He seemed influenced by my remonstrances, but he denied the suggestion I made. ‘I don’t seek his life,’ he said sullenly. ‘If we were strong enough to fight openly--well, I say nothing of that. He killed my brother, my lord.’ ‘I killed a brother of yours too, Demetri.’ ‘Yes, in honest fighting, when he sought to kill you. You didn’t half kill him with the lash, before his mother’s eyes, and finish the work with a rope.’ ‘Mouraki did?’ ‘Yes, my lord. But it is nothing, my lord. I mean no harm.’ ‘Look here, Demetri. I don’t love Mouraki myself, and you did me a good turn a little while ago; but if I find you hanging about here again with your gun and your knife I’ll tell Mouraki, as sure as I’m alive. Where I come from we don’t assassinate. Do you see?’ ‘I hear, my lord. Indeed I had no such purpose.’ ‘You know your purpose best; and now you know what I shall do. Come, be off with you, and don’t shew yourself here again.’ He cringed before me with renewed protestations; but his invention provided no excuse for his presence. He swore to me that I wronged him. I contented myself with ordering him off, and at last he went off, striking back towards the village. ‘Upon my word,’ said I, ‘it’s a nuisance to be honourably brought up.’ For it would have been marvellously convenient to let Demetri have a shot at the Pasha with that gun of his, or a stab with the long knife he had fingered so affectionately. This encounter had passed the time of waiting, and now I strolled back to the house. It was hard on midnight. The light in Mouraki’s window was extinguished. Two soldiers stood sentry by the closed door. They let me in and locked the door behind me. This watch was not kept on me; Mouraki knew very well that I had no desire to leave the island. Phroso was the prisoner and the prize that the Pasha guarded; perhaps, also, he had an inkling that he was not popular in Neopalia, and that he would not be wise to trust to the loyalty of its inhabitants. Soon I found myself in the compound at the back of the house. The ladder was placed ready; Kortes stood beside it. There seemed to be nobody else about. The rain still fell, and the wind had risen till it whistled wildly in the wood. ‘She’s waiting for you,’ whispered Kortes. ‘She knows and she will second the plan.’ ‘Where is she?’ ‘On the roof. She’s wrapped in my cloak; she will take no hurt.’ ‘And Mouraki?’ ‘He’s gone to bed. She was with him two hours.’ I mounted the ladder and found myself on the flat roof, where once Phroso had stood gazing up towards the cottage on the hill. We were fighting Constantine then; Mouraki was our foe now. Constantine lay a prisoner, harmless, as it seemed, and helpless. I prayed for a like good fortune in the new enterprise. An instant later I found Phroso’s hand in mine. I carried it to my lips, as I murmured my greeting in a hushed voice. The first answer was a nervous sob, but Phroso followed it with a pleading apology.