She went immediately to her room and took from her jewel box a necklace. It was of pearls strung upon horsehair. A mother-of-pearl amulet depended from it. This she tried to remove, for it was characteristic, easily identified. But a sound along the corridor made her swiftly hide the necklace and all in her bosom. Moments alone were rare to-day. She must have the jewels ready. Of course the adventure pleased her. She was young and she was—Theria!
After the family had dispersed from the last meal of the day she sped away to the back storeroom. There at the window she waited. Never had so many steps sounded in the house, coming near the door, passing and repassing; never had the lane reëchoed so loudly the footsteps from the highway. Again and again she thought people must be entering the lane itself. Once Nerea came into the storeroom to fetch wheat for the kitchen. But it was by no means unusual to find the little mistress sitting at that window, and Nerea went innocently away.
Down in the lane the shadows crept closer. Deep twilight now. There among the jagged rocks at the lane’s end was a denser shadow. Suddenly bird-swift the shadow darted forward and stopped under her window. She leaned out.
“Hist! is it you, slave?”
The bearded face uplifted itself, the hands as well. She could see this in the dimness.
“Oh, marvel of kindness,” came the low voice, “I knew you could not fail.”
“But I forgot yesterday. Hold your hands up close together. Careful, now.”
She dropped the pearls and he caught them easily. But he stood still in his place.
“They did not whip you yesterday, Despoina? Tell me they did not,” he whispered.