The words gushed impetuously from her, but at the end there was a choke in her throat. ‘No, no, nonsense,’ said I. ‘You’ve got the island now. You mustn’t talk like that.’ ‘I don’t care--’ she began; and stopped short. ‘Besides, I shall pull through,’ said I. She dropped my hand, but she kept her eyes on mine. ‘And if you get away?’ she asked. ‘What will you do? If you get to Rhodes, what will you do?’ ‘All I shall do is to lay an information against your cousin and the innkeeper. The rest are ignorant fellows, and I bear them no malice. Besides, they are your men now.’ ‘And when you’ve done that?’ she asked gravely. ‘Well, that’ll be all there is to do,’ said I, with an attempt at playful gaiety. It was not a very happy attempt. ‘Then you’ll go home to your own people?’ ‘I shall go home; I’ve got no people in particular.’ ‘Shall you ever come to Neopalia again?’ ‘I don’t know. Yes, if you invite me.’ She regarded me intently for a full minute. She seemed to have forgotten the blast of the horn that summoned the islanders. I also had forgotten it; I saw nothing but the perfect oval face, crowned with clustering hair and framing deep liquid eyes. Then she drew a ring from her finger. ‘You have fought for me,’ she said. ‘You have risked your life for me. Will you take this ring from me? Once I tried to stab you. Do you remember, my lord?’ I bowed my head, and Phroso set the ring on my finger. ‘Wear it till a woman you love gives you one to wear instead,’ said Phroso with a little smile. ‘Then go to the edge of your island--you are an islander too, are you not? so we are brethren--go to the edge of your island and throw it into the sea; and perhaps, my dear friend, the sea will bring it back, a message from you to me. For I think you will never again come to Neopalia.’ I made no answer: we walked together to the door of the house, and paused again for a moment on the threshold. ‘See the blue sea!’ said Phroso. ‘Is it not--is not your island--a beautiful island? If God brings you safe to your own land, my lord, as I will pray Him to do on my knees, think kindly of your island, and of one who dwells there.’ The blast of the horn had died away. The setting sun was turning blue to gold on the quiet water. The evening was very still, as we stood looking from the threshold of the door, under the portal of the house that had seen such strange wild doings, and had so swiftly made for itself a place for ever in my life and memory. I glanced at Phroso’s face. Her eyes were set on the sea, her cheeks had turned pale again, and her lip was quivering. Suddenly came a loud sharp note on the horn. ‘It is the signal for the start,’ said she. ‘I must go, or they will be here in heat and anger, and I shall not be able to stop them. And they will kill my lord. No, I will say “my lord.”’