‘You’re in my house,’ said I, ‘and the rest of your infernal gang’s outside and going to stay there. So you must make the best of it.’ The boy turned his head away and closed his eyes. Suddenly I snatched the lantern from Hogvardt. But I paused before I brought it close to the boy’s face, as I had meant to do, and I said: ‘You fellows go and get something to eat, and a snooze if you like. I’ll look after this youngster. I’ll call you if anything happens outside.’ After a few unselfish protests they did as I bade them. I was left alone in the hall with the prisoner; soon merry voices from the kitchen told me that the battle was being fought again over the wine. I set the lantern close to the boy’s face. ‘H’m,’ said I, after a prolonged scrutiny. Then I sat down on the table and began to hum softly that wretched chant of One-Eyed Alexander’s, which had a terrible trick of sticking in a man’s head. For a few minutes I hummed. The lad shivered, stirred uneasily, and opened his eyes. I had never seen such eyes; I could not conscientiously except even Beatrice Hipgrave’s, which were in their way quite fine. I hummed away; and the boy said, still in a dreamy voice, but with an imploring gesture of his hand: ‘Ah, no, not that! Not that, Constantine!’ ‘He’s a tender-hearted youth,’ said I, and I was smiling now. The whole episode was singularly unusual and interesting. The boy’s eyes were on mine again; I met his glance full and square. Then I poured out some water and gave it to him. He took it with a trembling hand--the hand did not escape my notice--and drank it eagerly, setting the glass down with a sigh. ‘I am Lord Wheatley,’ said I, nodding to him. ‘You came to steal my cattle, and murder me, if it happened to be convenient, you know.’ The boy flashed out at me in a minute. ‘I didn’t. I thought you’d surrender if we got the cattle away.’ ‘You thought!’ said I scornfully. ‘I suppose you did as you were bid.’ ‘No; I told Constantine that they weren’t to--’ The boy stopped short, looked round him, and said in a surprised voice, ‘Where are all the rest of my people?’ ‘The rest of your people,’ said I, ‘have run away, and you are in my hands. And I can do just as I please with you.’ His lips set in an obstinate curve, but he made no answer. I went on as sternly as I could. ‘And when I think of what I saw here yesterday, of that poor old man stabbed by your bloodthirsty crew--’ ‘It was an accident,’ he cried sharply; the voice had lost its dreaminess and sounded clear now. ‘We’ll see about that when we get Constantine and Vlacho before a judge,’ I retorted grimly. ‘Anyhow, he was foully stabbed in his own house for doing what he had a perfect right to do.’ ‘He had no right to sell the island,’ cried the boy, and he rose for a moment to his feet with a proud air, only to sink back into the chair again and stretch out his hand for water.