“There is a great fear,” replied the Rector gravely, glancing at the picture; “a young man’s heart is not always under his control, and this woman has the beauty which inspires madness. Helen of Troy, Cleopatra of Egypt, Mary of Scotland, Ninon de l’Enclos of France, they were all Lamiæ, and their beauty was ever fatal to their victims.”
“Lovers,” corrected Maurice quickly.
“Victims,” reiterated Carriston firmly; “or, if you will, lovers, for the terms are synonymous.”
“Well, I will take your advice, sir, and go to the East in search of this lovely Helena of Melnos, but I promise you I will not be a victim.”
“I hope not, but I fear so.”
“You need not,” said Roylands gayly, delighted to have won over the Rector to his side. “I will come back alone, cured, or with a wife, and more in love than ever.”
“How will you find this island?”
“Oh, Caliphronas”—
“As beautiful and as false as Paris of Troy,” interrupted the Rector quickly, whereat Maurice shrugged his shoulders.
“Possibly he is, but I do not think I have anything to fear from him.”