laugh it was. Then she walked briskly across the compound, till she reached the rocks on the other side. I crept forward after her, for I was afraid of losing sight of her in the darkness, and yet did not desire to arrest her progress till I saw where she was going. On she went, skirting the perpendicular drop of rock. I was behind her now. At last she came to the angle formed by the rock running north and that which, turning to the east, enclosed the compound.
‘How’s she going to get up?’ I asked myself.
But up she began to go, her right foot on the north rock, her left on the east. She ascended with such confidence that it was evident that steps were ready for her feet. She gained the top; I began to mount in the same fashion, finding the steps cut in the face of the cliff. I reached the top and saw her standing still, ten yards ahead of me. She went on; I followed; she stopped, looked, saw me, screamed. I rushed on her. Her arm dealt a blow at me; I caught her hand, and in her hand there was a little dagger. Seizing her other hand, I held her fast.
‘Where are you going to?’ I asked in a matter-of-fact tone, taking no notice of her hasty resort to the dagger. No doubt that was merely a national trait.
Seeing that she was caught, she made no attempt to struggle.
‘I was trying to escape,’ she said. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘Yes, I heard you. Where were you going to?’
‘Why should I tell you? Shall you threaten me with the whip again?’
I loosed her hands. She gave a sudden glance up the hill. She seemed to measure the distance.
‘Why do you want to go to the top of the hill?’ I asked. ‘Have you friends there?’
She denied the suggestion, as I thought she would.
‘No, I have not. But anywhere is better than with you.’
‘Yet there’s some one in the cottage up there,’ I observed. ‘It belongs to Constantine, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it does,’ she answered defiantly. ‘Dare you go and seek him there? Or dare you only skulk behind the walls of the house?’
‘As long as we are four against a hundred I dare only skulk,’ I answered. She did not annoy me at all by her taunts. ‘But do you think he’s there?’
‘There! No; he’s in the town; and he’ll come from the town to kill you to-morrow.’
‘Then is nobody there?’ I pursued.
‘Nobody,’ she answered.
‘You’re wrong,’ said I. ‘I saw somebody there to-day.’
‘Oh, a peasant perhaps.’
‘Well, the dress didn’t look like it. Do you really want to go there now?’
‘Haven’t you mocked me enough?’ she burst out. ‘Take me back to my prison.’
Her tragedy-air was quite delightful. But I had been leading her up to something which I thought she ought to know.
‘There’s a woman in that cottage,’ said I. ‘Not a peasant; a woman in some dark-coloured dress, who uses opera-glasses.’
I saw her draw back with a start of surprise.
‘It’s false,’ she cried. ‘There’s no one there. Constantine told me no one went there except Vlacho and sometimes Demetri.’
‘Do you believe all Constantine tells you?’ I asked.
‘Why shouldn’t I? He’s my cousin, and – ’
‘And your suitor?’
She flung her head back proudly.
‘I have no shame in that,’ she answered.
‘You would accept his offer?’
‘Since you ask, I will answer. Yes. I had promised my uncle that I would.’
‘Good God!’ said I, for I was very sorry for her.
The emphasis of my exclamation seemed to startle her afresh. I felt her glance rest on me in puzzled questioning.
‘Did Constantine let you see the old woman whom I sent to him?’ I demanded.
‘No,’ she murmured. ‘He told me what she said.’
‘That I told him he was his uncle’s murderer?’
‘Did you tell her to say that?’ she asked, with a sudden inclination of her body towards me.
‘I did. Did he give you the message?’
She made no answer. I pressed my advantage.
‘On my honour, I saw what I have told you at the cottage,’ I said. ‘I know what it means no more than you do. But before I came here I saw Constantine in London. And there I heard a lady say she would come with him. Did any lady come with him?’
‘Are you mad?’ she asked; but I could hear her breathing quickly, and I knew that her scorn was assumed. I drew suddenly away from her, and put my hands behind my back.
‘Go to the cottage if you like,’ said I. ‘But I won’t answer for what you’ll find there.’
‘You set me free?’ she cried with eagerness.
‘Free to go to the cottage; you must promise to come back. Or I’ll go to the cottage, if you’ll promise to go back to your room and wait till I return.’
She hesitated, looking towards where the cottage was; but I had stirred suspicion and disquietude in her. She dared not face what she might find in the cottage.
‘I’ll go back and wait for you,’ she said. ‘If I went to the cottage and – and all was well, I’m afraid I shouldn’t come back.’
The tone sounded softer. I would have sworn that a smile or a half-smile accompanied the words, but it was too dark to be sure, and when I leant forward to look, Euphrosyne drew back.
‘Then you mustn’t go,’ said I decisively; ‘I can’t afford to lose you.’
‘But if you let me go I could let you go,’ she cried.
‘Could you? Without asking Constantine? Besides, it’s my island you see.’
‘It’s not,’ she cried, with a stamp of her foot. And without more she walked straight by me and disappeared over the ledge of rock. Two minutes later I saw her figure defined against the sky, a black shadow on a deep grey ground; then she disappeared. I set my face straight for the cottage under the summit of the hill. I knew that I had only to go straight and I must come to the little plateau scooped out of the hillside, on which the cottage stood. I found, not a path, but a sort of rough track that led in the desired direction, and along this I made my way very cautiously. At one point it was joined at right angles by another track, from the side of the hill where the main road across the island lay. This, of course, afforded an approach to the cottage without passing by my house. In twenty minutes the cottage loomed, a blurred mass, before me. I fell on my knees and peered
