... she covered her lace with her hands and shrank back into
the lepers' hut
The insistent, eager notes of martial music caught Panayota's ear. A moment she stood listening, and then turned deadly pale.
"Kostakes!" she gasped. "Kostakes and the Bashi Bazouks!" and again she caught at the door jamb to keep herself from falling.
"Hark!" cried Aglaia, "that is not Turkish music, neither is it Greek. It is foreign music. This should mean great news. You wait here a few moments and I will go find out."
Aglaia hastened down the road and Panayota stood in the door, waiting and listening. The sound of the music grew louder, came nearer. The body of troops was passing down the line of the fork that formed the opposite boundary of the lepers' village. Aglaia had been right. That was not Turkish music; the tune was foreign to Panayota, but it thrilled her somehow. She loosed her fingers from the door jamb, her hands dropped by her side and she stood erect.
As she listened thus and looked down the road, anxiously waiting the return of Aglaia, a man approached her. The first intimation that she had of his presence was the sound of crunching footfalls. Instinctively she covered her face with her hand and shrank back into the house. Mother of God! Was this person, too, about to inflict himself on her? Whoever it was, he had evidently stopped outside, before the house—was waiting there. Perhaps some face, more hideous than anything she had yet seen, would appear at the door.
"Will he never go?" she muttered, her teeth chattering. "I must get away from here—away into God's clean, free mountains. No! I believe he is going away. Praise God!" for the crunch, crunch of footsteps in the coarse gravel was renewed—grew fainter in the distance. Panayota was about to peep from the door again when she heard other footsteps, of people walking rapidly. These passed by without stopping. She heard a man call as though shouting to some one far away, and then there was silence for so long that she once more ventured to look out.
It had been Hassan Bey calling to Curtis, and begging him to walk more slowly. What trifles affect our destinies! Had Lindbohm lifted up his voice as he was on the point of doing, this story might possibly have a different ending.