“Maurice! Helena!” repeated Justinian, smiling. “Really, you young people are getting on very well together.” “Your daughter had some difficulty in saying Roylands,” said Maurice apologetically. “And you do not know Helena’s other name, eh?” “What is her other name, sir? If you don’t like me to call her Helena, shall I say Miss”— “You can say Helena,” answered Justinian shortly; “she has no other name.” “No; we are simple people here,” observed Crispin mischievously, “and dispense with such cumbersomeness as two names;—Justinian, Helena, Crispin, Andros; so you, Roylands, will drop your harsh English surname, and be henceforth known as Maurice.” “I am quite content to be so as long as Helena speaks the name!” “Another compliment!” laughed Crispin gayly; “I thought, according to you, gentlemen never paid ladies compliments?” “This is the exception to prove the rule.” “Helena,” said her father suddenly, “where is Andros?” “I do not know. He was here an hour ago, and said he would be back to supper.” “It is supper-time now,” said Justinian, moving towards the side entrance. “You must be hungry, gentlemen. I trust you feel quite recovered?” “Speaking for myself, I do,” answered Maurice brightly; “that sleep has quite set me up. And Crispin”— “Subscribes to all you have said, and feels as hungry as a hunter.” “Hark! there is Andros,” observed Helena, placing one white finger on her lips, in which attitude she looked like some exquisite statue of Silence; “do you hear him singing?” “The rose is shedding its crimson leaves, Sadly they fall at the caress of Zephyrus; And I, O beloved, shed tears in plenty, Feeling thy kiss on my mouth; For I must lose thee—ah, I must lose thee! Another richer than I desires to wed thee, Therefore do I shed tears, as the rose sheds her crimson petals.” “An omen!” breathed Justinian under his breath, as the Greek drew aside the curtain of the main entrance; “he will not marry Helena!” Against the dark draperies veiling the archway the slender figure of the handsome Greek stood out in bold relief. He also had assumed a robe of white, and, with his clear-cut features and graceful pose, looked the incarnation of that delicate Greek adolescence whereof Pindar sings in his Olympian Odes. As he caught sight of Maurice standing near Helena, he frowned perceptibly, and advanced hastily, as if to come between them, but, meeting the keen, significant look of Justinian, he faltered in his hasty step, and broke into a charming smile. “Are you waiting for me?” he said cheerfully, as they all went to have supper. “I have been down in the valley speaking to your sailors.” “Are they all right?” asked Crispin anxiously, for carelessly gay though he seemed to be, he was terribly disturbed at the loss of so many lives in the storm. “Oh, they are quite happy. All your subjects, Justinian, are making heroes of them, especially the women, much to the dismay of the men of Melnos.”