“Don’t trouble your head about me,” said the Demarch, kissing her; “if I die I die, and if I live I live—it’s the fortune of war. The best thing you can do, Helena, is to go down to the valley and attend to those poor fellows who are wounded. I know you will be very anxious, my dear, so I will send Temistocles to you every now and then with information as to how the fight is getting on. Now, good-by, my dear child, and keep up your spirits.”
“I will walk up with you to the head of the pass,” said Maurice, turning away from the palisade; “there is no sign of the enemy getting under arms yet, so I can easily spare a few minutes.”
Helena of course was delighted at thus having her lover all to herself for even a quarter of an hour, and walked beside him up the gorge, followed by the women, who had taken an affectionate farewell of their sons, husbands, and brothers. Zoe also was weeping bitterly, as she had just parted from Dick, and dreaded lest she should never see him again. Indeed, despite the danger, the men at the front were less to be pitied than those women remaining behind in the interior of the island, for while the former were at least too occupied to fret over their troubles, the latter, with nothing to take their minds off the disasters surrounding them, were in a state of suspense pitiable to behold.
“Do you think Crispin will come back within the week, Maurice?” asked Helena, as she walked arm in arm with her lover.
“I hope so! If he is picked up by the Cretan steamer, and his yacht is now lying at Syra, I have no doubt he will; but it is all the merest chance. However, come what may, I think we can defend the island to the end.”
“It is not of the danger without, but of the danger within I am thinking.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“This volcano”—began Helena, upon which Maurice interrupted her with a merry laugh of scorn.
“My dear one, do not fright yourself with false fire. I suppose you are thinking of the earthquake?”
“Yes; and of the lake and the springs.”