‘All letters,’ observed the captain, who was leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling, ‘would pass through his hands, if he chose to make them.’
‘Good heavens!’ I cried, springing forward. The hint was enough. In an instant my busy, nervous, shaking hands were ruining the neat piles of documents which the captain had reared so carefully in front and on either side of him. I dived, tossed, fumbled, rummaged, scattered, strewed, tore. The captain, incapable of resisting my excited energy, groaned in helpless despair at the destruction of his evening’s work. Denny, having watched me for a few minutes, suddenly broke out into a peal of laughter. I stopped for an instant to glare reproof of his ill-timed mirth, and turned to my wild search again.
The search seemed useless. Either Mouraki had not received a letter from Mrs Bennett Hipgrave, or he had done what I myself always did with the good lady’s communications—thrown it away immediately after reading it. I examined every scrap of paper, official documents,private notes (the captain was very nervous when I insisted on looking through these for a trace of Mrs Hipgrave’s name), lists of stores; in a word, the whole contents of Mouraki’s despatch-boxes.
‘It’s a blank!’ I cried, stepping back at last in disappointment.
‘Yes, it’s gone; but depend upon it, he had it,’ said Denny.
A sudden recollection flashed across me, the remembrance of the subtle amused smile with which Mouraki had spoken of the lady who was most anxious about me and my future wife. He must have known then; he must even then have had Mrs Hipgrave’s letter in his possession. He had played a deliberate trick on me by suppressing the letter; hence his fury when I announced my intention of disregarding the ties that bound me—a fury which had, for the moment, conquered his cool cunning and led him into violent threats. At that moment, when I realised the man’s audacious knavery, when I thought of the struggle he had caused to me and the pain to Phroso, well, just then I came near to canonising Demetri, and nearer still to grudging him his exploit.
‘What was in the letter, then?’ I cried to Denny.
‘Read mine again,’ said he, and he threw it across to me.
I read it again. I was cooler now, and the meaning of it stood out plain and not to be doubted. Mrs Bennett Hipgrave’s letter, her wise letter, had broken off my engagement to her daughter. The fact was plain; all that was missing, destroyed by the caution or the carelessness of Mouraki Pasha, was the reason; and the reason I could supply for myself. I reached my conclusion, and looked again at Denny.
‘Allow me to congratulate you,’ said Denny ironically.
Man is a curious creature. I (and other people) may have made that reflection before. I offer no apology for it. The more I see of myself and my friends the more convinced I grow of its truth. Here was the thing for which I had been hoping and praying, the one great gift that I asked of fate, the single boon which fortune enviously withheld. Here was freedom—divine freedom! Yet what I actually said to Denny, in reply to his felicitations, was:
‘Hang the girl! She’s jilted me!’ And I said it with considerable annoyance.
The captain, who studied English in his spare moments, here interposed, asking suavely:
‘Pray, my dear Lord Wheatley, what is the meaning of that word—“jilted”?’
‘The meaning of “jilted”?’ said Denny. ‘He wants to know the meaning of “jilted,” Charley.’
I looked from one to the other of them; then I said:
‘I think I’ll go and ask,’ and I started for the door. The captain’s expression accused me of rudeness. Denny caught me by the arm.
‘It’s not decent yet,’ said he, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘It happened nearly a month ago,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ve had time to get over it, Denny; a man can’t wear the willow all his life.’
‘You old humbug!’ said Denny, but let me go.
I was not long in going. I darted down the stairs. I suppose a man tricks his conscience and will find excuses for himself where others can find only matter for laughter, but I remember congratulating myself on not having spoken the decisive words to Phroso before Denny interrupted us. Well, I would speak them now. I was free to speak them now. Suddenly, in this thought, the vexation at being jilted vanished.
‘It amounts,’ said I to myself, as I reached the hall, ‘to no more than a fortunate coincidenceof opinion.’ And I passed through the door and turned sharp round to the left.
She was there waiting for me, and waiting eagerly, it seemed, for, before I could speak, she ran to me, holding out her hands, and she cried in a low urgent whisper, full of entreaty:
‘My lord, I have thought. I have thought while you were in the house. You must not do this, my lord. Yes, I know—now I know—that you love me, but you mustn’t do this. My lord’s honour shan’t be stained for my sake.’
I could not resist it, and I cannot justify it. I assumed a terribly sad expression.
‘You’ve really come to that conclusion, Phroso?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Ah, how difficult it is! But my lord’s honour—ah, don’t tempt me! You will take me to Athens, won’t you? And then—’
‘And then,’ said I, ‘you’ll leave me?’
‘Yes,’ said Phroso, with a little catch in her voice.
‘And what shall I do, left alone?’
‘Go back,’ murmured Phroso almost inaudibly.
‘Go back—thinking of those wonderful eyes?’
‘No, no. Thinking of—’
‘The lady who waits for me over the sea?’
‘Yes. And oh, my lord, I pray that you will find happiness!’
There was a moment’s silence. Phroso did not look at me; but then I did look at Phroso.
‘Then you refuse, Phroso, to have anything to say to me?’
No answer at all reached me; I came nearer, being afraid that I might not have heard her reply.
‘What am I to do for a wife, Phroso?’ I asked forlornly. ‘Because, Phroso—’
‘Ah, my lord, why do you take my hand again?’
‘Did I, Phroso? Because, Phroso, the lady who waits over the sea—it’s a charmingly poetic phrase, upon my word!’
‘You laugh!’ murmured Phroso, in aggrieved protest and wonder.
‘Did I really laugh, Phroso? Well, I’m happy, so I may laugh.’
‘Happy?’ she whispered; then at last her eyes were drawn to mine in mingled hope and anguish of questioning.
‘The lady who waited over the sea,’ said I, ‘waits no longer, Phroso.’
The wonderful eyes grew more wonderful in their amazed widening; and Phroso, laying a hand gently on my arm, said:
‘She waits no longer? My lord, she is dead?’
This confident inference was extremely flattering.There was evidently but one thing which could end the patient waiting of the lady who waited.
‘On the contrary she thinks that I am. Constantine spread news of my death.’
‘Ah, yes!’
‘He said that I died of fever.’
‘And she believes it?’
‘She does, Phroso; and she appears to be really very sorry.’
‘Ah, but what joy will be hers when she learns—’
‘But, Phroso, before she thought I was dead, she had made up her mind to wait no longer.’
‘To wait no longer? What do you mean? Ah, my lord, tell me what you mean!’
‘What has happened to me, here in Neopalia, Phroso?’
‘Many strange things, my lord—some most terrible.’
‘And some most—most what, Phroso? One thing that has happened to me has, I think, happened also to the lady who waited.’
Phroso’s hand—the one I had not taken—was suddenly stretched out, and she spoke in a voice that sounded half-stifled:
‘Tell me, my lord, tell me. I can’t endure it longer.’
Then I grew grave and said:
‘I am free. She has given me my freedom.’
‘She has set you free?’
‘She loves me no longer, I suppose, if she ever did.’
‘Oh, but, my lord, it is impossible.’
‘Should you think it so? Phroso, it is true—true that I can come to you now.’
She understood at last. For a moment she was silent, and I, silent also, pierced through the darkness to her wondering face. Once she stretched out her arms; then there came a little, long, low laugh, and she put her hands together, and thrust them, thus clasped, between mine that closed on them.
‘My lord, my lord, my lord!’ said Phroso.
Suddenly I heard a low mournful chant coming up from the harbour, the moan of mourning voices. The sound struck across the stillness which had followed her last words.
‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘What are they doing down there?’
‘Didn’t you know?’ The bodies of my cousin and of Kortes came forth at sunset from the secret pool into which they fell: and they bring them now to bury them by the church. They mourn Kortes because they loved him; and Constantine also they feign to mourn, because he was of the house of the Stefanopouloi.’
We stood for some minutes listening to the chant that rose and fell and echoed among the hills. Its sad cadences, mingled here and there with the note of sustained hope, seemed a fitting end to the story, to the stormy days that were rounded off at last by peace and joy to us who lived, and by the embraces of the all-hiding all-pardoning earth for those who had fallen. I put my arm round Phroso, and, thus at last together, we listened till the sounds died away in low echoes, and silence fell again on the island.
‘Ah, the dear island!’ said Phroso softly. ‘You won’t take me away from it for ever? It is my lord’s island now, and it will be faithful to him, even as I myself; for God has been very good, and my lord is very good.’
I looked at her. Her cheeks were again wet with tears. As I watched a drop fell from her eyes. I said to her softly:
‘That shall be the last, Phroso, till we part again.’
A loud cough from the front of the house interrupted us. I advanced, beckoning to Phroso to follow, and wearing, I am afraid, the apologetic look usual under such circumstances. And I found Denny and the captain.
‘Are you coming down to the yacht, Charley?’ asked Denny.
’Er—in a few minutes, Denny.’
‘Shall I wait for you?’
‘Oh, I think I can find my way.’
Denny laughed and caught me by the hand; then he passed on to Phroso. I do not, however, know what he said to her, for at this moment the captain touched my shoulder and demanded my attention.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said he, ‘but you never told me the meaning of that word.’
‘What word, my dear captain?’
‘Why, the word you used of the lady’s letter—of what she had done.’
‘Oh, you mean “jilted”?’
‘Yes; that’s it.’
‘It is,’ said I, after a moment’s reflection, ‘a word of very various meanings.’
‘Ah,’ said the captain, with a comprehending nod.
‘Yes, very various. In one sense it means to make a man miserable.’
‘Yes, I see; to make him unhappy.’
‘And in another to make him—to make him, captain, the luckiest beggar alive.’
‘It’s a strange word,’ observed the captain meditatively.
‘I don’t know about that,’ said I. ‘Good-night.’
Thenext morning came bright and beautiful, with a pleasant fresh breeze. It was just the day for a run in the yacht. So I thought when I mounted on deck at eight o’clock in the morning. Watkins was there, staring meditatively at the harbour and the street beyond. Perceiving me, he touched his hat and observed:
‘It’s a queer little place, my lord.’
My eyes followed the direction of Watkins’s, and I gave a slight sigh.
‘Do you think the island is going to be quiet now, Watkins?’ I asked.
I do not think that he quite understood my question, for he said that the weather looked like being fine. I had not meant the weather; my sigh was paid to the ending of Neopalia’s exciting caprices; for, though the end was prosperous, I was a little sorry that we had come to the end.
‘The Lady Phroso will come on board aboutten, and we’ll go for a little run,’ I said. ‘Just look after some lunch.’
‘Everything will be ready for your lordship and her ladyship,’ said Watkins. Hitherto he had been rather doubtful about Phroso’s claim to nobility, but the news of last night planted her firmly in the status of ‘ladyship.’ ‘Has your lordship heard,’ he continued, ‘that the launch is to carry the Governor’s body to Constantinople? There she is by the gunboat.’
‘Oh, yes, I see. They seem to be giving the gunboat a rub down, Watkins.’
‘Not before it was necessary, my lord. A dirtier deck I never saw.’
The gunboat was evidently enjoying a thorough cleaning; the sailors, half-naked, were scouring her decks, and some of the soldiers were assisting lazily.
‘The officers have landed to explore the island, my lord. When Mouraki was alive, they were not allowed to land at all.’
‘Mouraki’s death makes a good many differences, eh, Watkins?’
‘That it does, my lord,’ rejoined Watkins, with a decorous smile.
I left him, and, having landed, strolled up to the house. The yacht was to have her steam up ready to start by the time I returned. Isauntered leisurely through the street, such of the islanders as I met saluting me in a most friendly fashion. Certainly times were changed for me in Neopalia, and I chid myself for the ingratitude expressed in my sigh. Neopalia in its new placidity was very pleasant.
Very pleasant also was Phroso, as she came to meet me from the house, radiant and shy. We wasted no time there, but at once returned to the harbour, for the dancing water tempted us: thus we found ourselves on board an hour before the appointed time, and I took Phroso down below to show her the cabin, in which, under the escort of Kortes’s sister, she was to make the voyage. Denny looked in on us for a moment, announced that the fires were getting up, and that we could start in half-an-hour. Hogvardt appeared with his account of expenditure, and disappeared far more quickly. Meanwhile, we talked as lovers will—and ought—about things that do not need record; for, not being worth remembering, they are ever remembered, as is the way of this perverse world.
Presently, however, Denny hailed me, telling me that the captain desired to see me. I begged Phroso to stay where she was—I should be back in a moment—and went on deck. The captain was there, and he began to draw me aside.Perceiving that he had something to say, I proposed to him that we should go to the little smoking-room forward. He acquiesced, and as soon as we were seated, and Watkins had brought coffee and cigarettes, he turned to me with an aspect of sincere gratification, as he said:
‘My dear Lord Wheatley, I am rejoiced to tell you that I was quite right as to the view likely to be taken of your position. I have received, by the launch, instructions telegraphed to Rhodes, and they enable me to set you free at once. In point of fact, there is no disposition in official quarters to raise any question concerning your share in recent events. You are, therefore, at liberty to suit your own convenience entirely, and I need not detain you an hour.’
‘My dear captain, I’m infinitely obliged to you. I’m much indebted for your good offices.’
‘Indeed, no. I merely reported what had occurred. Shall you leave to-day?’
‘Oh, no, not for a day or two. To-day, you see, I’m going for a little pleasure expedition. I wish you’d join us;’ for I felt in a most friendly mood towards him.
‘Indeed I wish I could,’ said he, with equal friendliness; ‘but I’m obliged to go up to the house at once.’
‘To the house? What for?’
‘To communicate to the Lady Euphrosyne my instructions concerning her.’
I was about to put a cigarette to my lips, but I stopped, suspending it in mid-air.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, ‘but have you instructions concerning her?’
He smiled, and laid a hand on my arm with an apologetic air.
‘I don’t think that there is any cause for serious uneasiness,’ said he, ‘though the delay will, I fear, be somewhat irksome to you. I must say, also, that it is impossible—yes, I admit that it is impossible—altogether to ignore the serious disturbances which have occurred; and these Neopalians are old offenders. Still I’m confident that the lady will be most leniently treated, especially in view of the relation in which she now stands to you.’
‘What are your instructions?’ I asked shortly.
‘I am instructed to bring her with me, as soon as I have made provisional arrangements for the order of the island, and to carry her to Smyrna, where I am ordered to sail. From there she will be sent home, to await the result of an inquiry. But, pray, don’t be uneasy. I have no doubt at all that she will be acquitted of blame or, at least, escape with a reprimand or a nominal penalty.The delay is really the only annoying matter. Annoying to you, I mean, Lord Wheatley.’
‘The delay? Is it likely to be serious?’
‘Well,’ admitted the captain, with a candid air, ‘we don’t move hastily in these matters; no, our procedure is not rapid. Still I should say that a year, or, well, perhaps eighteen months, would see an end of it. Oh, yes, I really think so.’
‘Eighteen months?’ I cried, aghast. ‘But she’ll be my wife long before that—in eighteen days, I hope.’
‘Oh, no, no, my dear lord,’ said he, shaking his head soothingly. ‘She will certainly not be allowed to marry you until these matters are settled. But don’t be vexed. You’re young. You can afford to wait. What, after all, is a year or eighteen months at your time of life?’
‘It’s a great deal worse,’ said I, ‘than at any other time of life.’ But he only laughed gently and gulped down the remainder of his coffee. Then he went on in his quiet placid way:
‘So I’m afraid I can’t join your little excursion. I must go up to the house at once, and acquaint the lady with my instructions. She may have some preparations to make, and I must take her with me the day after to-morrow. As you see, my ship is undergoing some trifling repairs and cleaning, and I can’t be ready to start before then.’
I sat silent for a moment or two, smoking my cigarette; and I looked at the placid captain out of the corner of my eye.’
‘I really hope you aren’t much annoyed, my dear Lord Wheatley?’ said he, after a moment or two.
‘Oh, it’s vexatious, of course,’ I returned carelessly; ‘but I suppose there’s no help for it. But, captain, I don’t see why you shouldn’t join us to-day. We shall be back in the afternoon, and it will be plenty of time then to inform the Lady Phroso. She’s not a fashionable woman who wants forty-eight hours to pack her gowns.’
‘It’s certainly a lovely morning for a little cruise,’ said the captain longingly.
‘And I want to point out to you the exact spot where Demetri killed the Pasha.’
‘That would certainly be very interesting.’
‘Then you’ll come?’
‘You’re certain to be back in time for—?’
‘Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to talk to Phroso. I’ll see to that. You can send a message to her now, if you like.’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary. If I see her this afternoon—’
‘I promise you that you shall.’
‘But aren’t you going to see her to-day? I thought you would spend the day with her.’
‘Oh, I shall hope to see her too; you won’t monopolise her, you know. Just now I’m for a cruise.’
‘You’re a philosophical lover,’ he laughed. I laughed also, shrugging my shoulders.
‘Then, if you’ll excuse me—no, don’t move, don’t move—I’ll give orders for our start, and come back for another cigarette with you.’
‘You’re most obliging,’ said he, and sank back on the seat that ran round the little saloon.
At what particular point in the conversation which I have recorded my resolution was definitely taken, I cannot say, but it was complete and full-blown before the captain accepted my invitation. The certainty of a separation of such monstrous length from Phroso and the chance of her receiving harsh treatment were more than I could consent to contemplate. I must play for my own hand. The island meant to be true to its nature to the last; my departure from it was to be an escape, not a decorous leave-taking. I was almost glad; yet I hoped that I should not get my good friend the captain into serious trouble. Well, better the captain than Phroso, anyhow; and I laughed to myself, when I thought of how I should redeem my promise and give him plenty of time to talk to Phroso.
I ran rapidly up to the deck. Denny and Hogvardt were there.
‘How soon can you have full steam up?’ I asked in an urgent cautious whisper.
‘In ten minutes now,’ said Hogvardt, suddenly recognising my eagerness.
‘Why, what’s up, man?’ asked Denny.
‘They’re going to send Phroso to Constantinople to be tried; anyhow they’d keep her there a year or more. I don’t mean to stand it.’
‘Why, what will you do?’
‘Do? Go. The captain’s on board; the gunboat can’t overtake us. Besides they won’t suspect anything on board of her. Denny, run and tell Phroso not to show herself till I bid her. The captain thinks she’s up at the house. We’ll start as soon as you’re ready, Hog.’
‘But, my lord—’
‘Charley, old man—!’
‘I tell you I won’t stand it. Are you game, or aren’t you?’
Denny paused for a moment, poising himself on his heels.
‘What a lark!’ he exclaimed then. ‘All right. I’ll put Phroso up to it;’ and he disappeared in the direction of her cabin.
I stood for a moment looking at the gunboat, where the leisurely operations went on undisturbed, and at the harbour and street beyond. I shook my head reprovingly at Neopalia; the little islandwas always leading me into indiscretions. Then I turned and made my way back to where my unsuspecting victim was peacefully consuming cigarettes. Mouraki Pasha would not have been caught like this. Heaven be thanked, I was not dealing with Mouraki Pasha.
‘Demetri had some good in him, after all,’ I thought, as I sat down by the captain, and told him that we should be on our way in five minutes. He exhibited much satisfaction at the prospect.
The five minutes passed. Hogvardt, who acted as our skipper, gave his orders to our new and smiling crew of islanders. We began to move. The captain and I came up from below and stood on deck. He looked seaward, anticipating his excursion, I landward, reviewing mine. A few boys waved their hands, a woman or two her handkerchief. The little harbour began to recede; the old grey house on the hill faced me in its renewed tranquility.
‘Well, good-bye to Neopalia!’ I had said, with a sigh, before I knew it.
‘I beg your pardon, Lord Wheatley?’ said the captain, wheeling round.
‘For a few hours,’ I added, and I went forward and began to talk with Hogvardt. I had some things to arrange with him. Presently Watkinsappeared, announcing luncheon. I rejoined the captain.
‘I thought,’ said I, ‘that we’d have a run straight out first and look at Mouraki’s death-place on our way home.’
‘I’m entirely in your hands,’ said he most courteously, and with more truth than he was aware of.
Denny, he and I went down to our meal. I plied the captain with the best of our cheer. In the safe seclusion of the yacht, the champagne-cup, mixed as Watkins alone could mix it, overcame his religious scruples; the breach, once made, grew wider, and the captain became merry. With his coffee came placidity, and on placidity followed torpor. Meanwhile the yacht bowled merrily along.
‘It’s nearly two o’clock,’ said I. ‘We ought to be turning. I say, captain, wouldn’t you like a nap? I’ll wake you long before we get to Neopalia.’
Denny smiled indiscreetly at this form of promise, and I covertly nudged him into gravity.
The captain received my proposal with apologetic gratitude. We left him curled up on the seat and went on deck. Hogvardt was at the wheel; a broad smile spread over his face.
‘At this rate, my lord,’ said he, ‘we shall make Cyprus in no time.’
‘Good,’ said I; and I did two things. I called Phroso and I loaded my revolver; a show of overwhelming force is, as we often hear, the surest guarantee of peace.
Denny now took a turn at the wheel; old Hogvardt went to eat his dinner. Phroso appeared, and she and I sat down in the stern, watching where Neopalia lay, now a little spot on the horizon; and then I myself told Phroso, in my own way, why I had so sorely neglected her all the morning; for Denny’s explanation had been summary and confused. She was fully entitled to my excuses and had come on deck in a state of delightful resentment, too soon, alas, banished by surprise and apprehension.
An hour or two passed thus very pleasantly; for the terror of Constantinople soon reconciled Phroso to every risk; her only fear was that she would never again be allowed to land in Neopalia. For this also I tried to console her and was, I am proud to say, succeeding very tolerably, when I looked up at the sound of footsteps. They came evenly towards us: then they suddenly stopped dead. I felt for my revolver; and I observed Denny carelessly strolling up, having been relieved again by Hogvardt. The captain stood motionless, three yards from where Phroso and I sat together. I rose with an easy smile.
‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your nap, captain,’ said I; and at the same moment I covered him with my barrel.
He was astounded. Indeed, well he might be. He stared helplessly at Phroso and at me. Denny was at his elbow now and took his arm in tolerant good humour.
‘You see we’ve played a little game on you,’ said Denny. ‘We couldn’t let the lady go to Constantinople. It isn’t at all a fit place for her, you know.’
I stepped up to the amazed man and told him briefly what had occurred.
‘Now, captain,’ I went on, ‘resistance is quite useless. We’re running for Cyprus. It belongs to you, I believe, in a sense—I’m not a student of foreign affairs—but I think we shall very likely find an English ship there. Now if you’ll give your word to hold your tongue when we’re at Cyprus, you may lodge as many complaints as you like directly we leave; indeed I think you’d be wise, in your own interests, to make a protest. Meanwhile we can enjoy the cruise in good-fellowship.’
‘And if I refuse?’ he asked.
‘If you refuse,’ said I, ‘I shall be compelled to get rid of you—oh, don’t misunderstand me. I shall not imitate your Governor. But it’s a fineday, we have an excellent gig, and I can spare you two hands to row you back to Neopalia or wherever else you may choose to go.’
‘You would leave me in the gig?’
‘With the deepest regret,’ said I, bowing. ‘But I am obliged to put this lady’s safety above the pleasure of your society.’
The unfortunate man had no alternative and, true to the creed of his nation, he accepted the inevitable. Taking the cigarette from between his lips, he remarked, ‘I give the promise you ask, but nothing more,’ bowed to Phroso, and, going up to her, said very prettily, ‘Madame I congratulate you on a resolute lover.’
Now hardly had this happened when our look-out man called twice in quick succession, ‘Ship ahead!’ At once we all ran forward, and I snatched Denny’s binocular from him. There were two vessels visible, one approaching on the starboard bow, the other right ahead. They appeared to be about equally distant. I scanned them eagerly through the glass, the others standing round and waiting my report. Nearer they came, and nearer.
‘They’re both ships of war,’ said I, without taking the glass from my eyes. ‘I shall be able to see the flags in a minute.’
A hush of excited suspense witnessed to theinterest of my news. I found even the impassive captain close by my elbow, as though he were trying to get one eye on to the lens of the glass.
My next remark did nothing to lessen the excitement.
‘The Turkish flag, by Jove!’ I cried; and, quick as thought, followed from the captain:
‘My promise didn’t cover that, Lord Wheatley.’
‘Shall we turn and run for it!’ asked Denny in a whisper.
‘They’d think that queer,’ cautioned Hogvardt, ‘and if she came after us, we shouldn’t have a chance.’
‘The English flag, by Jupiter!’ I cried a second later, and I took the glass from my strained eyes. The captain caught eagerly at it and looked; then he also dropped it, saying,
‘Yes, Turkish and English; both will come within hail of us.’
‘It’s a race, by Heaven!’ cried Denny.
The two vessels were approaching us almost on the same course, for each had altered half a point, and both were now about half a point on our starboard bow. They would be very close to one another by the time they came up with us. It would be almost impossible for us by any alteration of our course to reach one before the other.
‘Yes, it’s a race,’ said I, and I felt Phroso’s armpassed through mine. She knew the meaning of the race. Possession is nine points of the law, and in a case so doubtful as hers it was very unlikely that the ship which got possession of her would surrender her to the other. Which ship was it to be?
‘Are we going to cause an international complication?’ asked Denny in a longing tone.
‘We shall very likely run into a nautical one if we don’t look out,’ said I.
However the two approaching vessels seemed to become aware of this danger, for they diverged from one another, so that, if we kept a straight course, we should now pass them by, one on the port side and one on the starboard. But we should pass within a couple of hundred yards of both, and that was well in earshot on such a day. I looked at the captain, and the captain looked at me.
‘Shall we take him below and smother him?’ whispered Denny.
I did not feel at liberty to adopt the suggestion, much to my regret. The agreement I had made with the captain precluded any assault on his liberty. I had omitted to provide for the case which had occurred. Well, that was my fault, and I must stand the consequences of it. My word was pledged to him that he should be treated in allfriendliness on one condition, and that he had satisfied. Now to act as Denny suggested would not be to treat him in all friendliness. I shook my head sadly. Hogvardt shouted for orders from the wheel.
‘What am I to do, my lord?’ he cried. ‘Full speed ahead?’
I looked at the captain. I knew he would not pass the Turkish ship without trying to attract her attention. We were within a quarter of a mile of the vessels now.
‘Stop,’ I called, and I added quickly, ‘Lower away the gig, Denny.’
Denny caught my purpose in a moment; he called a hand and they set to work. The pace of the yacht began to slacken. I glanced at the two ships. Men with glasses were peering at us from either deck, wondering, no doubt, what our manœuvre meant. But the captain knew as well as Denny what it meant, and he leapt forward suddenly and hailed the Turk in his native tongue. What he said I don’t know, but it caused a great pother on deck, and they ran up some signal or other; I never remember the code, and the book was not about me.
But now the gig was afloat and the yacht motionless. Looking again, I perceived that both the ships had shut off steam, and were reversing, toarrest their course the sooner. I seized Phroso by the arm. The captain turned for a moment as though to interrupt our passage.
‘It’s as much as your life is worth,’ said I, and he gave way. Then, to my amazement, he ran to the side, and, just as he was, leapt overboard and struck out towards the Turk. One instant later I saw why: they were lowering a boat. Alas, our ship was not so eager. The captain must have shouted something very significant.
‘Signal for a boat, Hog,’ I cried. ‘And then come along. Hi, Watkins, come on! Are you ready, Denny?’ And I fairly lifted Phroso in my arms and ran with her to the side. She was breathing quickly, and a little laugh gurgled from her lips as Denny received her from my arms into his in the gig.
But we were not safe yet. The Turk had got a start, and his boat was springing merrily over the waves towards us. The captain swam powerfully and gallantly; his fez-covered head bobbed gaily up and down. Ah, now our people were moving! And when they began to move they wasted no time. We wasted none either, but bent to our oars, and, for the second time since I reached Neopalia, I had a thorough good bucketing. But for the Turk’s start we should have managed it easily, as we rowed towards the English boat andthe divergence which the vessels had made in their course prevented the two from approaching us side by side; but the start was enough to make matters very equal. Now the boat and the captain met. He was in in a second, with wonderful agility; picking him up hardly lost them a stroke. They were coming straight at us, the captain standing in the stern urging them on; but now I saw that the middy in the English boat had caught the idea that there was some fun afoot, for he also stood up and urged on his crew. The two great ships lay motionless on the water, and gave us all their attention.
‘Pull, boys, pull!’ I cried. ‘It’s all right, Phroso, we shall do it!’
Should we? And, if we did not, would the English captain fight for my Phroso? I would have sunk the Turk, with a laugh, for her. But I was afraid that he would not be so obliging as to do it for me.
‘The Turk gains,’ said Hogvardt, who was our coxswain.
‘Hang him! Put your backs into it.’
On went the three boats. The two pursuers were now converging close on us.
‘We shall do it by a few yards,’ said Hogvardt.
‘Thank God!’ I muttered.
‘No; we shall be beaten by a few yards,’ hesaid, a moment later. ‘They pull well, those fellows.’
But we too pulled well then—though I have no right to say it—and the good little middy and his men did their duty—oh, what a tip these blue-jackets should have if they did the trick!—and the noses of all the boats seemed to be tending to one spot on the bright dancing sea. To one spot, indeed, they were tending. The Turks were no more than twenty yards off, the English perhaps thirty. The captain gave one last cry of exhortation, the middy responded with a hearty oath. We strained and tugged for dear life. They were on us now—the Turks a little first. Now they were ten yards off—now five—and the English yet ten.
But for a last stroke we pulled; and then I dropped my oars and sprang to my feet. The nose of the captain’s boat was within a yard, and they were backing water so as not to run into us. The middy had given a like order. For a single instant matters seemed to stand still and we to be poised between defeat and victory. Then, even as the captain’s hand was on our gunwale, I bent and caught Phroso up in the arms that she sprang to meet, and I fairly flung her across the narrow strait of water that parted us from the English boat. Six strong and eager arms received her, and a cheerrang out from the English ship, for they saw now that it had been a race, and a race for a lady; and I, seeing her safe, turned to the captain, and said:
‘Fetch her back from there, if you can, and be damned to you!’
Wedid not fight. My friend the captain proposed to rely on his Britishconfrère’ssense of justice and of the courtesy which should obtain between two great and friendly nations. To this end he accompanied us on board the ship and laid his case before Captain Beverley, R.N. My argument, which I stated with brevity, but not without vehemence, was threefold: first, that Phroso had committed no offence; secondly, that if she had, it was a political offence; thirdly, was Captain Beverley going to hand over to a crew of dirty Turks the prettiest girl in the Mediterranean? This last point made a decided impression on the officers who were assisting their commander’s deliberations, but it won from him no more than a tolerant smile and a glance through hispince-nezat Phroso, who sat at the table opposite to him, awaiting the award of justice. After I had, in the heat of discussion, called the Turks ‘dirty,’ I moved round to my friend the captain, apologised humbly, and congratulated him on his gallant and spiritedbehaviour. He received my advances with courtesy, but firmly restated his claim to Phroso. Captain Beverley appeared a little puzzled.
‘And, to add to it all,’ he observed to me, ‘I thought you were dead;’ for I had told him my name.
‘Not at all,’ said I, resentfully; ‘I am quite alive, and I’m going to marry this lady.’
‘You intend to marry her, Lord Wheatley?’
‘She has done me the honour to consent and I certainly intend it; unless you’re going to send her off to Constantinople—or heaven knows where.’
Beverley arched his brows, but it was not his business to express an opinion, and I heartily forgave him his hinted disapproval, when he said to the captain:
‘I really don’t see how I can do what you ask. If you had won the tr— I mean, if you had succeeded in taking the lady on board, I should have had no more to say. As it is, I don’t think I can do anything but carry her to a British port. You can prefer your claim to extradition before the Court there, if you’re so advised.’
‘Bravo!’ cried Denny.
‘Be good enough to hold your tongue, sir,’ said Captain Beverley.
‘At least, you will take a note of my demand,’ urged the Turk.
‘With the utmost pleasure,’ responded CaptainBeverley, and then and there he took a note. People seem often to find some mystical comfort in having a note taken, though no other consequence appears likely to ensue. Then the captain, being comforted by his note, took his farewell. I walked with him to the side of the vessel.
‘I hope you bear no malice,’ said I, as I held out my hand, ‘and that this affair won’t get you into any trouble.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said he. ‘Your ingenuity will be my excuse.’
‘You’re very good. I hope you’ll come and see us in Neopalia some day.’
‘You expect to return to Neopalia?’
‘Certainly. It’s mine—or Phroso’s—I don’t know which.’
‘There’s such a thing as forfeiture in our law,’ he observed, and with this Parthian shot he walked down and got into his boat. But I was not much frightened.
So, the Turk being thus disposed of, Denny and Hogvardt went back to the yacht, while Phroso, Watkins and I, took up our abode on the ship, and when Captain Beverley had heard the whole story of our adventures in Neopalia he was so overcome by Phroso’s gallant conduct that he walked up and down his own deck with her all the evening, while I, making friends with themammon of unrighteousness, pretended to look very pleased and recited my dealings with Mouraki to an attentive group of officers. And clothes were produced from somewhere for Phroso—our navy is ready for everything—and thus, in the fulness of time, we came to Malta. Here the captain had a wife, and she was as delighted as, I take leave to say, all good women ought to be at the happy ending of our story. And at Malta we waited; but nothing happened. No claim was made for Phroso’s extradition; and I may as well state here that no claim ever has been made. But when we came to London, on board a P. and O. steamer, in charge of a benevolent but strict chaperon, I lost no time in calling on the Turkish Ambassador. I desired to put matters on a satisfactory footing at once. He received me with much courtesy, but expressed the opinion that Phroso and I alike had forfeited any claim which she or I, or either, or both of us, might have possessed to the Island of Neopalia. I was very much annoyed at this attitude; I rose and stood with my back to the fire.
‘It is the death of Mouraki Pasha that has so incensed your Government?’ I ventured to ask.
‘He was a very distinguished man,’ observed the Ambassador.
‘Practically banished to a very undistinguished office—for his position,’ I remarked.
‘One would not call it banishment,’ murmured his Excellency.
‘One would,’ I acquiesced, smiling, ‘of course, be particularly careful not to call it banishment.’
Something like a smile greeted this speech, but the Ambassador shrugged his shoulders.
‘Consider,’ said he, ‘the scenes of disorder and bloodshed!’
‘When I consider,’ I rejoined, ‘the scenes of disorder and bloodshed which passed before my eyes, when I consider the anarchy, the murder, the terrible dangers to which I, who went to Neopalia under the sanction and protection of your flag, was exposed, I perceive that the whole affair is nothing less than a European scandal.’
The Ambassador shifted in his armchair.
‘I shall, of course,’ said I, ‘prefer a claim to compensation.’
‘To compensation?’
‘Certainly. My island has been taken from me, and I have lost my money. Moreover your Governor tried to kill me.’
‘So did your wife,’ remarked the Pasha. ‘At least the lady who, as I understand, is to be your wife.’
‘I can forgive my wife. I do not propose to forgive your Government.’
The Ambassador stroked his beard.
‘If official representations were made through the proper quarters—’ he began.
‘Oh, come,’ I interrupted, ‘I want to spend my honeymoon there; and I’m going to be married in a fortnight.’
‘The young lady is the difficulty. The manner in which you left Neopalia—’
‘Is not generally known,’ said I.
The Ambassador looked up.
‘The tribute,’ I observed, ‘is due a month hence. I don’t know who’ll pay it you.’
‘It is but a trifling sum,’ said he contemptuously.
‘It is, indeed, small for such a delightful island.’
The Ambassador eyed me questioningly. I advanced towards him.
‘Considering,’ said I, ‘that I have only paid half the purchase-money, and that the other half is due to nobody—or to my own wife—I should not resent a proposal to double the tribute.’
The Ambassador reflected.
‘I will forward your proposal to the proper quarter,’ he said at last.
I smiled, and I asked:
‘Will that take more than a fortnight?’
‘I venture to hope not.’
‘And, of course, pardon and all that sort of thing will be included?’
‘I will appeal to his Majesty’s clemency,’ promised the Pasha.
I had no objection to his calling it by that name, and I took my leave, very much pleased with the result of the interview. But, as luck would have it, while I was pursuing my way across Hyde Park—for Phroso was staying with a friend of Mrs Beverley’s in Kensington—I ran plump into the arms of Mrs Kennett Hipgrave.
She stopped me with decision. I confess that I tried to pass by her.
‘My dear Lord Wheatley,’ she cried, with unbounded cordiality, ‘how charming to meet you again! Your reported death really caused quite a gloom.’
‘You’re too good!’ I murmured. ‘Ah—er—I hope Miss Beatrice is well?’
Mrs Kennett Hipgrave’s face grew grave and sympathetic.
‘My poor child!’ she sighed. ‘She was terribly upset by the news, Lord Wheatley. Of course, it seemed to her peculiarly sad; for you had received my letter only a week before.’
‘That must have seemed to aggravate the pathos very much,’ I agreed.
‘Not that, of course, it altered the real wisdom of the step I advised her to take.’
‘Not in the least, really, of course,’ said I.
‘I do hope you agree with me now, Lord Wheatley?’
‘Yes, I think I have come to see that you were right, Mrs Hipgrave.’
‘Oh, that makes me so happy! And it will make my poor dear child so happy, too. I assure you she has fretted very much over it.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said I politely. ‘Is she in town?’
‘Why, no, not just now.’
‘Where is she? I should like to write her a line.’
‘Oh, she’s staying with friends.’
‘Could you oblige me with the address?’
‘Well, the fact is, Lord Wheatley, Beatrice is staying with—with a Mrs Hamlyn.’
‘Oh, a Mrs Hamlyn! Any relation, Mrs Hipgrave?’
‘Well, yes. In fact, an aunt of our common friend.’
‘Ah, an aunt of our common friend,’ and I smiled. Mrs Hipgrave struggled nobly, but in the end she smiled also. After a little pause I remarked:
‘I’m going to be married myself, Mrs Hipgrave.’
Mrs Hipgrave grew rather grave again, and she observed:
‘I did hear something about a—a lady, Lord Wheatley.’
‘If you had heard it all, you’d have heard a great deal about her.’
A certain appearance of embarrassment spread over Mrs Hipgrave’s face.
‘We’re old friends, Lord Wheatley,’ she said at last. I bowed in grateful recognition. ‘I’m sure you won’t mind if I speak plainly to you. Now is she the sort of person whom you would be really wise to marry? Remember, your wife will be Lady Wheatley.’
‘I had not forgotten that that would happen,’ I said.
‘I’m told,’ pursued Mrs Hipgrave in a somewhat scornful tone, ‘that she is very pretty.’
‘But, then, that’s not really of importance, is it?’ I murmured.
Mrs Hipgrave looked at me with just a touch of suspicion; but she went on bravely:
‘And one or two very curious things have been said.’
‘Not to me,’ I observed with infinite amiability.
‘Her family now—’
‘Her family was certainly a drawback; but there are no more of them, Mrs Hipgrave.’
‘Then somebody told me that she was in the habit of wearing—’
‘Dear me, Mrs Hipgrave, in these days everybody does that—more or less, you know.’
Mrs Hipgrave sighed pathetically, and added, with a slight shudder:
‘They say she carried a dagger.’
‘They’ll say anything,’ I reminded her.
‘At any rate,’ said Mrs Hipgrave, ‘she will be quite unused to the ways of society.’
‘Oh, we shall teach her, we shall teach her,’ said I cheerfully. ‘After all, it’s only a difference of method. When people in Neopalia are annoyed, they put a knife into you—’
‘Good gracious, Lord Wheatley!’
‘Here,’ I pursued, ‘they congratulate you; but it’s the same principle. Won’t you wish me joy, Mrs Hipgrave?’
‘If you’re really bent upon it, I suppose I must.’
‘And you’ll tell the dear children?’ I asked anxiously.
‘The dear children?’ she echoed; she certainly suspected me by now.
‘Why, yes. Your daughter and Bennett Hamlyn, you know.’
Mrs Hipgrave surveyed me from top to toe. Her aspect was very severe; then she delivered herself of the following remark:
‘I can never be sufficiently thankful,’ she said, with eyes upturned towards the sky, ‘that my poor dear girl found out her mistake in time.’
‘I have the utmost regard for Miss Beatrice,‘I rejoined, ‘but I will not differ from you, Mrs Hipgrave.’
I must shift the scene again back to the island that I loved. For his Majesty’s clemency justified the Ambassador’s belief in it, and Neopalia was restored to Phroso and to me. Thither we went in the spring of the next year, leaving Denny inconsolable behind, but accompanied by old Hogvardt and by Watkins. This time we went straight out by sea from England, and the new crew of my yacht was more trustworthy than when Spiro and Demetri (ah, I had nearly written ‘poor Demetri,’ when the fellow was a murderer!) were sent by the cunning of Constantine Stefanopoulos to compose it. We landed this time to meet no threatening looks. The death-chant that One-eyed Alexander wrote was not raised when we entered the old grey house on the hill, looking over the blue waters. Ulysses is fabled by the poet to have—well, to put it plainly—to have grown bored with peaceful Ithaca. I do not know whether I shall prove an Ulysses in that and live to regret the new-born tranquillity of Neopalia. In candour, the early stormy days have a great attraction, and I love to look back to them in memory. So strong was this feelingupon me that it led me to refuse a request of my wife’s—the only one of hers which I have yet met in that fashion; for when we had been two or three days in the island—I spent one, by the way, in visiting the graves of my dead friends and enemies, a most suggestive and soothing occupation—I saw, as I walked with her through the hall of our house, mason’s tools and mortar lying near where the staircase led up, hard by the secret door; and Phroso said to me: