“Crispin, turn that man out!” commanded the Demarch, rising. “Go to the western pass, Count Caliphronas, and there you will find a boat in charge of Alexandros. Leave this island before nightfall, or, by heaven, I will have you drowned like the rat you are!” “I go,” retorted the Greek fiercely, retreating before Crispin, and clutching the curtains. “I go; but when I return, I swear by all the saints that you shall suffer agonies for every word you have uttered to-day. Scoundrel! wretch! renegade! outcast! _Và và!_” And, uttering the bitterest malediction he could think of, the beaten schemer vanished from the Acropolis, and later on from the island itself; from whence he doubtless went to Kamila, in search of Alcibiades, to assist him in his plans of revenge. “Thank heaven, that is all over!” said Justinian, when they were once more alone. “Now, at least, it will be open war, and not hidden treachery, Maurice!” “And you are really my uncle Rudolph?” said Roylands, grasping the outstretched hand of the Demarch. “Really and truly! Now you know the meaning of so many things which have so often puzzled you. Did you never suspect the truth?” “Never!” answered his nephew emphatically; “but Crispin”— “Crispin knew it all along,” said the poet quickly; “but, as I had given my sacred word to keep silence, of course I could say nothing.” “I am glad you are my uncle, Justinian.” “Oh, I am still Justinian, then!” said Rudolph, with a smile, as he shook his nephew heartily by the hand. “Well, it is better so; I am too old to learn new tricks, and, after forty years of Greek life, I cannot turn Englishman in one moment.” “Of course Roylands Grange is now yours.” “Boy, boy,” observed the old Demarch, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “do you think so meanly of me as that? Were I a pauper, I would not deprive you of a single acre; but, being as I am, rich and happy, I would indeed be base to take your estate when I have all this.” “Still, you are the head of our house.” “A head that will soon be in the grave. No, no, my son, the property is yours; and if you have any scruples, why, then, are you not going to marry your cousin? so the Grange will still belong to you, and yet remain with the elder branch of the family.” “Why, Helena is my first cousin!” “Of course she is!” “A second Eunice,” said Crispin, smiling, “only not so charming.” “Crispin! Helena is the most beautiful woman in the world.” “So is Eunice.” “Come, that’s nonsense, you know!” objected Maurice warmly; “there can’t be two most beautiful women in the world.” Justinian settled the matter by bursting out laughing. “Every one thinks his own crow the whitest,” he said gayly; “but come, leave off arguing about the merits of your respective lady-loves. We have other things to think of.” “The coming war, eh?”