“Ζἡσω ὁ βασγἑυς ρἡς Τἡνου,” Demetrius sang out, cheerfully, and every head uncovered, hats were frantically waved by the men, handkerchiefs by the women. One foolish fellow high up, ran into the house for his pistol and luxuriously fired off a couple of shots by way of salute.
“Confound the idiots!” muttered Constantine, shuddering in his terror of the explosion. He hated the sound or the idea of the weapon, and his abortive duel with Stavros had not tended to lessen his instinctive abhorrence.
“No more of that, my good fellows,” he roared, commandingly. “Any expression of your kind regard flatters me, but my brother has had an illness, and is very much shaken. The ride from the town has proved rather more than his strength is capable of, and your noisy enthusiasm would quite prostrate him. Many thanks and good-night.”
“Ζὁψω!” again shook the silence of night as they rode through the village.
“The Virgin be praised! We have back our own dear young lady,” Katinka shrieked, kissing her fingers vigorously.
Inarime waved her hand in gracious recognition, and the proud, cherishing eyes of her adorers watched her slim figure, and the homely shape of her charger until the twilight mist swallowed them out of their sight. Annunziata and Kyria Helene stood at the little postern gate to welcome them. The tender brightness of their glances and the warmth of their cheering smiles struck the home-sick girl with the force of a buffet. She stumbled choking into Annunziata’s arms, and hung limp about her.
“Annunziata, Annunziata,” she cried like a child.
“My own girl! It is heaven to have you back. ‘When will she come?’ the villagers ask me every day, and shake their heads mournfully at the continued eclipse. Dear sir!” she added, as she caught the hands of Pericles, and held them fondly.
Pericles pressed her brown fingers, then kissed the cheeks of his sister and pleaded for immediate rest.