‘Is this the lady,’ said he, ‘who raises a tumult and resists my master’s will, and seeks to kill a lord who comes peaceably and by lawful right to take what is his?’
I believe I made a motion as though to spring forward. Mouraki’s expressive face displayed a marvelling question; did I mean such insolence as lay in interrupting him? I fell back; a public remonstrance could earn only a public rebuff.
‘Strange are the ways of Neopalia,’ said he, his gaze again on Phroso.
‘I am at your mercy, my lord,’ she murmured.
‘And what is this talk of your house? What house have you? I see here the house of this English lord, where he will receive me courteously. Where is your house?’
‘The house belongs to whom you will, my lord,’ she said. ‘Yet I have dared to busy myself in making it ready for you.’
By this time I was nearly at boiling point, but still I controlled myself. I rejoiced that Denny was not there, he and the others having resumed possession of the yacht, and arranged to sleep there, in order to leave more room for Mouraki’s accommodation. Phroso stood in patient submission; Mouraki’s eyes travelled over her from head to foot.
‘The other woman?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Your cousin’s wife—where is she?’
‘She is at the cottage on the hill, my lord, with a woman to attend on her.’
After another pause he motioned with his hand to Phroso to take her place by him, and thus we three walked up to the house. It was alive now with women and men, and there was a bustle of preparation for the great man.
Mouraki sat down in the armchair which I had been accustomed to use, and, addressing an officer who seemed to be hisaide-de-camp,issued quick orders for his own comfort and entertainment; then he turned to me and said civilly enough:
‘Since you seem reluctant to act as host, you shall be my guest while I am here.’
I murmured thanks. He glanced at Phroso and waved his hand in dismissal. She drew back, curtseying, and I saw her mount the stairs to her room. Mouraki bade me sit down, and his orderly brought him cigarettes. He gave me one and we began to smoke, Mouraki watching the coiling rings, I furtively studying his face. I was in a rage at his treatment of Phroso. But the man interested me. I thought that he was now considering great matters: the life of Constantine, perhaps, or the penalties that he should lay on the people of Neopalia. Yet even these would seem hardly great to him, who had moved in the world of truly great affairs, and was in his present post rather by a temporary loss of favour than because it was adequate to his known abilities. With such thoughts I studied him as he sat smoking silently.
Well, man is very human, and great men are often even more human than other men. For when Mouraki saw that we were alone, when he had finished his cigarette, flung it away and taken another, he observed to me, obviously summarisingthe result of those meditations to which my fancy had imparted such loftiness:
‘Yes, I don’t know that I ever saw a handsomer girl.’
There was nothing to say but one thing, and I said it.
‘No more did I, your Excellency,’ said I.
But I was not pleased with the expression of Mouraki’s eye; the contentment induced in me by the safety of my friends, by my own escape, and by the end of Constantine’s ill-used power, was suddenly clouded as I sat and looked at the baffling face and subtle smile of the Governor. What was it to him whether Phroso were a handsome girl or not?
And I suppose I might just as well have added—What was it to me?
Atthe dinner-table Mouraki proved a charming companion. His official reserve and pride vanished; he called me by my name simply, and extorted a like mode of address from my modesty. He professed rapture at meeting a civilised and pleasant companion in such an out-of-the-way place; he postponed the troubles and problems of Neopalia in favour of a profusion of amusing reminiscences and pointed anecdotes. He gave me a delightful evening, and bade me the most cordial of good-nights. I did not know whether his purpose had been to captivate or merely to analyse me; he had gone near to the former, and I did not doubt that he had succeeded entirely in the latter. Well, there was nothing I wanted to conceal—unless it might be something which I was still striving to conceal even from myself.
I rose very early the next morning. The Pasha was not expected to appear for two orthree hours, and he had not requested my presence till ten o’clock breakfast. I hastened off to the harbour, boarded the yacht, enjoyed a merry cup of coffee and a glorious bathe with Denny. Denny was anxious to know my plans—whether I meant to return or to stay. The idea of departure was odious to me. I enlarged on the beauties of the island, but Denny’s shrug insinuated a doubt of my candour. I declared that I saw no reason for going, but must be guided by the Pasha.
‘Where’s the girl?’ asked Denny abruptly.
‘She’s up at the house,’ I answered carelessly.
‘Hum. Heard anything about Constantine being hanged?’
‘Not a word; Mouraki has not touched on business.’
Denny had projected a sail, and was not turned from his purpose by my unwillingness to accompany him. Promising to meet him again in the evening, I took my way back up the street, where a day or two ago my life would have paid for my venturing, where now I was as safe as in Hyde Park. Women gave me civil greetings; the men did the like, or, at worst, ignored me. I saw the soldiers on guard at Constantine’s prison, and pursued my path to the house with a complacent smile. Myisland was beautiful that morning, and the blood flowed merrily in my veins. I thought of Phroso. Where was the remorse which I vainly summoned?
Suddenly I saw Kortes before me, walking along slowly. He was relieved of his duty then, and Constantine was no longer in his hands. Overtaking him, I began to talk. He listened for a little, and then raised his calm honest eyes to mine.
‘And the Lady Phroso?’ he said gently. ‘What of her?’
I told him what I knew, softening the story of Mouraki’s harshness.
‘You have not spoken to her yet?’ he asked. Then, coming a step nearer, he said, ‘She shuns you perhaps?’
‘I don’t know,’ said I, feeling embarrassed under the man’s direct gaze.
‘It is natural, but it will last only till she has seen you once. I pray you not to linger, my lord. For she suffers shame at having told her love, even though it was to save you. It is hard for a maiden to speak unasked.’
I leaned my back against the rocky bank by the road.
‘Lose no time in telling her your love, my lord,’ he urged. ‘It may be that she guesses,but her shame will trouble her till she hears it from your lips. Seek her, seek her without delay.’
I had forgotten my triumph over Constantine and the beauty of the island. I felt my eyes drop before Kortes’s look; but I shrugged my shoulders, saying carelessly:
‘It was only a friendly device the Lady Phroso played to save me. She doesn’t really love me. It was a trick. But I’ll thank her for it heartily; it was of great help to me, and a hard thing for her to do.’
‘It was no trick. You know it was none. Wasn’t the love in every tone of her voice? Isn’t it in every glance of her eyes when she is with you—and most when she won’t look at you?’
‘How come you to read her looks so well?’ I asked.
‘From studying them deeply,’ said he simply. ‘I do not know if I love her, my lord; she is so much above me that my thoughts have not dared to fly to the height. But I would die for her, and I love no other. To me, you, my lord, should be the happiest, proudest man alive. Pray speak to her soon, my lord. My sister, whom you saw hold her in her arms, would have made me sure if I had doubted. The lady murmurs your name in her sleep.’
A sudden irresistible exultation took hold of me. I think it turned my face red, for Kortes smiled, saying, ‘Ah, you believe now, my lord!’
‘Believe!’ I cried. ‘No, I don’t believe. A thousand times, no! I don’t believe!’ For I was crushing that exultation now as a man crushes the foulest temptings.
A puzzled look invaded Kortes’s eyes. There was silence between us for some moments.
‘It’s absurd,’ said I, in weak protest. ‘She has known me only a few days—only a few hours rather—and there were other things to think of then than love-making.’
‘Love,’ said he, ‘is made most readily when a man does not think of it, and a stout arm serves a suitor better than soft words. You fought against her and for her; you proved yourself a man before her eyes. Fear not, my lord; she loves you.’
‘Fear not!’ I exclaimed in a low bitter whisper.
‘She said it herself,’ continued Kortes. ‘As her life, and more.’
‘Hold your tongue, man!’ I cried fiercely. ‘In the devil’s name, what has it to do with you?’
A great wonder showed on his face, then a doubting fear; he came closer to me and whispered so low that I hardly heard:
‘What ails you? Is it not well that she should love you?’
‘Let me alone,’ I cried; ‘I’ll not answer your questions.’ Why was the fellow to cross-examine me? Ah, there’s the guilty man’s old question; he loves a fine mock indignation, and hugs it to his heart.
Kortes drew back a pace and bowed, as though in apology; but there was no apology in the glance he fixed on me. I would not look him in the face. I drew myself up as tall as I could, and put on my haughtiest air. If he could have seen how small I felt inside!
‘Enough, Kortes,’ said I, with a lordly air. ‘No doubt your intentions are good, but you forget what is becoming from you to me.’
He was not awed; and I think he perceived some of the truth—not all; for he said, ‘You made her love you; that does not happen unless a man’s own acts help it.’
‘Do girls never rush uninvited on love, then?’ I sneered.
‘Some perhaps, but she would not,’ he answered steadily.
He said no more. I nodded to him and set forward on my way. He bowed again slightly, and stood still where he was, watching me. I felt his eyes on me after we had parted. I wasin a very tumult of discomfort. The man had humiliated me to the ground. I hoped against hope that he was wrong; and again, in helpless self-contradiction, my heart cried out insisting on its shameful joy because he was right. Right or wrong, wrong or right, what did it matter? Either way now lay misery, either way now lay a struggle that I shrank from and abhorred.
I was somewhat delayed by this interview, and when I arrived at the house I found Mouraki already at breakfast. He apologised for not having awaited my coming, saying, ‘I have transacted much business. Oh, I’ve not been in bed all the time! And I grew hungry. I have been receiving some reports on the state of the island.’
‘It’s quiet enough now. Your arrival has had a most calming effect.’
‘Yes, they know me. They are very much afraid, for they think I shall be hard on them. They remember my last visit.’
He made no reference to Constantine, and although I wondered rather at his silence I did not venture again to question him. I wished that I knew what had happened on his last visit. A man with a mouth like Mouraki’s might cause anything to happen.
‘I shall keep them in suspense a little while,‘he pursued, smiling. ‘It’s good for them. Oh, by the way, Wheatley, you may as well take this; or shall I tear it up?’ And suddenly he held out to me the document which I had written and given to Phroso when I restored the island to her.
‘She gave you this?’ I cried.
‘She?’ asked Mouraki, with a smile of mockery. ‘Is there, then, only one woman in the world?’ he seemed to ask sneeringly.
‘The Lady Euphrosyne, to whom I gave it,’ I explained with what dignity I could.
‘The Lady Phroso, yes,’ said he, (‘Hang his Phroso!’ thought I.) ‘I had her before me this morning and made her give it up.’
‘I can only give it back to her, you know.’
‘My dear Wheatley, if you like to amuse yourself in that way I can have no possible objection. Until you obtain a firman, however, you will continue to be Lord of Neopalia and this Phroso no more than a very rebellious young lady. But you’ll enjoy a pleasant interview and no harm will be done. Give it back by all means.’ He smiled again, shrugging his shoulders, and lit a cigarette. His manner was the perfection of polite, patient, gentlemanly contempt.
‘It seems easier to get an island than to getrid of one,’ said I, trying to carry off my annoyance with a laugh.
‘It is the case with so many things,’ agreed Mouraki: ‘debts, diseases, enemies, wives, lovers.’
There was a little pause before the last word, so slight that I could not tell whether it were intentional or not; and I had learnt to expect no enlightenment from Mouraki’s face or eyes. But he chose himself to solve the mystery this time.
‘Do I touch delicate ground?’ he asked. ‘Ah, my dear lord, I find from my reports that in the account you gave me of your experiences you let modesty stand in the way of candour. It was natural perhaps. I don’t blame you, since I have found out elsewhere what you omitted to tell me. Yet it was hardly a secret, since everybody in Neopalia knew it.’
I smoked my cigarette, feeling highly embarrassed and very uncomfortable.
‘And I am told,’ pursued Mouraki, with his malicious smile, ‘that the idea of a Wheatley-Stefanopoulos dynasty is by no means unpopular. Constantine’s little tricks have disgusted them with him.’
‘What are you going to do with him?’ I asked, risking any offence now in order to turn the topic.
‘Do you really like jumping from subject tosubject?’ asked Mouraki plaintively. ‘I am, I suppose, a slow-minded Oriental, and it fatigues me horribly.’
I could have thrown the cigarette I was smoking in his face with keen pleasure.
‘It is for your Excellency to choose the topic,’ said I, restraining my fury.
‘Oh, don’t let us have “Excellencies” when we’re alone together! Indeed I congratulate you on your conquest. She is magnificent; and it was charming of her to make her declaration. That’s what has pleased the islanders: they’re romantic savages, after all, and the chivalry of it touches them.’
‘It must touch anybody,’ said I.
‘Ah, I suppose so,’ said Mouraki, flicking away his ash. ‘I questioned her a little about it this morning.’
‘You questioned her?’ For all I could do there was a quiver of anger in my voice. I heard it myself, and it did not escape my companion’s notice. His smile grew broader.
‘Precisely. I have to consider everything,’ said he. ‘I assure you, my dear Wheatley, that I did it in the most delicate manner possible.’
‘It couldn’t be done in a delicate manner.’
‘I struggled,’ said Mouraki, assuming his plaintive tone again, and spreading out deprecatory hands.
Was Mouraki merely amusing himself with a little ‘chaff,’ or had he a purpose? He seemed like a man who would have a purpose. I grew cool on the thought of it.
‘And did the lady answer your questions?’ I asked carelessly.
‘Wouldn’t it be a treachery in me to tell you what she said?’ countered Mouraki.
‘I think not; because there’s no doubt that the whole thing was only a good-natured device of hers.’
‘Ah! A very good-natured device indeed! She must be an amiable girl,’ smiled the Pasha. ‘Precisely the sort of girl to make a man’s home happy.’
‘She hasn’t much chance of marriage in Neopalia,’ said I.
‘Heaven makes a way,’ observed Mouraki piously. ‘By-the-by, the device seems to have imposed on our acquaintance Kortes.’
‘Oh, perhaps,’ I shrugged. ‘He’s a little smitten himself, I think, and so very ready to be jealous.’
‘How discriminating!’ murmured Mouraki admiringly. ‘As a fact, my dear Wheatley, the lady said nothing. She chose to take offence.’
‘You surprise me!’ I exclaimed with elaborate sarcasm.
‘And wouldn’t speak. But her blushes were most lovely—yes, most lovely. I envied you, upon my word I did.’
‘Since it’s not true—’
‘Oh, a thing may be very pleasant to hear, even if it’s not true. Sincerity in love is an added charm, but not, my dear fellow, a necessity.’
A pause followed this reflection of the Pasha’s. Then he remarked:
‘After all, we mustn’t judge these people as we should judge ourselves. If Constantine hadn’t already a wife—’
‘What?’ I cried, leaping up.
‘And perhaps that difficulty is not insuperable.’
‘He deserves nothing but hanging.’
‘A reluctant wife is hardly better.’
‘Of course you don’t mean it?’
‘It seems to disturb you so much.’
‘It’s a monstrous idea.’
Mouraki laughed in quiet enjoyment of my excitement.
‘Then Kortes?’ he suggested.
‘He’s infinitely her inferior. Besides—forgive me—why is it your concern to marry her to any one?’
‘In a single state she is evidently a danger to the peace of the island,’ he answered with assumed gravity. ‘Now your young friend—’
‘Oh, Denny’s a boy.’
‘You reject everyone,’ he said pathetically, and his eyes dwelt on me in amused scrutiny.
‘Your suggestions, my dear Pasha, seem hardly serious,’ said I in a huff. He was too many for me, and I struggled in vain against betraying my ruffled temper.
‘Well then, I will make two serious suggestions; that is a handsomeamende. And for the first—yourself!’
I waved my hand and gave an embarrassed laugh.
‘You say nothing to that?’
‘Oughtn’t I to hear the alternative first?’
‘Indeed it is only reasonable. Well, then, the alternative—’ He paused, laughed, lit another cigarette. ‘The alternative is—myself,’ said he.
‘Still not serious!’ I exclaimed, forcing a smile.
‘Absolutely serious,’ he asserted. ‘I have the misfortune to be a widower, and for the second time; so unkind is heaven. She is most charming. I have, perhaps, a position which would atone for some want of youth and romantic attractions.’
‘Of course, if she likes—’
‘I don’t think she would persist in refusing,’ said Mouraki with a thoughtful smile; and he went on, ‘Three years ago, when I came here, she struck meas a beautiful child, one likely to become a beautiful woman. You see for yourself that I am not disappointed. My wife was alive at that time, but in bad health. Still I hardly thought seriously of it then, and the idea did not recur to me till I saw Phroso again. You look surprised.’
‘Well, I am surprised.’
‘You don’t think her attractive, then?’
‘Frankly, that is not the reason for my surprise.’
‘Shall I go on? You think me old? It is a young man’s delusion, my dear Wheatley.’
Bear-baiting may have been excellent sport—its defenders so declare—but I do not remember that it was ever considered pleasant for the bear. I felt now much as the bear must have felt. I rose abruptly from the table.
‘All these things require thought,’ said Mouraki gently. ‘We will talk of them again this afternoon. I have a little business to do now.’
Saying this, he rose and leisurely took his way upstairs. I was left alone in the hall so familiar to me; and my first thought was a regret that I was not again a prisoner there, with Constantine seeking my life, Phroso depending on my protection, and Mouraki administering some other portion of his district. That condition of things had been, no doubt, rather too exciting to be pleasant; but it had not made me harassed, wretched, humiliated,exasperated almost beyond endurance: and such was the mood in which the two conversations of the morning left me.
A light step sounded on the stair: the figure that of all figures I least wished to see then, that I rejoiced to see more than any in the world besides, appeared before me. Phroso came down. She reached the floor of the hall and saw me. For a long moment we each rested as we were. Then she stepped towards me, and I rose with a bow. She was very pale, but a smile came on her lips as she murmured a greeting to me and passed on. I should have done better to let her go. I rose and followed. On the marble pavement by the threshold I overtook her; there we stood again looking on the twinkling sea in the distance, as we had looked before. I was seeking what to say.
‘I must thank you,’ I said; ‘yet I can’t. It was magnificent.’
The colour suddenly flooded her face.
‘You understood?’ she murmured. ‘You understood why? It seemed the only way; and I think it did help a little.’
I bent down and kissed her hand.
‘I don’t care whether it helped,’ I said. ‘It was the thing itself.’
‘I didn’t care for them—the people—but when I thought what you would think—’ She couldnot go on, but drew her hand, which she had left an instant in mine as though forgetful of it, suddenly away.
‘I—I knew, of course, that it was only a—a stratagem,’ said I. ‘Oh, yes, I knew that directly.’
‘Yes,’ whispered she, looking over the sea.
‘Yes,’ said I, also looking over the sea.
‘You forgive it?’
‘Forgive!’ My voice came low and husky. I did not see why such things should be laid on a man; I did not know if I could endure them. Yet I would not have left her then for an angel’s crown.
‘And you will forget it? I mean, you—’ The whisper died into silence.
‘So long as I live I will not forget it,’ said I.
Then, by a seemingly irresistible impulse that came upon both of us, we looked in one another’s eyes, a long look that lingered and was loth to end. As I looked, I saw, in joy that struggled with shame, a new light in the glowing depths of Phroso’s eyes, a greeting of an undreamt happiness, a terrified delight. Then her lids dropped and she began to speak quietly and low.
‘It came on me that I might help if I said it, because the islanders love me, and so, perhaps, they wouldn’t hurt you. But I couldn’t look at you. I only prayed you would understand, that youwouldn’t think—oh, that you wouldn’t think—that—of me, my lord. And I didn’t know how to meet you to-day, but I had to.’
I stood silent beside her, curiously conscious of every detail of Nature’s picture before me; for I had turned from her again, and my eyes roamed over sea and island. But at that moment there came from one of the narrow windows of the old house, directly above our heads, the sound of a low, amused, luxurious chuckle. A look of dread and shrinking spread over Phroso’s face.
‘Ah, that man!’ she exclaimed in an agitated whisper.
‘What of him?’
‘He has been here before. I have seen him smile and heard him laugh like that when he sent men to death and looked on while they died. Yes, men of our own island, men who had served us and were our friends. Ah, he frightens me, that man!’ She shuddered, stretching out her hand in an unconscious gesture, as though she would ward off some horrible thing. ‘I have heard him laugh like that when a woman asked her son’s life of him and a girl her lover’s. It kills me to be near him. He has no pity. My lord, intercede with him for the islanders. They are ignorant men: they did not know.’
‘Not one shall be hurt if I can help it,’ said Iearnestly. ‘But—’ I stopped; yet I would go on, and I added, ‘Have you no fear of him yourself?’
‘What can he do to me?’ she asked. ‘He talked to me this morning about—about you. I hate to talk with him. But what can he do to me?’
I was silent. Mouraki had not hinted to her the idea which he had suggested, in puzzling ambiguity between jest and earnest, to me. Her eyes questioned me; then suddenly she laid her hand on my arm and said:
‘And you would protect me, my lord. While you were here, I should be safe.’
‘While!’ The little word struck cold on my heart: my eyes showed her the blow; in a minute she understood. She raised her hand from where it lay and pointed out towards the sea. I saw the pretty trim little yacht running home for the harbour after her morning cruise.
‘Yes, while you are here, my lord,’ she said, with the most pitiful of brave smiles.
‘As long as you want me, I shall be here,’ I assured her.
She raised her eyes to mine, the colour came again to her face.
‘As long as you are in any danger,’ I added in explanation.
‘Ah, yes!’ said she, with a sigh and drooping eyelids; and she went on in a moment, as though recollecting a civility due and not paid, ‘You are very good to me, my lord; for your island has treated you unkindly, and you will be glad to sail away from it to your home.’
‘It is,’ said I, bending towards her, ‘the most beautiful island in the world, and I would love to stay in it all my life.’
Again the pleased contented chuckle sounded from the window over our heads. It seemed to strike Phroso with a new fit of sudden fear. With a faint cry she darted out her hand and seized mine.
‘Don’t be afraid. He sha’n’t hurt you,’ said I.
A moment later we heard steps descending the stairs inside the house. Mouraki appeared on the threshold. Phroso had sprung away from me and stood a few paces off. Yet Mouraki knew that we had not stood thus distantly before his steps were heard. He looked at Phroso and then at me: a blush from her, a scowl from me, filled any gaps in his knowledge. He stood there smiling—I began to hate the Pasha’s smiles—for a moment, and then came forward. He bowed slightly, but civilly enough, to Phroso; then to my astonishment he took my hand and began to shake it with a great appearance of cordiality.
‘Really I beg your pardon,’ said I. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘The matter?’ he cried in high good humour, or what seemed such. ‘The matter? Why, the matter, my dear Wheatley, is that you appear to be both a very discreet fellow and a very fortunate one.’
‘I don’t understand yet,’ said I, trying to hide my growing irritation.
‘Surely it’s no secret?’ he asked. ‘It is generally known, isn’t it?’
‘What’s generally known?’ I fairly roared in an exasperation that mastered all self-control.
The Pasha was not in the very least disturbed. He held a bundle of letters in his left hand and he began now to sort them. He ended by choosing one, which he held up before me, with a malicious humour twinkling from under his heavy brows.
‘I get behindhand in my correspondence when I’m on a voyage,’ said he. ‘This letter came to Rhodes about a week ago, together with a mass of public papers, and I have only this morning opened it. It concerns you.’
‘Concerns me? Pray, in what way?’
‘Or rather it mentions you.’
‘Who is it from?’ I asked. The man’s face was full of triumphant spite, and I grew uneasy.
‘It is,’ said he, ‘from our Ambassador in London. I think you know him.’
‘Slightly.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Well?’
‘He asks how you are getting on in Neopalia, or whether I have any news of you.’
‘You’ll be able to answer him now.’
‘Yes, yes, with great satisfaction. And he will be able to answer some inquiries which he has had.’
I knew what was coming now. Mouraki beamed pleasure. I set my face. At Phroso, who stood near all this while in silence, I dared not look.
‘From a certain lady who is most anxious about you.’
‘Ah!’
‘A Miss Hipgrave—Miss Beatrice Hipgrave.’
‘Ah, yes!’
‘Who is a friend of yours?’
‘Certainly, my dear Pasha.’
‘Who is, in fact—let me shake hands again—your future wife. A thousand congratulations!’
‘Oh, thanks, you’re very kind,’ said I. ‘Yes, she is.’
I declare that I must have played this scene—no easy one—well, for Mouraki’s rapturous amusement disappeared. He seemed rather put outHe looked (and I hope felt) a trifle foolish. I kept a cool careless glance on him.
But his triumph came from elsewhere. He turned from me to Phroso, and my eyes followed his. She stood rigid, frozen, lifeless; she devoured my face with an appealing gaze. She made no sign and uttered no sound. Mouraki smiled again; and I said:
‘Any London news, my dear Pasha?’
I wasglad. As soon as I was alone and had time to think over Mouraki’scoupI was glad. He had ended a false position into which my weakness had led me; he had rendered it possible for me to serve Phroso in friendship pure and simple; he had decided a struggle which I had failed to decide for myself. It would be easy now (so I told myself) for both of us to repose on that fiction of a good-natured device and leave our innermost feelings in decent obscurity while we counter-mined the scheme which the Pasha had in hand. This scheme he proceeded to forward with all the patience and ability of which he was master. For the next week or so matters seemed to stand still, but to a closer study they revealed slow, yet uninterrupted, movement. I was left almost entirely alone at the house; but I could not bring myself to abandon my position and seek the society of my friends on the yacht. Though reduced to idleness and robbed of any part in the drama, Iwould not forsake the stage, but lagged a superfluous spectator of an unpleasing piece. Mouraki was at work. He saw Phroso every day, and for long interviews. I hardly set my eyes on her. The affairs of the island afforded him a constant pretext for conferring with, or dictating to, its Lady; I had no excuse for forcing an intercourse which Phroso evidently was at pains to avoid. I could imagine the Pasha’s progress, not in favour or willing acceptance, for I knew her fear and hatred of him, but in beating down her courage and creating a despair which would serve him as well as love. Beyond doubt he was serious in his design; his cool patience spoke settled purpose, his obvious satisfaction declared a conviction of success. He acquiesced in Phroso’s seclusion, save when he sent for her; he triumphed in watching me spend weary hours in solitary pacing up and down before the house; he would look at me with a covert exultation and amuse himself by a renewal of sympathetic congratulations on my engagement. I do not think that he wished me away. I was the sauce to his dish, the garlic in the salad, the spice in the sweetmeat over which he licked appreciative lips. Thus passed eight or ten days, and I grew more out of temper, more sour, and more determined with every setting sun. Denny ceased to praymy company; I was not to be moved from the neighbourhood of the house. I waited, the Pasha waited; he paved his way, I lay in ambush by it; he was bent on conquering Phroso, I had no design, only a passionate resolve that he should try a fall with me first.
There came a dark stormy evening, when the clouds sent down a thick close rain and the wind blew in mournful gusts. Having escaped from Mouraki’s talk, I had watched him go upstairs, and myself had come out to pace again my useless beat. I strayed a few hundred yards from the house, and turned to look at the light in the Governor’s window. It shone bright and steady, seeming to typify his relentless unvarying purpose. A sudden oath escaped from the weary sickness of my heart; there came an unlooked-for answer at my elbow.
‘He acts, you talk, my lord. He works, you are content to curse him. Which will win?’ said a grave voice; and Kortes’s handsome figure was dimly visible in the darkness. ‘He works, she weeps, you curse. Who will win?’ he asked again, folding his arms.
‘Your question carries its own answer, doesn’t it?’ I retorted angrily.
‘Yes, if I have put it right,’ said he; there was a touch of scorn in his voice that I did not care tohear. ‘Yes, it carries its own answer, if you are content to leave it as I stated it.’
‘Content! Good God!’
He drew nearer to me and whispered:
‘This morning he told her his purpose; this evening again—yes, now, while we talk—he is forcing it on her. And what help has she?’
‘She won’t let me help her; she won’t let me see her.’
‘How can you help her, you who do nothing but curse?’
‘Look here, Kortes,’ said I, ‘I know all that. I’m a fool and a worm and everything else you like to intimate; but your contempt doesn’t seem much more practical than my cursing. What’s in your mind?’
‘You must keep faith with this lady in your own land?’
‘You know of her?’
‘My sister has told me—she who waits on the Lady Euphrosyne.’
‘Ah! Yes, I must keep faith with her.’
‘And with Mouraki?’ he asked.
My mind travelled with his. I caught him eagerly by the arm. I had his idea in a moment.
‘Why that?’ I asked. ‘Yes, Kortes, why that?’
‘I thought you were so scrupulous, my lord.’
‘I have no scruples in deceiving this Mouraki.’
‘That’s better, my lord,’ he answered with a grim smile. ‘By heavens, I thought we were to dance together at the wedding!’
‘The wedding?’ I cried. ‘I think not. Kortes, do you mean—?’ I made a gesture that indicated some violence to Mouraki; but I added, ‘It must be open fight though.’
‘You mustn’t touch a hair of his head. The island would answer bitterly for that.’
We stood in silence for a moment. Then I gave a short laugh.
‘My character is my own,’ said I. ‘I may blacken it if I like.’
‘It is only in the eyes of Mouraki Pasha,’ said Kortes with a smile.
‘But will she understand? There must be no more—’
‘She will understand. You shall see her.’
‘You can contrive that?’
‘Yes, with my sister’s help. Will you tell Mouraki first?’
‘No—her first. She may refuse.’
‘She loathes him too much to refuse anything.’
‘Good. When, then?’
‘To-night. She will leave him soon.’
‘But he watches her to her room.’
‘Yes; but you, my lord, know that there is another way.’
‘Yes, yes; by the roof. The ladder?’
‘It shall be there for you in an hour.’
‘And you, Kortes?’
‘I’ll wait at the foot of it. The Pasha himself should not mount it alive.’
‘Kortes, it is trusting me much.’
‘I know, my lord. If you were not a man to be trusted you would do what you are going to pretend.’
‘I hope you’re right. Kortes, it sets me aflame now to be near her.’
‘Can’t I understand that, my lord?’ said he, with a sad smile.
‘By heaven, you’re a good fellow!’
‘I am a servant of the Stefanopouloi.’
‘Your sister will tell her before I come? I couldn’t tell her myself.’
‘Yes; she shall be told before you come.’
‘In an hour, then?’
‘Yes.’ And without another word, he strode by me. I caught his hand as he went, and pressed it. Then I was alone in the darkness again, but with a plan in my head and a weapon in my hand, and no more empty useless cursings in my mouth. Busily rehearsing the part I was to play, I resumed my quick pacing. It was a hard part, but a good part. I would match Mouraki with his own weapons; my cynicism should beat his,my indifference to the claims of honour overtop his shameless use of terror or of force. The smiles should now be not all the Pasha’s. I would have a smile too, one that would, I trusted, compel a scowl even from his smooth inscrutable face.
I was walking quickly; on a sudden I came almost in contact with a man, who leapt on one side to avoid me. ‘Who’s there?’ I cried, standing on my defence, as I had learnt was wise in Neopalia.
‘It is I, Demetri,’ answered a sullen voice.
‘What are you doing here, Demetri? And with your gun!’
‘I walk by night, like my lord.’
‘Your walks by night have had a meaning before now.’
‘They mean no harm to you now.’
‘Harm to any one?’
A pause followed before his gruff voice answered:
‘Harm to nobody. What harm can be done when my gracious lord the Governor is on the island and watches over it?’
‘True, Demetri. He has small mercy for wrongdoers and turbulent fellows such as some I know of.’
‘I know him as well as you, my lord, andbetter,’ said the fellow. His voice was charged with a passionate hate. ‘Yes, there are many in Neopalia who know Mouraki.’
‘So says Mouraki; and he says it as though it pleased him.’
‘One day he shall have proof enough to satisfy him,’ growled Demetri.
The savage rage of the fellow’s tone had caught my attention, and I gazed intently into his face; not even the darkness quite hid the angry gleam of his deep-set eyes.
‘Demetri, Demetri,’ said I, ‘aren’t you on a dangerous path? I see a long knife in your belt there, and that gun—isn’t it loaded? Come, go back to your home.’
He seemed influenced by my remonstrances, but he denied the suggestion I made.
‘I don’t seek his life,’ he said sullenly. ‘If we were strong enough to fight openly—well, I say nothing of that. He killed my brother, my lord.’
‘I killed a brother of yours too, Demetri.’
‘Yes, in honest fighting, when he sought to kill you. You didn’t half kill him with the lash, before his mother’s eyes, and finish the work with a rope.’
‘Mouraki did?’
‘Yes, my lord. But it is nothing, my lord. I mean no harm.’
‘Look here, Demetri. I don’t love Mouraki myself, and you did me a good turn a little while ago; but if I find you hanging about here again with your gun and your knife I’ll tell Mouraki, as sure as I’m alive. Where I come from we don’t assassinate. Do you see?’
‘I hear, my lord. Indeed I had no such purpose.’
‘You know your purpose best; and now you know what I shall do. Come, be off with you, and don’t shew yourself here again.’
He cringed before me with renewed protestations; but his invention provided no excuse for his presence. He swore to me that I wronged him. I contented myself with ordering him off, and at last he went off, striking back towards the village. ‘Upon my word,’ said I, ‘it’s a nuisance to be honourably brought up.’ For it would have been marvellously convenient to let Demetri have a shot at the Pasha with that gun of his, or a stab with the long knife he had fingered so affectionately.
This encounter had passed the time of waiting, and now I strolled back to the house. It was hard on midnight. The light in Mouraki’s window was extinguished. Two soldiers stood sentry by the closed door. They let me in and locked the door behind me. This watch was not kept on me;Mouraki knew very well that I had no desire to leave the island. Phroso was the prisoner and the prize that the Pasha guarded; perhaps, also, he had an inkling that he was not popular in Neopalia, and that he would not be wise to trust to the loyalty of its inhabitants.
Soon I found myself in the compound at the back of the house. The ladder was placed ready; Kortes stood beside it. There seemed to be nobody else about. The rain still fell, and the wind had risen till it whistled wildly in the wood.
‘She’s waiting for you,’ whispered Kortes. ‘She knows and she will second the plan.’
‘Where is she?’
‘On the roof. She’s wrapped in my cloak; she will take no hurt.’
‘And Mouraki?’
‘He’s gone to bed. She was with him two hours.’
I mounted the ladder and found myself on the flat roof, where once Phroso had stood gazing up towards the cottage on the hill. We were fighting Constantine then; Mouraki was our foe now. Constantine lay a prisoner, harmless, as it seemed, and helpless. I prayed for a like good fortune in the new enterprise. An instant later I found Phroso’s hand in mine. I carried it to my lips, asI murmured my greeting in a hushed voice. The first answer was a nervous sob, but Phroso followed it with a pleading apology.
‘I’m so tired,’ she said, ‘so tired. I have fought him for two hours to-night. Forgive me. I will be brave, my lord.’
I had determined on a cold business-like manner. I went as straight to the point as a busy man in his city office.
‘You know the plan? You consent to it?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I think I understand it. It is good of you, my lord. For you may run great danger through me.’
That was indeed true, and in more senses than one.
‘I do for you what you did not hesitate to do for me,’ said I.
‘Yes,’ said Phroso in a very low whisper.
‘You pretended; well then, now I pretend.’ My voice sounded not only cold, but bitter and unpleasant. ‘I think it may succeed,’ I continued. ‘He won’t dare to take any extreme steps against me. I don’t see how he can prevent our going.’
‘He will let us go, you think?’
‘I don’t know how he can refuse. And where will you go?’
‘I have some friends at Athens, people who knew my father.’
‘Good. I’ll take you there and—’ I paused. ‘I’ll—I’ll take you there and—’ Again I paused; I could not help it. ‘And leave you there in safety,’ I ended at last in a gruff harsh whisper.
‘Yes, my lord. And then you will go home in safety?’
‘Perhaps. That doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does matter,’ said she, softly. ‘For I would not be in safety unless you were.’
‘Ah, Phroso, don’t do that,’ I groaned inwardly.
‘Yes, you will go back in safety, back to your own land, back to the lady—’
‘Never mind—’ I began.
‘Back to the lady whom my lord loves,’ whispered Phroso. ‘Then you will forget this troublesome island and the troublesome—the troublesome people on it.’
Her face was no more than a foot from mine—pale, with sad eyes and a smile that quivered on trembling lips; the fairest face in the world that I had seen or believed any man to have seen; and her hand rested in mine. There may live men who would have looked over her head and not in those eyes—saints or dolts; I was neither; not I. I looked. I looked as though I should never look elsewhere again, nor cared to live if I could notlook. But Phroso’s hand was drawn from mine and her eyes fell. I had to end the silence.
‘I shall go straight to Mouraki to-morrow morning,’ said I, ‘and tell him you have agreed to be my wife; that you will come with me under the care of Kortes and his sister, and that we shall be married on the first opportunity.’
‘But he knows about—about the lady you love.’
‘It won’t surprise Mouraki to hear that I am going to break my faith with—the lady I love,’ said I.
‘No,’ said Phroso, refusing resolutely to look at me again. ‘It won’t surprise Mouraki.’
‘Perhaps it wouldn’t surprise any one.’
Phroso made no comment on this; and the moment I had said it I heard a voice below, a voice I knew very well.
‘What’s the ladder here for, my friend?’ it asked.
‘It enables one to ascend or descend, my lord,’ answered Kortes’s grave voice, without the least touch of irony.
‘It’s Mouraki,’ whispered Phroso; at the time of danger her frightened eyes came back to mine, and she drew nearer to me. ‘It’s Mouraki, my lord.’
‘I know it is,’ said I; ‘so much the better.’
‘That seems probable,’ observed Mouraki. ‘But to enable whom to ascend and descend, friend Kortes?’
‘Anyone who desires, my lord.’
‘Then I will ascend,’ said Mouraki.
‘A thousand pardons, my lord!’
‘Stand aside, sir. What, you dare—’
‘Run back to your room,’ I whispered. ‘Quick. Good-night.’ I caught her hand and pressed it. She turned and disappeared swiftly through the door which gave access to the inside of the house and thence to her room; and I—glad that the interview had been interrupted, for I could have borne little more of it—walked to the battlements and looked over. Kortes stood like a wall between the astonished Mouraki and the ladder.
‘Kortes, Kortes,’I cried in a tone of grieved surprise, ‘is it possible that you don’t recognise his Excellency?’
‘Why, Wheatley!’ cried Mouraki.
‘Who else should it be, my dear Pasha? Will you come up, or shall I come down and join you? Out of the way, Kortes.’
Kortes, who would not obey Mouraki, obeyed me. Mouraki seemed to hesitate about mounting. I solved the difficulty by descending rapidly. I was smiling, and I took the Pasha by the arm, saying with a laugh: