“I think a waltz would be jollier than that,” said Maurice, when she returned to her seat. “A waltz! what is that?” asked Helena innocently. “I will show you some time during the day—that is, if we can get any one to play us the music.” “Oh, Andronico, that old man with the violin, can pick up anything by ear. But see, we are now going to have some singing!” A handsome young fellow stepped forward, escorted by a number of women, who joined in the chorus of the song, which was in praise of Dionysius and the vineyards. Maurice, owing to the skilful tuition of Helena, now knew enough Greek to understand the words, which, irregularly translated, were as follows:— SOLO. Oh, my love, we went to the vineyards, And there beheld bunches of purple wine fruit, Full of the milk of earth our mother. WOMEN. Wine, like thee, is my heart-gladdener. SOLO. Thro’ the vine leaves peeped St. Dionysius, Who laughed when he heard the sound of our kisses: “These are not mad with wine,” So cried St. Dionysius; “Not with wine are they mad, but with love and kisses.” WOMEN. Wine, like thee, is my heart-gladdener. There were about twenty verses of this delectable song, interlarded at times with the rude music of the sabouna. Maurice grew tired of this dreariness, and went off, in company with Helena, to where the feasting was going on. Tables were spread out in the open air with cheeses, bread, honey, goats’ flesh, piles of grapes, and other rustic dainties, to which the hungry revellers were doing full justice. Some of them were dancing the Smyriote, others singing interminable songs; but Roylands by this time had quite enough of Greek dance and song, so asked Helena to show him the hot springs, which were near at hand. They were at the base of a little cliff, volcanic in character, with curiously-twisted streaks of red, green, and black lava, which presented a bizarre appearance. The water, owing to the presence of oxide of iron, was of a yellow tint and boiling hot, while occasional puffs of steam rising skyward veiled the variegated tints of the rock behind, so that it looked strangely weird and horrible. “I wonder you are not afraid to live here, Helena!” said the Englishman, going down on his knees to examine these Ægean geysers. “I don’t believe this crater is an extinct one.” “It has been quiet enough for over a thousand years,” replied the girl carelessly, “so I don’t see why it should break out now.” “If it did, the loss of life would be terrible.” “Oh, don’t, Maurice! The idea is too frightful. Why, not one of us would escape alive, and then good-by to father’s idea of a new Athens.” “Your new Athens has other things to fear besides volcanoes.” “What do you mean?”