Behind Justinian came Caliphronas, who looked rather dismayed when he saw the courtesy with which the island king received his guest; and even Crispin made a gesture of surprise, which movement at once drew the old man’s eyes towards him. “You also, truant!” he said, taking the poet’s hand, but without releasing his hold of Maurice; “you have come back to Melnos?” “Yes, for a purpose,” said Crispin boldly, evidently not to be duped by the suave greeting of Justinian. As a flash of lightning leaps from the heart of a dark cloud, so gleamed a glance from Justinian’s dark eyes, and he was evidently about to make some fierce retort to the bold poet, when he restrained himself with wonderful self-command, and released the hands of both the young men. “Before I ask you any questions, gentlemen,” he said, striking a silver bell that stood on one of the small tables near, “I must attend to the rites of hospitality.” A man made his appearance, and bowed submissively to Justinian. “The bath! the meal! for these guests,” said the old man in tones of command, speaking in Greek. “You can attend to Mr. Crispin—tell Georgios to see to the other gentleman. When you are quite refreshed,” he added in English, turning to his guests, “I will speak to you here.” “But Gurt?” said Maurice, pausing a moment. “Oh, the sailor!” observed Justinian, carelessly looking at him; “let him follow you, and Anasthasius can look after him. Go now! I will await your return here.” The young men, astonished at the courtesy of their reception, Crispin being not less so than Maurice, went out with Gurt after the man; and Justinian, flinging himself into a chair, with a deep sigh, covered his face with his hands. Caliphronas, leaning gracefully against one of the pillars, looked at this exhibition of what he considered weakness with disdain, but did not dare to break upon the revery of Justinian, of whom he had a wholesome dread. He picked a pink oleander blossom and placed it in his belt, then, after walking about for a few minutes with a frown on his face, sat down on a stone margin of the fountain and began to dabble in the water with his hands. After a time, Justinian looked up with a second sigh. “Well, what do you think of him?” asked the Count in Greek, at the sound of which the old man made a gesture of annoyance. “Speak English, you fool! I love to hear my own language.” “You will get plenty of it shortly, then,” said Caliphronas coolly. “Nine Englishmen already on the island,—bah! it is a British possession.” “You are right, Andros. I am British, and as this island is mine, it is a British possession.” Caliphronas frowned, as if this way of looking at things was distasteful to him, but, not caring to argue about such a delicate matter, repeated his first remark. “Well, what do you think of him?” “Maurice Roylands?” “Yes.”