At this moment he heard the noise of approaching wheels, and shortly afterwards the dogcart, drawn by a fast-trotting mare, flashed past him, containing only the groom and some luggage. Finding his conjecture thus prove correct, Crispin did not trouble himself to go farther on his way to seek Caliphronas, as that gentleman was bound to meet him in the avenue; so, lounging against the mighty trunk of an oak, he lazily waited the approach of the individual concerning whose intentions he entertained such doubts. “I will crown myself with roses To meet thee, beloved. Why dost thou fly at the sight of my wreath? The hot sun hath withered it truly. And my heart is burnt up by thine eyes. Dead heart! dead roses! but love undying.” Caliphronas was singing these words in Greek, and Crispin at once recognized the voice of the singer, a recognition which immediately confirmed his suspicions as to the identity of this gentleman. “We will live in the woods, my beloved, And berries will be our food; On berries and kisses could I live always, Till Fate destroyed us, And robbed us of berries, and kisses, and life forever.” “I’ve heard him singing that song at Melnos,” muttered Crispin quietly to himself. “It is he! What can he be doing here?” At this moment the singer came in sight, walking rapidly up the avenue with a springy step, swinging his stick to and fro as he sang. He was indeed a sight worth looking at, as he bounded lightly over the earth, Antæus-like, drawing fresh vigor at every pressure of his foot on the ground; yet his undeniable beauty but excited a feeling of repulsion in the breast of Crispin, who now knew him only too well. They were a strange contrast, these two men: the poet small, dark, and unhandsome, but the fire of intellect in his eyes; the adventurer a splendid animal, with nothing but his physical perfections to recommend him. Caliphronas did not notice the poet leaning against the tree, and came on, carelessly singing as he walked,— “What will I do for thee, beloved? Oh, I will do many deeds of daring! I will slay the Turk in his pride, And his head will be my wedding gift. Behold I”— Here he stopped suddenly, catching sight of Crispin, but, instead of being astonished at the unexpected meeting, as the poet expected, he simply stood still, leaning on his stick, and laughing at the look on the other’s face. “Ah, ah, Creespeen!” he said in Greek, with a smile; “you did not expect to see me in this place.” “Certainly I did not,” retorted Crispin in the same language, marvelling at the self-possession of the man; “and I’ve no doubt the meeting is unexpected on both sides.” “Not with me; oh no! That priest—the Papa I saw this morning told me you were here, and your friend also informed me of your presence.”