“What does worry me,” pursued Maurice meditatively, “is all this war going on for what may turn out to be nothing but a heap of cinders. It would be the very irony of fate, if, after beating back the foe, this volcano should start, and drive us away from the very place we have defended.”
“If such a thing happened, I do not think my father would survive.”
“It would be a blow, certainly,” replied Roylands, affecting a cheerfulness he was far from feeling; “but one can do nothing against the giant forces of nature. However, Helena, remember all the wealth of Melnos is safe in London, thanks to the wisdom of my uncle; so if Hephaistos did start a forge here, which he seems inclined to do, we would simply have to abandon this island, and start our scheme of a new Hellas on another; but this time we would select one less dangerous from a volcanic point of view.”
“But think of forty years’ work thrown away!”
“And think of leaving this paradise! However, if the archangel waves his flaming sword, we must; still, if I go, my Eve will be with me, and that will comfort me greatly.”
“Ah, my dear, dear Maurice!—Oh, what is that?”
“The roll of a drum,” cried Roylands, stopping abruptly. “The enemy must have begun the attack, so I will have to return to my post. Good-by, my dearest, and don’t trouble yourself. Remember, I have your amber heart.”
“And my real heart also.”
“Well, I leave mine with you for safety; so I can’t be shot through the heart, can I? Jove! there’s the drum again. Give me a kiss. There, good-by, my dear one.”
Down the gorge he tore at full speed, for he already heard the sharp crack of a musket-shot; and Helena, remaining where she was, sank on her knees, which example was followed by all her women; and the whole company, with uplifted hands, implored the protection of Heaven for their dear ones at the front.