“You will be the first person that ever did that,” said Wylie, as he went off to find his host.
Professor Panagiotis was quite willing to accept him as a companion, and they rode off early in the afternoon. At the Professor’s house in the town they separated, the Professor going to the Konak to seek an interview with the Roumi Governor, and Wylie to the British Consulate. Sir Frank was busy, but asked him to come to dinner that evening and tell his story afterwards, and he went on at once to the Scythian Consulate, where the comedy of which he had formerly grown so tired recommenced. Servant after servant poured forth floods of eloquence in the attempt to convince him that the Princess was indisposed, that she received no one, that she was out driving, that she was preparing for her journey to Scythia, that he might safely leave the note to be delivered to her. This Wylie declined, and asked for an interview with Madame Ladoguin, which was denied him, and he put the note back into his pocket, and took up his old position opposite the Consulate. Here he remained until it was very nearly dark, without seeing the ladies return, so that it became pretty clear that one of the excuses, at any rate, was false. He quitted his post reluctantly, and finding that he had barely left himself sufficient time to go back and dress for dinner, called a cab to take him to the Professor’s house.
He had scarcely departed when the great gates were thrown open, and Madame Ladoguin and Eirene drove out. They were going to dine at the Hercynian Consulate, one of the “safe” houses where there was no fear of meeting any meddling English people. Even in cases like this, however, Madame Ladoguin insisted on the list of guests being submitted to her beforehand, representing that the Princess was very strict on such points of etiquette, and refused to waive them even when paying visits, as at present, under a partialincognito. There was a cloud on Madame Ladoguin’s brow. Wylie’s unexpected reappearance had much perturbed her, and she scented a deep-laid scheme for carrying off Eirene before she could be safely removed to Scythia. She had sent anxious messages to her husband and brother to ask them to come to her before starting, but M. Ladoguin had been out all the afternoon, discussing with his fellow-Consuls the alarming rumours which were prevalent in the town of impending revolutionary movements, and Nicetas Mitsopoulo was still away on one of his mysterious errands. As a last resource, Madame Ladoguin ordered her coachman to stop at a club much frequented by the European representatives, in the hope of finding her husband there, intending to send him to complain to Sir Frank Francis that his troublesome fellow-countryman was renewing his intolerable persecution of the Princess.
M. Ladoguin was at the club, but his wife would not have him summoned to speak to her. Apologising to Eirene, she left the victoria and went into the hall, where her charge could not hear what was said. Eirene, left alone, looked out indifferently down the brightly lighted street. Here, in the European quarter, thanks to the efforts of the consular body, paving and lighting conformed to Western rather than Eastern standards. Next door to the club towered the dark bulk of a building, which she knew to be the Seignorial Bank, now closed for the night, but something moving on its steps attracted her attention. It was difficult to see what it was in the shadow, but she thought that a porter must be laying down his burden there while he rested. At this moment her thoughts were distracted by a cab, which drove up furiously, its wheels almost grazing those of the carriage, and by the bad language which ensued between the driver and the consularcavass. Then—it all happened in a moment—the houses seemed to reel, she was thrown violently forward, and the air was filled with the sound of a tremendous explosion. The frightened horses went off like the wind, further terrified by the crash of falling fragments of masonry which came hurtling through the air. Eirene crouched dazed at the bottom of the carriage, face and shoulders cut and bruised by the stony shower. The sound of fresh explosions showed her that she was not deafened, but she could not hear the coachman’s voice calling to his horses, and guessed that he had been thrown from the box. At the same moment she became aware that she was in pitch darkness. Her first horrified thought was that she had been struck blind, but as she looked up through the tattered hood of the carriage she saw a jet of flame soar into the sky, and realised that whoever had caused the explosions must also have cut off the gas supply of the town. The horses had now turned out of the foreign quarter into one of the native streets, as she could tell by the way the carriage swayed and bumped over the cobbles, and it was a marvel to her that it was not every moment upset, as the wheels now collided with a post and now grazed a projecting shop-front.
The air was full of shrieks and cries, still punctuated by an occasional explosion, and there was a distant sound which she thought must be firing. Sitting helpless, as the maddened horses tore along, she analysed probabilities with a calmness that surprised herself, and wondered whether the wild race would end in the waters of the harbour or in one comprehensive smash. Then there happened something that struck her with greater horror than all that had gone before. She had raised herself to the front seat, and kneeling, was trying to look out ahead to see where she was going, when a black figure gained the box with a mad spring, and seizing the whip, lashed the horses on. By the glare in the sky she could see that it wore the high cap and flowing robes of a monk, with unkempt hair and beard. They dashed on into another street, which Eirene had a vague idea belonged to the Moslem quarter, and peering out she saw a dark mass of people in front. She shrieked to them to stop the horses, but they did not understand, and scattered to let the carriage through. This brought it opposite a large building, and the man on the box, dropping the whip, stood upright and hurled something with all his strength. The explosion that followed was no surprise to Eirene; it seemed to her that she waited for the sound. The building appeared to crumple up, and the horses sprang forward again with a jerk, which threw the monk from the box; but a minaret at the side fell across the street, and they could not face the ruin which came crashing down. Driven on by the shouts from behind, they dashed at the obstacle formed by the heap, turned when they found themselves thwarted, and dragged the carriage violently round, with one wheel high on the stones. Eirene had just sufficient presence of mind to spring clear as it went over, and to crouch against the houses on one side while the horses kicked and struggled furiously to free themselves. One succeeded, and rushed wildly down the street, but the other, which had fallen and was entangled in the harness, tried in vain to raise itself from the ground.
Seeing that the danger was past, the people behind came running up, and Eirene found herself dragged from her shelter. The monk had disappeared, and, to her horror, she perceived that the mob evidently took her for the person who had destroyed their mosque. They were all Moslems, armed with knives and daggers, and they poured blood-curdling imprecations upon her as she stood surrounded by a ring of steel. In every language she knew she entreated them to take her back to the Consulate, or merely to let her go, but no one would listen, or seemed to understand. She tore off her rings and the diamond stars from her hair and threw them among them, then her pearl necklace—not the historic necklace which had been given up to the brigands, but a less valuable one which had been sent on into safety in the jewel-case after the railway accident. The string snapped as she pulled it off, and she caught the pearls in her hands and offered them to the mob if they would let her go, but in vain. They forced her hands open, and fought for the pearls, but never so eagerly as to leave a gap by which she could escape. She would have given even the girdle of Isidora as the price of her life if she had had it with her, but it was reposing safely at the Consulate.
After the first moment it gave her no comfort that she was not cut to pieces at once, for she guessed from the gestures of her assailants that while some of them advocated this course, others were proposing to take her into one of the houses and torture her in order to discover her accomplices. In another moment she must have fainted from sheer horror, when the prostrate horse, which every one had forgotten, created a diversion by struggling to its feet and lashing out furiously, clearing a space round it. Seeing her chance, she tore herself from the men who held her, leaving her cloak in their hands, and sprang up the heap of rubbish which blocked the road. She could never have crossed it in cold blood, for the foothold was insecure, and the projecting pieces of rough stone and jagged wood caught her clothes and tore her hands; but she descended like a thunderbolt into a second crowd which had collected on the farther side, and burst through them before they could understand the agonised shouts which reached them from her defrauded captors.
Gathering her long skirt over her arm that it might not impede her movements, she ran headlong down the street, slipping on the horrible cobbles. Very soon she heard the hue and cry after her, and knew she must quickly be overtaken, for her high-heeled shoes caught in the treacherous interstices between the stones and nearly threw her down. Passing the mouth of another street, a desperate expedient suggested itself. The door of the first house stood open, and she slipped inside, hearing her pursuers rage by. As soon as the last was past the door, she crept out, and ran down the side street, more slowly now, for one shoe had lost its heel, and she could only get on with difficulty. Before she reached the end of the street she heard the shouts of the mob growing nearer again, and knew that they must have discovered her evasion. Two narrow passages between overhanging houses were before her, and she darted down the nearest, which was unsavoury to a degree. It ended at last, and she came out on a wide open space, surrounded by squalid hovels, the outlines of which were just discernible by the dull glare in the sky. Panting, she paused for a moment, took off the shoe which still possessed a heel, and tried vainly to hammer it off with a stone. It was beyond her efforts, and she pushed back her hair, tied her handkerchief across her face below the eyes, so that it hung down like an Egyptian face-veil, and turned the skirt of her evening gown over her head, hoping that she might pass for a Roumi woman, whose veil would be a safeguard to her in the event of meeting any Moslem. Happily for her peace of mind, it did not occur to her that the frills of silk and lace at the edge of the lining would betray her at once, and she began to limp across the open space, which she recognised as the remains of a Roman amphitheatre which forms one of the sights of Therma.
She had scarcely emerged from the shadow of the houses when she heard footsteps behind her. She stopped, but they came on, and she broke into a feeble run, hearing the footsteps following and coming nearer. She thought she heard a voice, but she drew the skirt more closely over her head and tottered on, until the treacherous heel caught in something and she fell. The footsteps approached at a run, and she shut her eyes and waited for death.
“I’m awfully sorry I frightened you,” said a voice in English. “Can I help you in any way?”
The revulsion of feeling was so great that Eirene crouched helplessly where she had fallen, and looked up at her questioner. With a gasp of relief, such as she had never expected to feel in the circumstances, she recognised the blue eyes bent upon her.
“Oh, Captain Wylie!” she sobbed.
“Why, who is it?” he asked, helping her up. “Is it possible—not Miss Eirene?—I mean the Princess.”
“Oh, yes,” she cried, pulling off the handkerchief; “and there is a crowd trying to kill me, and I can’t get away. Oh, what shall I do?”
“Gently,” said Wylie, drawing her back into the shadow of the houses. “Are you hurt? You seemed to walk lame.”
“It’s my shoes. I have only one heel left.” She took off the shoe, and he amputated the offending heel with his knife.
“I can’t promise to get you back to the Consulate,” he said, steering her across the corner of the open space, “for most of the outrages have taken place in the foreign quarter, and the troops are out, and firing wild. I like the Roumis generally, but to-night I must confess I would as soon meet a mob as soldiers. It’s natural enough after what has happened.”
“But what has happened?” cried Eirene. “Did some one blow up the Seignorial Bank?”
“Yes, and a good many other places as well. I gave up trying to count the explosions at last. I am staying with Professor Panagiotis, and was driving back to his house when the first explosion came and the gas failed. My driver refused to take me any farther, saying the Professor’s house would certainly be one of those blown up. I tried to get there the nearest way on foot, but there were troops pursuing imaginary revolutionists in all the foreign streets, and too many bullets were flying about for the atmosphere to be healthy.”
“But are we going to the Professor’s house now? What is the good, if it’s blown up?”
“I have no reason to think that it is. As far as I can see, the outrages have been mostly directed against foreign buildings. I suppose the malcontents are displaying their disgust and contempt for the reforms forced on the Grand Seignior by the Powers. At any rate, as the Professor’s guest, I should be more likely to find shelter in the Greek quarter than elsewhere.”
“But why do you say the troops are shooting imaginary revolutionists? Who do you think threw the bombs? There was a monk who jumped up on the carriage—oh, it was terrible!”
“Agents of the Thraco-Dardanian Committees, certainly, but I don’t think they will wait to be shot. They will have provided for their escape, and it’s only poor wretched passers-by, who have nothing to do with the outrages, and are too terrified to get away, that will suffer in this moment of panic.”
“But how can I go to the Professor’s?” asked Eirene, her thoughts returning to her own situation, as, clinging to Wylie’s arm, she traversed the deserted streets.
“Well, I should think it was better than staying out of doors,” returned Wylie grimly. “I shall be thankful if we can get there.”
There was a significance in his tone which she did not at first understand, for his trained ear had caught sooner than she did the regular tramp of soldiers, disentangling it from the confusion of sounds which still filled the air—not close at hand, for the shuttered houses might have been the abodes of the dead, but coming from the quarter they were approaching. Reaching the corner of a street, Wylie peered round it cautiously, and drew Eirene back with an exclamation.
“There’s a detachment of the troops who are clearing the streets coming this way. There! they’ve got some poor devil,” as the sound of a volley and a piercing shriek rent the air. “Stand in this doorway. They may go straight on and not see us.”
Eirene shrank as far into the shelter of the doorway as she could, and Wylie stood in front of her, concealing her as much as possible.
“They’ve got the jumps badly, and are firing at everything they see. That’s the worst of it,” he said over his shoulder. “If I go down, you must try to make them understand what an enormity they’ve committed in firing on a European, and invoke Sir Frank Francis till all is blue.”
Thesoldiers came down the street talking loudly and excitedly, for the bonds of discipline were evidently relaxed. Every now and then a stray shot told that one of them thought he had seen a figure lurking in the shadow, and was taking the surest way of making things safe. The fitful beams of an old and inefficient lantern wavered from side to side as the leading man swung it towards each doorway in turn, but the light was so feeble that Wylie, standing rigid in his corner, almost hoped not to be seen. But his tweed clothes stood out against the dark and greasy stonework of the porch, and as the beam fluttered over him a voice called, “There’s a man hiding in that door!” Instantly the ready rifles were focussed upon him, and even before he could step forward two or three random shots struck the stonework and spattered up the dust at his feet, but these were only due to nervous men with twitching fingers. Before the order could be given to fire, his voice rang out, “Cease firing!” in Roumi, and, taken by surprise, the soldiers obeyed. He seized his opportunity, and called out that he was English, and demanded their protection as far as the British Consulate.
“Why, it is a dog of a Christian, after all!” said one.
“If he did not throw the bombs, he stirred up the rascals to do it,” said another.
“And what is he doing here, anyhow?” demanded a third.
“Discovered under suspicious circumstances,” growled the sergeant. “He can’t do any harm dead.”
“He can do you a lot of harm when his body is found, you old fool!” said Wylie vigorously. The sergeant jumped.
“Here! give me the lantern,” he said, and taking it from the man who held it, swung it so that the light fell on Wylie’s face. “Why, it is the Bimbashi Bey with the cruel eyes, who gave us cigarettes when we were up in the north three months ago!” he cried. “He is a good man, Christian or not. Let there be no more talk of shooting him. What does the Bimbashi Bey desire?”
“Can you get us to the Consulate?” asked Wylie, moving aside. The men’s eyes grew round as they distinguished Eirene crouching in the shadow behind him.
“It will be very difficult to take the lady such a long way through the streets,” mused the sergeant. “Has the Bimbashi Bey no friends in the Greek quarter?”
“I am staying with Professor Panagiotis,” said Wylie.
“Oh, the chief of the Greeks! That is well, unless his house is one of those destroyed. We can soon see.”
The soldiers opened out, and Wylie and Eirene took their places in the midst. The sergeant, stalking just ahead, conversed with Wylie over his shoulder. Ever since their meeting in the north, he and his men had been sent hither and thither to places where outbreaks were expected, but the outbreaks always occurred in the districts they had just left, or, as now, had been allowed to come to a head instead of being nipped in the bud. Every one had been expecting this particular outbreak for days, or even weeks, he declared. It might have been entirely prevented, but some one must have been heavily bribed. Undoubtedly it was all due to the representatives of the Powers, who with one hand egged on the revolutionists to their outrages, and with the other held back the Roumis from punishing them as they deserved.
Argument of this kind did not admit of much reply, and Wylie attempted no defence of the action of the Powers, which had certainly not been marked by any particular success. They were now in the Greek quarter, and scared faces peeped at them from upper windows, while every door was fast shut. Arrived at the end of the street in which Professor Panagiotis lived, they found a cordon of soldiers drawn across it, guarding a carriage which was waiting ready to start. About the middle of the street, a gap in the row of houses dark against the sky showed where the Professor’s dwelling had stood. The sergeant questioned his colleague in charge of the guard, and found that they had been detailed by the Vali to escort the Professor home, as his life was considered to be in danger, but on arriving they discovered from the neighbours that the house had been destroyed almost simultaneously with the first explosion—that at the Seignorial Bank. The Professor was now examining the ruins, to see whether any of his property could be saved, but in a few minutes he was to be escorted to the city gate, and set safely on his way to Kallimeri.
“This is most fortunate,” said Wylie to Eirene. “I will make bold to offer you the shelter of the Professor’s villa instead of his house here, and you will meet the Teffanys again. They are longing to see you.”
“Teffany? Oh, you mean Maurice and Zoe. I always think of them as Smith. I should rejoice to meet them again, but not—not like this.” Eirene looked down at her torn clothes and ruined shoes. “It would not be proper—becoming. We are not now in the mountains.”
Wylie laughed involuntarily. “They must have seen you in much worse trim often in the mountains,” he said. “Why is it improper now, if it wasn’t then?”
“The circumstances are different,” she said, flushing. “They know now who I am. I cannot thrust myself upon them and ask help. At least we were all in the same plight in the mountains.”
“I can relieve your mind on one point, at any rate. There’s no question of thrusting yourself upon them, for they are most anxious to see you. I have a letter from Miss Teffany for you here, if you can see to read it, and I was charged in addition to use all the arts of diplomacy to persuade you to visit Kallimeri, if only for a day, and even if you had to be accompanied by Madame Ladoguin.”
“You really mean it?” she asked, looking up at him doubtfully. “You are not saying it merely to make me willing to come? You may not quite understand, but it is a tremendous step for me to take. I mean, if the Ladoguins choose, they may say—things about me, and I may be cast off entirely—if I don’t go back to the Consulate at once, you know.”
Wylie cut short her halting utterances. “Don’t be afraid,” he said kindly. “You shall go back to the Consulate as early as you like to-morrow. To-night you simply can’t get there. Slander itself could say nothing against your accepting a night’s shelter from your father’s old friend and his wife. Now, will you get into the carriage and read your letter, while I go and look for the Professor? You will promise me to wait here until I come back?”
Much to his relief, Eirene uttered no protest, and the idea which had occurred to him that she might slip away when his back was turned, and lose herself in the mazes and dangers of the streets, had evidently not entered her mind. She was too much exhausted by all she had undergone to have energy left to make plans for herself, and it was an untold relief to find her movements settled for her. Gratefully she accepted Wylie’s help, and entered the carriage, receiving Zoe’s letter from him with a word of thanks, and leaning forward eagerly to read it by the light of the sergeant’s lantern. Her piteous little white face, as she looked up at him in utter bewilderment of fatigue, was in Wylie’s thoughts as he passed the cordon to find the Professor, and it made him very determined to obtain success in a task which he foresaw, though without exactly knowing why, would have its difficulties. He met the Professor returning to the carriage, and condoled with him on his losses.
“Oh, it was only to be expected,” was the philosophical reply. “It would have been something of a slight if I had been left unmolested on such an occasion. Of course, the miscreants hoped to benefit themselves,—I hear there were a dozen Jews raking over the ruins almost before the fire had ceased, under pretence of helping to save my possessions,—but I need not tell you they found nothing. We shall save nothing of the furniture or contents of the house, unfortunately; the destruction was too thorough. Two or three bombs must have been used, I should say, and remarkably well placed. The caretaker’s wife, who escaped, tells me she noticed a very tall woman, whom she suspected to be a man in disguise, hanging about just at dusk. Well, we had better get back to Kallimeri. I am sorry it is no use looking for your bag, if that was your reason for coming down here.”
“Never once thought of it,” said Wylie, detaining him. “No, I have picked up a European lady in distress, and I want to take her back with us. There’s nothing else to be done.”
“Who is the lady?” asked the Professor sharply.
“The Princess Eirene Féofan.”
“I suspected as much. No; let her go back to the Scythian Consulate. I have no responsibility for her.”
“She can’t. The streets are impassable. You knew her father; you can’t refuse her shelter.”
“I will have nothing to do with her. Do you realise that she is a Scythian tool, the only person whose right to the Greek Imperial crown approaches—in some eyes even overshadows—that of Maurice Teffany? Let Scythia look after her own candidate; my interests are diametrically opposed to hers.”
“Professor,” said Wylie, a bright idea seizing him, and enabling him to choke down his indignation, “you can’t deceive me. Don’t try to tell me that the same thought isn’t in your head as in mine. The game is in your hands, and it’s no use trying to persuade me that you think of throwing away your advantage. If you can get the Princess to Kallimeri, and marry her to Teffany, you and he are both made men.”
The Professor drew in his breath with a hissing sound. “He might be,” he said. “I should be left out.”
“Oh, nonsense! when both of them would owe you a debt of gratitude ever after for having brought them together? Why, it would give you the strongest possible influence at once.”
The Professor considered the matter, and it was evident to Wylie that he was weighing the merits of various courses in his mind. Like Maurice, the soldier had the unpleasant feeling that in the Professor’s cogitations his wishes or arguments had little part. The issue would be decided by considerations far less obvious.
“Your idea is excellent,” he heard at last, with sensible relief. “Such a marriage would at once checkmate Scythia, and strengthen enormously Mr Teffany’s position. I will represent the propriety of it to him as soon as we reach Kallimeri, and there need be no difficulty with the lady. She will be in our hands.”
“Are you mad?” demanded Wylie, seizing him again by the arm as he turned quickly towards the carriage. “You can’t be serious in proposing to put pressure upon the Princess. Why, Teffany would become your enemy for life. The Princess comes to Kallimeri purely for refuge, and incidentally to see her old friends before returning to Scythia. If Teffany can induce her to stay, it’s all right. Otherwise, we must take her back to the Consulate to-morrow.”
“That will be too late,” muttered the Professor. “The streets will be clear again, and she will pass safely.”
“Look here,” said Wylie; “let me give you a word of advice. You and I are men of the world, and know exactly how much and how little you mean when you say things like that. But it would not sound well to the Teffanys, and they might believe you meant it. Do you see?”
The Professor signified reluctantly that he did, and asked, “Then what is the good of taking the Princess to Kallimeri?”
“Simply to bring them together. If Teffany wants her, he won’t let her go again, after his sister and I have piled up the agony about endless separation and the dangers that will surround the Princess in Scythia.”
“Ah, and what interest have you and Miss Teffany in the affair?” demanded the Professor, severely.
“Miss Teffany hopes to gratify her brother, who would have come into Therma to-day to try and see the Princess, if I had not insisted on coming instead. My only interest is to gratify a wish expressed by Miss Teffany.”
Baffled by the unmoved tone, Professor Panagiotis went on towards the carriage, where Eirene, tired out, had fallen asleep in her corner. Wylie presented the Professor to her, and gave what money he had with him to the friendly sergeant, to distribute among his men, before taking his seat. The soldiers who had formed the cordon surrounded the carriage, and they drove slowly towards the gate nearest Kallimeri. Many streets were blocked with the ruins of houses which had been destroyed, in others fires were raging and troops forbade passage, in others the search for revolutionists was still being carried on, to the accompaniment of shots and shrieks, others again were empty, save for rigid forms prone in the shadow of the houses. At the gate, the Vali’s seal, exhibited by the officer of the escort, obtained them a speedy passage, and the soldiers convoyed them through the environs of the town until they were safely on the upland road leading to Kallimeri. Then the escort was dismissed, the driver was at length allowed to whip up his horses, and in the wild, headlong style dear to him and his tribe they rattled up to the villa.
“Oh, what has been happening?” cried Zoe, rushing down from a point of vantage beside the gate. “We have seen explosions, and the most dreadful fires—not the ordinary kind that happen every night, but whole streets must have been burnt. We were all so frightened. I have been watching here for hours.”
“That was very dangerous,” said Wylie, his heart leaping, nevertheless. He had jumped out of the carriage to meet her, and the Professor and Eirene, the latter still slumbering, had driven on. “If a revolutionist had been hanging about ready to blow up the villa, he would have killed you, lest you should give the alarm.”
“But in that case I shouldn’t have been much better off in the house,” said Zoe flippantly. “It was revolutionists, then—who have been blowing up the town, I mean? So you were not able to deliver my note, I suppose?”
“Wasn’t I?” said Wylie triumphantly. “Why, I’ve brought the Princess back. She’s in the carriage.”
“In the carriage? Eirene? and you have kept me walking slowly here! What will she think of me?”
“Wait one minute,” said Wylie, as Zoe quickened her pace to a run; “I’m very proud of myself for the way in which I did your errand, for I have had to employ all the resources of diplomacy to overcome the Princess’s objections to coming here, and the Professor’s objections to having her. But we must manage to rush things a bit to-morrow morning, for she means to go back.”
“And if she does, we may as well give it up, for she will be out of our reach,” said Zoe. “Clearly we must precipitate matters. Oh, but how did you know what I was hoping for?” she cried suddenly. “I never told you.”
“I guessed, from what you told me about your brother, and then it came to me in a flash that we might get things settled at once, thanks to all this affair in the city. Nobody knows where the Princess is, you see, and it’ll take some time to track her.”
“You mean they could get married before she is found? Oh, how splendid! We must manage it. I will think about it to-night, and you must play up to me to-morrow.”
“Trust me!” said Wylie, as they arrived at the door, where Madame Panagiotis, a very correct German lady of commanding proportions, was looking with evident suspicion at Eirene, with her bare shoulders and tattered evening gown. With a cry of delight the two girls rushed into each other’s arms, and on Zoe’s guarantee, Madame Panagiotis consented to receive the dishevelled-looking stranger. There was a room next to Zoe’s she could have, she said, and she herself would lend her decent clothes, unless Miss Teffany cared to do so. Zoe declared joyfully that no one else should look after her friend, and carried her off upstairs at once, pausing only to say aside to Wylie—
“Just tell Maurice, as you pass, that she is here. Then perhaps he will be able to sleep.”
Returning to Eirene, she found the Professor saying pointedly how glad he was to receive under his roof a younger branch of the illustrious house to which his honoured guests belonged, and she swept her off at once, afraid that he might go on to say something that would spoil her plans.
“Isn’t Madame Panagiotis funny?” she asked of Eirene, when they were by themselves. “Maurice and I used to wonder whether she would sit on the floor and eat with her fingers, and you can imagine our feelings when we found her such a monument of propriety. Do you know, the Professor called her at first ‘the Mrs Professor’ when he talked English—die Frau Professorin, you know—but he must have seen it sounded queer, and he gave it up.”
Eirene sat listening passively while Zoe took down her hair and brushed it. “Oh, Zoe,” she broke out suddenly, “it is such a rest to be here. I don’t mind any one else—Professor or Professorin—if I can be near you and Maurice. You can’t guess how I have longed for you!”
“It’s awfully sweet of you to say it,” said Zoe, penitently. “I know I was perfectly horrid to you often.”
“You weren’t!” was the indignant reply. “You and Maurice were always just the same to me, whether you thought I was Miss Smith or a Princess. You were quite right to scold me when I said silly things. And, Zoe, you were right about Vlasto, and I was too silly. He was Nicetas Mitsopoulo, Chariclea Ladoguin’s brother, in disguise. I recognised him as soon as he was presented to me, and I thought how you would triumph. I deserved it.”
“At any rate, it’s quite new for us to be paying each other compliments. And have you brought the girdle of Isidora with you?”
“Oh no, how could I? I did not dare to carry it in my dress any longer, because of the maid. Do you know, Zoe, they were so anxious that I should send it as a peace-offering to the Empress? Chariclea and her brother both hinted at it. But I would not do it. It seemed like buying back her favour by giving up my rights—your rights, too. I found out a hiding-place for it, but I don’t know whether it’s safe. Perhaps they will discover it this evening while I am away, and send it to Pavelsburg, pretending that it comes from me!”
“Well, if they do, you can’t help it,” said Zoe. “Let it alone for to-night. Are you frightfully tired, Eirene? There are such a lot of things I want to ask you. Look here, let us bring your bed into my room, and then we can talk without disturbing any one till we go to sleep. I know Maurice will want you all the morning.”
Loss of sleep, and her adventures of the evening, did not seem to have told on Eirene’s spirits when she appeared the next day. Zoe had dressed her hair low to hide the cuts and bruises received in the explosion, and she looked very pretty in a white gown, which Zoe surrendered to her heroically, though she had just had it made for herself to replace the horrible German ready-made garments with which she had been obliged to content herself on reaching Therma. The two girls were sitting in the verandah looking into the inner courtyard of the house, when Wylie, already primed for his part, brought up the steps first an armful of cushions, and then Maurice, and established him in a long chair.
“Could I speak to you a minute?” he said to Zoe, as they had agreed, and she went to the other end of the verandah with him.
“I really have something to say,” he said. “It’s quite impossible for the Princess to get back this morning. Firing is still going on in the town, and they don’t think things will quiet down until fresh troops arrive, which won’t be till to-night. What do you think of my riding in and asking the Ladoguins to send a proper escort for her?”
“It would provide the necessity for decision, which is what we want,” said Zoe gravely. “I will call her away to write a letter to Madame Ladoguin when it is time for you to start. Perhaps they will have settled things before that. I shall leave them to themselves for the morning, as soon as I have explained to Eirene that she must stay here till she is sent for.”
“Won’t that be rather pointed—leaving them to themselves, I mean?” asked Wylie solicitously.
Zoe gave him a look of pity. “I shall stay here,” she said. “If they talk loud, I can hear them, and join in, but if they choose to talk low, I shall work quietly.”
“I suppose I mayn’t come and share your vigil?”
“No, your company would be too distracting. I must be unobtrusively on the watch, you know.”
Wylie departed without a murmur, possibly a little to Zoe’s disappointment, and only returned, equipped for riding, about two hours later.
“Now for it!” said Zoe. “I must take my courage in both hands. Shall I save the situation, or shall I ruin it?”
“But don’t you think it’s all right by this time?”
“Not a bit. Every now and then I have heard what they said, and it was always ‘Do you remember?’ like children talking over a Sunday-school treat. I might have sat with them the whole time. Well, now to interrupt them. Doesn’t it make you feel a brute?”
“Not in the least, nor you either. You know perfectly well that you feel like a whole three-volume novel, or a goddess out of a machine, or anything else that annihilates time and space to make two lovers happy.”
Zoe looked at him critically. “You mustn’t thought-read to such an extent,” she said, “or I shall be afraid of you. It’s uncanny. Now I am going to make the plunge. Eirene, are you ready? Captain Wylie is waiting to start.”
“Start? Where to?” demanded Maurice.
“For Therma, of course, to take Eirene’s letter. If she is to get back to-night, she must be sent for.”
“With these outrages still going on, when she has barely escaped with her life already? Nonsense! she can’t go back.”
“I can’t stay away any longer,” said Eirene.
“It’s awfully hard that you should just get this one glimpse of us, like a condemned man saying good-bye to his friends, and then go away for ever,” said Zoe.
“Why should she go away at all?” said Maurice suddenly. “Zoe, give us two minutes more. And just tell Wylie, will you? Eirene,” as Zoe vanished, “do you want to go back?”
“I must,” she said, smiling at him bravely.
“Can you bear to go back? I can’t bear you to go.”
“But I must,” she murmured, trying to draw away her hand.
“Oh no, you needn’t, if—Eirene, I know it will sound frightful cheek to you, but I must say it—if you would marry me.”
“You are sorry for me,” she said quickly, “because you know I am no longer the heir.”
“I never thought of it. I am sorry for you, but only because it’s so rough on you to give you the alternative of taking me or going back to a life you dread.”
“I can’t bear you to go.” “But I must,”she murmured.
“I can’t bear you to go.” “But I must,”she murmured.
“I suppose you understand,” said Eirene with energy, “that if I went back to Scythia I should be replaced in my old position, and be rich and received at Court?”
“Yes, I know, and I can only offer you a country life in England—for certain. Anything else is mere possibility.”
“Do you imagine I am thinking of that? I want to be sure you do not say this out of pity.”
“But I do. I want you to take pity on me.”
Sunshine succeeded momentary dismay on Eirene’s face.
“You know,” she said softly, “there was a condition to be fulfilled before I could be received at Court again?”
“That you should marry some one, I suppose? Who is the brute?”
“Oh no, they would not say that in words. The condition was that I should write to ask forgiveness, and say I was sorry for running away.”
“Well, and did you do it?”
“No, I would not—because I am glad, glad, glad, that I ran away. If I had not——”
“Yes?” Maurice had her hand fast by this time.
“I should still have been a rebel, opposing the head of my house,” said Eirene demurely.
“We might even have been pitted against one another,” said Maurice, with equal solemnity. “By the bye, have you gone into my claims at all?”
“No, they are yours, and you believe they are just—that is enough,” said Eirene.
“Well, did I play up to you?” asked Wylie, finding Zoe in the verandah the next day.
“You did, indeed. Your booted and spurred impatience was most telling. I’m sure it woke Maurice to a sense of the desperate nature of the situation, and so brought about the happy result. Don’t you feel proud of your first attempt at match-making? I do.”
“You were the match-maker; I only acted under your orders. What am I to have for it?” demanded Wylie.
“A promise of further employment if your services should at any time be needed,” said Zoe, with unnatural coolness, looking round desperately for a way of escape. “Oh, here are Maurice and Eirene, released at last from their conference with the Professor!” she cried, with real relief. “Well, what have you settled?” as they came up the steps, Maurice obviously quivering with excitement, Eirene reluctant and blushing.
“Everything!” cried Maurice triumphantly. “No, Eirene, I’m not going to shout or chortle, or do anything I promised you not to, but I must tell these two, because they’ll have to know, and we want Wylie’s help. Where are you off to, Wylie? Come back at once. You are our stand-by, our victim, our resource, as you have been all along.”
“Didn’t know you’d want me,” muttered Wylie, returning, and Maurice perceived that they had arrived at an inopportune moment, but was wise enough to take no notice.
“We want you tremendously,” he said. “I must tell you that Eirene is behaving like a brick. She is willing to marry me as soon as ever it can be arranged. It’s a proof of confidence I should never have ventured to ask of her, and if ever I fail to justify it, I hope you two will just talk to me as I deserve.” He took Eirene’s hand gently in his, and she gave him a smile which was not far removed from tears, and then drew back into the shadow behind him, unable to meet the eyes of the others. “You see,” he went on, “it will save us no end of bother if we can only get married before the Ladoguins can track Eirene. It seems that the Professor made it right with the soldiers who escorted you here, and the gate-keepers, so that no one will know there was a lady with you, and most happily, no one will dare to make inquiries openly, lest it should be asked why Madame Ladoguin didn’t take better care of her charge. The Professor thinks that when they find no trace of Eirene near the wrecked carriage—for, of course, the Roumis who attacked her will say nothing, for their own sakes—they will give out boldly that she was killed in the first explosion. We can’t let that remain uncontradicted, for the sake of her claims, but it will be much safer if she only comes forward again as my wife.”
“Look here,” said Wylie, “I don’t want to spoil your pleasant arrangement, but where is the danger from Scythia now? The Princess is of age; how can any one prevent her from marrying you if she likes?”
“What’s to keep them from saying that she’s under age, or mad, or anything?” demanded Maurice. “We could call for an inquiry, but she wouldn’t be allowed to remain with us, and you ought to know, if any one does, how hard it would be to get at her if they once got her into their hands again. And besides, they could bring such pressure to bear that no Greek priest in the world would dare to marry us.”
“I should like to join Maurice’s Church,” explained Eirene softly to Zoe, “but he thinks it would be such a good example for the Emathians if they saw that people of different creeds needn’t necessarily quarrel.”
“Poor thing! Is he offering you up as a political sacrifice already?” said Zoe.
“But, I say,” said Wylie hastily, “you seem to forget that a religious marriage isn’t enough. You’ll certainly need a civil ceremony as well, if not two. Do you propose to drive up to the Scythian Consulate and request Ladoguin to perform his duties as registrar?”
“Scarcely,” said Maurice, “though for a long time we couldn’t make out how we were to manage without his services. A declaration that we were Sovereign Princes and could legislate for ourselves would hardly meet the case. But, happily, Eirene has remembered that her father never surrendered his Dacian nationality. When he went to Scythia he held on to his estate in Dacia—I suppose to have something to fall back upon if things went wrong—and now it belongs to her. The simplest thing would be for us all to migrate there, and be married by the village pope and at the British Legation, but the trains are sure to be watched, however unobtrusively. So we must take advantage of the nearest spot of Dacian ground, which is their Consulate in Therma. The Professor is on the best of terms with the Consul, for Dacia has not so far joined in the scramble for influence in Emathia, and sides rather with the Greeks than any one else. No doubt she hopes to have her reward some day, but that doesn’t signify now. There’s a church quite close to the Consulate which is regarded as their special preserve, so we can have both ceremonies complete.”
“The Princess will be married fast enough, but I’m pretty sure you won’t,” objected Wylie.
“I shall be if the British Consul or acting-Consul is present, and registers the marriage,” said Maurice. “The Professor has been looking it up. Now, Wylie, this is where you come in. We want you to get round your friend Sir Frank Francis. The best of it is”—Maurice’s voice became unsteady—“that if the Ladoguins have told him anything about Eirene’s disappearance, he’ll suspectyouof having carried her off, and of wanting his kind offices for yourself. So the first thing you’ll have to do will be to disabuse his mind on that point. Then you must swear him to secrecy, and tell him the real state of the case. Tell him nothing would have induced us to patronise the rival establishment if we hadn’t felt certain that, if we came to him, his conscience would have driven him to give Ladoguin an opportunity of forbidding the banns. As it is, he is only asked to attend at the Dacian church and Consulate, and register the marriage of a British subject in the usual way. If he feels that even that is too much, ask him to take a day off, and appoint his chief clerk acting-Consul for the occasion.”
“But if he won’t, what is to happen?” said Zoe.
“Why, we should have to escape in a half-married condition, and find a less Scythia-ridden British Consul. But Wylie must put things so movingly that he won’t have the heart to refuse. After all, I am the head of Eirene’s family, and who has the right to arrange for her marriage if I haven’t? And if I choose to marry her myself, instead of handing her over to some one else, and she doesn’t object, who has any right to prevent me?”
“All very well,” said Wylie. “It sounds most logical and convincing, but you know there are a good many people who both could and would prevent you. Don’t be afraid; I’ll exhaust my eloquence on Sir Frank, and if nothing else will bring him, I’ll persuade him it’s his duty to be present to make sure that I am not marrying the Princess after all. Well, consider the ceremony safely accomplished. What next?”
“Next we are to be very snobbish, and send detailed announcements of our marriage—showing that it means the union of the elder and younger branches of the descendants of John Theophanis—to the principal papers of the world. Also, Eirene is to announce it to the various royalties whose acquaintance she enjoys.”
“And where are you to be when the announcement bursts upon the universe?”
“At home, I hope, for our honeymoon. The Professor seems inclined to allow us a breathing-space. I can’t quite make out what he’s up to, but apparently he thinks of nothing at present but getting the wedding over. I fancy winter is a close time in Emathia, too. I should like to show Stone Acton to Eirene, and we should be out of the way until the fuss had blown over.”
“Well, I hope you mean to apply for police protection,” growled Wylie.
“Or import a detachment of Pinkerton men from America to garrison the house, with instructions to shoot at sight any foreigner who appears in the village,” suggested Zoe.
“And what next?” persisted Wylie.
“That’s what I can’t quite make out. Eirene’s got an idea that the Professor has in his mind’s eye—or even in his actual possession—some fortified island in the Archipelago, where we might practise sovereignty, so to speak; but that makes him a sort of benevolent magician, and I can’t quite fit it in with the other things I know of him.”
“Oh, but it’s such a delightful idea!” cried Zoe. “You would stay quietly in your island when nothing particular was going on, and when adventures were going to begin, you would be close at hand. But you must be sure and let me know whenever that is, and I shall come from the ends of the earth.”
“But what are you proposing to do?” demanded Maurice.
“My dear Maurice, allow me a little liberty. You didn’t expect me to trail about after you and Eirene, did you? I have so many plans that I don’t know which to carry out first. I am going to write my great book, and to pose as a Balkan expert in literary society, and to travel all over the world.”
“Oh, well, I daresay circumstances will make the decision for you,” said Maurice, with a significance which Zoe recognised and resented. There was a touch of defiance in her rejoinder.
“On the whole, I think I shall choose the literary part first. I shall shut myself up, and write and write; but every now and then I shall pounce out on unhappy people who think that the Emathian problem is a simple one, or who make mistakes in spelling Balkan names.”
“But who is going to accept you as a critic?” asked Maurice.
“Every one,” triumphantly. “I have the one great qualification. I have failed in literature.”
“But I thought you were going to succeed now. You’ll find yourself in a glass house—a mark for all the other critics.”
“Maurice, I have had to tell you before that you were dense, but I am sorry to have to repeat it in Eirene’s presence. When my success has come—as soon as ever I am sure of it—I shall start upon my travels. In Tibet or the Sahara I shan’t be bothered by what people are saying about me. I shall have quite enough to do with taking care of myself.”
“I am sorry to break in on these blissful dreams of the future,” said Wylie, in rather a forced voice, “but the fact is, my extended leave is nearly out, and my time here is limited. How soon am I to intimate to Sir Frank that his presence will be required at the Dacian Consulate?”
“This day week,” returned Maurice promptly. “Eirene is pledged not to protest, and the Professor has promised to get her the Patriarch’s blessing as a reward.”
“Then I shall just have time to see you through. I sail in the afternoon.”
“If there’s any risk, we’ll put the wedding earlier,” said Maurice. “Don’t mind my feelings; tell me if it’s necessary. I must have you to support me.”
“Oh, you’ll have Armitage.”
“I shall have Armitage anyhow. The Professor says two best men are necessary. But you I must have—as better best man, I suppose. So let me know the worst, or I’ll keep you back by force, and get you cashiered.”
“Oh, that’ll be all right,” said Wylie, compassionating Eirene’s blushes. “I hope you realise what a lucky fellow you are, and that the Princess won’t let you forget it.”
“How could I forget it, when I have got her?” demanded Maurice. “He talks treason, doesn’t he, Eirene? Let us depart in dudgeon, and leave him and Zoe to plot the subjugation of Sir Frank. No, Zoe, we don’t want you. I am surprised that a person of your discernment should try to make a third in the walks of an engaged couple.You’re not the only one in the family to take up match-making,” he added in a whisper, as Zoe sat down again, somewhat discomposed. But the emergency put her on her mettle, and she turned to Wylie with smiling coolness as Maurice and Eirene went down the steps into the garden.
“It’s delicious to see them looking so happy, isn’t it?” she remarked. “It makes one feel quite choky.”
“Doesn’t it make you feel that such perfect bliss ought to be infectious? Don’t you think you and I——”
“Oh no, please don’t!” she cried.
“What am I not to do?”
“Don’t say it. I like you tremendously, of course, and I think you are the most splendid friend any one ever had, but I want to travel about for ever so long, just as I like, and write, and beinthings, you know.”
“Then you haven’t been in things enough the last three months?”
“I should think not! It has only whetted my appetite for more. Things are so frightfully interesting. I should like to plunge right into the midst of life.”
“Is it absolutely necessary to take the plunge alone?”
“Oh, I know what you are going to say. But don’t you see that I want to be without responsibilities for a time? I have always had Maurice on my mind, but now I can hand the dear boy over with an easy conscience to Eirene, and do just as I like. I want to be able to shut myself up and write, or start off on my travels, and go on, or come back, or break my journey, just as the fancy takes me—not to have to feel that I ought to be doing anything whatever.”
“You would soon get tired of that sort of life.”
“So everybody would say, but I want to try it. But you are better than most people. You are the only man I ever met who wouldn’t have been scandalised at what I have said, and done everything to keep me back.”
“Perhaps I know better than to say all I feel. Or perhaps I am trying to allure you by a deceptive show of sympathy. Honestly, Zoe, your life shouldn’t be a dull one if I could help it—with me, I mean,” he added lamely. “And you can’t think I should try to stop your writing. I should be awfully proud of your books.”
“I know. It’s very nice of you to say it, but you don’t understand. Think of me stuck down in a small Indian station——” Wylie opened his lips, but closed them again. “You told me long ago you were to be stationed in a horrid, humdrum little place when you went back. Nothing would happen, there would be the same dull, deadly monotony of duties every day—and yet I couldn’t have a writing fit in peace. It isn’t even as if you were still on the frontier.”
“It’s rather a good thing I’m not, if your feelings would be liable to change the moment I was transferred anywhere else. But I should have thought a quiet, regular life would have been the best possible thing for your writing.”
“For manufacturing books, not for writing. Why, just think, if I woke up one day with a perfectly splendid idea, and wanted simply to sit down and work it out—not to bother about meals or anything, except coffee and biscuits, or something of that kind, which I could eat without thinking about it. You would come—I know you would—and sweep my books away ruthlessly, and insist upon my taking proper food, and expect me to be grateful to you for doing it!”
“And I should be disappointed? Well, I will try to moderate my expectations. It might come to our both having scratch meals, surrounded by books, at opposite corners of the table.”
“No, you would never get like that, and it’s quite right you shouldn’t. You would have your duties, demanding punctuality and regularity, and all the things I want to escape from for a time, and you would insist on them. It would be different if you were more easy-going.”
“I’m afraid the woman who marries me will have to take me as I am—unless she can change me. Zoe, take me in hand, won’t you? I’ll give you a free hand to make all the alterations and improvements you like.”
“But it’s just those very qualities that I like in you. No, you won’t see. When—I mean if—I marry, I shall really do my duty and settle down. If I went back with you now, I should sink my own life in yours. I should think of nothing but seeing that your meals were in time and as you liked them, and that the house and everything did you credit, and you would congratulate yourself on having driven all my foolish aspirations out of my head. And then one day I should wake up to find that I was growing old, and had done nothing, and the visions had faded, and I should—hateyou. No, I shall never be young again, I shan’t always feel my heart leap up with a great idea coming suddenly—I must follow the gleam while I can. It will be different in a few years, but at present I have such lots of interests, and I can’t narrow them all down to——”
“To one man and his career? Well, put it that you spend these years as you suggest. What then?”
“Why, whether I succeed or fail, I shall have tried my wings, ‘proved my soul,’ like Paracelsus. Perhaps the visions will fade naturally, perhaps they will be more under control. Then I shall have time for the other side of life.”
“In other words, you might be willing then to turn to the man who loved you and had spent his best years waiting for you?”
“You are trying to make me out perfectly horrid! I—I——” Zoe blushed and stammered—“I shouldn’t mind very much being engaged, if it was quite certain that the engagement was a long one.”
“But I should. Do you really expect me to go on working quietly, not knowing where you were, or in what wild scrapes you might be involving yourself? Suppose you were again in circumstances like this summer’s. Another man is thrown with you, as I have been, falls in love with you, as I have done; you discourage him steadily, as you have discouraged me, but he forces an explanation—also like me. You plead that you are already engaged. ‘Why, what kind of double-distilled fool can the fellow be, to let you run about by yourself like this? He can’t care for you much!’ And it would be perfectly just.”
“I have said more to you than I could ever have imagined I should say to any man on earth,” said Zoe resolutely, but with a tremor in her voice. “If you won’t wait, it is not for me to offer concessions. Why are you so impatient?”
“Because life is short and apt to end suddenly, I suppose. What’s the good of talking, Zoe? I want you, and you don’t want me, and that’s all about it.”
“Oh,” said Zoe impulsively, “when you talk like that, I have a feeling as if I saw your real self for a moment. The rest of the time you seem not to be putting forth all your strength. If you did, I—— What is it?”
“It is just that. I believe that if I looked you straight in the eyes, and said, ‘Come,’ you would come. I could make you listen to me, but I won’t. I don’t want my will merely to triumph over yours; I want your sober judgment to decide that you care for me enough to give up everything else, no matter what, for my sake, and not regret it.”
Her puzzled face was a mute request to him to go on.
“Remember what I have learnt, since I knew you first, about your brother’s future prospects. The Professor has been rubbing it in diligently. If Teffany’s claims were once recognised, or even influentially taken up, think of the gulf between you and me. Married to a poor and undistinguished soldier, you would be heavily handicapped; free, you could aspire to almost any position. Unless you really loved me, heart and soul, you must feel that I was a drag on you, and resent it, and I—I could stand anything but seeing you repent that you had married me.”
“Oh, how unkind you are!” cried Zoe. “As if anything that could possibly happen could make me change! Why, if I were a princess, and you came in as a stranger, I should step down to you and hold out my hand.”
“And I should kiss it and pass on.”
“You are cruel. Don’t you see how terribly I should be wanting you if I did such a thing as that? Oh, promise, promise, that if I ever do it you won’t pass on!”
Wylie laughed bitterly. “What a queer girl you are!” he said. “Your eyes are full of tears at the mere thought that you may want me some day, and yet you won’t take me now.”
“I was feeling it as if it was in a book,” murmured Zoe shamefacedly. “But you will promise?”
“No, I won’t, because I shouldn’t do it. I shall do my level best to forget you from the day I leave this.”
This was high treason, and cried aloud for condign punishment.
“Can you forget when you like?” asked Zoe incisively.
“No, I wish I could! It won’t be much comfort for me, away in the Soudan, to think of you wandering about the world and getting into all sorts of difficulties.”
“The Soudan? But aren’t you going back to India?”
“No, I am to be lent to the Egyptian Government for special work in the Soudan. That was how I got longer leave.”
He went away abruptly, and Zoe gazed after him with mingled feelings.
“Of course we shall meet again,” she said to herself. “It’s all nonsense about forgetting. He can’t forget if he really cares. And we shall be older then, and more tolerant, and get into one another’s ways better.” A vision crossed her mind of herself and Wylie placed farther apart by the passage of years, both more fixed in their own ways and opinions, each finding it more difficult to understand the other, but she brushed it aside. “I have a right to live my own life, just as he has a right to try and get me to live his, if he can. I wonder whether he could have made me marry him, as he said? It would be hard to refuse, I know, if he had looked at me. I—I almost wish he had tried. And why didn’t he tell me about the Soudan until just at the end?”
She wondered in vain, but Wylie vouchsafed enlightenment later to Eirene, who felt that her own engagement supplied a vantage-ground from which to stretch out helping hands to those who were less fortunate in their love affairs. With the gracious little air of condescension which she had now laid aside in Maurice’s case, she took Wylie to task.
“The Soudan is just what Zoe would love,” she said. “You should have told her about it sooner—quite at the beginning. Why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t want her to marry me merely as a purveyor of adventures.”
“You are a very rude man,” said Eirene, with dignity.
“Sorry,” said Wylie. “It’s not the first time you’ve had that against me, is it?”
“But it makes me unhappy that you should manage things so badly, for you are the very person for Zoe.”
“You mustn’t flatter my self-conceit by agreeing with me. She doesn’t think so, you see.”
“Oh, but she will, some day. Don’t think me meddling, prying”—she blushed—“but you won’t suddenly marry some one else in despair, will you?”
“There won’t be much chance of marrying any one where I shall be,” he said, looking down at her kindly, “so I can reassure your mind by saying that it’s in my work I hope to forget all this.”
Mauriceand Eirene were married. In the little church of Hagios Gerasimos, Maurice the servant of God had been crowned for Eirene the handmaid of God, and Eirene the handmaid of God for Maurice the servant of God. They had drunk of the Common Cup, walked in procession round the church with the crowns held over their heads by the groomsmen, exchanged wedding-rings, to Maurice’s surprise and gratification, and they had been dismissed with the blessing of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel. Sir Frank Francis was duly present to register the marriage. Wylie had again displayed his diplomatic powers by laying siege first to Lady Francis, whose fertile imagination, defying probabilities and dates, swept her, as soon as she heard his story, to the wild conclusion that he had been wooing Eirene for his friend during those trying weeks when he had maintained so assiduous a watch on the Scythian Consulate. Even when approached through the person who might be presumed to know his weak points best, Sir Frank was not easy to persuade. His promise of secrecy prevented his revealing everything at once to M. Ladoguin, but he declared long and loudly that he would have nothing to do with any clandestine, hole-and-corner business. It was by working on his feelings of sympathy for Eirene that his wife at length extorted his consent. The poor girl would be indubitably married; was it to be thought of that her bridegroom should be bound only by honour? Once away from Therma, he might or might not repeat the ceremony before a British Consul, and was it just to subject the bride to such a risk? Maurice would certainly not have recognised his own character had he heard Lady Francis expatiating on the danger of Eirene’s too probably finding herself a deserted wife, and Wylie was filled with grim amusement when the injustice of it occurred to him; but the natural desire of an honest man to see that a young fellow did honestly by the girl who trusted him carried the day over Sir Frank’s sense of his duty to his colleague. Two stipulations he made, which were promptly accepted, namely, that he should see Eirene alone before the ceremony, in order to ascertain her true wishes and make sure that she was not breaking any former contract of betrothal, and that on the day after the wedding he should be allowed to make a clean breast of the matter to M. Ladoguin.
The arrangements of the wedding-day were curious, for though the wedding itself was obliged to take place in the morning to allow Wylie to be present, the ship in which the bridal pair and Zoe had taken their passage for England did not sail till the evening. Accordingly, after the ceremony Armitage escorted Wylie to his steamer, and the rest of the party returned to Kallimeri, Eirene wearing Greek peasant costume and passing as the maid of Madame Panagiotis, for there was to be no relaxation of vigilance until they were safely at sea. Zoe was in specially high spirits, accusing the bride and bridegroom of sharing the sense of depression which is usually believed to settle down upon a wedding-party after the departure on their honeymoon of the chief actors.
“Stuff!” said Maurice. “Why, my wedding-ring alone would keep me from being depressed,” regarding his hand proudly. “It’s really awfully swagger. Makes a man feel so undeniably married, don’t you know?”
“Oh, that’s all very well,” said Zoe. “It’s no use trying to wear a mask before me. You forget that I have an advantage which no other living bridesmaid possesses. I am like the Infant Phenomenon, going away with Mr and Mrs Lillyvick on their wedding tour. Have you read ‘Nicholas Nickleby,’ Eirene? Not? What a lot of things we have to teach her, haven’t we, Maurice?”
“There’s one thing I should like to teach you, and that is to know a good man when you see one,” growled Maurice.
Zoe turned upon him. “If you think you are doing Captain Wylie any good by the way you have behaved to me all this week, you are very much mistaken,” she said. “Any one would think I was a child who didn’t know her own mind, instead of a reasonable being, acting deliberately. I told him exactly how I felt, and he understands. He doesn’t wish to marry me while I feel as I do; he said so. And now I hope you will leave off treating me in this absurd way, as if I was in disgrace, and allow me the liberty I allow you.”
“Oh, Zoe, Maurice didn’t mean that!” cried Eirene anxiously. “He was only so sorry for Captain Wylie.”
“I hope, Maurice,” said Zoe, unappeased, “that you realise how detestably you have behaved, when you see that it’s necessary for Eirene to interpret your intentions to me.”
She left the verandah with great dignity, but found herself confronted by Armitage on the steps.
“Oh, are you back already?” she cried. “Well, did you see him off?”
“Yes, the steamer was actually punctual; we had barely time, in fact. He begged me to give his farewells and good wishes all over again. I only stayed to watch him out of the harbour, and hurried back here, because I thought Mrs Teffany might let me make a sketch of her in that Greek dress. It’s awfully fetching, and I shan’t have another chance.”
Armitage was to wait until the next steamer, so as to cover the retreat of the rest, or rather, to find out if any measures were likely to be taken against them. What his paper thought of his long delay at Therma he did not inquire, trusting to be able to placate it with a terrific double-page drawing of the city on the night of the dynamite outrages, as seen from Kallimeri, as well as by a whole supplement illustrating the adventures of his friends, whose capture by the brigands had first brought him south.
“If you would stand just as you are now, leaning against that pillar, Mrs Teffany,” he continued persuasively. “You see, I have your husband in Greek dress already, and I could work up the two sketches into a tremendously telling portrait.”
“I bag it, then,” said Maurice. “All right, Eirene, let him do it if he’s taken that way. It’s only like being photographed at an ordinary wedding.”
“It ought to have been a group,” objected Zoe, whose anger had evaporated before the duty of arranging Eirene so that her costume showed to the best advantage. With skilful fingers she pulled out here and patted down there, until Armitage begged her not to make the effect too studied.
“Talking about groups, we really ought to have had one taken before Wylie left,” said Maurice. “Just the four of us who were captured together. He always seems rather left out, and yet he worked so tremendously for us.”