"Yes, I. Mitsos, will you forgive me? I ought to have been certain of you, and indeed in my heart I was; but I wanted to test you to the full, to put the fear of death before you, for it was needful that I should give convincing proof to others. My poor boy, don't tremble so; it was necessary, believe me. By the Virgin, Mitsos, if you had hit one hundredth part of a second sooner one of these men would have gone home with no nose and fewer teeth. You hit straight from the shoulder, with your weight in your fist. And that double you made up the hill was splendid. Mitsos, speak to me!" But the boy, pale and trembling, had sunk down on the ground with bent head, and said nothing. "Here, spirits," said Nicholas, and he made Mitsos drink. He sat down by him, and with almost womanly tenderness was stroking his hair. "You were as firm as a rock," he said, "when you stood there, and I saw the muscle of your jaw clinch." Mitsos, to whom spirit was a new thing, recovered himself quickly with a little choking. "I wasn't frightened at the moment," he said; "I was only frightened before, when I knew I was caught." Then, as his boyish spirits began to reassert themselves, "Did I--did I behave all right, Uncle Nicholas?" "I wish to see no better behavior. It is even as your father told me, that you were fit for the keeping of secrets." Mitsos flushed with pleasure. "Then I don't mind if it has made you think that, though, by the Virgin, my stomach was cold. But if I had had my knife there would have been blood let. I cannot think how I lost it." Nicholas laughed. "Here it is," he said. "It was even I who took it away from you while you were dozing as you rode. I thought it might be dangerous in your barbarous young hands." Mitsos put it back in his belt. "I am ready now. I shall start off again." Nicholas rose, too. "I will come with you as far as the plain, and then my road is forward. The piastres were a poor trick, eh?" "Very poor indeed, I thought," said Mitsos, grinning. The uncle and nephew walked on together, and the other two men strolled more slowly after them. Nicholas could have shouted aloud for joy. He had found what he had sought with such fastidiousness--some one whom he could trust unreservedly, and over whom he had influence. To do him justice, the cruelty of what he had done made his stomach turn against himself; but he was associated with men who rightly mistrusted everybody, except on convincing proof of their trustworthiness. Mitsos had stood the severest test that could be devised without flinching. He was one of ten thousand. At the end of the woods they parted. Mitsos' nerve had come back to him, and the knowledge that he had won Nicholas's trust, combined with the fascination the man exercised over him, quite overscored any grudge he might have felt, for Nicholas's last words to him were words to be remembered.