Thinking thus, I put the book in my pocket, and looked round with a smile on my lips. I wished the man were alive that I might mock him. I grudged him the sudden death which fenced him from my triumphant raillery. Suddenly, there in the bows of the boat, I laughed aloud, so that the soldiers turned startled faces over their shoulders and Phroso looked at me in wonder. ‘It’s nothing,’ said I. ‘Since I’m alive I may laugh, I suppose?’ Mouraki Pasha was not alive. My reading and my meditation had passed the time. Now we were round the point which had lain between us and the harbour, and were heading straight for the gunboat that was anchored just across the head of the jetty. Phroso’s eyes met mine in an appeal. I could give her no hope of escape. There was nothing for it: we must go on, we and Mouraki together. But my heart was buoyant within me and I exulted in the favours of fortune as a lover in his mistress’s smiles. Was not Mouraki lying dead in the stern of the boat and was not I alive? We drew near to the gunboat. Now I perceived that her steam launch lay by her side and smoke poured from its funnel. Evidently the launch was ready for a voyage. Whither? Could it be to Rhodes? And did the pocket-book that I felt against my ribs by any chance contain the cargo which was to have been speeded on its way to-day? I laughed again as our boat came alongside, and a movement of excitement and interest rose from the deck of gunboat and launch alike. The officer went on board the gunboat; for an hour or more we sat where we were, sheltered by the side of the vessel from the heat of the sun, for it was now noon. What was happening on board I could not tell, but there was stir and bustle. The excitement seemed to grow. Presently it spread from the vessel to the shore and groups of islanders began to collect. I saw men point at Phroso, at me, at the stiffened figure under the coat. They spoke also, and freely; more boldly than I had heard them since Mouraki had landed and his presence turned their fierce pride to meekness. It was as though a weight had been lifted off them. I knew, from my own mind, the relief that came to them by the death of the hard man and the removal of the ruthless arm. Presently a boat put off and began to pull round the promontory. The soldiers did not interfere, but watched it go in idle toleration. I guessed its errand: it went to take up the corpse of Demetri, and (I was much afraid) to give it a patriot’s funeral. At last Mouraki’s body was carried on to the gunboat; then a summons came to me. With a glance of encouragement at Phroso, who sat in a sort of stupor, I rose and obeyed. I was conducted on to the deck and found myself face to face with the captain. He was a Turk, a young man of dignified and pleasant appearance. He bowed to me courteously, although slightly. I supposed that Mouraki’s death left him the supreme authority in Neopalia and I made him the obeisance proper to his new position.