“Still, I know your English prejudices. You say that out of kindness, but if your cousin marries, you would prefer her husband to have a spotless name.” “Certainly.” “Then I am going to make Justinian give me one. I know, if he tells the truth, I will discover I have been born in wedlock. Of his own free will he refuses to tell me; now, however, owing to my knowledge of his past, I can force his confidence.” “And what about Helena?” “She is Justinian’s daughter. There is no stain on her birth; so if you love her, as I am sure you will, you can marry her without fear.” “Her father seems rather a terrible old person.” “He is a scamp, I am afraid. Still, he is a man of good family.” “How do you know?” “I have made certain discoveries while in England, and now know more about Justinian than he thinks.” “Is Helena as charming as she looks?” asked Maurice anxiously. “Yes,” replied Crispin emphatically. “She is a pure, good woman, and will make you an excellent wife; but you have a rival.” “Alcibiades?” “No; Caliphronas.” “I thought as much,” said Maurice, with a start, remembering the Greek’s jealousy concerning the portrait. “But if he loves Helena, why did he show me her picture, which has been my sole reason for this journey?” “Wheels within wheels!” replied Crispin significantly. “More mystery?” “Yes; there are still some things for you to learn, but I cannot tell you of them now, as I have made a promise.” “To whom?” “Caliphronas.” “Caliphronas!” cried that gentleman, who had approached them quietly; “and what are you saying about Caliphronas?” “A good many things,” said Crispin rapidly, in Greek. “I have been telling him who I am.” The Greek flushed with rage, and then he laughed. “That is your business, but I trust you did not break faith?” “About Justinian, no; about Helena, no; but I have told him all your early life.” Caliphronas made a dart at Crispin with uplifted hand, but Maurice sprang up and caught him in his arms, where he writhed like an eel. “Traitor!” he hissed in Greek; “traitor!” CHAPTER XIV. THE DEVIL’S PHILOSOPHY. Why should I call mankind my brothers, Or live but for the good of others? ’Twould bring me neither pain nor pleasure, Nor give me comfort, joy, or treasure. Myself by Nature’s law I cherish; If I am saved, let others perish; For if ill luck Dame Fortune gave me, None would stretch out a hand to save me. While life to me means wealth or laughter, Themselves all paupers can look after; Than me for hardships they are fitter, I taste the sweet and they the bitter. But if such selfish maxims hurt you, Then live your life of silly virtue. Let men defraud you in life’s barter, And you will be—a social martyr.