“Oh!” cried Crispin, shrugging his shoulders, “of course, if you are going to invoke that bogie, I have nothing further to say. Ask the Rector.” “What do you think he will say?” Crispin burst out laughing, and, sauntering to the window, threw his burnt-out cigarette into the green grass beyond. “Did ever any one hear such a man? My dear fellow, I cannot tell you what the Rector will say. He is an ardent Hellenist, with his Aristophanic studies, and may say, ‘Stay, by all means!’ On the other hand, he is an English Church clergyman, with strong opinions as to the absenteeism of landlords, and the duties they owe their tenants, in which case he will certainly make you come back. But in either event you will have your dear Helena.” “I’m not so sure of that, Crispin. If I refuse Justinian’s request, he may refuse me Helena.” “Certainly; that is not impossible,” replied Crispin, returning to his writing. “However, I will write to my agents about the yacht, to Mrs. Dengelton and the Rector about their joining us at Athens. At my invitation the Rector may not come, at yours he will.” “Why?” “Because you, my dear, simple old Maurice, are the apple of his eye; and if you write him on the question of your staying here, he will certainly hurry out at once, so as to see for himself how matters stand, and advise you for the best.” “Will you write as you intend? and I will also send a letter to Carriston.” “Don’t forget to enclose mine,” said Crispin warningly. “Remember you are to that extent responsible for my wooing with Eunice. Will you write your letter now?” A delicious burst of girlish laughter sounded from the court. “Helena!” cried Maurice, rising up so quickly as to upset his chair. “Go away! go away!” said Crispin resignedly; “no chance of your writing now with that sound in your ears. But, as the boat does not go till to-morrow, you can have a holiday with Helena this afternoon; therefore, go away.” “Caliphronas is with her,” said Maurice, hesitating. “And has been all the morning. Faint heart never won fair lady, so if you don’t oust your rival, I am afraid she will be married by him under your nose.” “I’m hanged if she will!” cried Maurice angrily. There was a second burst of laughter, upon which Crispin, with raised eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, pointed to the door, and resumed his writing. Maurice paused irresolutely, looked at the poet, and then darted out of the door like a swallow, to find Helena standing alone in the court, with her arms full of flowers. “I have been flower-hunting on the mountains,” said Helena graciously; “and this wild rose is for you.” CHAPTER XXI. CAPTAIN ALCIBIADES.