When Crispin disappeared, Maurice went to the stern of the ship, and, leaning over the taffrail, fell into deep meditation over the strange circumstances in which he was environed. Caliphronas, sitting by the bowsprit, was swaying up and down with the pitching of the yacht, singing songs, now soft, now loud, but this was the only sound of humanity heard. The sough of the wind through the rigging, the dreary wash of the sea, as the ship cut her way through the glittering plain; the rustle of the cordage, the beating of the screw,—he could hear all these blending with the fitful voice of the Greek. The moon had retired behind a thick bank of black clouds, which foreboded storm, and the moonlit world was now shadowy, vast, vague, and strange,—a world of shadows and ghosts, with the swift steamer gliding onward into the unknown seas—into the unknown future. Maurice Roylands was not what one might call a strong-minded man, for, as a matter of fact, he had that subtle touch of indecision which is often found in artistic natures. He was very impressionable, and surrounding circumstances had a great effect on his temperament—still, when he saw his way clearly before him, he was quite capable of making up his mind, and carrying out his determination to the end. But he could never make up his mind promptly, as he wavered this way, that way, according as he was biassed by circumstances. Had he been of a firm, decisive nature, he would never have yielded to that pitiable melancholia which seized him in London, and would thus have been spared much suffering. Still, in spite of this latent weakness of character, which always developed itself in time of trouble, he was a brave man, with plenty of pluck. In England, notwithstanding his Bohemian existence, his life had gone on too smoothly to call his moral characteristics into any special prominence, but now, surrounded as he was by vague mysteries, he felt doubtful. Hitherto his existence had been but prosaic, but now the element of romance had entered into it, and he felt that he was being passively drawn into a series of strange adventures, the subsequent termination of which, either for good or evil, lay not in his own hands. Caliphronas had come to England with the deliberate intention of luring him to Melnos; but what was his reason for this strange conduct? Certainly Crispin knew, but Crispin, fettered by his promise of secrecy, was unable to solve the problem. The strangest thing of all was that Caliphronas had made use of the picture of a girl he loved, to decoy Maurice to the East, which line of conduct struck the young man as most unaccountable.