'There he is,' said I. 'There--Constantine Stefanopoulos.'

The words were hardly out when Demetri clapped a large hairy hand across my mouth, whispering fiercely, 'Hold your tongue.' I drew back a step and struck him fairly between the eyes. He went down. A hoa.r.s.e cry rose from the crowd; but in an instant Kortes had leapt from where he stood behind Phroso and was by my side. I had some adherents also among the bystanders; for I had been bidden to speak freely, and Demetri had no authority to silence me.

'Yes, Constantine Stefanopoulos,' I cried. 'Did he not stab the old man after he had yielded? Did he not--'

'The old man sold the island,' growled a dozen low fierce voices; but the priest's rose high above them.

'We are not here to judge my Lord Constantine,' said he, 'but this man here.'

'We all had a hand in the business of the old man,' said Demetri, who had picked himself up and was looking very vicious.

'You lie, and you know it,' said I hotly. 'He had yielded, and the rest had left off attacking him; but Constantine stabbed him. Why did he stab him?'

There came no answer, and Constantine caught at this advantage.

'Yes,' he cried. 'Why? Why should I stab him? He was stabbed by some one who did not know that he had yielded.' Then I saw his eye fall suddenly on Vlacho. Dead men tell no tales and deny no accusations.

'Since Vlacho is dead,' Constantine went on with wonderful readiness, 'my tongue is loosed. It was Vlacho who, in his hasty zeal, stabbed the old man.'

He had gained a point by this clever lie, and he made haste to press it to the full against me.

'This man,' he exclaimed, 'will go to Rhodes and denounce me! But did I kill the old man alone? Did I besiege the Englishman alone? Will the Governor be content with one victim? Is it not one head in ten when he comes to punish? Men of the island, it is your lives and my life against this man's life!'

They were with him again, and many shouted:

'Let him die! Let him die!'

Then suddenly, before I could speak, Phroso rose, and, stretching out her hands towards me, said:

'Promise what they ask, my lord. Save your own life, my lord. If my cousin be guilty, heaven will punish him.'

But I did not listen even to her. With a sudden leap I was free from those who held me; for, in the ranks of listening women, I saw that old woman whom we had found watching by the dying lord of the island.

I seized her by the wrist and dragged her into the middle, crying to her:

'As G.o.d's above you, tell the truth. Who stabbed the old lord? Whose name did he utter in reproach when he lay dying?'

She stood shivering and trembling in the centre of the throng. The surprise of my sudden action held them all silent and motionless.

'Did he not say "Constantine! You, Constantine"?' I asked, 'just before he died?'

The old woman's lips moved, but no sound came; she was half dead with fear and fastened fascinated eyes on Constantine. He surveyed her with a rigid smile on his pale face.

'Speak the truth, woman,' I cried. 'Speak the truth.'

'Yes, speak the truth,' said Constantine, his eyes gleaming in triumph as he turned a glance of hatred on me. 'Tell us truly who killed my uncle.'

My witness failed me. The terror of Constantine, which had locked her tongue when I questioned her at the house, lay on her still: the single word that came from her trembling lips was 'Vlacho.'

Constantine gave a cry of triumph, Demetri a wild shout; the islanders drew together. My chance looked black. Even St Tryphon would hardly save me from immediate death. But I made another effort.

'Swear her on the sacred picture,' I cried. 'Swear her on the picture.

If she swears by the picture, and then says it was Vlacho, I am content to die as a false accuser, and to die here and now.'

My bold challenge won me a respite: it appealed to their rude sense of justice and their strong leaven of superst.i.tion.

'Yes, let her swear on the sacred picture,' cried several. 'Then we shall know.'

The priest brought the picture to her and swore her on it with great solemnity. She shook her head feebly and fell to choked weeping. But the men round her were resolute, one of them menacing even Constantine himself when he began to ask whether her first testimony were not enough.

'Now you are sworn, speak,' said the priest solemnly.

A hush fell on us all. If she answered 'Constantine,' my life still hung by a thread; but by saying 'Vlacho' she would cut the thread. She looked at me, at Constantine, then up to the sky, while her lips moved in rapid whispered prayers.

'Speak,' said the priest to her gently.

Then she spoke in low fearful tones.

'Vlacho was there, and his knife was ready. But my lord yielded, and cried that he would not sell the island. When they heard that they drew back, Vlacho with the rest. But my Lord Constantine struck; and when my lord lay dying it was the name of Constantine that he uttered in reproach.' And the old woman reeled and would have fallen, and then flung herself on the ground at Constantine's feet, crying, 'Pardon, my lord, pardon! I could not swear falsely on the picture. Ah, my lord, mercy, mercy!'

But Constantine, though he had, as I do not doubt, a good memory for offences, could not afford to think of the old woman now. One instant he sat still, then he sprang to his feet, crying:

'Let my friends come round me! Yes, if you will, I killed the old man.

Was not the deed done? Was not the island sold? Was he not bound to this man here? The half of the money had been paid! If he had lived, and if this man had lived, they would have brought soldiers and constrained us. So I slew him, and therefore I have sought to kill the stranger also. Who blames me? If there be any, let him stand now by the stranger, and let my friends stand by me. Have we not had enough talk? Is it not time to act? Who loves Neopalia? Who loves me?'

While he spoke many had been gathering round him. With every fresh appeal more flocked to him. There were but three or four left now, wavering between him and me, and Kortes alone stood by my side.

'Are you children, that you shrink from me because I struck a blow for our country? Was the old man to escape and live to help this man to take our island? Yes, I, Constantine Stefanopoulos, though I was blood of his blood--I killed him. Who blames me? Shall we not finish the work? There the stranger stands! Men of the island, shall we not finish the work?'

'Well, it's come at last,' thought I to myself. St. Tryphon would not stop it now. 'It's no use,' I said to Kortes. 'Don't get yourself into trouble!' Then I folded my arms and waited. But I do not mean to say that I did not turn a little pale. Perhaps I did. At any rate I contrived to show no fear except in that.

The islanders looked at one another and then at Constantine. Friend Constantine had been ready with his stirring words, but he did not rush first to the attack. Besides myself there was Kortes, who had not left his place by me, in spite of my invitation to him. And Kortes looked as though he could give an account of one or two. But the hesitation among Constantine's followers did not last long. Demetri was no coward at all events, although he was as big a scoundrel as I have known. He carried a great sword which he must have got from the collection on the walls of the hall; he brandished it now over his head and rushed straight at me. It seemed to be all over, and I thought that the best I could do was to take it quietly; so I stood still. But on a sudden I was pulled back by a powerful arm. Kortes flung me behind him and stood between me and Demetri's rush. An instant later ten or more of them were round Kortes. He struck at them, but they dodged him. One cried, 'Don't hurt Kortes,' and another, running agilely round, caught his arms from behind, and, all gathering about him, they wrested his weapons from him. My last champion was disarmed; he had but protracted the bitterness of death for me by his gallant attempt. I fixed my eyes steadily on the horizon and waited. The time of my waiting must have been infinitesimal, yet I seemed to wait some little while. Then Demetri's great sword flashed suddenly between me and the sky. But it did not fall. Another flash came--the flash of white, darting across between me and the grim figure of my a.s.sailant--and Phroso, pale, breathless, trembling in every limb, yet holding her head bravely, and with anger gleaming in her dark eyes, cried:

'If you kill him you must kill me; I will not live if he dies.'

Even Demetri paused; the rest gave back. I saw Constantine's hatchet-face peering in gloomy wrath and trembling excitement from behind the protecting backs of his stout adherents. But Demetri, holding his sword poised for the stroke, growled angrily:

'What is his life to you, Lady?'

Phroso drew herself up. Her face was away from me, but as she spoke I saw a sudden rush of red spread over her neck; yet she spoke steadily and boldly in a voice that all could hear:

'His life is my life; for I love him as I love my life--ah, and G.o.d knows, more, more, more!'

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHAT IS HIS LIFE TO YOU, LADY?"]

CHAPTER XI

THE LAST CARD