The Heritage
Date: 2021-11-22T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: English fiction

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Title: The Heritage

Author: Sydney C. Grier

Release date: November 22, 2021 [eBook #66794]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERITAGE ***

The Heritage

BY
SYDNEY C. GRIER
AUTHOR OF ‘THE HEIR,’ ‘AN UNCROWNED KING,’
‘THE WARDEN OF THE MARCHES,’ ETC.

(Second in the Balkan Series II.)

FOURTH EDITION

William Blackwood & Sons
Edinburg and London
1908
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS.

PROLOGUE.

I. PRACTICAL POLITICS.

II. REVOLUTION AND ROSE-WATER.

III. THE RIVAL HEIR.

IV. THE STERN PARENT.

V. TWO DIPLOMATISTS.

VI. THE RED GODS CALL.

VII. THE ENEMY IN THE WAY.

VIII. A PORT OF REFUGE.

IX. ARTS OF PEACE.

X. THE INTERVENTION OF THE ADMIRAL.

XI. THE SYMPATHY OF EUROPE.

XII. A BAPTISM OF FIRE.

XIII. KNIGHTLY EMULATION.

XIV. IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO.

XV. THE TOWER OF SEGRETI.

XVI. THE CONSULS TO THE RESCUE.

XVII. THE HOPE THAT FAILED.

XVIII. A RUSE DE GUERRE.

XIX. THE BITTER END.

XX. FUGITIVES.

XXI. THE BRITISH FLAG.

XXII. CHANGES AND CHANCES.

XXIII. AN UNHOLY COMPACT.

XXIV. THE WAGES OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS.

XXV. A CONTESTED ELECTION.

XXVI. PAYING THE BILL.

THE HERITAGE.

PROLOGUE.

Night was falling in the leafless beech forest which covered a spur of the Balkans. There was a thin sprinkling of snow on the rocky ground, but it was frozen hard, and showed no trace of the leather moccasins of the two men who were climbing the slope. Both wore unobtrusive uniforms of dull grey, almost concealed by huge brown greatcoats with hoods, and carried rifles slung across their backs; but while one was a stolid peasant, the other had a keen intellectual face, not devoid of a certain tincture of what may without offence be termed “slimness.” It was a face familiar to many Emathian mountaineers, and to a few startled Roumis, as that of Lazar Nilischeff, a prominent leader of revolt. As he and his follower mounted the path, two men, somewhat similar to them in aspect, but with a slight difference in their equipment, came out from among the trees to meet them, and one of them greeted Nilischeff with the formal politeness natural between those who are pursuing the same end with distinct purposes in view. Both were Thracian by race, and had received their university training at the city of Bellaviste; but while Nilischeff was a Thracian subject, and had crossed the frontier in the hope of adding a freed Emathia to his sovereign’s dominions, Dr Afanasi Terminoff was Emathian-born, and scouted any prospect other than that of actual independence for his unrestful country.

“You sent an urgent message for me?” said Nilischeff, as the two leaders went on together up the hill, leaving their subordinates to guard the path.

“The rich Englishman is dying,” said Terminoff gloomily, “and he begged me to find him a lawyer.”

“No doubt he wishes to make his will.” The only available lawyer tried hard not to exhibit indecent exultation. “He will leave his money to the Organisation, you think?”

“He has not told me,” was the curt answer, and the two men continued their climb in silence, the minds of both running riot over the possibilities of unlimited action called forth by the suggestion. The rich Englishman’s money had already provided a pleasurable earnest in the shape of rifles, ammunition, dynamite, and other materials of the revolutionary craft, but its owner had exercised a control over their employment which the recipients found somewhat galling.

“Why are you in these parts?” was the next question, for this particular spur of the mountains was situated in the region sacred to Nilischeff’s band.

“We were betrayed to the Roumis—by a Greek,” replied Terminoff. “Our scouts had only just time to warn us.”

“Did the Greek get away?”

“For the moment; but we fastened up his wife and daughters in their house, and set light to it. Then we ambushed the Roumis in the river-gorge, and scattered them and caught him. So there was an end of the lot.”

“If we are not to be left in peace in the winter, things are coming to a pretty pass,” said Nilischeff sympathetically. “You are in the cave, I suppose?”

The question was asked with renewed sharpness, for it was not etiquette for any other band to imperil one of Nilischeff’s villages by seeking shelter in it, but Terminoff was able to give a satisfactory answer. The cave was common property, and there were few nights in the year when a sufficiently energetic force of Roumis might not have made a valuable capture by visiting it, but the forests and defiles through which it was approached were a country notoriously ill-suited to Roumis who had any care for their health. Every now and then a murmured greeting to Terminoff showed the presence of a scout in ambush, and when the forest was left behind, the rest of the ascent was commanded, every foot of it, by the rough breastwork at the cave’s mouth. The two leaders climbed the almost invisible path, and wriggled into the cave between the great stones heaped before it. A fire was burning behind a sheltering rock, casting a fitful glimmer into the dark recesses at the back, where the only other light came from a candle flickering before a sacred picture fixed crookedly on the wall. On a couch of rugs and greatcoats, spread upon a foundation of dead beech leaves brought from the forest below, lay a very tall man with strongly marked features and a pointed white beard. He held out his hand feebly to Nilischeff.

“They’ve got me at last, you see, though not by a bullet,” he said, speaking with difficulty. “A lifetime spent in the West Indies is a bad preparation for the Balkans in mid-winter, and it’s rough on a sick man to have to turn out of bed and tramp all night through the snow. But now about that little bit of business I want you to do for me. You have brought writing materials, of course?”

He lay back and gasped while Nilischeff brought out a fountain-pen and a writing-pad, but there was a cynical smile on his drawn face.

“It’s not my will,” he murmured, with obvious enjoyment of the two men’s discomfiture. “That was made and left in safe keeping before I started. This is merely a codicil that I wish to add.”

The words came slowly and painfully from him in French, and as he spoke his thumb moved rapidly backwards and forwards over his forefinger, in the familiar Eastern gesture denoting the telling of money. They watched him as if fascinated.

“I have never concealed from you my object in taking part in your operations,” he went on. “You, gentlemen, are solely actuated, as I know, by the high and noble desire of freeing Emathia from the Roumi yoke. I confess without shame that my aim is the grovelling one of restoring my family to its ancient position. My fortune is left in trust for my cousin Maurice Teffany, head of the house of Theophanis, his wife Eirene, representative of the younger line of the Imperial house, and their children, to be used in regaining for them the throne of the Eastern Empire, and maintaining the dignity when they achieve it.” He watched narrowly with his sunken eyes the gloomy looks of Terminoff, and the protesting face of Nilischeff, and spoke with hoarse passion,—“But in acting for the good of my family, I am doing the best thing for you, and you know it. I am giving you a head, a master, who will weld you into a nation with or without your consent. Why, if the Roumis left Emathia to-morrow, you and the Greeks would be at each other’s throats before night, with Thracia and Mœsia, and perhaps Dardania and Dacia, mobilising in feverish haste to seize whatever they could, until Scythia and Pannonia stepped in and divided the country between them! This is your one chance.”

“As well hand ourselves over to Panagiotis and his Greeks at once,” muttered Nilischeff. “The old time-server will come over to your cousin’s side again as soon as he hears of your legacy. They say that Prince Christodoridi refuses to contribute one single drachma towards the Greek propaganda, though it is to put himself on the throne.”

“Then he is penny wise and pound foolish,” said the sick man; “and you are worse, if you don’t welcome Panagiotis and the Greeks, whatever brings them over to your side. Europe will never see Emathia annexed to Thracia, but she will allow you to build up an autonomous state if you can only keep your hands off your knives. And meanwhile, you shall each have a thousand pounds, which will provide your bands with cartridges and dynamite until Maurice Theophanis is ready to move. So call two of your men as witnesses.”

Two members of the band who were not on guard were summoned, and Nilischeff prepared to write. The cynical smile was again on the invalid’s face.

“My cousin is too fond of waiting to be called upon,” he said. “I wish to make him act of his own accord.”

“A bomb, sir?” suggested one of the witnesses, an eager-faced student who had run away from a theological seminary to join the band. “Only a small one, of course—merely to frighten, not to hurt any one.”

“You might blow up all England before you would frighten Maurice Teffany back to Emathia. No, what I mean to use is a domestic bombshell. Write down that while the principal of the trust-money can only be touched by husband and wife acting together, the interest may be used, for the purposes of the trust, by the Princess Eirene at her own discretion. I think my friend Maurice will find himself in Emathia sooner than he expects. You will write out the codicil twice, if you please,” he added to Nilischeff, “and I will sign both copies, so that you and our friend Terminoff may each keep one.” The smile expressed what he did not add, that the mutual jealousy of the two men would ensure the due production of the document.

“Maurice Teffany?” said the second witness, when the matter had been explained to him. “Why, that was one of the European travellers we captured four years ago, when I was in Stoyan’s band. He called himself Ismit (Smith), but we heard afterwards that he was a Greek prince, and we ought to have killed him. ‘If I were your leader——!’ he said one day, and we laughed, not knowing. And will the other man come with him, the Capitan with the blue eyes? If he does, I tell you there is no one left of Stoyan’s band that will not rather fight with him than against him!”

With some difficulty the garrulous ex-brigand was silenced, and induced to affix his mark to the two papers. When this had been done, and the sick man was resting, Dr Terminoff escorted Nilischeff down the hill again and past his outposts. The lawyer’s brain was working busily.

“I see a way of turning this to account,” he said. “I am sending off despatches to-morrow, and I will mention the sad death of the noble-hearted British philanthropist, Teffany-Wise. It will appear in all the English papers how he gave his declining years to the service of freedom, visiting Emathia with relief for the oppressed, and was pursued from place to place by the Roumis thirsting for his blood. Imagine it—he dies in a cave, deprived of every comfort, but with his last breath bequeathing to the cause all he has to leave. A fine moral effect, is it not?”

CHAPTER I.
PRACTICAL POLITICS.

“It is Colonel Wylie, isn’t it? I say, I beg your pardon if I’ve made a mistake.” The speaker’s boyish tones grew doubtful as he looked at the grey hair and hollow cheeks of the fellow-passenger to whom he spoke, but the sunken eyes, peculiarly blue in contrast with the leaden complexion, reassured him. “It is you, Wylie, after all. But what have you been doing to yourself?”

“Spending five years in the Nile swamps. I don’t wonder you didn’t know me. I came face to face with myself in a big mirror on the hotel stairs at Cairo, and got a shock—wondered who the poor devil was with the cadaverous countenance.”

“Miss Teffany knew you at once.”

“Now that’s what I call really flattering. I can’t be so absolutely unrecognisable if she knew me.”

“Did you guess she was on board?”

“Saw her come on deck before you did.”

“But you haven’t spoken to her.” There was wonder in the younger man’s voice.

“How was I to know that she would recognise me? And when you found her out, I hadn’t the heart to disturb you.”

“She sent me to fetch you to her now, though.”

Wylie laughed at the faint sigh that accompanied the words. “Rough on you,” he said. “Well, you’re not changed at any rate—not a day older. Come, don’t let us keep her waiting.”

They crossed the deck towards a lady in a noticeably well-cut tweed travelling-coat and hat, who sat alone, protected by the presence at a little distance of an elderly maid of the most rigid type of respectability. She looked up eagerly, almost anxiously, as Wylie approached, but the blue eyes met hers with curiosity rather than interest. The seven years since their last meeting had worked no such doleful change in Zoe Teffany as in the man who had once loved her; she had worn well, as women say of one another. She was a woman not to be passed over, alert, keenly interested in life, though an occasional fugitive look of wistfulness betrayed that life had not brought her all she had once confidently expected from it. She shook hands heartily with Wylie.

“Now I really believe in this adventure,” she said. “With you our old party is complete.”

“Your brother and his wife are here?” asked Wylie.

“No, I am to meet them when I land. But have they told you nothing of their plans?”

“Nothing. I was lounging about on the Riviera, desperately dull, when your brother’s letter reached me. He merely said that things were moving in Emathia, and reminded me of my old promise to back him up. It was only a joke at the time, but as I am forbidden the tropics, and can’t face an English spring, it seemed good enough now, so here I am.”

His glance forbade her to pity him, and Zoe looked hastily away. “Then you have a great deal to learn,” she said, making room for him beside her. “Lord Armitage, if you will bring that deck-chair closer, we can talk without being overheard.”

“Lord Armitage?” asked Wylie.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” groaned the bearer of the title. “Second cousin three times removed dies to bother me, and leaves me the family honours—me, if you please. I have to chuck my work, and buy pictures instead of making them, and if I go into a studio, there’s no hope of getting the old chaff, for the fellows hang on my words with bated breath, because I’m a patron of art! So that’s why I’m here.”

“You will be the Byron of Emathian independence,” said Zoe encouragingly. “Think of the halo of respectability that the presence of an English nobleman and his yacht will throw over our proceedings!”

Something in Armitage’s face warned Wylie that aspirations less abstract than a yearning for Emathian independence had drawn him into the adventure, and he smiled grimly to himself. Zoe looked a little hurt.

“You are laughing at our having to begin again from the very beginning,” she said. “Seven years does seem a long time to waste, I suppose—especially as when we saw you last we were full of golden anticipations, thinking that in a few months Maurice and Eirene would at any rate be on their way to a throne. The blow fell the very same day, you know.”

“You think your brother should have decided differently?”

“Never for one moment. But I am not sure that Eirene doesn’t—sometimes. It was really very galling to see Professor Panagiotis fling himself heart and soul into the cause of the rival claimant, the instant Maurice had refused his terms.”

“It doesn’t seem to have done the rival claimant much good, so far.”

“Ah, but that’s because they had a violent quarrel just two years ago. Prince Christodoridi swore that the Professor was only working for his own advantage all along, and the Professor declares that the Prince has shown the blackest ingratitude.”

“And the thieves having fallen out, the honest man comes by his own? Or is it a case of everything coming to him who knows how to wait?”

“Both, I think,” said Zoe, laughing. “Eirene would certainly tell you that Maurice knows how to wait only too well. Of course, it was hard on her—the way their marriage fell flat, I mean. The Scythian Court simply ignored the whole thing, and all her other royal acquaintances followed their example. She just dropped out, and it was as if she didn’t exist. Well, you know, she had begun at Stone Acton by being very much on her dignity—expecting royal honours, in fact. The people round were tremendously interested at first, but they very soon began to ask what sort of a Princess this could be, who was never noticed by any of our own royalties. They bored her, too,—I don’t wonder at that; they have often bored me,—and she snubbed them, and gave a great deal of offence. And then there came the Romance of the Long-Lost Uncle.”

“This is thrilling,” said Wylie. “Princess Eirene’s uncle?”

“No, ours—our cousin, at least; a very very distant cousin. His name was Teffany-Wise, and he was descended from the daughter of Prosper Teffany, a younger son who emigrated from Penteffan to the West Indies about the end of the seventeenth century. I met him in Jamaica when I went round the world, and I wrote home that he looked ineffably old, and capable of any wickedness. He had a sort of inscrutable parchment-like face, you know. I always thought he made his money by slave-trading, but Maurice says its palmy days were over long before his time, unless he was as old as the Wandering Jew, and that he was probably only a speculator in Chicago slum tenements. At any rate, there he was, immensely rich, without a relation nearer than ourselves, and frightfully excited over the newspaper accounts of our Emathian adventures. You see, if the royalties ignored Maurice, the journalists didn’t, and he let himself be interviewed pretty often, because he thought it was only due to Eirene to make her position perfectly clear. It seemed that Mr Teffany-Wise had always had an ambition to use his money in restoring the fortunes of the family, but until he heard about us he didn’t know who there was left. So he talked to me, and then suddenly sailed for home, and descended on Stone Acton in a shower of gold, and supplied Eirene with the object in life she wanted.”

“And that was——?”

“To hustle Maurice into putting himself forward publicly as a candidate for the throne of Emathia. He was determined not to move until he received an invitation, and she was determined he should. She has made a sort of religion of the Theophanis claims since the Long-Lost Uncle appeared. Why, she has turned the library at Stone Acton into a regular throne-room, with crimson hangings—imperial purple, you know—and two gilded chairs on a daïs under a canopy. Oh, it mayn’t seem very dreadful to you, but you don’t know Stone Acton. It was always such a sensible house! And she has been having the most extraordinary people there—refugees and conspirators and so on—till the neighbourhood was scandalised. That was Mr Teffany-Wise’s doing. He saw that there was no hope of Professor Panagiotis and the Emathian Greeks for the present, so he turned boldly to the Slav party—the Thracian Committees and their followers—and bid for their support.”

“Backing his offer with hard cash, I presume?” said Wylie. “That explains the increased activity and boldness of the Emathian insurgents this last year or two. But the Roumis mean business now. I suppose your long-lost relative has no objection to being morally guilty of a massacre or two?”

“He thought they were unavoidable but disagreeable incidents—useful, too, since they would stir the indignation of Europe.”

“Well, so far as I can see, he is likely to be gratified. And has his game been worth the candle?”

“I believe he thought so. At any rate, the national sentiment is much more strongly developed than when we were in Emathia. Then the reformers talked of uniting with Thracia or Mœsia or Morea, according to their tastes, but now they are all inclining to the thought of an Emathian nation. Most of them would like a republic, of course, but they know the Powers would never hear of that, and Maurice’s refusal to bind himself body and soul to the Greeks pleased them. So before Mr Teffany-Wise died, he had practically got things settled.”

“Oh, he is dead, then?”

“Yes; he insisted on interviewing the Committees and leaders of bands for himself, and inspecting their work, and they passed him on from one to another all through the disturbed districts. It was winter, and he was chased by the Roumis, and the hardships were too much for him. Of course you think I’m a brute to talk like this, but I can’t forgive that man. He has spoilt Maurice’s life.”

“If your brother is what I remember him, it would be difficult for any one to do that,” said Wylie.

“No one could, except through Eirene. But you must expect to see Maurice a good deal changed. It isn’t either comfortable or dignified for a man to have to go through life as a drag on his wife’s wheel.”

“Then I gather that your sister-in-law has not changed?”

“No, Eirene is Eirene still—only more so. She would not have been quite so bad but for the Uncle. He left his property in trust, to be used for restoring the family to the Imperial throne. That was natural enough, but he gave Eirene power to use the interest as she thought best, though she can’t touch the capital without Maurice’s consent.”

“Injudicious,” said Wylie.

“Injudicious? It was mad! And Eirene is so unfair. She has no sense of what can be done and what can’t. Little Constantine—their boy—was born just after the news of the will came, and she was very ill. Their two first babies died—really and truly I believe it was because she always worried and excited herself so much—and she knew how anxious Maurice was. Well, she sent for him and made him promise that he would open communications with the Slav leaders, instead of waiting for them to approach him. She got better, and little Con is all right, and of course Maurice had to keep his promise. So he wrote to say that if he received a definite invitation from them, he would place himself at their head, and negotiations have been going on ever since. Then Professor Panagiotis threw himself into the fray, and now there is really some prospect of Maurice’s being accepted as candidate both by the Greek and Slav parties.”

“Well, surely that was worth waiting for?”

“Oh, I suppose so, but I hate its having come about in this way! The massacres, you know—the Committees are really provoking them, so as to force the hand of Europe, and things may be much worse yet.”

“Probably; but I see their drift now—to get to work while Scythia and Pannonia are both too busy with their own internal concerns to interfere. But why are we starting from this side?”

“Oh, we have to settle the preliminaries first,—‘a conference of the powers,’ you know,—and it is to be done under cover of this great Pan-Balkanic Athletic Festival that the Prince of Dardania is holding.”

“Armitage representing the athletic capabilities of the party, I suppose?” said Wylie, with a humorous shrug. “I’m afraid you can’t depend on me much.”

“No, we go as spectators. The Princess of Dardania is a lady of literary tastes, and was kind enough to want to see me,” said Zoe, with a side glance at him as she rose. “It is getting a little cold here, I think. I will write one or two letters in the cabin.”

There was nothing to show whether Wylie had detected any special meaning in her tone as he escorted her across the deck, and when he returned to Armitage it was to smoke in silence, as if all his interest was concentrated on the rocky coast they were passing. The younger man lost patience.

“Well?” he said, with repressed excitement.

“Well?” returned Wylie.

“Do you find her altered, or not?”

“Much as she was, only more so,” cruelly adapting Zoe’s own description of her sister-in-law.

Armitage was obviously disappointed. “You have kept up with her doings, perhaps? I suppose even your exile was lightened by a Society paper now and then?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t read them if it was.”

“Then you have heard people talk of her? Of course she’s an awfully well-known woman. When she is in town, one meets her everywhere. Her travels, you see—and her personality—and her books——”

“Ah, I thought I was intended to understand that she had succeeded in perpetrating something in that line.”

“Rather!” said Armitage vivaciously, encouraged by the faint hint of interrogation in the tone. “She’s a success, you know. Not a popular success—five hundred thousand copies and all that—but with the right people. All the clever women swear by her. They say she voices the unrest of the modern woman better than anybody else.”

“Oh yes—misunderstood by her family, unappreciated by her husband, too lofty to be happy, and too self-contained to be wicked—the usual jargon,” muttered Wylie impatiently.

“More head than heart,” pursued Armitage, then broke off quickly. “I say, I believe you’ve been reading them. She calls herself Zeto.”

“What, her books? No, thank you.”

Again a dead stop. But Armitage was not to be baulked.

“I don’t know why you shouldn’t. It would be only natural, surely? You seemed pretty hard hit when you went.”

“You seem to forget that when I went to the Soudan I put her out of my head.”

“But could you manage it?”

“Generally, I’m thankful to say.”

“Ah, but not always? Don’t think I’m trying to pry into your affairs,” burst out Armitage in his boyish way, “but it means a lot to me. I’ll stand aside without a word if you’re going to ask her again, but if not—— Well, I might have some little chance.”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I told her I should never ask her again, and I haven’t the slightest wish to do it. If my swamps and slave-raiders have done nothing else for me, they have cured me of all that sort of thing. I’m not bragging—or whatever you might call it—but telling you a simple fact. Women don’t interest me now, and other things do. I used to imagine I could combine the two, but now I know better. If my blessing is all you want to make you happy, go in and win. But if this business comes to anything, she will be for neither of us. You see that?”

And while Armitage acquiesced, with a rueful face, Zoe was saying to herself, as she adjusted her hat in the cabin mirror, “Of course I never expected him to forgive me the moment he saw me again. It would have been nice if he had, but it wouldn’t have been a bit like him.”

During the remainder of the voyage down the coast the adventurers made no further attempt to discuss their prospects. They excited considerable interest on board the Ungaro-Croata steamer, where the mutual relations of the handsome lady who had the history and archæology of the region at her fingers’ ends, the sick officer, and the “Milordo” with the artistic neckties, who from force of habit was constantly pulling out a sketch-book and jotting down the bold outlines of a headland or the handsome face of a fisher-lad, were freely canvassed, but even the urbane and polyglot captain confessed himself at a loss. The sick officer knew something of a good many languages, and asked very telling questions, and both the lady and the “Milordo” had visited these parts before; but they all talked so freely that there was no chance of finding out anything more about them, averred the worthy sailor. He and a few of his passengers enjoyed a mild sensation when the steamer reached the little red-roofed town, whose white houses seemed to rise sheer from the blue water, where the three English were to land. Here an elderly man, whose spectacled eyes gave the impression of an incongruous contrast with his aquiline profile, came on board to meet them, and bowed over Zoe’s hand with a respect that was almost reverential; but the spectators could hear nothing of the colloquy that ensued while the luggage was being got on shore.

“I come as the messenger of your august brother, madame,” he said. “He thought it well you should know that he enters on this campaign not as Mr Teffany, but as Prince Maurice Theophanis.”

“Which means that I am to call myself Princess Zoe, I suppose? This is the Princess’s doing, of course?”

“Her advice, and mine also, went farther, madame, but the Prince declines to style himself Imperial Highness—far less Emperor—until his claims are recognised. He has taken the present step almost entirely with the view of preventing embarrassment to the Prince of Dardania.”

“Surely it will rather cause him embarrassment?” began Zoe hesitatingly, and Wylie broke in.

“Have you made sure of your ground, Professor? An ambiguous position is awkward enough, but the Prince of Dardania may not relish finding himself committed to support the Theophanis claims, and it would be more awkward if he repudiated his invitation.”

The Professor scarcely vouchsafed him a glance. “Madame,” he said to Zoe, “your brother’s friends have not been idle in anticipation of his arrival. The Prince of Dardania is already committed in private to our cause, which will assure him, if it succeeds, the possession of Illyria. In this his brother-in-law, the King of Magnagrecia, is equally interested, so that we have already attached one of the great Powers to our side. It is to the three Liberal Powers, England, Neustria, and Magnagrecia, that we look for support in our effort to rescue Emathia from the Roumi yoke, and in bringing forward as our proposed High Commissioner—for we go no further as yet—a man not only chosen by the Emathian leaders themselves, but distinguished by European approval, we offer them a means of intervention such as they have never yet enjoyed.”

“Oh, Professor Panagiotis has thought it all out!” laughed Armitage. “Wylie, you and I must take a back seat. You are aide-de-camp, I suppose—or equerry, which is it?—and I am—what am I? Oh, lord-in-waiting, of course.”

“You are both Maurice’s good friends, who have come to help him, not to be his servants,” said Zoe quickly.

“Pardon me, Princess,” said Wylie, very distinctly. “We are your brother’s servants. We have come here for nothing but to put ourselves under his orders—to help him to his rights if we can, but not to claim any share in his confidence.”

He fell behind with Armitage, perhaps not caring to face the blankness of Zoe’s look as she accepted mechanically the Professor’s assistance across the rough stones of the jetty. The younger man seemed hardly satisfied, and Wylie answered his unspoken question.

“Must show at once that we see how the land lies. I know these fellows’ jealousy of any influence but their own. If they are not to bring Teffany’s future to smash by working against us, we must be content to remain in the background. I suppose he’s not much better fitted to cope with them than he used to be—not a full-blown statesman yet, or even a diplomat?”

“Thank goodness, no! Absolutely straight, good man of business, steady as Old Time, happiest when he’s playing the country squire. But the Princess—she’s a diplomatist, or anything you like. You’ll understand what an imperial bearing means when you see her, if you don’t now.”

CHAPTER II.
REVOLUTION AND ROSE-WATER.

Princess Eirene Theophanis sat alone in the garden at Bashi Konak, her fingers busied with embroidery, her mind with the progress made by her husband’s cause since their arrival at the little Dardanian capital. The Prince of Dardania was a true friend, an ally to be depended upon. Eirene had felt this from the moment she perceived that he had sent his brother-in-law in command of the guard which was to meet the travellers at the frontier and escort them to the city. True, Colonel Roburoff was only a handsome Scythian officer with whom Princess Ludmilla of Dardania had made a runaway match, but her brother had taken the couple back into favour, and the successful adventurer commanded his Guard. That he should be sent to receive Prince and Princess Theophanis showed a just sense of their exact position, as claimants de jure of a right not yet recognised de facto, paying a private visit from which important public events might hereafter develop. The same consideration had been shown in allotting them quarters. Colonel Roburoff had apologised for the fact that they were accommodated, not at the Palace, but in a house hired for the occasion, on the ground that the royal dwelling was already inconveniently crowded, but had pointed out, with due mystery, the superior opportunities thus afforded for conference with friends and supporters. Moreover, on the occasion of the meeting at the frontier, Zoe had received, from a confidential attendant of the Princess of Dardania, a bouquet gathered, so she was assured, by the royal hands themselves, and concealing a little scented note which read, “To the profound, the accomplished Zeto, from the humblest of her admirers, Emilia.” Even now Zoe was spending the morning at the Palace, whither she had been summoned by a special messenger to cheer the Princess, who was prevented by slight indisposition from accompanying her husband to the arena to watch the games. Eirene reflected with pleasure that not only was this romantic friendship beneficial in the extreme to the Theophanis cause, but also that the Princess’s devotion was likely to keep Zoe a good deal out of Wylie’s way.

There was an old feud between Eirene and Wylie, which had only been temporarily bridged over when Zoe’s rejection of him called forth her sympathies. He had seldom shown the Princess sufficient deference to satisfy her, though he was never otherwise than polite, and she had an uneasy suspicion that he despised the various little assumptions by which she sought to assert her dignity. Maurice gave her no support in these matters, she thought bitterly, and she was sure she had caught Armitage laughing when she hinted that it was more correct to say he had gone out “in attendance on” the Prince than merely “with” him. Why, even when they were about to enter the royal carriages sent to convey them to Bashi Konak, Maurice had flatly refused to let Zoe sit with her back to the horses. “But you are the Emperor, Maurice,” his wife had pleaded. “I’m not Emperor yet,” he replied promptly; “and when I am, if the imperial funds don’t run to a separate carriage for Zoe, one or other of us will stay at home.” Trials like this made Eirene almost despair of her husband. Other people might think such things trifles, but to her, brought up in a Court, their real importance was manifest. How was Maurice ever to assume his proper place if he would not submit to the rules governing his caste? Even his wife could not prevent him from taking his own line. When she had succeeded in goading him to a certain course of action, as often as not he would somehow contrive to carry it out in a wholly unexpected way. It was he who had sent for Wylie, and disconcerted her grievously by doing so, for she had relied on his English dislike for foreigners to keep him isolated from his supporters and dependent on her for counsel. It did not mollify her displeasure when, in answer to her remonstrances, he remarked, “I want one honest man at my back that I can trust, to look after you and Zoe and the little chap, if anything happens to me.” “I could trust our people,” she had said reproachfully; to which he replied, “Oh, could you? I couldn’t,” and went out to post his letter. And here was Wylie established as Maurice’s guide, philosopher, and friend, in no way inclined, apparently, to presume upon the favour shown him, but still the one man in whom Zoe had ever shown more than a contemptuous interest. Almost unconsciously, Eirene had come to regard her sister-in-law, during the last few years of planning and plotting, as an asset that might be valuable, rejoicing when she refused various eligible offers. But of what avail were those refusals if she turned again, after all, to the man for whose sake they were made? If only Zoe could have been safely engaged to some desirable person before Wylie reappeared on the scene! As that was not the case, however, it was a moral duty to keep her from throwing herself away on an obviously unsuitable man, who could contribute nothing but his sword to further the great cause, and whose loyalty was already certain.

While these thoughts were passing through Eirene’s mind, some one came into sight at the end of the garden path, some one who was cheerfully contributing a good deal more than a sword to the cause. Princess Theophanis knew, though her husband did not, the exact nature of the cargo carried at the present moment by Armitage’s yacht, which was cruising at large without its owner in the eastern Mediterranean, and paying only rare and hurried visits to territorial waters. Armitage was a valuable asset without any drawbacks such as attached to Wylie, and Eirene felt that Maurice had shown even more than his usual unwisdom in declining to accede to her suggestion, and dispense with his old friend’s services, when she announced that Armitage would take part in their venture. She met him with a friendly smile as he came towards her down the path.

“I have just had a letter from Waters—that’s my captain—which will relieve your mind, ma’am,” he said. “It was all a false alarm about that Pannonian man-of-war they thought was shadowing them. Waters took a bold course and went on board her to ask if they could give him any news of me, and they paid him a return visit quite in an unsuspicious spirit.”

“I wish we could get rid of the arms,” said Eirene anxiously. “The slightest accident, or an incautious remark from one of your crew, might——”

“Give the whole show away,” supplied Armitage, as she paused. “I suppose we could arrange to hand the things over to one of the bands if we could fix on the right spot to land them; but I thought that wasn’t what you wanted, ma’am?”

“No, no; of course not! It is absolutely essential that we should keep a supply in our own hands, that we may not be dependent upon any of the Committees. And we must not land and conceal it on any of the islands, in case it should be necessary to act suddenly. Even now I fear we may not be able to communicate with your yacht quickly enough in case of a crisis.”

“I have thought of a way of doing that, ma’am. Waters is lying at present in a little harbour called Pentikosti, just to the south of the Dardanian frontier. He has made friends with the Roumi officials, and applied a little palm-oil judiciously, giving them to understand that I may come down over the mountains at any time, and the yacht is to wait for me. They will give him every facility for hearing from us, and he will stand on and off outside the harbour, and keep a good look-out both ways.”

“It is excellent!” said Eirene warmly. “Your ingenuity is as admirable as your helpfulness, Lord Armitage. I trust that one day I shall be able to reward both.”

Such phrases were often on Eirene’s lips, as in the days when they had been received with mingled scorn and resentment by her ignorant fellow-travellers, but it was a novelty for them to be welcomed as this was.

“I don’t know about one day,” said Armitage, with desperate boldness. “You could do something for me now, ma’am, that would leave me in your debt for ever.”

She looked at him with surprise plainly tinged with displeasure, but her voice was no less gracious than before. “In our present circumstances I had hardly hoped to be able to reward our friends otherwise than by my thanks, so I am happier than I thought. What is there that the Prince and I can do for you, Lord Armitage?”

“It is Princess Zoe—I love her,” he broke out. “If I could make her care for me, would you oppose it?”

Eirene’s first impulse was to gain time for thought. “But you—I never thought of you,” she said confusedly. “It was always—I mean, you are not the person.”

“I have cared for her ever since the night I first saw her by the camp-fire under Hadgi-Antoniou,” he answered; “but of course I knew how it was with Wylie, and I tried to put all thought of her out of my head. And I was always so hard-up in those days, too; I had nothing to offer her. Then when the title and all the rest of it came to me, there was still Wylie to think of; I made sure he would come back some day and ask her again, and she would have him. But now that he has given up all thoughts of her——”

“Given up all thoughts of her!” repeated Eirene. “How can you possibly know?”

“He told me,” said Armitage, unshaken. “Said that that sort of thing didn’t interest him now.”

“Oh, but that’s only because he is feeling ill and miserable,” said Eirene quickly, but checked herself. After all, even if this change of feeling on Wylie’s part was only temporary, why not take advantage of it? A marriage between Armitage and Zoe might not be all that her ambition had planned, but it offered certain solid benefits. Eirene was not blind to the fact that the support of a British peer, with an ancient title and a fair amount of wealth, had already proved useful in investing the Theophanis cause with an atmosphere of plausibility—even respectability, and it would be a wise stroke to attach him permanently to the family. There could be no question of putting pressure on Zoe, of course, and Maurice, in his unreasonableness, would see to it that the final decision rested freely with her; but pending the prospect of a more magnificent alliance, there could be no harm in not destroying Armitage’s hopes. Eirene spoke low and confidentially. “I can make no promises for Zoe,” she said; “for what you have told me may surprise her as much as it does me, but I see no reason—at any rate at present—why she should refuse you. Certainly I can promise that I shall not set myself against the idea.”

“You are awfully good, ma’am. I don’t think I could be more interested in Teffany’s—I mean the Prince’s—cause than I was before, but it makes one frightfully keen to feel that one’s in it oneself in a sort of way. I know I have nothing to offer Princess Zoe compared with what she might expect, but——”

“I have found my happiness in marrying an English gentleman, and I can wish nothing better for my sister,” said Eirene, with something of reproof in her voice, and Armitage wondered how he had erred. He could not know that the mere suspicion of failure in the great scheme, the hint at a possible future in which Lord Armitage would once more be a bridegroom in no way to be despised by the sister of Maurice Teffany of Stone Acton, had become intolerable to Eirene. Zoe had misjudged her when she told Wylie that Mr Teffany-Wise’s legacy had led her to make a religion of the Theophanis claims. It was the birth of her son, in whose veins ran the blood of both the elder and younger lines of the descendants of John Theophanis, that had roused afresh in Eirene the ambition which had slumbered a little under her husband’s influence during the first years of their marriage. Constantine Theophanis must yet sit on the throne of Czarigrad, and be invested with the imperial diadem in the cathedral of Hagion Pneuma, and to this end his parents must submit, if necessary, to the humiliating task of accepting office as the nominees of the Powers, to masquerading as temporary tenants where they were the rightful inheritors. This Eirene could do without a murmur, but she could not contemplate returning unsuccessful to Stone Acton, to meet the half-veiled contempt of the acquaintances whose friendly advances she had rebuffed, and to hear them ask whether she and Mr Teffany thought of sending their little boy to the Grammar-school in the neighbouring town? “No? and the education is so thoroughly good! A public school? Mr Teffany was at Harrow? Oh, of course, but in these days of reduced rents—— And boys picked up such expensive ideas at public schools.” Eirene drew in her breath sharply, and said, in the tone which Armitage had learnt to interpret as a dismissal, “You may rely on me. If you want my advice at any time I shall be delighted to give it. Do I see Professor Panagiotis coming through the house? Bring him to me at once, please.”

Armitage obeyed, retiring when he had finished his errand. The Professor waited until he was out of sight before he spoke. “You have received further news from Scythia, madame?” he asked then, but rather as though stating a fact than putting a question. Eirene, who had guessed before this that he contrived to make acquaintance with at least the outside of the letters intended for his nominal employers, betrayed no resentment.

“Yes, I have another letter from the Grand-Duchess Sonya,” she said; “and I can hardly doubt that she writes with the knowledge of the Empress. The tone is markedly friendly, and she speaks more than once of the sympathy with which they are watching events here, and their strong hope that the Prince will be able to prove his title.”

The Professor’s face did not show the satisfaction that might have been expected. “It is too good,” he said. “I distrust this excessive amiability.”

“I think they are surprised at our strength,” said Eirene quickly, “and already bidding for our future support.”

“Without an effort to realise the hopes of centuries, which our success would frustrate?” asked the Professor. “No, madame. There is something behind. It is this warm encouragement that perplexes me. Tacit sympathy I should have expected, but coupled with warnings against rashness, and with every other recommendation that might tend to cause delay.”

“But they cannot know how fast we are moving,” she urged eagerly. “You yourself have said that the reasonableness of the delegates astonishes you.”

“True, madame; the impression produced by his Highness is most gratifying, Greek and Slav both believing that they have found their champion in him. The military proposals of Colonel Wylie have also been well received. But as I said just now, it is too good. I should wish to see more opposition. Knives have not been drawn once during the sittings. One delegate’s hand went to his revolver during a discussion which had become a little heated, but the Prince borrowed the weapon at once to look at, and kept it on the table before him the rest of the morning.”

“Ah, you see, they know him already, and they do not care to oppose him. Our task will be shorter than we expected. The delegates will swear allegiance to him, and he will have Christian Emathia at his feet. Then——”

“Then, madame, we shall have to deal with the Powers—a very different matter. The conscience of Europe has to be roused before they can be induced to intervene.”

“By massacres, I suppose?” Eirene shuddered. “The Prince will never agree to that.”

“The Prince will not be consulted, madame. The lamented philanthropist to whom the Emathia of the future owes so much recognised that in certain qualities your Royal Highness has the advantage over your husband, while in other respects he is superior. It is this combination that is of such promise for your future rule. You will not shrink from the measures necessary to bring that rule about.”

“No, it would be criminal to hold back now.”

“Madame, you put into words my very thoughts. Assume—though I cannot believe it possible—that this conference closes next week, having arrived at a unanimous decision to support your husband. There will be just time for the delegates to return to their districts before the snow melts sufficiently to allow of the movement of troops. The Roumis are already irritated by our successes of the autumn, and the attacks that have been made even during the winter on their outposts. They will be in a mood to act energetically, and repress all outbreaks with severity. You know what that means. Outbreaks will occur. They will be put down. The details will be spread far and wide. Christendom will be roused, will send representatives to inquire into the state of affairs. We shall continue to resist. The Roumis will continue to act with vigour. The Powers inquire into our demands. We desire a constitutional government under the suzerainty of Roum, but with a Christian Governor appointed by the Powers and responsible to them, and for the post we suggest the descendant of our ancient Emperors, to whose banner all sections of Christians in Emathia are willing to rally. We may not at first obtain all we ask, but Minoa has taught us the value of perseverance.”

“But if the Roumis should not act with severity?” broke in Eirene. “This new Greek Vali of Therma, appointed in response to the protests of the Powers in the autumn—he will not promote massacres.”

“For Skopiadi Pasha’s influence I would give that!” cried the Professor, snapping his fingers. “It is not he who rules,—he has enough to do to look after his own safety,—but the Military Governor, Jalal-ud-din Pasha. He commands the troops in the city and in the field; he is one of the old school, and believes in prompt repression. He would not hesitate to arrange for Skopiadi’s removal if he opposed him—and truly we could ask for nothing better!”

“At least,” urged Eirene, “let there be as little bloodshed as possible. Could we not contrive to rescue and arm the threatened Christians before they could be massacred? Lord Armitage’s yacht, with plenty of rifles and cartridges on board, is lying at Pentikosti, ready to sail night or day.”

“And then where would be our moral effect on the minds of the Powers, madame? You are like most ladies who indulge in revolutions—willing to assent to any amount of bloodshed provided it takes place out of your sight and hearing. A massacre is necessary, but you may well salve your conscience by laying the blame on the Powers, who will be moved by nothing else.”

“I think you have an appointment to meet Dr Terminoff now that the games are over for the morning?” Eirene rose with marked displeasure, which the Professor chose to disregard.

“I am honoured by your recollection, madame. You may rely on me to keep you informed of any new points that may arise. May I also depend on you for early information of any suspicious circumstances that strike you? It is some underground action on the part of Pannonia that I fear, for her silence, coupled with the benevolence of Scythia, upsets all my calculations.”

CHAPTER III.
THE RIVAL HEIR.

At the Palace, Zoe was enjoying a new experience, and enjoying not least the humorous side of it, for she was not one of the people who can never see anything funny in what concerns themselves. Entertainments given in her honour, and lavish compliments, were no novelty to her, but she had never hitherto met with the whole-hearted devotion shown by her youthful hostess. A very young girl when the Prince of Dardania carried her captive by the force of a masterful personality and a touch of Eastern fascination, Princess Emilia had felt it to be extremely romantic that after one sight of her he should have broken off the engagement arranged for him by his mother, and refused to marry any one but the little sister of the Magnagrecian monarch. Her brother, the king, yielded to the demand of the two lovers, and Princess Emilia left the greatest centre of culture in Southern Europe to reign over a nation of half-barbarous mountaineers, and incidentally to introduce a new issue and a new complication into the Balkan question. Dardania was now no longer to be regarded as the faithful henchman of Scythia, she looked westwards instead of east; and her Prince had announced publicly that he desired no accession of territory on the Emathian side, while not denying that the rocky coast region of Illyria had attractions which would make him and his Magnagrecian brother-in-law very willing to police and civilise it in unison. Princess Emilia cared nothing for politics, save in their romantic aspect. She thought her husband’s self-denying ordinance with respect to Emathia was most noble, and the Theophanis claim to the throne of the Eastern Empire filled her with enthusiasm, though this was less by reason of its intrinsic merits than because Maurice was Zoe’s brother. Brought up in a highly literary society, the Princess suffered from a kind of mental starvation in her new sphere, for which she tried to compensate herself in every way open to her. She was an omnivorous reader and a born critic, and her favourite maid-of-honour, Donna Olimpia Pazzi, shared her mistress’s tastes, though in a minor degree, as was becoming. Together they plied Zoe with questions and comments on every book ever written, made her read portions of her own novels aloud to them, recited the great poems of their native land with an accent that enhanced the beauty of the words, and called in the Court bard, who held a hereditary place in the household of the Alexeiévitch family, that they might translate to her his wild ballads of border war and revenge. On this particular morning they enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that when the Prince returned from the games he scoffed openly at his wife’s plea of indisposition, and wished he had thought of escaping some very dull gymnastic contests in the same way. When he left them, Princess Emilia linked her arm in Zoe’s, and walked down with her through the Palace garden to the gate by which the house allotted to the Theophanis party was reached.

“You must promise me again that nothing shall prevent you from coming to the reception to-night,” she said. “It is our last chance of welcoming our own friends in peace before my mother-in-law arrives.”

“The Dowager Princess comes to-morrow, doesn’t she?” asked Zoe. Princess Emilia assented with a little grimace.

“Yes, and she says it is because she is yearning to see us again, though she hates me, and can’t forgive Alexis for marrying me. She is really coming to spy, I know. She wishes to see whether your brother is likely to succeed, and endanger her dear Kazimir’s future. You know she hopes to make him Prince of Emathia?”

“I know, and I have often wondered—though perhaps I ought not to say it—why the Prince of Dardania doesn’t support his brother rather than a stranger.”

“Oh, Kazimir is a thorough Scythian,—he is in the Imperial Guard, you know,—and Alexis and he have never agreed. And perhaps it was a little my doing, too. The Princess Dowager had made herself so very disagreeable that I wasn’t sorry when I found out a way to punish her. You think me very wicked? Wait till you see my mother-in-law!”

“I have heard plenty about her,” said Zoe, with an involuntary smile, “and I certainly don’t expect to like her. But she has had rather a sad life lately, hasn’t she? All her plans seem to have gone wrong for the last few years.”

“Then she shouldn’t make such unpleasant plans. You can’t expect me to be glad that her plan for marrying Alexis to that Scythian girl failed?” She drew up her small figure with mock dignity, and Zoe acknowledged that this would be too much to expect. “My mother-in-law has no feeling for romance,” Princess Emilia went on, “though her own marriage was so romantic. All the matches she promotes are cold, calculating, political things. Now I—I palpitate with romance to the tips of my fingers!” she flung them out airily. “That is the sole want I find in you, my sweetest Zeto. You have plenty of romance somewhere about you, but it is all shut up inside you and locked tight, when it ought to overflow into your life. Dearest, indulge me; allow me the chance of arranging a little romance for you!”

“No, thanks,” said Zoe, with a little shiver. “Romances in real life are uncomfortable things, and I’m not sure that people are not happiest without them.”

“Ah, there is your cold, cautious English spirit—afraid to take the plunge for fear of the consequences! We Magnagrecians are not like that. I waited—oh, so eagerly!—for my romance, and now I live in it. And Olimpia, she is waiting for hers. You can see it in her eyes, can’t you? But you—you hold back; you put out your hands to push romance away; you cry out, ‘Leave me alone! I don’t wish to lose my peace of mind for the sake of a possible overwhelming joy.’”

The vivacious pantomime with which the Princess illustrated her idea of her friend’s mental attitude was irresistible, and Zoe was moved, for peace’ sake, to an imperfect confession.

“You and Donna Olimpia are both very young,” she said. “I have had my romance, and it is over.”

Momentary dismay was succeeded by renewed satisfaction on Princess Emilia’s face. “You shall tell me all about it some day,” she said. “But it is over, is it not?—quite over?” Zoe’s unwilling affirmative seemed to herself like the irrevocable stamping-down of earth upon a grave, but the Princess did not realise the reason of her reluctance. “Then all is well,” she continued enthusiastically. “That is past, done with, but romance is still alive in your heart, and you shall forget that old sadness in a happier present. You will not hold aloof; you will yield yourself to me; is it not so? Do not make me unhappy by refusing happiness if I can put it into your power.”

For a moment Zoe really imagined that the Princess had in some way learnt her story, had penetrated the secret of the gradual death of her hopes as Wylie went serenely on his remorseless way, seeming to be utterly oblivious of the old days when he had been the suppliant, and Zoe had shown herself callous. The bitterness of hope deferred was in her voice as she answered with a catch in her breath, “If I have learnt nothing else since those days, I have, at any rate, learnt to take happiness when it is offered—not to put it off to the future.”

“Ah, I knew you would be reasonable!” cried the Princess, not realising that she was about to destroy the hope so lightly raised. “Then listen. Dear, dear Zeto, you have never met Apolis?”

“The author of ‘Rêves d’Exil’?” Zoe forced herself to answer. “No—I think not; I am sure I have not.”

“He is coming to-night!” announced Princess Emilia, almost with awe. “We met him in Paris; he is the incarnation of romance. You see my plan, then? Here is this gifted poet, himself a disappointed being,—his works show that, don’t they?—and you, cherishing the memory of a dead romance. Why should you not console one another? Think what books you might write in collaboration!”

Zoe’s first impulse was to laugh at the thought of this unknown poet and herself uniting the pageants of their respective bleeding hearts for the edification of Europe, but Princess Emilia was gazing at her with an affection and anxiety hard to resist. “Say you will be kind to him. It is my dearest, most cherished scheme,” she was murmuring.

“I won’t turn my back on him when he is introduced, Principessina,” Zoe assured her. “But I must honestly tell you that your prospect doesn’t appeal to me. I never do care for men of letters in daily life—as witness the Professor. What I like is a man of action.”

“But if Apolis is also a man of action?” said the Princess mysteriously. “Ah, I must not say more, but you cannot imagine how much it might mean to your brother if you could attach him to your cause, and that can only be by attaching him to yourself.”

“A sort of private Byron?” suggested Zoe scoffingly, but Princess Emilia was evidently deeply in earnest.

“You don’t know what hangs upon it,” she repeated as she let Zoe out of the gate, and again Zoe wondered at the importance in her voice.

At the Palace in the evening the reception was of an informal kind, the Prince and Princess moving about among their guests and talking freely. It was especially a literary party, so that instead of the Balkanic athletes who had been prominent at these gatherings of late, the winners in the poetic competitions and the European press representatives formed the majority of those present. Very early in the evening Princess Emilia brought a slender, handsome young man, of an unmistakably Greek type of face, up to Zoe.

“I now have the pleasure of fulfilling one of my life’s ambitions,” she said prettily, “in presenting Apolis to Zeto.”

“And in doing so, madame, you gratify my own chief desire,” was the ready reply of the poet.

Zoe sought in vain for any remark equally compatible with truth and responsive to his politeness, but her failure passed unnoticed, for he was quite capable of taking charge of the conversation without her assistance. He had solved the difficulty of talking about himself without appearing egotistical, by regarding his own history entirely from a literary point of view, producing, as it were, a monograph from it in response to any turn of the talk. Zoe found it quite interesting to note the ingenuity with which he adapted the most hopeless conditions to his purpose, though she was conscious of an uneasy doubt as to the literal veracity of all the experiences he described. When she came to analyse them afterwards, however, she discovered that he had mentioned very few facts, since most of his descriptions concerned feelings and impressions which he had experienced, or might have experienced, in given circumstances. The principal landmarks which emerged from the flood were a long sojourn in Paris, and the cause which led to it, a quarrel with his father—recounted with exquisite but not exactly filial humour—over a beautiful girl whom he had not been allowed to marry. For her sake, therefore, he was an exile from the rocky island, the beloved home of his forefathers, in the unsympathetic West.

“That is the lady to whom you have written as Meteora?” asked Zoe. “Was it her real name?”

“In my earlier poems—yes, mademoiselle. Let me see, what was her real name—Xenocraté? Praxinoë? I cannot remember! How a man’s memory betrays him!”

“But some of the poems to Meteora were among the latest in the book!” objected Zoe.

“To her latest incarnation, mademoiselle. I see the ideal Meteora under the form of many a very unideal woman, alas! Love is one, but the lover perceives it in more places than one.”

“You are frank, monsieur.” Zoe was reflecting how singularly agreeable this theory must be for the poet, and how very inconvenient for the ladies who enjoyed successively the honour of embodying his ideal.

“I am, mademoiselle. I had flattered myself that frankness was the personal note of my work, but it seems that this has not suggested itself to you.”

“Certainly I noticed that Meteora’s personal appearance seemed to vary.”

“Exactly, mademoiselle. Where beauty is, there is the loved one.” His eyes strayed to the graceful figure of Donna Olimpia Pazzi, as she passed them on an errand for the Princess. “Why should such details as the colour of eyes and hair interfere with the course of love?”

“Why, indeed?” said Zoe. “What a poseur the man is!” she thought impatiently. “Would Emilia consider it unkind if I passed him on to some one else now?” Looking round for a way of escape, her eyes encountered the fixed gaze of Professor Panagiotis, who had been walking through the rooms with Maurice, but had stopped dead, and was staring at her companion with something like stupefaction. Maurice turned impatiently to see why he was waiting, but the Professor grasped his arm and drew him towards Zoe, whom he addressed in tones like distant thunder.

“Will you have the goodness, madame, to present that gentleman to his Highness your brother?”

“It is rather difficult, since I only know his pseudonym,” said Zoe. “This is Apolis, the poet, Maurice.”

“Say, rather, this is Prince Romanos Christodoridi, the hereditary enemy of your line,” the Professor corrected her savagely. “Pray, monsieur, how did you come here?”

“I do not acknowledge the right of this person to question me,” said the poet, turning from the Professor and addressing himself to Maurice. “You, sir, are my opponent, I presume. Have you anything to ask?”

“I should certainly be glad to know your object in coming to Bashi Konak,” said Maurice.

“Nothing is simpler, sir—to assert my cause. I learn that negotiations are proceeding here which may gravely prejudice my rights, and I determine to watch over them in person. The Christodoridis are not entirely without friends, even though Professor Panagiotis has chosen to transfer his valuable support to the opposite party.”

“It was time to transfer my support when your father refused to contribute a drachma of his hoarded wealth to the cause on which my whole fortune has been lavished!” burst forth the Professor.

“I refused nothing,—but then I had no hoarded wealth,” said Prince Romanos with dignity. “If money is to liberate Emathia, I acknowledge that Mr Teffany—oh, pardon me; Prince Theophanis, I think?—has the advantage over one who can offer only his pen and his sword; but nothing shall withhold me from contributing my worthless life to the cause of freedom, and requesting Emathia to judge between us.”

“So be it!” said Maurice, holding out his hand. “We are enemies, but friendly ones, I hope. Together we will do our best to free Emathia, and then she shall judge.”

“Sir, you are mad! Impossible!” protested Professor Panagiotis, but Prince Romanos bowed like a duellist about to engage.

“I accept your courtesy, Prince. My freedom of action I must preserve, but there need be no personal enmity between us. That would indeed be impossible in the presence of my accomplished confrère, the Princess your sister.”

The elaborate bow towards Zoe, with which he concluded, carried comfort to the anxious heart of Princess Emilia, watching from a distance. In her relief she seized upon Eirene as the nearest available person to whom she could pour forth her feelings.

“I was so frightened!” she said breathlessly. “It was so like a scene in the theatre,—the meeting of the rival heirs,—and they might have fought, or anything.”

“But who is the man?” asked Eirene, in bewilderment.

“Oh, Prince Christodoridi’s son Romanos, the other claimant, you know. When he wrote to my husband that he understood we were promoting a negotiation that gravely concerned his interests, we couldn’t wait to ask how he had heard of it, we could only invite him here. My husband wished to tell you at once, but I persuaded him to let the meeting be a surprise. I wanted Prince Romanos to meet my dear Zeto and fall in love with her without knowing who she was, so that there could be no quarrelling when it became known that he was here.”

“But what good could it do if he did fall in love with her?” asked Eirene blankly, her mind running upon the various disastrous consequences that were bound to ensue from this most inconvenient intrusion.

“Oh, but he could not fight against her brother then!” said Princess Emilia with conviction. “And Zeto might say she would not marry him unless he consented to acknowledge Prince Theophanis as the rightful heir. Of course I hoped she would fall in love with him too, because then she could make him do anything she wanted. That was why I did not tell her who he was, lest she should steel her heart against him as the enemy of her family.”

“It would have done no good if we had known of his coming earlier,” murmured Eirene, still intent upon her own thoughts. “We should not have been able to do anything,—it is not time yet.”

Princess Emilia listened with a puzzled face. “But you do think mine was a good plan, don’t you?” she asked. “I can’t quite decide whether it has succeeded or not yet, but you would be glad if it did?”

“Glad? Oh, yes!” laughed Eirene drearily. “But you don’t realise that Zoe is not the right girl to make a plan like that succeed. And he is not the right man.”

The worst forebodings of Eirene and the Professor were justified by the effect produced on the Emathian delegates by the appearance of Prince Romanos. All the animosities and differences of opinion which had begun to show signs of slumbering broke out afresh, and purely practical questions were shelved indefinitely in view of the primary importance of a disputed title. Among the bewildering complexities of race, religion, and political feeling that divided the delegates, it became gradually clear that while the Slavs, with whom went those of Scythian sympathies, were on Maurice’s side, the Greeks, and with them the friends of Pannonian ascendency, took that of Prince Romanos. A small group of Greeks—the personal adherents of Professor Panagiotis—remained faithful to Maurice, and an irreconcilable party, headed by Lazar Nilischeff, advocated the cutting of the Gordian knot by a request to Thracia to take over the whole of Emathia, while there were isolated supporters of similar action on the part of Mœsia and Morea. Still, the salient fact was that the harmony, and therefore the advantage, of the conference was destroyed. It was no use continuing to thresh out the questions from the discussion of which the rough draft of a constitution had gradually been emerging; and even Wylie’s scheme of raising a body of Sikhs, time-expired soldiers of the Indian army, as the nucleus of a central police, which had been warmly welcomed on the one hand and as violently opposed on the other, had lost its interest. As the less educated among the delegates demanded with one voice, whenever any attempt was made to continue the interrupted deliberations, what was the good of fiddling about details when the essential question, Who was to rule Emathia as the nominee of the Powers and the people? was still undecided. Passing popas were seized upon and catechised, and expeditions were made to interrogate mountain hermits of special sanctity, with the result of a wonderfully varied collection of answers. Was Maurice Theophanis, descendant in the direct line of the elder son of the Emperor John, debarred from succeeding by the fact that neither his immediate ancestors nor himself were members of the Orthodox Church? Did her marriage with a schismatic also invalidate the claim of his wife Eirene, descended from the younger son of John Theophanis? And in view of this flaw, was the otherwise inferior claim of the Christodoridi family, who sprang only from a female descendant of the Emperor, that which ought to prevail?

The arguments were interminable and warm, and the arbitrators to whom it was suggested to refer the matter ranged from the Hercynian Emperor to the President of the United States. Prince Romanos himself adhered firmly to the condition he had announced on his first appearance before the delegates. He was prepared to submit his claim to the arbitration of the Œcumenical Patriarch, and abide by his decision. Could anything be fairer, as the question was one of religion? Since it was practically a foregone conclusion that the Patriarch would decide in favour of the Orthodox candidate of Orthodox descent, Maurice and his supporters were unable to feel the same confidence in his impartiality, but a rift began to make itself felt between the Emathian Slavs and those with Scythian sympathies. The latter, though usually much opposed to the claims of the Patriarch, supported the reference of the matter to him, and in consequence of this defection it became clear that, in case of a division, Maurice would be outvoted. This point was not actually reached, but on the adjournment of the debate Professor Panagiotis hurried to Eirene.

“This is what I feared!” he cried. “It is an arrangement between Scythia and Pannonia. In order to gain time, one of them will support your husband, the other the Christodoridis, and they will both favour a reference to the Œcumenical Patriarch, who will take from a year to a year and a half to give his decision. We can do nothing until the snow melts, and yet, unless we can checkmate this plan, we are condemned to a delay that will be fatal to our hopes.”

“We must try to work on Prince Romanos,” suggested Eirene, but not cheerfully. “The Princess of Dardania is very anxious that he should marry Princess Zoe.”

“Ah, if that might be!” cried the Professor quickly. “But it is too much to hope.”

“But what good could it do?” asked Eirene, as she had asked of Princess Emilia. “He would hardly withdraw his claim through affection for her.”

“No, but if he marries her, he marries a schismatic, and his claim becomes infinitely weaker than your own,” was the fierce answer. Their eyes met, and Eirene drew a long breath. If Zoe’s fate had depended upon the deliberations of these two plotters, it would have been settled there and then.

CHAPTER IV.
THE STERN PARENT.

“Dear Zeto, why are you so unkind to poor Apolis?”

“I wish I could be, Principessina; it would do him good. But he sees nothing that he doesn’t wish to see.”

“Oh, but he feels it dreadfully. That poem which he addressed to you—how could you have the heart to read it aloud? It brought the tears to my eyes.”

“But it wasn’t addressed to me personally, you know. It was to the ideal love whom he sees in all women that are not actually old and ugly.”

“Ah, now you are unjust, and I can prove it to you. He has confessed to me that he knew before he came who Zeto was, and that he consented to conceal his identity because he hoped to win your favour before you had been prejudiced against him.”

“There is no prejudice whatever. The man doesn’t appeal to me. Can’t you realise that he hasn’t a chance? Why, I must be much more romantic than you really. You think one ought to be able to settle down comfortably with the second-best when one has missed the best, but that’s what I can’t do. The better the thing one has lost, the worse is the punishment of wanting it when one can’t have it, but that’s only fair, when the loss was one’s own fault.” There was a kind of soothing finality in speaking as if the loss in question had been irrevocably incurred a long time ago, not left hanging in doubt until quite lately, but it led Princess Emilia astray, very naturally.

“Yes, but the punishment need not last for ever,” she said eagerly. “You can never be quite so happy as you might have been, of course, but there is something in making another person happy. Apolis himself does not pretend that he never loved before——” Zoe’s lip curled involuntarily. “His first love married some one else. He can never forget her, of course, but he does not steel his heart against happiness. He quoted to me so pathetically—

‘I saw him stand

Before an Altar—with a gentle bride;

Her face was fair, but was not that which made

The Starlight of his Boyhood;’

and he quite agreed with me what a beautiful idea it was for the two wounded hearts to console one another. He was only afraid that the opposition of your family would prevent your ever listening to him, and I was so glad to be able to tell him how favourably Prince and Princess Theophanis regarded the idea.”

“Favourably?” cried Zoe. “Why, Maurice will have no more to do with him than he can possibly help. He just tolerates him as an opponent, but he could not stand him as a friend. But Eirene—— Ah, I see!” a light breaking in upon her, “this is Eirene’s doing. She thinks it would further her plans in some way if I married Prince Romanos. Very well, I will talk to her.”

“But you will be kind to the poor man?” pleaded Princess Emilia.

Zoe could not trust herself to reply. She was eager to get back to Eirene and reproach her with her duplicity, for it was evident that she had, to say the least, allowed the Princess to believe that Maurice favoured the pretensions of Prince Romanos. When she succeeded in finding her sister-in-law alone, and poured forth her accusation, Eirene quailed at first before the storm.

“If you knew my difficulties, Zoe!” she said deprecatingly. “Our plans are threatened on every side, and I am perfectly distracted—ready to catch at a straw.”

“But what possible good could it do if I did marry Prince Romanos?” demanded Zoe.

Eirene dissembled, for her true reason must at all costs be hidden both from Zoe and from Maurice. To her uneasy conscience, it was extraordinary that they did not divine it, and she lived in constant dread of its suddenly occurring to them. “Of course it would be to Maurice’s advantage,” she said. “Prince Romanos could not go to any lengths in opposing him if you were his wife. You might even prevail upon him to withdraw his claim altogether.”

“And what if I prevailed upon him to push his claim strongly, and helped him to win?”

“Zoe, you couldn’t! No, you are English. You could never turn traitor to your own family, and support the cause of a stranger against Maurice!”

“Turning traitor to my husband would not signify, of course.”

“It is not as if you cared for him,” said Eirene inadvertently.

“No, it is not. But I am to pretend to care for him, simply that I may betray him better! And you suggest it, you who know that there is only one man I would ever marry, and that therefore I shall not marry at all!”

“I thought you were old enough now to be willing to sacrifice your feelings for the sake of your family,” said Eirene, with deliberation. “Noblesse oblige, Zoe. It is part of a princess’s duty to make a political marriage. It is not as if I was asking you to give up any one on whom you had set your heart. As you say, that other episode is over—one need only look at Colonel Wylie to be sure of it. Besides, he told Lord Armitage that you had cured him, and he hadn’t the slightest thought of asking you again. So there is merely a memory to sacrifice,—a romantic idea of faithfulness,—and think what it may mean to Maurice. He and I have made sacrifices, too——”

“Maurice’s being entirely involuntary,” broke in Zoe, the impulse to return blow for blow strong upon her. “You have sacrificed his home and his domestic peace for him, which certainly ought to count in his favour. But you are not going to sacrifice my conscience for me. At any rate I am old enough to have learnt not to do evil that good may come, and I prefer to remain faithful to what you call my romantic ideas. For your own sake I would advise you not to make use of Princess Emilia to put any more false notions into young Christodoridi’s head, for if he speaks to me I shall certainly tell him the truth—and Maurice will support me.”

And with this Parthian shot—the sting of which to Eirene lay in the fact that it was only too literally true—Zoe departed. The next few days were marked, so far as politics went, by aimless rushings to and fro, conferences between groups, abortive negotiations, and other devices of the Professor for postponing that general meeting of the delegates which would lead to the adverse vote he feared. Then a stupendous fact precipitated itself like a landslip to dam up the stream of talk. The annual spring disturbances in Emathia began without showing Europe the courtesy of waiting for the melting of the snows. From the balcony of a house in the Christian quarter of Therma bombs were thrown at a passing body of Roumi troops, killing several men and horses, and producing a momentary panic. But the stout old Mohammedan military governor, Jalal-ud-din Pasha, was not a good subject for panic. He drew a cordon round the neighbourhood, and rumours crept about that the whole street in which the incident had occurred was to be razed to the ground. Before there was time either for this to be done, or for his soldiers to convert into facts, if such was their intention, the tales of murder and outrage which ran concurrently with the rumour, the bells of a church outside the threatened area rang violently, and hell was let loose. Bands of excited revolutionaries, armed with weapons hastily brought forth from concealment, attacked the soldiers, and were themselves attacked by the Mohammedan mob of the rest of the city, who had demanded arms from Jalal-ud-din to protect their lives,—a plea the justice of which that astute politician recognised instantly. Bomb explosions occurred in innumerable places, all the shops closed as if automatically, the churches and the foreign Consulates became a seething mass of refugees, and the Consuls telegraphed wildly in all directions for warships. That night a glow that lit up the sky for many miles proclaimed to seafarers that something larger than the ordinary nightly fires, which might be said to be epidemic in Therma, was in progress. A great part of the city was in flames, and by the light of the burning houses men fought like demons, or broke into buildings as yet untouched in quest of plunder and victims. The ships in the harbour put out to sea hurriedly, lest the conflagration should reach them, and every road and path leading from the city had its stream of fugitives, who had dropped from the walls, or bribed the guard with such valuables as they had saved to let them pass the gates. In the morning an indignant body of foreign representatives, shepherded through the roaring streets by an escort furnished by Jalal-ud-din, presented themselves at the residence of the Vali, who was a Greek by race, and demanded an interview. To their stupefaction they were received, not by Skopiadi Pasha, but by Jalal-ud-din himself, who explained that the Vali had disappeared during the course of the outbreak, whereupon he himself had taken up the duties of acting-Vali, pending instructions from Czarigrad, which could not be expected immediately, since all the telegraph-wires were destroyed. He promised protection and a speedy restoration of order; and the Consuls, knowing that Skopiadi Pasha could not have said more, and would probably have done less, went home convinced that Jalal-ud-din, though almost certainly responsible for his superior’s disappearance, was not without his good points. Poor Skopiadi, always anxious to please, but vacillating between the demands of the Powers and the directions of his own government, nominally free to act, but in reality fettered by a deadly fear of Jalal-ud-din and his troops, had worn out most people’s patience. For the more frivolous officials of the various Consulates it became an agreeable relief to the tedium of the day to exchange bets as to whether his military governor had had him murdered or only imprisoned.

The latest news that reached Bashi Konak from Therma, before the destruction of the telegraphs, was that the city was on fire and the troops engaged in a general massacre, and the excitement among the Emathian delegates and their sympathisers rose to fever-heat. Eirene durst not meet the eye of Professor Panagiotis, lest she should read there that all the horrors now occurring were a part of the plan she had concerted with him, nor was her conscience quieted by his vigorous denunciation of agents provocateurs and unauthorised revolutionaries. She knew that he was continually receiving and sending messages, and that his protestations did not ring quite true, and she had a horrible fear that in his eyes the untimeliness of the outbreak was atoned for by the severity it had evoked from Jalal-ud-din. With the inconsistency which Zoe was wont to call Eirene-ish, she made no attempt to undo what she had done, and found her comfort in refusing to let her boy out of her sight. Clasping him in her arms, regardless of his unconcealed preference for the toys from which she had snatched him, she could remind herself that it was all for his sake. Out of the blood and fire of the present would rise the imperial throne on which he should sit in the future.

It was at first suggested that the games, now drawing towards their close, should be discontinued in consequence of the news from Therma, but the Prince of Dardania decided otherwise. His little capital was filled with a motley crowd of competitors from all parts of the Balkans and sightseers from many parts of Europe, and to leave these without the occupation for which they had come to Bashi Konak would inevitably tend to turn their thoughts to politics. Then would come heated discussions and inflammatory speeches, and the correctness of attitude on which Prince Alexis prided himself as characteristic of his state would be imperilled. He had sacrificed much in order to give no offence to any one, allowing Princess Emilia to feed daily a large company of refugees from Emathia at great expense and in a highly inefficient manner, and refusing to allow volunteers or warlike stores to be conveyed across his frontier into the disturbed districts, and he had no mind to lose his reward. When the general break-up came, who would be so fit to receive an accession of territory as the ruler who had resisted every temptation to take part in hostilities, who had contrived, as far as mortal man could, to live peaceably with each of his neighbours and yet alienate none of the others? Therefore the Prince decreed that the aquatic sports, with which the festival was to end, should take place as had been announced, and the Court and its guests prepared to migrate from the capital to the port for the purpose.

The day before the move, Zoe went to the Palace as usual by way of the garden, and was surprised to find Princess Emilia in a highly disturbed state. Her flushed face and agitated manner suggested that she had just gone through a trying scene, and Zoe ascribed the trouble mentally to the Dowager Princess, whose visit was certainly not proving an unmixed success. Princess Emilia looked up at her friend’s entrance, and ran to her impulsively.

“Zeto, dearest Zeto, tell me; you have learnt to care for him, haven’t you? You are going to make me happy?”

“Not in that way, Principessina. But you mustn’t let it make you miserable. He is happy enough.”

“Oh, he!” cried the Princess viciously, dismissing the absent Romanos with an emphatic gesture. “I don’t care about him; it is you. That he should have dared——! Oh, but I promised I would say nothing. But assure me that you don’t care for him, Zeto. Comfort me in that way, if not in the other. If you do care for him, he shall still—— But you wouldn’t like that. Oh, I don’t know what I am saying!”

“Most certainly I don’t care for him, if that will comfort you,” said Zoe, bewildered. “But what has he done—or is it I? I always told you I should never think of marrying him, so please don’t try to bring him reluctantly to my feet. Of course I knew he didn’t really care, but you wouldn’t believe me. How have you found out now that I was right?”

“Oh, it was a revelation—a detestable revelation! It was my mother-in-law who brought it about, of course; all the disagreeable things happen through her. Pretending to gratify my dear romantic heart, too! But, Zeto, he is to ask you formally to marry him, and abide by your answer. I insisted on that.”

“My dear child, what was the necessity?” cried Zoe impatiently, but Princess Emilia drew herself up.

“It was due to me. I will have it done, and he understands perfectly. You will find him in the garden. I sent her—Olimpia—to tell him to wait for you on the terrace. Don’t go near the orange walk, for my mother-in-law is there. She retired there to weep over my ingratitude, she said, so keep to the other end of the terrace.”

Zoe was conscious of a strong wish that both Princess Emilia and her mother-in-law would confine themselves to their own affairs, but as nothing would satisfy the former but that she should immediately receive and refuse the formal proposal of Prince Romanos, without betraying any knowledge of his alleged perfidy, she went out into the garden again. A graceful figure in white, with a large parasol, passed her on the steps of the terrace, and Zoe thought with surprise that she had never known before that Donna Olimpia disliked her. Perhaps she was jealous of her Princess’s favour for the stranger. On the terrace was Prince Romanos, leaning in an interesting attitude upon the marble balustrade. He turned with a start as she appeared at the top of the steps, and she wondered once more that this poseur, with his instinctive knowledge of the artistic effect of his every word and action, should even care to enter upon the rough-and-tumble strife for supremacy in Emathia, and far more that he should be able to intervene with the decision and shrewdness he had already displayed. With a wave of the hand, as he met her, he indicated the view upon which he had been gazing.

“Is it not characteristic of this land of ours?” he asked her. “Hills barren almost to bareness, intersected by lines of unsurpassable verdure wherever water is to be found. Do we not see in it also a type of the Emathian character, Princess—strength, even rigidity of outline, united with a peculiar tenderness in the region of the affections?”

“How very original!” said Zoe, much entertained as she realised the accomplished way in which he was leading up to the performance of his task. “In those few words you have given me quite a new view of the Emathian nature.”

“Have you not studied it too little, Princess? Forgive my suggesting it, but don’t you isolate yourself unduly from your own race,—from its Greek portion, at any rate? A closer knowledge—the companionship of one who would as humbly teach as he would proudly learn from you—might not this——?”

He paused, with speaking eyes fixed upon her face, and she perceived that he had so thrown himself into his part that for the moment he was living in it. The dramatic strain in her own nature responded to his success.

“Some people are too old to learn,” she replied, with a touch of suitable melancholy; “and some have already had such hard lessons that they don’t care to take more.”

“But not such natures as yours, Princess! Or at least your kind heart would overrule the promptings of your wounded spirit. I also have suffered. We are linked by the kinship of sorrow; why not then——”

“Stop, rascal!” The startling words, in Greek, broke in upon the murmured conference, causing Prince Romanos to spring away from Zoe, of whose hand he had been trying to possess himself. Across the stage—this was how Zoe, already impressed with the theatrical nature of the occasion, phrased it to herself—swaggered a venerable gentleman who might have stepped out of an opera, so gay was he with stiff white kilt, embroidered jacket and tasselled cap, and so warlike with his sashful of bristling weapons.

“You, lord!” responded Prince Romanos mechanically.

“Yes, I!” replied the apparition, speaking now in bad but vigorous French, evidently for Zoe’s benefit; “and it is high time I came. I find my only son, the heir to the imperial heritage, saying soft things to a schismatic woman, who hopes to beguile him into marrying her.”

“Sir, you insult the lady!” broke forth his son. “Permit me to present you to the Princess Zoe Theophanis.”

“What! one of the English impostors? Why, this is worse than I believed. Miserable boy, have you no pride of race? is the honour of your house nothing to you? Can’t you see that it is the one chance of these—these——” Prince Christodoridi choked back the word upon his lips, and replaced it weakly with “these impostors—to draw you into their coils, to make it appear that we—we the Christodoridis—think them fit to marry with? You, who can show an unbroken Greek and Orthodox descent from Eudoxia Theophanis, think it no shame to seek in marriage the daughter of a race of schismatics!”

“Perhaps I may as well say that I have no intention whatever of marrying your son. In fact, the question had not arisen,” said Zoe. “I will leave you to discuss your family matters together.”

“Wait one moment!” cried the old man, placing himself in her way. “I know how you and this degenerate son of mine think to laugh at me behind my back and carry out your plans, but remember this. I will acknowledge no such marriage, and if you venture to set foot on the island of Strio, you may land, but you will never leave it again. I am lord of life and death on my own ground. When the first King of Morea tried to enforce the conscription among the Striotes, my father sent him back a boat-load of his soldiers’ heads, and if I furnish twenty sailors yearly to the Morean navy, it is by virtue of a treaty as between equals. Therefore bear in mind that Strio has dungeons as well as a palace.”

“It sounds interesting,” said Zoe, with a sigh; “but if marrying your son is the only way of getting there, I am never likely to see Strio, I fear. Would you kindly——?”

Prince Christodoridi obeyed the gesture and stood aside, and Zoe descended the steps slowly. A change seemed to have passed over Prince Romanos with her departure, and he beckoned authoritatively to his father.

“Come to the other end of the terrace and let us talk. You are satisfied now, I suppose? You renounce the prospect of the imperial throne rather than disgorge a few of the hoarded coins which my grandfather gained by piracy——”

“Hush, hush!” said his father, looking round apprehensively.

“Oh, I am not accusing you of piracy—you know the Powers would blow Strio out of the water if you tried it. You refuse even to allow me any help towards asserting our rights, and when I lay a plan for profiting by the efforts of these people here, you come to spoil it.”

“You shall not marry a schismatic,” was the obstinate reply.

Prince Romanos shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. “Must I point out to you in so many words that I have never had the faintest intention of marrying the impostor’s sister? But I had every intention of accounting for my presence here, and keeping them all in good temper, by making love to her. Now that is ruined.”

“She would have trapped you into marrying her. A man is no match for a woman.”

“Not some men, perhaps,” with scarcely veiled contempt. “But this woman cares for some one else. Otherwise, most excellent lord, you would not have had the chance to interrupt us to-day, for we should be betrothed already, and I should be on the point of success.”

“I have done nothing,” grumbled Prince Christodoridi.

“You have created an atmosphere of suspicion and hostility, whereas, under cover of the general friendliness, I was about to step into possession of all the advantages our enemies have secured, and oust them with their own weapons, without spending a drachma. Was not that worth doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It is quite true, though you would not believe it two years ago, that Panagiotis has honeycombed southern Emathia with Greek societies. They are supplied with arms, and are under orders to assemble when he gives them the signal, and seize a number of positions, which can easily be fortified, about Hagiamavra. He means to direct them from here, with Theophanis, but I mean to throw myself among them, and take the lead in the fighting. Which Prince is more likely to win the suffrages of the Emathians—the one who remained safe at a distance, or the one who has fought for freedom at their head?”

Prince Christodoridi looked at his son with grudging admiration. “That is indeed a plan!” he said. “To make use of the impostor’s own preparations to defeat him, and without any expense! Is there—must you give it up now?”

“Can you show yourself friendly to all—even to the impostor—while I try to soothe Princess Zoe and convey to her that my devotion is unchanged? It will only be for a few days.”

“Did not your grandfather welcome the King of Morea’s officer and set wine before him an hour before he stabbed him to the heart? Fear not, son; I can do as well as he.”

CHAPTER V.
TWO DIPLOMATISTS.

The colloquy between Prince Christodoridi and his son had taken place at the farther end of the terrace, from which led the orange walk mentioned by Princess Emilia in speaking to Zoe. On a marble seat under the orange-trees, shaded by the terrace but invisible from it, sat a lady in black, who was a deeply interested auditor of all that passed. When Prince Romanos and his father prepared to descend the steps, she rose from her seat and hastened noiselessly down the avenue, turning sharply when she had gone about twenty yards, so that as they came round the curve in the marble staircase she was visible coming towards them under the orange-trees with a book in her hand.

“It is the Dowager Princess,” murmured Prince Romanos. “Permit me, madame, to present my father.”

A thought seemed to strike Prince Christodoridi as he glanced at the still handsome face, and noted the repressed fire of the dark eyes. “It is perhaps to you, madame, that I am indebted for the message that brought me here?” he asked in his bad French.

The Princess looked surprised. “To me, monsieur? Certainly not. It is not for me to send invitations to my son’s capital nowadays.”

“I am at Bashi Konak uninvited, madame. The message to which I refer was a warning that my son here was on the point of marriage with a schismatic, the sister of the impostor Teffany.”

“A message which I am hardly likely to have sent, since I have the best means of knowing that your son has not the slightest thought of the kind.” The Princess bestowed a sympathetic smile on Prince Romanos, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“So he tells me. As to the truth of the matter, you are happy if you can feel sure you have come upon it, madame. I trust you are on my side?”

“Undoubtedly, Prince. In my opinion it would be a grave mistake for your son to countenance the Teffany claims by allying himself with one of the family, as with an equal.”

“Madame, I see you are a woman of sense. But permit me to say I had doubted it. What is your connection with a wretched renegade Greek in Roumi employ, whom we picked up last night from the wreck of a fishing-boat we ran down?”

“Are you asking me riddles?” demanded the Princess, with distinct displeasure. “Pray, does this person assert that he is in my service? You will allow me to remind you that he is not necessarily speaking the truth.”

“With that I have nothing to do,” was the rough reply. “When I saw the fellow’s frock-coat and fez I nearly bade my men throw him back into the water again, but he pleaded with me by God and the all-holy Virgin to spare his life and land him at some Pannonian port. I told him plainly that I would not go an inch out of my way for him, but he might slink on shore here if he liked. Then he seemed happier, and said that the Dowager Princess would vouch for him. He had escaped from Therma, he told one of my men.”

The Princess’s eyes met those of Prince Romanos in amused surprise. “Can it possibly be Skopiadi Pasha?” broke from both of them. “A grey-haired man with a glass eye?” added the Princess.

“That’s the fellow,” assented Prince Christodoridi.

“This is really very funny,” said the Princess, with decorous mirth. “It is a good thing you did not throw the poor man back into the water, Prince. Now we shall get authentic news as to what has happened at Therma. And am I really the only person to whom poor Skopiadi could appeal? I came in contact with him years ago, at the time of the Rhodope negotiations, but I never expected to be asked to vouch for him after a shipwreck. We must certainly relieve his mind at once, and see that he is treated properly. You are rather too stalwart a partisan for the present day, Prince.”

She had turned and walked towards the Palace with them, and now left them, with an amused smile. Prince Christodoridi was purple with indignation.

“Does the woman expect me to make an apostate a welcome guest?” he demanded. “These are fine times, indeed! Why, your grandfather would have fastened him up in the rigging, and let the worst shots among the crew practise on him. A good thing I didn’t put him back into the water, was it? I wish I had!”

“We have to consider our neighbours’ susceptibilities a little nowadays,” said Prince Romanos languidly. “After all, Skopiadi is still Vali of Therma, and the Prince of Dardania doesn’t want to get into trouble at Czarigrad. I think there may yet be some surprises in store for you, lord.”

Prince Christodoridi recognised the truth of this prophecy in the afternoon, when he found the man he had treated so cavalierly received as a guest whom the Dardanian Court delighted to honour, and accorded—so his jealous mind averred, though no one else could distinguish it—a precedence superior to his own. Prince Christodoridi and his ship’s crew were accepted as welcome recruits for the aquatic sports of the morrow, but in social matters they were outer barbarians compared with the despised Skopiadi, who was in the inmost circle of European diplomacy, and knew everybody. It was some consolation to the wounded spirit of the island ruler that his rival begged to be allowed to absent himself from the festivities at the port, on the plea that his health was suffering from the hardships met with in his escape. His account of this reflected the highest credit upon himself. Driven to desperation by the insubordinate conduct of Jalal-ud-din, whom he had discovered to be plotting a massacre of the Christians, and who had incited his own guard to murder him, he had gone on board a steamer in the harbour at the beginning of the troubles, intending to go straight to Czarigrad, and lay his case before the Grand Seignior, demanding support against his aspiring colleague. Unfortunately, when the fire broke out in the city, and accounts of fresh horrors arrived perpetually by the mouth of a continuous stream of refugees, the captain of the steamer refused to take his ship to Czarigrad, or any Roumi port, and the unfortunate Skopiadi would have been carried off to Egypt if he had not insisted on being transferred to a fishing-boat, the crew of which promised to put him on shore at some Illyrian coast-town. The sad accident which had brought about the loss of the fishing-boat prevented this, and it was to the prompt help of Prince Christodoridi that the Pasha owed his life. It was only natural that he should feel unstrung and disinclined for gaiety, and he listened without regret to the bustle which marked the departure of his hosts and their other guests. The Palace and its grounds were at his command, and he wandered out into the garden with great contentment, though not without the occasional apprehensive start which betrayed that his dwelling-place had of late been in the midst of alarms. He encountered nothing more alarming than the Dowager Princess, sitting at work on the marble seat in the orange walk, but for a moment it seemed as if he found her as terrifying a sight as he could well have met. Then he rallied his courage, and was about to retire with a bow, when she stopped him.

“Pray, monsieur, do not treat me as if I were a monster. We seem to be left to keep each other company, so you must be good enough to entertain me.”

At her gesture he took a seat, as far from her as the limits of the marble bench would allow, and protested, with all the ease and vivacity of a criminal summoned to execution, that he could ask for nothing better than to be allowed to make an humble effort to entertain her Royal Highness. She watched him through half-closed eyelids, enjoying his discomfiture.

“And when do you propose to return to take up the duties of your post, monsieur?” she asked him softly. “I have not observed any undue anxiety on your part to discover the quickest way of getting back to Therma.”

“My health, madame—the shocks I have undergone——”

“Ah, yes—true. The first shock occurred before you embarked, did it not? Otherwise you could hardly have mistaken a Port Said boat for a Czarigrad one.” The unhappy man writhed. “And it must have been most humiliating when the captain defied you to your face,—of course you had threatened him with condign punishment if he did not put back and land you on the quay again?—and even refused your lavish offers of money.” She looked across at him, then laughed gently. “No, my poor Skopiadi, nature never intended you for a hero, but she made you a serviceable diplomatist. Why did you run counter to all her warnings by allowing them to make you Vali of Therma?”

“Alas, madame! I had no choice.”

“I see. On the whole it was rather less dangerous to accept than refuse, was it? Your ruin was only problematical if you went, but certain if you stayed at Czarigrad. I imagine, however, that you gave no hostages to fortune? Madame Skopiadi and your daughters are nowhere in the Roumi dominions?”

“My wife was unable to accompany me to Therma, madame. She was ordered to take a protracted cure at Charlottenbad, and she is now in Paris, superintending the education of her daughters.”

“Very wise. And I shall not be doing you an injustice if I suppose that your fortune is safely invested—also outside the Roumi dominions? On the whole, then, we may take it that you have no thought of returning to Czarigrad at present—in fact, that you will studiously remain at a distance from it?”

“Madame, I neither assent to your conclusions nor deny them.”

“It is unnecessary. But observe, monsieur, they are more than conclusions, they are facts. Still, they will remain hidden in my mind, unless I have occasion to make them public. You have a considerable reputation in Europe, I believe? The Powers all favoured your appointment?”

“Unfortunately for me, madame, they did.”

“Then you have some thought, doubtless, of visiting the Foreign Ministers of the interested Powers, and explaining the reasons for the failure of your mission? I think it might be well, in your own interest.”

“I shall be honoured, madame, if I can combine any interest of yours with my own.”

The Princess frowned. “If these things are to be done, they should not be said, monsieur.” He bowed, crestfallen. “It is your unbiassed opinion, is it not, that the present state of things in Emathia cannot continue? Nothing is to be hoped for from the system of illusory safeguards imposed by the Powers on the Roumi Government?” He bowed again, but evidently thought silence wiser than speech. “A new plan must be tried, involving the virtual expatriation of the Roumis. They may keep garrisons in Therma and two or three other cities, in token of suzerainty, but the province must be administered by a Commissioner appointed by the Powers, and responsible to them.”

“You have voiced my own opinion, madame. But these claimants—which do you support?” He trembled at his own audacity in asking the question, but an answer was vital for the direction of his future course. The Princess showed no anger as she replied with much frankness—

“Neither. I hope to show you that they are both impossible. What do you think of a plan to seize the Hagiamavra peninsula, and defy the Roumis there at the head of the Emathian insurgents?”

“There is no doubt that such a scheme would gravely prejudice its planner in the eyes of Europe, madame.”

“This is more than a scheme. In a few days it will be a fact.”

“And you would have the Powers occupy the peninsula, madame, and thus frustrate the plot?”

“By no means!” There was something almost amounting to despair at his obtuseness in the Princess’s voice. “It must not be frustrated. They must carry it out, and make themselves impossible. Listen. It is Romanos Christodoridi who has conceived the plan, but I can ensure that the other party adopt it. They are stronger than he, and will probably succeed in establishing themselves at Hagiamavra. If blows are exchanged, it will only be a proof of the unfitness of both sides to rule; it may even eliminate him altogether. But if not, he can be removed from the path in another way—by a schismatic marriage.”

“With Princess Zoe Theophanis?” asked the listener.

“No, that would be too great a risk. The united claims of the Theophanis descendants would be too strong, if they agreed to act together instead of quarrelling. Another marriage, far more efficacious for the purpose—— But leave that to me.”

“I desire nothing better, madame. But who, then, is your candidate?”

“Need you ask, monsieur?”

“I must have it from your own lips, madame.”

“That is absolutely unnecessary.” The Princess was clearly annoyed, but there was a point beyond which the Greek could not be brow-beaten.

“Unless I know your wishes, I cannot undertake to forward them, madame.”

Defeated by his obstinacy, she spoke hurriedly. “You must represent the importance of haste. Unless Europe intervenes at once, the Balkans will be in a blaze, and the conflagration may spread. The delay for which Scythia and Pannonia hoped, which was to defer the crisis until they were ready to divide Emathia between them, is out of the question. In the circumstances, what better ruler could there be than my son Kazimir,—a persona grata to Scythia, connected with every royal house in Europe, born and brought up in the Balkans, in the one state which has given the Powers no trouble, and unmarried?”

“Undoubtedly, madame, there are few candidates with superior claims—if those of descent are to be ignored.”

“I tell you, the claimants here shall render themselves impossible. My son will need advisers, monsieur,—men acquainted with Emathia——”

“You honour me, madame. Provided, then, that the Theophanis claim becomes a mockery——”

“Trust me for that. I have a little experience, you will allow? Indeed, I believe I know too much for my son’s gardeners. I always declared that this orange walk ought to run in the opposite direction, and you can see how much better the growth of the trees would have been.”

The words might have suggested that the Princess had suddenly taken leave of her senses, as she rose and emphasised her meaning vigorously with gestures; but they were accounted for to Skopiadi Pasha by the appearance of a lady-in-waiting, who was hovering in the middle distance, anxious to know where her Royal Highness would have tea served. The colloquy was at an end, but all that was necessary had been said, and it remained only for both parties to carry out their agreement. The Princess was the first to make a move, having the advantage over Skopiadi Pasha in that the material on which she had to work was close at hand. She began upon it the same evening, when the princely party returned from the port, tired and sunburnt, and decidedly inclined to think that aquatic sports were generally over-praised, at any rate from the spectators’ point of view. In Princess Emilia’s hearing she asked Donna Olimpia to come to her rooms when she was dismissed for the night, and write a letter for her that she wished to send to a Magnagrecian acquaintance. The maid-of-honour, who had been looking weary and dispirited, brightened up at once, and presented herself in the Princess’s sitting-room with shining eyes, which lost their light, however, after a hasty glance round.

“No, he is not here this evening,” said the Princess, with a sympathetic smile. “We must be prudent, you know. It would not take much to make my daughter-in-law send you back to Magnagrecia, and then you might never see him again.”

The girl acquiesced silently, though the tears had started to her eyes. The Princess laid her hand kindly on hers. “It has been a hard day, I am afraid?” she asked.

“Oh, so hard!” breathed Donna Olimpia, with difficulty. “My Princess was so exacting. She kept me close to her the whole time—always wanting me to hand her things, or tell her which the boats were. And he—he was at Princess Zoe’s side all day, talking and laughing—and looking at her as he does at me.”

The Princess restrained a smile at the simplicity of the passionate girl who expected Prince Romanos to keep the expressive glances of his fine eyes for her alone, but she made no comment. “This is what I feared,” she said. “Political necessities, you know——”

“He promised he would make her refuse him.”

“She has not refused him. I happen to know that.”

Donna Olimpia turned so white that even the hard-hearted plotter before her was frightened, and added hastily, “I don’t mean that she has accepted him. He has not proposed. His father arrived and interrupted their conversation.”

“If she had, I would have killed her—and him,” muttered the girl, looking so like a beautiful fury that for a second time the Princess was dismayed by the strength of the storm which she had fanned for her own purposes. This all-important instrument needed supremely dexterous handling, and she drew away from her a little.

“I hardly know whether to go on with what I was going to tell you,” she said. “I thought you would be anxious to protect Prince Romanos from the consequences of his own indiscretion, but perhaps you would rather leave him to his punishment.”

“He is in danger from the other Englishman? But this is foolishness! She has not encouraged him—even I can see that.”

“I don’t understand. The danger has nothing to do with Princess Zoe or any Englishman. It is political.”

“Ah, he is so daring, so rash! What has he done?”

“It is what he proposes to do.” The Princess was encouraged by the softness of Donna Olimpia’s voice. “He means to throw himself into the midst of the Emathian insurgents, and lead them against the Roumis. That sounds a very fine thing to do,” with some irritation, as the girl’s eyes lighted up, “but you don’t seem to see that it means almost certain death to him, and in any case ruin to his hope of obtaining a throne.”

“For his possible throne I care nothing!” cried Donna Olimpia; “but his life—that is different. He shall not destroy himself!”

“So I thought you would say. Well, my plan was that we must manage—you and I—to keep him back, and induce Prince and Princess Theophanis to take this mad step in his place.”

The girl laughed gleefully. “And so relieve him of his opponent as well!” she said.

“Exactly. But we must work very carefully. Prince Romanos is waiting for some signal before he starts. Either he expects messengers of his own, or—which I think is more likely—he is bribing the messengers of Professor Panagiotis. It must be your business to discover when he receives the signal. He must promise not to start without bidding you farewell, and must tell you as long before he goes as possible.”

“Yes, I can manage that.”

“Then I will manage the rest. He must be detained, and the Theophanis party must be warned of his intention, and hasten to anticipate it. They will be in Emathia before they discover their mistake, and then they cannot retreat. He will be safe, and ought to be grateful, though I cannot say that he will obtain his throne even then. He may have involved himself too far in this foolish plot. But your love for him does not depend on a throne?”

“I hate the very thought of it! It is that alone that made him pay attention to Princess Zoe: he has told me so. But for his imperial descent and his great future, he would marry me to-morrow.”

“I see. Some women would prefer the lover to succeed, even at the cost of their happiness,” said the Princess drily.

“Ah, I am not like that. A throne which he could share with me—yes; but a throne for him without me—no,” was the frank reply. “Not that I wish Princess Theophanis to put her husband on the throne. That is a woman of the most absolute heartlessness. All these troubles are due to her.”

“Why, how is that?” asked the Princess, rather startled.

“It was before you came, madame. She wished Princess Zoe to marry the Englishman, Lord Armitage. I knew it; I saw her schemes. Then came he—Romanos—and she changes her mind, and will have him and no other as brother-in-law. All the pleasant opportunities are now for him, and the poor snubbed Englishman scowls in the background. Ah, madame, I entreat you, punish Princess Eirene, and do it through Lord Armitage! She deserves it, and he—it will be some satisfaction for him.”

“Your methods are forcible, but crude.” The Princess spoke with the air of a connoisseur. “But leave it to me. I think I see what to do.”

CHAPTER VI.
THE RED GODS CALL.

“Are you in a tremendous hurry? Could you spare me a minute or two?” Armitage rose from the seat in the orange walk and intercepted Zoe on her way to the terrace.

“Oh yes. I was only going to wait for Princess Emilia. Is anything the matter?”

“Oh, nothing much. Only that I want to tell you something, and after that—well, I suppose I shan’t trouble you again.”

“You mustn’t be so doleful,” said Zoe, in her elder-sisterly way. “If there is anything wrong, you know that every one of us would do all we could to help you. It’s nothing about the yacht, is it? She hasn’t gone on shore?”

“No!” he burst out with great vehemence. “What do I care about the yacht, except to help your brother with? It’s you—and that Christodoridi chap.”

“Really,” said Zoe, half laughing, half angry, “I shall have to be rude to that young man in public, if he persists in worrying me as he does. Maurice thought fit to ask me this morning why I always had him hanging about, and now you! The general opinion of my taste must be painfully low.”

“No one imagines you could like a theatrical fool like that,” said Armitage, somewhat comforted; “but for political reasons, you know. The Professor—and your sister——”

“Neither the Professor nor Eirene will ever make me accept any one for political reasons, though they are quite likely to try. I should have thought you knew me better than to think so.” It did not occur to Zoe that the kindly reproach in her voice was dangerous, for Armitage had been a silent adorer for so long that she had learnt to regard him as that most pleasant and useful possession—a safe friend. But he interrupted her now, his eager, boyish voice full of feeling.

“You don’t see. It’s just because I know what you are—know how a good woman loves to sacrifice herself for other people. And that fellow could never make you happy.”

“No, he certainly could not. But don’t be afraid, he doesn’t want to try. As far as I can tell, he only haunts me because it makes him feel uncomfortable to find one woman who is proof against his fascinations.”

“The conceited brute!” cried Armitage explosively. “Let me deal with him, Princess. I promise you he won’t fancy himself so much when I’ve taken him in hand.”

“Probably not. But I am quite able to protect myself, thank you, and I have Maurice to appeal to.”

“Ah, but it wouldn’t look well for him to come to blows with his rival,” said Armitage, with unexpected shrewdness. “I don’t signify, you see. And if you would just give me the right, I could polish him off before starting, and you would be free from him while I was gone.”

“Starting! Why, where are you going?”

“Oh, that business over there,” jerking his head vaguely in the direction of Therma. “Will you? You can’t think how much easier it would make my mind.”

Zoe looked at him quizzically, still unaware of the gravity of the occasion. “What a boy you are!” she said, as she had often said before. “You really force me to ask you why you can’t pick a quarrel with him—not that I want you to,” hastily; “in fact, I forbid it—without a mandate from me.”

“Because I wouldn’t quarrel with a brute like that—especially about a lady. But if I could say to him, ‘Princess Zoe is engaged to me, and if I catch you bothering her any more, you had better look out——’ why, either he takes a back seat, or I kick him for a cad.”

“But I am not engaged to you,” said Zoe involuntarily.

“No, but I want you to be. I have cared for you an awfully long time, and you have always been frightfully good to me. I don’t bore you as much as some people, do I?—not as much as he does, at any rate? Couldn’t you think of it?”

“I really couldn’t.” Zoe was hardly able to regard this very unconventional proposal as serious, but she managed to speak without a smile. “I should need something more in a man than that he didn’t bore me—a good deal more. In fact, I should need so much that I shall never marry at all.”

“If you would only try me!” he pleaded. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to please you.”

“Except what you can’t do, and that is to grow up,” was on the tip of Zoe’s tongue, but she crushed it down nobly. “I am very sorry,” she said, with finality, “but it’s quite impossible. I have never given you any reason——”

“I know you haven’t.” His eagerness to justify her brought the tears to Zoe’s eyes. “It was all my fault. Only it seemed, you know, as if—— But I was a fool. You’ll let things be as they were before, won’t you, when I come back? Then I’ll go off with Wylie, and knock about a bit——”

“Colonel Wylie? Is he going too? What is it for?”

“Well, we aren’t exactly supposed—I oughtn’t to have——”

“You must tell me now. Where are you going?”

“I am to take Wylie round in the yacht to a place called Skandalo, from which you can get to Hagiamavra, where these Emathian fellows are establishing an insurgent stronghold. He goes as your brother’s representative, to see what can be done, and what chance there is of success. If there’s none, he might be able to get them to disband before the Roumis have time to move troops to attack them, but they seem pretty confident. Panagiotis had a message yesterday evening to say that they were ready, so we’re off to-night.”

“But is there danger?” gasped Zoe.

“Ought to be none. I wish there was any chance of it.”

“But after his fever. There is sure to be exposure——”

“Oh, for Wylie, you mean. It is still Wylie, then?”

“You have no right to say that——” began Zoe warmly, but her tone changed. “No, why should I be ashamed to confess it? It is, and it always will be.”

“Couldn’t be a better man,” said Armitage, with settled depression. “I always knew that if he was against me I hadn’t the ghost of a chance. But why I asked was, that I thought I might look after him a little for you—see that he didn’t do rash things, you know.”

“If you would!” murmured Zoe. “But you will never, never let him guess why you are doing it?”

“He’ll put me down as a disgusting meddler, I know, but I can stand it. You can feel he has a deputy guardian angel to look after him, as you can’t be there yourself.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Zoe, giving him her hand; “but I do thank you. Oh, there is Princess Emilia looking for me on the terrace! She must have come up the other way.”

She hurried up the steps, leaving Armitage to return mournfully to the solitude of the marble bench, and try to rearrange his outlook on life in view of the change the last half-hour had made in it. Presently a dark shadow paused on the pounded marble of the walk, and looking up, he found the Dowager Princess contemplating with some surprise the interloper who had taken possession of her favourite seat. He sprang up in confusion, and would have departed in haste, with many apologies, if she had not graciously desired him to sit down again. The invitation did not place him altogether at his ease, since he was well aware of the Princess’s diplomatic reputation; but fearing that she might intend to worm some of his friends’ secrets from him, he determined to be intensely careful, and if possible to go so far in Machiavellian astuteness as even to penetrate the designs of his interlocutor. He had an uncomfortable feeling that she had probably decided to attack him as the easiest of the party to pump, and he tried to con over hastily all the points on which caution was necessary. But there was nothing dangerously political about the Princess’s first remark, uttered with a sympathetic smile.

“I see you find this a soothing spot, Lord Armitage, as I do. I have brought many troubles here—many perplexities, too, in the days when I was my husband’s chief counsellor, and Dardania was threatened by enemies on every side. Mine has not been a very happy life, but at least I can look with satisfaction on the Dardania of to-day, the only contented state in the Balkans. Some of the credit ought to be given to this quiet seat. I hope it has proved helpful to you also?”

“Well, hardly. Perhaps I haven’t tried it long enough,” said Armitage, rather at a loss.

“You can see no light on your difficulties? And yet I fancy your Princess feels more kindly towards you than you think.”

Armitage started involuntarily. “She has confided in you, madame?” he asked, feeling his way.

“Not directly, but there are ways of judging. Only a person totally devoid of discrimination could imagine that she found pleasure in the attentions of Prince Romanos.”

“I know she hates the sight of him!” Armitage thought it safe to reply.

“And yet it is only too likely that she may be forced to marry him. Her ambitious sister-in-law——”

“Princess Theophanis can’t make her marry him against her will, madame.”

“It is not only the Princess; the force of circumstances may compel her. If her brother attains his object, she must make a marriage that will strengthen his position. The man may or may not be young Christodoridi, but it will certainly not be you.”

“No, I suppose not,” he murmured, less crushed than if he had not already heard the same hard truth from Zoe herself.

“But take courage. I have a foreboding—I do not think that Maurice Theophanis will ever be Prince of Emathia.”

“Do you mean that there’s a plot, madame?”

“Oh no, not a plot. I merely advise you not to lose hope. The matter came to my knowledge confidentially, so that I can hardly—— Still, you are not likely to betray me, so why should I not allow you the consolation of watching for the event which will ensure the fulfilment of your hopes?”

“I can’t promise not to make use of any warning you may give me, madame.” Armitage was more mystified than ever. The Princess laughed.

“If I thought you an honest, quixotic fool, Lord Armitage, should I tell you? Well, then, your Prince, with the prudence and caution so characteristic of him, proposes to send his follower, Colonel Wylie, to discover whether the Emathian insurrection is sufficiently widespread, well-supported—safe, in fact—to justify him in extending to it the patronage of his name. Prince Romanos, on the other hand, presents himself among the insurgents as one of themselves, asking only to be allowed to fight and die in their ranks. Which is likely to commend himself most to their favour?”

Armitage’s face was a study while she spoke. Amazement at the matter-of-course way in which Wylie’s secret mission was mentioned, followed by indignation at the slur thrown on Maurice, was again succeeded by surprise at her announcement of the intentions of Prince Romanos.

“You mean that Christodoridi will disappear from here to throw in his lot with the insurgents, madame?”

“At very nearly the same hour to-night as your Colonel Wylie, and for the same reason. They are both considerate enough to wish not to compromise my son, and therefore both will attend the farewell reception of the athletes, and then slip away quietly. Colonel Wylie may be a perfect paladin, but I think you may assure yourself that the man who goes among his future subjects in person is more likely to be chosen than the one who sends his servant.”

Armitage assented mechanically, while the Princess went on—

“Therefore, as I say, you may be cheerful. It is not likely to occur to Prince Theophanis to go to Hagiamavra himself, and you will not put it into his head. I am rather surprised that his wife has not insisted upon it already, but perhaps he has kept her in the dark. You must be most careful not to let her suspect anything to-day, for your face is eloquent of tremendous news. I can’t advise you too strongly not to say anything to her about Emathia or Hagiamavra, for she would guess at once that you were concealing something, and she has force of character enough to hurry her husband off this evening. But I need not tell you to be careful.”

She watched his face narrowly. The risk she had taken was great,—though she had calculated upon her reading of Armitage’s character,—but she saw she had succeeded. He might accept information from this intruder, but not advice. She smiled contentedly when he made the excuse of urgent business to take his departure. Even if he had not spent some minutes in conversation elaborately designed to divert her mind from the previous subject, she could have read in his disturbed expression the thoughts that were chasing each other through his brain:—“I must put her off the scent, mustn’t let her see that I believe it. After all, it mayn’t be true. Must see if there’s anything to confirm it before I tell anybody.”

That evening Wylie was busy in the room which was nominally a sanctum for Armitage and himself, but served in reality as a council-chamber when Eirene’s presence was not desired. He was dressed for the Prince of Dardania’s reception, but his luggage was ready packed, and his riding clothes were laid out in the bedroom adjoining. Presently Maurice came in, and his follower looked up from the money-belt he was filling, and nodded.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you are letting me prospect around a little before throwing yourself into this thing,” he said, when his calculations were over.

“My wife doesn’t like it at all,” returned Maurice gloomily. “She thinks I am letting slip a golden opportunity.”

“Let her think!” was the uncourteous reply. “If she hasn’t learnt yet that it’s safer to prove the statements of Panagiotis and his friends before acting on them, you and I have.”

“Maurice!” It was Eirene who stood before them, wrapped in a loose gown, and with her hair only partially dressed. “We must all start for Hagiamavra to-night. Romanos Christodoridi is going!”

“He can’t. He knows nothing about it,” said Wylie.

“There has been treachery. He has bribed some one. Lord Armitage heard the first rumour of it this morning, and has spent the day in discovering the truth. Prince Romanos has horses ready after the reception, and a fast sailing-boat waiting for him at Pentikosti. Lord Armitage came to look for you, Maurice, but you were not in your rooms, and I opened the letter and spoke to him. I have sent him now to get horses for us.”

“You sent him! Without telling me?”

“Yes.” Eirene’s voice was hard. “Because, if you will not go, I shall take Constantine and go by myself, with Colonel Wylie in attendance. I have thought it all out. You have loitered and delayed and preached prudence too long. I will not have my boy’s rights sacrificed through your precautions.”

“If you will allow me, sir, I will leave the room to the Princess and yourself,” said Wylie to Maurice, with marked respect. Eirene turned upon him.

“You will kindly remain,” she said. “I wish you to be a witness of what I say to the Prince. You understand me, Maurice? If you will act, I go as your wife; if you refuse, I go to assert my own claim. In either case Constantine’s rights are secured. They can only be lost through cowardice, and I, at least, am not a coward. I have the means of acting without you, you know.”

“I do know it, unfortunately. You have every advantage over me. Short of placing you under personal restraint, I can’t hope to influence you.”

“And that you would never do!” she said triumphantly.

“That I would not do. You are determined not to listen to reason?”

“I will listen to any argument in favour of starting to-night, to none for putting things off.”

“Very well, then. As you have guessed, I shall not allow my wife to start on this preposterous expedition by herself, to assert a claim which stands or falls with mine. We will go together, but the claim which will be put forward is not yours, but mine. Such rights as the boy has are derived from me—reinforced, if you like, by yours. You understand this?”

“I don’t mind what conditions you make, provided that you go,” she answered, with a laugh that was nervous in spite of her effort to make it merely light.

“Pardon me, sir. May I remind her Royal Highness of one or two things she seems to have forgotten?” asked Wylie. A nod gave him permission, and he went on, “Are you wise, ma’am, in risking the health, perhaps even the life, of your son in the way you propose? The journey to Pentikosti is a difficult one, even for men, and at Hagiamavra the hardships will be considerable. You can take no other woman with you, and no heavy luggage.”

“You have done your duty to your master by trying to frighten me,” she returned defiantly; “but I am not frightened.”

“And it does not occur to you that this expedition will irritate the Powers against his Highness to such an extent as to make him an impossible candidate in future?”

“Then Prince Romanos will be equally impossible. No, the Prince may go or not, as he likes, but I go. The horses will be ready at eleven o’clock, which will give us time to change our clothes after the reception, if we leave fairly early. I am sorry to keep you waiting now, Maurice. I shall be ready in ten minutes.”

“I suppose you are compassionating me as a henpecked wretch?” said Maurice bitterly, as Wylie closed the door after Eirene.

“If I advised you to take your wife by the shoulders and give her a good shaking, you would set me down as a brute, and I don’t know that it would do much good,” said Wylie.

“Not a bit. I always knew something of this kind was bound to happen. You see, there’s no question about my having robbed her of her rights, and I am bound to back her up in recovering them. I have never been able to satisfy her in that way yet, and of course she thinks me slack.”

“Why not offer to go yourself if she and the child will stay quietly here?”

“Quietly? What would she be doing here—can you say? You know the way in which that money was left——”

“I know; it’s rough on you every way. Makes a man glad to have escaped matrimony so far,” said Wylie. “But if I had to deal with that young woman, she would soon learn to behave herself!” was his self-sufficient mental remark, for which a speedy Nemesis was already lying in wait for him.

The night was very dark when, armed with a lantern, he awaited his fellow-travellers at a side door. In spite of the care taken not to compromise him, the Prince of Dardania was fully aware that something was going on, and had issued orders to his officials not to be too inquisitive with respect to any horsemen leaving the city. But it was not considered advisable to ride through the principal streets, and run the risk of encountering belated guests coming from the Palace, so that every possible advantage was to be taken of lanes and byways. Armitage, laden with saddle-bags and hold-alls till he could scarcely walk, came staggering through the doorway, whispering that the rest were close at hand; and presently Maurice appeared, with little Constantine, wrapped up like an infant mummy, in his arms, and two women close upon his heels. Wylie stepped forward with natural indignation.

“You can’t go,” he said, stopping the taller of the two. “The Princess knows she is not to take a maid.”

“She is not taking me, but I am going,” said Zoe’s voice. Wylie still barred the path.

“No, you’re not. There’s no horse for you.”

Zoe laughed. “You mustn’t rate our intelligence quite so low. Eirene knew I should come, and asked Lord Armitage to get a horse for me. I think myself you are making a mistake in not letting us take my good Linton, who has gone through all sorts of horrors with me without turning a hair, but she will be ready to join us with supplies whenever I wire to her.”

“But you can’t go. It’s quite impossible. It’s—it’s useless. The Princess goes to assert her rights, and she has her husband to protect her, but you have no one to look after you.” Wylie was growing desperate.

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Zoe, with meaning in her voice. “Still, I can assure you that if both you and Lord Armitage turn your backs on me, I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

“Oh, look here, Princess,” he said, in a tone that startled Zoe, so long was it since she had heard it, “don’t bring the whole thing to smash, I beg of you. You stay behind, like a—like a sensible woman, and persuade your sister to stay too. You forget that your brother and I know something already about dragging ladies through the wilds of Emathia, and we don’t want to try it again. And to take women and children when there’s a prospect of fighting Roumis—it’s unthinkable, simply sickening folly. Now you will go back?”

His earnestness was quite pathetic, but Zoe hardened her heart. “If you ask me as a friend, I will,” she said.

Wylie recollected himself. “No, I won’t—ma’am,” he said angrily.

“Then I won’t go back,” said Zoe.

CHAPTER VII.
THE ENEMY IN THE WAY.

It was a silent company that rode through the night from Bashi Konak towards the Roumi frontier. Zoe and Eirene were presumably triumphant, but they were also in disgrace, and they were made to feel it. One of the men, either Wylie or Armitage, rode first, to see that the way was clear, then came the two culprits, left severely to themselves, then Maurice and the other man, conversing occasionally in low murmurs which were quite inaudible to the pair in front. Maurice had refused curtly Eirene’s demand to take little Constantine with her on her horse, and she had yielded the point without remonstrance, somewhat to the surprise and much to the relief of the rest. If the worst came to the worst, Maurice had one weapon the mere mention of which would bring her to her knees in terror, and she knew it. Her threat of leaving him could have been rendered nugatory in a moment by the counter-threat of depriving her of her boy, and she was afraid to push her husband too far, since he had a way of quietly assuming the command when she was in full tide of advance, which she found extremely disconcerting. She had no voice now in the conduct of the expedition, nor did she expect it, and both she and Zoe would have fallen from their horses with fatigue sooner than confess how tired they were getting as the night wore on. It was a welcome surprise when, just as the first faint light of dawn enabled them to see a cluster of white-walled houses in front, Armitage, who had ridden ahead, came back to them.

“We halt here for an hour or two, ma’am,” he said. “This is the customs station, and there is a fairly clean inn just over the frontier. I fancy there is a storm coming on, but we shall be in shelter.”

The customs examination was shortened and simplified by the judicious use of arguments which the Roumi officials could understand, and Zoe fancied that a discussion of the same kind was going on with the man in charge of the telegraph-office on the Dardanian side of the frontier. Something was said as to the telegraph-poles having been destroyed in the storm, which appeared premature, since the storm had not begun, and the poles looked particularly firm and strong, and it was clear that an attempt was to be made to cover the trail of the fugitives. Zoe smiled, with a recollection of past experiences of the kind, and betook herself thankfully to the inn, where Eirene was bestowing little Constantine in a perfect nest of rugs. The woman of the house brought them coffee, and they were soon asleep.

Outside the inn, Maurice and Wylie were stamping about, shivering, while Armitage interviewed the landlord, whose acquaintance he had made in the course of former journeys to Pentikosti. Presently he appeared.

“He says he is quite certain no one has passed, sir,” he said.

“Then he must still be behind us,” said Maurice. “I should have thought he would catch us up long ago. He ought to travel faster than we do.”

“Had a fall, perhaps,” suggested Wylie. “He doesn’t look as if he had much of a seat. If you and Armitage will rest in the house, sir, I’ll go to the top of the road and watch for him, and call you when I see him.”

“No, you will be getting fever,” said Maurice. “Armitage will watch. We can’t afford to run risks with you.”

Armitage laughed cheerfully as he climbed the road again, while the other two men made themselves as comfortable as possible on the uneasy divan of the inn. They had had time to fall asleep and wake with a start more than once before they heard him outside.

“I can see him in the distance!” he said breathlessly. “He is riding hard, and has only one man with him.”

They hurried out, and up the ridge. In the growing light the two straining figures below were clearly visible. Wylie scanned them closely.

“The servant has the luggage,” he said. “That’s all right. He’ll stay behind at the customs, while Christodoridi comes on here to see if his fresh horses are ready. He’ll want them.”

“Couldn’t ask for a better place than this for stopping him,” said Maurice. “I only hope he won’t make a fool of himself and take to shooting.”

“Two can play at that game,” said Wylie grimly, and they waited. It seemed a long time before the feet of a struggling horse were heard on the rocky road, and Romanos Christodoridi came in sight over the ridge.

“Might have walked that last bit,” growled Wylie in disgust, as the rider pulled up in surprise at the sight of the three men confronting him.

“Will you be good enough to dismount and step aside with us, Prince?” said Maurice. “There is a point I should be glad to settle with you before we join the ladies at the inn.”

“None of that!” said Wylie sharply, arresting the Greek’s arm as he raised his whip. It had a loaded handle, and his evident intention was to bring it down on Maurice’s head, and dash forward in the confusion. “Will you get off or be pulled off?”

“I bow to superior force,” said Prince Romanos, with an angry flush on his sallow cheek. “I suppose it did not strike you, Mr Teffany, that it would have been more in order if you had brought one of my friends here, instead of two of your own?”

“We are not going to fight a duel,” said Maurice.

“No? Only to murder me?” He threw his horse’s bridle to Wylie and dismounted. “You have chosen your ground well. It seems that I should have done better, after all, to listen to the warning of your tool, but you will admit that her method of detaining me was open to misconstruction.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Maurice. “Who tried to detain you? Who’s the tool? We have been expecting you for hours.”

Prince Romanos looked virtuously indignant. “Your ways are too deep for me, Mr Teffany. I am tricked, by means of my tenderest affections, into an interview which I discover is intended to prevent me from starting as I had intended. On that discovery I tear myself away—practically by force—ride headlong all night, and find you in ambush awaiting me. Proceed, sir; I confess you have succeeded in catching me unawares, but you need not hope to gain anything by this treachery.”

“Once for all,” said Maurice, “there has been no treachery—on our part, at any rate. We made no attempt to detain you.”

Prince Romanos bowed, obviously unconvinced. “The attempt was made, and it was clearly to your interest that it should succeed,” he said. “However, this argument is unprofitable. You are three to one; pray do your business.”

“You seem to have treachery on the brain,” said Maurice. “There is no question of violence of any kind. I asked you to come here that I might make a certain proposal to you.”

“Which you intend to compel me to accept? Continue, pray.”

“You are on your way to Emathia to throw in your lot with the insurgents; so are we. I imagine that, like myself, you are moved by the wretched condition of the country. If it had been properly governed, and the people contented, your claim, like mine, would have remained in abeyance. Therefore neither of us is fighting for his own hand, but in the hope of delivering Emathia. Do you agree?”

“Sir,” said Prince Romanos, “your sentiments are most admirable, and I—admire them.”

“Then,” said Maurice, rather impatiently, “what I propose is that for the present you and I should lay aside our opposing claims, and fight shoulder to shoulder. Since we are both in reality working for the good of Emathia, don’t let the mere look of things divide us. You know as well as I do that nothing would delight Scythia and Pannonia more than to see the friends of freedom fighting among themselves, so that they might point out how impossible it was to entrust them with the government. But if by sinking our differences we can keep our followers from quarrelling, we shall have gone a long way towards proving the fitness of the Emathians for liberty.”

“And for the rule of Prince Maurice the First? Really, Mr Teffany, I can hardly take it as a compliment that you appear to expect me to welcome this proposal.”

“You have not heard me to the end. I was going to suggest that when the Roumis are driven out, and peace achieved, we should submit our claims to the decision of the Emathian people, and abide by the result.”

Armitage and Wylie were scarcely less astonished this time than Prince Romanos, who was obviously thunder-struck. “I have offered to submit my claim to the arbitration of the Œcumenical Patriarch,” he said at last.

“And I have refused,” said Maurice shortly. “The only arbitration I will accept is that of a referendum or a plébiscite—whatever you like to call it—an appeal to the people most concerned.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall be under the painful necessity of asking Lord Armitage to keep you in safe custody on board his yacht. Now that there is at last a chance of freeing Emathia, it shall not be sacrificed to personal jealousies.”

“Then this is compulsion, after all?”

“Oh no. You shall be released in time to submit your claim to the Emathians. But it seems to me that what I have suggested gives you a better chance.”

“I have done you an injustice, Mr Teffany. Your methods are not so simple as I imagined.”

“I think it would be as well if you left off calling me Mr Teffany. To you, as to others, I am Prince Theophanis, if you please.”

“Ah, you would trick me into acknowledging your title?”

“Not at all. It is a mere matter of courtesy. I have made no attempt to deprive you of your rank.”

“Sir, my rank cannot be touched by you. My ancestors were Patricians of Venice.”

“Sir, mine were Emperors of the East. But this is all nonsense!” Maurice broke off impatiently. “The question at issue is your present conduct, not your ancestors’ nobility. I offer you a free hand, and as good a chance as my own of establishing your claim, on the sole condition that while we are in the field with the insurgents you make no attempt to raise a party against me, or to divide our forces. In fact, it is to be as if we were twin brothers, and there was a doubt which was the elder. We are to fight for our common heritage, and not for our own hand.”

Prince Romanos seemed to find some difficulty in answering. He walked two or three steps backwards and forwards, closely watched by Wylie, whose hand was in his pocket. Then he faced Maurice again.

“I am at a loss,” he said frankly. “My whole nature rises up against the compulsion you wish to exercise over me, Prince, and yet I find something noble in your theory. But you make a large demand in asking that I should place myself voluntarily in subordination to you.”

“I ask nothing of the kind. If the Emathians are wise, they will elect Colonel Wylie to supreme command, and I shall want nothing better than to serve under him. If they are not—why, I suppose we shall all command guerilla bands, and do the best we can with them.”

“And you are willing to swear that you will honourably withdraw from the contest if, when the fighting is over, the Emathians elect me?”

“I give you my word here and now, but I will swear if you like.”

“And if—if you should not see the end of the fighting?”

“If anything happens to me, you will have a walk-over, for neither the Powers nor the Emathians are likely to put a woman and a child upon the throne.”

“But you had better be very careful not to have anything to do with that happening,” broke in Wylie; “or you will not see the end of the fighting either.”

“These insinuations are highly offensive, Prince,” said the Greek, as Maurice turned angrily upon his follower.

“I simply stated a fact, sir,” said Wylie, in answer to the look. “If you choose to invite people to murder you, it is only fair they should know that you don’t stand alone.”

“And Prince Romanos accused you of wishing to murder him a few minutes ago, sir,” said Armitage. The Greek laughed.

“It seems we are quits, then. There is as much, or as little, intention to murder on one side as on the other. Prince Theophanis, I accept your terms, subject to a solemn ratification over the holy relics at Hagiamavra. But I should like to ask your sister a question before I throw in my lot with you. I cannot yet forget the way in which I was deceived last night.”

“I hope you don’t imply——” said Maurice quickly.

“I imply nothing, Prince. The simple word of my confrère Zeto will at once drive all doubt from my mind.”

Nothing more was to be got from him, and they walked down to the inn, where the servant who had accompanied Prince Romanos was awaiting him in considerable perplexity. Maurice sent the woman of the house to fetch Zoe, who came out presently, sleepy and dishevelled. Prince Romanos waved the three Englishmen out of earshot.

“If you are asked what my question was, Princess, you may say that I inquired your motive in laying that trap for me last night,” he said. “But I do not ask, for I know that the chance of furthering your brother’s schemes and at the same time punishing a faithless suitor must have been irresistible. What I want to know——”

“But I never laid a trap for you!” cried Zoe indignantly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He waved his hand indulgently. “We all disown our agents when they fail,” he said. “It is my misfortune that I have incurred—and doubtless deserved—the enmity of various ladies, and yours is not the first plot laid against me. But I recognise the difference. Zeto would draw the line between political extinction and murder. I put my life in your hands, Princess. Am I safe”—he spoke low and confidentially—“in accepting your brother’s proposal and throwing in my lot with him and his friends? I distrust the man with blue eyes.”

The extraordinary mixture of coxcombry, confidence, and suspicion in the man’s speech filled Zoe with mingled amusement and disgust. “You will be as safe from us as you would be on your own island—I am sorry to say!” she cried, with flaming eyes.

“Prince,” said Prince Romanos gravely, turning to Maurice, “your sister has reassured me with regard to the trap laid for me last night. I was already convinced, but I desired the formality of her assurance. Now I am yours. You may regard me from henceforth as your most trusted colleague.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Maurice with all seriousness. “Eirene,” turning to his wife, who had appeared in the doorway, “Prince Romanos Christodoridi and I have agreed to lay aside our differences, and fight only for the deliverance of Emathia. When that is accomplished, we shall invite the Emathians to choose between us, and elect as prince the one whom they consider best qualified.”

“Maurice! You have sacrificed——” began Eirene, but she broke off and went indoors, closing her lips tightly. Zoe found her presently walking up and down the narrow inner room where her boy was still sleeping, with her hands clenched and her head thrown back.

“I might have known!” she cried. “Maurice always manages to defeat me somehow. I ought to have taken Constantine and come away by myself, without warning him,—it is the only way. He would have been so anxious about us that he would have been willing to do anything. To surrender without being forced to it! To submit our sacred rights to the choice of the people!”

“I suppose he thinks that it will be better for the Emathians if they can agree upon a ruler rather than have one forced upon them,” said Zoe.

“The Emathians! what do they signify? It is a matter of right, of my boy’s rights! But I have not sworn. I am not bound, and nothing shall ever make me submit to this iniquitous arrangement.”

Remonstrance was useless, and Zoe, with a vivid memory of old times, held her tongue. They continued their journey after a hasty meal, Prince Romanos and his servant being added to the party. The two were born mountaineers, and their experience proved most useful in getting the horses over the precipitous tracks which here, in Roumi territory, represented the good Dardanian roads. A guide, secured by Armitage, took charge of them from the inn to Pentikosti, and explained matters to various truculent-looking groups of highlanders, who appeared at awkward points and seemed quite capable of making themselves unpleasant. Thus, though exciting enough, the journey stopped short of providing actual adventure, and in the evening they rode down into Pentikosti, and found Armitage’s yacht, with her fires banked, awaiting them in the rude little harbour. A further distribution of palm-oil among the Roumi notables who came to do honour to Armitage secured a promise that in the minds of these worthy men the arrival of the strangers should be as though it had not been, and before nightfall the yacht had taken her passengers on board and was steaming down the coast.

The next morning the passengers presented rather a curious appearance, for Armitage, after a talk with his captain, had ransacked his yachting wardrobe and practically forced the other men to don his clothes. Prince Romanos looked like a masquerading pirate, and Wylie, so the rest told him, like a horse-marine; but the incongruity of riding-clothes on shipboard was sufficiently obvious, even without Armitage’s evident anxiety. Zoe and Eirene, entreated with becoming diffidence to make themselves look as “frilly” as they could, complied as far as the severe limitations of their campaigning luggage would allow, and wondered what was the use of trying to deceive the crew, who must know when and where, and probably also why, they had really come on board.

It was not until after two days and nights of continuous steaming that the true reason for the precaution became apparent. The yacht’s head was turned northwards again, and Armitage was up and down and everywhere, in a perfect fever of excitement, driving Captain Waters, whose attention was sufficiently demanded by the intricacy of the navigation, to the verge of frenzy. Suddenly he calmed down, and appeared among the rest with a look of pale determination, for which there seemed no particular reason.

“Man-of-war going to board us,” he explained to the ladies. “Just go on with what you are doing, please, as if there was nothing the matter. Don’t be frightened.”

“Why should we be frightened?” asked Zoe, astonished, but Eirene’s eyes were anxious. Together they moved to the rail, where Wylie was holding up little Constantine to look at the low, thick, two-funnelled vessel which was rushing swiftly towards them. The child shrieked with delight as the destroyer circled round and came to a halt, while a boat put off from its grey side. A pleasant English-speaking officer mounted the yacht’s ladder, and looked in astonishment at the group before him. He made himself very agreeable to Mrs and Miss Smith, the ladies to whom he was presented, and asked the necessary inquisitorial questions as politely as possible, accepting as altogether natural the avowed intention of Armitage to run into Therma and see what was really going on there. But he had a word to add as he took his leave.

“I see you have zat Apolis on board,” he said to Armitage. “You know he is incendiary, revolutionist? I have heard him talk in Paris.”

“He doesn’t talk in that way here,” said Armitage. “Perhaps he knows better.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “He is dangerous man. Why is he here, if not to join those fools of insurgents on the mainland?”

“I really can’t tell you,—unless because I asked him.”

“I sink I should do my duty in arresting him.”

“I think not. On board a British ship, in the waters of another nation? Hardly.”

“We are on patrol duty here.”

“But no blockade has been declared. No, really, I couldn’t allow it.” The officer looked from the boyish speaker and the dainty yacht to the frowning dark vessel a little way off, and smiled, only just perceptibly. “But look here,” Armitage went on, “I can’t answer for what’s in his mind, but I can promise that he shan’t go on shore unless I do. How’s that?”

“Zat is ol-right, if you will remember ze ladies, and not run into peril. You listen my advice, and make your cruise in less troubled waters, is it not so? But no, where zere is disturbance, zere also is a mad Englishman and his yacht. Well, beware of ze Roumis.”

“Thanks. We certainly will,” said Armitage.

“This is not the first time we have been thankful to adopt the aristocratic and high-sounding name of Smith,” said Zoe to Wylie, as they watched the friendly foreigner returning to his own vessel.

“Our trip would certainly have ended here if that fellow had guessed who you really were,” he replied. “It’s not going to be all smooth sailing, you see. Haven’t you done enough for honour now? Why not let us put into Korona and land you?”

“Because—you don’t seem to have seen it, but I did—if we had not been on board, the officer would have turned the yacht back, and your trip would have ended too. We are not altogether useless, you perceive!”

CHAPTER VIII.
A PORT OF REFUGE.

“That was a narrow squeak this morning,” said Armitage to Maurice, as they stood watching for the first sight of the heights of Hagiamavra in the evening.

“Why particularly? That fellow had no authority to turn us back, as there isn’t a blockade, and we could probably have dodged him in the night if he had tried it.”

“It’s not that. It’s what we have on board. If he had insisted on searching us!”

“Why, are you gun-running?” asked Maurice in surprise.

Armitage was surprised too. “Well, rifles and cartridges and a couple of machine-guns are rather an unusual cargo for a yacht, aren’t they?”

Maurice understood. “Ah, another of my wife’s little speculations?” he said, trying to keep out of his voice the bitterness he felt.

“Yes, and that’s given us an idea for getting them on shore. I’ve been talking it over with Waters, who’s an awfully knowing chap, and he told me the same thing had been puzzling him. You see, the risk is not all over when we have them and ourselves landed at Skandalo. Your precious subjects-that-are-to-be are quite capable of annexing the arms and kicking you out. What you want is to secure a defensive position in the middle of them before they realise what you’ve got. Wylie quite agrees with me.”

“The prospect is certainly a pleasant one,” said Maurice indifferently. Few people realised—his wife least of all—the disgust with which he was filled by the necessity of constantly putting himself forward, of forcing his claims upon an unwilling, or at best uninterested, people.

“The place for you is the Hagiamavra Monastery,” went on Armitage eagerly,—“in the heart of the insurgents’ position, defensible against any unsupported rush. It’s a good way from the sea, that’s the worst of it, and the paths through the hills are simply beastly; but once up there, there you are. If you stayed down at Skandalo, you’d always be exposed to attack from the sea, either a bombardment or a Roumi landing. At the monastery—well, I suppose the Dreadnought’s guns could touch you, but nothing else that floats, and no Roumi force is likely to be able to force its way up in the face of opposition.”

“And what about provisions?”

“I can leave you a fair store, and then I’ll go off and forage. I think I can do better for you in that way than if I landed with part of the crew to help in the fighting. They were not engaged for war-service, you see, but anything like running a blockade will delight them.”

“I see.” Maurice saw more than Armitage intended, and guessed why he had given up his former plan of attaching himself through thick and thin to the party that included Zoe, but he did not say so. “I suppose you realise that you’re more than likely to lose the yacht?” he asked.

“Meaning that the Powers will sink her? Let ’em. She may as well leave her bones here as at the North Pole, though I hope she won’t do it till you’re well supplied. But about these guns and things. Waters has hit on an awfully neat dodge, and made use of it to keep the men from getting rusty while he was hanging about off Pentikosti. He has had canvas covers made for all the cases, with red braid on them—like the things you see old ladies with on their travels, you know—and initials stencilled on the tops,—most swagger luggage you ever saw. He’ll pad them up a little with waste, to disguise the shape and the sharp corners, and we’ll get them landed and up to the monastery as the ladies’ boxes.”

“Awfully neat!” said Maurice, laughing in spite of himself. “But what about the weight? And the case of a machine-gun must be a fair size, I should imagine.”

“Oh, don’t you know those things as big as a house, that some women lug about their ball-dresses in—all standing, so to speak? It can’t be bigger than that. And as to the weight—oh, we’ll stuff the insurgents about Byzantine robes, stiff with gold and jewels, and all that sort of thing, you know. They’ll take it as an awful compliment that the Princesses should have come prepared to hold a court.”

Maurice was hardly convinced, but Armitage was so fully persuaded of the feasibility of his plan that he offered no further objection. The yacht anchored off Skandalo that night, jealously scrutinised by fishing-boats, which drifted out of the darkness into the circle of her lights, asked a question or two, and faded into nothingness again, and with earliest daylight Armitage and Captain Waters went on shore to make judicious inquiries, lest the Roumis might, with unwonted energy, have occupied the little town. When they came off again, they brought with them one of the insurgent leaders, no other than Dr Afanasi Terminoff, who was exercising authority at Skandalo in the name of the Emathian Revolutionary Committee, the Roumi inhabitants having wisely effaced themselves on the invasion of the peninsula by a mixed multitude of patriots and refugees from Therma. It appeared that Professor Panagiotis had, as Armitage said, played up nobly. He had not been informed of the flight from Bashi Konak save by a note left to be delivered to him on the following morning, but on receiving it he had promptly waited upon the Prince of Dardania to inform him that Prince Theophanis and all his party had been laid low in the night with influenza, and would be unable to leave their rooms for some days. At the same time he had communicated with the insurgent headquarters,—by the historic method of fire-signals, Zoe suggested, but more probably by mere prosaic messages carried overland by returning delegates. The really ardent among these men had been stealing away from Bashi Konak one by one since the first news of the massacres at Therma, more anxious to take part in any fighting there might be than to consume additional time in theoretical negotiations, and their news travelled before them in some mysterious way.

The arrival of Prince Theophanis was expected, and Dr Terminoff had had time to prepare information and advice, with both of which he was overflowing. The state of things was not altogether propitious. The Hagiamavra peninsula was now affording standing-ground—accommodation it could hardly be called—for quite three times its ordinary population, even allowing for the expatriated Moslems. A certain proportion of the newcomers consisted of stalwart members of revolutionary bands from all parts of Emathia, who had obeyed the summons to concentrate for a great struggle, but the rest were a heterogeneous mob from Therma, among them a large number of men whose enthusiasm for freedom was of a wildly anarchistic character. These refugees were not amenable even to such limited authority as was possessed by the captains of bands over their followers, and led by any plausible talker among themselves who could gain their ear, they raided the houses and farms of the inhabitants in search of provisions, establishing a worse than Roumi tyranny in the peninsula. Some central authority, with sufficient power at its command to enforce its orders, was urgently needed, and it was equally necessary to devise some means of feeding not only the fighting men, but the troops of helpless women and children who had sought safety with them. Maurice and Wylie, as they listened, perceived that the task before them was much larger than they had anticipated, since it had not occurred to their minds that they would be called upon to combine the functions of a relief agency with those of a military dictatorship. To do this from a precarious foothold on the coast was obviously impossible, but Dr Terminoff was as anxious as Armitage to establish the whole party safely at the monastery. Besides the predatory hordes from Therma, who were spread over the lower hills immediately behind the town, there were the insurgent bands, hardly less truculent though better disciplined, occupying the heights in the interior, and only too likely to welcome an opportunity of returning to their wonted avocation of brigandage. Moreover, since the delegates who had accepted Maurice’s leadership at Bashi Konak had not had time to explain their action to their supporters, a strong republican spirit was prevalent, and might manifest itself in disagreeable ways.

In the face of a complicated emergency of this kind, Maurice was at his best. Prompt action was urgently necessary, not only in order to circumvent possible objectors, but that the yacht might unload her cargo and depart before the news of her presence could be carried to any of the European warships in these waters. Dr Terminoff was sent on shore again to requisition every available mule for the transport of the party and their “luggage,” and summon as many members of his own band as could be readily assembled to act as escort. Wylie accompanied him, with the idea of gaining an insight into the conditions prevailing on shore; while the important cases were being got up from the hold and enclosed in their innocent-seeming wrappers, and Armitage and his stewards despoiled the cabins of mattresses, cushions, carpets, and whatever else could add to the comfort of the ladies. Captain Waters proved himself a tower of strength when it came to improvising means of getting the cases transferred from the deck along the ruined stone pier which showed that Skandalo had once known more prosperous days, and Wylie, as transport officer without subordinates, exhibited a knowledge of the idiosyncrasies of the Hagiamavran mule, and the best way of combating them, which was clearly the fruit of long and bitter experience in like circumstances. By the captain’s advice, the load was reduced by breaking open one case of rifles and one of cartridges, and distributing the contents among fifteen men of the yacht’s crew, who were to act as an additional escort under command of Armitage. By dint of herculean efforts, all the packs were adjusted by noon, Zoe and Eirene were mounted on improvised saddles on the quietest mules, Wylie appointed the bodyguard their stations, and the long line trickled through the narrow streets of the little town and up the hills behind.

A curious throng watched them from roofs and alleys, with much speculation, but with a notable and natural absence of enthusiasm. The inhabitants of the peninsula could hardly be expected to welcome the choice of their neighbourhood as the theatre of great events, however proud they might be in the distant future that it had been the scene of the freeing of Emathia. These newcomers looked as if they might be more profitable guests than the Therma refugees, but the fact that they were seeking quarters at once in the mountains, instead of demanding the best accommodation the town could produce, showed that there was something not quite right about them, and the haggard man with the blue eyes who regulated their march looked capable of making himself very unpleasant to honest people who only wished to lead a quiet life and decorate the caps of their daughters with as fine a show of piastres as possible.

The many-coloured crowd and the white houses once left behind, the track led up the hillside, covered with short grass, where the sweet-scented shrubs which should have clothed it had been rooted up for fuel. At the top of the ridge Zoe turned to take a last look at the yacht, the one remaining link with civilisation, but she was speedily taught that this was no moment for the indulgence of sentiment. In the hollow below the ridge a number of the Therma refugees were encamped, in holes grubbed out of the hillside or in wretched shelters made with blankets, and when the strangers came in sight there was a rush of ragged, half-starved creatures clamouring with piteous voices and outstretched hands. Mothers held up their wizened babies, old men exhibited roughly bandaged wounds, but even more terrible was the sight of those who had lost either the desire or the power to beg, and sat stolid in the apathy of helplessness. Eirene and Zoe emptied their purses and the lunch-basket, and entreated that the provisions which were being carried up to the monastery might be distributed here instead, but Wylie was adamant. The able-bodied men belonging to this party of refugees had been set to work improving the pier by Dr Terminoff, and would earn enough to keep their dependants for a day or two. After that he hoped it would be possible to make organised arrangements for relief, but it would be mere foolishness to sacrifice, on an impulse of pity, what might be of inestimable value to the Emathian cause in the future. Zoe relieved her feelings by abusing his hardness to Eirene as she rode on, but Eirene did not answer. Holding her boy closely to her, she was haunted, as with a foreboding of evil, by the thought that this misery was, in part at least, due to her ambition for him.

The uplands beyond the hollow were almost solitary, save for an occasional goatherd. Once Wylie left the rest to examine a deserted village, which had been inhabited hitherto, it seemed, by the vanished Moslems. Now the houses were roofless, the gardens destroyed, and the fruit-trees cut down, so that the hope he had entertained of settling some of the refugees there could not be fulfilled at present. He and Maurice were continually in converse on the many questions pressing for immediate solution, calling up now Armitage and now Dr Terminoff for consultation, and leaving to Prince Romanos the duty of attending on the ladies, which he performed with a very good grace.

“I am no student of social problems, I confess it,” he said airily. “I came here to fight, and fight I will as long as I can hold a sword, but place me face to face with that crowd of miserable objects back there, and what can I do but empty my purse and hurry away, covering ears and eyes?”

“But if you were responsible for them as their prince?” suggested Zoe.

He shrugged his shoulders. “My heart would perhaps grow harder, Princess. Certainly my purse would soon be exhausted. I fear I should take refuge in the philosophy of our Roumi friends, and find comfort in repeating that all was Kismet.”

“That would be very consoling to your poor people,” said Zoe.

He accepted the rebuke with surprising meekness. “Indeed, Princess, in my view the ideal government for Emathia would be a triumvirate composed of your brother, Colonel Wylie, and myself; but how could I say so publicly without seeming to undervalue my rights?”

“You to do the ornamental part, Maurice the practical, and Colonel Wylie the military and police?” said Zoe cruelly. “It would save Maurice a good deal of trouble—but then, you see, we don’t allow that you have any rights at all.”

“Naturally, Princess,” was all he could be induced to say, with his usual shrug.

The character of the scenery was now changing, the grassy downs being left behind for wilder and loftier hills. Sometimes a glimpse could be caught of the monastery itself, far above and beyond, like the Celestial City in old illustrations to the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ its tiled roofs clinging to the sides of a great rift in the rock, and then again it would be hidden by the intervening crags. This broken country was the chosen haunt of the bands from the mainland, whom it reminded of their own hills, and challenges rang from the rocky heights, to be answered with anxious explanations by Dr Terminoff, who did all he could to magnify the importance of the new recruits to the cause without revealing either their identity or the nature of the contribution they brought for the war-chest. His guarded answers excited much interest, and a gradually increasing crowd of insurgents attached itself to the travellers, betraying an unconcealed desire to know the contents of the luggage, which seemed so much heavier than it looked. This was the moment Wylie had feared, and the sailors and Dr Terminoff’s men were placed as a screen at the head and tail of the cavalcade. The sides could not be protected, nor was it indeed necessary, since the path was only wide enough for a mule and its driver. “It’s a blessing they haven’t had time to arrange an ambuscade with stones, or they would have cut the column in two,” said Wylie; “but I think we have taken them by surprise.”

As the long procession approached the monastery, an obvious excitement began to make itself felt among the hangers-on, a certain number of whom detached themselves and ran on to the gate, where they demanded entrance with much banging and many shouts. No response, however, came from within, and the self-appointed couriers rushed back with fervid zeal to complain that the never-to-be-sufficiently-execrated Patriarchist monks refused admission to the noble English visitors. With generous indignation the surrounding mob demanded that Wylie should lead them to force an entrance, and it was clear that between the monks and the mainlanders there existed a grudge as old as the latter’s first encampment on the hills ten days ago, when they had been excluded, as schismatics, from the sacred precincts. Such a revival of the feud between the Greek and Slav elements of Emathian society promised badly for the success of Maurice’s mission of unity, and he and Armitage went forward to call a parley, while Wylie prepared for action if necessary. For some time the frowning front of the monastery appeared utterly unresponsive to all the knocking and shouting that besieged it, but at length a high black cap and a venerable beard appeared on the top of the gateway, and a conversation ensued. Presently Maurice came back and summoned Wylie.

“They won’t let us in, because the Roumi Government has always treated them fairly well, and they are afraid what may happen when we come to smash,” he said.

“They must let us in,” said Wylie. “Otherwise we shall come to smash in less than ten minutes. We must break the gate down.”

“Then our Emathian friends will simply swarm in and loot the place. We shall be as badly off for accommodation as ever, and have to bear the everlasting stigma of having plundered an Orthodox monastery.”

“Oh, we must fake it somehow. Tell your venerable friend that we will save his face by technically forcing an entrance. Fifteen sailors with rifles which half of them can’t use look imposing enough to justify any man of peace in opening his door to them if they threaten to fire. Of course you will add that if this is not inducement enough we will let the Emathians loose on them, and then they need have no further anxiety about the Roumis.”

“All right. Get the mules as close up to the gate as possible, and let the sailors be ready to turn their rifles against the Emathians once it’s opened.”

“Your brother’s welcome from his subjects is even embarrassing in its warmth,” remarked Prince Romanos to Zoe, with a fine air of detachment.

“Oh, the monastery has seen many leaders of revolts,” replied Zoe airily. “How should the poor old monks know that Maurice is the leader of a revolution?”

“Ladies nearest the gate,” said Wylie’s voice. “Cartridges and machine-guns next, then the rifles. Terminoff, are your men to be trusted if one or two of them get inside?”

“If your sailors are there too,” was the not very encouraging reply.

Maurice turned and waved his hand. The sailors, instructed by Wylie in a stage whisper how to hold their rifles, were summoned to the front, and produced an awe-inspiring click at the word of command. Very slowly and heavily one of the gates creaked open, leaving just room for the passage of one mule at a time. At a word from Wylie, Prince Romanos took the bridle of Eirene’s mule and led it in, and Zoe’s followed, while the sailors turned to face the crowd instead of the gate. One by one the mules were dragged in, Maurice and Prince Romanos opening the second leaf of the door by main force to allow of the entrance of the cases, while Armitage and Wylie, last of all, facing outwards, kept back the mob that surged behind. The last and most obstreperous mule disappeared with a final flourish of heels, the double row of sailors on either side of the gate drew together and vanished two by two, and Wylie and Armitage retreated slowly backwards, each with a hand in his pocket, the crowd pressing round, but leaving a clear space in front of them. Armitage tripped over the threshold, but was dragged in, head first, by Maurice, and the sailors closed half the door while Wylie stood on guard. Then he also slipped within, and the remaining leaf was slammed and barred, while a howl of disappointment went up from the mob outside. Wylie smiled ironically.

“Before I do anything else,” he said, “I’ll put those machine-guns together, and mount one on the top of the gate, and the other just here to command it. They seem needed to save us from our friends.”

CHAPTER IX.
ARTS OF PEACE.

The expedition had reached port, but this was all that could be said. The quiet fore-court of the monastery was filled with kicking mules, vociferating drivers, and curious sailors, while two or three agitated monks bewailed the invasion with uplifted hands. The strangers had brought women within the sacred gates, and were further polluting the precincts with the presence of schismatics and of weapons of war. The glory of Hagiamavra had departed, for the stain could never be removed. Leaving Wylie to arrange measures of defence, Maurice set himself to soothe the feelings of the distracted hosts. A little diplomacy induced them to confess that the monastery had on one former occasion in its history given shelter to the abhorred sex, in the shape of a number of women and children from Skandalo seeking refuge on account of the visit of a Roumi fleet, but then these suppliants had asked no more than to crouch on the bare stones of the courtyard. However, in answer to a tactful question or two, the Hegoumenos, or Abbot, owned that the number of monks was now so much reduced as to occupy only the innermost cells, those which clustered round the church, in the narrowest part of the rift, thus leaving the buildings near the gateway free for the accommodation of the visitors. A promise from Maurice that the ladies would make no attempt to penetrate farther than the fore-court contributed still more to smooth matters, and the Hegoumenos volunteered to send a couple of lay brethren to sweep out the rooms and to provide firewood.

Returning to the rest, Maurice found that Wylie had got one of the guns unpacked and set up to protect the entrance, but was in doubt whether to carry out the rest of his plan and mount the other upon the gateway itself. The idea was opposed vehemently by Dr Terminoff, who urged that since the monastery had so fortunately been reached without the shedding of a drop of blood, there was every hope of coming to a happy understanding with the insurgents, but that this would be grievously imperilled by any show of distrust. At his earnest request Maurice allowed the insurgent leader to go up to the gateway and address the crowd outside, which he did with much effect. A marked and somewhat awestruck silence succeeded the din which had hitherto prevailed, and the various chiefs who were present requested Dr Terminoff to convey their assurances of friendship to the English visitors. As he descended from the gateway, the English visitors seized upon him.

“What was that you told them about Roumi troops being on their way here?” demanded Maurice.

“It is quite true. Five battalions are already embarked, we understand, and others are on the point of departure.”

“But how have you heard it up here?” cried Wylie.

“Oh, I heard it at Skandalo. A messenger from Therma—one of the men who work for Professor Panagiotis—came in this morning.”

“And why in the world didn’t you tell us at once?”

“Because I thought you would go away in your ship without landing if I did,” was the ingenuous reply.

“Oh, look here!” cried Armitage indignantly, “this is a little too much! We must get the ladies back to the yacht as soon as possible—to-night, if they are not too tired.”

“Why?” asked Maurice. “You surely didn’t think the Roumis would not send troops? We have known all along that we should probably have to face them. You can do much more good by bringing up supplies, Armitage, as we arranged.”

“But I can’t take my men away, and leave you and the ladies at the mercy of these fellows outside. The Roumis couldn’t be worse.”

“These men are Christians—patriots,” said Dr Terminoff with indignation. “In their holy war they welcome the aid of Prince Theophanis and his friends. To-morrow, in full assembly, the conditions of alliance will be settled, and the defence of the peninsula will be entrusted to the illustrious Colonel Wylie. Our patriots are brave as lions, but they know little of discipline, and just now there was no time to enter into explanations. But having heard the truth, they will freely allow the passage of the Milordo and his men.”

“I’m not afraid of that!” cried Armitage, flushing angrily. “It is that I don’t think the Prince and his family are safe.”

“Sir, you throw doubts on the patriots of Emathia?” Dr Terminoff was bristling with rage, but Wylie interposed.

“He doesn’t know them as we do, and their behaviour this afternoon has been calculated to prejudice a stranger rather unfavourably. Leave the ladies to us, Armitage, and ransack the Mediterranean for supplies and ammunition. Not rifles,—we have enough for the men who have none,—but cartridges to fit our Mausers, in packages small enough to be carried by one man. With anything like an adequate supply, we might hold that country we passed through to-day for months. You had better arrange for a further consignment to be sent out from England to meet you at some safe place, but just now you must pick up what you can get, and hurry back before the Roumis appear.”

“But they may be here to-morrow!” cried Armitage.

“Not they. Roumi troops are not kept ready for service at a moment’s notice, and transports are not to be had for nothing. The five battalions are probably in the first agonies of mobilising at this moment, and the Jews of Czarigrad are chartering all the condemned tramps they can hear of to carry them, so you will just have time to make a foraging trip and get back. And by the bye, if the Princess will let you make use of her letters of credit, bring us a good supply of small change,—any currency will do. We don’t want to have to add a mint to the other activities before us, and our New Model army will require to be paid.”

Taken aback, alike by the nature of Wylie’s calculations and their ultra-practical character, Armitage allowed himself to be dismissed with his sailors after a hasty meal. They were mounted on the Skandalo mules, and escorted in triumphal procession by the repentant insurgents outside, who were now only anxious to embrace the men for whose blood they had previously been thirsting. A code of signals had been arranged, by means of which Armitage, on sighting a precipitous headland not far from Skandalo, might know whether it was safe for the yacht to approach the land, and where she was to disembark her stores.

The accommodation provided by the monastery was not luxurious, though the steward of the yacht had done what he could to make the bare cells, hollowed out in the rock and opening in front into wooden galleries, habitable. He had been left at Hagiamavra to act as cook, since the Greek retainer of Prince Romanos, who would not make himself useful for any one but his master, was the only servant with the party. Dr Terminoff chose out six members of his band, guaranteed to be trustworthy, to serve as guards, and they camped round a fire in the fore-court. At the head of the shallow steps leading to the lowest gallery, from which all the others were approached, Wylie had built up the cases of arms into a breastwork, on which he mounted the machine-gun he had unpacked, not caring to leave it exposed to the active curiosity of the guards in the court. Thus the position was as safe as it was possible to make it, and the adventurers talked and laughed round the inadequate brazier provided for their comfort, with a determination not to let things flag which suggested inevitably a certain amount of effort. Their reception at Hagiamavra had not been quite what they expected, but they were resolved to make the best of things.

With the morning came the necessity of meeting the insurgent chiefs in full assembly, as Dr Terminoff had promised, and it was an assembly that lasted for three days. Wylie excused himself after the first morning, for the assembly appeared to be possessed of unlimited powers of talk, and to be determined to exercise them. It seemed to be the custom that every man should have the opportunity of addressing his fellows if he desired it, and there were few sufficiently merciful or retiring to waive the privilege. Hour after hour Maurice and Prince Romanos sat side by side listening to the flow of like sentiments delivered in different dialects and with varying gestures by the highlanders from the mainland, the cosmopolitan refugees from Therma, and the Greek fishermen and artisans from the coast districts. The speeches all began in the same way, with a declaration of the speaker’s theoretical preference for a republic on the American—Wylie unkindly suggested the South American—model, but nearly all of them came to the lame conclusion that in view of the dislike felt by some of the Powers for republican institutions, and the benefits certain to be conferred upon the cause by the adhesion to it of the Theophanis family, it would be well to recognise their pretensions. The returning delegates from Bashi Konak had now had time to make their influence felt, and the imminent peril of a Roumi invasion in force inclined Greek and Slav for once to lay aside their differences and agree to postpone the actual choice of a Prince until the danger was over. In the presence of the assembly, Maurice swore on the head of his little son, and Prince Romanos on the sacred relics, brought with great pomp and precaution from the monastery, to fight side by side as brothers-in-arms, and submit their respective claims to the judgment of the Emathian people when success should have brought peace. Upon this the gathering resolved, only a few austere republicans dissenting, to change its name from the Revolutionary to the Constitutional Assembly, and an intimation of the fact, together with the information that Emathia had determined to choose a ruler from among the descendants of the Theophanis Emperors, was sent to Professor Panagiotis for dissemination by the usual channels.

While Maurice was thus establishing his position by patient endurance of dilatory declamation, Wylie was hard at work. At his request Dr Terminoff picked out for him each day twenty men from among the most intelligent and adaptable of the insurgents, and they accompanied him in a survey of the coasts of the peninsula. They found that their new leader (Glaukos, or Glafko, was the name they gave him among themselves) had an eye for country as good as their own, and a conception of military tactics which went far beyond their crude idea of firing from ambush until their retreat was seriously threatened, and then retiring with all speed to take up a new position to the rear. The few precarious landing-places which broke the line of the precipitous cliffs were noted, and the fishermen living near them enrolled as scouts, while a ledge of rock here, and a sheltered hollow there, were marked as the site of rough fortifications from which the port might be defended. There was much interest as to Wylie’s plans for defending the narrow isthmus which united the peninsula with the mainland, and considerable disappointment, and even murmurs of treachery, when he refused to requisition the services of the inhabitants en masse for the purpose of digging a ditch and erecting a rampart across it. He took no notice of the grumbling, but when, after much consultation among themselves, a deputation of his followers inquired the reason for his inaction, he pointed out to them that nothing better could be desired than that the Roumis should attack Hagiamavra by land. The broken ground of the interior continued as far as the isthmus, which was not traversed by any road, and an army making its way painfully into the hills would be subject to perpetual attacks from an active enemy well posted and knowing the country. Since the insurgents were so much in love with digging, he promised them plenty of it in making shelter-trenches, but if they wanted to help in something really large and important, he could only advise them to offer their services in making the strong earthwork above Skandalo, which had been undertaken by Dr Terminoff partly in response to the demands of the inhabitants, and partly to provide relief employment for the refugees. In the face of ships’ guns it would be untenable, and only draw destruction upon the place, but the townspeople were loud in demanding protection, and a landing in boats might be prevented by rifle-fire from its shelter.

While Wylie was regaining his own health in the hard open-air life, and attaching to himself the men whom he destined as the nucleus of a disciplined force, Zoe and Eirene had found work of their own. Time threatened at first to hang heavy on their hands, for they were forbidden to move about inside the monastery, or to go outside it without an escort, which every one was too busy to supply. But on the second morning, to Zoe’s astonishment, Eirene broke in upon her in her impulsive way.

“Zoe, I want to do something for those poor wretched women—the people from Therma. Maurice has arranged that those who can work shall be fed, but some of them were ill, and there are the babies. I can’t bear to think of them with no proper shelter.”

Zoe had been assuring herself that if she proposed doing anything for the refugees, Eirene would throw cold water on the suggestion, and she assented with surprise and some remorse. The guards, who were grumbling at their enforced detention in the courtyard, remote alike from the deliberations of the Assembly and from Wylie’s explorations, were despatched to find mules, and welcomed the break in the monotony of their lot. The reception at the refugee camp, after the toilsome journey necessary to reach it, was not equally encouraging. The women seemed to have only one idea of bettering their condition, and that was by begging, and the most strenuous efforts, enforced by personal example, were needed to induce them to set to work. Zoe, longing in vain for her invaluable maid, Linton of the strong arm and caustic tongue, felt herself shamed by Eirene, who seemed to find no work too hard, no task too degrading. Only Eirene herself knew that she was undertaking the care of these people as in some sort an expiation. Their present plight was largely due to her; what if the punishment should fall on the dearly loved boy for whose future she planned and plotted night and day? If any humiliation or exertion of hers could turn away the danger from him, it should not be wanting. Thus she and Zoe toiled to induce the women to improve their temporary habitations, and make at least an effort to keep them clean, and to separate the fever-stricken from the rest, gathering them into a makeshift hospital. Some people might think, said Zoe, after various trying experiences with some of the more active elderly women who had been chosen as nurses, that philanthropic work among Emathian refugees was romantic; whereas workhouse nursing at home was instinct with romance in comparison. The medical officer would naturally have been Dr Terminoff, but he was already fully occupied with his duties as a leader of revolt. However, since his liege ladies gave him no peace, and he was anxious to impress upon his followers the necessity of deference to Maurice and his family, he unearthed two medical students who had run away from their studies at Bellaviste to join one of the bands, and appointed them to hospital posts. Their consent was not asked, and they proved, unfortunately, to be the only two men in the peninsula who positively yearned for drill, so that they were invariably missing whenever Wylie was working at the raw material of his army.

Notwithstanding all the drawbacks, Armitage found a distinct improvement in the condition of the insurgent forces when he returned at the end of a fortnight. By dint of a lavish expenditure of money, he had got together a good cargo of provisions, but no efforts seemed effectual in securing satisfactory ammunition. At one port, where he thought he had the promise of a large quantity of cartridges, it proved necessary to get the cases on board in tremendous haste owing to the suspicions of the harbour authorities and an alarm as to the arrival of a British warship, and on being opened they turned out to be largely filled with scrap-metal, while such cartridges as they did contain were of all sorts and kinds. He brought good news, however, in the positive assurance that, owing to the representations of the Powers at Czarigrad, the projected despatch of Roumi troops had been abandoned. The massacres at Therma had touched the conscience of Europe—or perhaps, as Wylie said, the devastation of so important a commercial centre had touched its pocket; in any case, the Roumis were not to have a free hand in Hagiamavra. Such troops as Jalal-ud-din Pasha already possessed in and around Therma he might employ against the insurgents, but they were not to be swept out of existence by overwhelming force.

The news produced a profound impression upon the insurgents, who came by bands solemnly to congratulate Maurice, and thank him for his efforts in their cause. Not until an indiscreet remark of Dr Terminoff let the cat out of the bag did he and Armitage understand why he was supposed to be responsible for the action of the Powers.

“You know, and I know,” said the Emathian, “that you had nothing to do with the Czarigrad negotiations, since the Powers are not even aware of your presence here, so well has Professor Panagiotis manipulated the press. But it is very well for the people to believe that this success is due to you.”

“I don’t want them to believe anything that isn’t true,” said Maurice. “What are you hinting at?”

“The Professor has only allowed it to become known that the Assembly has addressed a hearty request to any prince of the house of Theophanis to place himself at their head, and achieve the deliverance of Emathia,” was the reply. “This the reactionary Powers fear above all things, and therefore they will not allow Roum to attempt to crush the Emathians, lest Western sympathy should be roused and autonomy demanded for them. The Powers will act in concert, wasting time and effecting nothing, but prolonging the present state of affairs until Scythia and Pannonia are ready for action. Then the wretched troublesome country will be gladly handed over to them.”

“You mean that though the Roumis are forbidden to crush us, the Powers will do it for them?” said Armitage.

Dr Terminoff nodded. “Yes, and that is why it is well for the Prince that the people should believe the Powers are acting in his support. Nilischeff and the anti-dynastic party are hiding their heads at present, but if they knew that the Prince would be disowned by the country of his birth, they would urge that his presence here was merely a danger to the cause, and he ought to be given up.”

“Cheerful prospect for the immediate future!” said Maurice. “Wylie would hardly let those fellows of his make the row they are doing if he knew how mistaken their rejoicing was.”

With dramatic propriety Wylie appeared at the moment from the direction of the extemporised drill-ground.

“More news!” he said. “One of my fishermen scouts brought it, and thought fit to announce it to the whole army as well as to me. Last night he spoke a Therma boat which told him that several ironclads were leaving this morning for these waters, and by the description it must be a division of the British Mediterranean Fleet. My beauties down there are mad with joy, anticipating a triumphal procession to Therma, and Jalal-ud-din’s head on a charger.”

“We must make them understand that the fleet is much more likely to act against us than with us,” said Maurice.

“You cannot, sir,” said Dr Terminoff. “They would only ascribe your denials to diplomacy. Many years of disappointment have not been able to destroy their confidence in the goodwill of England, and they believe that she has just given a superlative proof of it at Czarigrad. Only the personal assurance of the British Admiral will convince them.”

“Backed by a shell or two, I suppose?” said Maurice. “Well, Armitage, it’s very clear that you must be off at once. It isn’t only that you mustn’t be caught at Skandalo, but we don’t want to give them a chance to recognise the yacht if they meet her again.”

“The ironclads will have to lie about a mile out,” said Armitage reflectively. “We must hug the shore to the southward and slip round them. There will just be time.”

“And when you come back,” said Maurice, “bring provisions, whatever you have to leave behind. We find that the Skandalo people have been turning an honest penny by shipping all their spare supplies to Therma, where prices are enormous, of course, while we have been at our wits’ end to feed our refugees. We shall have to establish an embargo if it goes on, for it’s almost certain that news leaks out as well; but it would be horribly difficult to enforce, and make a fearful amount of ill-feeling.”

“Our recruits are not a success as police,” explained Wylie, as they returned to the monastery. “They are most zealous in hunting evil-doers, but then I have to hunt the police. Just wait till I get my Sikhs, though!”

“I say, you know,” said Armitage, “you fellows have really done a lot in this short time. You’ve got the beginnings of an army, and public works, and a judicial system, and you’re contemplating tariff reform!”

“Until the British fleet comes and blows the peninsula out of the water,” said Maurice. “Well, I never expected to fight against the Union Jack, nor did you, Wylie, I’m sure,—but we mean to stick to this job unless we’re turned out. To have got Greeks and Slavs to drill shoulder to shoulder is a bigger thing than it looks.”

CHAPTER X.
THE INTERVENTION OF THE ADMIRAL.

Before the long dark shapes, dimly discernible from the highest point of the rock above the monastery, had been apparently floating in the air on the horizon for more than a day, events began to move in Hagiamavra. On the isthmus connecting the peninsula with the mainland stood a village, or rather its remains, for it had formerly been inhabited by Moslems, and these had required more than merely moral suasion to induce them to quit it. It served now as an outpost of the insurgents, and its garrison was surprised by the approach of a small body of Roumi troops, accompanied very unwillingly by the elders of the dispossessed community. Much elated by the prospect of a fight at last, the garrison prepared to let the foe approach within short range and then annihilate them, but the troops had not come out to be killed. They remained in cover, while the wretched villagers were driven forward, to be turned back in confusion by a few contemptuous shots from the ruins. To the intense disappointment of the defenders, the Roumis were not stirred to action even by this defiance, and retired in safety, merely exchanging shots with them at long range. The next visitor was a Greek pope from Therma, who came as the mouthpiece of Jalal-ud-din to inquire the reason for the extraordinary reception given to the soldiers whom he had deputed to restore the evicted villagers to their homes. In the mild reasonableness of this demand the insurgents saw the hand of the Powers, restraining the Pasha from the vigorous measures he would naturally have taken, and triumphed accordingly. The priest was sent back with the message that the peninsula now recognised only the authority of the Constitutional Assembly, and that no stranger would be permitted to set foot on it, with the exception of properly accredited ambassadors.

The next two or three days and nights were spent by the insulted authorities outside in testing the reality of the Assembly’s occupation. A steamer crowded with troops appeared off Skandalo, but was fired upon both from the redoubt above the town and from the water’s edge, and withdrew with dignity. Two attempts were made either to surprise Karakula, the ruined village, or to slip past it under cover of darkness into the interior, but these were frustrated by the watchfulness of the garrison. The steamer foiled at Skandalo proceeded slowly along the coast, sending a boat ashore at various possible landing-places, but in every case an outburst of firing met it from the positions previously selected by Wylie, and the would-be invaders retreated. The exultation of the insurgents was unbounded, and their self-complacency seemed to be justified when a resplendent dragoman, approaching Karakula under a flag of truce, announced that the Consuls of the Powers at Therma were desirous of offering their mediation, and wished to meet representatives of the Assembly. Over the election of these delegates there was much excitement, the general desire being to choose the men who could be trusted to insist most obstinately on the most extravagant demands, and on the matter of their instructions there was something like a battle, when Maurice and Prince Romanos, supported by the more moderate members, refused even to put forward such points as the instant withdrawal of the Roumis from Czarigrad and from Europe.

The Consuls were admitted, with much ceremony, within the defences as far as the slope overlooking Karakula, where the delegates met them. The diplomatists struck a harsh note at the beginning of the interview by declaring that their mission began and ended with advising the insurgents to lay down their arms and return to their homes, allowing the dispossessed Mohammedans to do the same. The delegates retorted by presenting the demands agreed upon, which comprised the practical autonomy of Emathia, the suzerainty of Roum being recognised merely by the permission to keep a garrison in Therma and the concession of a yearly tribute, which was not to exceed a definite proportion of the revenues of the province. The Emathians were to elect their own Governor-General, whose appointment was to be made by the Powers and confirmed at Czarigrad. He was to be chosen for five years, with the possibility of re-election; to have full authority to reorganise the police and judicial systems, with the aid of assessors representing the various religious bodies under his control; he was to be responsible only to the Powers, and Czarigrad was to possess no veto on his acts of government. There were other conditions, but these were sufficient to make the Consuls raise their hands in horror. With one voice they besought the delegates not to allow themselves to be led away by European agitators, who would never be permitted by the Powers to exercise authority in Emathia. The demands were absolutely impossible, and to insist upon them would merely be to unite the Powers with Roum against the Emathian cause. The delegates, proud of their late success in repelling invasion, and sustained by their unconfessed belief that England was secretly on their side, retorted warmly that the demands represented the irreducible minimum they could accept, and the conference broke up in disorder, the Consuls washing their hands of all responsibility for the fate of such unreasonable people.

While the negotiations were going on, there was a good deal of intercourse between the British squadron and the canny people of Skandalo. Boats laden with provisions and sightseers plied between the town and the ships, and steam pinnaces from the fleet disembarked keen-eyed officers, who strolled carelessly up the steep streets in twos and threes, and were politely but firmly turned back when they attempted to extend their rambles beyond the actual confines of the place. They complained indignantly to Dr Terminoff, who was again acting as the Assembly’s representative at the port, and he sympathised with them in the most friendly spirit. That new erection, or earthwork, or whatever it was, which had altered the aspect of the hill above the town, must be sadly provocative of curiosity, but most unfortunately, knowing nothing of military matters, he could not tell them anything about it. Both sides understood perfectly what this fencing meant, and the officers retired to devise further measures.

The day after the abortive termination of the conference, Eirene and Zoe were working as usual at the refugee camp. The daily course of lessons on the advantages of cleanliness was being exemplified on this particular afternoon by a definite effort to combat the ophthalmia which abounded among the babies, and Eirene was bathing the eyes of a protesting infant, held by Zoe, in the centre of a ring of disapproving women, when one of their guards broke in upon the demonstration in a state of wild excitement. Two officers from the fleet had just been captured by the escort, which had discovered them making their way cautiously down the ridge, and ambushed them in a hollow. They offered no resistance, and pretended at first that they had lost their way; but when their captors proceeded to conduct them back towards the shore, they confessed that in reality they were anxious to pay their respects to the insurgent prince of whom they had heard, and begged to be taken to his stronghold. To the guards this was proof positive that the British Admiral was trying to open up communication with Maurice in order to offer him the support which they were persuaded England was desirous of affording, though stealthily, so as not to allow the other Powers a pretext for helping Roum. It was useless to assure them that England had no intention whatever of acting in opposition to the Concert of Europe, and Eirene was obliged to resort to stratagem to ensure the observance of even a moderate amount of precaution. It was quite possible, she pointed out, that the prisoners might not be British naval officers at all, but spies in the pay of Roum or of one of the other Powers. If, on being told that they must be blindfolded and deprived of their weapons before being conveyed to the monastery, they submitted without objection, this would be a presumptive proof of their good faith, but if they showed anger or apprehension, it would be best to take them down to the sea at once, and not lose sight of them until they were safely on board their boat. It was evident that the suspected persons stood the test, for when Zoe and Eirene prepared to return home, two blindfolded figures, a man and a youth, scarcely more than a boy, were being mounted on mules, giving no help in the process, by way of being as troublesome to their captors as they could. By Eirene’s orders, they were placed at the head of the procession, so that she could distinguish in a moment if either of them tried to get rid of their wrappings, and she and Zoe, following in the rear of the guard, conversed only in whispers, that the prisoners might not guess how near they were to fellow-countrywomen. As they approached the monastery, Zoe turned to her suddenly.

“Let us give them a surprise, Eirene. I expect they think they are coming to a most awful place—a sort of bandits’ lair—and that they have taken their lives in their hands. Tell the guards to make a good deal of fuss about bringing them into the presence of the Prince,—a savage and ferocious insurgent chieftain, of course,—and then let them just come in and find us at afternoon tea.”

The idea seemed to Eirene unworthy of the dignity of the occasion, but Maurice enjoyed it so heartily when it was communicated to him that she withdrew her protest. Tea was prepared, and the guards, not understanding the joke, but perceiving that some fun was on foot, dragged and shoved the prisoners up the steps to the gallery, and suddenly removed the bandages from their eyes. Then Zoe was sorry for her suggestion, for the dazed and astonished aspect of the two officers provoked shouts of laughter from the Emathians, and she was disgusted to think that she had exposed Englishmen to the ridicule of foreigners. But Maurice stepped forward to welcome them.

“Very kind of you to give us a call!” he said, holding out his hand. “I must present you to Princess Theophanis and my sister, Princess Zoe. This is Prince Romanos Christodoridi, my hated rival, who is working with us in the Emathian cause, and this is Colonel Wylie, our Commander-in-Chief, late of the Egyptian Army. You both belong to the Magniloquent, I think?”

The elder officer had recovered his composure by this time, and introduced himself as Lieutenant Cotway, and his companion as Mr Suter, both of the Magniloquent, flagship of Vice-Admiral Essiter. In view of the nature of their reception, both appeared to think it advisable not to enter at the moment upon their reasons for undertaking this adventure, and the midshipman was quickly handing round hot cakes as though to the manner born, while his superior made small-talk for Zoe and Eirene, assuming in them an ordinary feminine interest in the recent Carnival gaieties among the foreign community at Czarigrad. It was a little difficult to know how to talk to ladies met in such peculiar circumstances, but the naval man acquitted himself nobly, and the rest listened and admired him. It was not until tea was over that Maurice took advantage of a pause to say—

“And did you really face the journey up here to bring the ladies all this interesting news?”

“Well, you see, Prince, I was not aware that I should have the honour of meeting them.”

“Then you had another object? Was it official?”

“Perhaps you would prefer me to state it in private?”

“Not at all. We are all in the same boat here.”

“Well, then,” Lieutenant Cotway looked round with a smile in which there was a trace of deprecation, “the Admiral had heard there were some British sympathisers with the insurgents up here, and he sent me—unofficially—to see whether it was true, and if so, to clear them out.”

“By a judicious combination of persuasion and physical force, I suppose? It didn’t strike him that you might find yourselves slightly outnumbered?”

“Why, we had no idea, of course—— I mean, he expected to find the sort of people who come out and spend two days in an insurgent camp, and then go home and shriek against the Roumis in the papers. The sort of people that the insurgents wouldn’t be particularly anxious to keep, you know. But this is a pretty big thing.”

“You flatter us!” said Zoe ironically.

“Well,” said the sailor, with a good-humoured laugh, “it’s so big that I could hardly expect you to leave it and come down meekly to Skandalo with me to be deported.”

“Hardly,” agreed Maurice.

“But old Point Seven will never believe how big it is,” said Mr Suter meditatively. Lieutenant Cotway frowned, and repeated the remark in more decorous language.

“There will be some difficulty in convincing the Admiral how firmly you have established yourself up here, Prince. I suppose it’s quite beyond the bounds of possibility that you and he should meet face to face and hold a palaver?”

“It would merely convince all our people more firmly than ever that England was to be relied on to back them up,” said Maurice. “That is scarcely the impression the Admiral would wish to convey, I presume?”

“The very opposite. But I am sure he would wish to meet you if possible.”

“He had better creep on shore one night, and be smuggled up here in disguise,” said Zoe. “It would be an adventure.”

“If it were only possible for you to visit the flagship, sir?” suggested Lieutenant Cotway, with a polite smile for Zoe.

“It might be done,” said Maurice. “Admiral Essiter is an old family friend. He was with the Naval Brigade in the Soudan in my father’s time.”

“Oh, I remember! The Lieutenant Essiter who brought us home his sword,” said Zoe.

“Maurice,” Eirene broke in harshly, “whether you go or not, I refuse to leave Hagiamavra even for a day.”

“The Admiral’s intentions are dubious, evidently,” said Maurice, with a smile that was a little forced. “I was just going to say,” he added, turning to Eirene, “that I fear Lieutenant Cotway must remain here as a hostage if I go on board the flagship.”

“What would they value him in comparison with you? I shall remain here with Constantine, so that the cause will not be lost if treachery is attempted.”

“It is to be hoped for your sake, Lieutenant, that your Admiral’s tastes do not lie in the direction of kidnapping,” said Prince Romanos, in his most languid tones.

The sailor’s bronzed face flushed. “It is hardly necessary for me to say that Prince Theophanis will leave the Magniloquent as free as when he came on board,” he said. “If I did not believe it, I should scarcely consent to remain here.”

“And if I did not believe it, I should certainly not go,” said Maurice heartily. “I am glad to have the opportunity of putting the real state of affairs before the Admiral. Even if it does no good at present, it may be of advantage afterwards. But I think it will be advisable to make it a surprise visit, for the going to and fro of messengers would lead to the suspicion that something very different was on foot.”

“May I suggest, sir, that you should leave me here to-morrow as the captive of Princess Theophanis, and take Mr Suter down with you? I will write a note to the Admiral by him, and he can go on board and deliver it, leaving you in Skandalo. If the Admiral does not feel able in the circumstances to invite you on board, he may ask you to give him an interview on shore, but if not, then no harm will have been done.”

“Oh, but I hope the Admiral won’t be so inhospitable,” said Zoe, “for I am going down too. I have always wanted to see over a battleship, and I may never have the chance again.”

“The Magniloquents will be tremendously honoured, Princess. The Admiral couldn’t be inhospitable to a lady to save his life. If I may speak for him, I am sure he would wish Prince Theophanis to bring the whole of his party.”

“To give us a piece of his mind?” asked Wylie.

“Possibly, but only in the hope of inducing some of you to back out of this affair before it gets dangerous, you know.”

“Ah, Lieutenant, danger is the one thing we have sought in it that we have not found,” said Prince Romanos. “But count me as a visitor to the Magniloquent, I beg of you.”

“The more the merrier,” said the officer politely.

“You must make friends with the monks before to-morrow,” said Zoe, “or you will have a very dull time when we are all away. Perhaps Prince Romanos will take you to pay your respects to the Hegoumenos now?”

This suggestion broke up the party, as Zoe had intended, and Maurice and his wife were left alone in the deserted gallery. He turned to her quickly.

“Is there any need to advertise our differences in public, Eirene? Must you show your distrust of me so openly?”

“You gave me no choice,” she replied, with quickened breath. “I know how little interest you have in this venture, and how easily you would let yourself be persuaded to give it up. I was obliged to show you, before you committed yourself farther, that any pledges you might give to the Admiral would make no difference to me.”

“You are wrong. I am deeply interested in this venture, for it has cost me too much to retire from it lightly. It has broken up my home and alienated my wife from me. When we left Bashi Konak I knew that there could be no ending to it but death or success.”

Eirene’s lips were trembling. “You are so tiresome!” she said pettishly, trying to hide her involuntary weakness. “You will do nothing without being driven to it, and then you go further than I should ever have asked you. Don’t you see that the Admiral would have thought he had only to get us all safe on board and then sail away?”

“Admiral Essiter? Hardly. But putting that aside, can’t you see how important it is that he and I should meet? Zoe saw it at once, and gave me just the help I wanted.”

“Zoe is only a looker-on. All this is a sort of play to her. She has nothing at stake, and can afford to make herself useful in conversation. She is not distracted between a husband who won’t look after his own interests, and a son whose rights must not be sacrificed. I don’t believe she cares for a single creature.”

“You forget you are talking of my sister,” said Maurice angrily. “As to her not caring for any one, that’s her business and not ours. I should have been thankful to see her happy with Wylie, but I suppose there’s no chance of that now. At any rate, she has stood by us all this time, and you would often have been lonely without her.”

“It’s only for amusement. She has no real interest,” persisted Eirene rebelliously. Maurice gave up the attempt.

“At least,” he said, “I hope you approve of my plan of meeting the Admiral, now that your precautions have obviated the risk of treachery, if there was any?”

“It will make the people more convinced that England is on our side; I am glad of it for that.”

“You seem determined to encourage these false hopes. My sole idea is to lay the actual state of things before Essiter,—not that it will make the slightest difference in his action. If the Powers decide that we are to be bombarded, he will do his part without turning a hair. But he will report our conversation to his Government, and those of the Emathians who survive the fighting and the massacres may have an easier time. They may not get me as Governor-General, but they will get some one who is not in bondage to Czarigrad.”

“They must have you as Governor-General,” said Eirene doggedly.

“Not necessarily, even if we succeed. There is Christodoridi.”

“He is nothing. I have taken no oath to him. Listen, Maurice. For the sake of Constantine’s rights I have opposed you—broken up our home, as you say. Do you think I would deal more kindly with that upstart Romanos? Let him look to himself. If he succeeds, as you call it, and you tamely abdicate your rights in his favour, don’t imagine that I shall also be tame, and retire meekly with you to Stone Acton. I shall intrigue, plot, inspire. I have the means, you know. I must and will see my boy either Prince or Hereditary Prince of Emathia before I die. I should prefer to see him Hereditary Prince, and you in your rightful place upon the throne, but if you won’t work with me, I shall work alone.”

“These are things it is not wise to say,” said Maurice, very pale. “Are you prepared to bring upon the little chap—an innocent child—the guilt of all the bloodshed and civil war that you propose?”

“No, no!” she cried quickly. “The guilt will be mine, and the punishment. Only the success will be his.”

CHAPTER XI.
THE SYMPATHY OF EUROPE.

A guard of twelve stalwart Emathians, armed with the European rifles, escorted the party from Hagiamavra through the hills to Skandalo the next day. Mr Suter, his eyes again bandaged as a precaution against his possible return to guide an invading force through the wilds, was in high spirits over the important part assigned to him as intermediary between the fleet and the insurgent stronghold. He rode next to Zoe, and talked unceasingly whenever the nature of the path allowed it, explaining, among other things, why Admiral Essiter was called “Point Seven,” an explanation which involved the further explanation of a recondite question of naval gunnery. When the riders came abreast of the refugee camp the midshipman’s eyes were unbound, and he rode proudly into the town, attended by one of the guards, and big with importance, though refusing to explain either his night’s absence on shore or his present errand, obtained a passage back to the fleet in one of the Magniloquent’s boats, which had come on shore for fresh meat. The rest followed more slowly, and established themselves in Dr Terminoff’s office, the house of the chief man of the place, to watch what would follow. Dr Terminoff was delighted at the prospect of their visiting the fleet, though for the same perverse reason as Eirene, and declared exultingly that Nilischeff and his party would find themselves altogether checkmated.

“A boat putting off from the Magniloquent!” announced Wylie, who had been watching the flagship through his glasses. “A highly superior boat, too.”

“Oh, it must be the Admiral’s barge!” cried Zoe, drawing upon her recollections of sea-stories read in her youth. “Do please let me look. Isn’t it splendid? Doesn’t it make you feel exactly like Nelson?”

“In a steam-launch? Particularly so,” responded Wylie, surrendering the glass, which Zoe monopolised until the arrival of Mr Suter, bearing a cordial invitation from the Admiral to the son of his old friend to visit him on board the flagship. Going down to the renovated pier, they were received by an officer whose uniform, as Prince Romanos expressed it, “exhibited something more of ornamentation” than that of Lieutenant Cotway, and who at once conciliated the scruples and rejoiced the hearts of the guards by insisting that the invitation included them. Welcomed, after the miraculously short voyage, as honoured guests, the adventurers stood at length on the deck of the Magniloquent, there to be received in state by Admiral Essiter, a small spruce man with a plum-coloured complexion, and the air of finding his own inscrutable thoughts faintly amusing. The expression was probably habitual, not due to the circumstances of the occasion, and Zoe had the idea that, like the protective colouring of some animals, it must be assumable at pleasure, for watching her host keenly at lunch, she saw that a look of anxiety sometimes took its place, though the mask went on again as soon as the Admiral perceived that he was observed. When the meal was over, he asked Maurice to give him a quarter of an hour in his cabin, requesting his officers to entertain the rest of the party, even as the astonished Emathian guards were being initiated into the wonders of the great ship by bands of grinning seamen and marines. To the Admiral’s surprise, Prince Romanos appeared to consider himself included in the invitation given to Maurice.

“Your friend doesn’t speak English, perhaps?” said the host, courteously waving Prince Romanos back. “Will you tell him that Captain Bryson will show him over the ship?”

“I thank you—Mr Admiral,” Prince Romanos was wavering between “M. l’Amiral” and Maurice’s “Admiral,” which sounded to him disagreeably curt; “but I understand perfectly. Only I conceive myself to possess an interest not inferior to that of Prince Theophanis in the subject of your discussion.”

“Prince Christodoridi is the rival heir,” explained Maurice, as the Admiral glanced inquiringly towards him. “I think myself that his claims have not a shadow of foundation, and he, of course, thinks the same of mine, but we are pledged not to fight it out until Emathia is free.”

“Which puts it off for a few hundred years or so? Well, if you don’t mind his being present, it’s not for me to object. You are your father all over. There was a story—I don’t guarantee its truth, mind—that when the square was broken at El Met, he was attacked by an Arab with a long spear, who gave him all he could do to defend himself. Somehow or other, he managed to twist the spear out of the fellow’s grip. Did he finish him off when he had him at his mercy? Not he; he waited till he got up, and handed him back the spear to go on with.”

“No, Admiral; that’s a little too stiff,” said Maurice.

“Well,” said the Admiral deliberately, “I never believed it myself till to-day. Now I do. But, pray, what is the meaning of the farce you are playing in that old rat-hole up yonder, masquerading as a Greek prince, as if your honest English ancestors were not good enough for you?”

“Unfortunately they were not English; they were Greek too, descendants of the last Emperor of the East. I have merely returned to the original form of our name.”

“Merely? and what about your assumption of sovereignty?”

“It was in response to a repeated appeal that I would place myself at the head of the Emathian Christians.”

“And who is backing you, if I may be so indiscreet as to ask? Your men are armed with Mausers, and you have a Maxim or two in position, I hear.”

“Your officers must have made good use of their eyes while they were with us. Yes, we are fairly well supplied, but we have no outside backers. A member of my family left a substantial legacy to be applied to the restoration of the fortunes of the house, and we are using that.”

“You mean that you are playing ducks and drakes with it. Why not have bought up a South American republic, or negotiated with the Emperor of Scythia for a dukedom, if a sensational way of throwing away good money for the sake of a shadow was all you wanted?”

“But it was not. What we hope to do is to free Emathia now, and eventually to turn the Roumis out of Europe.”

“A nice modest programme! Couldn’t you have found some less utterly hopeless material to work upon than the Emathian Christians? I have no particular admiration for the Roumi in civil life, though he’s a first-class fighting man, but he is an intelligent gentleman beside these fellows, who torture and mutilate and burn each other’s women and children because one man calls himself a Patriarchist and the other an Exarchist. Have you ever considered seriously what hope there can be of ruling, except by martial law, a set of people who all profess to be Christians, and yet can’t keep their hands off each other’s throats?”

“We have been considering it for years, and now we are trying an experiment. The thing can scarcely be harder than to keep the peace between Mohammedans and Hindus in India. Two things are wanted,—money to keep us going until we can establish some sort of revenue system—which we have—and a body of impartial police to keep the balance between the creeds. There would probably be objections to our enlisting Englishmen, but Colonel Wylie could work as well with Sikhs, and he could get as many as he wanted, if permission was once given.”

“Your intentions are as excellent as your plans are ingenious,” said the Admiral sarcastically, “but you are altogether too idyllic, the whole lot of you. The coasts of the Egean are not No-man’s-land, waiting to be colonised. For a private individual to seize upon a desirable peninsula and settle down to govern it is simply stealing, though I allow that if it had been done by a sovereign state it would merely be called annexation.”

“It is an experiment,” repeated Maurice. “If we can show that it is possible to induce Emathian Christians of different sects to live peaceably together and to serve under the same flag, surely it is an object-lesson worth trying on a larger scale? We hear a great deal of the sympathy of Europe for Emathia, and the absolute impossibility of showing that sympathy except in words. But you can show it here by simply saying ‘Hands off!’ to Roum when she tries to turn us out of Hagiamavra. In return for not being molested we would pay to Czarigrad a tribute amounting to the present average revenue from the peninsula, and acknowledge the Roumi suzerainty. If, at the end of the year, the condition of Hagiamavra compared favourably with that of the rest of Emathia, a larger area might be entrusted to us—perhaps the vilayet of Therma.”

The Admiral stared at his guest in exasperated consternation. “If you were only starting with an entirely new world, your plan might work,” he said slowly, “but you seem to forget entirely the various interests involved. Europe is quite determined that there shall be no fighting over Emathia—whether rightly or wrongly it’s not for me to say. Of course a devastating warfare in the Balkans might wipe out a few inconvenient nationalities, and sweep the map clean for some such experiment as yours, but the Powers won’t have it. We shall maintain the status quo for a year or two, grumbling more and more every month, no doubt, until Scythia and Pannonia are ready. Then those two public-spirited Powers will unselfishly offer to divide Emathia between them and administer it as it should be administered. The Roumis daren’t protest, Thracia and Dacia and Mœsia daren’t fly at the throats of their betters, and order will reign in the Balkans. That’s the plan mapped out, signed and sealed, and when you set up your personal ambitions as a bar to its realisation, you are simply an impertinence to be brushed out of the way. The Powers will have none of you.”

“The Powers have sometimes yielded points on which they had declared themselves absolutely immovable,” said Maurice. “Think of Minoa.”

“There the claimant had dynastic support of the highest and most extraordinarily widespread kind. You have not.”

“My wife believes we can count upon the benevolence of Scythia. She was brought up at that Court, and the Empress has been sending her kind messages of late.”

“All moonshine. They will fool you to the top of your bent, make use of you, and then throw you over. No, don’t deceive yourselves. Reforms in Emathia, short of the partition of the country, won’t succeed, because they are not meant to succeed. They are intended to lead up to that partition when the time is ripe, and disgusted Europe is only too thankful to any one taking an endless problem off her hands. Scythia and Pannonia can’t afford to let you try your experiment, lest by some miracle it should be successful, and because we are acting with them we shall prevent your trying it. Now will you let me give you my frank advice?”

“I can’t promise to take it, but I shall be grateful.”

“Then look here. You can’t say that I have done anything to injure your prestige in the sight of your followers. I have received you as distinguished guests, and I’ll give you a royal salute if it’s a matter of importance to you. Remain safe on board here, and I’ll send a landing-party to bring off the rest of your people—Europeans, of course I mean. You will retire with a good grace, and leave your rival here in possession. He’s up to the sort of thing—it’s in his blood—and you are not.”

“Mr Admiral, you flatter me,” said Prince Romanos, deeply gratified, with an elaborate bow.

“No, sir, I don’t,” retorted the Admiral. “I think a quixotic conscience is an unlucky possession for a filibuster, and I don’t imagine you have got one. Moreover, you are a single man, and I understand that Teffany has a wife and child on that forsaken mountain-top, besides his sister on board here. Well, Teffany, will you save your face and retire in a blaze of glory—of course to give up all this foolishness and retire into private life for the future?”

“No, Admiral; with many thanks to you, I won’t.”

“So I imagined, since you are your father’s son. Understand, then, that it’s war to the knife. I am here as the representative of the Powers to maintain the authority of Roum, and I’ll do it. If your fellows allow Jalal-ud-din’s forces to advance peaceably and recover the peninsula, that’s all right. Also I shall not land men to take part in any fighting unless it’s a case of rescue. But if your men interfere with the landing of troops, or otherwise carry on hostilities within range of my guns, I shall shell them. And to-night a strict blockade will be declared of all the coasts of the peninsula, and any vessel approaching with supplies of any kind, and not turning back when summoned to do so, will be sunk. What yacht is it that has been provisioning you so far? My midshipman saw that your cook wore a yachtsman’s cap.”

“You can hardly expect us to let you into the secret of our ways and means,” said Maurice lightly. “Well, Admiral, we must thank you for your patience and your warning. When the warning comes true, I hope we may fall into no worse hands than yours.”

“God grant it!” cried the Admiral, with startling vehemence. “Good heavens! Teffany,—Theophanis or whatever you call yourself,—what possessed you to bring ladies and children into this affair?”

Maurice hesitated, and Prince Romanos replied for him. “I think, Mr Admiral, I shall only be doing justice to my friend’s wife and sister if I say that these intrepid ladies brought themselves into it.”

“Ah, I daresay! poor ignorant creatures, expecting to find everything made smooth for them, and every Roumi a plaster saint! But you know better,” he turned fiercely upon Maurice. “What did you do it for?—tell me. What possibility is there of your getting them out unharmed?”

“Simply that if we can hold out long enough, the Liberal Powers may get tired of doing Scythia and Pannonia’s dirty work, and insist on giving us a chance.”

“Then Heaven help you, if that’s all you have to hope for!” The Admiral led the way impetuously out of the cabin and plunged into the group of officers who had been making the tour of the ship with Zoe and Wylie. “If I hadn’t invited you on board,” he said in a shaking voice to his guests, “I’d have put you all under arrest and kept you here safe. As it is, I beg and beseech you to save me the disgrace of kidnapping you by staying on board of your own free will. You, sir!” he turned on Wylie, “how dare you encourage these absurd, illegal, fantastic proceedings? It strikes me that you will hear from the War Office before long, and to some purpose.”

“Possibly the War Office has heard from me already, sir,” said Wylie, and the calmness of the reply restored the Admiral’s composure.

“Well, I wash my hands of it. I have done what I could to save you, and as you won’t be saved, I warn you that you’ll have to take the consequences. Wait! call up those Emathians of yours, if you please,” to Maurice. “I presume that if they leave you in the lurch you will be able to yield with a good conscience.”

The guards were summoned, and stood ranged before the Admiral, with obviously agonising efforts to recall Wylie’s instructions as to attitude.

“I wish you to understand,” said the great man harshly, “that Prince Theophanis is engaged in an enterprise which the Powers have entirely forbidden. This rebellion will be put down by force, and no mercy will be shown to any who take part in it. The warships of the Powers will co-operate with Jalal-ud-din Pasha and his army in restoring tranquillity.”

“Yes, lord,” chorused the guards obediently, when Wylie had translated the speech.

“I don’t believe they understand what I mean. What’s that end man grinning for? Do you all understand?”

“Oh yes, lord, we understand perfectly!” and as the Admiral turned on his heel, the furtive grins became broad ones. He made no further attempt to shake the determination of his guests, but as they were embarking he put a note into Mr Suter’s hand.

“Give that to Mr Cotway at the monastery, and tell him I will endorse any arrangement he makes.”

The incident passed without remark, for there was a general depression pervading the ship. The officers bade the visitors farewell as if they were predestined victims, and a faint cheer which broke out among the men was quickly silenced. Zoe, always sensitive to mental atmosphere, shivered as she sat in the boat, though the sun was only beginning to decline. These impartial observers, who would have liked to help but were forced to oppose, were so plainly convinced that nothing but failure was before Maurice and his cause. And failure, in the circumstances, meant——? A little frightened sigh broke from Zoe’s lips, and Wylie turned and looked at her. He asked her if she was cold, and she did not guess that he had read her thoughts until they had passed through Skandalo, and were on their way to Hagiamavra. Then she found him beside her mule.

“I suppose,” he said in a low voice, “there is no hope even now of your consenting to ease our minds by going on board the fleet—you and Princess Theophanis and Con, I mean, of course?”

“What! forsake Maurice now?” cried Zoe. “Certainly not.”

“But think what a comfort it would be to him—to all of us—to know that you were safe. How can a man fight his best when his wife and sister are in the most frightful danger? And then the necessity of dividing our forces,—the monastery must always be guarded, you know, however badly the men may be wanted elsewhere. And after all, what is to be the end of it?”

“You would really be glad if we left you and took refuge with the Admiral?” she asked meditatively.

“Glad? I could sing for joy!” he cried.

“Ah,” said Zoe, “if you had talked like this before, we might have done it, but now it is too late. To escape now would be like rats leaving a sinking ship.”

“Then it is my fault—my cursed pride? Look here, Princess, have pity upon me. Do you want me to go to my death knowing that I have brought you two into all this?”

“Oh, no!” said Zoe quickly; “I ought not to have put it upon you. Eirene would never have turned back, even at Bashi Konak, and I could not have let her go on alone. Nothing would have made us stay behind, so that may comfort you.”

“Pretty comfort!” he growled. “The facts are the same.”

“Oh, but it is not your fault,” responded Zoe, with such evident conviction of the efficacy of her consolation that he attempted no further remonstrance. He was miserably uneasy at the prospect of the future, and hailed even the necessity of a farther journey, when the monastery had been reached, as a means of banishing thought. Admiral Essiter had sent strict orders that Lieutenant Cotway and Mr Suter were to rejoin the Magniloquent that night, and Wylie set out with an escort to conduct them to the edge of the insurgents’ country. Shortly before reaching the point at which they were to part company, Lieutenant Cotway requested Mr Suter to ride a short distance ahead, much to the disgust of that promising officer, and drew close to Wylie.

“Old Point Seven is awfully cut up about the Princesses,” he said. “Can nothing be done to get them away?”

“Nothing. I’ve tried again to-night,” groaned Wylie.

“Well, look here. I presume, when the smash comes, we shall be round somewhere to pick up the pieces. Afraid we can’t do anything for you—you see that?” Wylie nodded, “but the admiral will stretch a good many points to save the ladies. Now can you suggest anything?”

“Nothing short of carrying them off by force would really be effectual,” said Wylie bitterly.

“No last resort? no way of appealing to their better feelings and getting rid of them in that way? Bright idea! why not kidnap the baby?”

“Because you would never get the chance,” said Wylie, laughing in spite of himself. “His mother doesn’t let him out of her sight night or day. But I believe there’s something in your notion. Princess Theophanis has driven her husband to his ruin, but she doesn’t really want the family wiped out, though you might think it. When things get very black, I think it will be possible to induce her to escape, so as to save the child. Yes, and I see how it’s to be done. You know a place called Ephestilo, on the other coast—not the Skandalo side? There are two bays close together. One looks like an excellent harbour, but the cliffs rise sheer from the water’s edge, and there’s no path up them. Avoid that, and steer for the next bay, where there are pillars and things, ruins of a temple of some sort, and a fishing village. There’s a reef of rocks which only leaves room for one boat to enter at a time, but still there is room, and there’s a path down from the top of the cliffs. When things get to the worst, we’ll send away the ladies there by by-paths, and you can take them on board. Of course this is supposing that we are not surrounded. If we are, it’s good-bye, unless the monks have any secret passages.”

“Not likely in this part. But I’ll back you for getting the ladies out of the monastery somehow. You manage that, and we do the rest. We shall be patrolling both coasts to keep supplies from reaching you. By the bye, can’t you do anything to show us when we are wanted at Ephestilo? It would be rather bad not to be on the spot, in case the Roumis were after them.”

“We might light a beacon-fire, but it would be difficult to distinguish——”

“It would, with camp-fires all round. No, I know what’s far better—blue lights. I was going to smuggle a few books and papers on shore for the ladies,—to the care of your medical friend at Skandalo, of course,—and I’ll put in half a dozen blue lights in a box addressed to you. Then you can burn them at half-hour intervals on the monastery gateway, which has a clear view down to the sea, the night before your last stand, and we shall be ready the next day.”

“Right; and if we are unfortunately obliged to make our last stand without warning—why, that’s one of the accidents to which adventures of this kind are liable, and you will excuse notice.”

CHAPTER XII.
A BAPTISM OF FIRE.

The day after the visit to the fleet found Eirene a prey to nervous headache, and absolutely unable to leave her bed, the slightest sound, even the voice of her little son, intensifying the pain almost to the point of distraction. Zoe was frightened, fearing fever, and wished to entreat Admiral Essiter to abate his righteous wrath and allow the Magniloquent’s surgeon to come and see her; but Eirene, groaning on her uneasy couch—a mattress from the yacht laid upon a stone divan—forbade her to gratify the oppressor by so abject an appeal.

“It’s only because of yesterday,” she moaned. “The strain was awful.”

“Why? You don’t mean that Lieutenant Cotway tried to escape—when he was a hostage?”

“Of course not. He was telling Con stories and cutting out a boat for him all day—gave me no trouble whatever. But I had to think—if there was treachery—if you were not allowed to come back——”

“Well?” demanded Zoe, with keen curiosity.

“I should have given him over to the Emathians and told them to treat him as they thought right. And—a good many of them have been brigands, you know.”

“Eirene, you must be mad! You make my blood run cold.”

“I made up my mind to do it. The Powers must learn that we are in earnest. But it was not necessary.”

“I should think not!” Zoe spoke with good-humoured tolerance. “Don’t try to be mediæval another time, Eirene; you haven’t the physique for it. Your amiable predecessor, the Empress Isidora, would have handed over an innocent man to torture without a qualm, no doubt, but we poor moderns don’t possess her nerves. Now I am going to take Con for a walk and leave you perfectly quiet. But do, for goodness’ sake, put these ideas out of your head.”

Eirene struggled up from her pillow. “I won’t have you take Constantine to the camp without me!” she cried. “He will be playing with the children and getting fever. Oh!” and she lay down again with a moan of pain.

“I am not going near the camp,” said Zoe patiently, covering her up. “We are going to look for orchises on the cliffs. One of the fishermen’s children at Ephestilo gave me a great bunch the other day, which she said grew just beyond there, and Con is longing to find them.”

“You’ll let him fall over,” protested Eirene faintly, “or the Roumis will land——”

“Ephestilo is the last place they will choose if they do, for Colonel Wylie and the Emathians are practising coast defence there this very morning. And the place for the orchises is in the next bay, where no one could land if they tried. And I shan’t let him fall over the cliff, Eirene. You know he’s always good with me,—not that he gets much chance of showing it,—and of course we won’t even go near any dangerous places.”

Eirene, vanquished, turned her face to the wall with another groan, and Zoe pulled the makeshift curtain they had arranged over the doorless doorway so as to deaden the light, and went out to find her little nephew, who was waiting for her in the gallery. He was a quiet, serious child, reproducing, to her secret joy, in bodily and mental characteristics the sobered Maurice of these later years, with hardly a trace of Eirene. A cause of contention from his very birth, he had developed a longing for peace and quietness strange in a child, and was always on the alert to escape from his mother’s exacting devotion to follow his father about, content to remain unnoticed if he might hold his hand. Eirene resented bitterly what she chose to consider this perverseness, and Maurice was constrained to discourage as much as possible his little son’s desire for his society. “Not to-day, old man,” he had said this same morning. “Poor mamma is ill, and will want Con.”

Zoe had heard this, and it was with something of unholy satisfaction that she witnessed Eirene’s unavailing struggles to conceal the agony the boy’s voice and movements caused her. He should have a treat to-day, she told herself, and be a real child for once, not the unconscious inheritor of strife-provoking dynastic claims.

“Such a big bastick, Auntie Zoe!” he exclaimed, dragging towards her one of the baskets used by the lay-brethren of the monastery when they made foraging expeditions down to Skandalo; “and steward has given me a lot of little cakes, all tied up in leaves.”

“Paper havin’ run short, ma’am,” said the cook, appearing from his sanctum at the end of the gallery; “but I thought maybe you’d like to take some lunch with you.”

“Thank you, steward; it’s a very good idea. Oh, Con, what a lovely walk we will have! Now gently, so as not to wake poor mamma.”

They crept down the steps and out at the gate, Constantine saluting the monk who kept watch there in his own tongue, and receiving a blessing in return, then out along the rocky path. There was no need for a guard to-day, as the walk lay within the region constantly patrolled by the insurgents, and Zoe felt extraordinarily free and happy, in marked contrast with the gloom that had oppressed her the night before. She carried the basket, and Constantine was absolutely obedient, holding her hand and walking on the inside when the path was narrow. As she answered his endless questions she scoffed mentally at Eirene’s fears. What harm could befall the child on such a day?

Descending the hills in the direction of the sea, they came in sight of the bay of Ephestilo, with Wylie and his motley force hard at work. Zoe and her nephew stood for some time watching, fascinated, the stealthy entrance of a boat through the opening in the reef, and its reception by riflemen posted at various points. Wylie was marking the different ranges covered by the course the boat must take, and was so deeply occupied that Zoe would not allow Constantine to run down and disturb him, even to ask what was that funny thing he had in his hand? why did the boat come in so slowly? why did the men only pretend to fire? and a score of other whats and whys. They tore themselves away at last, and walked on over the short turf of the cliffs to the next bay, which presented a very different aspect from that of Ephestilo, with its village of fishermen’s huts clustered on the slope, and boats drawn up on the shore. Here there was only one hut, built of rough limestone blocks and sods of turf, and looking as uninviting as the reputed character of its occupant, a solitary man who had once been a fisherman of Ephestilo. He had done, or been suspected of doing, something that cut him off for ever from the society of his kind. What it was Zoe had never been able to find out exactly, but she gathered that it was some service to the Roumi authorities, who had been able to protect him from the vengeance of his fellows until it gradually became clear that his lonely and blasted existence was a stronger deterrent against following his example than even his death would have been. No smoke rose from the roof of Janni’s abode as Zoe and the child went by it at a distance, Constantine holding tightly to his aunt’s hand, for he had somehow picked up the prevalent idea of the ill-omened nature of the spot. But the cottage once passed, all was enchantment, for the face of this cliff was broken away in the most fascinating manner, hollows full of rich grass and flowers alternating with bare faces of limestone rock. From here the sea looked so close that one might have believed the gradual slope extended to the beach itself, but Zoe knew well that about half-way down it broke off suddenly, encircling the bay with sheer cliffs and isolated needles of rock.

“Don’t run on in front, Con. Wait for me!” she called, noticing that the space of turf they were treading was crossed in various directions by footmarks, as if it was trodden not infrequently by some one who was yet careful not to make a path. It seemed as though Janni must have some eyrie in the cliffs, some look-out post where he spent his solitary days, and she was by no means anxious to come upon him suddenly. Constantine came back at her call, and in another moment she was able to reward him by showing him that what he had acclaimed as an insect was in reality a flower. Thenceforward she had no more anxiety as to his wandering in advance. His patience was admirable, and his method thorough. Every hollow to which they came must be absolutely cleared of orchises before he would consent to go on to another, and all the while his little tongue kept up a dropping fire of questions on the natural history of flowers and bees. Working their way steadily downwards, they came at length to a spot so thick with blossoms that even Constantine’s energy flagged in contemplating it, and he suggested sitting down to consider where it would be best to begin. This seemed a suitable moment for bringing out the steward’s provision of cakes, and when they had been consumed Constantine set to work like a giant refreshed. Zoe was glad to see him happily occupied, for she had caught sight of a ledge a little way farther down, on which the flowers seemed to be of quite a different variety. It was easy for her to reach it, but the descent would not be very safe for her nephew, and she meant to attempt it alone.

Scrambling down, and tearing her gown in the process, she was rather disgusted to find that the flowers were merely overblown specimens of the kind she had been picking all morning, but when she sat down to pin up the hanging braid, she found that she was rewarded for her trouble by an exquisite view of the entrance to the bay. The water was very blue in the noontide stillness, and the cliffs rose straight from it with a curious effect of being painted in different shades of white. She was mentally cataloguing them when her attention was attracted by something moving at the base of the headland on the left—the one remote from the direction of Ephestilo. Scarcely able to believe her eyes, she watched narrowly, and saw that it was a boat—a boat creeping into the bay, as close under the cliffs as the depth of water would allow. The evident wish of the occupants for secrecy, and the curious fact that they should be rowing hard at a time of day when all the fisher population were enjoying their siesta, struck her as suspicious, and she ran over the probabilities hastily in her mind. It could hardly be a Roumi raid, for what could one boatful of men do? Perhaps it was a boat from the fleet, examining the bay to see if it afforded any landing-place that would need to be watched in view of the blockade. Secure in her conviction of the inaccessibility of her perch, she sat watching the boat, until she saw a glass turned upon her, and realised that her white gown must be clearly visible against the grass on which she was sitting. Then astonishment seized her, for she distinctly saw a man in the boat take up a gun and aim it in her direction, but it was pushed down by another, and he did not fire.

Zoe was very angry. Whether the people in the boat were fishermen, as their caps seemed to show, or sailors from the fleet in some attempt at disguise, they had no right to try and frighten inoffensive females who were merely looking at them. Well, she was not going to be frightened. She would remain where she was, and do her best to find out who these intruders might be. When the boat passed beneath her, she must hear their voices, for even at this distance the sound of the oars was audible in the clear air, and it would be hard if she could not distinguish what language they were speaking. It was out of sight now, and she sat and waited, fixing her eyes on a tall needle of rock which rose up close to her platform, and looked as though it had once formed part of it, but was now, as she found by crawling to the edge and looking over, separated from it right down to the water-level, as if by one straight, clean cut. The sound of voices was so long in coming that at last she grew tired of waiting, and, taking off her hat lest it should be seen, she lay down and peered through the grass that fringed the edge of the hollow—then drew back with a feeling of absolute suffocation, as if the blood had all ebbed from her heart and rushed to her throat. The men had landed, landed there below her, where no landing-place existed, and one of them was beginning to work his way up between the needle and the cliff, as though the fissure was a “chimney” in the Alps. The boat, with two men in it, one of whom had a gun, was rowing out again, evidently to keep her in sight, lest she should escape before the climber reached her.

Zoe drew back, sat up, and mechanically pinned on her hat again. Her lips were saying hurriedly, “I must be calm. I must keep cool,” even while voices seemed to fill the air, crying “Constantine! Constantine!” She had brought him into danger, and she must save him, even if it cost her own life. “Con!” she called gently, for fear of attracting the attention of the men below; “Con, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Auntie Zoe.” The roguish little face peered over the ledge above her. “Shall I come? I haven’t nearly finished this place yet.”

“No. I want you to be a very brave boy, Con.” She tried hard to speak so as to impress the child without frightening him. “Dare you go all the way back by yourself, to the place where we saw Colonel Wylie with that funny thing this morning, and take him a message?”

“Oh, Auntie Zoe!” the disappointment was poignant. “There’s sixty million flowers here that I haven’t picked yet.”

“It’s to do something for father, Con. There are naughty men who want to hurt him. Tell Colonel Wylie that they are here in a boat, and he must come round in another boat and catch them. Poor Auntie must stay here till Colonel Wylie comes, so tell him to be quick. Don’t walk on the nice grass, Con—it—it isn’t safe—until you get to the very top, and then run. Oh, Con!” as the sound of something being dragged over the stones reached her, “don’t take the basket. Auntie will bring it when she comes. Think of father!”

She sent the appeal after him despairingly, for she knew well his tenacity of purpose. “And if any of the flowers fall out, he’ll stop and pick them up!” she groaned to herself. How long would he take to get to the top of the cliff? How would his little scrambling childish feet manage to clamber up those slippery limestone slopes? If he avoided the grassy hollows, as she had told him to do, his holland overall would hardly be seen against the rocks by any one who was not looking specially for it. She must occupy the attention of the men in the boat, and keep them from looking at the cliff above her, whence the rattle of fragments of stone as they fell showed her that Constantine was somehow working his way up. She stood forward and looked out to sea, as though watching for ships, her figure boldly outlined against the green of the hollow. Suddenly the boat shot out from beneath her into her field of vision, and she started violently, making vehement gestures of astonishment, as though unable to credit what she saw. Both men were watching her every movement, and the rifle was pointed directly at her. If she could keep their eyes fixed on herself, Constantine would be able to escape. Making a speaking-trumpet of her hands, she called out the Greek “Good day!” and inquired whether the fishing had been successful. The men in the boat did not appear to understand, but they were evidently amused, and returned answers which she could not distinguish. But they were not speaking either Greek or the Thracian dialect used by the majority of the Slavic Emathians, of this she was sure. She stood there, calling out incoherencies in Greek, and receiving irrelevant replies in the unknown tongue, until voice and strength failed her simultaneously, for the approach of the climber in the chimney became audible in grunts and a kind of shuffling noise. She had sufficient presence of mind to wave her hand to the men in the boat before she sat down, trying to look as though it was not because her limbs refused to support her. Still apparently gazing out to sea, she watched, with dilated eyes and panting breath, for the appearance of a red-capped head above the brink. When would it come? and what should she do? Constantine must have reached the top of the cliff by this time, and now that he was safe, the love of life regained its strength in her. She looked round once at the rocky slope above her, with a wild idea of leaping at it and scrambling up too fast for the man in the boat to be able to take aim. But it was so steep. She would have found it difficult to climb at any time, and now she was trembling all over. And even above it there was no possible shelter until nearly the top of the cliff, where a projecting rock might hide her from the view of the marksman in the boat. But nothing could shelter her from the men who were climbing up. Could she pretend to meet them unsuspiciously—disarm their hostility, temporise, hold them in talk until help was in sight? If she addressed the first that appeared in French, which all educated Roumis might be supposed to understand——? But a moment’s thought reminded her that the first man was certain to be Janni, who had doubtless discovered and often used this way of reaching his abode, and who would let down a rope, or even a rope-ladder, before his confederates would venture on the climb. And Janni—dark-browed Janni, who scowled angrily even at little Constantine, and knew no language but his own, which she only spoke very imperfectly,—how could she hope to conciliate him? Could she—would she have the courage to push him down when he was climbing over the edge? For that moment he would be at her mercy, since the man in the boat would not venture to fire for fear of hitting him. But no, she had not the nerves for it, as she had said to Eirene so long ago. “And besides, I don’t know that he means anything dreadful. He may be merely coming home with some friends,” she told herself by way of half-excuse, and then laughed at her own moral cowardice.

There was a sudden quickening of attitude on the part of the men in the boat. The rifle was raised, and pointed not at Zoe, but at the top of the cliff far above her. There was the sound of something striking the rock overhead, bringing down a shower of small fragments, and almost simultaneously came the report. Other bullets followed, and then there was a report closer at hand—from overhead, in fact. Something struck the sea near the boat, raising a little splash, and then, after—but only momentarily after—a second near report, the man who held the gun seemed to crumple up, and the weapon dropped from his hands into the water. Looking up, Zoe had a fleeting impression of a man kneeling at the top of the cliff, with a rifle raised to his shoulder; but as she looked, he lowered it, and began to swing himself down, taking a more direct way than the pleasant path by which she had wandered with Constantine. Then her attention was distracted, for a face surmounted by a red cap appeared over the edge of the hollow, and resolved itself into that of Janni the fisherman, with a knife held between his teeth. His eyes seemed to fascinate her. She could not move, and watched in helpless silence while he drew himself up gradually to her level.

There was a click on the ledge above her, where Constantine had been left. “Jammed!” said Wylie’s voice, in a tone of such angry disgust that she nearly laughed, just as Janni pulled himself over the brink with a final effort, and ran at her, brandishing the knife.

“Take my hand,” said the voice overhead, clear and hard, and turning mechanically to obey, she saw that Wylie was lying on the ledge above, stretching out his left hand to her, while his right held the rifle clubbed. She sprang at the rock, and scrambled wildly up its slippery face. Presently Wylie was assisting her with both hands instead of one, and now she crouched panting on the ledge beside him. Looking round involuntarily for Janni and his knife, she saw that he was not, as she had imagined, an inch or two behind her. He was kneeling at the edge of the hollow she had left, fixing the end of a rope-ladder that he had carried with him, and another man, with a rifle on his back, was already visible upon it. Wylie whirled her to her feet, and dragged her up the path.

“He was not really going for you,” he said, in an odd, muffled voice. “That was a dodge to keep me from coming down and preventing his fixing the ladder. He knew that when once this thing had jammed I could do him no harm except at close quarters.”

He went on to discourse of the iniquities of the Mauser rifle, still in the same curious voice, as if he was talking for talking’s sake, without in the least thinking of what he said, and Zoe made no effort to understand or respond. For one moment, as he lay on the ledge, she had caught in his eyes the look she had not seen there for seven years, and she could think of nothing else. She had not deceived herself. He did care. Nothing else mattered.

CHAPTER XIII.
KNIGHTLY EMULATION.

“I—I can’t go any farther,” panted Zoe at last, as Wylie half-dragged, half-carried her up the cliff.

“You must. But only a little way. As far as that rock.”

He pointed to the projection she had noticed as affording a possible shelter if she could reach it, and she let him drag her on. Almost unconscious, with failing eyes and swimming brain, she found herself seated on the grass on the farther side of the rock, and realised that he was speaking to her.

“You may rest here for two minutes exactly.”

He turned his back and stood looking down the cliff, and she strove painfully to collect her thoughts and to recover her breath.

“Time’s up,” he said, turning half round. “Go on, and don’t stop till you get to the top. Then run.”

“But you?” she murmured faintly.

“I stay here until you are at the top, of course. The quicker you are, the better for me.”

“I won’t go and leave you.”

“Do what you are told.” He flung the words at her with a rasp which would have at once awed the boldest and stirred to revolt the meekest of women. Zoe was neither the one nor the other. She struggled to her feet and toiled feebly up the path, but the moment she reached the short turf at the top she sat down resolutely, excusing her disobedience by the reflection that she could not have run to save her life. She could see Wylie waiting behind the rock, but it hid from her view the assailants who, as she judged from his attitude, were crowding up the path to attack him. They were afraid to face him alone, and he preferred that they should come at him in a body, that they might not be able to use their rifles. Ah, there they were! Zoe hid her face as the first man appeared, to fall under the butt-end of the Mauser. Others followed, as she could tell by the sounds, and she judged that Wylie was maintaining his position, with his back against the rock. But it could only be a question of time. If they once got near enough to use their knives——! She shuddered and grew sick, then opened her eyes with a vague feeling that the solid earth was failing beneath her feet. Yes, the ground was moving. Craning her neck round as she lay at the edge of the cliff, she could see a sort of crack in the turf behind her, slowly widening. Roots of grass, a thin layer of soil, yellowish marl, the white rock—why, the cliff was falling, and she was falling with it.

“Colonel Wylie, the cliff! the cliff!” she shrieked, as she turned round, and threw herself desperately forward, across the crack. Her sudden movement accelerated the pace of the falling mass, and it went crashing down as she dropped helpless on the turf, her feet hanging over the edge. She must have fainted in the horror of the moment, for she knew nothing more until she heard Wylie’s voice speaking to her, and started up wildly, to find him kneeling beside her with blood flowing down his face.

“Sorry to trouble you,” he said apologetically, “but would you mind tying this handkerchief round my head?”

Her whole being rose up in revolt against him as she folded the handkerchief mechanically. To have gone through such a scene with him, and to be expected to ignore it! Then she realised what his request meant. He had no idea that he had betrayed himself. The mask was on again, and the blue eyes which had looked love into hers for one moment had been forbidden to endanger his secret any further. But she knew! He might do what he liked, say what he liked, leave undone and unsaid what he liked, but nothing could shake the evidence of that moment of anxiety intense enough to break down the guard which he had fixed between his heart and hers. She smiled triumphantly as she fastened the bandage.

“I can only do it roughly now,” she said. “When we get back to the monastery I will bandage it properly, as I did Maurice’s in the brigands’ camp long ago—do you remember?”

“Thanks. You are awfully good,” he replied without effusion; and she knew as well as if he had put it into words that she would have no chance of doing anything more for him. But what good were his precautions now?

“Please help me up,” she said, looking up at him with the merest hint of reproach. “I feel so shaky.”

He muttered an apology as he complied, and was sufficiently moved by compunction to offer her his arm. “We ought to be getting back,” he said. “Prince and Princess Theophanis will be anxious about you.”

“Oh, but what happened?” cried Zoe, all the terrors of the past hour returning upon her with a rush.

“Why, Con burst upon me, like the little brick he is, scarcely able to speak for running, and I sent off a boat round the headland, and snatched a rifle from one of my men and came here myself. The rest you know.”

“No, I don’t. About the landslip, I mean.”

“Your scream made me look up, and I jumped back and flattened myself against the cliff almost unconsciously. The Roumis were outside, and besides, they didn’t understand what you meant, of course. Some of them were carried down by the fall of cliff, and the rest made for their ladder with all possible speed. If they ever get to their boat, ours is waiting to intercept them.”

“Then they were Roumis?”

“Undoubtedly. I always suspected Janni, but there was no reason for arresting him, and he didn’t seem to have any means of doing actual harm. Of course the idea was that these fellows should hide in his house till nightfall, and then co-operate in some way with an attack on Ephestilo from the outside, probably setting the village and the boats on fire and creating a panic, under cover of which a landing might be effected.”

“It was very dreadful, I know, but—they took their lives in their hands, and—don’t you think that some of those who were buried under the fall of cliff may not be dead?” asked Zoe incoherently.

“If you remember, I suggested just now that we should hurry back to the monastery,” he replied with admirable politeness. “As soon as I have placed you in safety, I shall return and see what can be done.”

“Oh, but let us turn back and do it now. Let me help.”

“Certainly not,” in a tone of such finality that Zoe did not venture even to protest. Once again she smiled involuntarily, and when Wylie looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and injury, was driven to attempt an explanation.

“I can’t help feeling rather proud that it was through me this plot was foiled,” she said meekly. “Yesterday you were so convinced that Eirene and I were nothing but a care and an anxiety, you know.”

“I’m afraid I still consider your services overbalanced by your presence here,” was the ungallant reply.

“I am so sorry,” in a voice as though tears were not far off. “What can we do to make ourselves more worth having? Do you want us to fight?”

“Fight? No! There are two women in men’s clothes among my fellows, who give me more trouble than all the rest put together.”

“How horrid!” said Zoe.

“Oh, the men are awfully good to them, and consider them a sort of saints. But they don’t drill—of course I haven’t given them the chance—and they won’t see the necessity of it for others. What they want is blood, like the old lady in Dickens, and they are always haranguing the men and stirring them up to bother me to lead them to the slaughter of the Roumis. They have wrongs to avenge, no doubt; but it’s furies like that who make the men lose their heads and lead to regrettable incidents when there comes a fight.”

“Princess!” They had reached the crest of a rise, and Prince Romanos, flushed and disturbed, met them with a rush. “What is this that I hear? You have been in danger—proper care was not taken for your safety? Allow me to relieve you, Colonel. You will doubtless be glad to return to your duties.”

“Colonel Wylie’s duty at the present moment is to see me to the monastery,” said Zoe, angry for Wylie’s sake rather than her own. “He has said so twice.”

But Wylie failed in the basest manner to second her. “If the Prince will allow me to surrender the charge to him, I will venture to leave you, ma’am,” and he removed her hand resolutely from his arm. Zoe could have wept.

“If I didn’t care for you so much, I should hate you!” she said to him in her thoughts. “But after all, it is not your fault, but the fault of your pride. That is fighting hard, but you yourself are on my side. And how sorry you will be some day for all the horrid things you have said!”

The thought assisted her to parry good-humouredly the anxious inquiries of Prince Romanos, who could not understand how she could be at all calm, far less cheerful, after what she had gone through; and since he did not know of the cordial received as Wylie drew her up on the ledge, she might well seem to him a remarkably equable person. The Greek, who had been silent and thoughtful since his visit to the Magniloquent, took her friendliness as a good omen, and was encouraged by it to talk about himself, a subject on which he was still brimful of recondite information. Negativing Zoe’s suggestion that they should go down into Ephestilo to fetch Constantine, with the assurance that he had met him joyously riding towards the monastery on the shoulder of a stalwart Emathian, the poet claimed the attention of his auditor with a deep sigh.

“I am afraid you are sorry I was rescued,” said Zoe, for the sake of saying something.

“Not sorry you were rescued, Princess, but sorry—yes, desolated—that Colonel Wylie enjoyed the honour of rescuing you. Why, why was it not to the wretched Apolis that thus supreme distinction came?”

“Because he didn’t happen to be in the neighbourhood, I suppose,” said Zoe prosaically.

“Ah, Princess, do you imply that you blame this neglect of his? Not more than he does, I assure you. But from henceforth Apolis shall be the shadow of Zeto. Never shall she look round without beholding him!”

“Dear me, I hope not!” cried Zoe in alarm. “Think, Prince, your duty is at the front, not with the non-combatants. You came here to fight.”

“And does Zeto bid me fight? Then shall the sword of Apolis be doubly winged with victory! What trophies will he lay at her feet! in what imperishable poems shall be celebrated the fame of her who called upon a flâneur and sent a hero to the fight!”

“It’s very satisfactory to know from your own lips that you are a hero—or is it that you are going to be one?” said Zoe, much amused. “But you mustn’t ascribe the glory to me. We are on opposite sides, you know.”

“Ah, no, not on opposite sides. Apolis can be opposed to no family that numbers Zeto among its members. But there are possible arrangements—— Only yesterday I received encouragement—an actual promise of support—from the most unexpected quarter. Your brother is above all things a reasonable man; I have his pledge to allow matters to take their course.” Zoe was looking at him in utter bewilderment, but he did not see it. “In the fairy tales it is always the Prince who wins the Princess, is it not so?”

“Not a bit of it!” declared Zoe vigorously. “It is just as often the poor and nameless knight,” with a tender intonation the significance of which was lost upon Prince Romanos. “And really,” sudden indignation getting the better of her, “have you forgotten all that happened at Bashi Konak? I am not going to treat it as a dream, if you are.”

“Princess!” reproachfully, “do you forget that I am a basely deceived, an injured man?—that the woman to whom I gave my heart’s allegiance proved herself the tool of my enemies?”

“Of what enemies, pray? I remember you accused me before of having employed some one to keep you from following us. Who was it? I want this cleared up. Was it Donna Olimpia Pazzi?”

Prince Romanos shuddered pitifully. “It is hard for the man who has loved and been deceived to hear without a pang the name of the forsworn one,” he said. “It was that miserable woman, whom I would have trusted with my life, and who tried to rob me of my honour.”

“But what did she do?”

“I received a message entreating me to bid her farewell. We met—at our usual rendezvous. I was surprised to find the time so much earlier than I thought. We sat hand in hand, plunged in the ‘sweet sorrow’ of which your Shakespeare speaks. It was indeed an hour of blissful woe. Suddenly my eye falls upon a small travelling-clock on a bracket. It indicates a time at least three-quarters of an hour later than the large clock on the side-table, and I had already thought that I was prolonging my stay to its utmost limits. I spring to my feet, I proclaim my immediate departure. But she—that faithless one—endeavours to hinder me. She throws herself before me, she holds me with her white hands. Finding me resolute, she locks the door, and before my face hides the key in her dress, daring me to take it. I wrench it from her, in spite of her entreaties, her struggles——”

“I suppose you think that was a heroic thing to do?” cried Zoe in disgust.

“Princess, she had set herself to ruin my career. I paused before unlocking the door, and loaded her with reproaches, as she knelt, sobbing, where I had left her. I refused to hear her. ‘You have endeavoured to betray me,’ I told her. ‘Were I only a Christodoridi, I should repay your treachery with death. But I am also Apolis, and therefore I grant you the boon of life, in which to realise the value of the love which I now tear from my heart. Live, and hate yourself!’”

“Truly dramatic!” said Zoe. “Well, if that is the way in which you treat a poor girl whose only fault is that she loved you better than your career——”

“Ah, if I could only believe that!” he interrupted, his face visibly brightening. “But no, she set herself to betray me. She played the game of my enemies. From whom could she have learnt of my departure but from them?”

“What enemies?” demanded Zoe again. “Do you still insinuate that we had anything to do with it?”

“You had excellent reasons, I admit it. My opposition to your brother, my—equivocal conduct to yourself——”

“Oh!” she cried in despair, “will you never believe that when you turned your attention to Donna Olimpia, it simply relieved me of a standing worry?”

He looked at her with deep admiration. “Princess, you are more than woman. I confess that I have not discovered in your brother the capacity—the faculty, I should say—for such a plot, and if you assure me that you cherished no grudge against me, I rejoice to proclaim my conviction of your ignorance of it.”

“So far was I from cherishing a grudge, that when once you left off following me about, your affairs did not even interest me,” said Zoe, rather hastily.

“Ah, there spoke the woman, after all! That blessed little touch of pique! But have no fear of me, Princess. You shall not be ‘worried’ by your patient Apolis. You impose a probation, a test? So be it, then. You shall see me emerge from it with credit, or die in the attempt.”

“I don’t impose anything of the kind!” in alarm. Evidently nothing but the plain declaration that she cared for some one else would pierce the armour of this man’s self-conceit, and she had far too little confidence in his discretion to make it. “I hope you will emerge with credit, of course, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“Ah, cruel! But since you will it——” with a deep sigh. “Henceforth Apolis is silent, until his moment of triumph. Then—— But it is forbidden. I understand. I am discreet as the tomb.”

“A remarkably indiscreet tomb, then!” said Zoe in indignation, as they reached the welcome refuge of the monastery gates. Eirene was waiting for her in the gallery, full of excitement and anxiety, after receiving her little son’s fragmentary and incoherent account of the morning’s doings. The effect of Zoe’s narrative was to confirm her sister-in-law in her fixed determination never to let Constantine out of her sight again, his peril looming much larger in her eyes than that to which the whole peninsula had been exposed. When Zoe dragged herself away to rest at last, it was with the exasperated conviction that her lot was cast among the most irritating set of human beings that was ever assembled on one spot. Her sole consolation sprang from the reflection that as she was the only available unmarried woman, it was natural for Prince Romanos to fancy himself in love with her, and that as soon as he returned to the society he was so well fitted to adorn, his affections would at once be diverted to other objects. But there was more in the man than a roving fancy and a colossal self-esteem, or even than considerable poetic gifts, and this Maurice and Wylie discovered the same evening.

They were sitting in the gallery, discussing rather anxiously how soon Armitage might be expected to reappear, and what means could be devised of communicating with the yacht, in view of the close blockade which had been proclaimed that morning, and which had already been enforced in the case of several small vessels approaching from the mainland, which had been ruthlessly turned back by boats from the fleet. Prince Romanos was accustomed to spend this time in entertaining the ladies, and incidentally the guards and a few bold monks, with song and recitation, but this evening he joined the two men, with a modesty of manner which was almost an apology in itself.

“I am going to ask you to allow me a definite part in the defence,” he said to Maurice. “I fear you have thought me a sad idler hitherto, but I had my reasons. I observed that when I mentioned I had fought with the Foreign Legion in the Roumi-Morean War, Colonel Wylie appeared to think it but a poor recommendation—and I confess that I know little about drill. But it is different in the case of ships, of the water. There, Prince, I am at home. The instinct of sea-fighting is in my blood, as your Admiral observed only yesterday, and it is in this direction I ask you to find me employment. Colonel Wylie, whose preparations are so complete, so far-reaching, has organised the fishermen of the peninsula for land defence, but I believe he has made no use of their boats?”

“No, except as scouts,” said Wylie, interested in spite of himself. The Greek’s sallow face was flushed, and his eyes bright.

“Then commit this portion of our forces to my care,” he entreated. “No, I am not mad. I have no intention of provoking a conflict with the armed boats of the warships, far less of attempting to attack those vessels themselves, but there are humbler ways in which I might be useful. Even the blockade will hardly prevent our fishermen from exercising their calling in their own waters. Why, then, should we not make use of them occasionally to penetrate farther, and bring us provision and news, perhaps reinforcements and warlike stores? But for such work they must be trained and directed. Then we must—oh, pardon me; I speak too boldly in my enthusiasm for my own element—should we not possess our own counter-blockade? A service of fishing-boats constantly patrolling our coasts to guard against a landing—if this had been in existence to-day, there would have been no fear of the raid which endangered not only our whole enterprise, but the life of the peerless lady who calls you brother, Prince.”

“We seem to have been horribly remiss, Wylie,” said Maurice; “and yet we thought we were pretty far-seeing.”

“Sea-fighting in fishing-boats is not in my line, I’m afraid,” muttered Wylie. “But I’m open to learn from my betters in that way,” he added quickly.

“This very evening,” went on Prince Romanos, much encouraged, “I fear an opportunity has been lost. I understand that the one Roumi who survived to be captured by your men, Colonel, has confessed that a fire on the headland above Ephestilo, simultaneously with one in the village itself, was to be the signal for the Roumi troops waiting outside in boats to enter the bay and effect a landing. A fictitious conflagration could easily be arranged, and the boats lured in—to discover, not the panic-stricken inhabitants they anticipated, but a disciplined force holding them in a trap. Could?—nay, it can be done even now. Will you permit it? I go to arrange details, to invite volunteers. Follow me in half an hour, then I can tell you whether it may be attempted. I have my plans—it is allowed?”

Barely waiting for the answer, he sprang down the steps.

“What’s come over the fellow?” demanded Maurice.

“Can’t say,” growled Wylie. “He’s got something in his head, that’s clear, and I doubt very much whether it’ll be healthy for you and your claims.”

“You old croaker!” said Maurice. “You’ve never trusted him.”

CHAPTER XIV.
IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO.

Something went wrong with the great plan conceived by Prince Romanos for the discomfiture of the Roumi invaders. A reckless expenditure of fuel produced a most inviting beacon on the headland, and a bonfire in the village which endangered every house within reach, but the eager watchers who crouched in their hiding-places on either side of the harbour-mouth, finger on trigger, were not rewarded by the entrance of any hostile boats. Very naturally they imagined more than once that they saw some, and in defiance of orders, fired several shots before they realised that their eyes had deceived them, and this gave admirable scope for mutual recrimination when it was afterwards discussed who had frightened the enemy away. Wylie stood alone as an exponent of the highly unpopular theory that the Roumi prisoner had deliberately deceived his captors by inducing them to light a fire on the headland, which he knew was the prearranged signal denoting danger instead of safety. An indignant deputation at once invaded the cottage in which the prisoner was quartered, but he had saved the situation by dying of his wounds, and the secret thus lost was unanimously voted not to exist. The skill and foresight of Prince Romanos had prepared a signal defeat for the enemy, which had not taken place solely because of the impatience or nervousness of some excited patriots. These took the first opportunity of cleaning their rifles and inserting fresh cartridges, so that the accusation of having fired was bandied about with a fine impartiality based upon the conviction that it could never be brought home to any one in particular.

This belief that Prince Romanos had guided the insurgents within measurable distance of a decisive triumph—missed only through the precipitate action of some persons unknown—smoothed his path when he unfolded his views the next day. He asked for volunteers for coast work, and the whole force desired to enrol themselves under his banner, leaving Wylie in the rather undignified position of a commander without any soldiers. With much tact Prince Romanos pointed out that he could accept only recruits who had practical experience in managing boats, and in this way he weeded out all but the fishermen of the peninsula and such of the mainland refugees as came from the coast. Still, even this reduction followed a curiously marked line.

“I suppose you see,” said Wylie to Maurice, as he looked over his lists, “that we are practically left with the Slavs, while all the Greeks have followed Christodoridi? It’s just the old cleavage over again.”

“That’s bad. How has he managed it?”

“It didn’t want much management—I must do him the justice to say that. It comes simply from the geographical distribution of the people—the Slavs generally north and inland, the Greeks in most cases south and on the coast. It’s natural enough that the Greeks should be the fishing people, and I suppose it’s merely a coincidence that he has fixed on them.”

“We can hardly stipulate that either you or I should be always about with him, to make sure that he doesn’t use the position for his own advantage,” said Maurice, answering the doubt suggested by Wylie’s manner rather than his words.

“No, you gave up all possibility of that when you handed him over a share in the enterprise practically without conditions. By your new way of conducting family feuds he has as much right to lead as you have.”

“We are both under you,” said Maurice quickly. “You are Commander-in-Chief, and Christodoridi’s department of coast defence is entirely subordinate to you at headquarters.”

“I must show it by calling up the men for drill on convenient days. I have an idea that their alacrity in volunteering for him was not unconnected with the prospect of a blissful future in which every man would fight as he liked. But it may be necessary any day to get all our forces together. I hear this morning that a Roumi detachment has occupied Ahmed Pasha,”—this was the village on the mainland nearest to Karakula and the isthmus. “Very likely they intended a simultaneous attack on Karakula and Ephestilo, but now they may prefer to advance in force by land.”

In spite of this forward movement, however, the Roumi authorities were singularly tardy in taking any decisive step. Such news as filtered through to the insurgent headquarters ascribed the delay to intrigues at Czarigrad and to the divided councils of the Powers. Europe was united, it seemed, in coercing the insurgents, since the British warships blockading the Skandalo side of the peninsula were now reinforced by those of other nations, but it could not decide to what extent the Roumi Government was to be allowed a free hand. This respite was of service in allowing Prince Romanos to organise his scheme of defence, though it was dangerous owing to the steady consumption of provisions, which there were no means of replacing. In this particular also Prince Romanos proved himself useful. He had fixed his headquarters at Skandalo, and he discovered that the wary townspeople were contriving to make the best of both worlds by despatching secretly boat-loads of fresh provisions to the blockading ships. It could hardly be doubted that news was conveyed in the same way, and amid the loudly expressed opposition of the inhabitants, Prince Romanos requisitioned all the craft belonging to the town for the service of the Constitutional Assembly, and bought up all the provisions in store, and also the growing crops. The shopkeepers, seeing themselves deprived of the high prices which they had been in the habit of obtaining, were very angry, and the cultivators, who had sold their vegetables to the insurgents with the artless intention of selling them over again to the fleets, resented hotly their fields and gardens being placed under guard, but the leakage was stopped. Moreover, the fishermen scouts brought in now and then accessions of strength,—a boat-load of sympathisers from various countries, anxious to offer the remainder of their (generally discreditable) lives as a sacrifice upon the altar of Emathian freedom, or a collection of guns and ammunition—the ammunition never by any chance fitting the guns—which had been subscribed for by revolutionary circles in continental capitals, and brought thus far on its way by means of lavish bribery of Roumi officials. They obtained news also, through the accredited agents of Professor Panagiotis, who was working heroically with pen and telegraph to impress upon Europe the importance of the Hagiamavran experiment, and to discount in advance the failure which most people predicted for it. He adjured the insurgents to maintain their position at all costs. Europe was already at a loss to know how to deal with them, and the situation must become intolerable if it lasted much longer. Some of the Powers were already threatening to withdraw from the Concert unless more stringent measures were adopted, which the others would not allow, and the brightest hope for the future lay in the prospect that they would carry out their threat. Till then the insurgents had only to hold their ground, repelling all blandishments on the part of the Consuls or other representatives of the Powers, refusing any concessions from Roum, no matter how ample, that were offered without a European guarantee, and above all, remaining absolutely united.

This last counsel of perfection was the more difficult to follow that a distinct difference of opinion was beginning to make itself felt in the deliberations of the leaders. Prince Romanos was claiming—with studied moderation, but still as a right—the power of initiating minor operations without referring every detail to Maurice at the monastery and Wylie wherever he might happen to be. There were so many small triumphs possible, as he justly said,—such as cutting off a picket of Roumi soldiers, or waylaying a boat from the mainland on its way to the fleet and forcibly buying up its freight of provisions,—which would serve to raise the spirits of his men, but the opportunity for which would be lost were he compelled to send and ask leave before starting. Maurice hesitated to sanction these measures, considering that the comparative leniency of the Powers, in “keeping a ring” for the insurgents and seeing that the Roumis fought fair, demanded that the insurgents should abstain from aggressive movements in return. They ought to confine themselves to the defence of the peninsula, and not attack either Roumi soil on the mainland or Roumi vessels outside Hagiamavran waters. Wylie shook his head when this theory was broached in his hearing.

“Won’t work,” he said. “We can’t afford to stick to these rocks merely as a moral object-lesson for Europe. Provisions are running out, Armitage is probably hovering round outside the warships, trying to nose his way in, and can’t do it, and if we go on passively resisting we shall simply be starved out. Even a temporary foothold on Roumi territory means a chance of adding to our stores.”

“But it also means a larger area to guard,” objected Maurice.

“Do the men good. They are getting fed up with the notion that they know all that there is to be known of drill, and are practically invincible. They are growing stale from too much contemplation of their own military virtues. A few small affairs, in which they would get just a little knocked about, would do them all the good in the world, and possibly avert the general stampede which would be a moral certainty if the Roumis attacked us in force to-day with artillery.”

“But the Powers,” persisted Maurice. “They have really displayed remarkable forbearance, and to prejudice our cause in their eyes by acts of aggression——”

“Prince,” said Wylie solemnly, “make no mistake. You can’t prejudice your cause in the eyes of the Powers, because it is already damned beyond redemption as far as three of them are concerned. You want a free and independent Emathia and they don’t. They don’t venture to deal with you themselves, because they are horribly jealous of one another, and they have a haunting fear that England might suddenly go mad and do something rash and high-sounding if they attempted anything like the partition of Poland over again too soon. But they mean to see you cleared out, and by fair means or foul they’ll do it. To sit still and wait will only prolong the agony. Let ’em see you’ve got teeth and will die game.”

“But if we die, we want our dying to do some good for Emathia,” said Maurice.

“Well, and it will do more good to die fighting than preserving a correct moral attitude on a pedestal. We have the shadow of a chance one way, none the other. Not to mention that you can’t play Christodoridi’s game better than by holding the men back when they want to fight.”

“What is his game—your view of it, I mean?”

“To make himself prince and marry your sister.”

The unhesitating reply surprised Maurice. “But Zoe won’t have anything to say to him,” he objected.

“I hope she will.” Wylie said it with the grim determination of the man who prides himself on rising superior to his own feelings. “If he brings off the other part of the programme, of course, that is. Sort of compensation to you for cutting you out, don’t you see? Awfully good for him, too. She would keep him in hand—might even make something of him.”

“I don’t doubt it’s being good for him, but it would be misery for her. She won’t do it. Why, there was that girl at Bashi Konak—the maid-of-honour. He flirted with her under Zoe’s very eyes. That’s not the kind of thing a woman forgets in a hurry.”

“You know more about women than I do, no doubt—better opportunities. The question is whether Christodoridi doesn’t know even more than you. At any rate, I’ve told you what he’s got in his head, and you’ll see that I am correct.”

“I don’t believe the beggar has the cheek,” said Maurice, unconvinced, but a few days later he was reluctantly compelled to acknowledge that Wylie was in all probability right. It was early morning, and the party at the monastery were at breakfast in the gallery, Maurice and Wylie taking the meal in haste between a surprise inspection of the nearest camp and a long tramp over the hills which formed the backbone of the peninsula, to examine the defences behind Karakula. Up to the monastery gate came the thud of soft-shod running feet, and a panting voice summoned the guards to open. A struggle seemed to follow upon the opening, but the runner, a lithe young Greek, wriggled through his opponents and flung himself up the steps. At the top he drew himself up and bowed courteously all round.

“A message and a gift for the Lady Zoe from the Lord Romanos,” he said, and paused impressively. From the folds of his shirt he drew out something scarlet and white in a crumpled mass, then shook it out with the dexterity of a conjuror, and exhibited a Roumi flag. “Last night it waved over the quarters of the Roumi commander at Ahmed Pasha. This morning it is at the feet of the Lady Zoe,” and he spread it proudly on the ground before her.

Much against her will, Zoe felt her colour rise as she stooped to look at it. She glanced at Wylie with something of defiance. “It’s rather large for a handkerchief, and rather small for a tablecloth, isn’t it?” she said, with exaggerated flippancy. To her utter disgust, Wylie answered her only by a frown and an instant endeavour to remove the bad impression she had made.

“Did Prince Christodoridi himself secure this trophy?” he asked, forcing a corner of the flag into her reluctant fingers. The messenger, who had been watching with distinct animosity Zoe’s reception of the offering, brightened again at once.

“It is more than a trophy; it is a token,” he replied. “This morning the Imperial Eagle flies over Ahmed Pasha, in the place of that dishonoured rag.”

“What! Prince Christodoridi has taken the village?” cried Maurice. The messenger swelled with pride.

“With the noble Prince as leader, we stole upon the place last night in three bands, and took the Roumi dogs by surprise. The village is now free from them.”

“How many prisoners?” asked Wylie sharply.

“None, lord. It was a sharp fight, a fight to a finish.”

“I hope it’s all right,” said Wylie to Maurice in English. “We don’t want prisoners, certainly, but I know these fellows’ ways. Did the Prince capture the tower of Segreti at the same time?” he asked the messenger, alluding to an old Venetian fortification near the village, which had been used as a citadel by the Roumis.

“Nay, lord, the noise of the fighting warned the garrison, and we could not take them by surprise. But the Lord Romanos is even now directing the digging of a trench which is to cut off their water-supply, and then the tower also will fall into our hands.”

“We will visit Prince Christodoridi this morning, and congratulate him on his success,” said Maurice. “You can take the day for rest, and return to him in the evening.”

“Nay, lord, I will return at once, and inform the Prince that you and the Lord Glafko will visit him,” was the reply, and refusing all offers of refreshment, the messenger set out at once. Maurice and Wylie followed on mules, noticing as they went the ferment caused by the news of the capture of the Roumi post. Their own men were crestfallen and resentful, the Greeks flushed with triumph. The old schism was present in a form comparatively harmless, but capable of being grievously accentuated, for the wildest tales of spoil and slaughter, springing from seed casually flung by the messenger on his way, were circulating everywhere, and the Slavs were asking why they had not been allowed their share. Arrived at the isthmus, they found Karakula practically deserted, its garrison having marched in a body to Ahmed Pasha in hope of loot.

“Pretty thing if the Roumis had landed now!” said Wylie grimly. “Christodoridi and half our force cut off outside our boundaries, and Karakula undefended. I’ll stay here and beat up what recruits I can, Prince, while you go on and fetch the fellows back.”

Maurice went on, to be greeted by a few stray shots from the ramparts of Segreti, and to find the work of cutting off the water-supply at a standstill, the men refusing to dig until they had thoroughly ransacked the village. Prince Romanos met him in a state of mind compounded of pride and disgust. His force was now engaged in testing walls and turning up the ground round the houses, to discover where the inhabitants had concealed their hoards, and the triumph of the night might at any moment be turned into disaster if the garrison of Segreti should pluck up sufficient courage to make a sortie. Together the two leaders beat up a band of the men most amenable to reason, and sent them back to reinforce Wylie, and then they set to work to collect the rest and post them in the positions that were capable of defence, since it was hardly probable that Jalal-ud-din would meekly accept the transformation of Ahmed Pasha from an outpost of his own to one of the enemy’s. Wylie must come and decide what works ought to be constructed, and how far it was possible to overawe the defenders of Segreti by fire from the village while their water-supply was diverted, and Maurice foresaw that he would probably wish to take up his quarters at Ahmed Pasha for the present, if the village was to be held. Maurice himself inclined to the belief that it would be wiser to withdraw from it, but Prince Romanos could not bear to think of surrending the fruits of his victory, and they argued the matter as they went back towards Karakula. As they approached the village, Wylie met them, and turned the current of their thoughts.

“There’s a boat coming in with a flag of truce—a steam-pinnace from the fleet,” he said. “It’s a good thing you are both on the spot. I have got together a guard for you.”

They walked down towards the shore and watched the boat approach. An officer in commander’s uniform and a dragoman disembarked and picked their way across the rocks, with some loss of dignity, followed by six fully-armed seamen.

“Can hardly be an offer of terms,” said Wylie. “The boat has her gun trained on us, too.”

Arrived on level ground, the commander paused, evidently waiting to be addressed. Maurice advanced. “You are the bearer of a communication from the Admirals, sir?” he asked.

“I am, sir,” snapped the officer, whose temper had clearly suffered from the method of landing. “I am to inquire whether you think the Powers have sent their fleets here to enable you and your followers to behave with impunity as savages?”

“I know of nothing that could lead you to imagine that we thought so,” replied Maurice.

“Not your achievement of last night? But perhaps you are not aware that one witness escaped your infamous massacre?”

“I know of no massacre. If you are alluding to the capture of Ahmed Pasha, I believe we have as much right to take villages from the Roumis as they have to try and take ours.”

“But not to refuse quarter when it is asked for, and to murder sick men in cold blood. The Admirals give you fair warning that upon the first repetition of such barbarities, they will bombard Skandalo and all your coast villages, and sink every craft on the coast. Also——”

“Wait, if you please,” said Maurice. “The Admirals are condemning us unheard. I am willing to give every facility for an inquiry. This is the first I have heard of these outrages, and I can only hope it is not true.”

“Ask your people and see if they will deny it!” cried the ambassador. “If you choose to associate yourself with such a crew, you must take the responsibility for their peculiar views of fighting. In future you will be good enough to understand that the Powers will permit no further aggressions on Roumi territory, and will interfere if they are attempted.”

“Are we to understand that the Powers will also prohibit any Roumi aggression on our territory?”

“No, sir, you are not to understand anything of the kind. The Powers are about tired of your impudence in calling the peninsula yours, and it will give them great pleasure to see the rightful owners in possession of it again.” This time the dragoman was the speaker, somewhat to the disgust of his companion, who gave him a withering look, but he was not to be silenced. “We have warned you, and if you continue to resist, we shall see your blood upon your own heads!” he cried.

“I presume that I may report to the Admirals that I delivered my message to Prince Theophanis in person?” said the naval man.

“You may, sir, and also that I protested against their saddling me with crimes of which I had not the smallest knowledge. The matter shall be looked into.”

The parties separated with bows and mutual ill-humour, the sailors ostentatiously taking turns to cover the retreat of the ambassadors for fear of treachery.

“Then the man did escape!” said Prince Romanos thoughtfully.

Maurice turned on him. “Then there was an organised attempt to leave no witnesses, and you connived at it?”

“We never give quarter to Roumis,” was the frank reply. “It is not our custom, and never has been, and if you had been born in Eastern Europe, Prince, you would understand why. They give none to us. About the sick men I don’t understand; they must have fired at us, for all the men I saw killed were armed.”

“And the killing of the wounded—you saw that?”

“No; I told the men to make all safe, while I secured the flag. When I came down from the roof they told me they were afraid one man had escaped, and we searched everywhere, but could not find him.”

“Then the wounded were killed?” said Maurice.

“Of course. But it was not as if their wounds were slight,” said Prince Romanos eagerly. “They would have died in any case.”

CHAPTER XV.
THE TOWER OF SEGRETI.

The next day happened to be the festival of a very important saint, and it was of course out of the question that any drill should take place. A burst of heavy firing early in the morning suggested that the Roumis were presuming on the piety of the insurgents to make an attack in the belief that they would not fight, but Wylie was able to reassure his friends when he came to breakfast.

“Nothing but powder-play,” he said. “Simple wicked waste of cartridges in honour of St Elijah, or whatever his name is. I have put a stop to it, of course, but the men are very sick. The Assembly is summoned for noon, Prince, and I’m afraid we shall have a long job.”

The Assembly was held by desire both of Maurice and of the men who had taken part in the capture of Ahmed Pasha. He wished to impress upon the whole body of insurgents the humanitarian principles held in such high esteem by the Powers, and the heroes of the assault were eager to defend themselves and claim the applause and support of their fellows. They had not taken at all kindly to the indignant lecture Maurice bestowed on them after his interview with the envoys from the fleet, and it was evident that Prince Romanos sided with them in his heart, though the sentiments to which he gave utterance were the most civilised possible. There was a great deal at stake, and Zoe, who had listened attentively to all the discussions beforehand, sat waiting anxiously in the shadow of the gateway to hear what was decided. The deliberations of the Assembly were unusually brief on this occasion, but it was past five o’clock before she saw Wylie coming up the hill.

“Well?” she asked him eagerly.

“Oh, horribly unsatisfactory,” he replied, taking a seat beside her. “Your brother and I simply lammed into the fellows about their methods of barbarism, but they don’t see it a bit. Of course it’s perfectly natural from their point of view. None of them would dream of asking for quarter from a Roumi, and they have no idea of offering it. Why, then, should they give quarter if a Roumi so far forgets the rules of the game as to ask for his life? As to killing the wounded, they themselves are just as dangerous wounded as sound—or rather more so, since down on the ground they might escape notice—and the Roumis are the same. And suppose they humoured your brother’s incomprehensible scruples, what should they do with prisoners if they got them? There was a wild ray of hope that he might wish to torture them for the sake of extracting information, and they were ready to promise any number, but that soon faded away. The idea of keeping them safe and treating them kindly, merely for the sake of letting them go again, struck them as sheer lunacy, and they insisted that there was no question of the exchange of prisoners, because the Roumis never took any—or got any; I don’t know which they meant to imply. It was no use whatever appealing to them on the moral side, for they declared in all good faith that Roumis were not human beings.”

“But Prince Romanos?” cried Zoe. “He seems to have such influence with them, and he can’t believe all these absurd things.”

“I fancy there’s a good deal of the original Archipelago pirate left under the Parisian poet,” said Wylie incautiously. “Not that I would say a word against him,” he added hastily; “he stands in with us in this like a man, whatever his personal views may be. As it is, your brother has had to go in for simple expediency, very much against the grain, but perhaps it made it easier for Prince Christodoridi to back him. To turn the neutrality of the Powers into active hostility appealed even to our children of nature as foolishness, though there was some disposition to receive the warning as they did Admiral Essiter’s on board the Magniloquent. But we got to a working compromise—nominally, that is. I fear it only means that our fellows will be more careful to finish off any wounded Roumis before we appear in the neighbourhood.”

“But they don’t seem to have an idea of discipline,” said Zoe despairingly. “How can you expect them to obey an order they don’t like?”

“Ah, that is where our Sikhs will come in—when we get them. At present the best we can do is to maintain order among the Slavs with the help of the Greeks, and among the Greeks with the help of the Slavs, so keeping the old sore open all the time—and with the risk that at any moment Greek and Slav may come to the conclusion that they dislike us rather worse than each other, and combine against us. Your brother spoke his mind strongly on the refusal of quarter and the killing of wounded men, and vowed that any man concerned in anything of the kind after this should be shot without benefit of clergy, but that’s a thing easier said than done. There’s hardly a man you could depend upon to help arrest another in such a case, and if it came to shooting—why, two revolvers are not many against a whole crowd with rifles. The fact is, physical force is the only thing that appeals to these fellows at their present stage, and your brother is coming to see that they can’t be ruled by reason.”

Zoe had turned pale. “You mean that he—and you—are only safe among them because you are known to be armed?” she said.

“Oh no, it’s not quite as bad as that. There is such a thing as moral influence, you know. Besides, I believe our fellows themselves would condemn to death—and execute—any man that tried to murder him or me, if it was done in an underhand way, that is, not in the course of a gentlemanly argument in the Assembly. Any one attempting to blow up one of the warships would be treated in the same way, because that’s the sort of thing the Powers might naturally resent; but they can’t see why the Powers should take it upon themselves to interfere with their domestic customs. Your brother can only back his orders by the threat of leaving the insurgents to themselves, and in some moods they would a good deal rather be without him. So we may yet find ourselves in more danger from our own men than from the Roumis—certainly more than from the Powers.”

He stopped abruptly, and Zoe looked at him in surprise. He was pulling at his moustache in an undecided way.

“I want to speak to you on a personal matter,” he said, in a notably unconciliatory tone.

“Personal to you, or to me?” asked Zoe.

“To you.”

Zoe raised her eyebrows. “I can only promise to listen to you, not to take your advice—which I have not asked for.”

“I know that. You sent Christodoridi back his flag?”

“Most certainly. I never liked the idea of keeping it, and when I found it was the trophy of an ‘infamous massacre,’ I returned it to him at once.”

“Meaning to snub him as horribly as possible?”

“Meaning to show him that attentions from him were distasteful.” Zoe’s words came out with great clearness.

“Do you think you are treating the poor wretch properly?” Wylie spoke with the first approach to diffidence he had shown, and she triumphed.

“Yes, I think I am taking the right and honourable course,” she said, slowly and thoughtfully. “As nothing would induce me to marry him, I think it is only fair to let him see it plainly. But really, what this has to do with you——”

He raised his hand, and she wondered whether the gesture spelt appeal or command. He seemed to be wavering between the two. “You ought to marry him,” he said. “It is your duty—the best thing for you.”

“Then I am quite sure I shall not do my duty,” said Zoe calmly. “But since you are taking this kind interest in my future, perhaps you will explain why it should be the best thing for me?”

She had herself well in hand, and spoke with extreme precision, while he brought out his words with difficulty. She could have pitied him if he had not been so persistently wrong-headed, so determined to make misery for himself. “It is in case of trouble—if anything happened,” he said incoherently. “If he married you, it would be his duty to take you away from here at once. No one could think the worse of him for it.”

“Except his wife. That wouldn’t signify, of course. And you still think I would escape and leave Eirene here?”

“Oh, the Princess and Con would go too, naturally.”

“Very naturally. And you and Maurice?”

“Oh, you know what your brother is. I should stay with him, of course.”

“And now you will know what I am. I shall stay with him too, of course.” The conversation should have ended with this retort, but Zoe was incapable of letting matters remain as they were. The man deserved punishment, and he should have it. “And now that I have answered your questions, perhaps you will let me know the reason of your sudden concern for me?” she asked.

“As your brother’s friend—servant——”

“Indeed! If you had said that the memory of old times, or the fear that another deserving young man might be as badly treated as you were, had made you speak, it would be a different thing. It would have given you a personal standing in the matter. But to say what you have said, merely as a servant or friend of the family, is unpardonable. It is a piece of gross impertinence.”

She expected an outburst of anger, but he controlled himself admirably. “You can say what you like to me,” he said, and once again Zoe’s heart played her false. Severity was obviously the proper course, but she could not be severe when he was meek.

“There is one other reason—only one—that might justify you,” she said hurriedly, looking on the ground. “If you could say honestly, ‘I have a part to play, and I have made up my mind to play it. I will not be tempted to throw it up, and I am afraid of being tempted—I am tempted——’”

Her voice failed, and her head had sunk so low that he could not see her face. If she could have forced herself to look up, and their eyes had met, the barrier between them must have been broken down; but he had time to recover himself, and his voice was harsh as he answered—

“You have no right to say that. Such a supposition is unpardonable. It is a piece of——”

“Oh!” cried Zoe, covering her ears as she recognised the echo of her own words, and shrinking away from him. The humiliation of his presence was intolerable, and she was stung at last into speaking again. “Would you kindly go?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“Forgive me. I was a—a cad to say it.” He brought out the odious word with a fierce satisfaction, as if he desired to hear Zoe confirm his self-condemnation. But she looked steadily away from him.

“I will forgive you when you forgive yourself,” she said, and Wylie left her, cursing his own evil temper, the memory of his past wrongs, the present danger, and all the other circumstances that had conspired to make him behave like a brute, when he had honestly intended to play a high and heroic part. It had seemed such a suitable punishment—well, not exactly punishment; say recompense—to carry the unselfish sentiments he had enunciated when Zoe refused him long ago to the point of promoting this politically desirable marriage for her, and they ought both to have felt it an excellent arrangement. But Zoe saw fit to object, and what was more absurd still, he discovered that in his use of moral suasion he had hurt himself as much as he had her. Very wisely, but a little late, he registered a vow to leave Prince Romanos to fight his own battles in future.

Fortunately for Zoe, she was not called upon to meet Wylie again for the present. The Assembly, before receiving Maurice’s pronouncement on the subject of the usages of war, had declared emphatically in favour of retaining Ahmed Pasha and proceeding to the capture of the tower of Segreti. Maurice and Wylie had urged in vain the danger of finding their forces divided by a surprise attack delivered at the narrowest part of the isthmus; not a man would support them in withdrawing from the first spot liberated on the mainland. If Ahmed Pasha was to be held, it was very clear that Segreti must be taken, since its defenders, should they be well supplied with ammunition, could render the village untenable. That they had not done so already was presumably due to lack of supplies, since they had left off wasting cartridges on long shots, and only fired when they saw any considerable body of insurgents together, but this might be merely a ruse. Wylie had urged that since the tower was to be taken, it would be best to storm it, but this advice ran counter to all the instincts of his followers. A frontal attack on an enemy ensconced behind stone walls was out of the question in their eyes. A foe might be ambushed, surprised, taken in the rear, but never attacked in front. The cutting-off of the water-supply, now nearly completed, would soon begin to cause the garrison inconvenience, and the insurgents need only post themselves round the tower at a discreet distance, to see that no one escaped.

This last comforting doctrine Wylie opposed with more success. Jalal-ud-din’s apparent supineness hitherto had inclined the insurgents to consider him a negligible quantity, but they allowed themselves, after much argument, to be convinced that he could not possibly remain passive under the cutting-up of the Ahmed Pasha detachment. His obvious objective was the tower of Segreti, since to relieve that would mean also the recapture of the village, while to allow the garrison to be annihilated would expose him to eternal disgrace—as well as to very mundane penalties from his master. This fact having been impressed upon the minds of the Assembly, Wylie was empowered to take such means, short of storming the tower, as commended themselves to him for repulsing the expected Roumi force, and he transferred his headquarters to Ahmed Pasha the same evening. His first duty on the morrow was to try and induce the garrison of the tower to surrender, which he did by pointing out that their water was now cut off, and that they must be short both of provisions and ammunition. Their reply was simply to invite him to come up and attack them, assuring him that they had plenty of ammunition left to repel any force he could muster. In the meantime they jeered both at his promise of a safe-conduct to the Roumi lines if they surrendered, and his warnings of their certain fate if they remained obstinate. Since nothing would induce his unsatisfactory and independent troops to embark upon the series of harassing night assaults and feigned attacks with which he would have tried to tire out the defenders and exhaust their stores, his only hope was to prepare a warm reception for the relieving force.

In this course he had the satisfaction of finding that his men were thoroughly with him. A guerilla warfare was something they could understand, and his previous training had sharpened their natural faculty for taking advantage of the rugged nature of the country. There were two possible ways of approach for a force coming from the direction of Therma—one by paths through the hills, the other along the sea-shore—and under Wylie’s orders the insurgents rendered both as difficult as possible. The work on the shore had to be conducted with the greatest secrecy, in view of the presence of the warships, which were apt to turn their search-lights landwards at inconvenient moments during the night; but the track was already so rough, and so frequently interrupted by projecting headlands, that there was little likelihood of its being chosen for the advance. More attention was therefore bestowed on the inland route, and the two days which were all the breathing-space that Jalal-ud-din allowed his foes were turned to good account. Great excitement prevailed on the third night after the capture, when Wylie’s scouts came in to announce that a column was actually advancing with the Pasha himself in command, and that it was guarding a train of baggage-animals conveying supplies for the garrison of Segreti. Wylie made a final inspection of his force, saw that the members of the various bands were at the posts he had assigned them, and not at those to which their own sweet will inclined, and hurried back for a final conference with Maurice, who was in command at Karakula, lest the moment of the fight should be chosen for an attack upon the isthmus.

The day that followed was a long and exciting one. It seemed that Jalal-ud-din Pasha imagined that the mere sight of his array was sufficient to quell opposition, for he disdained to take the obvious precaution of searching the country ahead of him and on either side of his line of march. Therefore his progress was a succession of small fights. A burst of firing from a scarcely discernible trench on a hillside, or from a thicket that looked too small to shelter a single rifleman; then a halt, during which his troops blazed away lustily, while a detachment detailed for the purpose climbed the hill laboriously to clear out the hornets’ nest, and returned disappointed to report that the assailants had vanished. The number of wounded increased steadily, and the nerves even of the stolid Roumi rank-and-file became affected. There was no opportunity of catching the insurgents in a body, and it was very rarely that even an odd man or two showed themselves. Jalal-ud-din set his teeth and continued to advance. Once through these defiles, his force could sweep away anything that ventured to oppose it, and Segreti must be relieved, even if it were not now as dangerous to turn back as to go on. One more long narrow valley, and the relieving column would emerge on the comparatively level ground round Ahmed Pasha.

This last valley was full of terrors for the Roumi troops. There was no more haphazard firing from the heights; each man here was a marksman, and each bullet found its billet, until no attempt was made to care for the wounded as they fell, for the common impulse to get through and get out hurried every man on. It was a demoralised and disorderly body of men, encumbered and mixed up with driverless mules and horses which had lost their riders, that approached the mouth of the valley at last. The only way open before them was the one leading to the shore, for that to Ahmed Pasha was blocked by a rough barricade of earth, stones, sods, anything that could be obtained, and from it there broke a hail of fire, utterly unexpected. Jalal-ud-din tried to rally his men, but this last surprise was too much for them, and they hurried panic-stricken down the road to the shore, still galled by the fire from the barricade, which did terrible execution upon the mass pressed together in the narrow space. On the shore things were no better, for bullets came from the cliffs behind and the walls and roofs of Ahmed Pasha away to the left, while the defenders of the barricade were beginning to climb over it and form themselves into a line in front.

This was the crucial moment for Wylie’s scheme. Mere slaughter was not what he aimed at. If the provisions and stores convoyed by the column could be secured, Jalal-ud-din and the remains of his force were free to make the best of their way home by the beach. The insurgents’ orders were to strike for the baggage-animals, and let the soldiers alone unless they tried to make a stand, and if they had obeyed them a notable triumph might have been secured. But the sight of the hereditary foe, confused and in retreat, was too much for the mountaineers, and instead of following Wylie into the thickest of the press, they swerved, as if by instinct, to the right, so as to cut off the Roumi retreat. In the wild mêlée which ensued all order was lost, and every man fought the nearest available foe with cold steel, for rifles were useless, save as clubs. Wylie, escaping imminent death over and over again almost by a miracle, used voice and whistle in vain to call off his men, but what he could not do was effected by an outside agent. There was a distant boom, and something came singing overhead, at the sound of which the Roumis promptly flung themselves on the ground. The insurgents, conspicuous in their white kilts or grey homespun among the darker uniforms, stared at them in amazement, but were about to take full advantage of their unlooked-for cowardice when there came another boom, and something fell into the mass of men on the right of the fight and exploded. Wylie was the first to realise what had happened. The Admirals had fulfilled their threat, and were shelling the rebels who had ventured to pass the limit they had laid down. All the ships in sight were firing now, the Magniloquent, as the nearest, leading, and dropping her shells, with terrible precision, exactly where the insurgents were thickest. For a moment they looked about them with a kind of stupid wonder, then, as Wylie had always known they would do if confronted with modern artillery, they broke and fled wildly, with shrieks and cries, the warships completing their discomfiture by planting more shells wherever ten or a dozen men ran together. Rather by good fortune than calculation, a considerable number sought refuge in the mouth of the valley through which the Roumis had come, and here, where shells could only be dropped by guesswork, Wylie got them into some sort of order, pointing out that Jalal-ud-din must run the gauntlet of their fire even now to reach Segreti.

The firing from the ships ceased, and Wylie expected every moment to see the head of the Roumi column appear, but he waited in vain. At last, followed in fear and trembling by one bold man, he crept out to reconnoitre, but to his astonishment found the scene of the battle left solitary. Looking along the seaside road to the right, he saw in the distance a disorderly crowd making its way back towards Therma. Jalal-ud-din’s force was in retreat, considering discretion the better part of valour in spite of the assistance of the ships. Another shell buried itself in the sand unpleasantly near Wylie and his kilted companion, and he returned hastily to his men, sending orders to Ahmed Pasha that a white flag was to be hoisted while he led the search for the dead and wounded. Segreti was not relieved, at any rate, but the supplies for which he had hoped were irrevocably lost, and the warships of the Powers had fired upon the insurgents.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE CONSULS TO THE RESCUE.

The confusion that prevailed in Ahmed Pasha after the fight was nothing short of sickening to the orderly English mind. The mass of the insurgents thought of nothing but holding an Assembly of their own, and shouting their grievances into one another’s sympathetic ears, and at last, in disgust, Wylie left them to do it. Maurice and Dr Terminoff, with a score of men carrying litters, came hurrying from Karakula, and with a few members of Wylie’s force who were able to conquer the desire to talk, set to work to care for the wounded. Each man, as soon as his hurts had been hastily bandaged, was sent to the rear, which meant Eirene’s hospital at Skandalo—a long journey either on mule-back or by litter, but there was no guarantee of even temporary safety at this end of the peninsula. Maurice and Dr Terminoff convoyed the long train of bearers, and Wylie, finding that his forces were still too much inebriated with their own verbosity to have any leisure for their military duties, took advantage of the fact to look after the Roumi wounded. There were not many of these, but he had placed several carefully in a sheltered spot near the shore, and he knew there must be more in the valley. These he brought out and laid near the rest, with the obedient but unwilling help of the few men who had stuck to him, and leaving them guarded, beckoned Prince Romanos quietly out of the Assembly, which had now, by sunset, reached the pitch of excitement at which every one tried to speak at once.

“I am off to the fleet, to get them to take the Roumi wounded on board,” he said. “Keep these fellows on the talk, until they’re got rid of.”

“But they will shoot you at sight,” objected Prince Romanos. “And who will row you out to the ships?”

“No one—not even one of my own men. I must row myself as best I can. But one man alone won’t look very alarming. They’ll hardly fire.”

“My man Petros shall row you. He won’t like it, but he’ll do it for me. You are wise, to send the poor wretches off before our friends remember them.”

“The only chance,” agreed Wylie, and presently Prince Romanos helped him to drag a small boat down to the beach, and he was soon being rowed towards the fleet by the deeply disapproving Petros, who objected equally to the errand, the darkness, and the danger.

“Halt! What boat’s that?” came a challenge, and a shape loomed up close to the little vessel, not the huge towering bulk of one of the warships, but a picket-boat which was patrolling the neighbourhood of the fleet. The precaution surprised Wylie, until he remembered that dynamite had always been one of the favourite weapons of the insurgents in their career on the mainland, and that the Powers could hardly imagine themselves to be enthusiastically beloved at this particular moment. He explained his errand, and the officer in the boat listened with surprise and evident incredulity, exchanging a few sentences with a subordinate, among which the words, “Trap. Pay us out for this afternoon,” were clearly audible.

“I am an Englishman myself—a British officer until two months ago,” said Wylie, and a lantern was flashed suddenly in his face. The scrutiny seemed to be satisfactory, for the lantern was turned to another use by being employed to flash signals to the nearest ship, and presently a steam-pinnace came swishing and panting through the darkness, bearing the commander who had carried the Admirals’ remonstrance a few days before, and who was now charged, as he pointed out, strictly to report upon the state of affairs. He invited Wylie into the pinnace, and ordered his boat to be towed behind, but his manner was the reverse of cordial.

“The Admiral has a high opinion of your impudence in asking us to do your dirty work for you,” he said. “Why don’t you foot your own butchers’ bill?”

“Our fellows are quite ready to do it,” returned Wylie in his driest tone. “Unfortunately, the Powers would hardly approve of their methods.”

“If you imagine we are going to help you out of the difficulties you get into through being unable to control your associates——” began the officer pugnaciously.

“Not at all. I propose to show you the Roumi wounded, whom Prince Theophanis and I have collected out of all sorts of places—there are fifteen of them. You will be good enough to satisfy yourself that they have been treated as well as the absence of proper appliances permits. If you take them on board, there will be no more trouble on the score of humanity. If you refuse—well, the Prince and I and a few of our men will protect them if we can, but the responsibility will not be ours. And they must share with us such food as we have, and we are on short commons already.”

The commander grunted, and on reaching the shore followed Wylie in silence. He looked narrowly at the wounded Roumis lying behind their screen of bushes, jerked out a question or two, and turned to Wylie again.

“I’ll take ’em,” he said. “It’s not strictly correct, but your Prince and you seem decent fellows, and there’s no need to let you in for worse than you’re in for already.”

“Lord!” It was Petros, who stood, breathing hard, at Wylie’s side; “a word from the Lord Romanos. He said, ‘Tell the Lord Glafko that they are brandishing their rifles. They will not talk much longer.’”

“No time to lose,” said Wylie, and he and the commander laid etiquette aside and worked with the sailors from the pinnace in carrying the wounded on board. Before the work was half done, torches began to move about in the direction of Ahmed Pasha, and shouts were heard.

“They have remembered, and are coming to search the battlefield,” said Wylie. “Heaven send they may go to the valley first!”

The torches were wandering in all directions, towards the valley and the barricade, and also towards the scene of the fight on the shore, across which the bearers were passing with their helpless burdens.

“Go on and get done as quick as you can,” said Wylie to the commander. “I’ll lead them astray.”

The Roumi dead had been laid near the barricade, ready for burial on the morrow, and Wylie shouted to the advancing warriors, asking if they sought them. As they followed his voice, he led them away from the beach, but to his surprise they seemed to have no thought of the foe, whether dead or alive. They pressed round him and hustled him back against the barricade, the construction of which he had himself superintended the day before.

“Traitor! You and your master have betrayed us to the Europeans!” was the cry, as the torchlight flickered on the fierce faces.

“There has been no betrayal,” said Wylie sharply. “You were warned that the warships would fire if we fought on Roumi territory, but you chose to do it.”

“You led us to the shore. You had covenanted with the Admirals to betray us!”

“Right—oh!” came a long-drawn shout from the shore. “Can we take you on board, Colonel?”

Then the wounded were safe. Wylie sent back a ringing “No, thanks. Good night!” putting his hands to his mouth, and turned again to his accusers. But their attention had been diverted from him for the moment.

“Europeans—here!” was the cry, and for an instant there was every prospect of a stampede. The bombardment of the afternoon had left its mark. But in the silence the sound of the pinnace’s engine as she steamed away was distinctly audible, and it was obviously retreating.

“Glafko’s friends came to rescue him,” suggested some one. “They are frightened, and have gone away.” The inference was clear. Glafko was defenceless; and the rush of accusations came shrill and confused. Maurice and Wylie were agents of the Powers for betraying the insurgents to Roum. They were agents of Roum for betraying them to the Powers. They were escaped criminals, who had excited such violent resentment in the breasts of the Powers that their presence among the innocent Emathians brought down punishment upon them also. The various charges clashed hopelessly, but the general result was universally accepted. Wylie had been instrumental in inducing the guileless insurgents to expect the sympathy of the Powers, and had led them to expose themselves to a treacherous attack. Defence was as useless as it would have been inaudible, for the insurgents were as ready to forget as they had shown themselves unable to appreciate the many warnings they had received against relying on the support of Europe. A man who had seen Wylie set off for the fleet this evening added his testimony, and another, one of his unwilling helpers, told how the Roumi wounded had been carefully tended and laid in one place, from which they had now been removed. Quite half the crowd immediately went to verify this last fact, and returned to add fresh curses to those already raining upon Wylie. No one had as yet ventured to lay hands upon him, and he had not drawn his revolver, but he was anxiously calculating his chances. The party at the monastery ought to be warned, for Maurice would not dream of mutiny on the part of his own men. If he fired now, he must fire to kill, and that would hardly improve matters, but who was there to whom he could entrust a message with any hope of its being delivered?

It was Wylie’s salvation on this occasion that the ascendency he had established even over the men who disliked him was so strong that no one cared to strike the first blow, and also that his back was defended by the barricade. The men who shouted most loudly against him were those on the outskirts of the crowd, and they made no attempt to go beyond words, though one stone flung towards him would have been the signal for a storm. Nor did they offer any opposition when Prince Romanos pushed his way through them, and placed himself at Wylie’s side.

“What is this?” he cried.

A dozen voices answered him, repeating the various accusations. He raised his hand in silence.

“This behaviour is unworthy of free men—of patriots,” he said loudly. “For weeks we have warned you that there was no help to be looked for from the Powers. Their great war-vessels are hemming us in for the express purpose of keeping away from us friends and supplies, and watching our dying agonies. Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie are not likely to obtain any sympathy from England; rather their love for Emathia has brought her displeasure upon them. We have only one friend in all Europe, and that is not one of the Great Powers. My unhappy country stands aside, longing to assist her brothers, but bound hand and foot. She has suffered too sorely already for her sympathy to dare to disregard the threats now showered upon her. Sons of Emathia, you bear me no malice because my country cannot help you. Then why accuse Prince Theophanis of treachery because his country helps Roum? He and I are alike powerless.”

Wylie listened with startled attention. Put in this way, there was a considerable difference between the attitude of Morea and that of the European Concert, and he could hardly expect that the Emathians would fail to see it. That they did not miss the point was shown by a voice from the back which called out, “Romanos for Prince!” and the approving shout which greeted the words. Prince Romanos silenced the voices again.

“Now you are trenching on the functions of the Constitutional Assembly,” he said. “Such words should not be uttered until peace is attained. But that will never be if you reward by ungrateful attacks the gentlemen who have given up so much in England to come to our help.”

The meeting broke up in enthusiasm, amid renewed shouts of “Romanos for Prince!” and Wylie and Prince Romanos walked back to Ahmed Pasha and made joint arrangements for the defence. Wylie’s mind dwelt gratefully and lovingly on the agreement into which he had entered with Lieutenant Cotway, and on the pathway he had so carefully prepared from the monastery to Ephestilo. It was possible that the escape of the ladies would have to be managed before very long now. There was no romantic loyalty about the insurgents.

The untoward events of that day and evening appeared to pass off without serious consequences. Wylie doubled the guard at the monastery, and Maurice, on hearing what had happened, insisted that his friend should never go about without a bodyguard of his own, picked from among the Slavs on whose fidelity it was possible, so far as could be known, to count. One of them was the Zeko with whom the party had made acquaintance long before in his brigand days, who seemed to take an almost paternal interest in Wylie, and was quite ready to slay any number of Greeks in his defence. Thus attended, Wylie remained at Ahmed Pasha, watching from a distance the unfortunate garrison of Segreti, who had seen their hope of relief swept away, but remained as determined as ever not to surrender. It seemed impossible that either the Roumis or the Powers should leave them to starve, and therefore Wylie felt little surprise when a boat from the fleet, bearing a flag of truce, landed the dragoman who had already visited him, to announce that the Consuls of the Powers had decided to effect the relief of Segreti on behalf of their respective Governments, purely for the sake of humanity. They would arrive under a flag of truce, bringing with them no Roumi troops, but merely a naval guard, adequate to the dignity of each Consul, drawn from the fleet of his particular Power, and unless opposition was offered to their landing, would not interfere with the insurgents. Of the difficulty which the insurgents’ unfortunate leaders would have in reconciling them to this arrangement, the Consuls could hardly be expected to take account.

“What in the world do they want to make such a fuss about it for?” grumbled Wylie to Prince Romanos. “We could have managed it any night if they had had the sense to communicate with us privately. Now our fellows must stand by and see their prey snatched away from them.”

“Suggest to the Powers that a Roumi attack should be arranged for the same time at the monastery end,” proposed Prince Romanos.

“And suppose it came off? Besides, we don’t want to give our fellows reason to suspect any more plots. No, we shall have to explain things openly. I think they have just sense enough not to wish to provoke a conflict with the Powers.”

“How do you mean to dispose of them on the occasion?”

“Why, the proper thing would be to have them drawn up to salute the Consuls, of course. But I daren’t venture on such close quarters. I should like to withdraw them to Karakula, but I know they wouldn’t go, lest the Powers should put the Roumis back in Ahmed Pasha. I suppose they must stay here, but if any consideration on earth can induce them to pile arms, they shall do it.”

The temper of the insurgents proved to be exactly what Wylie had expected. The news that the Powers were intervening to rescue the defiant opponents whose ultimate discomfiture they had anticipated with so much certainty provoked many new accusations of treachery, and it required some hours of talking before the prudence of those who realised the divinity that doth hedge the person of a Consul could prevail over the truculence of the rest. Distasteful as the sight of the pacific removal of the garrison would be, however, every man was resolved to witness it, and a sullen mob crowded the roofs of Ahmed Pasha when the Consuls were expected. Prince Romanos had exerted himself nobly to second Wylie in insisting that the rifles should be left behind under guard, and they were doubly thankful that they had done so when they observed the vigorous pantomime by which the garrison of Segreti expressed their delight at the approaching release—on the ramparts, so as to be clearly visible against the sky, with the amiable object of exasperating their helpless foes as much as possible.

The progress of the Consuls on their work of mercy was imposing in the extreme. The boats from the various fleets were marshalled in squadrons, and the precedence of each squadron was determined by the seniority of the Consul it escorted. In every other respect, the size of the boats and the number of men they carried, the squadrons were equal in all cases—a mute testimony to the mutual jealousy of the Powers. The British Consul-General, Sir Frank Francis, happened to be the senior official present, and to him Wylie addressed himself as soon as he landed, begging him to hasten his work as much as possible, and to restrain the rescued Roumis from offering provocation to the insurgents. Sir Frank looked at him as though he was presuming on old acquaintance, and replied shortly that the relief would be accomplished with due formality, and that the Consuls intended to take advantage of the occasion to make one more appeal to the common-sense of the insurgents. Wylie shrugged his shoulders and washed his hands of all responsibility, but returned to beg that the Consuls would time their appeal to coincide with the actual relief, so as to divide the attention of the insurgents as far as possible. Sir Frank would make no promises, and Wylie and his guard stood aside while other gold-laced and decorated gentlemen joined their leader, and successive bodies of armed sailors landed and formed up on the beach.

In stately procession the Consuls and their guards marched up from the beach to the tower, the watchers at Ahmed Pasha looking on with angry eyes, and the besieged came forth to meet them with extravagant demonstrations of rejoicing. There was some delay while the garrison collected their personal property, and exhibited in ocular evidence the straits to which they had been reduced, and in the meantime a discussion of some sort seemed to be going on among the highly ornamented group of diplomatists outside the tower. To Wylie, watching through his glass, it appeared that Sir Frank was urging the other Consuls to accompany him on his mission of conciliation to Ahmed Pasha, but that the unamiable attitude of the insurgents, as observed through the binoculars of the naval auxiliaries, inclined his colleagues to consider that a dragoman was the best person to go, while the senior dragoman present gave it as his honest opinion that the task was not one on which any man below the rank of Consul ought to be sent. The difficulty was evidently solved at last by Sir Frank’s undertaking the duty himself, amid the protests of the other Consuls, for, accompanied by a portion of his guard, he began to cross the rough slope which lay between Segreti and Ahmed Pasha. Wylie went out to meet him, but the stout-hearted old diplomatist declined to regard him as a suitable object for conciliation. Waving the intruder aside, Sir Frank advanced to within fifty feet of the village, and addressed himself to the scowling occupants of the roofs. His principle was evidently to use the knife before applying the plaster.

“The Powers have effected the relief of Segreti on the score of humanity alone,” he informed his audience, in sharp explosive sentences. “At the same time, they will not allow you to derive any advantage from it. The tower is mined, and will be blown up with the Roumi flag flying.”

A howl of rage answered him, and there was a sudden movement among the men on the roofs. He took no notice of either, but when Wylie, alarmed lest the bolder spirits should be rushing for their rifles, would have gone to prevent them, he detained him by an imperious gesture.

“We know quite well that the end of your resources is in sight,” he went on. “You must now realise that the foreign adventurers who have led you astray can give you no help. Through the clemency of his Majesty the Grand Seignior, safety is still open to you. On giving up your arms and your leaders, you will be permitted to return to your homes.”

“As marked men!” cried Prince Romanos, standing forth as spokesman. “And the rights for which we have fought—the Constitution—what of them?”

“The Powers will do their best to secure the execution of the reforms already granted. They promise nothing more.”

“Then we stand fast. Am I right?” cried Prince Romanos, appealing to the rest, and a shout of approval answered him. “We lay down our arms when the concessions we have already demanded are granted by the Grand Seignior and guaranteed by the Powers, and not till then!” he shouted to Sir Frank.

“I can only regret your decision,” was the reply, as the Consul-General turned to depart, careless of the angry shouts which pursued him from the walls. Wylie stepped forward to accompany him out of range, but again Sir Frank waved him back. “I do not require the protection of a renegade Englishman,” he said, and Wylie bowed and remained.

“Glafko! Glafko!” Prince Romanos was calling to him loudly. “Come at once. They have overpowered the guard and got at the rifles. And some of them are already on the way to the tower.”

CHAPTER XVII.
THE HOPE THAT FAILED.

Leaving Sir Frank Francis to pursue his dignified way alone, Wylie ran back to the village, only to see a considerable body of insurgents, armed with rifles hastily snatched up, half-way to the tower. They were approaching it from the back, whereas the Consuls and their forces, with the rescued garrison, were assembled in front of it, waiting for Sir Frank’s return to begin their march back to the sea, but a collision seemed inevitable. With a wild idea of flinging himself between the contending parties, Wylie ran towards the tower, hoping to intercept his followers before they could reach the front of the building. Sir Frank, in the natural exasperation induced by intercourse with these wretched insurgents, who were giving the consular body trouble so absurdly disproportionate to their importance, might call him a renegade Englishman, but he could not see the British flag fired upon by his own men. His intention was frustrated, however, by two of them, who rose up, as if by magic, from behind a bush, and laid violent hands upon him. Protest, command, entreat as he might, it was no use; they dragged him behind the bush and held him fast there, considerately choosing a position from which the tower and its assailants were clearly visible. To Wylie’s intense relief, the main body of his men halted at a ridge which commanded the whole side of the tower, and lay down behind it, covering the consular force with their rifles. Only three ran on, and Wylie saw that they carried ropes. Arrived at the back of the tower, one of them threw his rope over a sculptured gargoyle which projected from the building at about a third of its height, and wriggled up it, his companions holding the ends. The lower part of the masonry alone had been kept in good repair, and when he reached the gargoyle the climber had passed his greatest difficulty—the stretch of squared stones with the crevices well filled with mortar. Above it the stones were weather-worn, and the mortar of the Venetian builders was crumbling away from between them, so that he was able to find holes for his feet and hands. Wylie gathered from the remarks of the men who held him that the adventurer was a noted cliff-climber, and smiled, even in his disgust, at the reticence which had hitherto been maintained as to his profession. With such an auxiliary it would have been comparatively easy to storm the tower on a windy night, with the garrison in the proper state of exhaustion, induced by constant false alarms, but the man and his associates had alike kept their own counsel.

The approach of the insurgents to the tower had not passed unnoticed by the rear ranks of the consular force in the front, and when the three men ran forward warning shouts were raised, two or three officers stepping out and calling to them, evidently under the impression that they did not know the place was mined. As they took no notice, the commander of the Magnagrecian guard, who was the nearest, began to march his men round to the back. Instantly, to Wylie’s speechless horror, the insurgents lining the ridge fired a volley. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that they had fired into the air, and that the Magnagrecian detachment was untouched. But the bullets whistling overhead had alarmed the rest of the force, and the Magnagrecians were hastily recalled. No one seemed quite to know whether the volley had been an accident, an act of hostility or one of warning, and while the officers of various nationalities discussed the matter excitedly, a shout of triumph from the insurgents drew their attention to the top of the tower. The daring climber stood there, and the Roumi flag which had floated proudly from its staff was torn down and rent savagely into fragments. In its place the eagle of the Eastern Empire rose into view and blew out defiantly. So much they saw, then the climber seemed to throw himself headlong from the battlements, scrambling down the ruined masonry for dear life. Arrived at the gargoyle, he took a flying leap, regardless of safety, and as his feet touched the ground the building blew up. The time-worn walls, which had seen so many changes since their builders had first hoisted the standard of St Mark, ended their career under the flag of Free Emathia.

In the shock and amazement of this transformation scene, it was difficult to perceive what actually happened. The Consuls and their naval contingents declared that the insurgents lining the roofs of Ahmed Pasha, in the excitement of their triumph, opened fire upon the representatives of Europe. The insurgents, on the other hand, declared, and Wylie believed they spoke the truth, that it was not bullets that wounded several sailors at this juncture, but flying fragments of masonry, and that they had merely fired their rifles again into the air. However this might be, there was no doubt that the consular force, with marvellous celerity, took cover behind the ruins of Segreti, and that bullets were flying between it and Ahmed Pasha, rendering the position of those who found themselves on the broken ground stretching from one to the other unpleasant in the extreme. The insurgents lining the ridge behaved with a steadiness of which Wylie would have been proud in less exasperating circumstances. They separated into two parties, which took turns in running back and halting to cover each other’s retreat with the greatest precision, picking up Wylie and his two guards by the way, and tumbling proudly into Ahmed Pasha without the loss of a man, though one or two exhibited flesh-wounds. Even the climber and his two companions had somehow escaped from the wreck of the tower, and joined the rest.

An informal Assembly for mutual congratulation was, of course, the first thing to be thought of, the periods of the orators being pleasantly punctuated by the bullets which struck the houses round them. Nobody was concerned to apologise to Wylie, who had very skilfully been prevented, so the general opinion seemed to run, from making a regrettable exhibition of himself, and the seriousness of the situation was quite overborne by the gratifying reflection that Emathia was actually engaged in hostilities with the whole of envious Europe. But it was very speedily borne in upon the minds of the triumphant talkers that war with Europe did not merely mean exchanging long shots from cover with another force equally well protected. A shell came screaming and tearing overhead, without any innocuous warning this time, and exploded in the courtyard of one of the houses, from which rose a thick cloud of smoke. Other shells followed, one dropping almost in the midst of the Assembly, which broke up with unprecedented celerity, and Wylie seized the opportunity of the general consternation to resume his command. It was useless to try and retain Ahmed Pasha under the fire of the ships, but the fact had in it this compensation, that it would be equally impossible for the Powers to reestablish the Roumis in the place if they could be beguiled into destroying it. They would probably go on dropping shells as long as no sign of surrender appeared, and by sunset the place would be untenable for any self-respecting Moslems. The insurgents, confused and terrified by the sudden reversal of their fortunes, were willing enough to obey the man who proposed to deprive their enemies of any profit from it, and under Wylie’s orders the wounded were first conveyed out at the back of the village, and then such stores as remained. Lastly, the garrison left in small parties, keeping the now burning houses between themselves and Segreti, and taking care not to concentrate anywhere on the road, lest the ships should take a fancy to enlarge the area of their fire. Wylie was perhaps the only man present who realised that the brief attempt of the insurgents to obtain a footing on the mainland was now ended. They were driven back upon Karakula, and might be thankful if they were allowed to retain even that.

Though the insurgents’ love for the Powers could hardly be expected to have been increased by the events of the day, they were sufficiently frightened by this second bombardment and its results to become more amenable to discipline. Ahmed Pasha was now a heap of smoking ruins, and the shells began to fall into Karakula—apparently out of pure vindictiveness, since it was well within the line which the Admirals had laid down as the limit of the insurgents’ territory. The village itself was not capable of defence, as the houses had never been repaired since its first seizure, and it was commanded by the steep slope behind it, and therefore Wylie did not linger there. He posted his pickets from shore to shore of the isthmus, in case an attempt should be made by the Roumis to break through, and concentrated the rest of his force in a hollow well shielded from the fire of the warships, from which they could quickly reinforce any part of the line that might be threatened. From a high point of the ridge which formed the backbone of the peninsula he could obtain a view of the consular force sheltering behind Segreti, and he noted that the firing ceased as though at a signal, presumably when each ship had dropped a certain number of shells. A detachment of armed sailors was then thrown forward to examine the ruins and make sure that they were not occupied, and thereafter the Consuls, their guards and their rescued charges, embarked in safety. No attempt was made to cross the line and approach Karakula, for which Wylie was devoutly thankful, since his men, posted in an advantageous position, which the fire from the ships could not easily search out, would certainly have refused to withdraw without fighting, and could not have been dislodged without heavy loss.

Night fell at last, and leaving Prince Romanos in command on one shore of the isthmus, Wylie took up his post on the other, that nearest to Therma and Skandalo. It was here, if anywhere on the isthmus, that an attack would be made, and he had conceived a plan for drawing the assailants into a morass not far from the shore by means of a feigned retreat. He had everything in readiness to give them a warm reception, but with a sad lack of consideration they declined to come. Distrustful, owing to much bitter experience, of the wakefulness of his supporters, he watched through most of the night himself, and felt almost as if he had been cheated when it had passed uneventfully. The labours and trials of the last few days had left their mark upon him, and Prince Romanos started when they met.

“You are ill!” he said. “Or were you wounded yesterday after all?”

“This place is feverish,” said Wylie irritably. “I felt it in the night. I suppose I had no business to sleep out, but there wasn’t much choice. I must send for my quinine from the monastery, and then I daresay I shall shake it off.”

“Better rest for to-day,” suggested Prince Romanos; but Wylie was an impracticable patient, all the more determined to do all he could at once because he knew it was highly unlikely that he would be able to do it on the morrow. The new line of defence behind Karakula must be strengthened, and more use made of the marsh, so that it might appear to be the only unguarded spot, positively inviting an attack. This was a kind of warfare the insurgents could understand, and they entered heartily into the contrivances for concentrating a heavy fire on an imaginary force in difficulties. One man even volunteered to offer to act as guide to the Roumis, with the amiable intention of leading them into the trap, but the drawback to this scheme was that there were no Roumis to lead astray—not the slightest apparent intention on the part of Jalal-ud-din to profit from the advantage secured for him by the Powers yesterday. Still Wylie worked on, growing more ghastly in appearance as the hours passed, until Prince Romanos was summoned by a violent outcry from the trench which was being dug under his superintendence. Wylie had collapsed at last, and as he lay insensible in the sun, knives were being drawn above him. His own guards, and the other Slavs in the neighbourhood, declared that the Greeks had murdered him, and the Greeks were vehemently rebutting the accusation, crying out that the Slavs had brought it against them to conceal their own guilt. Prince Romanos patched up a hollow peace by sending for Dr Terminoff, who pronounced the illness to be entirely due to natural causes, and ordered the patient to be carried to the hospital. Before he arrived there, however, Wylie recovered consciousness sufficiently to murmur, “Ephestilo camp; not hospital—not monastery,” and the doctor consented unwillingly to do as he wished, sending word to Maurice of the change. Maurice hurried to Ephestilo as soon as the news reached him, and found his friend established in the chief house in the village, from which his guards had expelled the inhabitants on their own authority. Wylie could not lift his head from the rolled-up cloak which served as a pillow, but his eyes met Maurice’s anxiously.

“Hoped I should be—sensible—when you came,” he said with difficulty. “Don’t let—ladies—come here.”

“But it’s nothing infectious,” said Maurice, in astonishment. “I know they will want to nurse you.”

“Then don’t—tell them,” was the obstinate reply.

“My dear fellow, you must be properly looked after,” remonstrated Maurice. “They won’t tease you to talk, or anything of that sort,” with a vague effort to get at the root of the objection.

“My men”—with an attempt to glance in the direction of the guards, who were sitting playing cards on the floor—“look after—me all right—good fellows—do as they’re told. I will not—have any one else. Promise.”

There was so much determination in the weak voice that Maurice compromised. “Well, if Terminoff thinks your men are enough——”

“Promise,” persisted Wylie. “Not even—if—I mention names.”

“Whose names?” asked Maurice, taken aback. Wylie glanced at him with a kind of sick contempt.

“Zoe’s, of course,” he said irritably. “I might call out for her—no, of course I shan’t,”—with a momentary accession of strength,—“but I might. Don’t let her come.”

“Of course not,” said Maurice quickly; and Wylie sighed with something like contentment, and then began to murmur incoherently, while Maurice relieved his feelings by turning the guards out of the room, and forbidding cards anywhere but on the piazza outside. One of the men, who had acted as Wylie’s servant, was appointed head-nurse, and told that he would be held responsible for the patient, and might choose his own assistants, who must obey the doctor’s orders implicitly. The men were all willing enough, but a very primitive surgery was their only notion of curative treatment, and Maurice returned to the monastery full of anxiety. Zoe was waiting for him at the gate.

“Colonel Wylie is ill?” she said.

“Attack of fever. I left him fairly comfortable.”

“And he won’t let me go near him, of course?”

“How did you know?” he asked in surprise.

“I know him. I suppose he has made you promise, Maurice? Don’t be afraid; I am not going to make a fuss—only you must tell me if he is dying.”

“I hope there’s no fear of that. If there was——”

“If there is, you must let me know, and I shall go to him. Even he would not wish to keep me away then—he would forgive me at last. Do you remember, Maurice?—‘an unforgiving brute,’ you called him once.” She laughed drearily. “But he wouldn’t deprive me of that one little scrap of comfort when there was no chance of my presuming upon it in the future.”

“Then you think”—Maurice hesitated—“that he cares for you still?”

“I know he does. But he can’t forgive me.”

“I don’t know—I had an idea somehow that it was you. Eirene thought you didn’t care for him.”

“Eirene ought to know better,” said Zoe indignantly. “But she really thinks you don’t care for a person unless you show it by doing something wild, I suppose. Maurice, if I had married him seven years ago, do you think we should have been saved all this?” with a wave of her hand that included the peninsula generally. “He would have been quartered somewhere in Egypt or India, I suppose, and he would be an ordinary hard-working soldier, and I the usual Anglo-Indian regimental lady. You would not have embarked on this without him?”

“I don’t know,” said Maurice again slowly. “We should have had Teffany-Wise’s legacy just the same, I imagine, and Eirene would have been the same. She would not have waited for Wylie, you know. No, I don’t think you need reproach yourself with that, Zoe,—as if you hadn’t enough to bear.”

“Don’t!” said Zoe quickly, dashing away an intrusive tear. “And the worst of it is that what I said to him when I refused him was perfectly justified—absolutely true. Any reasonable man would have seen it, only—you know——”

“This particular man is not reasonable?” suggested Maurice. “Of course he isn’t—on this subject. If he was, he wouldn’t be Wylie. But if he was, how glad I should have been if he had married you and taken you out of this!”

“He wouldn’t have gone, and I wouldn’t have been taken,” said Zoe with conviction. “We should stand by you and Eirene to the end, Maurice—as we shall now. But surely things are no worse now than they were, if the warships are going to let us alone? You and—he—always said that it was only a source of weakness to hold Ahmed Pasha.”

“If the warships let us alone to starve?” said Maurice. “We can hold out for a week on the present restricted allowance, no longer. And how are we to get supplies?”

“Lord Armitage may come any day,” Zoe reminded him.

“No; I forgot to tell you. Demetri the fisherman came in to Skandalo when I was there this morning, and said he had actually sighted the yacht outside the blockading warships. He tried to signal to her how bad our plight was, but unfortunately his boat attracted the notice of a Hercynian destroyer,—she was beyond our own waters, of course. They came to order her back, sighted the yacht, and went off in chase. He heard the sound of firing, but can’t say whether she was captured. It’s just possible that she gave them the slip in the night, of course.”

“I should have thought Lord Armitage would have taken the risk and run for Skandalo,” said Zoe.

“Then he would have been sunk, to a certainty, and what good would his stores be to us at the bottom of the sea? No, he will try to keep out of sight till he finds a chance of getting in, but the worst of it is they will all be looking for him now.”

“I should send the refugees back to the mainland,” said Zoe suddenly. “The food would last much longer if we had only the insurgents and the regular inhabitants.”

“My dear Zoe, don’t you think the Powers know that, and the Roumis too? The moment our poor wretches showed their noses beyond that barren labyrinth where Wylie and Christodoridi held up Jalal-ud-din, they would be turned back, you may be sure. They would have tried it themselves long ago if they hadn’t been certain of that. No, the Powers, in the interests of humanity, will see us starved to the point at which the Roumis are certain of a walk-over. That’s the secret of their forbearance, in spite of all the moral sympathy that Panagiotis assures us they feel. They are cruel only to be kind, of course.”

Two days of the allotted week passed by, and still the Powers and the Roumis remained inactive. Wylie muttered incoherently on his sick-bed at Ephestilo, and Zoe tried to compensate herself for her banishment from him by caring for the wounded from Ahmed Pasha, who had at least gained their injuries in his company. The third night was very foggy, and the watchers along the coast could hear the muffled sound of sirens and whistles as the European warships talked to one another. The morning was also foggy, but the fog lay over the sea, not the land. The warships were moored too far out to be seen, and even the fishing-boats at anchor loomed dimly through the haze. From Skandalo came exciting news. The boats lying farthest out had caught a glimpse of the yacht. She had burst upon them out of the gloom, and they had cheered her on, thinking that nothing could now prevent her from reaching the port. But from the direction of Therma there came a small foreign ship, steaming parallel with the shore, so as to cut the yacht off from Skandalo, and she had turned and fled back into the fog. From the cliffs at the southern extremity of the peninsula one or two glimpses of her had been caught, and refugees and insurgents were now crowding to the coast to watch for her. The warship had followed her out of the range of vision, so there was still the hope that she might shake off pursuit and run safely for Ephestilo, the only practicable harbour on that side, and one into which the pursuer would not be able to follow her.

Work was at a standstill that morning, for the imminence of the crisis drew every one to the cliffs. Mothers carrying their babies, sick and wounded men dragging themselves painfully over the ground, warriors forsaking their posts inland, townspeople and farmers who were now feeling the pinch of famine like their guests,—all converged on Ephestilo. The slopes on either side of the bay down to the water’s edge were parti-coloured with people, and all eyes were fixed on the space between the headlands, looking out to sea, as though it were the stage of a natural amphitheatre. Boom! came a hollow sound from seaward, and as though the shot had rent the curtain of fog, the yacht ran into sight at that moment, sparks mingling with the smoke from her funnels in the intensity of her effort to reach the shore. Her pursuer was visible immediately afterwards, close—terribly close—upon her, and steaming as before to cut her off from the one opening in the rocks that guarded the harbour. Sighs and moans of sympathy broke from the watching people as the shells of the pursuer fell before, behind, beside the yacht, then on board, causing her to shrink and stagger, but she still held on.

“Good old Armitage! He’s going to run her on the rocks—thinks we can salve the stores from her then,” said Maurice, and as he spoke a great cry rose up from the multitude on the shore. The yacht had run straight upon the reef. The fishermen, led by Maurice, rushed for their boats, only to recoil in terror as a shell splashed into the water of the harbour. Amid the tears and groans of the crowd, the commander of the destroyer went about his work methodically, sending an occasional shot into the bay to keep the onlookers quiet. The crew of the yacht were taken off in boats and transferred to the pursuer, which then withdrew a short distance and fired shot after shot into the grounded vessel. Her boiler blew up at last, with a tremendous explosion, and her shattered remains sank gently into the deep water outside the rocks, followed by a long despairing wail from the shore.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A RUSE DE GUERRE.

When the fog cleared away that evening, a sight ominous of doom met the eyes of the blockaded inhabitants of the peninsula. Inside the line of warships lay a row of other vessels, Roumi transports packed with troops, waiting like vultures for the dying agonies of their prey. The sight seemed to infuse a desperate resolution into the luckless refugees, for that night an epidemic of desertion set in. The insurgents and their leaders made no attempt to stay it, arguing, as Zoe had done, that in the absence of the refugees the food would hold out much longer. Therefore the Skandalo boatmen reaped after dark a rich harvest of jewels and other treasures saved from devastated homes in Therma, and the force guarding the Karakula lines also found opportunities of turning a more or less honest penny. Boat after boat put out into the darkness from the port, and a long straggling train of fugitives streamed along the isthmus. The morning light saw the boats returning, laden as when they started. They had been turned back by the picket-boats from the warships, and told that in future no craft from the peninsula would be allowed to pass the line of transports, while the Roumis on board the transports promised faithfully thenceforth to sink any boat approaching them that did not bring an offer of surrender. The fugitives who had chosen the land route came straggling back at intervals through the day. They also had been stopped by Jalal-ud-din’s force, and told to go back and starve,—or else bring about a surrender. When they would have flung themselves down to die round about the Roumi camp, they were driven back across the isthmus at the bayonet’s point. At present the Roumis considered their hungry mouths more desirable even than their blood, for not only would they help to consume the insurgents’ stores, but their clamorous misery would weaken the hearts of the fighting men.

The returning fugitives were shepherded once more into their allotted camps, and supplied with their meagre rations, to supplement which they wandered over the hills, seeking leaves and roots. The townspeople were openly mutinous, the insurgents angry and discontented. The only class not absolutely destitute were the fishermen, who found an eager market for whatever they could catch, but their operations were now restricted by the transports, which fired on them whenever they ventured more than a few hundred yards from the shore. Otherwise there was no further attempt at hostilities, only the dark masses looming ominous on the horizon. Gradually the belief spread that the Powers had forbidden the Roumis to engage in actual warfare, while allowing them to blockade the peninsula until its inhabitants were too much reduced to offer any resistance to a landing, and on the sixth day Prince Romanos came to Maurice.

“We must do something, or else all starve together,” he said. “I propose to cross the isthmus to-night, take the shore road, and attack Jalal-ud-din’s camp in the rear. The attack will merely be a cover for a raid upon his stores, which are the only thing we care about.”

“You will be shelled by the fleets,” said Maurice.

“I think not. The camp lies inland, and we shall return through the defiles. We must see that no one slips past to take the news of the attack to the ships, and then I hope we shall get back across the isthmus unmolested.”

“Then go, in God’s name! To see these unfortunate women and children suffering—and with no hope for them but worse suffering, and no prospect of any good from it—is heartrending. I will take command at Karakula while you are gone, and Terminoff will look after this end of the place. Pick your men, and don’t let them know what duty they’re on. We don’t want to raise the hopes of the people unnecessarily—and besides, plans leak out sometimes.”

Prince Romanos looked at him keenly. “You suspect some one. Is it Nilischeff?”

“I don’t like the way in which he keeps Skandalo in a ferment. And there’s no denying that he favours neither my claim nor yours. But I have no proof against him.”

“M. Nilischeff must be watched. The same thought had occurred to me. But I go to revictual the garrison. If we do not return, at least you will have fewer mouths to feed.”

But Prince Romanos and his men returned triumphant. The Roumis had apparently concentrated their attention on the mouth of the defile as the only spot from which the insurgents might be expected to appear, and their stores and transport were all at the other side of the camp, on which the attack was actually made. One of the first and chief prizes of the assailants was a herd of cattle, which they drove straight through the camp to the mouth of the defile, overthrowing tents and huts, and knocking down and trampling the startled soldiers who tried to stop them. Behind the maddened cattle came the insurgents, laden with everything in the way of food they could possibly lay hands on, from live sheep to tinned delicacies sacred to the Pasha himself. The Roumis had blocked the mouth of the defile, leaving only a narrow passage, so as to make it easier to stop fugitives, and this was held without difficulty by a rearguard, when the main body of the assailants had passed through with their spoils. The rearguard, unencumbered, fought its way back over the familiar ground just before dawn, and when daylight came the whole force was safely inside the Karakula lines, with remarkably few casualties to report.

The day was a grand one for all the occupants of the peninsula. Maurice’s desire that the whole of the spoil should at once be placed under guard and issued only as rations was unanimously scouted, and the hunger-stricken people gave themselves up to a whole day’s feasting, with its inevitable waste and excess. On the morrow they realised their mistake, and agreed that what was left should be strictly preserved, but this would barely supply their needs for a week longer. Naturally the cry soon arose for a fresh foray, and the men who had ranged themselves under the banner of Prince Romanos demanded to be led once more against the Roumi camp. It was useless to point out to them that the first attack had succeeded entirely because it was a surprise, and that a repetition of the assault would now be provided against. They ascribed the delay to pusillanimity on Maurice’s part, and openly urged his rival to act in opposition to him. As the question of food was once more becoming urgent, the two leaders agreed at length that Prince Romanos should take his servant Petros and one or two trustworthy men, and make a scouting expedition through the defiles, to discover in what part of the camp Jalal-ud-din’s commissariat was now located, and whether there was any chance of raiding it successfully, either from the front, flank, or rear. Having made his observations, he was to return and communicate them to Maurice, who would then take command at Karakula as before, while the picked force under his rival made a further attempt.

The evening after the departure of Prince Romanos was an anxious one for Maurice. He had sat up the night before with Wylie, who lay in a kind of stupor during the daytime, but became violently excited during the hours of darkness, calling loudly for Zoe, or holding imaginary conversations with her, rebutting accusations of unkindness on her part, which must presumably have been suggested by his own conscience. Then he would imagine that an attack was imminent, and insist on getting up and taking part in the defence,—a determination which it required much tact and skilful humouring to combat. The early part of the day had been spent in a mournful succession of funerals, the dead drawn alike from among the wounded in the hospital and the half-starved refugees, and the afternoon in the court-martial—or rather, the trial before the Assembly—of a Skandalote who had been caught stealing off to the Roumi ships, presumably with the intention of carrying news. The man was defended by Lazar Nilischeff, who asserted that he knew him well, and that his only object was to try to buy some food from the sailors,—a defence received with ridicule by the Greek portion of the Assembly, who declared unanimously for death. Nilischeff’s followers declared with equal determination in favour of acquittal, while the dynastic Slavs, on whose support Maurice could always count, devised a compromise which placed him in a most invidious position while apparently exalting his authority, by desiring that the issue of life or death should be decided by him alone. In the end, the man was remanded to prison, and Maurice turned to the necessary but inevitably disagreeable task of superintending the distribution of the evening rations to the refugees and sick. The fighting men, who might be supposed to be endowed with some portion of self-control, received theirs only once a-day, in the morning; but experience had shown that the refugees had no idea of making their supplies last out, but consumed at once what was intended to feed them for twenty-four hours, and then wandered about with mournful lamentations, or begged from their more provident companions. This evening, however, the expectant throng was not confined to these weaker souls. It appeared that the impression had somehow got about that the absence of Prince Romanos betokened a foray that night, and a consequent abundance of provisions on the morrow, so that from all the nearer posts the garrisons had come in to demand that the food in hand should at once be distributed to all alike, and delegates had arrived from the Karakula lines with the same request. With his little band of faithful men at his back, Maurice refused it absolutely. There was no likelihood whatever of a raid that night. It might not take place for three or four days, perhaps not at all, and it would be madness to consume all the available supplies. The men were not sufficiently ravenous to use force, but there was an ugly mutinous spirit among them, which showed itself in the defiant raising of the cry, “Romanos for Prince!” as they returned to their respective posts.

The night passed without alarm, and Maurice rejoiced that the monastery guard and the men at the nearest encampment were all Slavs, since they felt a natural inclination to champion his cause against that of Prince Romanos, and might be relied upon to warn him if any treachery was attempted against him personally. There was no sign of the scouting party in the morning, and Maurice hurried down to Ephestilo to see Wylie, and returned to the usual daily routine, issuing rations, judging small causes, and arranging for funerals, while Eirene and Zoe visited the hospital. It was about mid-day that the unmistakable sound of rifle-fire reached him, coming from the direction of the isthmus. Seizing a glass, he ran up to the top of the gateway. Did his eyes deceive him, or was the line of Roumi transports shorter than before? He counted them; there were two less on the horizon, and all were moving northwards. The sound of firing grew louder; was it merely heavier, or was it approaching? The guards were assembling in groups, looking, with almost stupid astonishment, in the direction of Karakula, and discussing what the meaning of the sound could be. Maurice ran down again, sent off a messenger to recall Eirene and Zoe, and to warn the refugees to seek shelter round the monastery, and leaving a small guard there, started for the isthmus with the rest of his men. Before they had gone far, a breathless messenger came toiling up the path in front and met them.

“Lord, the Roumis have landed on the isthmus, and are inside the lines of Karakula.”

“Inside? But what has happened to the garrison?”

“Lord, many of them had followed the Lord Romanos into the defiles, and there was no time to recall them. There were some who remained, but they were killed or driven back. And the Roumis have captured the hermitage of Akri, for all the men there had departed.”

“Akri lost?” cried Maurice. The blow was a heavy one, for the post commanded both the lines of Karakula in front of it and the next line of defence in the rear. “Is there no one left? Where is the picked force?”

“They are all gone across the isthmus, lord. When the message came from the Lord Romanos, an hour before dawn, only the picked force were summoned, but all the rest went also, saying they would get food for themselves, since it was not given them.”

“A message? to the force—not to me?”

“I know not, lord. Gatso the fisherman brought it.”

Maurice turned to the ex-brigand Zeko. “Find Gatso, if he is anywhere inside the lines, and bring him to me,” he said. “Come on, the rest of you.”

As they hurried on along the precipitous paths, it became clear from the sound of the firing that the inner line of defences was being attacked, and when they reached them, crawling on hands and knees for the last part of the way, they were a welcome reinforcement to the defenders. The Roumis had not yet realised the full advantage given them by the possession of the height of Akri, from which they could have rendered the lower breastworks untenable, but their riflemen were keeping up a heavy fire from cover in front. Maurice divided the men who had come with him, sending parties away on both sides to reinforce the weakest points, and taking the rifle of a man who had been killed, settled himself at a loophole in the breastwork at which he had first arrived, which was that commanding the chief path into the interior. In the intervals of firing he questioned the men on either side as to the events of the morning, of which their impressions were somewhat hazy. The message brought by Gatso in the darkness, to the effect that Prince Romanos had discovered a large provision-convoy, on its way from Therma, halted outside the Roumi camp, and that he was about to attack it immediately, had drawn away more than half of the Karakula force, while the garrisons of Akri and other isolated points had deserted en masse. They had crossed the isthmus and entered the defiles without alarm, and those left behind had thought of nothing but what was going on beyond the hills. Even the consciousness of superior virtue could not keep them from grumbling as they gathered round their fires and made coffee at dawn, and into the midst of their grumbling came the volley which told them that the Roumis had landed. During Wylie’s illness, a number of lazy men, who found it took them too long to go round the marsh, had made a rough path across it with hurdles and bundles of reeds, intending, of course, to remove these stepping-stones at the first hint of a landing. They had not had time to do so, however, and the Roumis, landing unobserved in the twilight, had stolen up, and were inside the defences before their presence was even suspected. Taken absolutely by surprise, the defenders fought like heroes, and succeeded in keeping back their assailants sufficiently to secure their own retreat on the second line, only to discover that this disastrous morning’s work had been crowned by the abandonment of Akri, up which two or three daring Roumis crept, to find themselves, much to their elation, masters of the position. Until they should occupy it in force, matters remained at a standstill, both sides firing at each other from cover, and neither venturing to show themselves. In this interval a diversion was caused by the entrance into Maurice’s redoubt of the stalwart Zeko, dragging and pushing a protesting Greek.

“Gatso the fisherman, lord,” he announced, with a final shove that cast his victim prone at Maurice’s feet. “I found him hiding in a cave on the way to Ephestilo.”

Gatso protested incoherently as he knelt that he had given his message word for word. The Lord Romanos had indeed discovered a rich convoy, only waiting to be attacked, and had despatched him with the news, which he had duly delivered. Maurice interrupted him.

“To whom were you told to take the news?” he demanded.

“To the picked force, lord,” was the glib answer.

“To them first?” Gatso declared with much invocation of saints that it was so, but Zeko’s grip descended again on the back of his neck, and changed his tune. “To—to you, lord, at the monastery,” he gasped. “Oh, Holy Virgin, I shall be choked!”

“Let him go, Zeko,” said Maurice contemptuously. “You see what he has done,” he added to the other men. “Instead of delivering his message as he was told, he has spread it broadcast, and by drawing the garrisons from their posts, has brought about this defeat. What does he deserve?”

“Death, lord,” was the unanimous answer, and every man in the redoubt looked ready to execute the sentence. But Maurice waved them back.

“We have lost too many men to waste more,” he said. “You ought to be shot, Gatso, but take this rifle and see how many Roumis you can shoot instead.”

There was a murmur of discontent, and Gatso himself showed no particular gratitude; but he took the rifle and crawled to the loophole, while Maurice set himself to work along the line and see whether it was in immediate danger of being pierced at any other point. Everywhere he found his men confronted by the Roumis, and shots being exchanged at intervals. The enemy had already landed troops enough to outnumber his force twice over, and he was hopelessly cut off from his best men, who were all with Prince Romanos beyond the isthmus. A determined rush on the part of the Roumis must break the weak line. Perhaps they were waiting until night to make it, or perhaps they were planning to make a second landing at disaffected Skandalo, or in one of the smaller bays, and take him in the rear. He thought of Wylie lying sick at Ephestilo, of Eirene and Zoe and the other women practically defenceless at the monastery, and reflected bitterly that he could not depend on the guards at the various landing-places even to warn him of an attack unless he was in the immediate neighbourhood. “We must certainly have either Wylie’s Sikhs or some other force that we can trust, as a nucleus, before we can hope to turn these chaps into soldiers,” he said to himself, and then remembered that he was planning for a future which his short-lived sovereignty would now never see. There was just the chance that Prince Romanos, with his victorious force, might be keeping out of sight in the defiles, intending to make a rear attack, when darkness fell, on the Roumis who barred his way, in which case there would be more hope of the stubborn defence, contesting each inch of ground, on which they had relied, in the last resort, to awaken the tardy sympathy of Europe. But when he reached the right-hand extremity of his line, resting on the sea, a chorus of lamentation met him. The men not at the loopholes were gathered round a dripping form, which they were wrapping in their own clothes, and plying with coffee.

“The only one escaped!” they told Maurice, with awe. “He saw the Lord Romanos fall.”

“Tell me,” said Maurice, and the fugitive sat up. He was a Greek from the mainland, who had been foremost in pressing the claims of Prince Romanos, but now he saluted Maurice as Prince.

“You are left, lord,” he said. “The Lord Romanos is slain.”

“Tell me,” said Maurice again, while a groan broke from the listeners.

“Lord, I was one of those who went from Akri when the message came of the spoil at hand. The Lord Romanos was angry that we had forsaken our posts, but said he would make use of us before sending us back. Under his orders we attacked the convoy, which was encamped in no order, every cart having halted where it chose—an easy prey. But it was a trap, and nothing more. In the carts, under the coverings, were men—Roumis—and upon us, as we fought with them, came other Roumis from behind, while in front the Pasha’s camp turned out at the alarm. We saw that an ambush had been laid for us, and that death was at hand, and every man sought only to slay as many of the accursed as possible before dying himself. I saw the Lord Romanos struck down, fighting with sword and revolver, and the accursed raised a mighty shout. How I escaped I know not, but I found myself on the outskirts of the fight, and the sea not far off, and life was strong within me. Therefore I flung myself from the rocks, and sometimes swimming, and again wading along the shore, I passed the hills and the isthmus, and seeing the Roumis at Karakula, cast myself into the sea once more and reached this place, which is now little better——”

“Lord!” a panting herald of disaster burst into the group and confronted Maurice, “the Roumis are firing from Akri, and the sons of freedom fall fast. Is it your pleasure that they should hold the breastwork until all are slain?”

“I will come,” said Maurice.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE BITTER END.

Inside the breastwork commanding the path the defenders were crouching close under the loopholes to avoid the fire which was being poured in by a strong body of riflemen posted on Akri. Several dead bodies lay unheeded behind them, victims of the first volley, and most of the men had received wounds. They met Maurice with a subdued cheer as he crawled in among them.

“You will not keep us here to be shot, lord?” they questioned him eagerly. “You will give the word for us to dash upon the bayonets, and kill as we are killed?”

“You would be shot down before you could cover half the distance. No, lie still, and don’t reply to the fire. Then they may think we are all killed, and try to rush the breastwork.”

But even as Maurice spoke, he remembered that the enemy on Akri could pour in a volley that would kill all his men the moment they rose to their feet, and he began to wonder whether he ought to withdraw them one by one while the Roumis in front were still lying down and taking long shots. If this line were pierced, the way would be open, with only occasional obstacles, to the defences surrounding the monastery itself, and when they were attacked, then it would indeed be the beginning of the end. But could the line be held? “Oh, if only Wylie were here!” he breathed, and started when one of the men laid a hand upon his arm, and directed his attention to the dry stream-bed behind a projecting rock which afforded a sheltered entrance to the breastwork from the rear. There was Wylie, haggard and unshaven, holding fast with both hands to the packsaddle of the mule on which he was precariously perched, riding down towards the threatened point, his guards accompanying him with sullen faces. The enemy on Akri seemed to detect a reinforcement in the half-seen forms moving behind rocks and bushes, and sent a volley in their direction for a change. The mule was hit, and came down on its knees, the guards dragging Wylie off just in time. Maurice crawled back to meet him, and found him sitting upon a stone, hardly able to speak.

“This is madness!” said Maurice. “Let them take you back at once.”

“Akri gone?” asked Wylie, speaking slowly and with difficulty, and paying no attention to his friend. “Send ten men with Mausers up here,” indicating the protecting rock above him. “Just cover enough—enfilade Akri—keep down fire.”

Astonished and delighted, Maurice obeyed, leading the men up in person, to find that from the summit of the rock they could indeed obtain a side view of the top of Akri, and that the riflemen there were absolutely exposed. A few minutes made a gratifying difference in the state of affairs. The fire which had had such damaging results ceased entirely, the few survivors of the Roumi marksmen crawling away to huddle in the shelter of the ruins of the hermitage. Leaving his men to hold the rock, Maurice descended it to report.

“Thought so,” said Wylie. “Top of Akri slopes on that side—no cover. They must bring up sandbags before they can fire again—won’t do that till dark. Suppose you haven’t thought of sending for one of the Maxims?”

“No, indeed,” confessed Maurice. “Shall I take some of the men and fetch it?”

“Better. Not the one commanding the gateway—we may want that—the other. Prolong the agony a bit while the ammunition holds out—they’ll hardly face it. I’ll hold the fort here while you’re gone.”

Divided between relief at this unexpected accession of strength and anxiety for Wylie, Maurice departed on his errand. At the monastery he found that Eirene and Zoe had organised a corps of messengers,—small boys who were to bring periodical reports from the various possible landing-places,—and that at present there was no sign of a Roumi descent on any other point.

“Good reason,” growled Wylie, when he returned with the gun and told him of this. “They know that the paths leading to the monastery from Skandalo and Ephestilo are practically impassable in the face of any opposition at all. This path along the hills is the only hopeful one for an army.”

He spoke more easily, and now that the exhaustion caused by the rough ride was over, something of his ordinary alert look was returning. While Maurice was absent, he had directed the building of a rough shelter, a mere framework of loose stones, for the men working the Maxim, and it was now placed in position, commanding the path.

“Pure bluff,” he remarked. “They are bound to break the line somewhere if they keep on trying, but this gives us a slight moral advantage. They know that we can wipe out a good many of them when it comes to a final tussle, and therefore it may just make them willing to negotiate.”

“It’s come to that, then?” said Maurice.

Wylie nodded. “I gather from the men that Christodoridi has played the fool to some purpose. He has relieved us of more than half our fighting men, with their rifles and ammunition, and those we have left have been pouring out cartridges like water, to judge by the firing I heard at Ephestilo. We can’t go on long at that rate. Our food may hold out for two days, now that we have lost so many mouths, but not longer. Therefore it would be as well to make use of the two days.”

“It’s a little sudden,” said Maurice, almost apologetically. “Last night the food was the only trouble.”

“Yes, and might have been so still if Christodoridi had happened to carry a piece of paper and a pencil instead of sending a verbal message. You would have realised, if he didn’t, that his beautiful halted convoy must be a trap. But it’s no good crying over wasted casualties. I’ll stay here while you go back and settle things with Terminoff and the rest. When you are ready, we must send a flag of truce, I suppose.”

“To suggest what?”

Wylie looked up at him with approval. “You see, as I do, that it’s all up,” he said, “but we’ll keep a stiff upper lip. Offer to surrender as prisoners of war. The Roumis will probably accept, without for a moment intending to keep the terms, but if we are once recognised as belligerents, the Admirals must for very shame interfere if anything in the way of a massacre is attempted. Let Terminoff go as envoy, and tell him to communicate with the Admirals if he can, so as to get their guarantee for the terms.”

“Do you think they’ll give it? You imagine that there’s some faint chance still?” asked Maurice incredulously.

Wylie shook his head. “They won’t give it. But we preserve our high moral attitude. Not that it’ll do much good to you and me, but it may save the lives of some of those wretched refugees, and it may be of some future service to the Emathian cause.”

“Of which you have no reason to think kindly. Wylie, I won’t insult you by asking you to forgive me for dragging you into this, but I will say that if I had guessed how the Powers would behave, and the Christians, I should have thought my own life was enough to throw away.”

“Can’t be helped,” said Wylie. “Luck’s been against us all through. Well, ‘whirligig of time,’ don’t you know? A hundred years hence they may be worshipping you and me with haloes on in every village of a free Emathia.”

“As martyrs?” said Maurice lightly as he turned away, but his mouth set firmly when he had taken the path to the monastery. “No martyrdom for you, if I can help it!” he said, addressing in his thoughts the distant Wylie. “Eirene owes me something, and she may as well pay it in this way as any other. And pay it she shall.”

Arrived at the monastery, he summoned Dr Terminoff and the other insurgent leaders to a council. He had thought that by this time he knew the men with whom he had to deal, but it came upon him with a shock that he was mistaken. Dr Terminoff, hitherto so obliging, so ready to listen to reason, refused definitely to become the bearer of the offer of surrender. He explained his position frankly.

“It is quite possible,” he said, “that the Roumis may, under the influence of the Admirals, repeat their former offer of immunity for the common people if the leaders are given up. Our leaders have throughout been Prince Theophanis, Prince Christodoridi, and Colonel Wylie. I see no reason to put myself forward as a leader when I have enjoyed none of the privileges of leadership.”

“Perhaps you would prefer me to carry the offer in person?” suggested Maurice, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice. “Only I fear that if the Roumis should refuse to recognise the flag of truce and seize me, you would have lost your chief asset without any equivalent.”

The usual scene of disorder ensued. Every one saw that it was out of the question for Maurice to go, but nobody wished to go himself. Finally some one suggested that the task would be a suitable one for a monk, and as the monks of Hagiamavra were known to have objected strenuously to the selection of their monastery as an insurgent stronghold, they might be able to obtain at least a hearing from Jalal-ud-din. The Hegoumenos, when the matter was laid before him by a deputation, was very naturally averse from compromising himself by doing anything to help his unwelcome guests out of their difficulties, but his objections were vigorously combated. If the insurgents continued to hold out, the monks must starve with them; while if the Roumis stormed the place, it was highly unlikely that they would be spared in the general slaughter, so that it was distinctly to their interest to bring about a settlement if possible. One of the officials of the monastery and a lay brother were at length chosen by lot to carry the proposal, which was signed by Maurice alone. The insurgent chiefs, in their new-born zeal for self-effacement, would not put their names to it, and he flatly refused to ask Wylie for his signature.

“Colonel Wylie is here as my servant,” he said, when the rest objected. “Prince Christodoridi and I have been your only leaders. Now I am left alone, but I need no one to share my responsibility.”

This attitude was so surprising that it inspired Lazar Nilischeff and his group with the suspicion that Maurice intended to purchase his own safety by betraying the insurgents. They insisted on the English stewards being called in and required suddenly to translate the offer of surrender, that they might be sure it contained no conditions of which they were ignorant, and they would not allow Maurice to hand it himself to the two monks, lest he should give them secret instructions. A month ago such behaviour on their part would have filled him with disgust, but to-day he submitted to their exactions with a patience that surprised them. They were like a wild animal in a trap, he realised, snapping desperately even at the hand which tries to release it.

There had been some doubt whether Jalal-ud-din, once out of sight of the Admirals, would recognise a flag of truce, but that run up on the breastwork which was held by Wylie and dominated by the Maxim was responded to by one from the Roumi line, and the two monks walked boldly out into the open. Their high caps and black robes crossed the space swept during the day by the fire of both parties, and disappeared into the Roumi lines, and those left behind resigned themselves to wait. It was not until after dark that the return of the ambassadors was announced by the approach of a party bearing a flag of truce, who left them midway across the open space and departed. The two old men were much shaken by their experience, though they had suffered no bodily harm. They had been taken before Jalal-ud-din himself, who had thundered out a demand for unconditional surrender, and refused even to listen to the suggestion of any other terms. Permission to communicate either with the Admirals or with the Consuls at Therma had been denied, but the only European in the camp, a Hercynian whose status did not appear to be exactly defined, had held out no hope of help from Europe. He would do his best to intercede for the lives of any of the inhabitants of the peninsula who were not taken with arms in their hands, but that was all; and the general impression gained from this conversation was that Europe would not be sorry to see the place swept clear by a general massacre, thus at once punishing past defiance and saving future trouble.

The truce was to remain in force until the next evening, to allow the insurgents time to discuss their hard case among themselves, and Maurice went down to the breastwork and carried Wylie off to the monastery almost by main force, dexterously depriving him of his last excuse by first sending for his possessions from Ephestilo. The hour that followed, spent under the shelter of impending doom, reminded the four who shared the recollection of an evening passed long ago in the brigands’ camp. Zoe and Eirene had not been told of the severe alternative which was all that was offered, but the prospect of surrender, even as prisoners of war, was painful enough in its destruction of all that they had lived for during the last few months. Still, each kept up for the sake of the rest, pretending all the while that it was for the sake of little Constantine, who clung to his father with a determination that appealed to Maurice as a kind of premonition, and could hardly be torn from him when bedtime came.

Troubles began early the next day. Maurice was roused by Wylie’s voice in the gallery, and going out, found him leaning on a stick and giving orders to his guards, who looked thoroughly frightened.

“What’s the matter?” asked Maurice, when the men had gone.

“Matter enough. The Roumis have broken the truce and pierced our line in the night. They are posted all along the deep gully between us and Ephestilo.”

“But there was no firing—no alarm!” cried Maurice.

“No need. Nilischeff and his men were holding a palaver, and they had only to slip past.”

“But we can turn them out?”

“If we try it we shall have them on us along the whole line. No, honestly I think it will be best to let them stay there for the day—taking care they get no farther, of course—and make use of the truce if they will let us.”

“How? by trying to communicate with the Admirals again?”

“No, that’s useless. By getting your wife and sister away.”

“But, good Heavens! you say we are cut off from Ephestilo.”

“By the direct path, but there is a longer way round. Zeko will take them down all right.”

“But not to-day. You have not warned the ships.”

“As soon as it is dusk this evening. That will give us time to burn the blue lights on the gateway, for they can’t get to Ephestilo by the long way till to-morrow morning at earliest. Then Cotway will be ready for them.”

“But—old man, I know you’re doing your best for them, but do you realise what it means—a night journey through these hills, with the Roumis swarming in every direction? Wouldn’t they be better even staying here?”

“No,” said Wylie shortly. “You don’t know what Nilischeff and his men were discussing in the night, but I do. They mean to save their own wretched skins by handing us all over—all, mind—to the Roumis.”

“Then let us do one piece of justice before our chance is gone, and shoot the lot of them.”

Wylie shook his head. “No; keep on the mask and anticipate them by surrendering, when once the ladies are safe. I doubt if you would have men enough behind you to do it, for one thing. Nilischeff has made them believe that the enmity of the Powers is against us personally, and that when we are once out of the way Thracia will step forward as the deliverer favoured by all Europe.”

“I don’t mind what he makes out about me,” said Maurice wrathfully, “but to contemplate giving up women to the Roumis!—and this from men who know what it means! Well, I will tell Eirene to be ready.”

It was some time before he had the opportunity of speaking to his wife in private, and when he called her she was at first too busy to respond. Then she came out of her room looking annoyed.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loud, Maurice,” she said. “You know how difficult it is to get Constantine settled for his day-sleep, and he always starts up when he hears your voice.”

“Well, he won’t be disturbed in that way much longer. You understand that it’s all up with us here, Eirene? I think it is better that you and Zoe and Con should be out of the way before all the business of the surrender begins, so I shall pack you off this evening to Ephestilo, where Admiral Essiter will send a boat to fetch you on board the Magniloquent.”

“I have never asked you to face any disagreeables that I was not willing to share,” said Eirene. “I shall stay here with you, of course.”

“I think not. I am sorry to be obliged to speak plainly, Eirene. You would not wish Zoe to be left as Con’s guardian?”

“Maurice!” she cried quickly, but he went on unheeding.

“The Admiral will protect you, and give you advice if you need it. You will have the independent control of Teffany-Wise’s money, and no doubt you will be able to use it more profitably for Con than for me.”

“But you talk as if—something was going to happen to you,” she faltered.

“It’s extremely likely that something is. But that need not trouble you. You will have Con to yourself, and can plan his future as you like.”

“Maurice!” Eirene took her courage in both hands, and went close to him. “Has it seemed—I mean, you could not have thought that—that when we had all those quarrels I—I didn’t care?”

“We will say that you dissembled your love with remarkable skill,” said Maurice, as lightly as he could. “Don’t imagine I blame you. You ought never to have married me. We thought you knew your own mind, but you were too young. I couldn’t give you what you had a right to expect, and you couldn’t do without it, as you once thought you could. I have been nothing but a disappointment to you.”

“No, no!” she cried eagerly. “I have never repented—never. I would marry you again to-morrow if—— Oh, Maurice!” struck by his lack of response, “don’t say you have repented—all along!”

“That I certainly have not. There have been times—— But it does no good to talk about it. How could I help repenting, for your sake, when I saw you struggling, chafing, hardly able to keep back the contempt you felt for me?”

“I wanted to bring out the best in you,” she said, choking back a sob,—“to make you worthy of your birthright, not let you sink into a mere country gentleman. Perhaps I have seemed unkind, but I meant it for your good.”

“I never doubted it,” he assured her; “but you see, I knew all along that my good meant your ambition. The conjunction was unfortunate, but it was not your fault.”

“You are cruel!” burst from Eirene.

“Am I? That was the last thing I intended. I hoped that when you explained to Con that his father was a failure, you would at least be able to say that he meant well.”

“You will break my heart, Maurice. You loved me once; is your love quite gone? Have I destroyed it? Oh, don’t answer me in that cruel cold voice! Is there nothing I can do? I do care; I have always cared. Let me do something to make you believe it. Maurice!” she laid her hands on his shoulders, “ask me to stay with you, let me die with you—just to show you have forgiven me.”

“Certainly not. No, no!” as he saw the agony in her eyes, “there is nothing to forgive. We both made a mistake, and it is about my only piece of comfort that you will now have the chance of repairing it. But as to doing something for me—there is one thing——”

“Tell me. Let me do it,” she panted.

“Insist on my sending Wylie to escort you to Ephestilo. Then I shall not have his blood on my head.”

“Colonel Wylie? But why not you?”

“Because I can’t leave these poor wretches, whom I have led into this, but he has nothing to do with them. It would take a load from my mind if I knew he was safe. And he will be a good friend to you.”

“I have never liked him——” began Eirene, but she interrupted herself quickly. “No, I will do it, I will; but only for your sake, Maurice. You understand that?”

“I do, and I thank you. But, Eirene, you must put no more obstacles between him and Zoe. She is not to be a pawn in your game any longer. Is that quite clear?”

“If it is another thing I can do for you, it is.”

CHAPTER XX.
FUGITIVES.

“Maurice, it isn’t true! You are not sending us away and staying here yourself?”

“My dear Zoe, it’s the only thing to be done. But I foresee that my hair will be grey before it is done.”

“But don’t you see that when we have held out so long—— Oh, Maurice, we came for the sake of the cause, and we don’t want to forsake it when it has failed. We don’t mean to go away and be saved without you.”

“Don’t you think I know that? But when the only thing you can do for me is to go quietly——? There’s Con, you know. We couldn’t let the little chap be killed without trying to save him, could we? And you will have to help look after him, see that he doesn’t quite forget me, don’t you know?”

“I hate Eirene!” cried Zoe passionately.

“No, don’t say that. She is awfully cut up—didn’t realise how near we were to the end of all things, of course. I say, Zoe, you mustn’t visit this on her. It’s not her fault really, and I want you two to stick together. If you say to yourself—I mean, if you remember—if it occurs to you, don’t you know?—that I—I cared for her, perhaps it might make it easier.”

“It won’t, because she has treated you so shamefully.”

“At least she has promised to do the last thing I shall ask her, and you won’t.”

“Oh, Maurice, of course I will! Oh, what a shame! you have made me promise. But, my dear boy——”

“Maurice!” the curtain at the door was lifted, and Eirene came in, very pale and quiet. “I want to know who is to go with us to-night. They say that the way to Ephestilo is blocked, and that we shall have to go round.”

“Wylie thought Zeko would be the best man to command the escort,” said Maurice, guessing that Wylie was within hearing; “and we shall pick out six of our best men to go with him.”

“It is not enough,” said Eirene imperiously. “I mean, we must have a European. We may come on the Roumis anywhere. You must send Colonel Wylie with us.”

“Of course, the very thing!” said Maurice, with almost too ready acquiescence. “I’ll tell him he is to go.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Wylie, appearing in the doorway; “but I have a voice in the matter, and I am not going. You will find Zeko quite trustworthy, Princess, and he knows the way as well as I do.”

“It is not fitting,” persisted Eirene. “Maurice, I decline to go unless we are properly escorted.”

“Your husband commands here, ma’am,” said Wylie sharply. “If it is his order that you are to go, go you will.”

“Not at all. Are you not teaching me to defy him at this very moment, Colonel Wylie? I can quite believe you are capable of sending me away by force, but I may remind you that if I chose to scream or struggle, all your plans would be betrayed.”

Wylie turned away impatiently. “You may say what you like, ma’am, but I am not going.”

“Not if I ask it, Wylie?” said Maurice.

“No,” was the gruff reply. “You are plotting to save me from whatever happens to you, and I won’t have it.”

“‘I will be drowned, and nobody shall save me,’” quoted Maurice, in a perplexity so hopeless that it became humorous. “Look at it sensibly, old man. Can’t you realise what a comfort it would be to me to know that the girls had some one to look after them?”

“I stay here to look after you.” Wylie was unmoved.

“But you are on the sick list. Really, you wouldn’t add to our fighting strength much, you know, and if we succeed in surrendering before Nilischeff does it for us, your presence would complicate matters horribly. You are a meddlesome foreigner, you see, without even as much right here as I have. To make things easier—as a favour to me——”

“Don’t ask favours, Maurice; give your orders!” cried Eirene, her voice high and harsh. “You realise, if Colonel Wylie doesn’t, that we may never reach Ephestilo, and that we must not fall into the hands of the Roumis. Do you see now, both of you? Neither Constantine nor Zoe nor I—no descendant of John Theophanis—must fall into the hands of the Roumis.”

“Wylie, you see?” cried Maurice passionately. “How could I put such a responsibility into the hands of Zeko?”

“For God’s sake, don’t put it into mine!” cried Wylie in horror. “Go yourself, and leave me here.”

“I can’t, and you know it. Wylie, you must go. You are the only man I can trust in a thing of this kind.”

Wylie looked round him with hunted eyes, as though seeking a way of escape. Then, with a groan, “All right. I’ll go,” he said.

“I knew you would. Thanks, old man.”

“And after all,” said Zoe, trying to keep her lips from trembling as she spoke, “we may meet the party from the ship quite soon, and then Colonel Wylie can come back at once to you, Maurice.”

“Ah, of course. That I will,” said Wylie.

“Only if you have handed them over safely,” said Maurice. “Don’t let me see you again if you can’t do that.”

“All right. We start as soon as it is dusk, then.” His voice had regained its usual tones as he turned to Eirene and Zoe. “Put on native shoes, and dark clothes, if you have them—handkerchiefs on your heads instead of hats, like the women here. No luggage, of course. I will give you the blue lights,” he added to Maurice. “You must burn them on the gateway at half-hour intervals, without fail. If the Emathians object, tell them it is a signal of distress, a last appeal for help from the Admirals. You must keep our absence a secret, of course. I will have the men we are to take with us put on guard, so that they can get away without being seen.”

How the hours of that dreadful day wore themselves away, none of the people chiefly affected could have told. By far the most cheerful was Maurice, over whom the impending doom hung most certainly. Eirene was filled with a passionate remorse, which it was now too late to prove save by the promptest acquiescence in anything her husband suggested, and Wylie went about like a man under sentence of death. As for Zoe, the active imagination which had played such a large part in her history ran riot now in scenes and possibilities of horror, until she could only restore herself to some measure of calmness by the sage reflection that nothing in all her life had ever proved as terrible as she had pictured it beforehand. The only humorous element in the day’s doings was furnished by Zeko and his six men, who objected as strongly as did Wylie to being sent out of the way of danger, and could only be induced to go by the promise that they should return with him when the ladies had been placed in safety.

It was more difficult now to leave the monastery secretly than it had been when the adventurers reached Hagiamavra, for the hills round it were no longer solitary, but dotted with the huts and tents and camp-fires of the insurgents and refugees, who were crowding closer to this central point as the lines were tightened round them. Maurice was naturally the chief object of interest to these people, and he concentrated their attention on himself by preparing to start with his guards, shortly before dusk, for the breastwork on which the Maxim had been mounted the day before, to resume the defence as soon as the armistice expired. The malcontents under Nilischeff, their occupation gone by the loss of the line they should have defended, hung about sullenly until he ordered them away to strengthen other weak points, and begging women and wailing children, demanding vainly the food which he had not to give them, watched the departure of the forlorn hope. For that it was a forlorn hope there could be no doubt. The Roumi seizure of the ravine between the monastery and Ephestilo had driven a wedge into the heart of the defences, and no one knew better than Maurice that at any moment he might be stabbed in the back by his own men. But his business was to keep matters going somehow until the morning, and then to obtain such terms as he could for the poor starving people around.

Through the open doors of the great gateway the monastery guards could be seen sitting round their fire in the courtyard, Eirene and Zoe were on the gallery to wave farewell to Maurice, and Wylie was clearly visible in the background, doing something to the remaining Maxim. No one could have imagined that they had any intention of leaving the place that night, but in an hour all was changed. Slipping out one by one from the small door at the side of the gateway, the fugitives assembled in the shadow, while the fire in the courtyard was diligently kept up by Armitage’s steward, who had volunteered to remain for this special purpose, so that the light might continue to be visible to the people encamped outside. He was also charged with the care of the blue lights, the first of which shed a ghastly glare about an hour later over the rugged landscape and the awestruck upturned faces of the refugees. They interpreted it as a supernatural portent of disaster, a sign of the divine wrath such as preceded the fall of Jerusalem, and a chorus of mingled shrieks and wailing arose, until the steward, much irritated, roused two lay brethren forcibly from their slumbers, and sent them to calm the people with the news that the terrible lights were the sign of safety rather than of ruin.

The fugitives were well beyond the range of the light when the glare first broke out. Zeko went in advance, to make sure of a path, since to stumble over a sleeping refugee would have been to wreck all hope, then three of his men, then Eirene, carrying little Constantine in a shawl wrapped round her, and Zoe, to whom she resolutely refused permission to share the burden, while the rear was brought up by Wylie, walking feebly with the aid of a stick, and the other three insurgents. The levels and plateaus were necessarily avoided, and the way led down dry torrent-beds, and up steep hillsides covered with thickets of sweet-smelling shrubs, where the only thing to be heard, besides the soft footfalls of the party, was the chirp of the grasshopper. There was no moon, which was an advantage in one way and a drawback in another, but Zeko was well accustomed to finding his way by the stars, and he led on almost without a pause until, halting on a ridge after a specially exhausting climb, his followers became aware of a sound which was not that of their own labouring breath.

“Down! down!” hissed Zeko, and they crouched under the bushes from which they had just emerged, while the guide beckoned Wylie to him. Together they crawled forward, and were lost to sight for a time which seemed interminable to the two women, who could now distinguish clearly the sound of muffled footsteps on the other side of the ridge. Constantine, who had been inclined to be unduly talkative in the surprise of this night-journey, went to sleep in his mother’s arms with a murmur of content, and they waited with what patience they might, the guards lying round them, with itching fingers on the triggers of their rifles. At last Wylie returned.

“The Roumis are more enterprising than we thought them,” he said. “They are evidently sending a force up to act against the monastery from this side, so we shall have to change our route a little, and try to cross their line of march when they have passed.”

This meant a tedious working along the top of the slope among the bushes, ready to drop down under their shadow at a word, thus pursuing a course parallel with that of the advancing Roumis, but in the reverse direction. After a while, the friendly ridge sank into a confusion of hillocks and ravines, and here it was necessary to proceed even more carefully, since any moment might bring them face to face with Roumi stragglers who had taken a wrong turning in the dark. The danger was so great that Zeko bore away gradually more to the left, away from the line of march, despite the remonstrances of Wylie, who urged that they were getting into a region neither of them knew, and that it would be wiser to wait for a while, until the enemy was quite out of hearing. But Zeko was so confident of his ability to find his way, and so resolutely determined to keep moving, lest time should be wasted, that he still pressed on, leading his unfortunate charges such a dance, up hill and down dale, that it was with positive physical relief they heard him at last confess he did not know where he was, and that it would be well to wait for daylight before going farther, lest they should run into the midst of the enemy. They were now in a well-wooded, or rather well-bushed, ravine, and he suggested that they should conceal themselves in the undergrowth and snatch what rest they could. Wylie agreed perforce, for the long hours of scrambling had told upon him so much that he could scarcely stand, and he advised Zoe and Eirene to pull their head-handkerchiefs over their faces, so as to save themselves from scratches, and work their way in under the bushes. The guards were already doing this, and a sudden exclamation, followed by a string of prayers in a strange voice, made Wylie and Zeko angrily order silence.

“It is a man, lord!” they answered, crawling out again and dragging with them a dishevelled figure, who was gradually identified, when his terror had a little subsided, as a goatherd named Mikhaili. His hut was situated in these ravines, he told them, and thinking it was safe from molestation by reason of its solitude, he and his family had remained there instead of seeking refuge near the monastery, the more so since they were able to live as usual on the produce of their flock, which must have been given up into the common stock if they had joined the rest. But this night they had not ventured to remain indoors, for they had seen Roumis quite close at hand, and though they were far too much terrified to watch them continuously, they could hear them moving about, now in one direction, now in another. The hut had escaped notice in the darkness, he thought, but he and his wife and children were all hiding in the bushes, believing that it would certainly be discovered when daylight came.

“We seem to have blundered into the thick of them,” said Wylie, as cheerfully as he could. “Who would have thought of their making night marches all over the place like this? Well, we are quite hidden among these bushes, so I hope you ladies will get what sleep you can. We shall keep a good watch, so don’t be afraid.”

Anxious only to give as little trouble as possible, Zoe and Eirene obeyed, so far as lying down and trying to sleep went. But Zoe could not sleep, tired as she was, for she felt convinced that Wylie was keeping watch himself. At length she could bear the thought no longer, and wriggled to the entrance of her burrow, so that she could get a glimpse of him. As she had expected, he was sitting on a stone, with his rifle between his knees, but something strange in his attitude made her look at him more closely. He was crouched in a heap, his eyes wide open and glassy, and his hands had relaxed their hold in complete unconsciousness. Afraid to raise her voice to call Zeko, Zoe crawled out of her hole and took the rifle gently away without disturbing Wylie. He murmured a little incoherently when she tried to move him, and in terror lest he should cry out, she ventured to speak softly, hoping he would think he was in hospital again, and she a nurse.

“Let me help you to lie down more easily,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t think your pillow is comfortable, is it?”

She could not have moved him if he had remained obstinate, but with his own unconscious help she succeeded in getting him to lie down, with the stone for a pillow, and covering him with the cloak she had worn. Then she took the rifle, and set herself to keep watch in his place, unable, even in the circumstances of the moment, to restrain a bitter little smile at the thought, “How frightfully angry he would be if he knew!” To her great joy she felt no inclination for sleep, and she sat there, guarding the rest, and growing stiffer and stiffer with the night cold, until the first faint streaks of dawn appeared, and Zeko came crawling out from under the bushes. He expressed no surprise at finding her on guard, after her low-voiced explanation that the Lord Glafko was ill again. It was only suitable that women should keep watch while their protectors slept; in fact, it was all they could do to repay the kind care taken of them. Wylie was now in a natural sleep, and it went to Zoe’s heart to let Zeko wake him, which he did when she had crawled back into her burrow, but the few precious minutes of grey twilight must not be lost if they were to pass safely through this danger-zone. While Zeko went to the top of the hill to see if he could distinguish where they were, Wylie woke the other guards, and all were ready to start when the guide should return. There was a moment’s pause while Mikhaili crept up with an offering of goat’s-milk cheese, and a draught of milk in a leathern cup for little Constantine, and while the rest were eagerly consuming the gift of this Good Samaritan, Zeko, returning, drew Wylie aside and up the hill. There was a look of awe upon the ex-brigand’s face which Wylie did not understand until he had been bidden to kneel down and look through a gap between two rocks. On the other side of the hill, literally only a few yards from them, a number of Roumi soldiers lay asleep. Whether they were an outlying picket or stragglers from the larger force,—the confused way in which they were strewn about favoured this supposition,—the fact remained that the two parties had spent the night so near one another that a cry or an altercation in one camp must have roused its neighbour. Zeko, in a heart-felt whisper, vowed an extravagant gift of candles to the Prophet Elijah, patron saint of hills, for his services that night, and he and Wylie rejoined the rest. Mikhaili, warned of the nearness of the foe, and invited to call his wife and children and accompany the fugitives, refused to do so. Here they might hope to escape notice, he said, but the way to Ephestilo would lead from one danger to another. He put them in the right path—if that could be called a path which must avoid all tracks, since the Roumis might be making use of them—and they parted with mutual good wishes.

The sleeping Roumis were passed in safety, and for a while the way was uneventful, though rugged and difficult enough, while the bushes lasted, so convenient for concealment. But they ended suddenly, and the bare rocks made every movement of the party horribly conspicuous. Still, even in this change in the character of the country there was hope, since it showed they must be approaching the sea, and therefore Ephestilo, and Zoe and Eirene shook off their weariness and pressed on manfully. Thus they came to a height from which they could see the blue waters, and a sigh of relief broke from them. But between them and the sea there was still some distance to be traversed, and when they looked down on the country that lay beneath them, their hearts stood still. Everywhere twinkling darts of light as the sun sparkled on bayonet-points, everywhere dots of scarlet which betrayed themselves as red tarbushes.

“A cordon!” burst from Wylie. “They are hemming our people in. This means massacre.”

“Down, lord, down!” cried Zeko, dragging Wylie to his knees. “There are some of them behind us!”

For a moment they waited with beating hearts, hoping against hope that the figures on the sky-line had not been seen—a hope that was cut short by the swish of a bullet and a shout of triumph that the range had been found so nearly. Wylie raised himself sharply.

“Roll these stones together,” he said, setting the example himself. “We can hold out some time behind a sangar here.”

“Nay, lord!” came in protesting tones from Zeko and his men. “The accursed who are behind us cannot reach this hill for many minutes, and it will shield us from their fire. Let us rather slay the women and steal down towards the line of the miscreants in front. Then we can throw ourselves upon them and kill many more than our own number.”

“Be quiet!” said Wylie roughly. “Demo, that stone.”

The man obeyed, without enthusiasm, and the loose rocks were piled into a rough breastwork, through the interstices of which the rifles could be fired. When it was finished, Zoe crept up to Wylie, her whole frame vibrating with indignation.

“You won’t let them touch us?” she panted. “If it has to be done, you will do it yourself?”

“Don’t—don’t ask me!” His voice was full of entreaty, but Zoe was pitiless.

“You must,” she persisted. “Why, from you—— You know,” she broke off suddenly, “you hate us all.”

“If I did, it would be easy enough to do it. You know well enough it isn’t that. It’s—the very opposite.”

“Then I have a right to ask you to do it. You promise?”

“Good God, yes!” he groaned.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE BRITISH FLAG.

Crouching behind the piled stones, Wylie tried to get a clear view of the enemy attacking from behind, but they had found such good cover that this was difficult. They were on a much lower level, which was fortunate, since they had no mark but the stones, yet the broken country afforded such facilities for concealment that they might at any time climb unperceived to a higher point, and fire down into the sangar. Everything depended on the most extreme watchfulness, so that if they did gain one of the heights they might be shot before they could shoot. Wylie looked round at Zoe, the tension of a few moments before forgotten.

“You have good sight,” he said. “Lie down on the seaward side, and keep a look-out. Let me know if you see anything among the Roumis down there to show that they have noticed us.”

“If we fire, they must notice us,” said Zoe.

“If we don’t, the fellows behind will wipe us out,” said he.

Without further objection, Zoe obeyed, lying flat at the edge of the rock, her face supported on her hands, peering between two stones. At present there was no sign of movement among the Roumis below, for a solitary shot, even if they had heard it, was not likely to arouse their suspicions. But as Zoe watched, the eight rifles behind her crashed out simultaneously, and at once there was a scurrying in the lines beneath, and an eager turning of eyes to the ridge. She warned Wylie, and received his order to tell him the moment any man or men began to scale the hill. But her next words gave him far different news.

“There is a steam pinnace coming towards the opening in the bay!” she cried.

“Better late than never!” said Wylie grimly.

Bullets were flying overhead now from the unseen enemy behind, and every few minutes a rifle or two cracked, as one man or another caught a glimpse of the snipers. The Roumis in front were now evidently persuaded that something out of the common was occurring on the hill-top, and a small detachment was ordered up to inquire into it. Warned by Zoe, Wylie transferred his whole force to that side, and as soon as the Roumis began to mount the hill, they were met with so hot a fire from the eight rifles that they withdrew hastily to seek cover from which to take long shots. But the momentary transference of the garrison had afforded the enemy behind an opportunity of establishing themselves somewhat higher up, and one or two of their bullets even entered the loopholes. One of the insurgents was hit in the arm, but with a handkerchief tied round the injured limb he remained at his post.

“Have you anything that will make a flag?” asked Wylie of Zoe, without turning round. “Handkerchiefs? Right. Then hold it up straight—don’t show yourself, mind—and wave it towards the right. Our men can get round the end of the Roumi line in that direction.”

Seeing that, as he said, the cordon on that side was not complete, Zoe took heart again, though when the bullets came whizzing through the enclosure she had given up all for lost. She and Eirene unfastened the kerchiefs from their heads, and knotting them and their pocket-handkerchiefs together, she manufactured a small flag, and was tying it to the stick which Wylie had used to help him on the march when Zeko turned round and saw what she was doing. With a snarl of fury he tore the stick from her hand, and lifted his rifle as if to dash out her brains. Her involuntary cry made Wylie turn to see what was the matter, and he seized Zeko’s arm. The brigand offered no apology, but pointed for justification to the flag and to Zoe, pouring out a bitter accusation which she was too much shaken to understand.

“It’s all right,” said Wylie. “He thought you were trying to surrender behind our backs—hoisting the white flag, you know. I’ll explain.”

The scowl left Zeko’s brow gradually, but it was clear that his objection to the flag remained. At length, with an air of yielding gracefully to Wylie’s unreasonable demands, he pulled the bandage roughly from the arm of the man who had been hurt, and applied the flag to the wound until it was stained everywhere with blood. Then he handed it back to Zoe with a grin, and she conquered her disgust sufficiently to receive it and fasten it to the stick. It blew out well in the wind, but this made it very difficult to hold, as she lay behind the stones, alternately raising the stick erect and bending it down to the right, with the sun beating on her uncovered head. It was almost a relief when a bullet hit the stick—the flag served as an excellent mark for the enemy in front—and broke it in two, the wind immediately carrying the flag away. Noticing how hot the fire was getting, Wylie moved to the front with three of his men, and told Zoe to take her place with Eirene and Constantine in the most sheltered corner. There they crouched on the ground, in what ought to have been comparative safety, but it seemed a sort of imprisonment to Zoe, who could no longer see what was happening, or watch for the first sight of the relieving force. Moreover, the place, though the best they could find, was not really safe. As she and Eirene sat huddled together, a bullet entered at the loophole nearest them, passing through the head of the wounded insurgent, who sprang up convulsively and fell forward over the barricade, and striking one of the largest stones, which it shattered. Constantine, who had been watching the firing with intense interest, sprang into his mother’s arms with a frightened cry as the flying dust and fragments of rock filled the air. She drew the shawl about him, and he gave a little sigh as he hid his face in her bosom.

“Poor little Con!” said Zoe, when she could find her voice, “how tired he is! Think of going to sleep in the middle of this firing!”

Eirene looked up quickly. “Yes, of course he is tired—terribly tired.” The vague anxiety left her eyes, and her voice grew stronger as she repeated firmly, “It is just that. He is so tired.”

“No harm done, I hope?” said Wylie, looking round. “Keep as low down as you can.”

They obeyed, comforting themselves with the thought that no other bullet was likely to strike in the same place. But as Zoe watched, it seemed to her that the bullets were coming now from a different direction. One even came over the barricade from the back, and struck the ground. The enemy were firing down instead of up. She called out to Wylie.

“Yes, they’ve managed to get up there,” he answered in jerks, without turning his head. “It was when that unlucky shot killed Demo.”

Another man rolled over on his side, and his rifle clattered as it fell. Zeko reached across and took away his cartridge-belt, displaying to Wylie the few cartridges left, and muttering something which Zoe understood to be a prediction that if the women were not killed soon the Roumis would rush the sangar and get possession of them after all. Wylie took out his watch, but the face was smashed.

“Is your watch going?” he called to Zoe. “The sailors ought to be here in twenty minutes. Zeko, find out exactly how many cartridges we have left—for six rifles—and we will allot them accordingly. The Lady Zoe will tell us as each five minutes passes. Don’t let the men fire more than one at a time, unless there comes a rush.”

Zeko made his calculation with an impatient grunt, and at Wylie’s orders divided the cartridges into four parts, one for each five minutes, while Zoe crouched with her watch in her hand, feeling that minutes had never moved so slowly before. Divergent counsels appeared to prevail among the enemy in front, for they fired only in a half-hearted sort of way, but those behind, elated by their position, took full advantage of it. It was impossible to lift a head above the parapet without attracting a bullet, and Wylie and the two men in front were exposed to their fire if they changed their place in the slightest. Still, so long as they remained quiet, they could only be hit by accident, and the persevering foes therefore transferred their attention to the breastwork, trying to knock away the stones, and thus leave the defenders shelterless. They succeeded best at the end opposite to that at which Eirene and Zoe were crouching, where the ridge was very steep, but as there was no attack on that side this did no immediate harm. Through the opening thus made there came a sound of distant music, which roused Zoe’s curiosity. Surely the rescuers could not be bringing a band with them? Crawling forward a little, she saw, as if in a stone frame, the advancing column. The officer at the head, in whom she thought she recognised Lieutenant Cotway, was driving before him a Roumi bugler, who was sounding the “Cease fire!” spasmodically with all his might, admonished by frequent reminders from behind. Close at hand walked a midshipman, displaying boldly, even ostentatiously, a large-sized Union Jack, and some five-and-twenty sailors in marching order followed. The slackness of the fire in front was now accounted for, since Lieutenant Cotway had evidently arrived at an explanation of some sort with the Roumis, though its effects were only gradual, but so far the frenzied exertions of the bugler did not seem to have penetrated to the consciousness of the snipers at the back. Even if they did, the column, climbing its painful path, would not come into sight until it had all but reached the top of the hill, and it was only too probable that until the truth was brought home to them by the actual sight of the White Ensign, the enemy would prefer to assure themselves that the bugler was playing tunes for his own delectation.

“Ten minutes!” said Zoe, returning to her place, and Zeko reached eagerly for the third supply of cartridges. As he did so, a bullet struck the heap, and a violent explosion flung him backwards. Three of his fingers were torn off, and he was much scorched, but even in his agony what appealed to him most was the fact that save for two or three cartridges in the magazines of the rifles not yet emptied, the ammunition was gone. Zoe crawled to him to try and tie up his hand, but he waved her away angrily, and did it himself with the other hand and his teeth, then took out his knife and lay down to wait. But there was little prospect now of the enemy’s trying to rush the breastwork, for the sound of the explosion must have told them what had happened, and they were not likely to trust themselves within stabbing distance of the four bruised, scorched men who now alone remained. The front of the sangar had been blown clean out, and the back, which stood on level ground, was now no longer a wall, but a heap, affording next to no shelter. Wylie took possession of the three undischarged rifles, and trained them on one particular point, forbidding the men to fire until he gave the word. Sooner or later the snipers would advance to a height from which they could fire straight down into the place, and unless they could be checked in this, there would be no one left to save when the rescuers arrived. Presently the rifle he held went off, and by the muttered exclamations of joy from the men, Zoe knew that one of the enemy, at any rate, had fallen in the attempt to reach the coveted spot. Then the other two were discharged simultaneously, and Wylie turned savagely upon the culprits, who had wasted two precious cartridges upon one Roumi. All that remained now was one cartridge still in his rifle, and that was soon expended, not so successfully as before, since the Roumi at whom he fired was only wounded.

“Close in now, and shelter the ladies,” he said, and the men obeyed. Wylie thrust his revolver into Zoe’s hand.

“If we are all done for before the sailors get up,” he said, and she understood, and laid it down beside her. The Roumis were on the height now, but they had not got the exact range, and the bullets were dropping beyond the group. Then Zeko sprang up and spun round wildly, made a vain attempt to hurl his knife at the foe, and fell with a horrible crash. Zoe hid her face.

“Oh, do it, do it now!” she entreated of Wylie. “I shall go mad if this goes on.”

“Quiet. Wait!” he said firmly. “I thought I saw—yes, there they are. Here, here!” he shouted, putting his hands to his mouth.

“Where?” cried another voice. “Yes, all right. Cease firing up there, or I fire!”

The firing ceased as if by magic, and Lieutenant Cotway hurried across the piece of open ground, followed by his seamen. Mr Suter, with great presence of mind, wedged the flagstaff into the heap of stones, and held it up straight.

“Only just in time!” said Wylie, getting up.

“So it seems. Ladies not hurt, I hope? Well, you have made a good fight of it. Sorry to be obliged to put you and your survivors under arrest—Admiral’s orders. Is Prince Theophanis here? No? The old man will be disgusted—hoped to get you all out of mischief at one blow. Well, better toddle back to the boat with what we have got, for our Roumi friends are not exactly charmed by our interference.”

“Send the ladies on in front,” said Wylie. “We must look after our poor fellows, you know.”

Was the man frightened? wondered Lieutenant Cotway. His teeth chattered and his face was white, and he leaned against the rock as though he could scarcely stand. “Collapse, possibly,” the sailor said to himself, and turned to offer his hand to help Eirene to rise. “Sorry to meet you again in such circumstances, ma’am. Afraid you’ve had a bad time? But once we get you on board it’ll be better. I’m going to send you on ahead with Mr Suter while we rig up some sort of contrivance for the wounded. Is that my young friend Con you have there? Don’t wonder you are tired if you have been carrying him all the way from the monastery. This man will take him for you.”

The big sailor he indicated handed his rifle to a comrade and held out his arms, but Eirene only clasped her boy closer. There was a furtive, almost suspicious, look in her eyes. “No, no,” she said breathlessly, “I will carry him. I am not tired. No one shall take him from me.”

“Of course not,” said Mr Cotway soothingly. “I thought it might be a relief to you, that’s all. You persuade your sister to rest if you get a chance,” he added to Zoe. “One can see she’s had a pretty hard time.”

“Yes, yes,” said Zoe. “Oh, tell me,” she said anxiously, lowering her voice,—the tall lieutenant was standing between her and the rest,—“you are going to bring Colonel Wylie on board? You are not going to—to shoot him?”

The sailor repressed a laugh with difficulty. “Don’t be afraid, there’s no deception,” he assured her. “‘We are here for all your goods,’ don’t you know?”

“But Maurice—my brother—can you save him?”

“Can’t tell till I hear more about it. But the sooner you get on board and pour everything into the sympathetic ears of Point Seven, the better. He has been like a bear dancing on a hot plate the last few days. He’ll strain the resources of the Concert to breaking-point if there’s anything he can do. Got your ten men, Mr Suter?”

The ten men were waiting, and Mr Suter, proud of his independent command, led them off in fine style. As soon as they and their charges had passed over the edge of the plateau, Lieutenant Cotway turned to Wylie.

“I say, you must be wounded. What is it?”

“No, merely fever. I’m afraid I must ask you to let one of your men give me an arm down the hill. But there was one of our fellows I hoped wasn’t dead.”

Together they examined the bodies strewn about the ruins of the sangar, but no life remained in any of them. To those acquainted with Roumi methods of warfare, their disposal presented a difficulty, but one of the two remaining insurgents suggested a cairn, and the corpses were laid in the centre of the space which had witnessed their last fight, and the stones piled over them. Then the man drew a circle round the heap with his knife, and scrawled cabalistic figures inside and outside it, muttering the while. “It is magic,” he said, as he rose from his knees. “Even the accursed will not dare to disturb that grave, and in the years to come the relics of the martyrs shall be carried to a shrine worthy of them.”

“Your people seem to be full of spirit still,” said Lieutenant Cotway as he helped Wylie down the hill, a sailor supporting him on the other side; “but I’m afraid your cause is in a bad way. What’s your Prince doing?”

“He was proposing to surrender to-day, as being more dignified than finding himself handed over by traitors on his own side,” said Wylie.

Mr Cotway whistled. “Isn’t it slightly confiding to treat with the Roumis without giving the Admirals a chance to see fair?” he asked.

“Unfortunately the Admirals were at an Olympian distance, and the Roumis in between. We simply couldn’t get at you. But there is just a chance that you may be in time to prevent a massacre yet.”

“With twenty-five men? Oh, I see, you mean the representatives of Europe generally. Well, my orders are to escort the ladies on board, but I think old Point Seven would agree that it was a case for discretion. I shall send you aboard with Suter, and hold Ephestilo, for fear our landing should be disputed. The Roumis will hardly yearn for publicity.”

“You will want a guide,” said Wylie thickly.

“Well, I don’t intend to engage you for the post. One of your men might do. I suppose there’s a straight road from Ephestilo to your headquarters?”

“Yes, but the Roumis are lying across it.”

“They ought to know which side their bread is buttered by this time. The Roumis won’t take any trouble to spare the susceptibilities of their warmest friends, but they will probably not care to fire on armed Europe. Ah, here we are on the level at last! Now we shall get on faster. Take my arm again. Baines, go on giving Colonel Wylie an arm on the other side. There are the ladies, I see. Why won’t Princess Theophanis let some one else carry that heavy child? I suppose she gave him something last night to keep him quiet?”

“No. He talked a good deal till quite lately.” Wylie spoke with difficulty.

“Hope there’s nothing wrong, then. He seemed very quiet. I say,” as Wylie stumbled, “what’s up? I don’t think you’ll get as far as the Magniloquent this morning. Can you keep up till we get to Ephestilo, or shall I send a man on to get some sort of litter?”

“I can keep up,” declared Wylie, and he stumbled on between his two supporters, and succeeded in reaching the outskirts of Ephestilo. The inhabitants, who had forsaken their homes for hiding-places among the rocks on the approach of the Roumis, were returning now, with a pathetic confidence in the power of the little pinnace lying at the rude quay, and the people whose house Wylie had occupied during his illness met him and claimed him as a guest,—not, perhaps, without an eye to the special protection this would probably involve. Leaving him in their charge, Lieutenant Cotway hurried to the quay, from which Eirene and Zoe were just embarking.

“Tell the Admiral the whole state of things, Princess,” he said to Zoe, for Eirene was too much engrossed with her boy to have any ears for him. “I am staying on shore for the present, and keeping Colonel Wylie with me, and I only hope we may be able to bring your brother off safely to-night.”

The short voyage from Ephestilo to the flagship was accomplished almost in silence. Zoe was hastily conning over in her mind the facts of the situation, and trying wildly to put them into the fewest words that would suffice to move the Admiral to instant action. Mr Suter’s usual flow of talk was checked. He and his crew were alike uneasily conscious of the silent woman with the terror-haunted eyes, who sat huddled by herself, clasping a bundle to her breast—an image of dread that must have filled Zoe with foreboding had not her mind been fully preoccupied with the effort to save Maurice from his impending fate. They reached the ship at last, and the Admiral himself came down the ladder to welcome them and help them to the deck.

“I fear you have had a most unpleasant journey,” he said kindly to Eirene. “Be sure that whatever we can do to make you forget it—ah, what’s that? the baby got hurt?”

“Mr Cotway said he was afraid there was something wrong with it, sir,” said Mr Suter, in what he imagined to be a whisper. It roused Eirene at once.

“There is nothing wrong with him!” she cried, glaring round on the officers. “He is all right—only frightened by so many strangers. He always hides his face when he is shy—doesn’t he, Zoe? doesn’t he? You know he does.” Her voice rose almost to a scream. “He will be quite good when he is once alone with me—quite good.”

“Yes, of course,” said the Admiral gently. “Bring him in here, and put him on the bed. No, don’t be afraid; we will all go away. But you would like the doctor, wouldn’t you?—just in case there is any little scratch or bruise, you know.”

He signed to the surgeon to enter the cabin, and came out, shutting the door noiselessly. Then he turned to Zoe.

“Now what is it you want to tell me?” for she had been trying to attract his attention ever since they arrived. “About your brother? Dear me, a sad change since you were here last!”

“The Roumis will hear of nothing but unconditional surrender,” said Zoe breathlessly; “and Maurice is holding out in hope of getting better terms, but he has reason to be afraid of treachery from some of the men on our own side.”

“Unconditional surrender? The Powers have made it plain to the Roumis from the first that the rank and file of the insurgents were to go free if they laid down their arms. Why did your brother not apply for our mediation?”

“The Roumis would let no one pass, and that Hercynian who is in their camp, Gratrian Bey, sided with Jalal-ud-din.”

“So I should imagine. Well, this must be looked into, even if it breaks up the Concert. Ask Admiral Scartazzini and Admiral d’Anville if they will co-operate with me in sending landing-parties on shore at once,” he said to an officer. “What are the best roads into the interior of the peninsula?” he asked Zoe.

“The one from Ephestilo is the nearest, but the one from Karakula is the easiest to find. From Skandalo you can’t find your way without a guide.”

“But there are some of your party left to serve as guides? Still, we won’t try Skandalo, for the Hercynians are guarding it. The Neustrians had better start from Karakula, and the Magnagrecians and ourselves from Ephestilo. Then I hope—— Well, what news?” as the surgeon came out of the cabin.

“The poor child is dead, sir.”

“Dead?” cried Zoe and the Admiral together.

“Hours ago. The merest bruise on the temple—from a flying stone, I imagine. It must have been instantaneous. The mother is distracted—refuses to believe it even now; but I think she must have guessed.”

CHAPTER XXII.
CHANGES AND CHANCES.

“Now, how’s that?” asked the surgeon, standing in front of Wylie and looking at him triumphantly.

“Oh, gorgeous in the extreme,” was the languid reply. “Makes one feel that a quiet grave would be preferable, don’t you know.”

“Don’t talk about graves,” said the surgeon, with unexpected fierceness. “Pluck up a little spirit, man! If you can’t stand being dressed and put into a chair, how will you manage to receive visitors?”

“What visitors?” with a faint show of interest.

“Well, one visitor—whom I imagine you’ll be glad to see.”

“I hope,” said Wylie slowly, “that you haven’t let any nonsense I may have talked when I was off my head——”

“Oh, don’t be afraid. I am discretion itself.”

“I hope you have not given any one the trouble of coming here because you thought I wanted to see them?”

“Certainly not,” retorted the surgeon. “The reason I invited ‘them’ was because I thought you didn’t want to see them, of course. I’m glad you have modesty enough not to imagine that ‘they’ wanted to see you. Anyhow, you need only look as sick and sorry as you do now, and they’ll never want to see you again. Now do, for the sake of my professional reputation, try to assume some faint resemblance to a smile, even if you feel it not!”

“Oh, shut up!” groaned the patient.

“Well, it’s not my fault if you don’t appreciate your blessings. Here, drink this, and I’ll give you ten minutes or so to practise an amiable expression in. Think you’re going to be photographed. ‘I know it’s difficult, but try to look pleasant,’ you know.”

The doctor had spoken with calculated guile, for it was only two or three minutes after leaving his patient that he returned, ushering Zoe up the verandah steps. To his great satisfaction, he saw Wylie’s face light up as she went forward, her eyes suspiciously bright, and shook hands with him.

“Now you may have a quarter of an hour,” he said; “but mind, no getting out of that chair. No experiments in walking by way of showing the Princess how much better you are—you understand? I don’t want testimonials of that sort.”

He ran down the steps, and Wylie and Zoe were left alone. He turned to her quickly.

“You are in mourning. Who is it? not your brother?”

“Oh no, not Maurice. But it is—dear little Con.”

“Not really? Poor little chap! I’m awfully sorry. How was it? Did he get hurt?”

“He must have been struck by one of the pieces of stone when that bullet hit the rock, and it killed him at once. He was dead when Eirene carried him all the way to Ephestilo. She guessed, but she wouldn’t let herself believe it.”

“What awful trouble for you both! I say, I am sorry,” said Wylie, with awkward reiteration. “Poor thing! it must nearly have killed her.”

“I think she would have died if it had not been for—what happened afterwards,” said Zoe. “She sat in the corner of the Admiral’s cabin with Con in her arms, and wouldn’t give him up, saying that she knew he wasn’t dead, and he would be all right if they would only leave him to her. She wouldn’t listen to any one, and it was a whole day and night before she would even let me take him. But that was because a messenger had come off to say that Maurice was dangerously wounded—they feared mortally—and she must come at once. At first she wouldn’t go. She said she had killed Maurice’s son, and that she didn’t dare to meet him, and that her ambition had brought disaster on them both, and if she went to Maurice, he would die too. She talked of going into a convent and praying for Maurice, and never seeing him again—and all the time the boat was waiting to take her on shore. It was the Admiral who got her to see reason at last. Oh, he is a good man, and so wise! He asked her how she dared add to the sorrow she had brought on Maurice by refusing to go to him when he wanted her, and said she would show her repentance much better by nursing him than by keeping away and praying for him. Then he turned to me—so suddenly that I almost jumped—and snapped out, ‘Do you get on your things and go ashore at once. If Teffany’s wife forsakes him, at least he has a sister.’ It was most frightfully clever,—horribly incongruous, you know,—but he had read Eirene like a book. She cried out, ‘His wife has not forsaken him! How dare you say so?’ and she let me take poor Con out of her arms, and she went.”

“And you had to stay?” asked Wylie pityingly.

Zoe nodded. “I promised her that I would see to everything if she would go. I knew Maurice wanted her more than me, of course.”

“And was the little chap buried at sea?”

“No, Eirene wanted the Orthodox service. It was at Skandalo, and there were horrible difficulties about it. Perhaps the Roumis made themselves unpleasant, I don’t know—or perhaps the people only thought the Roumis wouldn’t like one of us to be buried there. We were stopped by a mob before we reached the cemetery, and the Admiral’s flag-lieutenant had to go and parley with the priests. The sailors were very angry, and wanted to burn the church down, but at last they let us through peaceably. It was in the corner farthest from the church, and I believe they had to buy the piece of ground outright. I know they have hoisted the Union Jack on it, and they keep a sentry there, so it is not Emathian ground after all.”

“Poor little Con! that he should be the one to suffer—the first, at least!” murmured Wylie. “But your brother—what had happened to him?”

“He was parleying with the Roumis—Jalal-ud-din himself came out to meet him. Maurice had both the Maxims mounted to sweep the path, and the men well posted, so we really had something to offer, for he could have killed hundreds of the Roumis before they could have reached the position. But while the parley was actually going on, the Roumis got round behind somewhere—no, I don’t think it can have been treachery, for what good could it have done any one on our side to destroy all chance of surrender?—and they fired suddenly into our men. Maurice turned round when he heard the noise, and that abominable old wretch Jalal-ud-din struck at him with his sword. He tried to stagger back to his men, but the Roumis rushed forward and began a regular butchery. In the middle of it the contingents which Admiral Essiter had sent arrived, and it was only by threatening to fire on the Roumis that they got them to stop. They had to stay up there, for all sorts of outrages were happening, and they are still holding the ridge from the monastery to Karakula. When they were moving the bodies, they found Maurice under a heap of dead, all trampled—and slashed—and—and horribly wounded. He was just alive, but they didn’t think he could live even till Eirene came. But he is alive still—just alive—and she is nursing him at Skandalo. Of course they can’t tell him about Con, and sometimes he asks for him. Eirene never leaves him. She won’t even let me take charge of him while she rests—but I don’t believe she ever does rest. Sometimes I think she is trying to atone, and sometimes that she wants to die, so as not to have to tell him. But she won’t let me stay with him.”

“And so you have time to waste on me?” Zoe started and looked at him suspiciously, but there was not in his voice the hardness she had learnt to dread. “Tell me, am I a very lamentable object? I can’t help seeing the tears in your eyes when you look at me—and I don’t like to think I am making you cry.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing of that sort,” said Zoe, jumping up and going to the edge of the verandah. “I think you do your doctor great credit.”

“Then what is it?”

“You really mustn’t ask so many questions,” she said desperately. She stood with her back to him, but he saw her dash for her handkerchief. “Do you know,” with a gallant attempt to be arch and cheerful, “that I had to tell them—make them believe—let them think that you and I were engaged before they would let me come to see you?” She turned hurriedly towards the steps.

“Zoe!” his voice arrested her, and she paused reluctantly, still with her back to him. “Zoe, come back—please come back. If you don’t, I shall get up.”

“Oh, you mustn’t!” The terrible threat brought her back at once, and he captured her hand.

“Dear, I would never have asked you to do it, but if you are willing to stand by me and help me now, I can only be grateful.”

“Only?” she said, but the tears flowed again, and spoiled the effect of the question. She brushed them away hastily. “Willing to help you—what a thing to ask!” she said. “I was only afraid you would not let yourself be helped.”

He drew her down into the chair beside him, and kissed the hand he held. “Now tell me what the trouble is,” he said.

A shudder ran through her. “Oh, don’t ask me!” she cried. “Let us be happy together just for this short time.”

“It is better to know. Tell me, dear, or—— No, it is a shame to ask you. You would rather I got the doctor to tell me?”

“No, no; I will tell you——” but she could not go on.

“I must guess, then. Well, am I to be shot to-morrow?”

“Oh no, no! How can you?”

“To be shot, then, but not to-morrow?”

“Oh, don’t! I’ll tell you. Admiral Essiter and the Neustrian and Magnagrecian Admirals have got into dreadful trouble for the action they took, especially for stopping the massacre. Oh, I don’t suppose it’s called that, but that’s what it means,—the Roumis have complained, and ranged the other three Powers against them. Scythia and Pannonia and Hercynia are threatening to withdraw from the Concert,—I should think it would get on much better without them, but at this moment England and Neustria and Magnagrecia are on their knees to them to stay. Hercynia has even recalled its old ship already. Admiral Essiter says it is only to get a relief crew really, but they pretend that it is a token of haughty displeasure, of course.”

“And where do I come in?”

“Why, the line the Roumis take is that as the Admirals stepped in and prevented their massacre—their policy of unconditional surrender, I mean—the Admirals must see that they get what they demanded at first.”

“Ah, the leaders of the insurgents are to be given up, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s what they want; and at present all are safe, you see—you, and Maurice, and Lord Armitage, who is a prisoner on board the Pannonian flagship, and Prince Romanos——”

“Do they insist on the Admirals bringing him back from the dead?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; he is not dead, of course. He was wounded and left for dead, but a Greek from his own island found him—at least, that is the story—and smuggled him away into Dardania. The Prince and Princess are looking after him, and Professor Panagiotis is hanging on his words, and making Europe ring with the history of our blockade. But he has made Europe ring so often, and it doesn’t seem to do any good. And Prince Romanos, who did so much harm by his rashness, is safe with friends, and you and Maurice are prisoners, and any moment the Government may order the Admiral to hand you over to the Roumis——”

“But there’s also the chance that the British Government may develop a certain amount of backbone, and refuse.”

“You mustn’t count upon it;” Zoe’s tears started afresh. “Scythia is frightfully bitter against us, and she eggs the others on. They say she refuses to consider any further measures until the prisoners have been given up. And oh, do you know, Admiral Essiter says that after the Therma massacres the Powers were practically agreed on giving Emathia a constitution and releasing her from Roum, but that while they were quarrelling as to whom they should choose for Prince we went to Hagiamavra, and they all withdrew their assent? They say they can’t allow reforms to be extorted by violence. So we really have done harm.”

“At least we did the best we knew how,” said Wylie wearily. “Don’t trouble about it, dear. You have told me the worst now, and thinking won’t make it any better. So we’ll forget it, do you see, and simply be happy. You will come to see me as often as they let you, and then I shall be happy, and I’ll try to make you happy. And as for the times between—why, the first half of them I shall be busy remembering what you said and how you looked, and the last half I shall be wondering what you will say and how you will look the next time, and you can’t imagine how quickly it will pass. There’s the doctor whistling vigorously! Tell me quick—do you agree?”

“Oh!” sighed Zoe, “if you had only been like this before!”

“Ah, I’m weak and broken in spirit now, you see. No, dearest, forgive me. I have been a brute, but I want to leave you a happy hour or two to remember. Doctor, you promised us a quarter of an hour.”

“And you have had thirty-five minutes,” said the surgeon. “Well, I’m glad to see you seem to have profited by it. He was quite restive at the thought of a visitor, Princess, but he looks much better now.”

He escorted Zoe down to the quay and saw her on board the pinnace, returning for a farewell visit to Wylie and the other sick and wounded insurgents who were in extemporised hospital quarters at Ephestilo.

“You’re a lucky chap,” he said, looking at Wylie narrowly as he spoke.

“I know I am,” was the hearty reply, “and I’ll stick to it even if the luck ends to-morrow.”

“Princess Zoe has been telling secrets, I see.”

“I made her. It’s better to know. Did you think I couldn’t stand it? If one is to be offered up as a sacrifice to the unity of Europe, one may as well be aware of the honour.”

“It’s awfully rough on you and your Prince—the Englishman who calls himself a Greek, I mean; not the flyaway chap that came aboard with you off Skandalo.”

“No,” said Wylie doggedly. “We knew what we were in for, and took the risk, but it is rough on the women.”

“There’s no one you could get to come here to look after them, I suppose, in case——?”

“Not a soul, I’m afraid. What about Armitage?”

“His case comes under the Foreign Enlistment Act, I believe. He doesn’t seem to have offered armed resistance.”

“Still, he won’t be free to do anything, I imagine. Well, after all, your Admiral will see that no harm happens to them, and if they wish to stay to the end—it would comfort them, I suppose—how could we object just because it made it worse for us?”

“They won’t make it worse for you,” said the surgeon with conviction. “They have grit, those two. Why, the way Princess Zoe came—no, I forgot; it was not to be mentioned.”

That the slip was premeditated Wylie could hardly doubt, but he could not bring himself to let it pass. “You don’t mean that she saw me when I was ill?” he said.

“Since you ask, I do. But don’t tell her that I gave her away, or I shall get into trouble.”

“How could you bother her about me? It’s disgusting.”

“Because you did nothing but call out for her, if you must know, and beg her to forgive you. Nothing I could do would make you leave off, and at last I thought she might at any rate help you to die quietly. There was a norther blowing, so she could not get round from Skandalo by boat, but she came across on a mule, and she and I sat up with you a whole night. You didn’t know her, but her being there kept you quiet and gave you your chance. Don’t look so sick. Most men would feel some slight approach to gratitude.”

“What is it to you what I feel?” demanded Wylie, so fiercely that the doctor jumped. “No, don’t go off like that. If I am savage, just try to realise what it feels like to have coals of fire not merely heaped, but simply shovelled, on your head.”

“Ah, I see!” said the surgeon sagely, and Wylie was left to his own meditations. When Zoe came again, two days later, he had been promoted to sitting up for the greater part of the morning, and he informed her of the improvement with pride. She told him in return that Maurice had recognised Eirene, and had been able to answer questions, but neither his good news nor her own seemed to have much effect upon her mood. She moved about the verandah, talking restlessly, and Wylie saw the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes. It was not until he hinted that the task of following her movements was bad for his head that she came, full of compunction, to sit down beside him.

“If I asked you to promise me something, would you do it?” she asked impulsively, with her hand in his.

“Not without knowing what it was.”

“Not even for me?”

“Not even for you. Would you if I asked for a promise?”

“That’s different. You would be sure to want something horrid, while I only want what is for your good. You have nothing to thank the British Government for—nothing——”

“Only my life—so far.”

“That’s Admiral Essiter, not the Government. They are keeping you prisoner here, with sentries outside, and calmly discussing whether they shall hand you over to be killed—and yet I know you wouldn’t escape if I found a way for you.”

“What would you propose?”

“Oh, you don’t mean that you would?” she cried joyfully. “I have so many plans. They keep suggesting themselves all day and night. And some of the officers would help, I am sure—Mr Cotway, at any rate, and Mr Suter——”

“And you would let Cotway ruin his career?”

“But it is for you—for your life,” said Zoe, with an unconscious selfishness which she recognised when she had uttered the words. “He would wish to do it, rather than connive at a national disgrace,” she added quickly. “They all say it would be that. Mr Suter said he should throw up his commission if it happened.”

“My dear girl, you really mustn’t lead these unfortunate youths into romantic pitfalls of this kind. Has nobody told you that I am on parole here? I gave my word as soon as I was able to sit up. The sentry whose presence you resent so much is really only here for my protection, in case of any kind attentions from our Roumi friends.”

“Of course I have never suggested it to any of them,” said Zoe, after a moment’s stunned silence. “I meant to have the plan all ready, and to get your consent, before I sounded Mr Cotway. But I knew you wouldn’t do it. It’s just like Maurice. Eirene wanted him to pretend to be dead, and let himself be carried away in a coffin, to be buried at home—I suggested it to her—but he wouldn’t. And the Powers go on talking and talking—and the Roumis are getting frightfully aggressive—and everything——”

“Aggressive in demanding that we should be given up, do you mean?”

“Yes—and that the Admirals should withdraw their landing-parties. They say it is the presence of the European forces that is keeping Southern Emathia in a ferment, of course, and that Jalal-ud-din could pacify the province in a week if he had it to himself.”

“In the good old way, I presume. But, Zoe, I didn’t understand that the Admirals were actually occupying the peninsula. I thought they had Red Cross camps here and at Skandalo under the protection of the ships’ guns, and just a few armed sailors as sentries.”

Zoe looked astonished. “Oh no,” she said; “there is a joint European occupation—at least, on behalf of England and Neustria and Magnagrecia. The Roumis have garrisons at Skandalo and Karakula, and an entrenched camp near the monastery, but the Admirals are administering everything. That is what makes the Roumis so angry. You see, the expelled Mohammedans want to come back, but the Therma refugees are in their farms, and daren’t return to their own homes, so that there is an immense amount of pacification to be done.”

“Jalal-ud-din is pressing the return of the Mohammedans, and the Admirals are watching over the interests of the refugees?” said Wylie. “It seems to me that we were not the only people who rushed in where angels fear to tread. To snatch the Roumis’ prey from them when they were flushed with victory——”

“Oh, that is what makes the other Powers so angry with our Admirals,” said Zoe carelessly. “There have been riots at Therma, and Europeans were attacked in the streets. All the Consulates are guarded by troops.”

“Roumi troops?”

“No, troops of the different nationalities. A detachment of Highlanders is looking after Sir Frank Francis.”

“And the Powers are still talking? Zoe, if Admiral Essiter will take a word of advice from a condemned criminal, give him this message from me. Unless the Powers withdraw from Hagiamavra in a day or two, and give us up, look out for trouble. Let him get reinforcements from Malta, Egypt, anywhere he can, or the next Therma massacre will be of Europeans, not of Emathian Christians.”

“But do you really think there is danger? Every one says that the Roumis are getting insolent and talking big, but that it only needs a warship or two at Therma to make them sing small. And all sorts of people are coming here to see the sites of our battles, as if it was a show-place—horrid smart people, you know, flirting and having picnics where our men were killed. The Princess Dowager of Dardania is at Skandalo. I asked her to receive me, because I thought she might be some help, and she was very gracious, but she would promise nothing. She has Donna Olimpia Pazzi with her instead of her own lady-in-waiting, who she says got homesick and had to be sent back to Dardania. The girl looked at me with such an evil eye that I was glad to take the opportunity of mentioning about you and me, you know, so that she might see there was no need to be afraid for her dear Romanos. The Princess quite beamed when she heard it——”

“Zoe, do you know what they call that woman all over Europe? The Stormy Petrel! I should have thought something was brewing even if you hadn’t told me of the trouble in Therma. Give my message to the Admiral at the first possible moment, or you will be sorry for it all your life.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
AN UNHOLY COMPACT.

The lady whom Wylie had designated as the Stormy Petrel was sitting in her private room in the house she had taken at Skandalo, busied, as was usually the case in her hours of retirement, with the arrears of an enormous correspondence. The mental activity of Ottilie, Princess of Dardania, had increased, rather than diminished, with the passage of years, and she had a finger in many obscure and incongruous pies, besides taking a prominent part in all the more obvious developments of standing political intrigue. The power, or the semblance of it, which she thus gained was the sole joy of her life, and its one drawback was the European reputation she enjoyed, which had a tendency to scatter all the elements of a promising conspiracy as soon as she began to show an interest in it. In Balkan affairs, however, she had, as it were, a prescriptive right to take part, and many exalted personages looked to her for their views on the subject. It was her boast that she never employed a secretary. Every letter addressed to her was opened by herself, and only unimportant epistles were handed over to be dealt with by her lady-in-waiting. The post of this attendant was no sinecure, and Donna Olimpia Pazzi, who was at present filling it, looked pale and tired when she entered her mistress’s presence.

“Madame Theophanis desires to know whether you will receive her, madame,” she said.

“Princess Theophanis, my child. Who are we that we should remind the unfortunate of their fallen condition?” The Princess spoke in a clear raised tone, not without a suspicion of mockery, calculated to penetrate into the anteroom beyond. “Beg her to give herself the trouble of entering.”

Donna Olimpia hesitated, then came close up to the writing-table. “When will you allow me to return to Bashi Konak, madame?” she asked hurriedly, almost inaudibly.

The Princess frowned. “You must not be unreasonable. I thought you agreed with me that it was safer you should not return while Prince Christodoridi remained at the Palace?”

“Yes, madame, but—— Oh, you cannot tell what I suffer! You know him, yet not as I do. What fresh object may have captivated his fancy—at whose shrine——”

“Olimpia, this is childish.” The Princess spoke with severity. “I have promised that all shall be well if you take my advice. Would you wreck your whole future by this untimely jealousy? Be content: Prince Romanos will love you much better when he meets you again after a few weeks’ separation than if he had enjoyed your society the whole time.”

The girl shook like an aspen as the Princess, leaning back in her chair, watched with artistic pleasure the effect of the taunt. “We are keeping Princess Theophanis waiting most cruelly. Will you be good enough to bring her in, or must I go myself?” The tone cut like a knife.

“Pardon, madame!” murmured Donna Olimpia, retreating helplessly. In another moment she ushered in Eirene, looking haggard and wasted in her deep mourning. The Dowager Princess met her and kissed her affectionately, uttering little cooing sentences of condolence until the lady-in-waiting had retired, closing the door behind her. Then her manner changed.

“We will not waste time,” she said.

“No, I can’t wait,” said Eirene nervously. “I have snatched these few minutes while my sister-in-law is at Ephestilo, and Admiral Essiter’s surgeon is sitting with my husband. I was obliged to come when you sent word that you, and you alone, could show me how to save his life.”

“Exactly. You are wise. You realise that if Scythia, Pannonia, and Hercynia continue to support Roum in demanding the surrender of the insurgent leaders, the British Government will yield? I have a great admiration for your British Government; it always knows when to submit. And that ‘when,’ in this case, will be about the beginning of next week.”

“So I feared,” murmured Eirene, with dry lips.

“Therefore, if anything is to be done, it must be done at once.”

“Yes, yes; I know.”

“You understand that I am not here as a philanthropist? You are prepared to pay a price for your husband’s life?”

“I would give mine if you asked it.”

“Ah, that, I fear, has little marketable value. But would you give your ambition, madame?”

Eirene paused before answering. The words seemed to be wrung from her at last. “Yes. I have no child now, to suffer.”

“‘The children born of thee are fire and sword’”—the words, applied to herself many years before, came to the Princess’s lips, but she repressed them. “I am glad to see you are able to take a common-sense view of the matter. Then, on that assurance, I will put affairs in train.”

“But won’t you tell me what it is you want me to do?” urged Eirene, as the Princess turned again to her writing-table. “I am to renounce our rights, of course—my husband’s and mine——”

“I have not said so.” The Princess looked round. “What you will renounce is the right of independent action. You will act as is suggested to you; I can tell you no more at present. Of course you will have the right to refuse the terms when they are submitted for your acceptance, if you prefer it. In that case, naturally, I can do no more, and I shall not be the person responsible for the death of a very worthy, if misguided, young man, who was unfortunate enough to take the advice of his wife rather than of older and wiser heads.”

“Madame, you will break my heart!” panted Eirene.

“Oh no, you mistake. If you should discover that your duty to your ambition compelled you to sacrifice the life of your husband, then your heart might break, but I think not. You would be upheld by a sense of the stern nobility of your attitude, surely? Then farewell, dear madame. I shall see you again soon? My kindest remembrances to your brave husband. Olimpia!”

Ushered out of the Princess’s presence, Eirene stood for a moment as if dazed. The two cavasses from Therma, allotted to her partly as guard, partly as spies upon her movements, gathered themselves up lazily from the most comfortable resting-places they could find in front of the house, and the sight of them recalled her to herself. Hastily she picked her way back to the building where Maurice lay under guard, up one steep street and down another, an incongruous figure with her black attire and burning eyes among the many-coloured and abounding life that thronged them. Sailors from the fleets jostled the sight-seeing tourists of whom Zoe had spoken to Wylie, and the inhabitants of the town were making hay while the sun shone as zealously under the Roumi flag as when the Imperial ensign had floated over their roofs. Nothing was changed in their busy, money-making existence, everything in the life of the lonely woman who passed among them like a reproachful ghost.

* * * * * * * *

“Eirene,” said Zoe, coming in one morning from marketing, “something dreadful must be happening at Therma. I met Captain Bryson rushing down to the quay, and he says all the warships are ordered there at once, leaving only the Dorinda on guard here. Street-fighting, he said, with the Roumi troops siding with the mob.”

“I thought that was just what Graham Wylie prophesied,” said Eirene, without interest.

“Yes, but I don’t believe he thought it would begin so soon. Oh, I wonder whether the Admiral took his advice about asking for reinforcements! I told him that very evening, but he only looked at me in that pitying, smiling way he has, and wouldn’t say anything. Eirene, you look frightfully tired. Do go out and get a breath of air, and let me sit with Maurice a little.”

“I am not tired——” began Eirene, but through the open door behind Zoe she caught sight of a man approaching the house—the Princess Dowager’s Dardanian servant, in all the bravery of the snowy linen and shining embroidery of his native dress, and the sashful of murderous weapons about his manly waist. In his strong brown fingers he carried a note. Zoe must not guess that the veteran intriguer was in communication with her sister-in-law, and Eirene made up her mind in an instant. “I am more tired than I thought I was,” she said languidly. “Maurice was very restless in the night. I am rather faint, I think. I will walk up the hill and back again. Oh!” as the Dardanian reached the door, “was that Maurice calling?”

Zoe fled to the sick-room, tearing off her hat as she went, and Eirene took the note from the messenger. It was very short.

“Things have come to a crisis sooner than I expected. If anything is to be done, it must be to-day.—O.”

“I will come,” she said, and with trembling fingers tied on the black bonnet with its long fall of crape reaching to the ground, reminiscent of the court mourning of her early days in Scythia, which had made Maurice so anxious and uneasy when he caught sight of it once that the doctor had fairly driven her out of the room. Together they had concocted a myth concerning Eirene’s desire to show sympathy with the families of the slain insurgents, which the patient’s dulled brain and limited powers of asking questions had not yet been able to penetrate; but Eirene had not ventured to appear in the bonnet again in his room, though she scouted angrily the surgeon’s blunt advice that she should consider the living husband before the dead child, and defer the outward tokens of woe for the present. She did not herself realise the actual satisfaction that her depth of crape gave her; it was in accordance with her feelings and the situation, and she derived a certain mournful pleasure from it.

“I am glad you have lost no time,” said the Princess, when she was ushered into her presence. “This affair at Therma renders your husband’s position most precarious.”

“Are the rioters demanding his death?” asked Eirene, almost in a whisper.

“Rioters? This is not a riot. It is an attack by Roumi troops on the troops and Consulates of the three ‘Liberal’ Powers—the three Powers which are protecting your husband. Jalal-ud-din remains passive. The Scythian and Pannonian Consulates have so far escaped, and the Hercynian Consulate has actually been saluted by the revolted troops. There lies your danger.”

“Hercynia has always been hostile,” murmured Eirene.

“Hercynia is ranged on the side of Roum. If this outbreak is quelled, Hercynia will act as mediator between her protégée and the insulted Powers, and her first duty will be to show that Roum is more sinned against than sinning. She will demand the instant surrender of the Hagiamavra leaders.”

“But they would not grant it, when Roum has allowed the Consuls to be attacked.”

“They would not, if there was a sufficiently strong party in the Concert against it. At present the Powers are three and three, and because Scythia and Pannonia and Hercynia know what they want, and England is willing to obey any one who tells her what to do, they will prevail. But if one of them is detached, England will gladly help to form a majority on the side she herself prefers.”

“And which of them is to be detached? and what is the price?”

“I will tell you presently. It is some years now since you were in Scythia, madame, but you will remember the characteristics of her diplomacy sufficiently to be sure that in the unprecedented situation arising out of your husband’s filibustering expedition she has not forgotten her own plans for the future of Emathia. For the promotion of those plans, it is necessary that Emathia should only be released from Roum to come under the rule of a Scythian nominee.”

“Your son Kazimir,” murmured Eirene involuntarily.

The Princess frowned. “We are not concerned with personalities, madame, but with facts. Let it suffice that the person chosen must be possessed of certain qualifications to which your husband cannot pretend.”

“I know,” said Eirene wearily. “And therefore he is to retire in the other person’s favour. Why not say so at once?”

“Because that is not what is required of you. Your husband is not recognised by Europe as a candidate. Therefore his withdrawal would be the private act of a private person, and have no political significance whatever. At the same time, it might have a slightly invidious appearance for Scythia suddenly to propose the virtual independence of Emathia under a prince of her choosing.”

“I can’t imagine what you want me to do.” Eirene was wearied to impatience. “Please say what it is, and let me go back to my husband. Only”—with a sudden thought—“it is no use suggesting that Maurice should become a puppet prince under the thumb of Scythia, for nothing would ever induce him to do it.”

“Dear madame, I know your husband and his prejudices. In this little matter, you and I are going to arrange things for his good, for his life’s sake”—the emphasis was significant—“without consulting him. You will believe that it is with the keenest pleasure I tell you that we shall also gratify, though, alas! only temporarily, the ambition you have cherished so long.”

“Madame,” said Eirene, with quivering lips, “my ambition is dead, and you know it. It was for my child I cherished it, and it died with him. No political success can be more than dust and ashes to me now. It is for the sake of my husband’s life, and that alone, that I listen to you.”

The Princess shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Very well, let it pass. To my suggestion, madame. If you agree, the Scythian Ambassador at Czarigrad will definitely propose your husband as Governor-General and Prince of Emathia, under the nominal sovereignty of Roum, but with the guarantee of the Powers and owning responsibility to them. The Liberal Powers will testify surprise, but will eventually joyfully agree. If a popular election is demanded—well, we all know that these things are managed somehow—he will be the person elected. I shall have the honour of paying my respects to the Princess of Emathia in the Konak at Therma.”

“And the price?”

“A mere nothing. A promise signed by your husband to resign his post, for reasons of health, when he is required to do so by Scythia.”

“He would never do it.”

“I think he would, when he knew that the document would be made public in case of his refusing.”

Eirene flushed angrily. “You know I don’t mean that!” she cried. “What Maurice promised he would do, of course. But he would never give the promise.”

“Then he will be handed over to Roum, and—shot.”

“Madame, you ask impossibilities. Why tantalise me like this? My husband would refuse the suggestion with scorn.”

“Dear madame, did I not say that you and I would arrange the matter for his good? He will sign the promise, but it is not necessary he should know what it is.”

“He would never sign it without reading it.”

“Then he must think it something different from what it is. Madame, I understand that your husband has something to forgive you. Have you not the courage, the cunning, if you will, to play a slight trick upon him for his life’s sake?”

“He would never forgive me,” said Eirene, trembling.

“He need never know, unless you tell him. Listen—the intimation that his retirement is desired shall be conveyed to you first. I will not do you the injustice to imagine that you cannot induce him—by urging ill-health on your own part, if necessary—to take a step on which you have set your heart. Once he has complied, the paper shall be handed back to you, to be dealt with as you please.”

Eirene caught at a straw. “But even if he did resign, the people would at once elect Prince Romanos Christodoridi. He is the Pannonian candidate, and the Greeks adore him.”

“My dear friend, it is quite unnecessary for you to trouble yourself about that young man. I know something about him that would make him, if I even whispered it abroad, an impossible candidate. I assure you that everything has been provided for. But I will make your task as easy as I can. The preliminary to proposing your husband as candidate must of course be the decision on the part of the Powers that he is not to be handed over to Roum—that he is, in short, a free man. This I will undertake to obtain at once, confiding in your honour. If I am able to announce to you—and events confirm it—that his life is safe, may I depend upon you to perform your part of the compact?”

“But his life is all that I want. I don’t care now about his becoming Prince.”

“But I do. As I have already pointed out, his life depends upon his being useful in the future.”

“But if I drew back then—you don’t mean——”

“I mean that if you were so foolish as to deny that you had entered into this engagement—well, it is not beyond the resources of diplomacy to discover that the illegal acts of which your husband was guilty during his occupation of Hagiamavra were such as to place him, after all, outside the pale of pardon. We are not to be played with, madame.”

“The—the pardon would cover Colonel Wylie and Lord Armitage, and all who were concerned?”

“Certainly. The Powers—except perhaps Hercynia—are not really thirsting for the blood of these obscure individuals, you know! You have decided to take action, madame—you have conceived a plan? Good! In return, then, for the assurance I trust to be able to convey to you, in two days at most, of the safety of your husband and his associates, you will deliver to me a paper signed by him, containing a solemn promise on his part to resign the Governor-Generalship of Emathia, without assigning other than private reasons, whenever he shall be required to do so by the Emperor of Scythia or his representatives, in consideration of their good offices in bringing about his release?”

“You mean to make him impossible for ever as a candidate!” cried Eirene. Then her indignation faded. “Well, it does not signify. After all, it is for his life. But wait,” her tone was full of animation once more. “It is possible that he will not be elected. Prince Romanos has many supporters. Don’t be afraid,” noticing the Princess’s expression; “Maurice shall offer himself as candidate, according to our compact, and I will do nothing and say nothing to prevent his succeeding. But if he fails, if Prince Romanos is elected, you can do what you like with him, so you have said. Therefore the paper will be of no further use to you. In that case will you give it me back?”

The Princess considered the matter. “Yes,” she said, “I think I can promise that.”

“Swear it!” cried Eirene eagerly. “You have an icon of great sanctity there, I see. Swear upon it.”

“You ask a great deal, madame.” The Princess shot an angry glance at this suppliant who was presuming to make terms with her, but she moved across to the icon and kissed it. “I swear that if Prince Christodoridi is elected, I will return the paper signed by your husband to ‘you,’” she said, with an emphasis on the pronoun which Eirene remembered afterwards. “But do not be afraid, the election will be properly managed, and our friend Apolis will have no chance.”

“I will give or send you the paper when it is certain that my husband’s life is safe,” said Eirene. “I see how it is to be done. You need not be afraid.”

She went out with a pale face and set lips, determined on betraying Maurice for his life’s sake, even arguing to herself that her action was justifiable, since it involved the loss of her own ambition. But on one point she had no illusions. Maurice would never forgive her for setting his life above his honour. She returned home, and before going into the sick-room chose out two sheets of black-edged paper and wrote two letters, arranging the sentences carefully, so that when glanced at cursorily, or seen upside-down, the wording appeared to be the same. Taking these in her hand, with several loose pieces of blotting-paper, she went into Maurice’s room.

“Hush!” came softly from Zoe, who was sitting close to the door. “He’s asleep.”

“No, I’m not,” said a weak voice from the bed. “Eirene, I think you might let Con in to-day. I feel as if I hadn’t seen him for years, and he will be quite good.”

“Oh, hush!” cried Eirene, in a voice that thrilled with pain. Then she recollected herself hurriedly. “No, Maurice, you are not strong enough yet. But I do want you to sign this letter if you feel fairly well. I want Merceda to sell out ten thousand pounds of Mr Teffany-Wise’s money, and pay it into our joint account.”

“What! not had enough adventures yet?” groaned Maurice.

“This is not an adventure; it is a most excellent thing. Zoe, you heard Admiral Essiter talking of the new idea the Constitutional Assembly have started, to police the peninsula themselves, under the Admirals?”

“Yes, but I thought you didn’t care about it,” said Zoe.

“Oh, I have been thinking about it since. They only need money, Maurice, and it would be a step to self-government. Let us lend them this ten thousand.”

“I don’t like taking such a step without consulting any one,” said Maurice.

“You can consult the Admiral before doing it. It can’t be any harm to have the money ready. And it would show that we really wished well to the people, and didn’t care about them merely as potential subjects.”

“I should like to think it over a little.”

“Oh, but I want to do it at once!” Zoe frowned as Eirene’s voice rose higher. “I have written the letter. Look, Zoe, that is all right, isn’t it? Maurice will only have to sign it. You can read it to him if you like, so as not to try his eyes.”

“Just like Eirene!” thought Zoe as she read the letter through. “Pushing her schemes exactly as usual, after all that has happened! If Eirene won’t be satisfied unless you sign it, Maurice,” she added aloud, “I suppose it can’t do much harm. You will have to sign the transfer first, and then the cheque, before she can do anything with the money.”

“Of course. I only feel that one ought to be rather careful what one does in present circumstances, for fear of adding to the Admirals’ difficulties,” said Maurice, by way of apology to his wife for Zoe’s chilling tone and dignified withdrawal to the window. “We will find out exactly what Essiter thinks before taking any further step, but as you say, it can’t hurt to have the money in the bank.”

“Do be careful, Eirene! You will be giving Maurice the blotting-paper to sign,” said Zoe sharply, as the papers fluttered from her sister-in-law’s trembling hands.

“Much more likely to spill the ink,” retorted Eirene, gathering them up, and holding one in front of Maurice with a book to keep it steady. The room was dim and his eyes weak, and neither he nor Zoe had the faintest idea that the paper to which he had laboriously scrawled his name was not the letter to the stockbroker, but the promise demanded by the Princess.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WAGES OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS.

The situation at Therma was “serious” in the opinion of the most optimistic observers, “critical” in that of others. The Roumi troops were irritated beyond endurance, so said their apologists, by the action of the Admirals in saving the Hagiamavra insurgents from the punishment they merited, and were still further incensed by the importation of European soldiers to guard the Consulates. An indemnity had been demanded by the three “Liberal” powers for the damage to person and property sustained by their nationals during the rioting of which Zoe had spoken to Wylie, and since settlement was deferred in the old familiar way, it was thought well to act decisively, and seize the Therma quays. This was the last straw. The international force sent to take over the customs buildings was attacked by an armed mob, largely composed of Roumi soldiers, led by their officers. Not expecting serious opposition, and desirous of sparing Roumi susceptibilities as much as possible, the Consuls had sent only small detachments, and these were compelled to retreat down the quay, fired at from windows and roofs, and sustaining many casualties. The British destroyer lying in the harbour shelled the mob, and covered the embarkation of the survivors, but could not protect either the European or the Christian parts of the town. The fact that three of the great Powers were to some extent in sympathy with the malcontents made it impossible to arrange for a joint defence of the diplomatic quarter, and the British, Neustrian, and Magnagrecian Consulates were subjected to three separate sieges, in which the occupants suffered severely, until their Admirals, arriving in haste, landed parties to relieve them. When the sacred abodes of diplomacy were thus treated, it was clear that no consideration for the homes of ordinary Christians, whether Roumi subjects or foreigners, was to be expected. The rest of the city was given up to rapine of all kinds; the ravages of the massacres in the spring, which had been in process of being repaired, were renewed, and anarchy reigned. Jalal-ud-din Pasha, summoned by the Admirals to recall his soldiers to barracks, declared his inability to restrain them unless the foreign troops whose presence excited their ire were removed, and when this was indignantly refused, relapsed into a benevolent neutrality. But unfortunately for himself and his master, he had misread the situation. Outrages on Emathian Christians were one thing,—Europe had endured them with more or less equanimity for centuries; but to burn European officials in their houses and shoot down European troops was something very different. The insulted Powers hurried reinforcements to the spot (those of England were already on their way, thanks to Admiral Essiter’s appreciation of Wylie’s warning), and the Admirals were given full authority to deal with the state of affairs.

Nor was the vindication of the insulted dignity of Europe left entirely to the sword. The Ambassadors at Czarigrad, who had debated earnestly and fruitlessly for many months, labouring at a Sisyphean task with a patience and lack of success that were little less than pathetic, found a ray of light suddenly cast upon their path. The Neustrian and Scythian Ambassadors arrived at the scene of their discussions one morning in company,—a circumstance that in itself aroused comment, since the representatives of the friendly and allied nations had for some time been on opposite sides. The reconciliation was emphasised when the Neustrian Ambassador, acting under instruction from his Government, pointed out that the events now occurring at Therma showed how unlikely it was that the Hagiamavran leaders would receive fair treatment at Roumi hands, and proposed their immediate release. The Scythian Ambassador, similarly instructed from home, caused an immense sensation by seconding the suggestion, and it was carried. The Magnagrecian Ambassador was thereupon encouraged to bring forward the proposal, which had been shelved for so long, that Emathia should be constituted an autonomous principality, under the merely nominal suzerainty of Roum; but his Pannonian colleague, who had by this time recovered from the shock of finding himself deserted by Scythia, countered his plan with the suggestion that a Christian Governor-General, approved by the Powers, but responsible to Czarigrad, was all that was necessary. That this Christian Vali should be a Roumi subject was of course a foregone conclusion, and he believed that the Grand Seignior might be induced to reappoint M. Nestor Skopiadi, who had already proved himself so zealous and capable a ruler. This barefaced attempt to establish over again the hopeless state of things which had ended with Skopiadi Pasha’s flight from massacre in the spring was a little too much for the rest of the Ambassadors, and the gathering broke up without expressing any collective opinion, that its members might report to their respective Governments the alternative proposals submitted to it.

But at least the lives of the insurgent leaders were safe. The tidings was brought to Skandalo by the Magniloquent’s steam pinnace, carrying Admiral Essiter’s flag-lieutenant, who was charged with despatches for the Magnagrecian commander at Ephestilo. He brought also the Admiral’s own suggestion that he should offer to take Zoe to Ephestilo with him, in case she might like to carry the news to Wylie herself, and she accepted the invitation joyfully. While she was getting ready, Eirene was summoned from the sick-room by the news that the Princess Dowager of Dardania was inquiring for her. The creditor had come to demand the payment of the bond, and Eirene took the fateful paper from its hiding-place inside the bodice of her dress, and went to face her.

“I felt that I must come and bring my congratulations in person,” said the Princess, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the flag-lieutenant in the next room. “Well, have I kept my promise?” she asked, in a lowered voice.

“You are very good, madame,” said Eirene loudly. “Yes, and I will keep mine,” she added, almost in a whisper.

The Princess took the paper from her hand, and without ceremony opened and read it. “Good!” she said lightly. “This is quite satisfactory. Prince Theophanis is fully aware of the nature of what he has signed, of course?”

“You know he is not!” said Eirene indignantly.

“Ah, well, sooner or later he will be. Good-bye, dear friend. So glad to have had just this glimpse of you!”

She rustled out, and the flag-lieutenant wondered why Eirene’s face should look so tragic after a mere visit of kindly courtesy. But Zoe came hurrying from her room, and the incident was forgotten. He had a good deal to tell her as the pinnace carried them down the coast and round the point and up again, for the Roumis had shown their resentment at Scythia’s defection from their cause by attacking the Scythian Consulate at Therma, the guards of which were not expecting an assault, and while the occupants were rescued by a sortie from the British Consulate, the place itself was looted and burnt. It was the general opinion, he told her, that this change of front on the part of Scythia portended the separation of Emathia from Roum, and its establishment as an autonomous state under Maurice, insomuch that various old and orthodox Mussulmans at Therma were already packing up their goods, preferring transplantation to living under the rule of the Giaour. This news troubled Zoe almost as much as the tidings of the prisoners’ safety had rejoiced her, for it recalled to her Wylie’s unbending attitude in the past, and she wondered, sick at heart, whether he would again think it right to withhold from her, for her own sake, all that she cared for. It was with fear and trembling that she climbed the steps to the verandah, in the wake of the sentry, who was beaming with sympathy for her good news. She did not quite see why he insisted on going up first, and proclaiming, “The lady, sir, with a hannouncement,” but when Wylie actually walked to meet her, leaning on a stick, she understood.

“Oh, have you walked from your chair to the steps quite by yourself?” she cried in delight.

“Absolutely. How’s that for improvement? And I don’t mean you to enjoy all the privileges of our engagement in future,” he said, stooping and kissing her. “Why, Zoe, what’s the matter?” as he looked into her face. Her tearful eyes, and the general air of agitation about her, prepared him for the tidings she must be bringing. “Is it news, dear?”

“Yes. I have something—to tell you,” she broke out, stopping short, and putting out her hands to keep him from her.

“My dear girl, I can guess. Do these naval fellows think I can’t stand a shock, that they send you to break it to me? Don’t trouble to say it.”

Zoe gave a little shivering laugh, which sounded oddly in his ears. “I must. I said I would,” she gasped, but she let herself be drawn into his arms, and clung to him convulsively. “You won’t turn away from me?” she besought him. “You won’t be different? Everything will be as it has been till now?”

“Turn away from you—because the brutes have given you such a thing to do, poor little girl?” His tone was answer enough. “Here, let me say it for you. They are going to hand me over to the Roumis, I suppose?”

“No. They are going to set you free,” came from Zoe in a kind of wail, and her fingers tightened their hold.

“But you must be dreaming, my darling. Or am I dreaming? It is all right—and you are sorry?”

“Oh no, no!” Zoe freed herself, and stamped her foot at him. “I was only afraid—you might want to give me up. But you shan’t!” as she saw the look she knew so well creeping over his face. “You promised that everything should be as it has been, and I won’t give you up—not if Maurice was made Emperor to-morrow! That was why I was glad when the Admiral let me bring you the news—that mere gratitude might keep you from throwing me over.”

“Don’t talk about my throwing you over,” he said, more sternly than she had heard him speak for a long time. “I might feel bound in honour to release you from your promise.”

“You couldn’t if I refused to release you.”

“I must think what is the best thing to be done for you.”

“The best thing? Ask Maurice. When I told him you and I were engaged, he said it was the finest news he had heard for many a day.”

“It would have been wiser to ask your sister-in-law.”

“Worldly-wiser, perhaps! No, not even that. Have I been so particularly happy and useful all these years, so conspicuously successful in my influence on every one around me, that you want to condemn me to it all again? I suppose you think that trouble is good for me, since you are kind enough to let me be engaged to you as long as you are expecting to be killed, and then, as soon as that strain is over, go on to jilt me.”

“You must let me think,” repeated Wylie, dropping into his chair. “It is harder for me than for you.”

Zoe’s eyes flamed. “Harder!” she cried. “If you cared for me, it might be.”

“Not care?” he groaned. “It’s because I do care——”

“It is not!” she said passionately, standing in front of him like an accuser. “It is because you are afraid what people will say, or hint, or think about you. You say it would be hard to give me up, but it would be harder to say to yourself,—I don’t even ask you to say it to me,—‘It was pride that kept us apart all these years, and I won’t let it do us any more harm now.’”

“I can’t argue with you, but I am going to try to do the proper thing,” persisted Wylie.

“Very well, then. I can’t go on pleading for myself with a man who tells me plainly he doesn’t care what I say. But remember this: if you throw me over now, you must never, never cross my path again, never think of helping Maurice in his work. I could not stand seeing you, meeting you—thinking of these few days when you could afford to let me be happy, because you were going to die and I could not presume upon it! And I suppose even you would hardly wish to cut me off from Maurice, the only person I have left in the world?”

“Zoe, Zoe!” His voice reached her as she walked away, and she paused, but could not trust herself to turn round.

“If you send me away now, it’s for ever,” she jerked out.

“Let me think,” he entreated.

“No, I won’t. Am I to go or not? You must make up your mind at once. Oh, Graham, can’t you see—I can’t bear it——”

“No, don’t go! I can’t give you up again. Forgive me, dearest. I thought I was thinking of you, and it was myself after all.”

White and trembling, Zoe allowed herself to be drawn back. “You must never do it again,” she managed to say.

“I won’t—it isn’t worth it. What does it signify if all Europe cries shame upon me as a fortune-hunter, when it would make us both miserable for ever if I wasn’t?”

“Especially when my fortune is so very desirable,” said Zoe, regaining calmness. “Plenty of hard work, with a little fancy fighting thrown in, and a month or two of imprisonment under sentence of death as an occasional variety.”

“You are the fortune,” said Wylie. She shook her head.

“That sounds very nice, but it isn’t true. My fortune is that I have Maurice for a brother. That’s all you care about. You know quite well it was not until you found you would lose him that you changed your mind about giving me up. But don’t think I mind. I am glad that any one should appreciate him properly. Oh, there’s the whistle! I must go—and leave you to think of Maurice.”

“Come here first.” She approached incautiously, and found her hands seized. “Now tell me whether you really believe I care more about Maurice than you?”

“You will make me keep the boat waiting. I think you like me nearly as much as Maurice, you know; well, almost—quite—as much. Oh, you are hurting my wrists!”

“Only when you try to pull your hands away. No, go on, that’s not enough. I am not going to be libelled by you, at any rate, whatever Europe may say. Maurice is my friend, and you think I care for you just about as much as for him?”

“Well, perhaps a little differently, you know.”

“Only differently—not more? And you are satisfied?”

“I am. But I shouldn’t be if I believed it.”

Her hands had lain passive in Wylie’s, and she twisted them dexterously away and hurried down the steps, laughing and blushing. She knew he could not follow her, but he succeeded in reaching the top of the steps, and his “Just wait till next time!” met her as she turned to wave him farewell. The flag-lieutenant found it absolutely useless to speak of politics to her during the return voyage.

It was like coming out of the sunshine into cold shadow to return to Skandalo. As soon as she entered the house, Dr Terminoff, who was in charge of Maurice during the absence of the fleet, hurried out to meet her.

“Can you remain with your brother, madame, while I look after Princess Theophanis? It has been necessary to inform him of the death of the poor child, and we have had a very sad scene. She has quite broken down, and I was obliged to get her out of the room.”

“But think of spoiling the good news from Czarigrad by telling him to-day!” cried Zoe.

“Hush! he will hear you. Pray go to him, and if there is any rise of temperature, tell me at once. He insisted that I should go to the Princess, but I am anxious about him.”

Zoe took the thermometer and went into the sick-room, half hoping that Maurice would be asleep. But he spoke to her as soon as she approached the bed.

“It was not Eirene’s fault, Zoe. I made her tell me. I told her she absolutely must bring him in.”

Zoe could not speak, but she laid her hand on his forehead for a moment, and he went on.

“I wish you—they—had told me before. I have been looking forward so much—— I thought he would come and sit on the bed, and we should have such talks together.”

“Yes, he was so good and quiet.” Zoe commanded her voice with difficulty.

“But it is worse for Eirene than me. She had such hopes and plans for him. He was to be all that I am not.”

“He would have been exactly like you, and I’m glad of it,” said Zoe, with fierce conviction. “And Eirene has no one but herself to thank for the destruction of her hopes.”

“Don’t, don’t!” said Maurice. Then, after a pause, “You have never been able to be quite fair to her, have you, Zoe?”

“At any rate, I can’t help seeing that but for her you two would have been living quietly at Stone Acton—with Con.”

“How can you tell? If his time was come—— And I suppose it is—it must be—better for him. That was what Eirene said—that he could never disappoint us now, that I need have no fear of treachery from him, that he need never be afraid to meet my eye. What could she mean?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps she didn’t quite know what she was saying. Maurice, you say I haven’t been fair to her, and I confess that about the time we came here I was very angry with her, thinking she didn’t care for you at all compared with her ambition. But I believe she does.”

“You think it is necessary to tell me that? It would be a poor look-out for me if she didn’t, since she is all that I have now.”

“Oh, Maurice, don’t you count me?”

“You have old Wylie, and it will be quite different. You’ll understand soon enough.” Zoe felt insulted, for was it not her prescriptive right, as a novelist, to understand the feelings proper to all sorts of circumstances, without having experienced them? She could not quite keep the injured tone out of her voice.

“If you heard Graham talk, you would see that I couldn’t possibly change, even if I was likely to,” she said. “Why, I told him just now that he would be marrying me more for your sake than my own.”

“And what did he say?”

“Oh, of course he made a fuss. But really, you know, I feel that all our future will be decided by yours. Have you thought at all——”

“It is for Europe to decide.” Maurice spoke with a curious hardness. “But if they nominate me Prince of Emathia, I shall accept it.”

“Oh, Maurice, after all? I thought perhaps——”

“You will bear me witness that I took this thing up because I thought it right, not from any yearning for a throne for ourselves or—the poor little chap. We started our enterprise at the wrong time, possibly, but that’s neither here nor there. If it was right before, it’s right now. And if there was no other reason, it has cost me too much for me to give it up without good cause. Zoe, will you take a message to Eirene for me? Give her my love, and ask how she is, and say I want her to come and sit with me as soon as she feels up to it.”

* * * * * * * *

With a madness which suggested that the gods had determined upon their destruction, the Roumi troops in Therma continued to devastate the city with fire and sword, until the small European detachments were hard put to it to hold their ground. More than this they were helpless to do until their reinforcements arrived, for the Admirals were loath to face the destruction of life and property which would be caused by a bombardment, and waited in grim impatience. Meanwhile, the newspapers of many nations at a safe distance asked, with piteous reiteration, Are we really in the twentieth century? Is Therma in Europe or in darkest Africa? Does the European Concert exist? and similar rhetorical questions which neither needed nor expected an answer. The British reinforcements were the first to arrive, but the Power most injured was Neustria, whose Vice-Consul, with all his family and staff, had been massacred at the beginning of the outbreak. Therefore the British troops were landed and held in reserve on the heights overlooking the city, until the arrival of the Neustrian fleet under command of an officer of impressive seniority, and the next day an ultimatum, in which the Magnagrecian Admiral concurred, was despatched to Jalal-ud-din. It demanded, among other things, that he should surrender for trial by an international commission those of his soldiers who had been concerned in the murder of Europeans, and embark the rest immediately for Czarigrad.

As soon as the terms of the ultimatum became known, Pannonia withdrew her ships promptly from the fleet threatening Therma, though her Ambassador continued to attend the meetings of his colleagues at Czarigrad, while Hercynia, in a more uncompromising spirit, retired from all participation in the Concert and its doings. These demonstrations of sympathy, it was imagined, stimulated Jalal-ud-din to reply that the Powers had themselves to thank for the behaviour of his troops, and need not look to him to get them out of their difficulties. After this, he translated his words into action, so it was asserted, by leading in person an overwhelming attack on the dilapidated remains of the British Consulate. The Powers had had their answer, and after an hour’s delay, to afford any peaceably disposed persons an opportunity of removing beyond the bounds of the city, they delivered their rejoinder in the form of a bombardment. When the cannonade from the ships ceased, the British force already on shore covered the landing of the other troops, and that evening the flags of four nationalities waved on the ruins which had once been the city walls, and their forces were only waiting for the subsidence of the flames to penetrate the blocked streets. The knell of Roumi domination in the two western vilayets of Emathia had sounded when Jalal-ud-din Pasha surrendered, with his surviving troops, to the Neustrian Admiral amid the ruins of his Konak.

The heaps of rubbish which had once been Therma were still smoking when Scythia flung another metaphorical bombshell into the ambassadorial conference at Czarigrad. The discussions of that august body were being carried on under difficulties, since there were lively apprehensions of an outburst of Moslem fury, roused by the course of events in Emathia, that would sweep away every Christian in the capital, but the solemn farce of suggesting and considering the names of candidates likely to be acceptable at once to the Grand Seignior, and to one and all of the Powers, must be continued at all costs. The mask was thrown off, however, when the Scythian Ambassador, without previous consultation with his colleagues, proposed Prince Maurice Theophanis as High Commissioner of Emathia. His wealth, and his comparative success in the brief experiment of administering Hagiamavra, were not forgotten, and much stress was laid upon the fact of his marriage with a lady of recognised imperial lineage and lofty connections. The other side of the case was presented by the Pannonian Ambassador, who could hardly find words in which to exhibit the absurdity of conferring such a distinction upon an upstart whose claims had never been scrutinised, far less established, and who had not only defied the Concert of Europe, but kept it at bay for months. However, since topsy-turviness was to be the order of the day, he would not pose as the one wise man in a world of fools, but would propose, in opposition to Prince Theophanis, a candidate whose claims were far superior, and his drawbacks no greater, in the person of Prince Romanos Christodoridi.

CHAPTER XXV.
A CONTESTED ELECTION.

If Pannonia imagined that Maurice’s failure to secure a unanimous nomination would lead to the withdrawal of his candidature, events proved her to be mistaken. The present anomalous system of government by an International Commission was not to be perpetuated until in pure weariness Europe agreed to the partition of Emathia between her and her great rival. Since neither party would withdraw its candidate, the British Ambassador displayed the impatience and ignorance of the rules of the diplomatic game characteristic of his nation by proposing that the matter should be referred to the Emathians themselves for decision. The naïveté and rashness of the suggestion brought Scythia and Pannonia together in opposition to it, but in the absence of Hercynia the other three Powers had a clear majority. There was no excuse for foreign interference, since neither of the candidates belonged to a reigning house, and the election of delegates could be supervised by the European officers of the Gendarmerie already at work. Moreover, the Emathians had already shown their capacity for representative institutions by the way in which, under the noses of their rulers but without their knowledge, they had elected delegates to the informal assembly held at Bashi Konak under cover of the Prince of Dardania’s Pan-Balkanic Games. The protest of the two Powers which considered themselves specially interested, and aggrieved, was therefore overruled, and a stern warning addressed to the various Balkan states, which were one and all thrilling with indignation at this new development of affairs, by which they were threatened with a rival instead of the acquisition of territory they had demanded. The Dardanian attitude alone remained perfectly correct, the Prince managing to restrain the activities of his warlike subjects, even while he allowed their tongues to wag. The question of Illyria was still in abeyance, for there was no thought of complicating the problems already clustering thick in the path of the new state by adding to it an inaccessible highland largely peopled by irreconcilable Moslems. At present the Illyrians were loudly putting forward their claim to enjoy a republic of their own, but they would soon forsake words in favour of aggressions on the territory of their more civilised neighbours, and then Prince Alexis intended to act as the mandatory of the European Congress which must be held for the final settlement of Balkan affairs. If he once had the opportunity of getting a footing in Illyria, there were innumerable precedents and solid facts which made it extremely unlikely that he would ever be turned out.

Therma was now once more the cynosure of European eyes, for here the delegates from the whole of Emathia were to meet for the purpose of choosing their Prince. The city was rising like a phœnix from its ashes, since the engineers of the four occupying Powers, seconded by an army of labourers from all the eastern Mediterranean, had hardly waited for the ruins to cool before they were at work upon the new Therma. It was highly superior to the old Therma, of course,—in sanitation if not in picturesqueness,—and the poorer fugitives who returned to it wandered about disconsolately, unable to find rest for the soles of their feet. Everything was so wide and clean and highly whitewashed, and when they tried to erect their little huts and lean-tos, in which they might have felt comfortable, in the spaces which were one day to be public gardens, or clinging to the skirts of the great new houses, unsympathetic soldiers came and cleared them away, sweeping off the owners and their belongings to be disinfected. Therma was to become the model city of the Egean, but its former inhabitants could hardly be expected to appreciate the change. The people who did appreciate it were the sightseers of the Old and New Worlds, who flocked to it with enthusiasm, charmed with the cosmopolitan population, the passing to and fro of soldiers of four armies, the presence of the great warships lying in the harbour, and an occasional glimpse of the diplomatists of European reputation who were assisting at the birth of the new state. All these people lived in tents at first, then crowded into the newly erected houses before the plaster was even dry, and concealing deficiencies with precious carpets and Eastern draperies bought from the faithful Moslems who were shaking from their feet the dust of the faithless city and escaping to more rigidly orthodox shores, held festivities as polyglot and almost as unrestrained as those that follow a gold rush.

Among the diplomatists who bent their steps towards Therma was one whose advent proved singularly displeasing to the Dowager Princess of Dardania, who had quitted Skandalo, in common with those more deeply interested in the approaching election, for the larger life of the reconstructed city. It was not the first time that Prince Soudaroff had followed in her steps when she had been in charge of a negotiation which she was carrying out with full satisfaction to herself, and she resented extremely the idea that he was appointed to inspect, perhaps to revise, her methods. Nominally, of course, he had no connection with her, but as soon as she had heard of his arrival in the city, and found his name in her visitors’ book, she knew that sooner or later he would ask for a business interview. This time the request came very quickly. He was the bearer of an autograph letter from the Empress of Scythia to Princess Theophanis; would the Princess of Dardania advise him as to the best way of presenting it to her, as he understood she had maintained a strict seclusion since her recent bereavement? The Princess gave him an appointment, and it was without surprise that she remembered afterwards the total omission of any mention of the Empress’s letter.

“It does not strike you, madame, that we are in danger of being too successful?” asked the envoy, after a few preliminary civilities designed to allow Donna Olimpia to be safely despatched out of hearing.

“Too successful, Prince? How could that be?”

“I find, madame, that the candidate we are supporting is too strong. To-day I have examined the secret returns prepared for me as to the predilections of the delegates, and I should say that Prince Theophanis would be elected by an absolutely overwhelming majority. The partisans of Prince Christodoridi are noisy enough, but his behaviour at Hagiamavra, which brought about the final catastrophe, has told against him with many.”

“But so long as the candidate we favour is elected, how can it signify whether the majority is small or large?” cried the Princess.

“On the contrary, madame, it is of supreme importance that the majority should be small. There have been cases before when a parvenu prince, finding himself unexpectedly strong, has repudiated the conditions on which he was raised to the throne. If Prince Theophanis has practically the whole of Emathia at his back, he may even venture to deny the authenticity of the document you hold, and refuse to resign when called upon.”

“He will not dare to break with his wife,” said the Princess eagerly. “To deny his signature would be to expose her, and she is his link with our court, besides being the inheritor of claims rather better than his own.”

“I do not for a moment expect him to denounce her as having practised a fraud upon him, madame. But what if Princess Theophanis should declare the document a forgery?”

“It is impossible!” cried the Princess, in anxious protest. “It is in her own writing, with his signature added.”

“Still, handwriting has been counterfeited before to-day. You know your own sex better than I do, madame, but I must own that a woman who would deliberately deceive a sick husband, even for his advantage, would not seem to me incapable of denying the deception in order to set herself right in his eyes. I assume, as you say, that their interests are identical, and that he has a high respect for her.”

“It is possible,” she allowed unwillingly. “But who could foresee such a thing? What more could I have done?”

“Witnesses?” suggested Prince Soudaroff.

“My lady saw her come, but knew nothing of her business. Indeed, I could not have admitted her to the secret, for she is a strong partisan of the Christodoridi.”

Their eyes met, and Prince Soudaroff permitted himself a smile. “The lady, I presume?” he said. “No, madame, I agree that it would not have been prudent to complicate matters further in that direction.”

“Then what is to be done? Shall I get Princess Theophanis here, on the plea that you have doubts as to the authenticity of the document, and make her swear to her husband’s signature?”

He shook his head slowly. “I fear, madame, that so decisive an act might lead to the Princess’s confessing everything to her husband, which would be most disastrous at this juncture. The memory had better slumber for the present. No, I think it would be advisable to detach some of the Theophanis supporters.”

“And allow Prince Christodoridi to be elected?”

“Possibly; I do not know. To ensure that the majority, on whichever side it is, should at any rate be very small.”

“You would not think of exposing Prince Christodoridi at once, and removing one obstacle altogether.”

“And allowing Prince Theophanis an absolutely unanimous return? No, madame. I must recommend you once more to cultivate patience. But I am pleased to observe that our championship of the Englishman has already created an uneasy feeling among the party which is always intensely suspicious of our designs. If that feeling of uneasiness were to deepen——?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Madame, your promptness is admirable. Nothing, save to emphasise in conversation the favour with which Princess Theophanis is regarded at our court, the anxiety felt in the highest quarters to see her husband successful—the efforts, indeed, that are being made to ensure his election. You will know how best to disseminate the impression in the most likely soil.”

“You may trust me!” said the Princess.

The first tangible result of this conversation was the presentation to Eirene, with great ceremony, of the Empress’s letter. It was accompanied by a most sacred icon, which had been specially blessed by Father Serafim, the favourite miracle-worker of the day in Scythia, and he had sent with it an assurance of his prayers for Maurice’s success. The sensation caused by this embassy had hardly subsided, when all the cosmopolitan circles of Therma were buzzing with the news of a most extraordinary indiscretion on the part of Prince Soudaroff. He had actually said—true, it was after dinner and in the presence of only a few intimate diplomatic friends,—but he had said that Scythia looked to Emathia under her new ruler to compensate her for the losses and disappointments she had sustained in the Far East. Instantly all the people who had been thunderstruck when the Scythian Ambassador at Czarigrad proposed Maurice’s election nodded wisely at one another. This was the explanation, then! No one had ever suspected Scythia of acting on an impulse of pure philanthropy, and it was abundantly clear that she had received ample guarantees from Prince Theophanis before she put her interest in him to the test of publicity. When Maurice’s supporters denied indignantly that he had given her any pledges, they merely nodded more wisely still, and implied that the denial raised their opinion of his political sagacity.

The most keenly amused of his critics was Prince Romanos, who had been one of the first arrivals at the resuscitated city, carrying one arm in a sling, but more gay and debonnaire than ever, so bubbling over with pleasure at meeting his friends again that it would have been sheer cruelty to refer to the circumstances in which he had parted from them. A violent flirtation with Donna Olimpia occupied most of his time at first, but the Princess Dowager took a very strong view of this amusement when it came to her knowledge, and practically forbade him her house, so that his rivals were free to enjoy his society all day long.

“You are unfortunate in your backer,” he said one day, when Maurice and Wylie had been discussing with considerable irritation the latest Scythian manœuvre. “Now I cannot flatter myself that Pannonia proposed me for any more exalted reason than to prevent your being elected, but at least she lets me alone.”

“Probably much better for your prospects,” growled Wylie.

“But certainly. Scythia’s fussy eagerness for your success can only do you harm, while Pannonia’s wholesome neglect will bring me in triumphantly.”

“You seem very sure you are going to succeed,” said Maurice.

“I am; absolutely certain. I feel it here,” he struck his chest. “I will tell you why,” he lowered his voice mysteriously; “everything has succeeded with me lately. I am in the—what do you call it?—line of success.”

“I can’t for the life of me see why you should succeed,” said Wylie.

“Because I am not handicapped by the favour of Scythia, if for no other reason. You cannot deny that Princess Theophanis was the playmate of the Emperor’s sisters, or that the Scythian court is showing the kindest interest in her. Now no one can say that I have a wife at all, far less one connected in any way with royalty, so that I stand upon my own merits—a poor foundation, perhaps, but less slippery than the Scythian iceberg.”

Not less perturbed than Maurice and Wylie by the unaccountable benevolence of Scythia were the former’s supporters among the delegates, who were now beginning to pour into the city. Most of the men who survived the fall of Hagiamavra seemed to have contrived to get themselves elected, and they gravitated naturally to the house (little more than a broad verandah approached by steps and with some cupboards beneath and in the rear), which was the headquarters of the Theophanis cause. Here Maurice and Wylie were generally to be found, with Dr Terminoff, and Professor Panagiotis when he could spare time from his wire-pulling, and the delegates became accustomed after a time to see Prince Romanos there also. This friendly association of the two candidates, which at first revolted their sense of propriety, began to recall the days at Hagiamavra, over which a glamour was already tending to gather, and the delegates applied themselves to well-meant efforts for perpetuating the happy state of things that had reigned there, quite oblivious of the fact that an arrangement which had not even answered particularly well temporarily might be a disastrous failure if adopted in permanency. To their practical minds it seemed now quite beside the question to determine which of the candidates had the greater right on his side; the important thing was to compose an unhappy family feud in such a way that all parties should, if possible, be satisfied. Early one morning a number of them invaded the verandah, and when Maurice had been established in his chair in their midst, and coffee and cigarettes brought in, the spokesman demanded one more assurance that he was not in any way pledged to Scythia in the event of his being elected.

“It is not that we doubt the Prince’s word,” said the old man; “but we desire to treat the Lord Romanos with all fairness, and we have a word to say for him to-day.”

Prince Romanos, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand, smiled, and acknowledged the kind intention lazily.

“The Lord Romanos is the younger man, and unmarried,” pursued the spokesman. Prince Romanos started involuntarily. “Let him marry the sister of the Lord Mavrikios, and they two shall be next heirs after him and his wife.”

“My sister is already betrothed, with my full consent, to the Lord Glafko here,” said Maurice, keeping a grave face. A look of dismay went round the assembly.

“Yet another prince!” muttered the spokesman. “There were two kings in Sparta, but who ever heard of three?”

“I am the Prince’s servant, and desire no more,” said Wylie.

The old man’s face cleared. “But it is beneath the dignity of the Lady Zoe to wed a servant. Will the Lord Glafko stand in the way of this excellent arrangement?”

“Certainly not, if the Lady Zoe prefers it,” said Wylie heartily. “Shall I go and tell her so? But I suppose I am not the proper person. Would you like to represent it to her?” he asked the spokesman, who hesitated, but recovered himself quickly.

“Nay, lord; how could I put the thing as it should be put? Let the Lord Romanos himself ask her, for who should plead his cause better than he himself?”

Again the rest applauded, and Prince Romanos seemed to shake off a certain hesitation, and looked round laughing.

“I take you all to witness that I am sent on this errand without my consent. One does not go by choice to propose to another man’s bride. But if I have your moral support——? The ladies are at home, Prince?”

He disappeared indoors, and the assembly awaited his return breathlessly. When he came back, he was still laughing.

“The Lady Zoe says she would not marry me if I were the only man in the world,” he said. “Well, you will at least bear witness that it was not I who refused, but she.”

The delegates assented sadly, and the spokesman propounded, without enthusiasm, an alternative plan.

“Let the Prince and his wife adopt the Lord Romanos as their son.” Maurice winced painfully. “Then he may take part in the government while they live, and reign after them.”

“The idea is not a bad one,” murmured Professor Panagiotis, who had come in almost unnoticed, and taken his place beside Maurice. But Prince Romanos laughed boisterously.

“My dear good friends, I hope Prince Theophanis will live a hundred years, but I do not propose to be kept out of my inheritance as long as that. No, what I want is to be Prince of Emathia at once. He wants the same. Therefore we must fight it out.”

The assembly subsided into silence, and suggested no more schemes that day. But in the evening, when the delegates were gone, and Dr Terminoff had joined the party on the verandah, the Professor recurred to the second one.

“I could wish that Prince Christodoridi were willing to waive his present claims in view of recognition as hereditary prince, and eventual successor,” he said.

“No doubt you could,” said Prince Romanos. “But what have you ever seen in me, my dear Professor, to make you imagine me a model of patient unselfishness?”

“Nothing, I confess it,” said the Professor emphatically. “But I should like to see our forces united. As it is, Scythia and Pannonia have every chance of ruining our hopes, and they are already taking advantage of it. Nilischeff is proclaiming loudly that Prince Theophanis is the mere instrument of Scythia, and he influences many votes.”

“And you have already lost so many that if he votes for me, I shall be elected?” said Prince Romanos. “Come, this cheering prophecy gives me courage to make a modest proposal of my own. Let us face the situation without disguise. Emathia is Slav, is Greek. We should probably disagree about the proportions, therefore I will not go into details. Rightly or wrongly, the Slavs entertain a preference for you, my friend,” to Maurice, “the Greeks for me. I speak roughly, of course, but that is the general idea. The Slavs occupy the high ground in the interior—speaking roughly again—the Greeks the low country nearer the sea. Therefore Emathia is capable of division into two provinces, the population of one predominantly Greek, of the other predominantly Slav. Let us determine to divide her thus. Whichever of us succeeds in the election will be Prince of Emathia, and mouthpiece of the Powers, but he cannot dispense with the other. I have no liking for your rugged hillmen, you have no sympathy with my brilliant elusive Greeks. Therefore, if I become Prince, I will place you in charge of the Slav province and the scattered Slavs in the low country. If you succeed, give me the care of the lower province and the Greeks dwelling in the upper.”

“But you are merely perpetuating the racial cleavage which has done all the mischief!” cried Maurice, as Prince Romanos stopped short with gleaming eyes.

“I think not. There would be one army, one judicial system. Colonel Wylie will give us the benefit of his Indian experience in organising them. The plan could not of course be worked unless we were bound by the closest friendship, but we have been through much together——”

“The plan would checkmate Scythia,” said the Professor sharply.

“I could not suggest it to any one possessing less nobility of character than Prince Theophanis,” said Prince Romanos, not without a hint of malice. “His zeal is so entirely for the sake of Emathia that I can do so without being misunderstood.”

“It sounds excellent now, when we expect to succeed,” said Wylie. “The question is, how it will look to us if we fail. What do you say, Prince?”

“The Prince will say that if it is for the good of Emathia, he will agree to it,” said Prince Romanos boldly.

“Very likely,” grumbled Wylie. “I am not the person to judge. It takes a poet to think of a thing of this kind——”

“And a fool to agree to it?” said Maurice. “But if it will give the strength we need for the struggle against disruption? After all, it would only be doing on a large scale what we tried on a small one at Hagiamavra.”

“Where it was not exactly successful,” said Wylie. “Oh, I know it’s ideally desirable, but these things want ideal people to carry them out.”

“There is no idea of binding ourselves by a hard and fast agreement,” said Maurice, as Prince Romanos laughed and bowed. “It must be understood that the thing is purely tentative. If the man in possession finds that the other is not working loyally with him, or if the other—the under dog—finds he is thwarted in his pet schemes without good cause, either may terminate it. We must have arrangements for talking things over thoroughly together at frequent intervals, of course.”

“Then you agree?” cried Prince Romanos joyfully. “Welcome, then, my colleague! You observe that I at once claim for myself the part of upper dog—what is that you say, top dog?—and proceed to constitute my cabinet. Prince Theophanis my Prime Minister, my Protector of Slavs, my second self; Colonel Wylie my War Minister; Professor Panagiotis my Foreign Secretary, Press Censor, Director of Public Education and of my political conscience; Dr Terminoff, Minister of Public Health. This day week the Prince of Emathia will claim your services, gentlemen.”

CHAPTER XXVI.
PAYING THE BILL.

By a majority of thirty-three, Prince Romanos Christodoridi was elected High Commissioner of Emathia. This result caused no surprise at the Theophanis headquarters, where hope was practically extinct from the moment that a pencil note was received from Professor Panagiotis shortly after the opening of the poll:—

“Treachery. Nilischeff has demanded that he and his followers should be allowed to vote in favour of union with Thracia. Informed that this is not the question before the delegates, he declines to vote at all. He influences seventy-eight votes.”

The abstention of these delegates, all Slavs, coupled with the adverse voting of those who had been led to believe that Maurice was merely the tool of Scythia, turned the scale in favour of Prince Romanos, and led to much lively mutual recrimination afterwards. This ceased only in presence of the astonishing sight of the defeated candidate shaking hands with his successful rival, and promising him all the help he could give in his arduous task. The world, as represented by the diplomatists of Europe and the sightseers, looked on cynically, as at a formal ceremony that meant nothing whatever, but the unsophisticated Emathians accepted the scene in good faith, possibly considering that the experiences of Hagiamavra gave them a more intimate knowledge of the two men than that enjoyed by the politicians.

It was a day of surprises, and not the least of them fell to Zoe’s share. She was standing on the verandah in the afternoon, awaiting eagerly the return of Maurice and Wylie with full details of the defeat, when a carriage drove up to the door, and a slender black-robed figure descended. It was Donna Olimpia Pazzi, and when she saw Zoe looking down at her she made her an eager sign.

“Please don’t call the servants. It is you I am come to see,” she said breathlessly, and hastened up the steps. “I have brought you a book and a message from the Princess,” she went on, still in the same hurried way. “No, not the Princess Dowager—my own Princess, Princess Emilia—a book of poems, which she submits with humility to your matured judgment—they are her own, of course—and hopes that your friendship will justify her boldness. That was my excuse for getting leave to come, but I had something to say to you.”

“Yes?” said Zoe. “Do sit down. Is anything the matter?”

“I will not sit down,” said the girl, with something like defiance. “Forgive me——” she broke off hastily. “I am in great trouble, and I must tell some one. You will not betray me?”

“Certainly not,” said Zoe, much surprised. “Your secret will be safe with me.”

“It is not my own secret only, but I can trust you. Last week you refused a proposal of marriage from the Prince—from Romanos Christodoridi?”

“Most certainly I refused him, though I have no idea how you heard anything about it.” Zoe spoke coldly. “I regarded his proposal as an insult, since he knew I was already engaged.”

“It was a greater insult than you imagined. He is my husband.”

“Your husband—married to you? When? How long——?”

“At Bashi Konak, when he was there wounded. In my Princess’s private chapel, by her chaplain. She was present, and the Princess Dowager.”

“But by Latin rites—and you are a Roman Catholic, too? But the Greeks would never forgive him! It is impossible for him to be Prince.”

“He is Prince, and you will not betray him, because you have promised; nor shall I, because I am his wife—his most unhappy wife. But I could not let you continue to think you had refused him, when he was mine already.”

The curious perverted pride in Donna Olimpia’s voice as she drew up her head haughtily made Zoe wonder, and she felt half repelled, half pitiful. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You are married to him; you have got what you wanted, then, I suppose? Then why are you not happy?”

“How can I be happy?” the girl’s voice was choked. “He cannot acknowledge me, or the Greeks would howl him out of Emathia. The Princess promised me—the Princess Dowager, I mean—that he should not be elected. Then I was to meet him in Paris, where his father would not trouble him, and we should be left in peace. She brought me away from Bashi Konak because she said the secret could never be kept if we were seen together, and it must not come out until we were both safely away from Emathia. Then he came here, and she has hardly let me see him—even in her presence. And now he is Prince, and he can’t claim me after all.” The tears flowed fast.

“Then claim him,” said Zoe, rather unsympathetically.

“And destroy his position? Never! I did not want him to be Prince, but he wishes it, and I dare not cross his will. If he had been defeated in the election, it would not have been my fault, and I could have comforted him. But now he would never forgive me if I betrayed him.”

“Well, really,” said Zoe with some impatience, “so far as I can see, there are only two things that you might do. You can make the marriage public and claim him, or you can go back to Bashi Konak and keep out of his way.”

“You say that, knowing what he is?” cried Donna Olimpia.

“But, speaking as one woman to another, there is one thing you can’t do,” said Zoe earnestly. “You can’t stay on here unless the marriage is recognised. I say that, knowing what he is, as you say. Go back to Magnagrecia if you like—to Bashi Konak at any rate—but don’t stay here.”

“You think he will find himself compelled to follow me, and so ruin his own cause,” was the suspicious reply.

Zoe started angrily. “I was speaking to you for your good,” she said. “Knowing Prince Romanos, I should think it highly unlikely—— No, I won’t say it. But surely you see that you must protect yourself? He won’t do it. I can’t quite make out what part the Princess Dowager has been playing. You don’t think she deceived you deliberately?”

“I think not, but one cannot tell—with her. I don’t believe she wished my husband to be Prince, or why take such pains to promote our marriage?”

“I think you are both merely pawns in her game,” said Zoe. “At any rate, you can’t feel any confidence in consulting her. If it suited her, she would sacrifice you without a qualm. That’s what I always feel about her.”

“You know that she has your brother also in her power?” said Donna Olimpia suddenly. “I know it, because she told me so once, to comfort me. I did not want my husband to be Prince, but neither did I wish him to suffer the humiliation of being defeated by Prince Theophanis. ‘Be tranquil,’ she said; ‘Prince Theophanis will not reign. A word from me would make him impossible.’”

“Then you think she has brought about his defeat?” cried Zoe indignantly. Donna Olimpia shook her head.

“No, and I will tell you why. The hold she has over him is something connected with a paper. When we were at Skandalo, Princess Theophanis visited her twice, in great trouble. They talked very low, and I heard nothing in the anteroom until the end of the second visit. Then they seemed to have come suddenly close to the door, where the icon hangs, and something was said about Prince Christodoridi’s being elected, but I could not hear distinctly. Then I heard the Princess Dowager say something about ‘the paper signed by your husband,’ and Princess Theophanis said, ‘I will give you the paper when my husband’s life is safe,’ or words like that.”

“Well?” said Zoe breathlessly.

“Then on the day we heard that the prisoners were to be released—I am certain of it, because the English naval officer told me the news when he brought a packet of letters and telegrams addressed to the Princess at Therma—she went out without me, to congratulate Princess Theophanis. When she came back, she locked a large envelope up in her desk. Before she did it, she took out a paper that was inside it, with a deep mourning border, read it through, and put it back again. I saw her.”

“The day the flag-lieutenant came?” said Zoe. “But Maurice had only signed one paper then—a letter to a stockbroker—and he could hardly manage that. That was black-edged, I know, but there was nothing in it that could get him or anybody into trouble. Unless Eirene had added what she wanted the money for—but even then—— No, I don’t see what it could have been.”

“You won’t mind my interrupting you for a moment, Zoe?” said Eirene, coming out of the house, “but I saw that you had Donna Olimpia here, and I wanted her to take a note back to the Princess for me. You will be sure to give it her at once, won’t you?” she asked of the girl. “It is very important.”

“Without fail, madame,” said Donna Olimpia, with a certain excitement in her tone. Neither she nor Zoe could help noticing the change in Eirene’s appearance. It was as if years had fallen from her in a few hours, and for the first time since Constantine’s death she actually smiled as she went back into the house.

“I can’t understand it,” said Zoe breathlessly; “but I think there can’t be a doubt that you would be better away from the Princess. I must write and thank Princess Emilia for her book; shall I mention that you are longing to return to her?”

“Am I to leave my husband at the Princess Dowager’s mercy?”

“If you stay here, she has a weapon continually at hand with which to attack him. Once you are at Bashi Konak, he cannot approach you without acknowledging his marriage.”

“Princess, I am torn asunder. I will try to go—and yet I cannot resolve to leave him to himself. While I am in the same city, even though I don’t see him, I can watch over him a little, but if I go away, who knows into what toils he may fall?” wringing her hands with a hopeless gesture.

“Think about it,” said Zoe soothingly. “Would you like my brother or Colonel Wylie to speak to him?” The unhappy girl shrank away. “They would never take advantage of what you have told me, you know; but I see that it would put them in a very awkward position. Well, if you think of anything I could do—— Don’t forget my sister’s note.”

Donna Olimpia caught up the note, and hurried away, almost without a farewell. She found that her mistress had returned from witnessing the public proclamation of Prince Romanos, to which she had not been permitted to attend her, and she received a sharp rebuke for staying out so long. But the sight of Eirene’s note turned the Princess’s thoughts into another channel.

“Insolent!” she muttered, for though impatience might be one of her own failings, this did not make her any more tender towards it in others. “Well, if she will have it, she shall!”

Going to her desk, she took out Eirene’s paper in its envelope, and enclosed both in another envelope, which she addressed to Prince and Princess Theophanis, as if it contained an invitation. Then she called her Dardanian servant.

“You are to give this into the hands of Prince Theophanis and no one else,” she said. “Ask him to open it at once, and to send a message by you that he has received it safely. Go first to the Place de l’Europe Unie—you know where his seat was on the platform—and if he is no longer there, follow him to his house. Lose no time.”

The man obeyed with alacrity, seeing his chance of settling a bet which he had made on the subject of the election with a compatriot employed at the British Consulate and detailed to guard Prince Theophanis. His own sharpest dagger, and the compatriot’s largest and most highly ornamented revolver, had been the stakes, and both would now adorn his girdle. He swaggered out with immense importance, almost knocking down a quiet gentleman who had just alighted at the door as he did so. Prince Soudaroff looked after him uncertainly. If the man had been going in the direction of the Theophanis headquarters he would have ventured to stop him, but the great square in front of the site marked out for the High Commissioner’s palace was the common rallying-ground this afternoon, and he let him go on. The flush of gratified resentment had hardly died from the Princess’s cheek when she received her visitor.

“And the next step?” she said eagerly.

“Patience, madame, patience! You must remember that we do not wish to perpetuate the present unsettled state of affairs. No, let the Emathians perceive the advantages of a settled government, perhaps—who knows?—begin to find them press a little hardly; then will come the opportunity of discrediting the temporary ruler, and the necessity of supplying his place immediately. But we must be prepared to prevent Prince Theophanis from stepping into the vacant place. I presume the document which you hold contains no limitations as to time?”

“None whatever,” said the Princess, concealing beneath a mask of absolute certainty the sudden alarm she felt.

“Since the task was in your hands, madame, I knew it would be well carried out. Still, I think, if I may say so, that in view of your constant journeys, the time has come when the document would be safer in my possession than in yours.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that,” said the Princess, with a smile of which her practised opponent detected the hollowness. “You see I have promised Princess Theophanis not to let it out of my hands unless it becomes necessary——”

“To produce it? Quite so. The promise is given. The mind of the Princess Theophanis is at rest. The promise has done its work; let it pass,” he waved his hand. “You will at any rate permit me to inspect the document, madame? If I should retain it, disregarding your protests, no blame can attach to you.”

“Fie, casuist!” said the Princess playfully.

“You flatter me, madame.”

“But I could not think of such a thing!”

“I await the document, madame.”

“It is useless, Prince.”

“Madame, here I am. Must I say that I do not leave the house without that paper?”

“But I cannot give it you.”

“Cannot, madame? Why not?”

“Because I have returned it. I swore that I would.”

“You have returned it? to Princess Theophanis?”

“Yes—at least to her husband.” The triumph in her tone did not escape Prince Soudaroff, but it was not with sympathy that his eyes gleamed.

“At least, madame, you took the precaution of having it photographed before parting with it?”

“No—I am sorry.” The Princess was startled at last. “I never thought of that.”

“I also am sorry, madame. Do you perceive what you have done? For the gratification of a moment’s malice you have wrecked this great scheme—deliberately thrown away the results of the labour of years. Could you not have been satisfied with sending this priceless paper to Princess Theophanis? Then we might have procured its return by threatening to reveal everything to her husband. But no, you must send it direct to that most impracticable of men, of whom one can only say that he will take the course the least in accordance with prudence and calculation—an honest, single-minded fool! He will probably make it public forthwith.”

“No,” said the Princess, with an inspiration born of dismay, “he will keep it secret—to shield her. Go quickly and play upon his feelings. You will promise secrecy if he will. Otherwise you will make public the conduct of his wife.”

“I will try,” said Prince Soudaroff, a hint of hope in his tones. “But remember, madame, you have failed—grievously. You know the penalty.”

“You will disown me to save yourselves? Oh, quite so! But I have been disowned before this, Prince, and you have been glad to ask for my help again.”

“I hardly think that Prince Kazimir is likely to ask for your help again, madame,” was the biting reply with which Prince Soudaroff took his leave. He chose a somewhat roundabout way to Maurice’s house, for he was anxious to think out the best means of dealing with the situation. The nettle must be grasped boldly, for the slightest sign of weakness would draw attention to the insecurity of his position. To his disgust, there was standing at the Theophanis door a highly ornate carriage and pair,—one of those which had taken part in the state procession round the city,—which from the cavasses and other attendants attached to it he knew to be that of the British Admiral. It was with the fervent hope that the presence of the distinguished visitor would have prevented Maurice from opening the Princess’s envelope that he asked for admittance, to find Wylie and Zoe entertaining the flag-lieutenant in the verandah.

Fate was against him, as he realised the moment he heard that Admiral Essiter was being received by Prince and Princess Theophanis in private. The Dardanian had followed Maurice home from the square, and caught him up just as he reached his own door. He opened the letter as he mounted the steps, and Zoe saw his face change.

“Oh, Maurice, what is it?” she cried. “Not the black-edged paper? Oh!” with a sudden thought, “you don’t say that Eirene gave the ten thousand pounds to the Princess?”

“What does it mean?” said Maurice, bewildered. “What do you mean? What black-edged paper?”

“Donna Olimpia told me just now that the Princess had a black-edged paper, signed by you, which Eirene had given her to save your life; and I knew you had signed nothing but the letter to Merceda. But it was such a small sum, comparatively——”

“This is worse. That could only have discredited the Princess. This discredits us—me.” He laid it before her, and Zoe, after reading it, rose superior to her natural jealousy in a way that showed she had learnt something since her engagement.

“Maurice, you must take it to Eirene, and have it out with her at once. It mayn’t be as bad as it looks. Perhaps she will be able to say something to explain—— At any rate you must settle it with her before you speak to another creature, or things will never be right again between you.”

“That’s true. I will. And you might as well tell Wylie how it is when he comes in. He’ll have to know why I can’t stay in Emathia as we agreed to do.”

He went into Eirene’s sitting-room, and she started up to meet him, but turned white at the sight of the paper in his hand.

“What does this mean, Eirene?” he asked, laying it on the table, and she bent over it and pretended to read it, for the sake of gaining time.

“She swore on the icon to give it back to me,” she murmured at last. It was not what she had intended to say, but all the arguments that raced through her mind seemed utterly futile.

“Perhaps she agreed with me, that when one is disgraced it is as well to know it,” he replied.

“It was to save your life.”

“At the cost of honour.”

“It was the only way. I do care for your honour, Maurice, you know it, but when it was a choice between that and your life——”

“It would have been more—regular—to leave the choice to me.”

“Ah, but I knew which you would choose. Oh, Maurice, don’t look at me like that! I killed Constantine. Was I to kill you too?” It was the first time she had mentioned the child’s death since she had broken the news of it to him, and he realised the intense feeling which had forced the words from her lips, and left her standing like a culprit before him, supporting herself by the table. He strove for calmness.

“No, I suppose it could hardly be expected of you,” he said.

“Maurice!” she flung herself at his feet, “don’t look at me in that way! What is the good of talking quietly when your eyes are killing me? Say what you like—curse me; I deserve it.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, get up!” he groaned impatiently. “I don’t want to be hard on you, Eirene. Don’t talk nonsense about cursing. But really, life is not so excessively delightful that one cares to think one has bought it at the price of honour.”

Eirene rose and stood before him. “You have your remedy,” she said, very quietly. “Put the whole blame on me. Deny your signature. Send me away—only forgive me first. I will never utter a word of complaint, and I will always pray for you.”

“You forget that I did sign the thing, after all. Do you want me to cover one baseness with another? No, we will go home quietly, and drop out of sight.”

“There is no need for your future to be ruined. I will go—as you cannot bear to see me. Zoe will take care of you—and Graham Wylie.” Her voice trembled, but she fought down the rising tears. “You trust them; they have not deceived you. You will have your work, and I shall have my punishment. Perhaps when I am dying——”

“Nonsense!” cried Maurice, driven to exasperation. “There is no need for heroic measures. If you will think a moment, you will see it is impossible for me to stay here after this. Our Emathians are brave, at any rate. Well, Scythia spreads a whisper that I saved my life by a disgraceful compact with a Scythian agent. What influence should I have after that? I could not deny it, and you may be quite certain that I shan’t.”

“Maurice,” said Zoe’s diffident voice at the door, “Admiral Essiter and his flag-lieutenant are here. Shall I say you are really too tired to see them?”

“No!” cried Eirene, waking suddenly into fiery energy. “Bring the Admiral in here, in here—at once, Zoe. Maurice, I forbid you to say a word! Leave this to me.”

Poor Admiral Essiter, perceiving on the threshold that he was intruding upon a domestic difference, wished heartily that he had not thought of following up his official visit of congratulation to Prince Romanos with one of condolence to the defeated candidate. He knew something of Eirene by personal experience, and more by report, and the sight of the black-edged paper on the table suggested to him that she was about to separate from Maurice owing to his ill-success in the election, and that he had been pitched upon to assist at the final arrangements. For all the magnificence of his appearance, and his natural coolness, he came very near retreating ignominiously, and Eirene saw it.

“Come in, please, and shut the door,” she said imperiously. “I wish to make a confession in your presence, sir. I have forged my husband’s signature to that paper.”

“Really, Eirene!” said Maurice indignantly. “My wife is not quite herself, Admiral. I signed the paper with my own hand. She doesn’t know what she is saying.”

“Of course not—very natural,” murmured the Admiral soothingly. “This is rather an inconvenient time, isn’t it? You would rather I called another day?”

“No, no!” cried Eirene. “You are to stay. Don’t mind what my husband says.”

“But I must pay a little attention to him in his own house, mustn’t I?” said the Admiral, in the genial voice which had so many times averted a break-up of the European Concert. “You can speak frankly to me, Teffany, you know. If there is anything I can help to arrange, you have only to say so. If not, I go, seeing nothing and remembering nothing.”

“If nothing else will satisfy my wife——” began Maurice unwillingly.

“Nothing will,” said Eirene, with such determination that her husband and the Admiral alike bowed to it.

“Then may I suggest that we should sit down?” said the arbitrator pleasantly, drawing forward a chair for Eirene. “This is not a court-martial, is it?—merely a little friendly talk. You were going to tell me something, Princess?”

“I want you to know,” said Eirene, leaning forward in her chair, with her hands clasped rigidly on her knee, “that I have deceived Maurice and disgraced him——”

“Eirene! You will make the Admiral think——” cried Maurice, but the Admiral held up his hand.

“One at a time, please. We will hear the Princess first. You deceived your husband, ma’am—for his good, of course?”

“Of course,” said Eirene, unconscious of sarcasm. “I made him sign that paper, when he thought he was only signing a letter.”

“You had better see it,” said Maurice, handing the document across the table. The Admiral read it with astonishment.

“This has never left your own possession, I hope, Princess?”

“I wrote it for the Princess Dowager of Dardania, and she has had it till now. She has great influence at the Scythian Court, and she got the Emperor to save Maurice’s life, in return for that. I knew he wouldn’t like my doing it, so I had to mislead him about it.” Eirene’s tone was impenitent.

“And your feeling is that if the existence of this document should ever be asserted, you would be unable to deny it?” asked the Admiral of Maurice, who nodded. “Well, it seems to me that it is at least as discreditable to Scythia as to you—more so, in fact. They can hardly have intended ever to make it public. It was to be a weapon held over you, I presume.”

“Yes. I was to get him to resign without mentioning it, if I could,” assented Eirene, charmed with the Admiral’s penetration. “And it has saved his life, and if I could have helped it he would never have known anything about it. But I know it is just the kind of thing he will never forgive——”

“Eirene!” cried Maurice, stung beyond endurance. “Can’t you see that it is not the thing itself, but your having done it, that is so horrible?”

“And so,” said Eirene, looking very straight at the wall to keep her tears from overflowing, “I am going to take all the blame, and go away to a convent, and never see him again.”

“Come, come!” said the Admiral reprovingly. “We don’t do things of that sort in England, Princess, off the stage—or at least we don’t talk about doing them. You have treated your husband very badly, and I don’t wonder he feels it, but there’s no need to make things worse.”

Eirene drew herself up, and the Admiral noted with secret satisfaction that Maurice moved nearer her involuntarily, and that his voice was very chilling as he said, “My wife and I can settle that between ourselves, Admiral. But if you think there is anything to be done about this paper——”

“You would like to approach the Princess Dowager about it, perhaps? We might frighten her with the threat of making it public. But I fancy she is merely a tool. What I should like would be to get at the person behind her.”

As if in answer to the aspiration, Zoe opened the door and came in, closing it carefully. “Maurice, Prince Soudaroff is here, and is very anxious to see you. I told him the Admiral was with you, and he said he was come about a paper. Do you think it could be——”

“The very man I should have chosen!” said the Admiral.

“Bring him in, Zoe,” said Maurice, taking his stand resolutely beside Eirene, with his hand on her shoulder—a point that Prince Soudaroff noted immediately as he entered. His decision had been reached the moment he learned that the Admiral was closeted with Maurice and Eirene, and he did not wait to be addressed. The Princess Dowager must be thrown over.

“I have come on rather a painful errand,” he said. “There is a document in existence, I understand, affecting the honour of Prince Theophanis. How it was fabricated I hardly know, but I have a horrible fear that a certain exalted lady of our acquaintance has been meddling with politics again. These little irregularities will occur, one must regretfully admit, when ladies interfere in things they know nothing about.”

“The document embodied a certain engagement, to be carried out if Prince Theophanis was elected?” asked the Admiral, who had the paper, face downwards, in his hand.

“Exactly. And I fear the absurd thing has been made the means of causing some little pain to Princess Theophanis? Ah, I was afraid so. Really, a woman can be very cruel when her affections are concerned, and of course the lady of whom I speak imagined she was acting in the interests of her son.”

“Which was a pure delusion?” said the Admiral.

“Absolutely. The idea was puerile.” Never was a lie uttered more unflinchingly like truth.

“And the promise wrung from Princess Theophanis had no effect whatever in obtaining her husband’s release?”

“How could it? Admiral Essiter will hardly imagine that we should traffic with an affectionate wife for the life of her husband at the price of a piece of paper?”

“I could hardly credit it. Then this document is quite valueless?” The Admiral spoke casually, but he had produced a match-box from somewhere, and as he spoke he lighted the paper he held. He saw, if neither of the others did, Prince Soudaroff’s involuntary start forward, instantly checked, to snatch it from destruction. “I think,” he went on, in a business-like tone, as he crushed the last flaming corner, “that it would be as well to have a record of the facts, signed by all of us, for reference in case of need. The lady Prince Soudaroff has mentioned might try to repeat her game on some future occasion. Otherwise, of course, I must safeguard the interests of Prince Theophanis by laying the whole affair before my colleagues, but I should prefer to keep the matter between ourselves.”

“I should prefer it infinitely,” said Prince Soudaroff—on this occasion, probably, with truth.

“Is Colonel Wylie acquainted with the facts?” asked the Admiral of Maurice. “Yes? Then he might act as secretary.”

“I will fetch him,” said Maurice, and Wylie was called, and wrote out a very uncompromising, if not wholly literal, history of the case. When Prince Soudaroff had signed it and taken his leave, the Admiral laughed.

“If Colonel Wylie would be good enough to make another copy, to be laid up in the Theophanis family archives,—which in view of the uncertainty of life in these regions had better be represented by the Bank of England,—I should feel more at ease,” he said. “Otherwise, if the Magniloquent shared the fate of the Maine one night, you would be as badly off as ever.”

Wylie set to work on the copy, and Zoe remained to help him, while Maurice escorted the Admiral to his carriage. When he returned to the verandah, Eirene was awaiting him at the top of the steps.

“Am I to go, Maurice?” she asked him.

“Go? where?”

“I don’t know. To some convent in Scythia, I suppose.”

“Not with my consent.”

“But do you forgive me?”

“Would you do it again?”

“Oh, Maurice!” she hid her face on his shoulder. “If your life depended upon it?”

“Not even then. Not without asking me, at any rate.”

“But that would mean not doing it. Don’t make me promise!”

“I must. Eirene, we have hard work before us, and we ought to be shoulder to shoulder. You mustn’t make me feel that there’s a danger of your working against me, for any reason whatever. Only tell me before you do things. I think you’ll find that it’s happier for both of us.”

“I will,” she murmured. “And look, Maurice, I scribbled this down just now, and I want you to have it put into proper form. Is it too dark for you to read it? It is to say that I give up my right of dealing with Mr Teffany-Wise’s money. It has done more to separate us than anything.”

“It has.” He sighed involuntarily. “If it hadn’t come between us—— Still, it has helped to free Emathia. But we will only deal with it together in future, dear.”

THE END.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.

Sydney C. Grier was the pseudonym of Hilda Caroline Gregg.

This book is part of the author’s “Balkan Series II.” The series, in order, being: The Heir, The Heritage, and The Prize.

Alterations to the text:

Note: minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies (e.g. thunderstruck/thunder-struck, rank-and-file/rank and file, etc.) have been preserved.

[Title Page]

Add brief note indicating this novel’s position in the series. See above.

[Chapter VI]

Change “You musn’t be so doleful” to mustn’t.

[Chapter IX]

“detention in the court yard” to courtyard.

[Chapter XIV]

“it may be necessary any day to to get all our forces together” delete one to.

[Chapter XVI]

“there was no gurantee of even temporary safety” to guarantee.

[Chapter XX]

“for the poor starving peeple around” to people.

[Chapter XXI]

“Wyllie transferred his whole force” to Wylie.

[End of Text]

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Table of Contents

- The Heritage

- CONTENTS.

- THE HERITAGE.

- PROLOGUE.

- CHAPTER I. PRACTICAL POLITICS.

- CHAPTER II. REVOLUTION AND ROSE-WATER.

- CHAPTER III. THE RIVAL HEIR.

- CHAPTER IV. THE STERN PARENT.

- CHAPTER V. TWO DIPLOMATISTS.

- CHAPTER VI. THE RED GODS CALL.

- CHAPTER VII. THE ENEMY IN THE WAY.

- CHAPTER VIII. A PORT OF REFUGE.

- CHAPTER IX. ARTS OF PEACE.

- CHAPTER X. THE INTERVENTION OF THE ADMIRAL.

- CHAPTER XI. THE SYMPATHY OF EUROPE.

- CHAPTER XII. A BAPTISM OF FIRE.

- CHAPTER XIII. KNIGHTLY EMULATION.

- CHAPTER XIV. IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO.

- CHAPTER XV. THE TOWER OF SEGRETI.

- CHAPTER XVI. THE CONSULS TO THE RESCUE.

- CHAPTER XVII. THE HOPE THAT FAILED.

- CHAPTER XVIII. A RUSE DE GUERRE.

- CHAPTER XIX. THE BITTER END.

- CHAPTER XX. FUGITIVES.

- CHAPTER XXI. THE BRITISH FLAG.

- CHAPTER XXII. CHANGES AND CHANCES.

- CHAPTER XXIII. AN UNHOLY COMPACT.

- CHAPTER XXIV. THE WAGES OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS.

- CHAPTER XXV. A CONTESTED ELECTION.

- CHAPTER XXVI. PAYING THE BILL.

- TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE