They were early risers in Melnos, for in that invigorating climate it was impossible, even for the most indolent, to lie sluggishly in bed, and the sun was hardly above the eastern horizon before Justinian, his household and guests, were seated at breakfast. Helena was not present, having already gone out in the deliciously fresh morning air on some expedition connected with flowers; so the meal was a strictly masculine one, and the four men made their plans for the day. Crispin and Caliphronas decided to remain at the Acropolis, as they were already well acquainted with the lions of the island, the one to write letters, the other to await the return of Helena, over whose movements he kept watch with all the jealous solicitude of a doubtful lover; and Maurice, in company of Justinian, went down to the valley, in order that the Englishman might be shown all the wonders of this unique place.

The white indoor robes of the previous evening were now discarded in favor of a serviceable costume similar to that worn by the rough Cretan mountaineers,—long boots of brown leather, loose blue trousers thrust therein at the knees, a red sash, white shirt of wool, and blue jackets, together with a flowing capote and hood to cover the head when the sun grew unpleasantly strong. Justinian wore a red fisherman’s cap with a gold tassel on his white locks, but Maurice was supplied with a large gray felt sombrero, the shade of which was very grateful. The island king looked truly regal in this picturesque dress, with his long gray beard, his sun-tanned skin, fierce black eyes, and reverend locks; lithe and active as a young man, he carried his burden of sixty-five years with the greatest of ease, and as he walked beside Maurice, with a light springy step, the sculptor began to think that his companion must have discovered the secret of perpetual youth.

They walked leisurely along the mulberry avenue, in the direction of the entrance to the tunnel, and enjoyed the exquisite coolness of the morning, for the sun was not yet over the shoulder of the mountain, and the cup was still in comparative shadow. Notwithstanding this, however, the air was warm, and balmy with the scent of aromatic herbs, which delightful temperature rather puzzled Maurice, as it did not agree with the marked absence of sunlight for a greater part of the morning, and he mentioned this to Justinian.

“Certainly we do not get much of the sun in the morning owing to the mountain,” answered the old man, stroking his silver beard; “but in the middle of the day, and most of the afternoon, his beams are very powerful, for at noon he is right above our heads, and the western side of the Melnos Peak is so low, that until near sunset his rays stream on the valley.”

He pointed to the west, and Maurice saw that the high peaks fell away into a kind of low semicircle, which enabled them, from their position, to catch a glimpse of blue sea and distant island. On each side of this gap, however, the jagged summits stood up stern, rigid, and snow-clad against the delicately blue sky, girding the valley at the same height all round, save at the western side before mentioned.

“Still,” said Maurice pertinently, “the sun is still below the eastern side of the mountain, yet the air is quite warm.”

“Cannot the temple to Hephaistos solve the riddle?”

“Oh, you mean that the island is volcanic!”

“Yes; this is the crater of an extinct volcano, extinct for thousands of years, for even when the temple was built, the fires must have died out, or its builders could hardly have placed it on the inner side of the crater. It is the volcanic character of Melnos that makes it so warm and fertile. You see the slopes are covered with corn, vine, olive, in profusion, while dates, lemons, orange-trees, citrons, and all such delicate plants grow wild without cultivation. This valley is the veritable Horn of Plenty so lauded by the Hellenes.”

“If we are to believe the ancient historians,” said Maurice gravely, as he looked at the fertile sides of the mountain so admirably cultivated, “this was also the case with the crater of Vesuvius, yet it proved to be still active.”

“What! do you think Melnos will break out again?” observed Justinian, with a shade of thought on his fine face. “Indeed we have earthquakes occasionally, but not much to speak of. I fancy the islands of the north are more of a volcanic centre than these; still the volcano may break out again—in that case I am afraid all my work will go for nothing.”

“Is this island entirely your work?”

“Every bit of it,” answered the old man emphatically. “Forty years ago, I came into these waters to look for this extinct volcanic island, of which I had received full information from a wandering Greek, who knew Melnos well. I duly sighted it, and, having landed, I climbed up to the summit, when I discovered this enchanting valley, also the Temple of Hephaistos still in a tolerably good state of preservation. I had left England smarting under a sense of injury, from—from—well, it was about a woman; and I swore never to return to it. Always of an uncivilized disposition, I determined to fix my home here, and, being possessed of plenty of money, I bought this island of the Turkish Government at a pretty heavy price. They were anxious for money, especially as it was after the Greek War of Independence, which had emptied the coffers of the Sublime Porte; besides which, the Ottomans did not care about this barren rock, which was of no use to them in any way; so I bought it, and settled in the old temple, where I have now dwelt for forty long years.”

“But this community—the tunnel?”

“All my works! I have, so to speak, carried out the projects of Goethe’s Faust. Ah, you are astonished at my referring to that, but I am a University man, Mr. Roylands, and have not yet forgotten my learning. Et ego in Arcadia fui, and know the ancient colleges of Cambridge, the oozy Cam, and the delights of a town and gown row.”

“You have had a strange career.”

“A very happy one at all events. It was fortunate my superabundant energy found vent in the direction of making this island blossom like a rose, otherwise I would have remained a restless adventurer to the end of my days. I could not settle down to the placid life of an English gentleman; I wanted room to breathe, opportunities for daring, work—gigantic work—to do; and I found them all in Melnos.”

“You have carried out your self-imposed task nobly.”

“I am glad you think so. Yes; I trust I have been of some use in my generation. And, at all events, I have erected one thoroughly happy, peaceful spot,—a modern Eden,—and that is no easy thing to do in this riotous century.”

“It is a modern miracle!”

And it was little else, seeing that all these gigantic works had been planned and carried out by a solitary human being; for by this time they were at the entrance to the tunnel, and as Maurice looked down the enormous flights of red limestone steps, which led to the valley below, he was truly amazed at the engineering science displayed by the man beside him. Flight after flight, now to right, now to left, stretched down the gentle slope of the mountain, and these mighty stairs were all carefully finished with heavy balustrades of the same material, neatly joined together. At certain platforms, statues of white marble, pedestalled on red blocks, stood up in proud beauty, and, seeing his guest’s eyes fixed on these heroic forms, Justinian laughed.

“I am a bit of an antiquarian, Mr. Roylands,” he explained as they descended, “and all over these islands I pay men to dig among ancient ruins for statues, which I do my best to restore, and then place here. This Apollo, for instance,” he said, as they paused before a life-sized nude figure holding a lyre, “was found at Delos and brought to me. True, the Greek Government claim all these things, but I do not see why I should not secure them if possible, and I am sure they look better in this enchanted valley than in some stuffy museum.”

Maurice, with sculptor-like enthusiasm, would fain have lingered before this masterpiece of Greek art, but Justinian hurried him impatiently away.

“You will have plenty of time to look at them again,” he said as they resumed their descent, “but at present I have plenty to show you. I am glad you like my staircase.”

“It is wonderful, but I think the tunnel is still more so.”

“Yes; it is a fine piece of engineering,” said Justinian complacently. “You see it was impossible to constantly climb up over the peaks, which involved waste of time, and a weary ascent, so I got an engineer from England, supplied him with plenty of Greeks, and they finished that tunnel in five years. I am very proud of it, I assure you.”

“What about the gate in the middle of it?”

“That is absolutely necessary, not so much now as formerly, but forty years ago the Ægean was very lawless, and the government could not put down the pirates. Of course, hearing a rich Englishman had bought Melnos, those rascals thought it contained all kinds of treasures, and have made frequent assaults on it. Fortunately I have always managed to beat them off. I think the rascals have a wholesome dread of me now,” finished the old man grimly.

“Now I suppose there is no danger of any attack being made.”

“I am not so sure about that. King George’s Government is more feared by these scamps than was King Otho’s; but, though the majority of them have disappeared, there are still some left who would like to storm Melnos.”

“Alcibiades?”

“What do you know of Alcibiades?” asked Justinian sharply.

“Nothing more than that he is an equivocal character. Caliphronas told me so much.”

“Andros! Yes, he is far too friendly with that scamp of an Alcibiades, who is an excessively dangerous man. I do not trust Andros, and he knows it; so, out of sheer anger, he may urge Alcibiades to assault the island. An enemy without, a traitor within—it is very dangerous.”

“If you distrust Caliphronas, why don’t you turn him out?”

“I have no proof against him yet, but I fancy he has some scheme in his mind. Believe me, Mr. Roylands, if you have a stomach for fighting, I fancy there will be plenty of opportunity for you to indulge in it shortly.”

“Oh, as for that, I should like nothing better.better.”

“I like that,” said Justinian decisively; “you are a true Roylands!”

“I trust so. But how do you know the Roylands are a fighting family?”

“All Englishmen fight, more or less,” answered Justinian carelessly; “besides your name is a Norman one, and descendants of William the Conqueror’s vassals are always soldiers. Hitherto you have led a quiet and peaceful life, but if we do have an island war, I don’t think you will be the last to help me defend my kingdom.”

“You can rely on that—nor Crispin either!”

“Oh, Crispin!” replied Justinian, a trifle disdainfully; “he is too much a man of peace to suit my fancy. But here we are at the village.”

“By the way, how did you populate this new Rome of yours?”

“Oh, in the old days I was rather a celebrity in the islands,—a kind of insular Lord Byron,—and of course had my followers. When I settled here, I made all my followers come also, and admitted none but young men. They brought their sweethearts and wives, so gradually the community grew up here. Recruits come from time to time, but I admit none but those who are physically perfect and passably moral. We now number, with women and children, two hundred souls, and you will not find a deformed or lame person among the lot.”

“Then you have no old people?”

“Oh yes. I am old myself, and many of my followers are of the same age. We were all young men in those days of colonization, but now age has come upon us, as you see. Some of my old comrades have died, but many are well and hearty, thanks to the salubrity of this climate. They are the sages of the village.”

“Local rulers, I suppose?”

“No,” retorted Justinian, with fiery earnestness; “there is only one ruler in Melnos—myself.”

They were now walking down the principal street of the village, a broad thoroughfare, running between two rows of red limestone houses, from the foot of the grand staircase to the blue lake, the distance in all being about a quarter of a mile. On each side, between the pathways and the road itself, ran two lines of elm trees, the foliage of which formed a pleasant shade, while the houses, built in a tropical fashion, with wide verandas, were gay with flowers. Helena had evidently inoculated her father’s subjects with a love for flowers, as on every side the eye was dazzled with a profusion of bright tints. At the lower end of the street was a wide semicircle, facing the lake, and planted with lines of beech, elm, and plane trees, while in the middle of this pleasantness stood a tall pedestal of white marble, bearing a huge bronze Zeus, seated half-draped, with thunderbolt and eagle beside him. Indeed, the statues of gods and goddesses were so frequent, that Maurice began to think his eccentric host, in order to complete his revival of ancient Athens, had re-established the hierarchy of Olympus, with himself as Pontifex Maximus. Evidently his face betrayed his thoughts, for, seeing his eyes fixed on the garlands decorating the base of the statue, the King laughed in an amused manner.

“No, no, Mr. Roylands, we are not pagans, in spite of the presence of the gods,” he said, with a smile. “All my people belong to the Orthodox Church, and we have a priest, a sacred building, and everything necessary for such religion.”

“Are you also of the Greek Church?”

“No, I am no renegade,” replied Justinian haughtily; “but, at the same time, I am not what you would call a Christian.”

“But I trust your religious principles are not those of Caliphronas?”

“No; I believe in working for the good of others, as you can see. Morally speaking, I am what you call an agnostic, though truly I believe in a supreme power. I erect my altar to t?? ???ast?? Te??, Mr. Roylands, and strive to propitiate him by helping my fellow-creatures.”

The conversation now becoming rather delicate in its trenching on religious beliefs, Maurice turned it dexterously by remarking on the number of mulberry trees.

“Those are for the silkworms,” explained Justinian, striking the trunk of one of these trees with his staff; “we export a great number of cocoons, and do a large trade with the mainland. We also weave silks for ourselves; the factory is to the right.”

There were a great number of people in the streets, all in a similar dress to their own—that is, the men, for the women were mostly arrayed in the graceful Greek dress of the Cretans, which consisted of full white trousers reaching to the ankle, brightly colored tunics, embroidered jackets, gaudy handkerchiefs twisted round the head, and long white veils, though the latter were but assumed for festive occasions. Both men and women were very fine-looking, with oval faces, olive skins, somewhat pointed chins, and aquiline noses, and their gait was remarkably graceful, with the stately bearing of a free race. The adults all saluted Justinian respectfully, and he acknowledged their greetings with haughty condescension, although he unbent somewhat towards the children, who crowded round him with cries of “Kalli imera Kyrion!”

“You are as populous as a hive of bees,” said Maurice, as they walked down to the lake; “soon the island will be too small.”

“Not for many years I hope and trust,” answered Justinian, casting a look round at the now sunny sides of the mountain, which encircled them like a cup. “There is plenty of room yet; for my colony, in spite of its forty years, is only yet in its infancy. Lots of room yonder for dwellings; the soil is fertile, and affords plenty of food, and as to necessaries from the outside world, we export olives, cocoons, silks, wine, and dittany, receiving in return what we require from more advanced civilization.”

“Dittany! what is that?”

“I am afraid you don’t know your Virgil, Mr. Roylands. Dittany is an herb of rare medicinal power, which is found in Crete, and also in Melnos. It is excellent for illness of all kinds, especially fevers, and is as valued now as it was in the days of Pliny. Plenty of it up in the mountain yonder, as the goats are very fond of it.”

“Have you goats?”

“Of course! and also sheep, though I am afraid the goats are the more numerous. Indeed, I have imported here some of the rare Cretan breed—a kind of ibex, which grows to a great size. These, of course, I will not allow to be killed; but for food we have plenty of the smaller wild goats, such as exist in many places in Greece, particularly on the summits of Olympus. You probably forget we had goat’s flesh for supper last night.”

“And the lake, sir?”

“Artificial purely.”

“Sea-water?”

“Oh dear no. The level of this valley is considerably above that of the sea. I should be sorry were it otherwise, as, were it lower, we might run a chance of being swamped by the influx of waters. I am sure Alcibiades and his friends would be delighted to drown us like rats if they could. This lake comes from the snows yonder.”

“The snows?”

“Precisely. I have had a reservoir constructed far below the snow-line, and a shoot into it from the summit of the mountain. At certain intervals I send men up, who detach great masses of snow and send them down the shoot into the reservoir. There the heat of the sun soon melts them to water, and from thence the water is taken down to the lake.”

“But water always rises to its own level.”

“Hence you think my valley should be an entire lake; but there is no danger of such a catastrophe happening, as my reservoir is filled in a purely artificial manner, and I take care to keep it within bounds. The pipes also down to this lake are contrived so as to regulate the influx of water, therefore there is no fear of a flood. Now you must come and see the theatre.”

“The theatre! Have you playwrights and actors here?”

“Our playwrights date from old Hellenic days, and are called Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; the actors are my Greeks. Sometimes Crispin writes us a play bearing on local events, which he satirizes after the style of Aristophanic comedy—at least he did so when he lived here, but since his departure we have fallen back on Hellas for our plays.”

“How often do you give performances?”

“Only once a year, at the vintage feast. Oh, we follow old customs closely here, and I hope to show you a veritable Dionysiade before you leave us. We have a three days’ festival of simple mirth, without any of the coarse elements which were introduced by the later Hellenes. The first day we have the vintage festival, the second our plays, and on the third there are Olympian games.”

“With what prizes?”

“As of yore, the laurel wreath. I am particularly anxious to keep up these games, as it makes my Greeks athletes, and hardens them by muscular exercises, else in this lotus-eating valley they would be apt to become indolent, and then where would Melnos be without brave men to defend her?”

“You are a perfect Spartan!”

“I believe in the Spartan training to a great extent, but I do not think the body should be trained exclusively and the mind neglected; therefore I have the tragedies performed which were unknown to Sparta. The Spartans were a fine nation of materialists.”

“You are right!” said Maurice earnestly; “one should never let the material nature overpower the spiritual.”

“You speak warmly.”

“As I was taught. My mother was a religious woman, and trained me carefully. One cannot rid one’s self of youthful teachings; we may forget them for a time, but they always force themselves before the mind sooner or later.”

“Not always. I also was taught as you, but forty years of solitude—comparative solitude—and pondering have turned me into what I am—an agnostic. So your mother was a good woman? is she alive?”

“No; she died many years ago.”

“And your father?”

“Is also dead. I am an orphan. No relations in the world—at least, none I care about.”

Justinian gazed at the young man as if he would read his very soul, then, turning away with a half-suppressed sigh, entered the theatre.

It was modelled on that of Athens,—a large semicircle hewn out of the volcanic rock, with seats of the red limestone so frequent in Melnos. The stage faced the mountain, and had an altar beautifully sculptured in front of it, and life-sized statues of Dionysius and Phoebus on either side.

“This is our Temple of Thespis,” said Justinian, as they stood in the centre of the semicircle, which was at a moderate distance from the stage. “You see it is not very large, and suitable to the size of the island and the number of population; so, as the actors can easily be seen, we need neither cothurnus nor mask. Our plays, I am afraid, are not so gigantic as those of ancient Hellas; but there is one advantage, the face is seen, and the Greeks are wonderfully expressive in revealing their feelings by the countenance.”

“All Melnos seems to be built of this red stone.”

“Yes; I get it from the cliffs of the island. The tint is pleasing, and warms up the landscape. I am sorry we cannot see the ocean from the theatre, as I am very fond of the sea; but, shut in by this circle of mountains, of course that is impossible. Now we must go and see the silk factory.”

After they had gone through this thoroughly,—for Justinian insisted upon Maurice taking notice of every detail,—the King showed him some hot springs just outside the village, which bubbled up from the earth, amid rugged blocks of black lava, streaked fantastically with sulphur.

“These springs are full of medicinal properties, which are useful for the cure of many diseases,” he said, as they watched the light clouds of steam rising; “but we of Melnos are so healthy, that we rarely use them. Plenty of work, plenty of physical exercise, careful attention to births, and fresh air and water in abundance, keep the whole population in splendid health. It is a case of quality, not quantity.”

“Have you any poets, painters, sculptors?”

“Not yet. True, sometimes rude songs are made, and rude pictures painted, but I am afraid centuries of slavery have crushed all the creative power out of the Hellenic race. However, they are free here, and have a city of refuge in this island; so, in the future, who knows but what Melnos may become a second Attica, and have her Plato, her Sophocles, her Phidias!”

“It will take years to develop all that genius,” said Maurice, as they once more began to climb up the staircase.

“I am afraid so. And I dread who may come after me. I am old, and cannot live long; so when I die, unless my successor is actuated by the same desire to found a miniature Attica, as I have been, he may turn this place into a nest of robbers, in which case, I am afraid, King George’s Government would interfere, and the aspirations of Melnos to revive Hellenic culture would be at an end.”

“Who is to be your successor?”

“That I do not know. True, I have a daughter, but it needs a man to manage my Greeks. I took Crispin and Andros, in order to train them up as my heirs, but Crispin has become wealthy, and prefers to live in England; while Andros, or, as he now calls himself, Caliphronas, is nothing but a scamp. If he succeeded me, all my work would go for nothing. He would be a tyrant, a robber, a selfish seeker after pleasure, who would destroy the simplicity of Melnos, break all my laws, and transform it into a nest of criminals.”

“Surely you have some clever men among your people?”

“Clever to serve, but bad to rule. None of them have the administrative power required for even so small a community as this. No; to succeed me, I must have an Englishman. We are a dominating race, fit to rule; and a glance round the world will show you our colonizing capabilities. By a cool head and a firm hand, I have transformed a barren island into a centre of prosperity; and if my successors only follow my policy, in a few hundred years, this little unknown island may become the centre of a great intellectual power. The Athenians, you know, were small in number, yet see the intellectual effect they produced in the world’s history. These Greeks of mine are descendants of the ancient Hellenes, and the spark of genius, nearly trampled out by centuries of Turkish misrule, is still within them. Place a plant in the dark, and it grows not; give it plenty of air and sunlight, and first the green leaves appear, then the bud, lastly the flower. These are my green leaves, which I have placed in the light; and let them be tended and looked after, who knows but what a glorious flower may be produced.”

“It is a splendid—dream!”

“A dream which may yet turn out truth,” answered Justinian, with energy. “See how well I have prepared the ground. My people here are physically perfect; their morality is much above what is to be found in the islands of the Ægean. I have taught them to love work and loathe idleness. The island they dwell in contains all the beauties of nature in a small space. ‘Infinite riches in a little room,’ to quote Marlowe. They are starting fairly under my guidance, and they will develop, as their prototypes of Athens, into a keen, cultured, intellectual race, who may give this modern world as splendid gifts of genius as did their fathers of old. But the plant needs fostering, and I, the gardener, alas! am growing old; so when I die, who will attend to this delicate flower of artificiality. What I want is to find a successor who will do as I have done.”

“He will be difficult to find.”

“I fear so; unless”—

Here Justinian paused abruptly, and walked rapidly along the mulberry avenue, in which they were now. Maurice waited to hear him speak, but he said nothing until he stood under the graceful Corinthian capitals of the temple pillars, when he suddenly came to a full stop, and looked at Maurice keenly.

“Mr. Roylands, do you know what I think?”

“No, sir.”

“That it would be an excellent thing for you to give up your country-gentleman life in England, and come here.”

“But for what reason?”

“To be my successor.”

Maurice stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment, but in another moment Justinian vanished.