He waved his arms aloft, where the brilliant sky smiled down on the still waters. Indeed, so placid was the sea that the stars, moon, and clouds were all reflected therein as in a mirror, and the yacht seemed to hang passive in the centre of a scintillating, hollow ball. “When do we reach Melnos?” asked Maurice abruptly, as Caliphronas strolled away to the other end of the ship. “To-morrow evening,” replied Crispin, pausing at the door of the cabin. “We will sleep on board, and visit Justinian in the morning.” “Crispin, is there anything in those veiled threats of Caliphronas?” “Perhaps,” replied the poet vaguely. “Caliphronas is a dangerous man, and is, as I have told you, a favorite of Justinian’s. However, I would not be surprised if Justinian dismissed Andros and put you in his place.” “Thank you,” said Maurice in haughty surprise, “but I have no ambition to occupy such a position.” “Maurice,” said Crispin suddenly, “I wish I could tell you all I know, but, unfortunately, I gave my word to Caliphronas not to do so as long as you were not harmed in any way.” “What do you mean?” “I cannot tell you, but only this, which may perhaps serve as a warning,—Caliphronas came to Roylands on purpose to get you to journey to Melnos.” “And his reason?” “I know it, but I cannot tell you. However, if you should be in any danger,—and I will not conceal from you that there may be danger,—I will consider my promise void and tell you all.” “All what?” “All about Caliphronas, Justinian, and Helena.” “Is she in this plot also?” “Plot! yes, it is a plot, the reason of which I know not. Helena is to a certain extent mixed up in it, but innocently, you may be sure.” “I cannot understand all this.” “Never mind, as long as I understand it you will not suffer. Caliphronas, as I have told you, is a scamp, and will pause at nothing to gratify his own desire. He lured you to Melnos for a purpose, but he did not count on my presence. Listen! he thinks we have gone below, and is telling his secrets to the stars.” And at this moment, as if Caliphronas knew the subject-matter of their conversation, in the far distance he broke out into a rich burst of song, the gist of which Crispin rapidly translated to Maurice. “The net is spread and the prey is near, Drive him into the entanglement. Ho! my noble stag of Olympus, you are helpless, And the spear of the hunter will drink your blood Before the dawn sets rosy foot on blushing mountain-top.” “You see,” said Crispin significantly, after translating this, “he talks in parables, but you can guess his meaning; but do not be afraid. You trust me, do you not?” “Yes, I trust you,” replied Maurice, grasping the hand held out to him. “That is right, my friend—good-night.”