FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1266, 4 June 1896, Page 40

FICTION.

BY ANTHONY HOPE, Author of 'The Prisoner of Zonda.'

(Copyright 1893 in the United States of America h>j A. 11. Hawkhu.J "iPEE E/O 3 O." 4j ! ;

(t.'ontinv-.1.) CIIA.PTEH VI. Tiu: roEM or :>:..;-i:v;.M .u,iJXANi.»r.u. Thoro is a matter on my conscience which [ can't excuse, but may a.; well confess. To deceive ;i maiden is ;i very Bore tiling—ho sore L-htit i 1 had made us all hot against Cou.stant.ino; Imt it may be doubted by a, cooJ mind whether it id wor ■', nay, whether it is as bid, as to contrive tiio murder of a lawful wife. Boots have. paid more altention to t!ie first—maybe they know mora about it—the lav,- tin-Is greater employment, on the whole, in respect to the latter, lairinc, 1 admit that it was not till i found myself stretched on a mattress in the kitchen, with the id 'a of getting a rev,- hours' sleep, that it struck mo that Constantino's wife deserved a share of my concern and care. Her grievance against him was at least as great as Euphrosyne's; her peril waa far greater. For Euphrosyne was !iis object; Erancesca (for that appeared from Yiaoho's mo ! • of address to bo her nam") was an obstacle that prevented him from attaining that object. For myself 1 should have welcomed a cut-throat if it caine as a?i alternative to Constantino's society; but probably his wife would not agree with mo, and the conversation 1 had heard left me in little doubt that her life was not safo. They could not havo an epidemic, Vlaeho had prudently reminded his master; the island fever could not kill Constantino's wife and our party all in a day or two. Men suspect such obliging maladies, and the old lord had died of it, pat to the happy moment, already ! lint if tins thing could be done, if it could be so managed that London, Paris and Riviera would find nothing strange in the disappearance of one Madame Sleffanopoiilos and (he appearance of another, why, to a certainty, dono the thing would bo, unless 1 could warn or save the woman in the cottage. And I did not see how to do either. So (as 1 set out to confess) I dropped the subject. And when I wont to sleep 1 was thinking not how to save Eraneesca, but how to console Euphrosyne, a matter really of less urgency, as I should havo .-e'en had not the echo of that sad little cry still filled my ears. The news that Hogvardt brought mo when I rose in the morning, and was enjoying a slice of cow-steak, by no means cleared my way. An actual attack did not seem imminent—l fancy those fierce islanders were not too fond of our revolvers—but the house was, if I may use the term, carefully picketed—and that both before and behind. Along the road that approached it in front there stood sentries at intervals. They wen.' stationed just out of range of our only effective long distance weapon, bill it was evident that egress on that side was haired: and the same was the case in the oilier. Hogvardt had seen men moving in the wood, and had heard their challenges to one another, repeated at regular intervals. We were shut olf from the sea; we were shut off from the cottage. A blockade would reduce us as wallas an attack. And I had nothing to oiler exei-pt the re lea >, ol Euphro yne. And to release Euphro.-yno would in all likelihood lion save us, while it would leave Constantino free to play out his ediu.Aly game to its appointed end. I finished my bmikfa a in some perplexity of spirit. Then i weul and sat in the hall, expecting thai Euphrosyne would appear from her room bel'oie long. I was alone, for i} iu ro4 were engag' d in various occupations, Hogvardt being particularly busy over a large handful of Minting knives tint he h id gleaned Uom the vail -. 1 did not underhand wk.l he ivanted >vil!i them, unless ho wanted to arm himseli iu porcupine fashion. L'resontly Euphrosyne came, but if was a transformed Euphrosyne. The kill, knee breeches and gaiters were gone. In their place was the while linen garment with flowing sleeves and the loose jaekoi over it, the national dress of the Creek woman, but Euphrosyne's w,is oruamenied with a rare profusion of delicate embroidery, an 1 of so line a texture that it -5 Kii" '< rai h •!• change of attire s < met n it cr d hi I; :r altered inarm r. Deiiinc. l was :;■■■'.: \ aad appeal glistened fro a her i ye i as she stood 1 el'ore ine. i rpr..!ig up, but she would not sit. bin- ,do ,d !ii ■■: ■, and, raising her glance to my face, a.sie.'d ..imply- - ' Is it it no:' story, starting fiom ihe everyday scene at home in the re., tan rant, ending with the villainous conversation and the wild chase of the night before. \\ It n I related that Constantino had called Eraneesca his wife Euphrosyne shivered. While I sketched lightly my encounter with him and VJacho, she eyed mo with a sort of grave curiosity ; and at the end she said • I'm so glad you weren't killed.' It '.-"as not an emotional speech, nor delivered with any <se,ov.-e- ,c ~/. but i took it for thanks and made the k, t of' it. Then at last she sat dov.u and rented her head o her hand; her absent air allowed me to uiuiy her clo.;< iy, and .1 ~, ,ttuek by n iiaw bouuly which ti;e U:.-irr '. ey's dress had concealed. Moreover, with the doffing of that, oho seemed to have put off

her extreme hostility; but perhaps the revelation I had made to her, which showed her the victim of an unscrupulous schemer, had moro to do with her softened air. Yet she bore the story firmly, aud a quivering lip was her extreme sign of grief or anger. And her first question was not of herself.

'Do you mean that they will kill this woman ?' she asked. 'l'm afraid it's not unlikely that something will happen to her, unless, of

Course r paused, but her quick wit supplied the omission.

'Unless,' she said, 'he lets her live now because J am out of his hands.' 'Will you stay out of his hands?' I asked. ' I mean' as long as 1 can keep you out of them.'

She looked round with a troubled expression. ' How can 1 stay here .' she said in a low

'You will be safe here as you were in your mother's arms,' I answered. Site acknowledged my promise with a movement of her head; but a moment later she cried—

■ IJut I am not with you -1 am with the people! The island is theirs and mine. It. is not jours. I will have no part in giving

it to Veil.' ' 1 wasn't proposing to take pay for my hospitality,' .stid. I. ' It'll be hardly handsome enough for that, I'm afraid. IJut mightn't w'e leave that question for the moment!"'

And f described briefly to her our present position. 'So that,' 1 concluded, 'while I maintain my claim to the island, 1 am at present more interested i.u keeping a whole skin on myself and my friends.'

•If you will not give it up I can do nothing,' said she. 'Though they kne.v Constantino to be all you say, yet they would follow him, and not me, if I yielded the island. Indeed, they would most likely follow him in any case, for the Xcopnlians like a man to follow, and they like that man to be a Steffanoponlos; so they would shut their eyes to much in order that Constantino might marry mo and become lord.'

She slated all this in a matter-of-fact way, disclosing no great horror of her countryman's moral standard. The straightforward barbarousness of it perhaps appealed to her a little ; she loathed the man who would rule on those terms, but had some toleration for the people who set the true dynasty above all else. And she spoke of her proposed marriage as though it were a natural arrangement.

' I shall have to marry him, 1 expect, in spite of everything,' she said. I pushed my chair back violently. My English respectability was appalled. 'Marry him?' I ctied. ' Why, he murdered the old lord '.'

'That has happened before among the Stefl'anopouloi,' said Euphrosyne, with a calmness dangerously near to pride. 'And he proposes to murder his wife,' I added.

' Perhaps ho will get rid of her without that.'

She paused, then came the anger I had looked for before.

'Ah, but how dared he swear that he had thought of no one but me and loved mo passionately ? He shall pay for that.' Again it was injured pride that rang in her voice as ill lier first cry. It did not sound like love, mid for that I was glad. The courtship had probably been an affair uf State ratlmr than of affection. I did not ask how Constantino was to be made to pay, whether before or after marriage. I was struggling between horror and amusement at my guest's point of view. I tut I take have to havo a will of my own, even sometimes in matters t hat are not exactly my concern, and 1 said now with a couipoaire 1 hat rivals Euphro a/ne's • It's on! of the que t ion that you should marry him. I'm going to get him hanged; and, anyhow, it would be atrocious.' Sim miled at that; but then she leaned forward and asked, • And how long' have you provisions for'-' • that's a good retort,' 1 admitted. 'A few days, that,'sail. And '/,•■ can't g :t out t . procure any more, and we c lift, go oil shooi in;/-, bee ui. ■• t he '■'. i .od's infi fed wii ii tie . u nil! I b ■;• pardon wit h your c aui-Iryne-u.' • 'fin n it . eijuij (~ me,' . i.id Euphrosyne, ' that \ou and your friends are more likely to be hanged.' Well, on a. dispassionate consideration, it did seem more likely, but she need not have said so. And i-.he went on with an i-ijually di ;eournging good .■•■. n e. • There will lie a bo;,! Horn Kho les in about a moiil h or ,-ix week.;. The ollicer will c me i hen to take i ho ! ribiib', perhaps til ' •' : o\ ■ ! ;|or Will e el, •. but ill] t hell nobody w iij v!-'il I ho i.Jnnd, uale •■■ ;, |„, u fi \v ,i be men i p ..m i' vpi u .' ' Im, iicraieii: j Where do they laud? At the harbour?' • No. My people do not like them, though t lie l lovern u' thr a' n ; to send ! troop; if we do not let them land. So I tiay come to a liitle creel, at the opposite I end of the i. land, on the other side of the | mountain. Ah, what are you thinking As Euphrosyne pi rceived, her words had j put a new idea in my mind. if I could ' roach that creek and tied fishermen and ; persuade them to help me, or to carry me and my party off, that hanging might j happen to the right man after all. ' You're thinking you can reach them'' ! ' You don'! seem sure that you want mo t0;i0i,,„,.d. 'Mb, h„« can ! i. 11 wind I want ? If J | help y..u I inn !-, flawing the bland. It I | do not- | ' Youll have a death or two at. your i door, and you'll many the biggest scounI di'e! in Em ope,' .aid i. I bile hung her head and plucked fret-

fully at the embroidery in the neck of her dress.

'But, anyhow, you couldn't reach them,' she said. 'You are close prisoners here.' That, again, seemed true, so true that it put me in a very bad temper. Therefore I rose and leaving her without much ceremony, strolled into the kitchen. Here t found Wat kins dressing the cow's head, Hogvardt surrounded by knives, .and Denny lying on a rug cm the floor with a small book, which he seemed to bo reading. lie looked up with a smile which he considered knowing.

' Well, what doos tlio captive queen say?' lie asked with levity. 'She proposes to marry Cemstnntiue/I answered, and added quickly to llogvardf, ' What's the game with these knives, If Off?' ' Well, my lord,' said Ilogvardt, surveying his dozen murderous instruments. ' I thought there was no harm in putting an edge on them, in ease we should Jiud a use for them,' and he fell to grinding one wi.h great energy. ' 1 say, Charley, I wonder what this yarn's about. I can't construe half of it. It's in (jreok, and it's something about NVopalin ; and there's a lot ahout a Steff;inopoulos.' 'ls there? I,e','s see,' lnn \ faking the hook, I sat down to look at it. It was a slim old hook, hound in calfskin. The (Jreek was written in antique style ; it was verse. I turned to the title page. ' Hall", this is rather interesting,' 1 exclaimed. ' Jl's about the death of old Sloffnnopoulos —tho thing they sing that song about, you know.' In fact I had got hold of tho poem which One-Eyed Alexander composed. It> length was about three hundred lines, exclusive erf the re fain which the islanders had chanted, and which was inserted six times, occurring at the end of each fifty lines. The vest was written in rather barbarous iambics—and the sentiments were quite as barbarous as the verse. It told the whole stoiy, and I ran rapidly over it, translating here and there for tiie benefit of my companions. The arrival of the Karon do Ezonvillo recalled our own with curious exactness, except that he came with one servant only. lie had been taken to the inn as 1 had, but he had never escaped from there, and had been turned adrift the morning after his arrival.

J took more interest in Stefan, and followed eagerly the story of how the islanders had come to his hou.-e, and demanded that he should revoke the sale. Stefan, however, was obstinate; it, lost the lives of four of his assailants before his house was forced. Thus far I read and expected to find next an account of a inWe'e in the hall. lint here the story took a turn unexpected by me; one that, might make the reading of the old poem more than a mere pastime. 'But when they had broken in,' said One-Eyed Alexander, ' behold the hall was empty and the house empty. And they stood amazed. But the two cousins of the lord, wdio had been the hottest in seeking his death, put all the rest to the door and wore themselves alone in the house; for the secret was known to them wdio were of the blood of the Steffauopouloi. Unto me the bard it is not known, yet um\ say they went beneath the earth, and there in the earth found the lord. And certain it is they slew him, for in a space they came forth to the door bearing his "head; and they showed it to the people, who answered with a great shout, lint the cousins went back, barring the door again; and again, when but a few minutes had passed, they came forth and opened the door, and the elder of them, being now by the traitor's death become bird, bade the people in and made a great feast for them. But the head of Stefan none saw again ; nor did any see his body; but body and head were gone, whither none know, saving the noblo blood of the StoiVanopouloi; for utterly they disappeared, and the secret was securely kepi.' I read this passage aloud, translating as 1 wont. At the end Bunny drew a breath. ' Well, if there ai m't ghost., in this house there ought to b >,' ho remarked. • What the deuce did those rascals do with the old gentleman, ('barley ;-' ' It say., they went beneath the earth.' ' Tim ci liar,' suggested Hogvardt, who had a prosaic mind. ' Hut t hey wouldn't leave the body in the cellar,' I ..bj-cle.l, 'and if. as "this folio.v says, they wore only away a few minute.-., I hey i oiihln I ha\ o dug a •■.• ave b.i it. And llu II i! iy.; thai I'm y " Tinue to the earth found the lord.'" ' It would have In on more inlen line,,' said Denny, ' if they'd (old Alexander a bit more abrut if. However, I .n0p,,.,, he Consoles himself with his chant again ?' ■ lie does. It follows immediately on what I've read, and so the thing end.-.' And I sat lookiug at, the little \vH--w volume. ' Where did yui find it, Bonny ?' 1 .aid. 'Ob, on a shelf iu the corner of the h ill, between the bible and a " !.'.' i ol Byron.' I got up and walked hack to the hall. 1 looked round. Euphrosyne was not there, 1 inspected the hall door, it was still locked on the inside. I mounted the .-(airs and called at the door of her room; when no answer came I pushed it open and took the liberty of glancing round: she was not. there." I called again, for I thought she might have passed along the way over the hall and reached the roof, as .die had dono before. This lima 1 callod loudly. Silence followed fur a moment. Then came an answer in a hurried, rather apologetic tone, ' Here 1 am.' But then —the answer came not from the direction that 1 had expected, but from the hall, and, looking over the balustrade, I saw Euphrosyne sitting in the armchair.

' This,'said 1, going downstairs,'taken iu conjunction with this,' and 1 patted One,.Eyed Alexander's book', winch 1 held in ray hand ; ' is certainly cuu'ous and suggestive.' ' Hero I am,' said Euphrosyr.o, with an

air that added, 'l've not moved. What are you shouting for?' ( ' Yes, but you weren't: there a minute ago,' I observed, reaching the hall and walking across to her. She looked disturbed and embarrassed. ' Where have you been?' I asked. 'Must I give an account of every movement?' said she, trying to cover her confus'on with a show of haughty oll'ence. The coincidence was a really remarkable one. It was as hard to account for Euphrosyne's disappearance and reappearance as for the vanished head and body of old Stefan. 1 had a conviction—based on a. sudden intuition that one explanation must lie at the root of both these curious things—that the secret of which Alexander spoke was a secret still hiddenhidden from my eyes, but known to the girl before mo, the daughter of the Steil'anopouloi. ' f won't ask" you where you've been if j you d m't wish to tell me,' said I, care- i lcssl yShe bowed her head in recognition of my i indulgence. ' But there is one question I should like I to ask you,' I pursued; 'if you'll be so kind | as to answer it.' ' Well, what is it?' 'Where was Stefan Steffanoponlos killed, j and what became of his body?' And ;ts 1 put my question 1 linn;; One- j Eyed Alexander's book open on the table beside her. I She started visibly, crying, 'Where did you get that ?' 1 told her how Benny had found it, and I added - 'Now, what doe:, beneath the earth j mean ? You are one of the house and you must know.' 'Yes, 1 Know; but 1 mint not tell you. We are all bound by the moit sacred .'.alb | to tell no one.' ; ' Who fold you?' • My uncle. The bays of our house are fold when thoy are fifteen, the girls when they are sixteen. No one else knows.' 'And why is that ?' She ho .dialed, fearing perhaps I hat her an aver would i's df t-a I to tie _--(.,- j -. i _ oath bind in■■ ; and li binds 0\ rrymie ol in v l.'oidi'ed to till me i! i break it.' '• Bui V ''l've || , '.oihv I left except Coll-slanlia-V i objected. • Sooner than marry yo.,?' I sugge.ded ' rather malicioiisly. ' Ye;, if I broke (lie oath.' ' li ill;; lh" o:.!h'.' Slid I, imp.lli.-i,'iy. ' The tboig migh! help us. Bi I they bury ' No, be was not bar.el,' she answered. 'Then they (nought him up aud got rid j of his body when the islanders had gone?' ' You must think what you will.' • I'll find it out,'said 'l, 'if I pull the j hoii e down iu the process. Is it a secret i door or ' She bad coloured at. the question. 1 put ; the latter part in a low eager voice, for I hope had cane to inc. j 'ls it a way out ?' J asked, leaning over j to her. She sat: mute, but irresolute, embarrassed and fretful. I 'Heavens/ 1 cried, impatiently, ' it may mean life or death to all of us, and you boggle over your oath.' My rude impatience mot with a rebuke | that it perhaps deserved. With a glance of tiio utmost scorn, Euphrosyno asked 'And what are the lives of all of you to i me ?' j 'True, 1 for/ot; said 1 with a bitter j pdifeiie..s. 'I beg your pardon. I did you j all the service I could last night, and now | 1 and my friends may as well die as live!

But, by God, I'll pull this place to ruin, but I'll find your secret!' I was walking up and down now in a state cf some excitement. My brain was fired with the thought of stealing a march on Constantino through the discovery of Ids own family secret. Suddenly Euphrosyne gave a little soft clap with her hands. It was over in a minute, and she sat blushing, confused, trying to look as if she had not done it at all. 'What did you do that for?' I asked, stopping in front of her. ' Nothing,' said Euphrosyno. 'Oh, 1 don't believe that',' said I. She looked at me. ' I didn't mean to do if,' she said ag.viu. ' But can't you guess why?' 'There's too much guessing to be done here,' said I impatiently; and I started walking again. But presently 1 heard a, voice say softly and iu a tone that seemed to address nobody in particular—mo least of all- ' We Neopilians like a, man wdio can bo angry—and 1 began to think you never would.' ' I am not the lead angry,' said I, with great indignation. 'L ha!-'being told that I am angry, when 1 am merely showing' firmness.' Nov,- at this protest of mine Euphrosyno saw fit to laugh—the most hearty laugh she had given sines: 1 had known her. The mirthfulnoss of if undermined my wrath. I stood still opposite her, biting the end of my moii ;tach". 'You may laugh,' said I, 'but I'm not angry; aud 1 shall pull this house down—or dig it up—in cold blood, in perfectly cold blood.' ' Y.'tt are angry,' said Euphrosyne, 'and you say you're not. You are like my father. He would, stamp his foot furiously like that and say, "1 am not angry, I am not angry, t'hroso." ' ■' Phroso!' 1 had forgotten that diminutive of my guest's elas.'ucal name. It rather pleased me, and 1 repeated gently after her, ' I.'hro.io, t'hroso!' and I'm afraid I eyed the litJo foot that had stamped so bravely. 'fie always called mo rhroso. Oh, I wish he v. ere alive ' Then < lousfaul iue ' 'Sine:' he isn't,' said I, sitting by t'hroso (I must writ-) it, it's a ileal shorter), by i.'iu'o o'.; e.lbow. 'Since he isn't, I'll look after •' 'ousbinfiiie. If would lie a. pity to spoil the In lie., wouldn't it ?' 'l'msworn,' said t'hroso. "'hv.um -dances alter oat In,' s lid I. bondiag '. .1! i was \<-ry near I'.'iro -o's ear. • A a,' -•': I '.'tiros i repro ichiiiily, ' that's v. hat i 'Vs.' i .; iy when lhy had another more b.".u!ifui than their old love.' J shot away from Bhroso's ear w'th a sudden backward start. Her remark somehow came home to me with a, very romarkablo force. 1 got off the table and stood opposite Lo her in an awkward and stilf attitude. ' t am compelled to ask you for the last time if you will tell the .secret?' said I ill the coldest of tone-;. She looked up with surprise; my altered manner may well have amazed her. .She did not know the reason of it. ' You asked me kindly and—and pleasantly, and I would not. Now you ask me as if you threatened,' she said. ' Is it likely I should tell you now ?' Well, J was angry with myself and with her because sho had made mo angry with myself, aud. the next minute 1 became furiously angry with Benny, whom I found .landing in the doorway that led to the kitchen with a grin of intense amusement on his lace. ' What aieyou gi inning at?' I demanded fiercely. 'Oh, nothing,'said Bonny, and his face strove to assume a prudent gravity.

' Bring a pickaxe/ said I. Denny's face wandered towards Phvoso. ' Is she as annoying as that ?' he seemed to ask. ' A pickaxe ?' ho repeated in surprised tones. ' Yes, two pickaxes ! I'm going to have this floor up, and see if I can find out the great Steifanopoulos secret.' I spoke with an accent of intense scorn. Again Phroso laughed j her hands heat very softly against one another. Heavens, what did she do that for when Denny was there, watching everything with those shrewd eyes of his. 'The pickaxes !' I roared. Denny turned and fled ; a moment elapsed. I did not know what to do—how to look at Phroso or how not to look at her. I took refuge in flight. 1 rushed into the kitchen in pretence of aiding or hastening Denny's search. I found him taking up an old pick that stood near the door leading to the compound. I seized it from his hand. 'Confound you!' I cried, for Denny laughed openly at me; and I rushed backto the hall. But on the threshold I paused, and said what I will not write. For, though there came from somewhere just tho last ripple of a mirthful laugh, the hall was empty! Phroso was gone ! I flung the pickaxo down with a clatter on the boards and exclaimed in my haste — ' I wish to heaven I'd novar bought the island!' But I did not really mean that.

(To be concluded.)