I most need
one, I find myself without a surgeon.”

“I could never have been a surgeon, Justinian,” said
Crispin, with a shudder; “cutting up people makes me feel
quite ill.”

“You cut up a good many to-day without being much disturbed,”
said the Demarch, with a laugh; “but, of course, I
know that was in hot blood. However, it is no use longing
for the impossible, so it is to be hoped my Melnosians will
recover without the aid of medical science.”

“Is your wound hurting you, Maurice?” asked Helena,
who, though tender-hearted as a rule, seemed on this occasion
to think solely of her lover, despite the fact that so
many men had been killed.

“Pooh! not a bit—a mere scratch!”

“You’ve got to thank my amber heart for your safety.”

“Or your golden hair,” he retorted, smiling; “but, in
faith, Helena, I fancy my good luck has had most to do with
my safety.”

“Don’t undervalue your fighting powers, Maurice,” said
the Demarch, who overheard this remark; “your tussle with
Alcibiades was no light one.”

“Well, I certainly got the better of him, but his wound
was only a trifle, and, had he not tumbled over the parapet,
the fight would have lasted much longer. As it was, the
poor devil was really trampled to death during the retreat
of the enemy. Still, if you like, Helena, we will put it all
down to your amber heart.”

“What amber heart are you talking about?” asked Justinian
inquiringly.

“Ah, that is a secret between Helena and myself,” said
Maurice, with a meaning look at the blushing girl,—“a very
charming secret indeed. Well, Gurt, and how do you find
yourself?”

The sailor, who had been working outside the palisade,
gave his trousers a hitch and pulled his forelock.
.bn 391.png
.pn +1

“I’m as right as a trivet, sir. I hop a little with that
there dig I got yesterday, but Lor’ bless you, sir! ’tain’t
nothin’. But if I may make so bold, Mr. Justinian, I wants
to speak, sir.”

“What is it, Gurt?”

“Growin’ tired of bricklayin’, sir, I goes down a bit for a
breath of air, and there, sir, as I’m a sinner, I hears the dip
of oars.”

“Boats coming!” cried the Demarch and Maurice in one
breath.

“Yes, sir. I jest came up like a shot. Turn on the light,
sir, t’ th’ north, an’ if you don’t see them lubbers comin’
back, I’m a Dutchman!”

Maurice ran off to tell Alexandros, who at once sent the
white glare across the sea, and there, pulling straight for the
breakwater, they saw a long string of boats. The men therein
guessed by the sudden flash of the light that they were discovered,
and gave a yell of anger, for they had hoped to pull
in under cover of darkness, and take the Melnosians by surprise.
Thanks, however, to Gurt’s quick ear, and the serviceable
electric light, their little scheme was frustrated at
nearly the moment of its fulfilment.

“Ten boats!” cried Justinian, counting them rapidly.
“Push on the work, my men. Here, some of you, take up
your guns. What about those cannon, Dick?”

“All right now, sir,” said the sailor, saluting; “got the
spikes out.”

“See if you can knock a few of those boats to splinters.
Helena, you and the women go back to the Acropolis.”

“Oh no, no, father! let me remain here. And see! all the
women are helping to build the wall.”

“Well, well, we need all hands; but, for God’s sake, my
child, keep in a place of safety!”

“Do you think they will attack to-night?” asked Crispin,
who had raced full speed down the gorge, and was out of
breath.

“No. In the first place, they have had a good thrashing
to-day, and in the second, Caliphronas is too much of a
coward to lead them on until he has recovered his nerve.
They’ve got re-enforcements, however. I expect those flying
met the new men coming, and persuaded them to come back.
Is that gun ready, Dick?”

“In a minute, sir. Just turn the light on the water so as
I can train the gun.”
.bn 392.png
.pn +1

Alexandros did so, and Dick carefully sighted the piece, so
as to allow for the way the boats were making through the
water. Evidently unaware of their danger, instead of keeping
widely apart, and thus neutralizing the chance of the
shot hitting them, they all made for the beach in a dense
bunch. The electric light showed their position as clearly
as if it were day, and the round shot went with a roar right
into the conglomerate mass, doing considerable damage. The
advancing Greeks yelled with fear, but, seeing their only
chance of safety was to get under the level of the guns,
pulled in like madmen to the beach. Then by the white
radiance of the light, it was seen that two boats had been
sunk, and many of their occupants killed, but the survivors,
fish in the water, like all insular Greeks, were swimming
rapidly to land.

Caliphronas, foolish though he was in military matters,
yet knew sufficient of the formation of the ground and the
nature of cannon to be aware that it was impossible the
muzzles of the guns could be depressed sufficiently to do
damage to his men on the beach, therefore, feeling themselves
comparatively safe, the newly-landed pirates hastened to put
up tents, evidently intending to rest that night and continue
the assault in the morning. Knowing that the little garrison
must be worn out with the long fight during the day,
they did not trouble themselves in any way to guard against
an attack, not even placing sentries at the outposts.

As all their movements were revealed by the glare of the
search light, Justinian noted this fact, and regretted bitterly
that he had not a sufficient force at his command to sally
forth against this ill-guarded camp.

“Egad, Maurice!” he said in vexation; “with fifty men
at our backs we could sweep them off the island before dawn.
The rascals evidently know how weak we are in numbers,
else they would not be so careless of their camp. How is
that work going on?”

“Nearly finished, sir,” reported Dick, who was overseer.
“They won’t get over that wall in a hurry, I’ll bet.”

“Transfer your command to one of your men and come
here; I wish to hold a council of war.”

Dick saluted, and having instructed one of his messmates
to attend to the final details of the parapet, came forward as
Justinian desired. Helena, in company with some of the
women, had gone up the gorge, in order to attend to the
wounded, so the five men, for Gurt was also included in
.bn 393.png
.pn +1
the council, sat down on the grass some little distance away
from the workers, and began to discuss the situation in low
tones. Sentries had been posted at the barrier, and the
electric light was full on the camp of the enemy, so in the
event of any movement being made for an assault, which was
not likely, Justinian knew he would be informed at once.
After all, with the barrier, the heavy guns, and their muskets,
they could hope to hold the pass for some time, but in
the end it was doubtful if they would not have to give in,
which catastrophe would mean death to every soul on the
island.

“You can see for yourselves, gentlemen, that the danger
is very grave,” said the Demarch anxiously; “we are only
forty in number, and with these re-enforcements the enemy
must be at least one hundred and fifty. It took us all our
time to beat them off to-day when we were stronger and not
fatigued, but to-morrow, with such a small force, all worn
out with fighting and want of sleep, I dread the worst.”

“There is one thing in our favor,” observed Maurice in a
satisfied tone; “bad leader as Alcibiades was, he had more
pluck than Caliphronas; and, as he is the general now, he
will not inspire his men with confidence. However brave
the followers are, unless the leader is equally so, their valor is
not of much use, as it lacks discipline and trust in the
general.”

“There’s one thing, sir,” remarked Dick, addressing Justinian,—“there
is one thing I’d like to say. All these
Greeks have bare feet, so I think it ’ud be a good plan to
strew the front of the palisade with broken glass, which
would cut them up a bit.”

“That’s a good idea, Dick; and then, when they are in
confusion, we can do some damage with our cannon. By the
way, what about that gun? we should have brought that in.”

“It’s a pity we didn’t, sir; but it ain’t much good to them,
for I’ve spiked it proper.”

“You’ve got dynamite, Justinian, have you not?” said
Crispin, who had been thinking.

“Yes; plenty.”

“Then why not make a mine on the slope of the hill, and
blow it up with electricity when the enemy are coming
up?”

“Egad! I’ll do that at once. The dynamite can be brought
down in about half an hour; it won’t take long to dig a
trench and lay a wire: so we ought to have the whole thing
.bn 394.png
.pn +1
ready by the time they assault the battery at dawn. Dick,
take Temistocles and some other men up to the magazine.”

Dick went off to obey this order with alacrity; and Justinian,
whose spirits were rising at the feasibility of these
schemes to conquer his enemies, went on talking hopefully
of the future.

“What with cannon, dynamite, and broken bottles to cut
their bare feet, I fancy those scoundrels will get a warm
reception. Ah, if I only had the full strength of my
Melnosians again, I would soon drive these scoundrels back
to the ocean!”

“If we smash them up to-morrow with dynamite, they
won’t come again, uncle.”

“I trust not; but Alcibiades seems to have made extensive
preparations in the way of re-enforcements, and for all I
know, a fresh batch may arrive to-morrow; while at every
assault our numbers diminish. If we only could get more
men! but I fear that is impossible.”

“Not so impossible as you think,” said Crispin deliberately.
“Suppose I go to Syra, and get the Eparch there to
send you re-enforcements?”

“True; he’s a friend of mine; and if he did not send regular
soldiers, he could at least let me have some men of the
same fighting powers as these scoundrels. But how are you
to get to Syra? and how are you going to bring the troops
back?”

“As to bringing them back, by this time my yacht must
be there, so it would not take long for me to steam here with
a good number of men.”

“Well, but you can’t go. We are beleaguered.”

“All the enemy are asleep; so if Gurt here, who knows
these waters thoroughly, will come with me, I think we could
steal down to the breakwater and obtain one of their boats.
A good breeze is blowing; so, if we put up the sail, we could
soon cut across the course of one of those Cretan steamers
which sail to Syra from Khanea, in which case it would take
but a little time to reach the yacht. Once at Syra, I would
get as many men as possible, and come back at once.”

“It is a wild scheme, but not impossible,” said Justinian
thoughtfully. “You’d have to sail about thirty miles; and
then there is the chance of your getting picked up by a
steamer.”

“With this ’ere breeze, sir,” remarked Gurt, who was not
averse to the adventure, “I guess we’d get in the track of
.bn 395.png
.pn +1
one of them Cretans in about twelve hours, more or less.
Once in the line, and there’s lots of ’em plying to and fro, so
the chances are we’d soon be picked up. I’m game for it, if
Mr. Crispin is, sir.”

“But are you not too tired?”

“I am not,” said the poet, stretching himself; “besides
anything is better than this suspense. The only thing I’m
afraid of is Gurt’s wound.”

“Don’t you be afeared o’ that, sir,” replied Gurt bluntly.
“I’ve lost some blood, but ’tain’t nothin’. I ain’t no babby to
squake fur nothin’. If we kin git a boat, I’m ready to start
this minit.”

“What do you say, Maurice?”

Roylands had been listening to these propositions not
without a certain amount of approval, which was, however,
mingled with a feeling that such a scheme was somewhat
foolhardy.

“I hardly know what to say,” he observed at length.
“There is one thing certain, if we wish to hold the island,
we must have more men; and, as far as I can see, Crispin’s
scheme is the only way of getting them. The mere sight of
the yacht filled with troops would frighten the life out of
these scoundrels, and cause them to clear out; but the difficulty
is how to get a boat without being seen by the
enemy.”

“I think we can manage that,” said Justinian, indicating
points with his finger; for, of course, with the electric light,
there was no difficulty in following his actions. “You see,
the camp of the enemy is here, to the right of the harbor.
I noticed that several of the larger boats were tied to the
breakwater; so if Crispin and Gurt get down there, and
walk along the breakwater itself, they can loosen one of the
boats and tow it outward to the mouth of the harbor.
There they can get in, and row off to the west, without any
chance of the dip of their oars being heard by the enemy.”

“That is all very well, uncle; but how are they to get
down to the beach? No doubt the enemy are all asleep,
and, as we know, have not posted sentries; still, if Crispin
goes out by the palisade, he might be seen, in spite of all
precautions. Caliphronas is sure to be on the alert.”

“I expect Caliphronas is too weary with his day’s work to
keep awake,” replied the Demarch dryly; “and he is not the
man to deny himself rest, let the consequences be what they
may. However, if you don’t object to a little danger, Crispin,
I think we can get you out by another way.”
.bn 396.png
.pn +1

“In any case there is danger, so a little more makes no
difference.”

“Then we will go up to the point above the side path; and,
from there, you know, the cliff slopes down sheer two hundred
feet. We can let you and Gurt down there by ropes,
and you can steal along in the darkness down to the breakwater.
Once there, and the rest will be easy.”

“It’s a risk.”

“Certainly; the whole enterprise is risky; but we will
keep the electric light full on the camp, so, while you can
see all the movements of the enemy, they can see nothing of
you in the darkness. To tell you the truth, however, they
have such a belief that we can do nothing, that they are all
sound asleep; so I don’t think you will run much risk.
Well, what do you say?”

“I’ll do it.”

“So will I, sir.”

“Good! We will trust to Providence for the rest. Let
me see, Crispin. It is now past midnight; so, if you can catch
one of those steamers before to-morrow night, you will be in
Syra by the next day. In twenty-four hours, I have no
doubt, the Eparch will give you plenty of men; and it will
not take a very long time for a steamer to reach here. Altogether,
if all goes well, you ought to be back in four or five
days. The question is, can we hold the island till then?”

“We must!” said Maurice decisively. “If the worst comes
to the worst, we can blast those overhanging rocks yonder
with dynamite, and thus close up the pass entirely. True,
we will shut ourselves up as in a prison; still, we will be
safe until aid arrives; for, once the gorge is closed up, no
enemy can possibly get into the interior without almost
superhuman exertions.”

“We must hope for the best,” answered Justinian, rising
to his feet. “Well, Crispin, I thank you for your offer, and
will accept it. When will you start?”

“At once. There is nothing to be gained by waiting.
We will take enough of these provisions to last us for three
days, in case we miss the steamer; and, for the rest, trust to
Providence.”

“There is a good deal of trusting in Providence about the
whole scheme,” said Justinian, with a sigh. “You may run
the gantlet to the breakwater successfully, you may get
safely off in a boat without being seen by the enemy, you
may be picked up by a Cretan steamer, and you may find
.bn 397.png
.pn +1
your yacht lying at Syra. It’s all chance, my boy; and
really I think it would be better for us to adopt Maurice’s
plan in closing up the pass, so as the enemy can’t possibly
get in.”

“And we can’t possibly get out,” replied Crispin significantly;
<pm corr 403.6 it “it> is too dangerous. Remember our conversation
the other day about the volcano: if you blow up the pass, all
means of exit will be cut off; and, should the crater burst
out, no one of us would be left alive.”

“Then go, and God speed you!” cried the Demarch, who
saw plainly that it was a case of Scylla and Charybdis.

Maurice had not heard this conversation about the volcano,
much to his uncle’s satisfaction, having gone forward to
meet Dick, who had just come back from the magazine with
the dynamite. The bos’n expressed great satisfaction when
he heard of the proposed scheme, and would dearly have
liked to go himself in place of Gurt, only he knew Justinian
could not spare him. However, he was well aware that
Crispin could not have a better companion than Gurt, for the
old sailor was well acquainted with the course they would
have to take towards the west; and, moreover, having had
something to do with the line of steamers between Khanea
and Syra, knew better than any one as to the possibility of
being picked up by one of them without loss of time.

The scheme was put into working order at once, and a
sufficiency of provisions was made ready for the adventurers.
Crispin filled his brandy-flask and took his revolver,
in case he might be stopped on the beach by the enemy;
and both himself and Gurt took heavy woollen cloaks to
protect them from the chill sea-breeze. It was agreed that
Justinian and Maurice only should go up with the rope to
let down their companions to the beach below, as it was
necessary for Dick to remain, in order to attend to the
dynamite mine. Nothing was told to the Melnosians about
the proposed scheme, lest they, seeing how desperate affairs
were, should lose heart; and, beyond the four leaders, Gurt,
and Helena, every one was in ignorance of the daring attempt
about to be made.

After Helena, who was deeply affected by Crispin’s
bravery, had said good-by to him and Gurt, she went back
to the Acropolis with a number of women to obtain some
rest, having arranged with her father to come down at early
morning with plenty of broken glass, in order to protect the
front of the palisade. Dick and his men were already hard
.bn 398.png
.pn +1
at work just on the brow of the slope, about one hundred
yards away, digging the mine for the dynamite; so, all
things going on thus fairly well, and there being no sign of
movement in the camp of the enemy, the Demarch, with his
nephew and the two adventurers, unlocked the iron gate, in
order to ascend to the top of the cliff, from whence Crispin
and Gurt were to be lowered to the beach below.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXVI. | <sc>THE FORLORN HOPE.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The night is dark,
The cliff is high,
No moon illumes
The cloudy sky;
Below we mark
The fearful glooms
Which in their night
Hide sombrely the way of flight.

To slender rope
We cling with dread,
And hanging there
As by a thread,
With fearful hope
We downward fare,
Till on the strand
In safety for a time we land.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Fortunately for the success of the enterprise, the sky
was cloudy, so that the moon, thickly veiled by vapors, was
unable to betray the adventurers by her tell-tale light. A
strong breeze was blowing seaward from the land and ruffling
the surface of the black water to ragged caps of white,
which promised anything but a pleasant journey to Crispin
and his companion.

They were warmly clothed in thick garments of blue-dyed
wool, consisting of tight-fitting jackets and loose trousers,
tucked into high boots of untanned leather. In his belt
Crispin carried a dagger and his revolver, while Gurt’s cutlass
dangled by his side, and both men also wore those red
fishermen’s caps common to the Ægean, with ample woollen
capotes to protect them from the keen winds. Standing on
the height of the lofty cliff, they could not see the beach for
the profound gloom below, but to the left saw the camp of
.bn 399.png
.pn +1
the enemy clearly defined in the fierce rays of the electric
light. Everything there seemed to be as still as the grave,
and the pirates were evidently sound asleep under canvas,
for not a sound broke the stillness, save the whistle of the
breeze and the sullen rolling of the waves on the sands
below.

Maurice and the poet had brought up two coils of strong
rope, each over a hundred feet in length; so, as the cliff measured
but two hundred, there would be no difficulty about
the ropes being too short. They tied these firmly together,
then, making one end fast to a strong pine tree which grew
some distance back from the verge, flung the other into the
abyss below. The rope paid itself out rapidly, until, when
only a few coils were left, it ceased running, which showed
that it had touched bottom. Now the two adventurers prepared
to descend, and shook hands with the Demarch and
his nephew, both of whom were much affected. None of
the four knew if they would meet again, for two were bound
on a perilous voyage, and the others were beleaguered in a
dangerous volcanic island by bloodthirsty enemies. If they
reached the boat safely, and managed to push off into the
open sea unseen by their enemies, they were to send up a
rocket as a signal of success to the watchers on land. Gurt
carried this useful article, and was the first to descend the
slender rope, to which he clung like a spider to its thread,
and dropped swiftly down until the thickening gloom hid
him from their anxious eyes. After a time the rope slacked,
and a gentle vibration stealing up it showed that Gurt had
landed safely.

“Good-by, my dear lad,” said Justinian, as he embraced
the brave poet. “You are sure you have everything?”

“My revolver, cartridges, cloak, a satchel filled with food,
your letter to the Eparch. Yes, I think that is all. Gurt
has the water-bottles and the rocket. Good-by, Maurice.”

“Good-by, old fellow,” replied Maurice, and then they
grasped each other’s hand in token of farewell, with that
stolid composure with which Englishmen in trying circumstances
conceal their emotion. “Take care of yourself for
the sake of Eunice.”

“Certainly I will, and for yours also. If all goes well,
you will see the white wings of The Eunice off this coast in
a few days. But don’t surrender the island before then.”

“Not much,” retorted Maurice grimly. “I’ll blow up all
the rocks in the pass first, and if the enemy want to get in,
.bn 400.png
.pn +1
they will have to fly over such a barrier. Good-by once
more, my boy. Over you go!”

Crispin, even at this supreme moment of parting, could
not restrain a merry laugh at his friend’s coolness, and, laying
himself down on the brow of the cliff, grasped the rope,
and prepared to descend. As soon as Gurt, below, felt from
the quiver that his master was fairly on his way down, he
pulled the rope taut with all his strength, so as to render the
descent easier.

“Look out for the rocket,” cried Crispin, as he dropped
slowly downward into the blackness; “and keep the light
turned on the camp, so that we can see what those wretches
are up to.”

“All right,” shouted Maurice, who, lying flat on his
stomach, was peering over. “Good-by.”

A faint farewell floated up through the intense gloom, as
Crispin, with his hands tightly grasping the rope, and his
legs twisted round it, went sliding down like a spider on his
self-spun thread. Thanks to Gurt, who was holding out the
cord widely from the rugged face of the cliff, he found no
difficulty in descending, and soon landed safely beside the
sailor on the damp sand.

Shaking the rope vigorously as a sign to those on top that
they were now on <lang=la><i>terra firma</i></lang>, they walked carefully forward
in the darkness towards the land end of the breakwater.
Gradually their eyes, now relieved from the dazzle of the
electric light, became accustomed to the gloom, and they
could see to some extent a good distance ahead. Stealing
along silently, their boots made no sound in the dead sand,
and they arrived without mischance at the rocky wall of the
harbor. Against this several boats were floating, tied to iron
rings welded into the masonry, but rejecting the first three
or four, which were too cumbersome for two people to manage,
they selected a small light caique, with masts, sail, and
oars, which lay nearest to the sea.

Gurt pulled this in easily by the painter, and then bade
Crispin get into it, so as to keep it off from the wall as it
was towed along. As the sailor was the more powerful of
the two, Crispin obeyed without hesitation, and, with the
aid of an oar, kept the craft out from the masonry, while
Gurt, with the rope over his shoulder and bent form, pulled
it with some difficulty towards the entrance. All this time
things had gone smoothly with them, for the electric light
kept up a steady glare on the camp of their sleeping enemies,
.bn 401.png
.pn +1
and they could see no movement to lead them to suspect that
the pirates were aware of their daring attempt.

At the end of the breakwater they placed their provisions,
water-bottles, and cloaks in the boat, and after making fast
the boat to an iron ring, proceeded to let off the rocket in
token of their success. Crispin placed it in position, applied
the match, then hastily got into the boat with Gurt and
pushed off to sea. Just as they were a few yards from the
shore, the rocket flashed skyward with a sharp whizz, scattering
trains of sparks in its ascent. Alarmed by the unexpected
sound, the pirates rushed out of their tents to
ascertain the cause, but the rocket, having expended its
fire, had fallen back into the water, so they could see nothing
to account for the explosion.

After rowing out a little way, Gurt shipped the oars, and
with the assistance of Crispin, hoisted the sail, which bellied
out with a groan to the wind and made them glide rapidly
forward. Then the sailor took the helm. Crispin, wrapped
in his cloak, laid himself down to sleep for a few hours, and
the little craft sped away lightly over the white-crested
waves into the profound darkness. When they were out
some considerable distance, the electric light suddenly flashed
out a long ray into the sea, in token of farewell, then reverted
to its original position, and the boat with its two
brave occupants was swallowed up in the night.

On the cliff those left behind waited and watched until
the welcome rocket shot its long trail of golden fire through
the darkness, then both simultaneously heaved a sigh of
relief.

“Well, they are safe so far,” said the Demarch thankfully;
“but, by Jupiter, Maurice, those rascals have heard the
rocket go!”

“Oh, they’ve seen nothing,” replied his nephew indifferently,
as the few men who had rushed out retired again to
their tents; “the fire died out before they caught even a
glimpse of it. I’m glad Crispin is safely away; his boat will
be flying like a stormy petrel before this stiff breeze. Let
us go down, uncle, and send them a farewell flash of the
light.”

“But it might reveal the boat to those scamps,” said Justinian,
as they rapidly descended the narrow staircase.

“Oh, they’ve all gone inside again; besides, Crispin has
got too much of a start by this time. I’ll go and see
Alexandros.”
.bn 402.png
.pn +1

Which he accordingly did, and the light, after flashing for
a second on the flying boat, was again turned on the camp,
after which Maurice and his uncle went to see how Dick and
his dynamite mine were getting on. Without doubt these
amateur sappers had been working hard, for the trench was
dug, the dynamite cartridges placed therein, and the hole
filled up. Wires attached to each cartridge ran underground
through the palisade to the interior of the battery, and none
of the enemy would have suspected that the whole of that
broad space in front was one deadly mine, which, when exploded,
would blow them to pieces by the dozen.

“There, sir,” said Dick, wiping his heated brow; “now
when Miss Helena brings those broken bottles, we’ll smash
’em up on this ground between the mine and the palisade, so
if any of those beggars escape being cut to pieces or blown
to atoms it’ll be a miracle.”

“It’s splendid, Dick,” answered Justinian, clapping him
on the shoulder. “And now, my lad, you had better go and
have some sleep.”

“D’ye think it ’ull be safe, sir?”

“Quite safe! All those scamps are sound asleep, and will
not attack before dawn. The barrier is built up as strongly
as we can do it, your cannon are all right, and, what with the
mine and the broken glass, I think they’ll find it pretty hard
to get even as far as they did to-day.”

“Is Mr. Crispin all right, sir?”

“Yes; he got safely into the boat, sent up a rocket to tell
us of his success, and by this time is on his way to Syra for
help.”

“I saw the rocket, sir, so I guessed it ’ud be all right.
D’ye think, sir, we’ll hold out till he brings the yacht here?”

“Of course we will,” said Maurice, who had joined the
pair; “our defence here, even with our small numbers, is
quite strong enough to stand one storming. If some of them
get their feet cut to pieces by the glass, and others blown up
sky-high by the mine, I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave
up the attempt and sailed away.”

“Suppose they don’t, sir?” questioned Dick dubiously.

“Then, my Richard, I have a plan for closing up this
pass.”

“How, sir?”

“You see those overhanging rocks up there? Well, as
they are just over the entrance of the pass, to-morrow, so
soon as we have beaten back those wretches, we’ll go up
.bn 403.png
.pn +1
and bore holes along the narrowest part for dynamite cartridges.
Then we’ll attach wires as in the mine, and if we
find that we can’t stand against a second assault, all we
have to do is to inveigle our friends under those rocks, explode
the charge, and then, my Richard—oh, what a time
they will have!”

“But that ’ull shut us up in the island, sir.”

“Well, what of that? It’s a pleasant place to dwell in.
But you needn’t be afraid, Dick; it’s easier to get out than
get in, and when the yacht arrives we’ll not have much difficulty
in getting on board.”

“Leave Melnos, sir!”

“No!” said Justinian angrily. “I’ve no doubt, if we are
forced to fill up the pass, those scoundrels will leave us. If
they don’t, the arrival of the yacht with fresh troops will
drive them away. Then, we’ll go to work to open up both
the pass and tunnel.”

“Not enough men, Mr. Justinian.”

“Ah, my poor Melnosians! Well, we’ll have to get more
settlers, that’s all. The difficulty is not in getting men and
women, but in getting pure-blooded Greeks.”

Dick did not understand this latter remark, so wisely left
it unanswered, and, touching his cap, went off with his messmates
to snatch a few hours’ sleep before the grand assault
which all anticipated would take place at dawn. Justinian
and his nephew made an inspection of all the defences, saw
that the sentries were posted, and then went to talk to Alexandros
about the small battery he was rigging up for the
purpose of exploding the mine when necessary.

“There will be no difficulty about this affair, Alexandros?”

“No, Kyrion. I have attached the wires leading to the
cartridges to this battery, and will have it under my charge
to-morrow behind this rock, which will protect me from the
fire of the enemy. You wave your hand as a signal, and I
touch this button, when the mine will explode in a second.”

“Excellent!” said Justinian, with great satisfaction.
“And if we wanted to close up the pass by bringing down
those rocks above you?”

“In the same way, Kyrion. Make holes above for your
cartridges and attach wires of any length. With my battery
at one end of those wires, and the dynamite at the other, I
could blow up the whole of this gorge from the Acropolis.”

“You can trust your man in charge of the engine?”
.bn 404.png
.pn +1

“Yes, Kyrion. That is all he has to do, for the dynamo
works by itself without my being present.”

“All seems going smoothly,” said the Demarch to Maurice,
as they turned away. “That mine ought to do considerable
damage.”

“I’m certain it will. But, uncle, you must be quite worn
out for want of rest; so you go to sleep, and I will watch.”

“I will sleep later on; but meanwhile I am going up to
the Acropolis to tell Helena that Crispin and Gurt have left
the island safely. She will be very anxious.”

“Give her a kiss for me,” cried Maurice, as his uncle
walked away up the pass.

“I am afraid it will be horribly damaged on the transit,”
replied the Demarch, smiling. “Good-by, my lad. Keep
a sharp look-out, and if anything goes wrong, send Temistocles
to the Acropolis. I will be back in an hour.”

He went away slowly; for, in spite of his iron spirit and
determination to keep up, the incessant fatigue was beginning
to tell on his frame. At seventy-five, one cannot play
with a constitution; and hardened as was the body of Justinian
by temperate living and constant exercise, he yet felt
that he was not the man he was. Another thing which worried
him mentally, and thus acted on him physically, was
the thought of the volcano; for, in spite of the way in
which he reassured Crispin, he felt by no means easy in his
mind regarding the safety of the island. Not until he was
absolutely forced to, would he close up the pass, and thus
shut himself up in a crater apparently on the verge of eruption.
True, if the worst came, he could escape with his people
over the cliff, but such a method would take some time;
and, with the volcano spouting fire, there would be but a
small chance of any one escaping alive. Full of these
thoughts, he walked leisurely along, pondering over matters
volcanic and matters military; for with the treacherous crater
on one side, and the cruel enemy on the other, he could
not but see that matters were approaching a crisis.

Even if the volcano remained quiescent, and the enemy
were beaten back, still things were in anything but a satisfactory
position; for he had lost many of his men, and he
knew how difficult it would be to supply their places with
Greeks of the old Hellenic stock. Those who were dead
had been trained up under his eye; they knew his aims and
aspirations, and were already developing greatly: but now
all that was at an end; they had been cut off by death, and
.bn 405.png
.pn +1
even if he got new blood, it would mean that the whole task
of training up a new generation would have to begin all over
again. Justinian was a man of great self-control, but when
he thought of all he had lost, in the darkness of night he
gave free vent to his emotion, and wept bitterly at the downfall
of his hopes. Still all was not yet lost, for the island
still remained, and many of the old inhabitants; so he dried
his eyes when he left the gorge, and determined, notwithstanding
his bad fortune, still to bear up bravely in his
efforts to reconstruct the old Hellenic civilization.

As he neared the Acropolis, he was astonished to see
Helena, attended by Zoe, come hastily along the road, with
a face expressive of great fear.

“What is the matter?” he asked hurriedly, as she fell
into his arms. “Are you ill?—is the”—

“The lake! the lake, father!”

A terrible fear seized Justinian’s heart, but he nevertheless
controlled his feelings and spoke calmly.

“What do you mean, Helena?”

“The lake! it is dried up.”

In the dark Justinian could not see the lake at the bottom
of the valley, but he guessed what had happened. The
lake’s bottom, shattered by the subterranean convulsions,
had been unable to hold the water in its cup, and the whole
body had been drained off into the bowels of the earth.
This, then, was the third warning of Hephaistos, and a
very terrible one it was, for if the crust of the crater was so
convulsed, the next thing that would happen would be an
outburst of fire.

Justinian foresaw all this in a moment, but, without saying
a word, led his terrified daughter back to the Acropolis,
where they sat down on the steps. The moon, lately obscured
by cirrus-shaped clouds, now burst out in full splendor
through the thin woof, and the Demarch with a pang
saw that his beautiful valley was bereft of its gleaming silver
eye. Where the calm expanse of water had been was
now an ugly black gulf of rugged rock, and Justinian half
expected to see fire burst fiercely from those black depths.

“It is nothing, it is nothing, my child,” he said, with a
confidence he was far from feeling; “the earthquake has
shattered the lake, and of course the water has drained off.
Silly child, of what are you afraid?”

“I dread lest the crater should burst into fire.”

“There is no sign of that; we would have had warnings
long ago.”
.bn 406.png
.pn +1

“But, father, the earthquake! the lake!”

“Those mean nothing. Look how frequent are earthquakes
at Santorin, yet people continue to live there. As to
the lake, as soon as this war is over, I will stop up the cracks
at the bottom, and it will soon be filled again. Are the
women afraid?”

“Some of them; still they are all sleeping down below
with the children, so I don’t think they attach much importance
to the disappearance of the lake.”

“And are you less brave than these poor things? Helena,
I thought you were braver.”

“I told Miss Helena there was no danger,” said Zoe in
English, with her pretty foreign accent.

“There, you see, Helena! Zoe is not afraid.”

“Oh, I am better now you are with me,” said Helena,
smiling through her tears; “but it is so lonely here with no
one but Zoe and that man who drives the engine.”

“Where are the servants?”

“I sent them down to look after the wounded who are in
the village. But, papa—Maurice?”

“He is all right, and sends you this kiss—there!”

“Dear Maurice, he never forgets me!—and Crispin?”

“Has safely left the island with Gurt, so, you see, help
will soon arrive. You must be brave, Helena; things are
not so bad as you think.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, father.”

“I do say so. You have not spoken of this volcano business
to any one—and you, Zoe?”

“No, no!” cried both the girls in chorus; “not a word.”

“That is right; I do not wish any one to be frightened
unnecessarily, and you will think of neither war nor volcanoes
in a few days. But come, Helena, give me something to
eat.”

“Will you stay here, father?” asked the girl, as she led
the way into the Acropolis.

“No, I am a soldier, and must live as the other soldiers.
Let me have a meal here, and then you can go to bed, while I
return to the front.”

“Can I come down to-morrow?”

“No, you have acted the heroine quite enough. There
will be some tough work to-morrow, and I don’t want to risk
losing you, my treasure.”

“I may lose Maurice.”

“Don’t think of such a thing. He is a true Roylands, and
.bn 407.png
.pn +1
bears a charmed life; something to do with that amber heart,
I suppose.”

“Did Maurice tell you, father?”

“No; some magical nonsense, I suppose. Well, well, come
and give your poor father something to eat, for, war or no war,
I must have supper.”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXVII. | <sc>UNDER THE UNION JACK.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The cross of St. Andrew, the cross of St. George,
  Are blent in the folds which are flung to the air,
And proud floats the flag at the head of the gorge,
  Proclaiming the presence of Englishmen there.

Red tint for the blood which is shed for the brave,
  White, symbol of honor no cowardice taints,
With blue as a sign of the circling wave,
  And crosses that witness our faith and our saints.

It streams o’er the battle, forbidding retreat,
  Reminding us ever of Albion’s name;
Brave banner of England, unsoiled by defeat,
  The token of victory, valor, and fame.

Shot-ragged with bullets on numberless plains,
  It’s folds with the hearts’ blood of Englishmen red,
Unbeaten, undaunted it ever remains,
  A sign for the living, a shroud for the dead.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
“It must remain here,” said Justinian proudly; “once
the English flag has been brought to the front, it cannot
retreat.”

“Let us hoist it by all means,” replied Maurice cheerfully;
“but, remember, only seven Englishmen fight under its
folds.”

“Well, I guess, Mr. Roylands, half a dozen Englishmen
are worth fifty Greeks!” cried Dick, with great confidence.
“Once we get that Union Jack up, and I’d like to see who’d
pull it down.”

It was early morning, and they were talking about the
flag which Helena had brought down on the previous day.
As the bulk of their army consisted of Melnosians, who did
not understand the sacred feeling with which it was regarded
by the English, Maurice thought it hardly worth
while to plant it on the palisade; but the Demarch, in spite
.bn 408.png
.pn +1
of his independent sovereignty, was patriotic to the core of
his brave old heart, and, with a touch of sentiment, insisted
that the attack should be repelled under the unconquered
banner. Maurice therefore humored his uncle, and agreed
to his wish, so the five sailors planted a stout pole just inside
the barricade, and in a few minutes the flag of England
was floating proudly at the mouth of the gorge.

As yet the enemy had made no move, so Justinian had
plenty of time to complete his defensive preparations. In
spite of her father’s veto, Helena, mindful of Maurice’s instructions
regarding broken glass, had come down at dawn
with her women, all bearing bottles, crockery, and earthen
jars, which were speedily smashed to atoms and strewn
plentifully on the ground between the mine and the barrier.
Alexandros had his battery in good working order, and had
ensconced himself behind a rock some little distance away,
from which, on being signalled to by the Demarch, he could
explode the mine at the proper time. The Melnosians had
managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep, and, encouraged by
their victory of the previous day, were ready for the fight,
so a sense of great hopefulness was diffused among the valiant
little garrison. What with the mine to blow up the
enemy, the broken glass to cut their bare feet,—no ineffective
defence,—the guns ready loaded to sweep them down
as they swarmed up, and the stern determination of the defenders
to fight to the bitter end, Justinian felt that, in spite
of being outnumbered, he would be able to hold the island
until the return of Crispin with re-enforcements. The more
perilous became the position, the higher arose the spirits of
the defenders, especially those of the sailors, on whose
patriotic feelings the presence of their country’s flag had a
wonderfully inspiring effect.

“Now then, Helena,” said her father, when all preparations
were complete, “you had better return to the Acropolis
with the women.”

“Very well, father; but I will be very anxious for your
safety.”

“What about me?” asked Maurice reproachfully.

“Oh, you’ve got your talisman,” she replied, with an attempt
at lightness, “so you will be quite safe; but I am not
so sure about father.”

“Don’t trouble your head about me,” said the Demarch,
kissing her; “if I die I die, and if I live I live—it’s the
fortune of war. The best thing you can do, Helena, is to go
.bn 409.png
.pn +1
down to the valley and attend to those poor fellows who are
wounded. I know you will be very anxious, my dear, so I
will send Temistocles to you every now and then with information
as to how the fight is getting on. Now, good-by,
my dear child, and keep up your spirits.”

“I will walk up with you to the head of the pass,” said
Maurice, turning away from the palisade; “there is no sign
of the enemy getting under arms yet, so I can easily spare a
few minutes.”

Helena of course was delighted at thus having her lover
all to herself for even a quarter of an hour, and walked
beside him up the gorge, followed by the women, who had
taken an affectionate farewell of their sons, husbands, and
brothers. Zoe also was weeping bitterly, as she had just
parted from Dick, and dreaded lest she should never see
him again. Indeed, despite the danger, the men at the front
were less to be pitied than those women remaining behind in
the interior of the island, for while the former were at least
too occupied to fret over their troubles, the latter, with nothing
to take their minds off the disasters surrounding them,
were in a state of suspense pitiable to behold.

“Do you think Crispin will come back within the week,
Maurice?” asked Helena, as she walked arm in arm with
her lover.

“I hope so! If he is picked up by the Cretan steamer,
and his yacht is now lying at Syra, I have no doubt he will;
but it is all the merest chance. However, come what may, I
think we can defend the island to the end.”

“It is not of the danger without, but of the danger within
I am thinking.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“This volcano”—began Helena, upon which Maurice interrupted
her with a merry laugh of scorn.

“My dear one, do not fright yourself with false fire. I
suppose you are thinking of the earthquake?”

“Yes; and of the lake and the springs.”

“What is the matter with them?”

“The springs are spouting furiously, and the lake has disappeared.”

“Great heavens! that does sound ominous,” said Maurice
anxiously. “Does your father know?”

“Of course he does, but he told me not to speak of it, lest
the people should become panic-stricken, but of course such
prohibition does not extend to you.”
.bn 410.png
.pn +1

“The lake gone! the springs active!” repeated Roylands
in a musing tone. “I am afraid there is danger of the volcano
breaking out again.”

“So I think; but father laughs at all my fears.”

“It would be a terrible catastrophe should such a thing
happen, for not one of us could hope to escape. Besides, if
Melnos became an active volcano, all your father’s forty years
of hard work would go for nothing.”

“Do you think it is likely an eruption will take place,
Maurice?” asked Helena in a tremulous voice. “You have
no idea how afraid I am.”

“Egad! it is enough to make any one afraid; however, I
think you can set your mind at rest, Helena. The eruption,
if there is to be one, cannot possibly take place for a week,
and by that time Crispin’s yacht will have arrived; so if
there are any signs of an outbreak, we can escape at
once.”

“Oh, I hope so! I trust so!”

“What does worry me,” pursued Maurice meditatively,
“is all this war going on for what may turn out to be nothing
but a heap of cinders. It would be the very irony of
fate, if, after beating back the foe, this volcano should start,
and drive us away from the very place we have defended.”

“If such a thing happened, I do not think my father
would survive.”

“It would be a blow, certainly,” replied Roylands, affecting
a cheerfulness he was far from feeling; “but one can do
nothing against the giant forces of nature. However, Helena,
remember all the wealth of Melnos is safe in London,
thanks to the wisdom of my uncle; so if Hephaistos did
start a forge here, which he seems inclined to do, we would
simply have to abandon this island, and start our scheme of
a new Hellas on another; but this time we would select one
less dangerous from a volcanic point of view.”

“But think of forty years’ work thrown away!”

“And think of leaving this paradise! However, if the
archangel waves his flaming sword, we must; still, if I go,
my Eve will be with me, and that will comfort me greatly.”

“Ah, my dear, dear Maurice!—Oh, what is that?”

“The roll of a drum,” cried Roylands, stopping abruptly.
“The enemy must have begun the attack, so I will have to
return to my post. Good-by, my dearest, and don’t trouble
yourself. Remember, I have your amber heart.”

“And my real heart also.”
.bn 411.png
.pn +1

“Well, I leave mine with you for safety; so I can’t be
shot through the heart, can I? Jove! there’s the drum again.
Give me a kiss. There, good-by, my dear one.”

Down the gorge he tore at full speed, for he already heard
the sharp crack of a musket-shot; and Helena, remaining
where she was, sank on her knees, which example was followed
by all her women; and the whole company, with uplifted
hands, implored the protection of Heaven for their
dear ones at the front.

Maurice arrived at the barrier just in time, for the enemy
were already scrambling up the slope; and Justinian, catching
sight of his nephew, shouted out to him to redouble his
speed.

“Quick, quick, Maurice! Confound it, sir! they’ll be on
us in a few minutes!”

“Well, that will be just time for me to recover my breath,”
said the young man good-humoredly. “All in order, uncle?”

“Yes. We’ll meet them with rifle-shots first, and give
them a chance of cutting their feet to pieces.”

“But if we let them get so near, they will assault the
barrier.”

“What! after crossing those broken bottles barefooted?
Don’t you believe it, my lad. They will be jumping about
like cats on hot bricks <pm corr 417.24 shortly! shortly!”>

All the Melnosians were in a high state of glee over this
snare for the enemy, which was so simple, yet dangerous,
and yelled with laughter as the foremost stormers dashed
with their bare feet right into the centre of the sharp points.
Of course, the vigor with which they rushed forward rendered
the glass all the more effective; and, after receiving
them with a volley of musket-shot, the garrison paused to
roar with laughter at the sight of the bare-legged islanders
hopping in agony over the broken points. Is was not dignified,
it was not particularly dangerous, and could hardly be
called legitimate war; yet, by this simple means, the first
rush was effectually checked; and streaming with blood, the
enraged stormers retired, leaving a few of their dead, who had
been killed and wounded by the volley, lying on the field.

The information concerning this stratagem soon passed
from mouth to mouth, and those of the enemy who were not
yet climbing up the hill, dashed back to their tents, from
whence, after a time, they emerged, wearing tough leathern
sandals, with the hair still on, bound round their feet by
strong thongs. Those who had been wounded in this novel
.bn 412.png
.pn +1
manner had, regardless of safety, sat down within rifle range
to tie up their bleeding feet; and Justinian, with more generosity
than they would have displayed in like circumstances,
refrained from firing on them thus defenceless.

Caliphronas, who, since the death of Alcibiades, now held
supreme command of this irregular army, saw his forbearance,
and, sneering at Justinian for a soft-hearted fool, with,
for him, exceptional courage, led those of his men who were
booted across the dangerous ground. Apparently he had
quite forgotten how Alcibiades had carried forward his stormers
the previous day under the shelter of the cliff, for, advancing
thus in a compact body full in front of the palisade,
they were exposed to a raking fire from the muskets of the
garrison.

“Lions led by a deer are not dangerous,” quoth Justinian
grimly, on seeing this bad generalship. “I don’t think we’ll
have such a bad time of it as we did yesterday.”

“Certainly not, while Caliphronas is general of the enemy,”
replied Maurice, laughing; “but he has some courage, I see,
for he leads the stormers.”

“I’ll soon frighten him back, sir,” said Dick, who hated
Caliphronas for his treachery on the night of the wreck;
“will I fire?”

“Wait a minute, till they are more conglomerate. Now!”

The gun roared, and a shower of grape-shot splashed over
the advancing body, which did considerable damage in their
ranks, that is, if such disorderly huddling could be dignified
by such a name. They still continued to come on, however,
on noting which, Justinian, who, in default of Gurt, had
charge of the other gun, sent another shower of grape among
them.

They wavered for a moment, but, as their leader still urged
them to come on, Maurice snatched a rifle from the man
nearest him, and aimed deliberately at Caliphronas, not with
the intention of killing him, but merely forcing him to retire
wounded. The ball struck Caliphronas on the elbow of his
sword-arm, and with a yell of pain he dropped his weapon
and ran away, followed as a matter of course, by his soldiers.

“At this rate, Maurice, we can hold the island for a year,”
said the Demarch, with a jeering laugh; “it’s child’s play
compared with yesterday.”

“If we can get them on that mine, and explode it in good
time, the siege will be over,” replied his nephew decisively.

“I am averse to useless massacre.”
.bn 413.png
.pn +1

“So am I, but if we don’t put the fear of God into their
souls, they will wear us out by these puny attacks. One
bold stroke, and they will fly.”

“Well, do what you will. I have every confidence in your
generalship.”

The enemy again charged up the hill, but this time Caliphronas
was conspicuous by his absence, as he was evidently
in the camp attending to his wound. A huge man in an
Albanian dress was leading this time, and had at least the
virtue of brute courage, for, in spite of the musket-shots and
double discharge of the cannon, which killed many, he still
advanced with his men right up to the palisade.

“Hand-to-hand again,” said Dick, as the Melnosians began
to use their bayonets, “but they won’t get over the barricade
this time.”

As the barrier was now built of nothing but turf overlaid
with sank-bags and gabions, the besiegers found their axes of
no use, and were reduced to try to swarm up to the top of
the parapet in overwhelming numbers. The garrison, however,
shot freely into the struggling mass, but in doing this
had to expose themselves greatly, and in consequence lost
many men. Still, they managed to drive back the besiegers,
and the two cannon belched forth grape-shot alternately, so
that at length the enemy were forced to retreat over the
brow of the hill. Thus relieved from immediate danger,
the Melnosians busied themselves with their dead and
wounded, carrying both to the rear, so that their fighting
might not be hampered by the cumbering of the ground
with bodies. In front of the barrier, the ground right over
the brow of the hill was thick with the fallen of the enemy,
and some of the wounded were trying to crawl to a place of
safety, while others, lifting up their hands, cried out on
“Christos.”

In a remarkably short space of time, the pirates re-formed
into something like order, and, still led by the Albanian,
came once more to the point of attack. This time, however,
instead of assaulting the barricade, they lay down on the
crest of the hill, and began to pick off the garrison with
their rifles, while every now and then a small body would
make a sally forward, only to be beaten back with bayonet
and cutlass. Quite unaware of the danger they were in, the
whole of the firing party were camped right on top of the
mine, and Justinian, wishing to end this desultory warfare,
waited until they were pretty well massed before giving the
signal to explode.
.bn 414.png
.pn +1

Twice he raised his hand to give the sign, and twice he
dropped it again, from a sentiment of regret, for, scum
though the besiegers were, it yet seemed a terrible thing to
hurl into fragments the fifty or sixty men who were so <pm corr 420.4 calmy calmly>
seated over the mine. Still it was a case of necessity, for
the garrison, worn out with incessant fighting, were not fit
to stand another assault such as had taken place the day
before, and, if the pirates captured the island, every living
person would be ruthlessly put to death.

Justinian was not a uselessly cruel man, and would fain
have been spared the necessity of such a wholesale massacre,
but when he thought of his child, and the defenceless women
who would be left to the mercy of these savages in case of
capture, all feelings of pity died in his breast, so when the
enemy were massed in a great number above the mine, he
gave the signal.

Alexandros at once sent the electric spark along the buried
wires, the ground in front of the barrier heaved like a convulsed
serpent, and in the concussion which followed the
roar of the explosion, every one of the garrison was thrown
to the ground. When they arose to their feet, the sight
which met their eyes was frightful, for the ground was
strewn with fragments of human bodies, legs, arms, trunks,
heads, all lying about in ghastly confusion. The sky seemed
to have rained blood, for their garments were splashed with
the crimson fluid; and the whole space of ground on the
crest of the hill was rent and riven into huge holes. Of all
the human beings resting there a few minutes before, hardly
one was left alive, and down the hill fled the frightened
survivors, yelling out that an earthquake had taken place.
Those still in the camp caught the alarm, and ran for the
boats, so in a few minutes the harbor was dotted with craft
pulling hard for the entrance. Not one pirate, save those
who were wounded, remained on the beach, for this frightful
catastrophe, which they ascribed to natural causes, had completely
routed the whole host which had stormed the palisade
so confidently a few hours before.

“The war is over,” said Maurice, who was very pale, for
the shocking sight of the bodies in fragments was enough to
make the bravest shudder; “they have had a lesson, and
won’t come back again.”

“I trust not,” said Justinian, who stood sternly under the
drooping folds of the Union Jack, “but I doubt it while
Caliphronas is alive. Still, we have gained the victory this
.bn 415.png
.pn +1
time, and, though I am ashamed of having perpetrated such
a wholesale massacre under this flag, yet necessity knows no
law or mercy either.”

“If we had not beaten them by that time, they would have
beaten us,” said Maurice, taking a pull at his brandy-flask,
“for all our men are about worn out, and could not have
stood another assault. We have lost a good few too, and I
doubt, uncle, if, out of your hundred and twenty subjects,
you have more than thirty left.”

“It has indeed been a severe struggle,” replied Justinian
sadly, “but now, thank God, it is over—at least, for a time;
but, as sure as you stand there, Maurice, Caliphronas will
come back with a fresh set of blackguards.”

“By that time, Crispin and his re-enforcements will have
arrived, so we will soon be able to drive them back. Dick!”

“Yes, sir?”

“We must repair damages, and bury the dead.”

“Right, sir!”

It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when they began
this task, and not until nightfall were the dead buried
decently in shallow graves dug in the sea-shore sand. Papa
Athanasius came down with all the women from the village,
and read the service of the Greek Church over the remains
of friend and foe alike, so that when the moon arose above
the peaks of Melnos, there was no sign of a struggle having
taken place, save in the battered barricade and the rent
ground.

When all was completed, Justinian held a consultation
with his nephew and Dick as to the probability of the foe
returning soon, as, if there was a possibility of such an event
happening, it would be unwise to leave the barrier unguarded.
Ultimately, it was decided to leave sentries on guard, with
cannon and muskets loaded, and Alexandros directed the
search light full on the entrance of the harbor, so that in the
event of the enemy returning, they could be seen before
reaching shore, and the alarm given at once. Temistocles,
who was still in good condition, as he had done no fighting,
was left behind also, in order that if an attack were made,
he might run to the Acropolis to alarm Justinian.

These arrangements having been made, the survivors of
the fierce fighting returned to the village, in order to take
the rest they so much needed. Loud were the wailings for
the dead from the Melnosian women, many of whom were
now alone in the world, and all that night, those sleeping in
.bn 416.png
.pn +1
the Acropolis heard the sounds of bitter sorrow rising from
the valley below. It had been a tough fight, many had been
lost, and much damage had been done; still, the foe had been
forced to retreat, and Melnos was still under the rule of the
Demarch.

That night the leaders were all gathered round the supper-table,
to make the first good meal they had tasted for days,
and Helena and Zoe waited on them, for all the rest of the
servants were down in the village looking after the wounded
men. All of them looked worn out and haggard, for the
strain, both physical and mental, had been something terrible;
and even now, like Justinian, Maurice and Dick, gifted
as they were with iron constitutions, were nearly broken
down by the terrible experiences they had undergone.

“My poor Helena, you look fit to drop,” said Maurice tenderly,
drawing her down beside him. “Rest yourself for a
time, and do not be so afraid. All danger is now past.”

“But think of the many lives that have been lost.”

“I do, and regret them; still, selfish as it may sound,
remember we are all safe, and, after all, that is a great
thing.”

“I am sure I don’t know how long we will be safe with
this volcano.”

“Nonsense, Helena!” said her father in a vexed tone; “I
tell you there is no danger there. Nothing new has happened
that I know of. The island is quite safe, but if there
are any chances of an outburst, we will get away in Crispin’s
yacht.”

“That is what I was saying to Helena this morning. But
will you abandon the new Hellas?”

“I must if Hephaistos bids me. The bravest man can do
nothing against a burning mountain. No, Maurice, if I am
driven from Melnos, I will no longer fight against fate; already,
by the death of so many, a great deal of my forty
years’ labor has proved futile, so if the crowning touch is
put to it by the outbreak of the volcano, I will throw up the
game.”

“And return to England?”

“Yes. I am old now, and want rest, so I have no doubt
you and Helena will give me a corner at the Grange. It
will be a great blow to me should things turn out in this
way; still, I may be too pessimistic, and all may yet be
well.”

“If I may make so bold, sir,” said Dick, who had been
.bn 417.png
.pn +1
talking in a whisper to Zoe, “what, may I ask, is to become
of me? Zoe, here, says, if Miss Helena goes to England,
she will go too.”

“Well, you will accompany her, Dick,” said Maurice genially;
“and I have no doubt that, when you are married, I
will be able to give you a billet at the Grange.”

“Buy a yacht, sir?”

“No, I leave that to Mr. Crispin, so you can still take service
under him, and make Zoe stewardess. But we are all
looking at the black side of things; the mountain may remain
quiet, in which case I will still stay here and carry out
Justinian’s scheme of the new Hellas.”

“Hear! hear!” cried Dick, lifting his glass. “Beggin’
pardon, sir, but here’s to the health of Mr. Justinian!”

“Coupled with the name of Mr. Roylands, who is a hero,”
said Justinian, bowing his thanks for the compliment.

“And add Helena’s name also, for she is a heroine,” cried
Maurice gayly. “Now then, uncle, Dick, Helena, Zoe! three
cheers for our noble selves!”

These were given, and after that, quite worn out, all
retired to rest.




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXVIII. | <sc>THE PREY OF THE GODS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
Far down the valley the altars are reared,
The off’ring no power can delay;
For gods never honored, yet gods ever feared,
Claim their prey.

The fire that springs from the womb of the earth
Will flame on these altars of fear;
The songs of the living, the laughter and mirth,
None will hear.

For weepings and wailings of hundreds afraid
Roll up ’neath the sting of the rods;
The worship is ended, the sacrifice made
To the gods.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Things went along very smoothly for the next two days,
as there was no sign of the pirates returning, nor did the
volcano hint at any near outbreak of fire. Gradually the
diminished population settled down to their old occupations,
.bn 418.png
.pn +1
for Justinian, in spite of the terrible events which had lately
taken up the attention of every one, judged it wisest to prevent
any disorganization of his social system. The few
men surviving returned to their work, and did their best by
constant industry to make up for their lack of numbers,
though, indeed, a dismal silence had settled down on this
rural population, once so gay and mirthful. Later on, when
all fear of an invasion had passed away, Justinian intended
to make an excursion round the Archipelago in search of
new colonists, and had but little fear that he would be able
to obtain as many as he wished, for many islanders would
be only too glad to place themselves under the protection of
the wealthy, eccentric Englishman.

Thanks to the Demarch’s wisdom in placing his money
with his London solicitors, he had plenty of capital on
which to draw, and when things were once more quiet, and
Melnos repopulated from the adjacent islands, he made up
his mind at once to restore the tunnel to its former perfection.
Certainly it would take some time to gather a number
of pure-blooded Hellenes for his colony, but with plenty of
capital at his back, and the productions of the island in a
flourishing condition, he could afford to wait. Besides, he
had Maurice now beside him, and the young fellow was a
man after his own heart, for, in contrast to his former listlessness
when in England, he flung himself into Justinian’s
schemes with an ardor which delighted the old man. With
himself to conceive, and his nephew to carry out, the
Demarch was quite jubilant in spite of his late reverses, for
he foresaw that in such capable hands Melnos would soon be
restored to its pristine glory.

The only thing, therefore, which agitated his mind, was the
dread he felt lest Caliphronas should again assault Melnos with
another army of cut-throats. Calmly as Justinian had taken
the treachery of the Greek, yet in his own soul he felt deeply
hurt that his years of kindness had met with so base a
return. He had found Caliphronas a poor shepherd lad on
the island of Andros, he had educated, clothed, and fed him
for many years, and now, when perilous times came, not
only was the ungrateful scamp absent from his side, but
actually arrayed against him, being in every way an active
agent in bringing ruin on his benefactor. However, if the
pirates, headed by this accomplished villain, did appear
again, the Demarch knew well that he could not hope to
hold out against them for any lengthy period, as, owing to
.bn 419.png
.pn +1
the smallness of his garrison, incessant watching, fighting,
and suspense would wear out even the bravest among them.

In this dilemma there was only one thing left to do, should
the pirates reappear, and that was to close up the pass by
means of the overhanging rocks at the cliff entrance. True,
it would shut all within the island up in a crater which
threatened to break out; still, from all appearances, such a
volcanic outburst did not seem likely to take place, therefore,
if the pass were firmly sealed, they would at least be
free from their dangerous enemies without, until such time
as Melnos could be repeopled, and thus defend itself. Notwithstanding
the earthquake, the disappearance of the lake,
the activity of the hot springs, the Demarch could not believe
that this crater, extinct for so many thousands of years,
would break out in eruption without giving, at least, some
serious warning; therefore, with this idea, he determined, if
the worst came to the worst, to shut himself and his people
in, by closing up the gorge, rather than abandon his forty
years of work to the mercy of a band of Levantine black-guards.

As to Helena and Maurice, they were perfectly happy in
making love to each other; and, in the intervals of such a
delightful occupation, the young Englishman looked after
the palisade, at which two sentries were constantly posted,
wandered about the village with his uncle, attending to local
matters, and twice or thrice a day went to the vantage-point
above the side staircase, in order to watch for the appearance
of Crispin and his yacht. Daily both Maurice and his uncle
swept the offing with their glasses, but no thin line of smoke
or glancing white sail showed that The Eunice was on her
way to aid these unfortunates.

Nor during all this time was Dick idle, for, with a small
body of men, he had posted himself above the overhanging
rocks at the entrance of the pass, and there they drilled holes
in the soft volcanic soil for the reception of dynamite cartridges.
When these were placed sufficiently deep, Alexandros
attached his wires to them, and then threw these
thread-like conductors across the abyss to the opposite side
of the pass. At the point where Crispin had gone over the
cliff a few nights previously, he established a small battery
and fixed the wires thereto, so, in the event of the pirates
approaching the island, the man who was on the look-out at
the vantage-point had simply to touch the button of the battery,
when the enormous rocks on the other side of the gorge
.bn 420.png
.pn +1
would crash down in Titanic fragments, closing up the narrow
way irretrievably. Still, as before stated, the Demarch,
on account of a lurking suspicion of the extinct volcano, was
unwilling to avail himself of this aid until the last moment,
but in any event, if that last moment did come, the rocks
could be exploded from the vantage-point with the greatest
ease. The ropes which had been used to let down Crispin
and Gurt were still attached to the trunk of the pine tree,
but had been carefully drawn up, lest by chance, if the pirates
arrived, they could enter the island by ascending such a convenient
ladder, notwithstanding the closing of the pass.

On the early morning of the fourth day after Crispin had
departed, Justinian and his nephew, ascending the path at
the back of the Acropolis, went down to the vantage-point
through the altar glade, according to custom, in order to look
for signs of the poet’s return. The east was yet rosy with
the dawn, and the great expanse of ocean slept below them
in serene calm. The long white waves broke gently on the
sandy beach, there was not a breath of wind, and when the
sun arose suddenly out of the sea, his long yellow rays shot
like bridges of gold across the water, while his orb, invisible
to the watchers, projected the shadow of the island on the
liquid plain in front.

Temistocles had been on the watch for some considerable
time, and as the electric light was kept all night constantly
sweeping the surface of the sea in search of strange boats,
Justinian asked the runner if there had been any indications
of approaching danger. Receiving a reply in the negative,
he put up his glass in hopes of discovering some signs of the
long-expected and much-desired yacht, but not a speck could
he behold, in spite of the power of his glasses and the keenness
of his eyesight.

“It’s four days since he went away,” said the Demarch to
Maurice, with a sigh, as he put down his glass; “yet he does
not seem to be coming back.”

“You must allow him more time, uncle,” replied Maurice
comfortingly; “you know everything may not have gone
exactly as we thought. He may have cruised about some
time before being picked up by the Cretan steamer, and even
if he were fortunate in meeting a boat at once on his arrival
at Syra, the yacht may not have been lying there.”

“The yacht has had plenty of time to get to Syra, Maurice;
but either he has missed the steamer, or else he finds some
difficulty in obtaining men from the Eparch of Syra.”
.bn 421.png
.pn +1

“But surely in an urgent case like this the Eparch will
send you help at once. You say he is your friend.”

“Certainly he says he is, but my belief is that he is jealous
of my independent sovereignty, and would not be sorry
to see my little government come to an end.”

“What a nice old gentleman he must be! But tell me,
uncle, what is the difference between a Demarch and an
Eparch?”

“One rules over one island, the other over many. As a
matter of fact, a Demarch is a kind of mayor, and really it is
too small a title for me, seeing I have a whole island to myself.
Still, I am quite satisfied with it, as King of Melnos
is out of the question, and Prince of Melnos sounds like the
hero of a penny novelette.”

“And what islands does the Eparch of Syra rule over?”

“Well, really, I quite forget; but the Eparch of Santorin
rules over Amorgos, Anapli, Santorin, and Ios.”

“Of course all these Epachs—or what is it?—Eparchs—are
subject to the government of King George?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I don’t wonder they envy you this island. I suppose
you are the only independent prince in the Ægean?”

“I am now, but in former times there were many. An
Italian family ruled as Dukes of Naxos, another line governed
Seriphos, but those potentates were somewhere about
the fifteenth century. I think the ruler likest to myself was
one Capsi, a kind of ancient pirate, of the Alcibiades type,
who became ruler of Melos.”

“Melnos?”

“No; the island of Melos, without the ‘n.’ It is a curious
coincidence, is it not, the similarity of name and rule?”

“Very; but what became of King Capsi?”

“Oh, the Turks invited him to Stamboul, and then cut off
his head for presuming to set himself up as a rival to the
Sultan. But such a fate is not likely to happen to me, as I
am very good friends with Abdul Hamid.”

“I think we had better establish a line of princes, uncle,”
said Maurice in a joking tone. “You will take the title of
Justinian I.; when I succeed to the throne, I will be Justinian
II.; and if Helena and myself are fortunate enough to
present you with a grandson, he will be Justinian III. So,
you see, we have an excellent beginning for a royal family.”

“I do not see why it should not be so,” replied the
Demarch seriously; “look at the Brookes, who became
.bn 422.png
.pn +1
Rajahs of Sarawak, and the Bernadottes, now Kings of
Sweden, and then again the Bonaparte family. My dear
Maurice, believe me, there are still kingdoms to be gained, if
he who seeks has the nerve, judgment, and fortune of a born
adventurer.”

“Such as yourself.”

“Exactly; and you are of the same type. Oh, that I were
younger, Maurice, and with you by my side, we would go to
South America and carve out a kingdom. You smile, but I
tell you it can be done.”

“It has been done in Melnos.”

“Oh, that is nothing! an intellectual training school only;
but I mean a real large kingdom on a continent.”

“I may be like you in some things, uncle, but I do not
think I have your ambition, as I will be quite content with
my island sovereignty of Melnos.”

“I daresay you are wise. But, Maurice, what a story all
your and my adventures would make—the way you were
brought here by Andros—the description of the crater—the
attack on the island—why, it would make a capital
romance!”

“Which nobody would believe. They would look upon it
as an embroidered lie of the ‘Alroy’ species.”

“Ah, the author of that book—Disraeli—what a man!”

“‘The wondrous boy wot wrote “Alroy,”’” said Maurice.
“Yes, he certainly was clever; a little too fond in his books
of Oriental splendor perhaps, but a genius as a statesman.”

“If Disraeli had been an Eastern vizier, he would have
become a king.”

“What a desultory conversation!” said his nephew, laughing;
“we began with Eparchs and end with possible sovereigns.
Well, as far as I am concerned, this island is big
enough for me and the Princess Helena.”

“Who is talking of the Princess Helena?” cried a gay
voice behind them, and, on turning, they saw the princess
herself, with her arms as usual full of flowers, looking at
them both with a smile in her eyes.

“I am the culprit, your highness,” said Maurice, bowing.
“When did you arrive?”

“This very moment; so if you have been saying nice
things about me, you may as well repeat them.”

“Vanity! vanity!”

“All is vanity! If that is the only thing you have to say
to me, I will go.”
.bn 423.png
.pn +1

“I think we had better all go,” said Justinian, turning
away from the cliff. “I am anxious for breakfast, but you
young people, I suppose, are content to live on love.”

“Not in this keen morning air, father. But have you
seen any sign of the yacht?”

“Not the <pm corr 429.6 slighest! slightest!>”

“What a bad thing! and the pirates?”

“No appearance of those gentlemen either.”

“What a good thing! I wonder who will arrive first,
Crispin or Caliphronas!”

“I trust the former,” answered her father hopefully;
“but I dread the latter.”

“Oh dear me!” said Helena, with a sigh; “I do wish he
would leave us alone. Why cannot he get an island of his
own?”

“Ah, that’s just it, my child! He does not desire an
island so much as you.”

“He will never get me,” she answered resolutely. “Sooner
than become the wife of that traitor, I would throw myself
over the cliff.”

“You can rest quite content, Helena,” said Maurice, with
quiet determination; “if Caliphronas overwhelms Melnos
with his forces, he shall not obtain the prize he desires. If
he captures you, it will be over my dead body.”

“Then he’ll never capture me, for you can easily conquer
such a coward,” retorted the girl, with great spirit; “and,
after all, I don’t believe he’ll have the courage to come
back.”

“Uncle,” exclaimed Roylands suddenly, as he saw Justinian
stumble, “what is the matter? Do you feel ill?”

“Not exactly ill,” replied the Demarch, taking his nephew’s
arm; “but, to tell you the truth, I awoke this morning
feeling very sick and faint.”

“Why, papa, so did I!” exclaimed Helena in surprise;
“that is why I came down to the cliffs to obtain a breath of
fresh air.”

“I also had a headache when I awoke,” said Maurice, after
a pause; “so, as we have all felt the same thing, there must
be some malaria in the air.”

Justinian gave a cry of alarm, and his face blanched white
under its bronze.

“Oh, Maurice! I dread to think what it may be!”

“Why, uncle, what do you mean?”

“The vapors of the volcano!”
.bn 424.png
.pn +1

Both Helena and her lover grew pale at these ominous
words.

“Still,” said the latter anxiously, “if they do nothing but
give headaches”—

“You forget,” replied Justinian in a sombre tone, as they
entered the Acropolis; “we are half-way up the crater, but
if the vapors are rising from the volcano, think of all my
people in the valley.”

Without waiting a moment, the three, in a state of great
alarm, hurried to the platform in front of the temple, and
looked anxiously down to the village. Although it was now
seven o’clock, and the Melnosians were early risers, there
was no appearance of life in the valley below, no sound of
labor or voices ascended, no smoke curled upward from the
chimneys; but in the still morning the cup of the crater
lay spread out before them, a scene of exquisite beauty, yet
terribly, ominously calm.

“Great God!” cried Justinian, with a strangled sob;
“can it be as I feared?”

A man came staggering along the mulberry avenue, waving
his arms wildly, and when he came sufficiently near, they
saw it was the bos’n Dick, pale and haggard, reeling in
his gait like a drunken man.

Maurice ran forward to help him as he advanced, and
ultimately had to carry him to the steps of the Acropolis,
while Helena, by her father’s direction, ran inside for
brandy and smelling-salts. With these they revived the
almost insensible sailor, who opened his eyes with a shudder,
only to find three faces scarcely less haggard than his
own bending over him. None of them asked what had happened,
for the intense quiet of that valley told its own terrible
story, and Justinian knew that in one night he had lost
the whole of his subjects through the deadly vapors breathed
by the awakening volcano.

“Oh, Mr. Justinian! Mr. Roylands! it is horrible—horrible!”
said Dick, sitting up with difficulty. “They are all
dead!—not one left alive; and my poor messmates are gone
also. Let us leave this cursed place, sir, or we will die also.”

Dick had fought bravely all through the campaign, and
was a man but little given to emotion, yet so unnerved was
he by the fearful catastrophe that had happened, that he buried
his face in his hands and almost wept in the intensity of
his agony. Maurice and Helena also were paralyzed with
dread, for, however daring human beings may be, the most
.bn 425.png
.pn +1
resolute quail before the gigantic powers of nature, and,
high-spirited as they all were, their hearts thrilled <pm corr 431.2 with, with>
fear as they recognized in what a death-trap they were
snared.

Only Justinian preserved a certain amount of calmness,—Justinian,
who suffered more than the others, for this was
the crowning blow, and his whole untiring labor of forty
years had been swept away as naught in a single hour.

“It is not a valley,” he cried, looking downward in
despair; “it is a tomb enclosing many dead. Oh, my poor
Melnosians!”

“How did you discover it, Dick?” asked Maurice in an
awed tone.

“After you went away this morning, sir. I walked down
to the valley, in order to get my messmates to go on with
that mining work in the pass; but I felt a bit headachy and
queer. However, I did not think about it, and went down
the stair. Just as I got down half-way, I felt a poisonous
breath of air wafted up from below, which seized me by the
throat, and made me fall down insensible by that statue of
Apollo. I don’t know how long I lay; but it was lucky I
was not farther down, or else I would have been stifled; as
it was, little breaths of the gases floated up, but the cool air
above revived me somewhat, and I managed to crawl up
higher. Then I came along, sir; and you helped me here.”

“And are they all dead?”

“They must be,” said Justinian in a tone of despair. “I
see how it is we escaped. You know the Grotto del Cane
at Naples, Maurice, where a man can enter freely, but a
dog dies? that is because the vapors only rise a certain
height. Down below there, when all were sleeping, the
gases must have been breathed slowly from the mouth of
the volcano, and stifled every soul. They could not rise
higher on account of their weight, so we managed to escape
death. Look at that valley!” cried the Demarch, with a
passionate gesture; “it is a smiling death-trap. We can see
nothing; but half-way up the cup it is filled with deadly
poison, which would kill us were we to descend. Oh, my
poor people! dead! dead! all dead!”

He hid his face in his hands, overcome with horror at the
sight; and Dick, somewhat cured of the poisonous vapors he
had inhaled, arose to his feet with an effort.

“We must get away from here, Mr. Maurice. We dare
not stay another night, for even if that volcano does not
.bn 426.png
.pn +1
burst out, the gases will rise and rise until the Acropolis
will be below their level. We must fly.”

“And how can we fly?” asked Justinian abruptly. “We
have no boats—those scoundrels of Caliphronas’ have
destroyed them all. The only thing we can do is to abandon
the Acropolis, and go to the sea-shore, in order to wait the
arrival of Crispin to save us.”

“But if the volcano breaks out, uncle?”

“In that case we must die. The island is so small, that,
with this crater in full fury, we would be crushed under the
weight of the stones thrown out, or burned to death by the
streams of lava. Our only hope is Crispin; and as to this
death-trap we must leave it at once. Helena!”

Helena did not answer. She was crouching down with
her head on the lap of Zoe, who had joined the group; and
the two girls were too terrified to speak, but lay silent with
horror, a mere huddled mass of humanity.

“How many of us are left alive?” asked Maurice, raising
the girl to her feet.

“About ten, sir,” replied Dick, making a rapid calculation.
“Those two who are on the sentry-go at the palisade, Alexandros,
who is down there attending to the mine, Temistocles,
who is on the look-out, the man here who drives the engine,
myself, Zoe, Miss Helena, yourself, and Mr. Justinian.”

The Demarch flung up his hands with a cry of horror.

“Ten survivors out of nearly two hundred people! Oh,
there is a curse on me and mine! It is useless to fight
against fate, Maurice. We must fly this very minute, and
trust to Providence to be spared until the arrival of the
yacht. Hark! what is that?”

There was a low moan, which seemed to come from the
lips of the crater, and a moment afterwards the earth
trembled slightly. It was the dreaded voice of the earthquake,
as they knew only too well; and, with a sudden impulse,
all turned to fly. The valley smiled peaceful and
serene in the brilliant sunshine, the white peaks glittered
like Pentelican marble against the sky, the delicate green
of the foliage, the myriad hues of the flowers met their eyes
on all sides; yet under this mask of smiling loveliness raged
fierce subterranean fires, which were already pressing furiously
upward to shatter the whole beautiful scene into
Titantic fragments of stone.

“Let us take provisions, water, wine—what we can,” said
Justinian rapidly, as he led the way into the Acropolis.
.bn 427.png
.pn +1
“There is not a moment to be lost. We must fly without
delay.”

The unfortunates made as much speed as they could, and
collected all the food they could find, assisted by Argyropoulos,
who had been called by the Demarch from his engine.
Fortunately there were but few valuables to take away, as
Justinian had always lived with great simplicity, and all his
money was safe in London. The Demarch hastily gathered
up a few of his papers, some money, and a little jewelry
which belonged to Helena; while the others loaded themselves
only with necessaries, such as provisions, wine, water,
and cloaks to protect them should they have to pass the
night on the beach. Helena, weeping bitterly, took leave of
all her beloved flowers; and never had the court, with its
snowy pillars, sporting fountain, and mass of blossoms,
looked so beautiful as it did on this fatal morning. Argos,
poor bird, was strutting proudly about, quite unaware of his
danger; and Helena, touched by a feeling of compassion,
impulsively spoke to Maurice.

“Shall we take Argos with us?”

“I am afraid we cannot, my dear girl. See, we are all
heavily laden. Where is my uncle?”

“He has gone to take a last look at the valley,” said
Helena, bursting into tears.

“Poor uncle!”

At that moment Justinian reappeared in the court, with a
haggard face, his shoulders bent with the weight of his
grief. In a few hours he had aged years, and now this terrible
blow had broken him down completely. He had taken
one last farewell of the valley he loved so much, of his dead
people who were there sleeping in their terrible tomb, of all
his schemes for reviving the old Hellas of the past; and now
took up his burden, in common with the rest, to abandon the
Acropolis forever.

The little band sadly left the beautiful home in which
they could no longer hope to dwell, and took their melancholy
way up the winding path which led up to the altar
glade. Argyropoulos went first, then Dick came, supporting
the weeping Zoe, and finally Justinian, with his nephew on
one side and his daughter on the other, came slowly walking
along, overcome with grief. All his schemes, all his expenditure,
all his works were now at an end; and, as far as
results went, the last forty years of his busy life had been
absolutely wasted.
.bn 428.png
.pn +1

Just as they reached the altar inscribed [Greek: Theo/n], which had
witnessed of late the birth of young love, Temistocles, in a
state of great excitement, came running up the path which
led from the cliffs.

“Kyrion! Kyrion! the pirates! pirates!” he cried in
Greek.

“Another blow!” said Justinian, with a harsh cry. “Are
we not to escape with our lives? How many boats?”

“Eight, Kyrion, crowded with men.”

“What misfortune!” muttered the Demarch, letting his
chin sink on his breast. “Pirates without—fire within.
We are lost!”

“On the contrary, we are saved,” cried Maurice, with a
sudden inspiration. “Don’t give way, uncle. Caliphronas
has arrived at a most opportune moment, for we will use
their boats in order to escape.”

“Impossible!”

“Not at all. I will explain my scheme when we get down
to the verge of the cliff. Come, Temistocles, Dick, Argyropoulos.
Forward all. We will hoist those scoundrels on their
own petard.”

“If I can,” cried Justinian in a rage, raising his hands to
heaven, “I will make a holocaust of them to the infernal
gods!”




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXXIX. | <sc>JUSTINIAN’S REVENGE.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The past is shattered,
The future lost.
Now tempest-battered,
My soul is tossed
From billow to billow on life’s wild sea,
With nothing but sorrow and care for me.

The gods have spoken,
My prayers they spurn,
Yet tho’ thus broken,
I make return
Of holocausts high on their altars bare,
An offering bitter of my despair.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
The saying, “It never rains but it pours,” was fully exemplified
by the series of calamities which had befallen the
once peaceful Isle of Fantasy and its inhabitants. First the
.bn 429.png
.pn +1
treachery of Caliphronas, then the war which had killed so
many people, now a threatened eruption of an apparently
extinct volcano, and, to crown all, a band of pirates waiting
at the only outlet of escape, to massacre the survivors as
they fled from the perils within. Evidently the sins of
Rudolph Roylands’ youth were now bearing fruit, and his
ancestral Ate was now exacting her full penalty for those
half-forgotten episodes of his early life, by depriving him
of all he valued most in the world. One thing after another
had been torn from his reluctant grasp, and now it seemed
as if his life itself was to crown the measure of repayment.
Standing on the lofty cliff, with his nephew, daughter, and
dependants beside him, Justinian watched the pirates landing
from their boats with cynical despair, feeling that the
end of all things had come as far as he was concerned.

Owing to the mental and physical trials of the last few
weeks, the Demarch had lost to a great extent his iron nerve,
and could no longer conceive, decide, and execute his projects
with his former promptitude. The loss of his island
had turned him from a vigorous, determined leader into a
feeble old man, and although now and then his spirits did
flash up with a gleam of brilliancy, it was apparent to every
eye that he was no longer fitted either to lead or control
matters at this final crisis of affairs. It was then that
Maurice showed himself a capable commander, and, leaving
his worn-out uncle to the care of the women, instinctively
took affairs into his own hands without further loss of time.

Of course he still deferred to Justinian as ostensible head
of all things, but it was he who made all suggestions, and
the Demarch did little else than agree to all his propositions.
First of all, Maurice, getting from Justinian the key of the
iron gate, sent Temistocles down the staircase to call up
Alexandros and the two Melnosians, in order to concentrate
in one spot all the survivors of the island, and decide upon a
course of action. When they came up to the vantage-point,
Temistocles locked the iron gate again, and restored the key
to his master, after which all the men sat down to consider
the position of affairs.

It was now noon, and the sun at his zenith was blazing
hotly down on the lava rocks of Melnos, which, flinging back
the glare, rendered the heat almost intolerable. The pirates,
having drawn up their boats on the beach inside the
harbor, had retreated to their old camp, the tents of which,
untouched by the Melnosians, were still standing. There they
.bn 430.png
.pn +1
evidently intended to remain until it grew cooler, in order
to assault the palisade, quite ignorant that the inhabitants
of Melnos were all dead, and that the volcano was on the
point of bursting out in eruption. Had they known this
latter fact, they would speedily have fled away from the ill-omened
spot; but Maurice was glad they were thus ignorant,
as he wished to use one of their boats, in order that himself
and his party might escape from the coming explosion of the
mountain.

“Do you think the pirates will assault the palisade this
afternoon, uncle?” asked Maurice, anxious for the old warrior’s
opinion.

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Justinian, shaking his
head. “They have evidently been rowing here all the
morning, and are tired out. It is probable they will sleep
all the afternoon, and attack us just when it grows dusk.
What do you propose to do, Maurice?”

“First, pull down the palisade.”

“What! and thus lose our only defence! You are mad!”

“There is some method in my madness, as you will see,
uncle. I wish to pull down the barrier, so that when the pirates
come up to assault, they will find no difficulty in passing
up the gorge. Of course, suspecting nothing, they will
make their way right into the interior of the island, while
we, who are in their rear, can go down the side staircase, on
to the beach, and then push off in a boat before they return.”

“It’s a good idea, sir,” said Dick, scratching his head;
“but suppose, when they get inside the palisade, they should
come up the stair and find us here.”

“They won’t do that, Dick, for we will lock the gate; and
you can depend upon it, when they find the pass open, they
will not waste their time in trying to force this side path.
If they can gain the interior of the island by an open way,
they certainly won’t try to pass in by a blocked one.”

“Don’t you think they will suspect treachery, Maurice?”

“No, uncle. In the first place, most of these are new arrivals,
and, in spite of what their comrades have told them,
won’t believe we are—or rather were—so strong. And in
the second place, they will think we have retreated up to the
second palisade, so even if they stop there, we will have
time to get to sea.”

“What about this, Kyrion?” said Alexandros, pointing to
the battery, which stood near; “will we not wait till the
enemy are under the rocks, and then bring them down to
crush all?”
.bn 431.png
.pn +1

“By no means, Alexandros; for by so doing we would
close up the only avenue of escape left to us. It will not
be much gratification crushing the enemy, if we only attain
that by letting ourselves be blown up by the volcano.”

Alexandros looked rather unhappy at this, as he was proud
of his work, and would have liked to show how skilfully
his battery worked; but he recognized the force of Roylands’
reasoning, so said no more about it. Justinian was
also silent, but simply because he had conceived a plan for
punishing his enemies; and looking at the battery, the rocks
frowning over the pass, and the coils of rope near the pine
tree, he glanced suddenly at Alexandros with a significant
smile, whereupon the quick-witted Greek saw that the
Demarch had some scheme in his head, and that his battery
would yet be utilized. Accordingly, when all the men descended
to the gorge for the purpose of levelling the palisade,
Alexandros lingered behind with Justinian to receive
his orders.

“What is it, Kyrion?” he asked in Greek.

“Alexandros,” replied the Demarch fiercely, “I am leaving
this island forever, for, as you know, all our friends are
dead; but I will leave behind me an offering to their manes
of all those scoundrels who have given me such trouble.
You must carry out my wish.”

“I will, Kyrion.”

“By those coils of rope up there you can escape down the
face of the cliff?”

“Easily, Kyrion; I am a monkey in climbing.”

“Good! Well, when the pirates have gone up the pass,
and we have gained the boat on the beach, you remain
behind, and, when I give the signal, explode the mine. Thus
the pass will be closed up, sealing the pirates up in the
crater, so if the volcano does burst out, they will be blown
to pieces.”

“I will do it, Kyrion,” said Alexandros, who liked this
scheme immensely; “and then I can escape down the cliff.”

“Keep it to yourself,” said the Demarch in a whisper, as
they went out of the iron gate; “Mr. Maurice is too tender-hearted,
and might not like it.”

How Justinian could reconcile this proposed massacre with
the aversion he had felt the previous day in exploding his
mine, it is hard to say, but the fact is, with all his troubles,
his brain was becoming slightly affected, and he now deemed
it a point of honor to sacrifice his enemies to the manes of
.bn 432.png
.pn +1
his dead subjects. After all, as he considered, and very
truly, these pirates were but dangerous desperadoes, which
the Ægean could very well spare, so the sooner they were
cut short in their nefarious careers the better for the islanders
of the Cyclades. Besides, Rudolph Roylands had, even
in his old age, a wild and lawless spirit, only curbed by his
wonderful powers of self-control, and in thus avenging himself
on the enemies who had destroyed his cherished schemes,
he was indulging in a burst of that Baresark fury which he
inherited from his Norse ancestors.

With hard work the eight men managed to make a breach
in the earthworks through which the enemy could pass, and
all the carefully-built fortifications were levelled to the
ground. It was growing dusk when they finished, and
already they could hear a stir in the camp of the enemy, so,
rapidly completing their work of devastation, they returned
to the vantage-point, where they had left the women. Only
the Demarch and his nephew lingered behind, the one to
lock the iron gate, and the other to carry away the Union
Jack, which still floated proudly over the ruined barricade.

“They won’t get this, at all events, uncle,” said Maurice
gleefully, as he hauled down the flag; “I wouldn’t have it
fall into their hands for a thousand pounds.”

“Sooner burn it,” retorted the Demarch fiercely; “but
hurry up, Maurice, for, judging from the noise they are making,
I suspect their forces are being drawn up.”

Roylands, with the folds of the flag wrapped round his
body, ran through the iron gate with his uncle, and the latter
having locked it carefully, they ascended the staircase in
order to wait events.

It was just at that hour after sunset, when the day blending
with the night produces that luminous twilight so
noticeable in the Mediterranean. The little band, concealed
from sight on the high cliff, could easily see in the warm
glow how rapidly the enemy were gathering their forces
together, but, in spite of all endeavors, none of them could
see Caliphronas.

“I don’t expect he has come back, uncle.”

“Oh yes, he has,” replied the Demarch grimly; “but, on
the plea of his wound, he will remain behind in the camp,
and let his army do the work. Once they conquer, he will
come out and crow. That is Andros all over; he likes to be
the monkey, and use others as cats to pull the chestnuts out
of the fire.”
.bn 433.png
.pn +1

“I am very glad he is not leading them,” said Maurice
thoughtfully, “for he would be keen enough to mistrust appearances,
and refrain from entering the pass in case of
treachery, in which case we would be kept prisoners up
here.”

Helena uttered a low cry of fright, and hid her face on
Maurice’s shoulder, for at this moment the earth began to
tremble slightly. The shock, however, was not a severe one,
and did no damage, still it made the whole party feel uneasy,
and wish they were relieved from their perilous position.
The four Melnosians, who had lost all their friends and relatives,
looked like statues of despair; still, so selfish is man
for himself, that, though all their pleasure in life was gone,
they were as uneasy and anxious to be saved as the rest of
the party.

Luckily, owing to the ardor with which the enemy were
forming their lines, they had not noticed the ominous warning
of the earthquake, and were evidently about to make a
grand assault on the barrier. At a given signal, they rushed
wildly up the hill, shrieking like fiends, but recoiled in dismay
as they saw the ruins of the palisade. Evidently suspecting
treachery, they consulted together for a moment,
then cautiously went forward into the pass. Finding no foe
there to confront them, they became more confident, and as
Caliphronas, who could have shown them the way, was not
present, they took no notice of the iron gate, but marched
boldly up the gorge, firing their rifles at intervals, until
there was not a single man left either at the palisade or on
the beach.

There was not a moment to be lost, so, Justinian leading,
with Maurice and Dick following with the women and the
Melnosians, they went down to the foot of the stair, unlocked
the door, and as rapidly as possible ran down the hill
to the beach. Placing Helena, Zoe, and all their bundles in
the best boat they could select in their hurry, Dick and Argyropoulos
pushed it off into deep water.

“Where is Alexandros?” asked Maurice, noticing the
absence of the electrician for the first time.

Justinian, with a grim smile, turned his face towards the
cliffs and raised his hand, both to point out Alexandros to
Maurice, and to give the signal for the exploding of the
mine. Maurice stared aghast for a moment, and would have
spoken, but before he could open his mouth there was a tremendous
roar, and the great rocks at the mouth of the pass
.bn 434.png
.pn +1
crashed down with a noise like thunder, blocking up the entrance
for ever.

“You have shut the pirates in, uncle!”

“Yes,” said the Demarch fiercely; “I have triumphed
over my enemies.”

“But Alexandros?”

“Is safe. See! he is sliding down the rope.”

“And the volcano!”

Even while the words were on his lips, the ground began
to shake convulsively, and with a cry, Helena fell back
in the boat in a dead faint. Maurice and Justinian were
thrown to the ground, and high above, amid the encircling
peaks, shot up a mighty column of smoke, streaked with
red fire.

“The volcano!” cried Maurice, dragging his uncle to his
feet. “Quick! quick! get into the boat. Dick! Alexandros!”

They were both beside him, and assisted to take the
Demarch towards the boat, but, to their dismay, found it had
been left high and dry by the receding waters, which were
curling backward from the land in streaks of livid white.
The volcano now began to cast out great stones, and at intervals
showers of boiling water, while lurid flames flashed
fiercely through the gigantic column of smoke which loomed
terrible and vague above the fatal island.

“God! we will be killed!” cried Maurice, as, with the aid
of Dick and Alexandros, he began to push the boat slowly
towards the sea. “Helena! Helena! lie down at the bottom
of the boat.”

In order to push the craft to sea, Maurice had been forced
to leave his uncle, but the old man was now on his feet running
towards him. Suddenly there was a shriek of agony,
and through the falling stones, through the blinding dust,
through the rain of fire, rushed Caliphronas, making for the
boat.

“Save me, save me, Justinian! Maurice, help!”

“Traitor!” cried Justinian, turning fiercely on the Greek;
“now you shall reap the reward of your treachery.”

A thick, sulphurous smoke was spread around, and in this
the two men were struggling, locked in a deathly grip.
Temistocles and his three countrymen were already afloat,
pulling away as hard as they could; but Maurice gave himself
up for lost, as, in spite of all his efforts and those of
Dick, the boat was too firmly imbedded in the sand to be
.bn 435.png
.pn +1
moved. Great bombs came shooting up into the sky from
the heart of the volcano, and, bursting in the lurid air, huge
rocks and showers of stones came crashing down on all sides;
and, to add to the horror of the night, Maurice, with a cry of
despair, saw the sea rushing violently up to the land.

“Uncle! uncle! the boat! the boat!”

Dick and Alexandros scrambled in, while Maurice ran to
help Justinian; but, before he could reach him, he was
ingulfed in the waves of the sea, and half blindly saw a huge
stone fall from heaven on his uncle and the struggling Greek.
The waves foamed around the pair, but, without a cry, Caliphronas
had been struck down, a bleeding, smashed-up mass,
under the cruel rock; while Justinian, also struck on the
chest, could make no effort to save himself. Borne up by
the force of the sea, Maurice felt rather than saw the boat
rush past him towards the beach, but with an almost superhuman
effort he managed to clutch his insensible uncle and
keep afloat. The waters around were seething furiously,
great stones kept splashing down on all sides, and above he
could but see a sky of intense black smoke, through which
played forked flashes of red fire.

The sea, having dashed right up to the cliffs, began to
retire, upon which Dick and Alexandros leaped out of the
boat to lighten her, and thus try to float her back into deep
water. Maurice staggered to his feet, with his uncle in his
arms, and strove to reach the boat. Borne outward by the
retreating waters, the light craft swept past him, but he
also, abandoning himself to the waves, was carried seaward.
In another second the boat was in deep water, and Dick, who
had never let go the gunwale, leaped in with Alexandros.
They looked anxiously through the gloom for Maurice and
the Demarch, and as at this moment a flash of scarlet fire
lighted up the furious sea, they caught a glimpse of them,
and, in spite of the still outward-rushing water, tried to row
obliquely towards the pair. For a moment it looked as if
they could not be saved, but fortunately, Maurice, though
half stunned, still retained his senses, and was able to clutch
the oar which Dick held out towards him. By this he was
drawn gradually to the boat, which was rocking violently in
the disturbed sea.

“Take—uncle!—uncle first!”

Dick, with the assistance of Alexandros, managed to pull
the insensible man on board, after which, Maurice, half dead
.bn 436.png
.pn +1
with exhaustion, also scrambled into the boat, and, the sea
now being calmer, they rowed rapidly out to sea.

The volcano was now spouting fire furiously, and by the
glare they were able to see the entrance of the breakwater.
By a miracle, they escaped the falling stones, but, just as
they were gliding past the massive masonry, they saw the
boat of Temistocles dashed to pieces, and all on board go
down in the crimson flood. Much as they wished to save the
unfortunate men, they were unable to do so, for every second
they expected to be dashed to pieces, so, with the strength
of despair, they shot out of the harbor far into the sea
beyond. Justinian, Helena, and Zoe were all lying insensible
at the bottom of the boat, Maurice was at the helm, and
Alexandros, with Dick, was pulling for dear life, so as to get
beyond the range of the projectiles shot from the volcano.

Alas, the beautiful Island of Fantasy! it was now nothing
but a pillar of fire, and all the dead Melnosians, the living
pirates, had been reduced to ashes in that terrible furnace.
Already streaks of glowing lava began to move slowly down
the sides of the mountain, colossal tongues of fire shot upward
to the silent stars, and explosions, like distant cannonading,
shook the mountain to its base. The noise was
something deafening, but, luckily for the fugitives, they were
now beyond the rain of stones, rocks, and bombs, while the
sea, though still disturbed, was comparatively quiet.

They were floating on an ocean of blood, for the crimson
glare of the spouting fire smote sky and sea alike with its
fiery blaze, and away in the distance arose the deserted Melnos,
with its peaks crowned with thick vapors, from whence
flashed streaks of fire.

The ever-turning wheel of time had come full circle, and
the long extinct volcano was once more a burning mountain,
vomiting death and destruction on all sides; while far
beyond, on the scarlet waters, floated the little boat containing
five human beings, all that remained of the inhabitants
who had dwelt in the beautiful valley of Melnos.
.bn 437.png
.pn +1




.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XL. | <sc>DEATH PAYS ALL DEBTS.</sc>

.pm start_poem
The day is ended, the night is near—
  That’s how I look at my end.
The night is over, the day breaks clear—
  Such is your creed, my friend.
But, yours or mine, does it matter much
  Which of our faiths is the true one—
Mine, with its failure a future to touch,
  Or yours, so sure of a new one?

We both know nothing of what comes next,
  For that is my firm belief;
’Tis waste to preach on an unproved text,
  And harrow our souls with grief.
My life has not been what you call pure,
  Yet when drops this vexed life’s curtain,
I think my future is quite as sure
  As yours with its heaven certain.
.pm end_poem

.sp 2
Without doubt Crispin’s star was in the ascendant when
he left Melnos on that perilous voyage to Syra, for in a very
short space of time he was picked up by a Cretan steamer,
and, on his arrival at his destination, found the yacht lying
in the harbor. Owing to her likeness to the unfortunate
Eunice which had been wrecked, he had no difficulty in
recognizing her among the gay-colored caiques and steamers
from all countries which thronged in the bay below the
white town of Syra. Hurrying at once on board, he was met
by the Rector, Mrs. Dengelton, and Eunice, who were both
surprised and delighted to see him so soon after their arrival
in the Ægean. A long conversation at once ensued between
the four, and Crispin described the perilous position in which
he had left Justinian, much to the astonishment of the
Rector, who could not understand that pirates still existed.
As for Mrs. Dengelton, she asserted that no power on earth
would induce her to go to Melnos, where there were so many
dangers; but in this selfish determination she was overruled
by her daughter and Mr. Carriston.

It having been settled that all on board would remain,
Crispin, in company with Gurt, hurried off to see the Eparch,
and, on explaining the state of Melnos to him, managed to
obtain about fifty men in order to assist the besieged. They
were marched on board at once; and late next day the yacht
.bn 438.png
.pn +1
set sail for the Island of Fantasy, with every one in a fearful
state of excitement at the prospect of coming adventures.

During the voyage they met with a head wind, but this
made but little difference to The Eunice, which, beating the
water with her powerful screw, forged steadily ahead in spite
of wind and wave. The Hon. Mrs. Dengelton had long since
recovered from sea-sickness, and was now as lively as ever,
chatting gayly with Mr. Carriston, while Crispin, now being
for the time at leisure, made love to Eunice. Both the
lovers were in the seventh heaven of happiness at thus being
reunited, and, had it not been for the state of uncertainty he
felt about Melnos, Crispin would have been perfectly happy.
For a wonder, Mrs. Dengelton had kept her promise, and not
persuaded Eunice to marry any one else; for which honorable
conduct she deserved no praise, for as yet Crispin was
the wealthiest suitor The Parrot had secured for her daughter.
The lady, however, made a virtue of necessity, and frequently
pointed out to Crispin how straightforwardly she
had behaved, for which meritorious conduct the poet was
duly thankful.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Dengelton, recovering her breath after a
long harangue; “when I make a promise I keep it. I said,
Find out whom you are, and you shall have my daughter.
Well, here is Eunice, and here am I, both waiting for the
promised explanation. Now, then, Mr. Crispin, who are
you?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Do you mean to say you cannot find out?” screamed the
lady.

“No, I don’t say so, Mrs. Dengelton. As soon as we arrive
at Melnos, Justinian will tell me everything I and you desire
to know.”

“Justinian!” echoed Mrs. Dengelton crossly, determined
not to be satisfied. “Oh, dear Mr. Crispin, do not call my
brother by that heathenish name!”

“It is an honorable name!” said the Rector good-naturedly.
“You know it was Justinian, the Emperor of the East, who
built St. Sophia, and was the author of the Pandects. My
old friend Rudolph could scarcely have chosen a more suitable
name for a lawgiver.”

“It is really wonderful to think of Rudolph still being
alive,” mused Mrs. Dengelton, taking no notice of the Rector’s
historical explanation. “It will be like meeting a
stranger, for I was a child in long clothes when he left
England.”
.bn 439.png
.pn +1

“Yes; fifty years does make a difference.”

“Fifty years!” shrieked Mrs. Dengelton, seeing he had
made a mistake. “Oh, quite impossible, my dear Rector!—why,
I am only forty-five, and as I was born when Rudolph
left, it really cannot—it cannot”—

She was unable to utter that nauseous statement of fifty
years, so the Rector good-humoredly came to her relief.

“Of course not—of course not, my dear lady. Time flies
so quickly that we are apt to make mistakes. Your age, of
course, is—is—?”

“Forty-five,” murmured the lady bashfully. “Ah, I am
indeed growing old. But I will be glad to see Rudolph
again, and my niece. You say she is beautiful, Mr.
Crispin?”

“Lovely!—as lovely as Eunice here.”

“Good looks run in our family,” said Mrs. Dengelton complacently.
“I myself—well, there, I was just like Eunice
at her age. Yes, I will be glad to see Helena!”

“And I will be glad to see Melnos!” interposed the Rector.
“You can have no idea, my dear Crispin, how interested
I was in Maurice’s letter concerning this scheme of reconstituting
Hellas. It is a noble dream, which may turn out into
a reality.”

“Always provided there is no trouble from the pirates or
the volcano, Mr. Carriston.”

“Oh, I trust that the volcano is quiescent; and as for the
pirates, I judge, from your description of the defences, that
Maurice will be able to keep them at bay until we arrive.”

“Certainly as a last resource they can close up the pass,”
said Crispin thoughtfully; “but that would leave them at the
mercy of the volcano.”

“They may be all burnt up,” observed Mrs. Dengelton in
a sepulchral tone; “and instead of Rudolph I may meet a
cinder.”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Dengelton. Whatever happens,
I have full faith in Justinian’s powers of extricating himself
from any dilemma; besides, Maurice also is ingenious in
ideas.”

“My dear lad!” said the Rector, with emotion. “I am so
anxious to see him. This siege seems to have made a new
man of him.”

“I don’t think you would recognize him, Rector. He is
not listless now, but full of life and spirits. Love, open-air
life, and responsibility have wrought wonders.”
.bn 440.png
.pn +1

“And when do you think we will be in sight of Melnos?”

“To-morrow morning, I think, but Gurt will know.”

Leaving Mrs. Dengelton and Eunice in the cabin, the two
gentlemen went on deck to see Gurt, who gave it as his
opinion that they certainly would sight Melnos at dawn.

“I hope we will find them alive, Gurt.”

“Don’t you fear, Mr. Crispin, sir. Why, I’d back Mr. Roylands
against the Dook of Wellingtin himself for fightin’.”

The Rector was much delighted with Gurt, especially
when he saw how the sailor worshipped Maurice; and the
tale of the siege of the island, as told by Gurt, with Maurice
as the hero, was as brilliant and unreliable as “The Arabian
Nights Entertainments.” Never being able to hear enough
about his dear lad, Mr. Carriston asked Gurt to once more
recite his Iliad, which the sailor was nothing loath to do,
and the story lasted until all retired to rest.

The next morning at dawn they were in Cretan waters,
and the Rector, Crispin, and Gurt were all on the lookout
for the island. Just about sunrise they saw its conical
shape dimly on the horizon, and Crispin, who had his glasses
up, uttered a cry of dismay.

“Why, there’s smoke!” he said anxiously. “Can the volcano
have broken out?”

“I hope not! I trust not!” cried Carriston, turning pale.
“Let me look, Crispin. You surely must be mistaken.”

Alas! there was no mistake, for, as they drew nearer, even
without the aid of the lengthy tube of the binocle, the crest
of the island appeared to be topped by a dark cloud of
smoke, and they could hear at intervals the muffled roar of
the volcano breathing fire and fury.

“O God! O God! my poor friends!” groaned Crispin,
sinking down in deep despair; while the Rector, stunned
with the magnitude of the calamity, could say nothing—not
even a word of comfort. Both Mrs. Dengelton and
Eunice were weeping bitterly at the thought of their terrible
loss; but Gurt, in spite of the smoking volcano before
his eyes, sturdily refused to believe that Justinian and his
company were dead.

“Don’t ’ee believe it, Mr. Crispin! Mr. Maurice knows a
thing or two. If any one’s frizzled, I guess it’ll be them
pirates; but Mr. Justinian and Miss Helena!—Lor’, sir,
Mr. Maurice ’ull see to ’em!”

At this moment the man on the lookout cried out that
there was a boat in sight to the eastward, on which cheering
.bn 441.png
.pn +1
intelligence the hearts of all revived, in the hope that it
would prove to be their friends escaped from the fatal
island. The yacht’s head was turned towards the speck in
the distance, and she steamed ahead at full speed, so as to
put an end to all suspense, while every one crowded to the
taffrail, in order to catch the first glimpse of the occupants.

“Glory! glory!” yelled Gurt, dancing about in a state of
great excitement. “There’s Mr. Maurice, sir! and Dick!
What did I tell ’ee, Mr. Crispin! Glory! glory!”

“I don’t see Justinian,” said Crispin anxiously; “but see,
there are two women. Those will be Helena and Zoe!”

“Sum’at lyin’ in the boat,” cried Gurt, who had climbed
up the weather rigging; “maybe it’s Mr. Justinian. Get
her ahead, sir, an’ we’ll soon have ’em on board.”

The Eunice slowed down her engines when she approached
the caique, and the anxious faces bending over the side saw
that it contained Maurice, Dick, Helena, and Zoe, all frightfully
haggard-looking objects, and that at the bottom of the
boat lay the form of a man covered with the folds of the
Union Jack. The two young men, who seemed quite worn
out with fatigue, brought the caique alongside the yacht,
and, having passed up the women and the insensible Justinian,
climbed on board themselves. Then ensued a scene of
heartfelt welcome and congratulations, in which Maurice
especially was nearly overwhelmed by the embraces of Crispin
and the Rector.

“Is Justinian dead?” asked Crispin, when the first excitement
had somewhat subsided.

“No; but I am afraid he is dying!”

“My poor lad!” said the Rector pityingly; “you are
quite worn out. Crispin, are you still going on to Melnos?”

“What is the use, sir?” said Dick bitterly; “it’s nothing
but a heap o’ cinders.”

“Any one still left on the island?”

“Crispin,” said Maurice solemnly, “with the exception of
those you see, every soul on the island is dead. I will tell
you all soon, but meanwhile I must have something to eat, a
bath, and a sleep.”

The women had already carried off Helena and Zoe, to
attend to them in their cabin, Justinian was taken down and
put to bed, and the yacht’s head was turned back to Syra
without delay, in order to obtain a doctor for the dying
Demarch.
.bn 442.png
.pn +1

“Where is Alexandros, Dick?” asked Gurt, as he attended
to the wants of the boatswain.

“Fell overboard!” replied Dick sadly; “he got away
with us from that cursed island, but, being weak with all his
work, tumbled into the water. We tried to save him, but
he was so weak that before we could reach him he went
down.”

“And that ’ere Count?”

“Oh, a stone from the volcano smashed him up.”

“Served him jolly well right!” said Gurt cruelly. “My
eye, Dick, ’ow glad I am t’ see ye, and Zoe too!”

“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Roylands, we’d all have been
lost, Gurt!”

“Didn’t I say so!” cried Gurt, bringing his fist down on
the table with a mighty thump. “Wot a man he is! Lord
Nelsing and the Dook of Wellingtin were nothin’ to him—nothin’!”

In spite of the speed of the yacht, she was unable to reach
Syra in time to save the life of the Demarch, for the stone
from the volcano had so crushed in his chest, that internal
hemorrhage had taken place, and there was no hope of saving
his life. He revived, however, shortly after being taken on
board, and was conscious to the last, not without some
gleams of his former grim humor at the cause of his death.

“That ungrateful Melnos!” he said feebly, as he lay back
in his berth, clasping his daughter’s hand; “I gave it bread,
and it returns me a stone—a stone to crush me to death.
Well, at all events it killed Andros, and of that I am glad.”

“Hush, hush, my dear friend!” said the Rector gently;
“you must not talk like that. Forgive your enemies.”

“What! forgive that monster of ingratitude, who brought
so many troubles on me, and ruined my schemes.”

“Yes,” said Carriston firmly; “the greater the sinner, the
more need has he of forgiveness. If you forgive not your
enemies their sins, how can you expect God to forgive
you?”

“What about yourself, Rector?”

“I have no enemies,” replied Carriston, with great dignity;
“but even if I had, I would forgive them freely.”

“Very well,” said the Demarch, with a cynical smile,
which but ill became his pallid face; “I will put you to the
test. Call in every one.”

Considerably puzzled at this remark, the Rector did as he
was bidden, and in a short space of time, Maurice, Crispin,
.bn 443.png
.pn +1
Mrs. Dengelton, and Eunice were gathered round the bed of
the dying man. Helena still sat near him, holding his hot
hand; and the Demarch, thus having got his audience together,
began to make his last confession.

“You say, Hector, you have no enemies.”

“No, not that I know of!”

“Think a little, Mr. Carriston. What about thirty years
back?”

“Thirty years back!” repeated Carriston, growing pale.

“And Captain Malcolm, who ran off with your wife and
child!”

“How do you know that?” asked the Rector, with a reproachful
glance at Roylands. “Has Maurice”—

“I have said nothing, sir,” cried Maurice, flushing deeply;
“how can you suspect me of such a thing?”

“I beg your pardon, my dear lad,” replied the Rector penitently;
“I was wrong to do so. Still, how does Mr. Justinian
know”—

“For the very simple reason that he was Captain Malcolm,”
said the Demarch faintly.

“You!” cried Carriston, recoiling with a shudder,—“you!
Are you the man who wrecked my life, and stole my dear
ones from me?”

“I am that man!” said Justinian, looking at him with
weak defiance. “Come now, where is your forgiveness?”

The Rector was deeply moved, and sat on the edge of the
berth, with his hands clasped, and great drops of perspiration
rolling down his pale face. A terrible struggle was
going on in his mind, for it appeared to him almost impossible
to forgive this man, who had wronged him so bitterly.
Justinian, observer of human nature to the last, looked at
him with a faint sneer on his dying lips.

“I thought you would not practise what you preached.”

“You are wrong! you are wrong!” cried the Rector,
springing to his feet. “God forgive me! I should not have
hesitated a moment. I do forgive you! I forgive you freely.”

Justinian was so moved to sudden emotion at this noble
behavior on the part of the man he had wronged, that for
the moment he was deprived of speech.

“I see there are some good men still on earth,” he said at
length in a faltering voice. “Mr. Carriston, I thank you for
your noble conduct, which has taken me quite by surprise.
I acknowledge I have wronged you deeply, and cannot palliate
my conduct, but I can and will make reparation.”
.bn 444.png
.pn +1

“My wife?” groaned the Rector bitterly.

“Is dead; but your son is by your side.”

The Rector turned suddenly round and found himself face
to face with Crispin, whose countenance was as pallid as his
own. They gazed for a moment at one another, suffocated
with emotion, then, casting all restraint to the winds, fell
into one another’s arms.

“You will find all the necessary papers to convince you of
this truth with my lawyers in London,” said the Demarch,
with evident pleasure at this meeting of long parted father
and son.

“I am convinced now,” replied Carriston, as he stood with
his hand on Crispin’s shoulder. “Yes! this is indeed my
son.”

“Still, you had better see the papers,” said Justinian
faintly. “There is a letter for you from your wife, which
will tell you all you wish to know. Rector, I have been a
great sinner, I know, still I don’t think there are many
actions I regret so much as robbing you of your wife. However,
I have done my best to make amends, and you have forgiven
me. But Crispin?”

“I also forgive you freely,” said Crispin, clasping the hand
of the dying man; “for by this confession you have not only
given me a father, but a wife.”

“Yes, take her!” sobbed Mrs. Dengelton, pushing her
daughter towards the poet. “I always liked you, Crispin,—or
shall I say Mr. Carriston?”

“I think it must be Crispin Carriston,” said the Rector,
drawing Eunice towards him, “for I love the name of Crispin
too well to part with it.”

“My dear father!”

“Maurice!” said Justinian, who was getting weaker.

“Yes, uncle?”

“You will find my will at my lawyer’s; it leaves all the
money to you and Helena, who is to be your wife.”

“My dear wife!” repeated Maurice, kissing the weeping
girl. “As to your money, uncle, I do not require it.”

“You must take it, my son. Helena is my heiress, and
alas! now Melnos has vanished in smoke and fire, there is no
use for it there. You will return to England, Maurice, and,
with all this wealth, do what good you can in the world.
Crispin is already rich, so it would be useless to leave him
anything.”

“I have Eunice, and that is enough for me.”
.bn 445.png
.pn +1

“Well, now all is arranged, we must drop the curtain on
this comedy of life,” said Justinian, with a flash of his old
cynicism. “After all, I have played my part to the best of
my ability on this life’s stage, but Fate has been too strong
for me.”

“It is the will of God,” observed the Rector solemnly.

Justinian said nothing, as he did not wish to offend the
firm faith of the old clergyman, but he could not, for the life
of him, think that it was the will of God that forty years of
hard work to raise up a new civilization should be blotted
out for no reason whatsoever.

“Life’s a problem!” he said, with a faint sigh; “we do
our best, and remain poor, we do our worst, and become rich.
However, it is all over now, and of all my schemes nothing
remains. Dust, ashes, smoke, fire, have they all come to, and
I, after seventy-five years of life, die foiled and beaten by
Fate.”

“Oh, father, do not talk so! You will not die! you will
live!”

“I am afraid not, my child!” replied the dying man
faintly; “the parting gift of Melnos has crushed the life out
of me. Oh, my island, my beautiful island! that bloomed
like a rose on the waters! how your glory has departed!
The forge of Hephaistos hath supplanted the garden of
Cytherea.”

“Will I not pray for you?” asked the Rector gently.

“To whom? God? Well, a good man’s prayers can do
no harm, and, if there is truth in your belief, may do some
good. But we are all in the dark, you with your Christianity,
I with my paganism. The comedy is ended, drop the curtain.”

“Oh, father, father! do not talk so!” sobbed Helena, burying
her face in her hands.

“Hush, my child! I am not afraid. Rector, you can pray
for me, but, now all is told and done, leave me with my
child. Good-by, my sister; I never knew you, so we are
almost strangers—good-by. Kiss me, Eunice, and be a
good wife to Crispin, who loves you so dearly. Crispin, I
have wronged you, but made reparation. Dick! Gurt! you
have been true men, and Maurice will look after your future.
Maurice, my dear son, good-by. Be a kind husband to my
child, and comfort her in her sorrow. Bury me at sea, for I
will have no meaner grave than the mighty ocean. Good-by,
one and all—good-by!”
.bn 446.png
.pn +1

They took leave of him in silence, one by one, and then
left the cabin quietly, leaving him alone with Helena and
the Rector, who was already on his knees reciting the service
for the dying. On deck, the sun was setting in splendor,
leaving trails of glory in the heavens, and sadly they
remained there, waiting for the end. In about half an hour,
the Rector, pale and sad, appeared on the deck.

“It is all over!”

The next day, the yacht arrived at Syra, with her ensign
half-mast, as a token of the dead on board. Here the men
whom Crispin had recruited for the defence of Melnos were
paid off and dismissed. No one on board cared to remain
longer in the Archipelago, now so fraught with sad associations,
so, after a few hours’ stay, The Eunice steamed out of
the harbor on her way to old England once more.

Off the island of Cerigo, to the extreme south of the
Peloponnesus, Justinian’s body was committed to the deep,
wrapped in no meaner shroud than that ragged Union Jack,
shot nearly into tatters, which had floated so proudly over
the well-defended stockade. The Rector, in a voice broken
by emotion, read the burial service over the body of the dead
Demarch, who, whatever his faults might have been, was a
great man. The engines were slowed down, the body,
wrapped in its glorious pall, shot with a sullen splash into
the sea, and then the yacht, with set sails and beating
screw, plunged on, through the purple seas, towards England.

Helena was almost broken-hearted with her loss, and shut
herself up in her cabin to lament in solitude. This, however,
Maurice would not allow, as he was afraid of her becoming
ill, and one evening, when all were at dinner, he persuaded
her to come up on deck, where the glory of the sunset was
burning with splendor in the far west.

“My dearest,” he said tenderly, <pm corr 452.33 taking, taking> her in his arms, as
they stood facing the keen sea breeze, “you must not break
your heart like this. Your father would never have survived
the loss of Melnos, so he had his wish, and died when all his
hopes of a new Hellas were at an end. I must be your comforter
now, Helena, and when you are my dear wife, I trust
to make you so happy, that you will be able to look back
with calmness on this loss, which you now think—and justly—so
bitter. Hush, hush, my dear love! We will face the
future together, and live down our past sorrows.”

Helena, drying her eyes, put her cold little hand into his,
.bn 447.png
.pn +1
and looked trustfully up into his face, but was too overcome
by her feelings to trust herself to speech.

The sun, dying in the west, was flooding the heavens with
gold, and just above the intolerable brilliance on the horizon
appeared a fantastically shaped cloud, like an isle all broken
into bays, capes, peaks, and plains. In the glowing splendor
it looked so frail and ethereal, that, even as they gazed, it
melted away before their eyes like a fairy vision.

“The Island of Fantasy!” murmured Helena.

“My love! The real Island of Fantasy has vanished; the
cloud Island of Fantasy has disappeared; but in our hearts,
my Helena, there is a land of fairy loveliness, which will
endure forever, and some day, my child, when we leave this
world, we will find our beautiful island once again, more
glorious than of yore, with your father to welcome us
there.”

.ce
FINIS.
.bn 448.png
.pn +1

.dv class='box'

.ce
“Down where the living waters flow.”

.nf l
<xxl><pm underline 'HOT SPRINGS,'></xxl>
<xxl><pm underline 'ARKANSAS.'></xxl>
.nf-

.in 8
.ll 64
The best patronized Winter
resort in the United States. All
the hotels now open. Golf,
lawn tennis, cricket, base ball,
the best of saddle and driving
horses, and other outdoor
sports. The
.in
.ll

.ce
<xxl><pm underline 'Iron Mountain Route'></xxl>

.in 8
.ll 64
Is the old reliable and most
direct line. Less than twelve
hours from St. Louis and twenty-one
hours from Chicago, with
through Compartment and Standard
Sleeping Cars and Free
Reclining Chair Cars. Pamphlets
telling all about it from
any agent of the Company.
.in
.ll

.dv class='smallbox'
.nf c
W. E. HOYT
G. E. P. AGENT, 335 BROADWAY
NEW YORK, N. Y.
.nf-
.dv-

.dv class='sanserif'
.nf c
H. C. TOWNSEND,
GENERAL PASSENGER AND TICKET AGENT
ST. LOUIS, MO.
.nf-
.dv-
.dv-
.bn 449.png
.pn +1
.pb

.il fn=ad.jpg w=500px ew=90%
.ca
A Typical Dining Car on the Southern’s Limited Trains.
Famous for its Unexcelled Service and Cuisine. Meals Equal to those of Any First-Class Hotel.
.ca-

.ce
The highest development of LUXURIOUS TRAVEL has been attained by the

.ce
<xxl>SOUTHERN RAILWAY</xxl>

.ti 0
with its “<em>Southern’s Palm Limited</em>,” (during the tourist season) the <em>Washington and Southwestern
Limited</em>, the <em>Sunset Limited</em>, the Washington and Florida Limited and U. S. Fast Mail. Daily the
year round.

.ce
<l>For the Cities of the South</l>

.sn <xl>FLORIDA</xl>
.ti 0
<b>New Orleans, Mexico, California, Asheville, Pinehurst, Hot Springs,
Toxaway, N. Carolina, Augusta, Aiken, Camden, Summerville, Charleston,
Jekyl Island, Nassau and Cuba.</b>

The land of Flowers and Fruits (Florida and California), the mountains of North Carolina, and practically
all the important points in the Sunny South are reached with speed and in luxurious comfort by the
superbly appointed trains of this Peerless Route.

<b>The Washington and Southwestern Limited</b> leaves New York daily, 4 25 p. m. The train is
one of the most luxurious in the world, consisting entirely of Pullman club, drawing room, sleeping cars,
library, observation and Southern Railway dining cars, reaching all of the principal cities of the South.

.ce
<i>For full particulars and free illustrated booklets apply to</i>

.ti 0
<l><b>THE SOUTHERN RAILWAY,</b></l> <pm underline 'New York Offices, 271 and 1185 Broadway.'>

.nf r
                    A. S. <sc>Thweatt</sc>, Eastern Pass’r Agt.
W. H. <sc>Taylor</sc>, Gen’l Pass’r Ag’t. S. H. <sc>Hardwick</sc>, Pass’r Traffic Mgr.
                                  WASHINGTON, D. C.
.nf-

.pb
<target id='endnote'>
.dv class='tnotes'

.ce
<l>Transcriber’s Note</l>

Compound words which appear on page or line breaks either retain or
forgo the hyphen depending on usage elsewhere in the text. Inconsistencies
of hyphenation in words appearing midline are retained, unless there is
a clear preponderance of one or the other.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.

.ta l:8 l:46 l:12 w=90%
<pm cref 15.23>  | such arid chips of wi[ds/sd]om | Transposed.
<pm cref 16.4>   | which renders your life so bitter[./?] | Replaced.
<pm cref 30.26>  | said Mrs. Den[e]gelton | Removed.
<pm cref 46.35>  | I learned [Greek/English] from a roving Englishman | Confused.
<pm cref 104.8>  | —misnamed a palace[./,]— | Replaced.
<pm cref 129.30> | [“]I must think it over. | Added.
<pm cref 130.34> | [“]I talk very confidently, but I am doubtful. | Removed.
<pm cref 136.46> | To bitterness.[’] | Removed.
<pm cref 137.40> | any national songs of your country.[”] | Added.
<pm cref 162.2>  | such as ‘a hungry beast,’ ‘a ravenous monster,[’] | Added.
<pm cref 191.35> | with the most appalling cynicism.[”] | Added.
<pm cref 211.34> | I should like nothing better[?/.] | Replaced.
<pm cref 237.40> | with this accomplished cut-throat.[”] | Removed.
<pm cref 238.37> | with Crispin a[u/n]d Maurice on either side of him. | Inverted.
<pm cref 251.25> | his chair a little nearer.[”] | Removed.
<pm cref 251.35> | Decide[d]ly these two young people | Inserted.
<pm cref 254.2>  | his offer to make her an[ ]odalisque of the harem. | Inserted.
<pm cref 279.8>  | in these post-revolu[n]tionary days | Removed.
<pm cref 282.28> | [“]who are you?” | Inserted.
<pm cref 286.16> | well versed in Dick’s  ta[c]tics | Inserted.
<pm cref 287.8>  | there were flat-racing[,] hurdle-racing | Inserted.
<pm cref 289.1>  | [“]she thought it was Gurt, sir!” | Added.
<pm cref 304.16> | to her favorite haunt[-/.] | Replaced.
<pm cref 317.1>  | [“]As to Justinian’s breaking faith | Removed.
<pm cref 325.1>  | now you can understand how [de]delighted I am | Redundant.
<pm cref 327.28> | now being able to talk f[r]eely of himself | Inserted.
<pm cref 373.32> | However, it was to[ to] all appearances | Redundant.
<pm cref 403.6>  | [“]it is too dangerous. | Added.
<pm cref 417.24> | like cats on hot bricks shortly![”] | Added.
<pm cref 420.4>  | who were so calm[l]y seated over the mine | Inserted.
<pm cref 429.6>  | “Not the sligh[t]est!” | Inserted.
<pm cref 431.2>  | their hearts thrilled with[,] fear| Removed.
<pm cref 452.33> | he said tenderly, taking[,] her in his arms | Removed.
.ta-
.dv-