"Caught in the net I was preparing for another!" smiled Idris. "I was hoping to hear you recite some portions of your play. But that will come later. Well, mademoiselle, what shall my story be?"
"You said a while ago that you have led a somewhat adventurous life, and that you once took part in a battle. I call for some of your adventures."
"You flatter my vanity. A man's self is an insidious theme. The Apologia pro meâ vitâ is rarely to be trusted, the author being naturally prone to magnify his virtues, and minimize his faults. Always receive the autobiography cum grano salis."
"Very well," replied Lorelie, with a smile irresistible in its witchery. "Begin your story, and I will supply the granum salis as you proceed."
Vain was it for Idris to protest. She was not to be deterred from her purpose of hearing something of his personal history; and, accordingly, after due reflection, he proceeded to relate some of his experiences in the Græco-Turkish War of '97, in which he had taken a part, in common with some other Englishmen of adventurous spirit.
Idris was master of a certain natural eloquence, an eloquence very effective in the case of an imaginative maiden. At any rate Lorelie seemed to take a deep interest in his words. Never before had he seen so attentive a listener. Her face, like water lit by the changing rays of the sun, reflected all the varying expressions on his own countenance, as he passed from grave to gay, from scene to scene.
A significant incident occurred during the telling of these reminiscences.
He was relating that on one occasion he had been entrusted by a Greek commander with the task of conveying a secret dispatch to a village beyond the enemy's lines. The ordinary route to this place ran through a mountain-pass, which at that time was carefully guarded by Bashi-Bazouks. Idris, therefore, determined to scale the face of an almost perpendicular cliff, and passing, as it were, above the heads of the watchers, come out in their rear. When he was three-fourths of the way up the cliff his heart almost leaped into his mouth as he caught a glimpse of a Bashi-Bazouk, dagger in hand, waiting for him at the top. The shades of twilight were falling: to descend was impossible: to go upward was to meet certain death: yet upward he continued to pull himself, little by little, hoping that by some good fortune he might be able to outwit the armed watcher. In graphic language he painted his sensations as none could, save those only who have been in a position.
At this point Lorelie's interest became intense, even painful. So vivid was her realization of the scene that she seemed at that very moment to see Idris before her, clinging feebly to the edge of the cliff in the dusky gloom, with the savage enemy above him dealing the death-stroke. She leaned forward in her seat with parted lips: then, quite unconsciously, and all-forgetful of her sprained ankle, she half rose with her arm extended as if to ward off the coming blow.
"O, but you are here," she murmured, realizing her mistake. "How absurd of me!" and, with a heightened colour, she sank back in confusion.