“True, true!” said the Demarch thoughtfully, nursing his chin, “we will think of that, but meanwhile try this light to-night. As to the watchmen on the peaks, Maurice, you know there are also two on the beach, one on each side of the island, so if they see Alcibiades’ approach first, they will light their fires to signal to the peaks, and those above will fire theirs to warn us. It is easier to see from the beach than from above, where everything looks flat. Besides, the nights are so still, that the sound of oars can easily be heard a long way off, especially by men trained to hear like my Greeks.” “But suppose Alcibiades uses no oars?” “Oh, well, in any case we will be warned in time. But in case of a night attack, the men can muster rapidly, I suppose?” “In a few minutes.” “And the guard?” “There is a strong one in the tunnel, under the command of Gurt, and another in the pass, commanded by Temistocles.” “Good! With such precautions we cannot very well be surprised. But here is Crispin.” “In a state of great excitement, too,” said Maurice, laughing. “He has got a satisfactory answer to his letter.” “It’s all right!” called out Crispin, mounting the steps, waving an open letter in his hand; “the yacht has left England for Syra, with Mrs. Dengelton, the Rector, and Eunice!” “Is there a letter for me?” asked Maurice, nodding his satisfaction at this intelligence. “Yes, one from the Rector. See if it encloses one from Eunice to me.” Maurice tore open the letter of his old tutor, and out dropped an envelope, directed to “Crispin,” in dainty feminine handwriting, of which the poet at once took greedy possession. On the balustrade of the terrace, Maurice sat down to read his letter, and Crispin, after glancing at Eunice’s private note, rattled on to Justinian about the contents of his own correspondence, which he had read on the way hither from the tunnel. “The agents got my letter all right, sir,” he said gayly, “and had no difficulty in securing the yacht I wanted, which was still in the market. She left England a week ago.” “For Athens?” “Why, no. As there was danger of a row, I thought it best she should be near at hand, so wired to the agents that she was to stop at Syra, where she ought to arrive shortly.” “She left Southampton after your letters, I presume?” “Yes, a day or so after. Of course they came overland to Brindisi, which gained them five days, or thereabouts, and then caught the boat to Syra, and came straight on here with Georgios. The Eunice!” “Oh, is that the name of the yacht?” cried Helena roguishly. “Yes; the old Eunice is under water, but I call the new boat by the old name.” “So The Eunice is carrying her namesake?” “Exactly. Well, The Eunice will run down to Syra in about twelve days; a week has already gone by, so we may expect her there in a few days.” “When she arrives, what do you propose to do?” “With your permission, go over to Syra and bring her here.”