‘I’ll stay here to-night, anyhow, Watkins,’ said I. ‘I’m not going to be driven out of my own island by anybody.’ As I spoke, I brought my fist down on the table with a crash. And then to our amazement we heard, from somewhere in the dark recesses of the hall where the faint light of Hogvardt’s lantern did not reach, a low but distinct groan, as of someone in pain. Watkins shuddered, Hogvardt looked rather uncomfortable; Denny and I listened eagerly. Again the groan came. I seized the lantern from Hogvardt’s hand, and rushed in the direction of the sound. There, in the corner of the hall, on a couch covered with a rug, lay an old man in an uneasy attitude, groaning now and then and turning restlessly. By his side sat an old serving-woman in weary heavy slumber. In a moment I guessed the truth--part of the truth. ‘He’s not dead of that fever yet,’ said I. CHAPTER III THE FEVER OF NEOPALIA I looked for a moment on the old man’s pale, clean-cut, aristocratic face; then I shook his attendant by the arm vigorously. She awoke with a start. ‘What does this mean?’ I demanded. ‘Who is he?’ ‘Heaven help us! Who are you?’ she cried, leaping up in alarm. Indeed we four, with our eager fierce faces, must have looked disquieting enough. ‘I am Lord Wheatley; these are my friends,’ I answered in brisk sharp tones. ‘What, it is you, then--?’ A wondering gaze ended her question. ‘Yes, yes, it is I. I have bought the island. We came out for a walk and--’ ‘But he will kill you if he finds you here.’ ‘He? Who?’ ‘Ah, pardon, my lord! They will kill you, they--the people--the men of the island.’ I gazed at her sternly. She shrank back in confusion. And I spoke at a venture, yet in a well-grounded hazard: ‘You mean that Constantine Stefanopoulos will kill me?’ ‘Ah, hush,’ she cried. ‘He may be here, he may be anywhere.’ ‘He may thank his stars he’s not here,’ said I grimly, for my blood was up. ‘Attend, woman. Who is this?’ ‘It is the lord of the island, my lord,’ she answered. ‘Alas, he is wounded, I fear, to death. And yet I fell asleep. But I was so weary.’ ‘Wounded? By whom?’ Her face suddenly became vacant and expressionless. ‘I do not know, my lord. It happened in the crowd. It was a mistake. My dear lord had yielded what they asked. Yet some one--no, by heaven, my lord, I do not know who--stabbed him. And he cannot live.’ ‘Tell me the whole thing,’ I commanded.