“True! true!” muttered Maurice, frowning. “I must go to Melnos and convince myself of the truth of the matter. See here, sir, at present I am worshipping a creature of my own creation, with the face of that picture, but with the attributes of fancy. This chimera of the brain, as you will doubtless term her, haunts me night and day, so the only way to lay this feminine ghost is to see her incarnate in the flesh. She may be quite different from what I conceive, in which case I will be cured of my fancy; on the other hand, she may realize entirely my conception of beauty, purity, and womanliness: if she does, I will make her my wife, that is, of course, if she will have me for her husband.” “As you put the matter in that light,” said Mr. Carriston, after a pause, “I advise you to go to Melnos.” “You do?” “Decidedly! It is best to end this torture of the imagination, which I also know only too well. See this woman, if you like, but be sure she is all you desire her to be before making her your wife.” “There is no fear that I will let my heart govern my brain in such an important matter.” “There is a great fear,” replied the Rector gravely, glancing at the picture; “a young man’s heart is not always under his control, and this woman has the beauty which inspires madness. Helen of Troy, Cleopatra of Egypt, Mary of Scotland, Ninon de l’Enclos of France, they were all Lamiæ, and their beauty was ever fatal to their victims.” “Lovers,” corrected Maurice quickly. “Victims,” reiterated Carriston firmly; “or, if you will, lovers, for the terms are synonymous.” “Well, I will take your advice, sir, and go to the East in search of this lovely Helena of Melnos, but I promise you I will not be a victim.” “I hope not, but I fear so.” “You need not,” said Roylands gayly, delighted to have won over the Rector to his side. “I will come back alone, cured, or with a wife, and more in love than ever.” “How will you find this island?” “Oh, Caliphronas”— “As beautiful and as false as Paris of Troy,” interrupted the Rector quickly, whereat Maurice shrugged his shoulders. “Possibly he is, but I do not think I have anything to fear from him.” “There is certainly no reason why he should be your enemy, yet I feel convinced he is so.” “Why?” “I cannot tell you unless I advance the Dr. Fell theory as an argument; but, to speak openly, my dear Maurice, this Greek seems to me to be like a sleek, soft-footed panther, beautiful to look on, but dangerous to meddle with.” “I am not going to meddle with him. He is simply returning to his home in Greek waters, and I will go with him. After we reach Melnos, very likely he will return to Ithaca.” “Perhaps.” “My dear old tutor,” cried the young man, laughing, “you are full of fears, first of this Helena, again of this Greek. Ten to one I will find both equally harmless.” “I trust so; but I do not like your travelling alone with this Count Constantine.” “I am not going to do so. Crispin is coming also.”