“I pitied you long before I came to Emathia,” said Maurice, “but I pity you less now. Your misfortunes are so much your own fault. United, you Emathian Christians might have wrung concessions, even self-government, from Roum, and extorted the respect of Europe, but you have made yourselves a byword by your dissensions. Village fights village, and one side of a street the other side. When you should be all banded together against the Roumis, you Illyrians and Thracians and Dardanians are murdering Greeks, and the Greeks are preparing for revenge. Christian hates Christian worse than Roumi.”
“Of course,” said Zeko, with entire acquiescence. “Are not the Patriarchists—curse them to the lowest depths of hell!”—he spat on the ground—“worse than the Roumis? If we could get rid of them we should have no more trouble.”
“And so you waste and weaken your strength in fighting one another!” said Maurice. “I tell you, if I were your leader, I would not trouble about the Roumis, but I would put down with an iron hand these feuds among Christians.”
He had spoken with more earnestness than he realised, and the brigands laughed, while Zoe thought of the youthful Pompey in the pirate stronghold, and Eirene frowned, not approving of this imaginary encroachment upon her rights. Before any one had taken the trouble to controvert Maurice’s absurd theories, the talk was interrupted. The chief and Milosch came up the church, and Stoyan, with a lowering brow, gripped Eirene by the shoulder.
“Is it true that you still have jewels concealed about you, though you declared you had given up everything?” he demanded.
Eirene had turned pale, but she answered boldly, “Yes.”
“And you were aware of this?” asked the chief of Maurice.
“I did not know——” began Maurice. Then he changed the form of his sentence. “Yes, I know.”
“Don’t hold me,” said Eirene. “I will give it up.”
“No, you are welcome to it. I hear it brings ill-luck. It has done so already to you. Keep it, and its ill-luck with it.”