Nature is fond of contrasts, and delights in the unexpected; therefore, after the gloom and tumult of the previous night, the morning showed the three castaways a scene of peaceful beauty so enchanting, that they thought they were in fairyland. The sea had gone down after midnight, and only a heavy ground-swell remained to tell of the fury of the storm which had wrecked The Eunice. All around lay an expanse of sapphire sea, touched here and there with white foam, which turned to crimson as the morn dawned redly in the gray eastern skies. Far into the cloudless blue arose the giant peak of Melnos, its lofty summit swathed in snows already bathed in the heavy yellow beams of the rising sun. Below its white cap appeared a green mantle of foliage, which quite hid the bare rock with a profusion of myrtles, plane-trees, arbutus, ilex, and branching heather; and lower still the red tint of rugged cliffs, the black chaotic bowlders of the beach scattered in huge masses, and in and out of these the white threads of the surf like fairy lacework. Far away to the north arose the Island of Kamila, faint and cloud-like in the midst of the blue seas, and on the murmuring waters played gentle breezes, breathing fragrant balms robbed from aromatic trees. It was a scene of unexampled beauty, and even the three unfortunates clinging to the mast could not withhold their admiration, in spite of the discomforts from which they were suffering.

“Once we are on shore,” said Crispin, with confidence, “I will take you into the interior of the island, where we will be well looked after by Justinian.”

“Has the island an interior?” asked Maurice sceptically, for he saw nothing but a huge mountain resting on the azure sea.

“Of course! Did I not tell you it was the Island of Fantasy, and therefore full of wonders? But the first thing is to get to land. What do you say, Gurt?”

“Swim, sir.”

“I feel too stiff,” said Crispin, shaking his head. “I could not swim a yard—and you, Maurice?”

“I am in the same plight,” replied Roylands, whose joints were aching with the exposure to the night. “If it’s a question of swimming, I will have to remain here till doomsday.”

“I kin swim, gentlemen,” said Gurt stoutly. “Bless ye, this ain’t nothin’, this ain’t. Why, I’ve bin wrecked in the nor’ard, and precious cold it were. I kin get ashore all safe, but I dunno ’bout you, sirs.”

Gurt’s face assumed the rapt expression of one who was thinking out a deep problem, and Maurice, knowing the inventiveness of sailors, did not interrupt him, having every confidence that this mariner would hit upon some plan of extricating them from this dilemma.

“There are plenty of ropes,” suggested Crispin hopefully, “and if”—

“Right y’are, sir,” said Gurt energetically, his one eye flashing with satisfaction. “I’ll tie ‘em together and swim ashore. Fust I’ll tie the rope t’ th’ mast an’ then t’ th’ beach, an’ you two kin skip along like monkeys. D’ye see, sirs?”

No sooner was the plan thought of than the energetic Gurt proceeded to put it into practice, and spliced all the ropes he could get hold of, being armed with that useful implement, a jack-knife, which no sailor is ever without.

“It’s ’bout quart’r mile fro’ shore,” said Gurt, fastening one end of the rope to the mast and the other round his waist; “but if rope ain’t long ’nough, you gents tie on more, an’ pay out. Here’s knife.”

Crispin took the knife, so as to be ready for such emergency, and then gave Gurt his spirit-flask, from which the mariner drew new life, although he was pleased to regret that the contents were not rum, instead of brandy. Having thus revivified himself, Gurt, with the rope round his waist, scrambled down into the calm water, and was soon striking out boldly for the shore. Maurice and the poet watched his black head bobbing up and down in the blue, and kept paying out the rope carefully, lest any entanglement should hamper the swimmer.

“Thank Heaven, he’s all right!” cried Crispin in a tone of relief, as they saw the white figure of the sailor clambering over the black rocks. “Now it’s our turn.”

In order to swim freely, Gurt had stripped naked, so the two left on the mast had to carry his clothes to shore, a thing easy enough, as all Gurt wore was a shirt and a pair of blue serge trousers. Crispin took one article, Maurice the other, and waited for Gurt to signal from the shore that the rope was made fast. Soon they saw him waving his hand and shouting to intimate all was right; whereupon they examined the knot of the rope to see that it was fast to the mast, and then slid down into the sea.

The rope was pretty well taut, as it ran from the mast to the shore, so Crispin and Maurice, holding on to it, struggled along towards the land. Their limbs ached with pain, owing to their long exposure to the night-air, but a drink of spirits each put new vigor into their wearied frames, and, after a toilsome journey, aided by the rope, they managed to reach the beach, up which they scrambled with thankful hearts.

“All right, sirs?” asked Gurt, dressing himself rapidly.

“Stiff,” replied Crispin ruefully. “I feel as creaky as an old door!”

“Ain’t used t’ it,” grinned Gurt, shifting his quid; for, during all the trouble and danger, he had retained that as his only solace. “Well, I guess, sirs, we’d best take more rum, an’ then explore this here island.”

“Oh, I know all about it,” said Crispin cheerfully. “But see, the sun is up, so, as it is no use trudging about in wet clothes, we had better dry them.”

The two gentlemen stripped at once, and spread their clothing out to dry on the black rocks; but Gurt, disdaining such luxury, perched himself in a sunny place, and watched them swimming in the shallow waters near shore to refresh their weary limbs. The sun was now considerably above the horizon, burning hotly in a cloudless blue sky, and the sultry rays soon dried the clothes spread out on the rocks, so in a short time they were soon dressed again, and ready to start out in search of Justinian.

True, they were very hungry, but Crispin had some biscuits in his pocket, which appeased their appetites in some measure, and, after a good drink of brandy each, they began to trudge along the stony beach, guided by the poet, to whom every inch of the island was as familiar as his own face. The reddish cliffs and white sand of the beach, catching the hot sunlight, threw out intense heat, and, from being cold, the three adventurers soon became uncomfortably warm.

“Do you think Caliphronas is safe?” asked Maurice hesitatingly, as they walked along.

“Caliphronas has nine lives, like a cat,” retorted Crispin savagely; “but, after his treachery of last night, I hope he will meet the doom he deserves. If it had not been for his cutting that rope, Martin would have been alive now.”

“That is, if the gig reached shore safely.”

“Of course! The sea was wild, and she might have been swamped, like the lifeboat; still, we must hope for the best.”

“I seed Bulk a-chuckin’ of that ’ere gent inter the water,” said Gurt, addressing the air with elaborate indifference.

“I hope Bulk succeeded,” replied Crispin grimly; “but what’s that?”

A dark object was lying on the white beach, and, as they raced up to it, Crispin gave a cry of anguish.

“Why, it’s poor Stokins!” he said, recognizing the features of the mate. “He was in charge of the boat. I’m afraid she was smashed up like the other.”

“And ’ere’s Jimson and Bildge,” cried Gurt, from a distance, where he had discovered two corpses. “They’ve all gone t’ kingdom come, gents!”

“Caliphronas also, I suppose!” said Maurice sadly; for, in spite of his dislike to the wily Greek, it seemed terrible that his joyous youth should be ended so suddenly by the cruel sea.

“It looks as if we were the only survivors,” remarked Crispin moodily, as they resumed their journey. “We must have those poor fellows buried. I will speak to Justinian.”

“Where is Justinian?” asked Maurice a little irritably. “Does he live on this arid peak?”

“Yes; but do not judge by external appearances. This rocky mountain, so sparsely clothed with trees, is only the uninviting shell of a very fine kernel.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“I seem to have been doing that ever since I knew you, judging from your frequent mention of the fact. However, we will soon come to the tunnel, and then you will see.”

“What tunnel?”

“Oh, a wonderful piece of engineering skill carried out by Justinian thirty years ago,—a tunnel which pierces the side of this mountain, and will admit us into its interior.”

“Where we will find—what?”

“The patriarchal community of which Justinian is king!”

“What! does he rule over Troglodytes, like a Norwegian gnome?”

“Gnomes have nothing to do with the south,” said Crispin provokingly. “I tell you this is the Island of Fantasy—the only fairyland yet remaining on earth. You anticipate the realms of Pluto, but you will find Arcadia.”

“I’m hanged if I understand you!”

“Well, your curiosity will soon be satisfied. En avant, messieurs, for I am hungry, and wish to be seated at the hospitable board of Justinian.”

High above, over the terra-cotta-colored cliffs, hung the fresh green foliage which clothed the slopes of the mountain high up to the verge of the eternal snows;—tall, dark cypresses, funereal-looking even in the bright sunshine, the silver-gray glimmer of olive trees, chestnuts, beeches, plane-trees, and, nearest to the summit, gloomy pines accentuating the whiteness of the snows, which, clinging to the rocky peak, stood out in cold relief against the warm blue sky. Ahead of them was a reddish promontory running out into the calm waters, the trees fringing its crest like the mane of some wild animal. Turning round the shoulder of this, they saw in the distance a similar promontory, and between these two headlands a range of reddish cliffs topped by vegetation, a white sandy beach scattered over with bowlders, and a huge arch in the middle of the cliff, which apparently led into the bowels of the mountain.

“Here we are at the palace gate,” said Crispin gayly, as he led the way towards the subterranean entrance. “We will soon be in safety.”

Standing in front of this mighty arch, they saw a broad flight of steps leading up into the darkness, so that it looked like the entrance into the hall of Eblis. Outside, the brilliant sunshine, the many-colored land, the sparkling sea; but within, darkness, dank and unwholesome, which inspired the two strangers with anything but hope. Crispin, however, knowing the place well, sprang lightly up the steps, followed hesitatingly by his companions, but suddenly he stopped and held up his finger, the action being visible in the bright light pouring in through the arch into this artificial cave.

“Listen! Maurice, do you recognize that voice?”

It was a man singing, and his clear high tones echoed in the dark vault overhead, coming nearer and nearer as the vocalist slowly descended the steps.

“Caliphronas!” cried Maurice and Crispin in one breath.

It was indeed Caliphronas who came slowly down the steps and paused in alarm just where the light began to mingle with the darkness;—a new and brilliant Caliphronas, arrayed in all the bravery of the Greek national garb, with gold-broidered leggings, snowy fustanella, gaudy jacket, and red skull-cap. In this picturesque dress he looked handsomer than ever, and had quite recovered his bombastic air, which terror had deprived him of during the storm.

“Creespeen! Mr. Maurice!” he cried in a startled voice, placing his hand on one of the pistols stuck in his belt, for he was quite aware that his treachery deserved a warm reception from those whom he had doomed to death.

“You needn’t do that,” said Crispin, curling his lip as he observed the action; “we are not going to punish you.”

“Punish me!” jeered the Greek, recovering his insolent manner. “Oh, never fear, I can defend myself. Punish me! and for why? Because I chose to save my own life!”

“Yes, and nearly caused us to lose ours!” said Maurice grimly.

“You know my philosophy, Mr. Maurice; so why expect me to be false to it?”

“You are an infernal scoundrel, Caliphronas!”

The Greek smilingly showed his white teeth, as if a compliment had been paid to him.

“We are all scoundrels more or less, only some are cleverer at concealing it than other people,” he said carelessly. “So you are all safe? I made sure you were drowned.”

“And wished too, I dare say,” replied Crispin dryly. “Well, you see we have survived your amiable intention of leaving us to die. What about the boat?”

“The boat! oh, that was swamped,” said Caliphronas in a satisfied tone. “Two of your infernal sailors threw me overboard.”

“I seed ’em a-chuckin’ of yer,” remarked Gurt in a pleasant tone.

“Did you, indeed? Well, they were very soon chucked themselves, and of the whole twenty in the boat, only half a dozen are alive now.”

“Where are they?”

“With Justinian. He sent me to look for your corpses, but I suppose he will be rather astonished when he finds you can still use your own legs.”

“How did you escape?”

“I was tossed into the sea near the shore, and, buoyed up by my life-belt, I managed to keep myself afloat till the waves landed me on the beach.”

“Naught was never in danger,” quoth Crispin coolly. “I suppose all your repentance of yesterday has passed.”

“Gone to the winds, my friend,” replied Caliphronas airily. “Poof! what would you? There is a time for all things. Yesterday I was nearly dead, and talked nonsense; to-day I am dry and well, so it is evident I am not born to be drowned.”

“Born to be hanged, more like,” said Maurice viciously, hardly able to conceal his dislike of this heartless, cowardly, beautiful animal before him. “Well, it is cold here, and we are hungry, so I think you had better conduct us to Justinian.”

“Come, then,” answered Caliphronas, leading the way. “But tell me, how did you escape?”

“With the help of God!” said Crispin, resolved not to gratify the Greek’s curiosity.

“Ah, He helps the sinner as well as the saint; for you see I also am alive and well.”

“You deserved death for your treachery!”

The mocking laughter of the Count rang through the darkness.

“Neither virtue nor vice is rewarded in every case! I see you are safe, and the poor good captain is dead.”

“He is; and you are to blame.”

“No doubt I will survive that accusation. Well, you have lost your beautiful ship, Crispin.”

“It’s my loss, not yours.”

“Hark to this philosopher! Ha! how can you leave this island again?”

“What! does Justinian intend to keep us prisoners?”

“Justinian will do what he thinks fit,” replied Caliphronas significantly. “You are both rich, and can pay large ransoms.”

“You scoundrel, you have been putting these brigand ideas into the old man’s head.”

Caliphronas laughed disagreeably.

“Perhaps I have. At all events, if you escape Justinian, you won’t get away so easily from Alcibiades.”

“You forget six sailors still survive,” said Maurice sternly, “and we are three, so I think nine Englishmen can hold their own against a hundred cowards like yourself.”

The Count made a clutch at his pistol, and muttered an execration, but, thinking better of it, recovered his temper, and burst out laughing.

“Well, well, we will see! I regret, Mr. Maurice, I did not bring a torch for this darkness, but you see I know this passage well, and do not require it. Had I known you three were coming, I would have brought men, torches, food, wine, and all the rest of it, to make you comfortable.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” retorted Maurice angrily, for the mocking tone of this scamp was intolerable; “but ‘Timeo Danaos.’”

“I don’t understand Latin,” said Caliphronas coldly; “but I’ve no doubt you’ve said something uncomplimentary. However, we need not wrangle any more, for here we are at the gate of Melnos.”

The gate was a huge structure of wood, formed by interlacing beams into a kind of barred defence, which completely closed up the tunnel, and in the centre of this was a small heavy iron door. Through the interstices they could see the faint glimmer of daylight, a still ascending staircase, the red flare of burning torches, and in the doubtful lights three or four men moving about.

“This is to guard against people like my friend Alcibiades,” said Caliphronas, seeing the amazement of Maurice and Gurt at this mediÆval entrance. “Like the Pass of ThermopylÆ, this tunnel could be defended by four against many, so Melnos is thus a city of refuge.”

“Ay, if treachery does not gain an entrance,” retorted Crispin significantly; “and that is always possible when there is a traitor within the walls.”

“Meaning myself?” rejoined Caliphronas tranquilly. “There you are wrong, and I think, my dear Crispin, you must have forgotten that, in or out, I can do nothing, as Justinian alone possesses the key of this door. We must send Alexandros for it. Oh la there, Alexandros!”

One of the men, bearing a burning torch, came to the bars of the framework, and Caliphronas spoke to him in Greek, while Crispin, understanding the language thoroughly, listened attentively, as, after the Count’s conduct of last night, he was quite prepared for further treachery, and desired to guard against it. As soon as Caliphronas finished, the man went off up the staircase, and the Count turned round to his companions with a reassuring smile.

“He has gone to get the key from Justinian,” he explained courteously. “This key, you must know, Mr. Maurice, is the emblem of sovereignty in Melnos—the sceptre of the island!”

“But it must be rather a trouble going to Justinian for the key every time you want to go in or out!”

“There is not much of that,” said Crispin quickly; “the people of Melnos stay at home in the heart of the mountain. ’Tis only wanderers like myself and the Count who are restless.”

“The heart of the mountain!” echoed Maurice, in a puzzled tone; “is it a cavern?”

“No; fresh air and blue skies.”

“I cannot understand your Island of Fantasy. It is most perplexing, and well deserves its name.”

“So Justinian thought, and that is why he called it so.”

“Who made this ’ere, gents all?” asked Gurt, who had been surveying his nether world surroundings with much awe.

“Justinian.”

“Well, sir, arskin’ yer pardin, but I niver thought a lazy Greek ’ud have had it in him to do sich a thing.”

Caliphronas laughed at the indolent character ascribed to his countrymen, which, however, he could not deny with any great show of reason.

“Justinian is not a Greek, but an Englishman.”

“I thought so, sir,” said Gurt triumphantly; “but ’eavins, sir! wot’s he a-doin’ of in this ’ere lay?”

“Ah, that is a mystery!” replied the Count, smiling.

“Blest if ’tain’t all queer,” muttered Gurt in bewilderment, and thereupon relapsed into silence.

The house of Justinian was evidently some distance away, as they had to wait a considerable time before Alexandros returned, much to the discomfort of the three shipwrecked men, who were beginning to feel their privations keenly. Maurice would have liked to ask after Helena, but the knowledge that Caliphronas was his rival forbade him to risk an inquiry. He now began to see that the anticipations of Crispin regarding possible dangers were not without some foundation, for, trapped in this mountain heart, which appeared to his fancy to be a most extraordinary place, he saw that Justinian could hold them prisoners as long as he pleased. Besides, this scamp of a Caliphronas, who hated both himself and Crispin thoroughly, was evidently the right hand of Justinian, and thoughts of the cruelties of Greek brigands began to pass unpleasantly through his mind. Here, towards the end of the civilized nineteenth century, was a genuine robber’s cave, into which he was blindly walking, and, despite the presence of Crispin, who stood beside him, Maurice did not feel quite at his ease regarding their reception by this renegade Englishman who was called Justinian.

At length rapid steps were heard descending the staircase, and Alexandros came in sight, holding his torch in one hand and the wished-for key in the other. Having unlocked the door, he held it open for them to enter, and, when the four men were inside, locked it carefully again, and thrust the key into his belt in order to take it back to his master. As he did so, he spoke to Caliphronas in Greek, upon which the Count translated the speech for the benefit of Maurice and the seaman.

“Justinian will see you at the Acropolis.”

“The Acropolis?”

“Yes! it is a fancy he has for calling his house so. ’Tis too small for a palace, and too large for an ordinary house, so the intermediate term Acropolis fits it exactly. Come, Mr. Maurice. Crispin, you know the way, don’t you?”

“Considering I have lived all my life in Melnos, I should think it highly probable,” retorted the poet in an annoyed tone, for the patronage of Caliphronas was insufferable.

Conducted by Caliphronas and Alexandros, they walked slowly up the giant staircase, and in a short time arrived at a huge archway similar to the one into which they had entered. Through this Maurice, to his astonishment, saw a smiling landscape, and paused thunderstruck under the great arch.

“Why, Melnos is in the cup of the mountain.”

“Exactly,” replied Crispin, who was enjoying his astonishment. “Melnos is an extinct volcano, and this is the crater. You see we have plenty of room for buildings, fields, cultivation, and all such desirable things. We are two hundred feet above the sea-level here.”

Maurice did not reply, being too much amazed for speech, and standing there feasted his eyes on the beautiful picture framed by the archway, of which he was only able to gain a general idea. It was a vision of snowy hills, miniature forests, yellow fields of corn, terraced vineyards, and a mass of white houses in the hollow, while clinging to the mountain side were other buildings showing white against the pale green of the foliage. High above, encircled by the top rim of the crater, which was broken into a dazzling circle of snow-white peaks, was the blue sky, with the burning sun blazing down into the hollow, wherein, like a mirror, flashed a small lake, encircled by trees. Below, palms waved their feathery fans, above, the light green of the pine trees burned like emeralds in the hot sunshine, and over all this enchanted scene brooded an intense rest, an air of serene calm, which made it seem to Maurice like that sleepy land of the lotus-eaters.

And this was Melnos.