“Oh, do be quiet!” cried Zoe anxiously. “That new man whom Milosch brought with him to-day may understand English. I saw him staring hard at you when you were kissing all those old worn-out saints on the screen.”
“But what harm could it do if he did? These men know that they are schismatics.”
“Yes, but it isn’t natural that a Scythian girl should think them so. How will you account for your Greek sympathies?” A pause of horror, as Zoe realised what she had said, then she rallied her forces. “You know, the time for the ransom is getting so near now that I am feeling horribly nervous. How dreadful it would be if any of us did anything that made the brigands suspicious, so that they refused to let us go! Do be sensible, and let us be thankful we have this nice little place to ourselves.”
“Well, I shall sit outside as long as I can,” said Eirene obstinately. “I suppose I must come in when it gets dark, but I feel we shall deserve whatever may happen to us after this.”
Undisturbed by these religious, or superstitious, fears, Zoe went on with the work of preparing the room, on the threshold of which Eirene had been standing, declining to enter. It was the chancel, or apse, of the ruined church, and the half-dome which formed its roof was still in place, together with the ikonostasis, or wooden screen painted with figures of saints, which separated it from the body of the building, though the plates of metal which had formerly represented haloes and details of clothing had been wrenched away. Beneath the steps which led up to the sanctuary from the church was an underground chamber, approached by a door and staircase on one side, and this was the only place where a fire could be made, lest the light or smoke should betray that the building was inhabited. The brigands were already lighting the fire, and the smoke dispersed itself by way of the staircase into the church, and penetrated through the cracks of the screen into the sanctuary. It seemed curious that the wild bands which made the place one of their haunts had not torn down the screen for firewood, but apparently their sacrilegious impulses had stopped short after depriving the saints of their haloes. Zoe went to work methodically, spreading on the stone floor for beds the pine-branches Maurice had cut, and unrolling the rugs. Maurice would sleep on the threshold, on the broad topmost step, and Zoe felt an unusual sense of comfort and security in the fact that this bare little room was to be their own for some days. The end of the captivity was in sight—for she entertained not the smallest doubt of the success of Wylie’s efforts—and from the ruined church they might hope to make their last journey as prisoners, to the spot where the ransom was to be paid.
“Well, I shall sit outside as long as I can,” said Eirene obstinately.
Her work done, Zoe sat down to rest, too tired even to pass down the ruined nave and seek Eirene outside. Maurice was helping some of the brigands to cut firewood in the forest, Zeko and another man were in charge of the underground kitchen, and the rest were mending their moccasins or lounging idly in the church. It was not dark yet, and Zoe had accepted Eirene’s decision as unshakable, so that it was with surprise she saw her coming up the steps, and entering the sanctuary without protest or hesitation. Her face was aglow with hope, and she threw herself down on the rug beside Zoe.
“Zoe,” she whispered eagerly, “we have a friend. It is Vlasto, the man who came to-day with Milosch.”
“But have you been talking to him all this time? Oh, Eirene, suppose he is a spy!”