“Good. Then to-morrow I will tell you who I am, and how I was able to know all about you.” “But suppose Helena refuses me?” Justinian smiled slightly. “She has refused Andros, but you—ah, that is quite a different thing.” “Still”— “Tush, my son, you are too modest! In my days young men were not so faint-hearted. Helena’s a woman, therefore may be wooed.” “True, but the question is, may she be won?” “My good Mr. Roylands, did I not promise to tell you all about myself when you presented yourself as my future son-in-law?” “Yes.” “Well, by this time to-morrow you will know all, so as to what will occur in the mean time, I will leave to your imagination.” “And Caliphronas?” “Caliphronas,” repeated the Demarch slowly, “means mischief, so, like the knights of old, you will win your bride at the point of the sword.” “Oh, Justinian, if you only knew how I love her!” The nightingale, hitherto silent, now began its song, upon which the old man good-humoredly pushed Maurice to the door. “Go to bed, my son; that bird will tell me the tale of love much better than you will.” CHAPTER XXVII. THE ALTAR INSCRIBED ΘΕΌΝ. By this altar stone I swear Never more to part from thee; Thine in life and death to be, And thy future fortunes share Be the weather wild or fair, Dry on land or wet at sea, This vow shall be kept by me, By this altar stone I swear. The next morning neither Helena nor Caliphronas was present at breakfast, as the girl, in company with Zoe, had gone up the mountain shortly after sunrise in quest of flowers, and the Greek had not been near the Acropolis since he had left it the previous night. “Can he have left the island?” said Maurice anxiously to the Demarch. “Hardly,” replied the old man grimly; “unless he has borrowed the wings of Icarus, for I alone have the key of the tunnel.” “There is the western pass,” suggested Crispin thoughtfully. “True; but even supposing he did get to the sea-beach, he will find it difficult to obtain a boat,” said Justinian calmly. “All the boats are fast chained and padlocked to the rocks; so, unless his friend Alcibiades finds him waiting, like a second Ulysses, on the beach, I hardly see how he can take French leave.” “What are you going to do about him, Justinian?” asked Maurice curiously. “I am waiting until you and Helena come to an understanding, and then I will tell Caliphronas that he has been beaten with his own weapons of treachery.” “Helena has gone up the mountain. Will I await her return?” “By no means. Follow her at once to her favorite haunt. There is a narrow path leading to it—a glade near the western pass, in the center of which is an altar inscribed Θεόν.” “Oh, I know it! Helena showed it to me some time ago. Crispin, I am going a-wooing!”