"Half an hour ago, sir, the Captain Poniropoulos climbed in over the camp wall. I thought best to tell you at once." "Did he explain where he had been?" "No, sir." "Open the door, Christos," said Nicholas. "There is one question more. Did he offer you money not to say anything about it?" Christos shifted from one foot to the other. "No, sir," he said, at length. "You did quite right to tell me," said Nicholas. "You can go." "Now, Mitsos," said Nicholas, when the footsteps died away, "you can begin and tell me how you got this." Then Mitsos, with many pauses, told him all that had taken place between him and Suleima from the time he had first heard the voice out of the darkness down to this night, when again it had come to him, lying outside the walls of Tripoli, and Nicholas heard him in absolute silence. "And, oh, uncle, if it be possible," cried Mitsos, "let her be safe when the end of the time comes. For there is no one like her, and it has been hard for me." Nicholas heard it in wonder and amazement, but he had one more question to ask. "But when you blew up the Turkish ship, Mitsos," he said, "did it not occur to you that she might be on board?" "I thought she certainly was there," said Mitsos, "and it was not till it was all over I heard she was not." Nicholas reached out in the darkness and took Mitsos' smooth hand in his. "God forgive us all!" he said; "and can you forgive us, little Mitsos?" The pain and relief of telling all the story to a man whom he trusted and loved had been too much for the boy, and he choked in trying to find his voice. "There, there!" said Nicholas, soothingly; "but what is the matter with the young wolf? He has had good news to-night, has he not? and has he not seen the one he loves? There is no cause for this, little Mitsos. But this will I do: by the oath of the clan I swear to you that nothing shall stay me--not fever, nor wounds, nor booty, nor glory, only honor alone--from doing what in me lies to save her from all peril. Will that do, little one?" Mitsos pressed his hand, but could not speak. "But this you must promise," went on Nicholas, "that never again will you go out of the camp by night without leave. It leads with other men to ugly things, and to-morrow there will be one man the less in the army. The treacherous villain! But to-morrow he leaves the camp with disgrace and hissing, for he has made true the false slander of the primates, and brought shame on us all. And now go to bed, Mitsos. The service you have done in discovering this atones for your fault. Poor little cub, but it has been a hard time for you."