"Zoe Averoff of Argolis! Child, what are you doing here?"
She looked at him in wonder as she answered, "My mother is dead, my father is gone and comes no more; he must be dead too. I live here with my uncle, the father of Marco."
The stranger's eyes were fixed upon her and she saw them fill with hot tears.
"Child," he said, "I believe you are my little niece. I am Andreas Averoff, and your father was my brother. I feared that I would fail to find you, since all they could tell me at your old home was that you had gone to Thessaly. Do you remember me, since I went to your house once long ago?"
"I know that I had an Uncle Andreas," said Zoe, scarce believing her ears. "But I do not remember him."
"I am that uncle," he said, "and I have come to take you with me to my home. I have a wife and son in Argolis, but our little girl we lost. Will you come and be our daughter, or are you too happy here?"
"I am not too happy," said Zoe, "but it would be hard to leave Marco. He is so good to me."
"Perhaps your Marco will come with us, for I have money and we can find him better things to do than to fly to the mountains with the shepherds each St. George's Day. Now, take me to your home and tell your aunt what has come of your taking tea with a brigand."