Two weeks passed since the departure of Caliphronas to stir up war against Melnos. Yet Alcibiades made no sign of attacking the island, so doubtless his plans had not yet matured sufficiently to permit of the assault, or else he was trying to lull the Melnosians into a false security, so as to storm them unawares. Justinian himself thought this latter supposition the more likely, but was too old a campaigner to be thus caught napping, and day and night had sentinels posted on the highest peaks of the island to give notice of the approach of the enemy by lighting watch-fires which were all ready prepared.

As before stated, the defenders of Melnos, inclusive of the Englishmen, numbered about a hundred and twenty; certainly a small force to hold the island against three hundred enemies, which, as Caliphronas had told Justinian, was the strength of Alcibiades’ army. Melnos, however, strongly fortified by nature, was quite the Gibraltar of the Ægean, and, owing to the ruggedness and height of the surrounding peaks, no enemy could gain the crater of the volcano save by the western pass or the tunnel, both of which were skilfully defended by wooden palisades. Maurice himself thought it a mistake that these barriers were not constructed of stone, but Justinian explained that they were thus built so as to admit of the approach of the enemy being seen, when a few determined men intrenched behind could keep at bay a large force in the narrowness of the tunnel or of the pass, whereas, if a stone wall intervened, an outside foe could perhaps batter it down without hurt from the defenders.

Another advantage which Justinian had over a hostile force was the fact of the tunnel being a staircase, as his men posted on the heights could sweep down the enemy climbing slowly upward. In order to do away with the necessity of fighting in the dark, or by the feeble glare of torches, Justinian had a powerful electric search light placed at the inner entrance of the tunnel, so as to command the palisade. Indeed, the Demarch, having unlimited money at his disposal, had the latest European inventions obtainable for the defence of his island, and much regretted that he had been unable to obtain the new magazine rifle which had lately been served out to the English army. This rifle holds six cartridges, which can be fired one after the other, and, unlike the revolver, has no barrel, as the cartridges lie in a line one at the back of the other; but as Justinian was not able to obtain this efficient weapon, he was obliged to put up with the Martini-Henry rifle, which was a deadly enough weapon in the hands of his excellent marksmen.

The western pass was a narrow, winding gorge, created by some primeval convulsion of the volcano, which severed the low semicircle of mountains in a deep cleft; and at the inner entrance was commanded by two old brass cannon which the Demarch had found in some dismantled tower of the Venetians. These cannon, however, in spite of their age, were in an excellent state of preservation, and could do a deal of damage when sweeping down the narrow pass. The middle of the cleft was fortified by a strong wooden palisade, and at the outer entrance was another of similar construction; thus the defenders, intrenched behind these barriers, held the invading enemy at considerable disadvantage. Justinian had also another search light sweeping the pass in the event of a night surprise, and thus, the two entrances being so well defended by nature and art, it was feasible enough that the little band could keep at bay even a larger host than that which Alcibiades was bringing against them.

Even if the beleaguerment of the island lasted for months, there was no danger as long as the pass and tunnel were defended, for there was plenty of provision, and all food eaten by the inhabitants was grown on the fertile sides of the crater; so it was likely Alcibiades, despairing of taking the place by storm, would retire his men after a few weeks. The Demarch was perfectly satisfied that he occupied too strong a position to be dislodged, and the only chance of capture lay in inside treachery, or the enemy scaling the peaks and coming down unawares in the rear. Neither of these things was likely to happen, as there was no chance of treachery from the Melnosians, who were all devoted to Justinian; and the enemy, consisting of all the scum of the Levant, had neither the engineering skill nor the courage to climb over the forbidding-looking mountains which enclosed the central crater of the volcano.

During the two weeks the watchmen on the heights kept a constant watch for the foe, and Justinian, assisted by Maurice and Dick, looked after the military preparations with right good will. The rifles were duly served out to the men, who practised shooting daily, also swords and cutlasses, in the use of which Dick instructed them; yet all this time they went on with their work, and only after it was over did they attend to their military duties. There was no fear of the ammunition giving out, as the Demarch had constructed a magazine in a lonely part of the valley, which was filled with cartridges, cannon balls, and plenty of powder.

All this elaborate military preparation to defend a rocky little island may sound childish enough in Western ears accustomed to the gigantic military powers of Europe; but the coming assault on Melnos was no holiday battle, but would probably involve a good deal of hard fighting, as the desperadoes of Alcibiades were by no means to be despised. They thought that Melnos was full of treasure, quite unaware of Justinian’s wise precaution of sending the public revenue of Melnos to London to be in safety; and, lusting for gold, they were ready to fight like demons in order to plunder the island. The defenders, on their side, valued their homes, wives, and children too much to permit a loose band of absolute wretches to gain entrance into their stronghold; so it seemed as though the fight on both sides would be fought with dogged determination to the bitter end.

Maurice and Dick were the principal assistants of Justinian at this juncture, as Crispin knew nothing about military matters, and the testy old Demarch said he was more trouble than use; so he wandered about a good deal with Helena, quite the idler of the community. In spite of this, however, all knew that Crispin was as keen as any one on fighting, and would defend the island with the best of them; besides which, being the minstrel of the party, he wrote war-songs after the mode of TyrtÆus, to fire the Melnosians with martial enthusiasm.

The old fighting blood of the Roylands showed itself plainly in the Demarch and his nephew, for they both looked anxiously forward to the anticipated invasion, and would have been seriously annoyed had it not come off. Justinian himself quite renewed his youth at the idea of once more smelling powder, and his fiery energy, overriding all obstacles, occupying itself ceaselessly with all military matters, at times even tired out his muscular nephew. Yet Maurice worked bravely, and showed himself to be made of the stuff required for leaders of men, and, despite his ignorance of matters military, made several valuable suggestions from a common-sense point of view, which were greatly approved of by the Demarch.

“Egad, Maurice!” he said, grimly surveying his nephew, “if I had only had you instead of Caliphronas, I would have made a man of you.”

“Meaning I’m not a man now,” said Maurice, rather nettled.

“By no means. You’ve got the Roylands spirit, my boy, and will fight like the devil himself when needs be; but when I think of all those years of idleness in England, it makes me angry. Such a loss of good material which could be made use of, and I dare say there are hundreds of fellows of your physique and stamina, who write their lives away in offices instead of going in for an adventurous career and dying rich. What I mean is that you are made of the same stuff as I, and had I possessed you as my right hand when I started this scheme, egad, I’d have had a kingdom instead of an island!”

“You forget, I was not born forty years ago.”

“No more you were—more’s the pity! Those were glorious times, and, in spite of my years, I do not regret having been born early in the century. Life is too tame now, all bread and butter and explosive machines. Give me the good old days of hand-to-hand combat, lots of adventure, rows galore, and the devil take the hindmost.”

“I never met such a man as you, uncle.”

“Then you never met yourself. I don’t mean your doppelganger, but your inner self, for you are exactly what I was, though how the deuce your father ever came to have such a son, I do not know. He was as mild as milk, my brother Austin.”

“Was he?” said Maurice grimly, thinking of the many family rows that had taken place.

“Oh, I don’t deny he had a spice of the Roylands temper, but as to ambition and enterprise, he might as well have been born a carrot. Why, he nearly ruined you, my boy, with neglecting to put you on the right track—no wonder you got melancholia and all that rubbish. You are a worker, not a dreamer.”

“I have brains, I suppose?”

“Yes, and so has Crispin; but he uses his brains in the right way, you don’t. Crispin is born to sit down and tinkle a lute, you are born to handle a sword and lead an exciting career. Why didn’t you go into the army?”

“My father wouldn’t let me.”

“Of course!” said Justinian, with a snort of disdain; “he wanted to make you a mollycoddle like himself. I wonder you did not go out of your mind in that smoky London, chipping away at marble and cutting it out. Why, you have been here only a couple of months, and already you are in your right mind. Go back to England indeed!—you are a fool if you do. Like myself, you are born to be a ruler, not a unit in English civilization. I’m glad I got you to myself before it was too late.”

“Well, if my career has begun late, I am at least young, and have a long life before me.”

“Yes; I envy you that, Maurice. Look at me! youthful in spirit, old in years. I shall die in the prime of my spiritual strength, just because my wretched body is of an inferior quality to my soul.”

“Still you are good for a few years yet. And, uncle, don’t you think it would be wise of you not to expose yourself in battle?”

“What!” roared the old Demarch in a voice of thunder; “stay in the background! Never while I can handle a sword. I’m not going to let every one else have the fun, and leave myself out of it. Why, this coming war in a teacup is the first bit of amusement I have had for years, and yet you grudge it to me.”

“I don’t want you to be killed, uncle.”

“Oh, I’ll look after myself, never you be afraid! I won’t live any the longer for wrapping myself up in cotton wool, and if I die, why, like Tennyson’s farmer, I die, but I’ll have one stirring fight before I give up the ghost.”

“You have the Baresark fury in you, uncle.”

“An inheritance from our Norman ancestors, my boy. You are more of courtly old Sir Guyon, who went to the Crusades, but I resemble Jarl Hagon, who came sailing to Normandy with Rollo. Indeed, if the theory of transmigration be true, I believe the spirit of that old Norse savage is incarnate in my body. I am born too late! I am an anachronism in this dull, peaceful century, all gas and steam engines. I ought to have fought with Drake and Frobisher. However, I have done my best to make my surroundings agree with my nature, and the result is—Melnos.”

“Which is the result, not of war, but of peace!”

“Eh!—oh, I daresay—it is a toy with which I can amuse myself; but you forget that before I colonized Melnos, I had battled all over the world, and thus expended a good deal of my Baresark fit.”

“And now it comes again!”

“The last upleaping of the flame, my boy,” said Justinian sadly; “and then death. But there, I talk so much about myself, that you must think me egotistical. What about that electric light I wish to try?”

“Alexandros and Gurt are fitting it up on the platform.”

“Good! but say Gurt and Alexandros in future. An Englishman goes before every one else.”

“How patriotic you are, uncle! Yet you have forsaken England.”

“England was an unjust stepmother to me, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, and, in spite of my residence here, I have as patriotic a spirit as any of your jingoists, who shout War! war! war! on the least provocation. Come, let us go and look at this search light on the terrace.”

Justinian, during the last few years, had dabbled considerably in electric matters, and had sent Alexandros to England in order to learn all about the science. Alexandros, keen-witted in all things, had soon picked up all that was necessary, and was quite an accomplished electrician; so when he returned to Melnos, he brought with him, by Justinian’s instructions, all machines necessary for the production of the light. The powerful engine for working the dynamo was placed at the back of the Acropolis, under the eye of the Demarch himself, and from this centre the wires were laid to the tunnel and the western pass. Thus the machine, being, so to speak, in the heart of the island, was safe from being captured by enemies, and the lighting of both places was quite under the control of Alexandros. The Demarch had also a third apparatus rigged up on the terrace, in order to make a trial of the power of the light, which was to be tried that night; for Justinian wished everything to be in thorough working order against the arrival of Alcibiades and his army.

While they were examining the electric apparatus on the terrace in front of the Acropolis, Helena, in company with Dick and Zoe, came to them in a great state of excitement.

“Papa, give me the key of the tunnel, for Crispin says the boat has arrived from Syra with letters!”

“By Jove, that’s good news!” cried Maurice, as the Demarch handed the key to his daughter. “Now we will know all about the new yacht, uncle, and if Melnos is taken, we can go to Syra, and escape on board of her.”

“Melnos won’t be taken,” said Justinian with a frown. “I am quite astonished at your suggesting such a thing, Maurice. Besides, the yacht is going to Athens.”

“Yes, but Crispin sent a letter to the telegraph office there, telling them to wire to the agents that the yacht was to stop at Syra.”

“Humph! well, that is not bad news. As you say, it is as well to be prepared for emergencies. Here is the key, Helena. Where is Crispin?”

“Waiting at the tunnel entrance!” replied Helena brightly, and went away with the key of the island, guarded by Dick and Zoe.

There was every sign that these two were following in the footsteps of their master and mistress, for as Zoe, tutored by Helena, could speak English very well, there was no obstacle to Dick’s wooing. The bos’n was a handsome young fellow, with a masterful manner about him, which the Greek maiden found very pleasant, so she was not at all indisposed to yield to his solicitations, and become Mrs. Dick, the more so, as she thought this marriage would not part her from Helena, whom she loved dearly. Her early flame, Gurt, had quite vacated the field in favor of his handsome young rival, and now took a paternal interest in the match. As yet, Zoe, with innate coquetry, had not given Dick a direct answer, but there was little doubt, in the end, she would accept this assiduous lover who worshipped her very shadow.

While the three had departed to take Crispin the key of the gate, Justinian continued examining the electric apparatus, and questioning Alexandros concerning the mode of working.

“The moon is not up till late to-night,” said the Demarch, looking at the sky, “so in the darkness we will be able to test it splendidly. Are the lights at the tunnel and the western pass in order, Alexandros?” he added in Greek.

“Yes, Kyrion. I attended to them to-day, myself.”

“And the engine?”

“Works perfectly, Kyrion.”

“Capital!” said Justinian in English, turning to Maurice. “I think our electric powers will rather startle Alcibiades!”

“No doubt; but do you know, uncle, I think it is a pity you did not place a search light on one of those peaks, so as to sweep the ocean, and thus reveal their approach if they try to steal in to the beach under the cover of darkness.”

“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.”

“By all means, if we are not blockaded in the mean time; but if we are, you will have to stay here.”

“And The Eunice at Syra!” rejoined Crispin in a vexed tone. “Well, perhaps it will be for the best, as your sister, niece, and Mr. Carriston are on board, and won’t care about being mixed up in a battle.”

“My sister!” repeated Justinian thoughtfully; “she was born after I left England, and I only caught a glimpse of her when I went back, so she is quite a stranger to me. Is she a—a pleasant sort of person?”

“Well, she talks a good deal,” said Crispin, with some hesitation.

“Then I am afraid she will tire me dreadfully,” said the Demarch dryly, “for I do not like chatterboxes. However, Helena will be glad to see her aunt. Will you not, child?”

“Of course, papa. I will be glad to see all my relations if they are as charming as Cousin Maurice.”

“Eunice is an angel.”

“Of course,” said Helena mockingly; “that is because you love her. Why, Maurice says the same thing about me.”

“What does Maurice say?” asked that gentleman, looking up from his letter.

“That I am the dearest girl in the world,” laughed Helena, going up to him.

“I will find that out when your milliner’s bills come in.”

“Milliner!” said the child of Nature; “what is a milliner?”

They all laughed at this, particularly Justinian, who pinched his daughter’s ear gently.

“Ah, a milliner is a very important person, my child. She makes gowns.”

“Like this white one of mine?”

“No, more’s the pity,” said Crispin, with a laughing glance at the simple white garment; “if all gowns were of that style, the bills would not be so large, and husbands would frown less. Well, Maurice, and what says the Rector?”

“He declines to commit himself to an opinion until he sees Melnos with his own eyes,” said Maurice, putting the letter in his pocket, “and is coming out especially to see the new Hellas. There, uncle, is that not a compliment?”

“I will be glad to see Mr. Carriston,” observed Justinian a little stiffly, as Maurice thought. “Crispin, did Georgios see anything of Alcibiades?”

“No, nothing.”

“Or hear anything?”

“Not a word.”

“They must be keeping all their preparations very quiet,” muttered the Demarch to himself as he went inside; “but, for all that, I believe an attack will take place within the week.”

The party on the terrace broke up after his withdrawal, leaving Alexandros still busy at his electric apparatus, which was in complete order by night-time. After a merry supper, every one came out again on to the terrace to make experiments with the light, and Alexandros went away to look after his dynamo.

Such a still night as it was, with not a breath of air to cool the hot atmosphere, and the sky in the shimmering heat seemed closer to the earth than usual. No moon was yet in the heavens, but the dark blue vault was bright with innumerable stars, large and mellow, like tropical constellations. The valley below was in complete shadow, not the glimmer of a white-walled house being visible, and the sides of the gigantic cup which formed the crater of the volcano were veiled in diaphanous darkness. So intensely quiet was everything, that even the nightingales were silent, and there seemed something awesome in this breathless stillness of Nature, as though the whole earth were dead, and only the handful of people assembled there alive.

“I don’t like this sultry night,” whispered Helena to Maurice uneasily, as he stood by one of the pillars with his arm round her waist. “I hope nothing is wrong with the volcano!”

“What! after thousands of years’ quiet?” laughed Maurice gently. “My dear child, the volcano is as extinct as the dodo.”

“I don’t know what a dodo is,” replied Helena, panting; “but the whole place seems so unnaturally still that it gives me the idea of some coming trouble.”

“Perhaps Alcibiades!”

“Oh, we can fight against him, but we can’t fight against an eruption.”

“Who is talking about an eruption?” said Justinian, turning round from the electric apparatus he was examining.

“Helena. She is afraid there will be one soon.”

“Nonsense, nonsense!” said the old man testily, yet with an anxious frown on his face. “If there was danger of an upheaval, we would be warned by the hot springs, but they are just bubbling as usual. Besides, Georgois tells me there is an eruption at Santorin, so with that vent for the volcanic forces we are quite safe. Why, I have lived here for forty years in safety, and the crater has been extinct for thousands of years, so we need not be afraid of anything going wrong now.”

Thus pacified, Helena, in common with the rest, turned her attention to the electric light, which at this moment flashed out from the carbon points in terrible splendor. Alexandros began to move it about, and like the flaming sword of St. Michael, or the tail of a comet, it swept in a tremendous arc across the dark sky. Turned down on the valley, it revealed everything as if it were day, the lake, the houses, the trees, the streets—all sprang out of the darkness with the minuteness of a photograph. Then the intolerable brilliance began to move slowly round the sides of the crater, the black pine forests, the arid rocks, and then the rugged peaks, white with chill snows. But, lo! as it travelled eastward along the jagged heights, on one burned a huge red star.

“The watchfire!” cried Maurice, springing to his feet.

“Turn off the light!” commanded Justinian hastily.

Alexandros did so, and there on the cold peak, amid the luminous twilight, flamed the bonfire of the watch like a baneful star, telling of destruction, war, and death.