Much puzzled, Maurice conveyed the desired assurance to Eirene, who took in its significance at once, and inquired sharply how he was to be treated, in reply to which the monk declared that he would be the guest of the monastery. Satisfied with this answer, Eirene asked to be shown her room, to which she and Zoe were conducted by one of the officials of the monastery and the two old women. It was a large, low chamber, opening from a corridor, with a stone floor, and stone divans all round it, above which was a decoration of light arcading in plaster. There was a large fireplace projecting into the room, with a hearth piled with logs, and three windows, all innocent of glass, but provided with shutters. From two of these windows views of the surrounding country far below could be obtained; the other looked out on a smaller courtyard and across to another of the curiously irregular buildings which occupied the summit of the rock, and from a window in this the girls presently saw Maurice looking out. It was too far to talk, but he signalled to them that he was all right, and they returned into the room, much comforted, to find that the old women had lighted the fire and spread a carpet on the divan near it. Presently they brought in a tray of savoury food, the nature of which was not evident, save that it contained no meat, and set it on a stool close to the divan, when the girls were thankful to partake of it. Too tired even for surmises, they went to bed immediately afterwards, sleeping so soundly on their hard couch that even the thunder of a mallet on a board, which summoned the monks to service at midnight, failed to wake them.
They slept far into the next day, and it was late in the afternoon when they looked out into the courtyard, to see Maurice, in full Greek costume, wandering disconsolately about, and gazing up at their window. They wondered that he had made no attempt to reach them, but another glance showed one of the old women sitting like Cerberus at the foot of the steps leading to their corridor, with the evident purpose of preventing any intrusion.
“Oh, Maurice, how nice and respectable you look!” cried Zoe. “That kilt suits you beautifully.”
“It doesn’t,” said Eirene indignantly. “He looks as if he was going to a masked—no, a fancy ball. He ought always to wear English country clothes.”
“And go to the opera in them, like the proverbial British tourist, I suppose?” said Zoe. “But why didn’t you get some clothes for us, Maurice, if they let you go out shopping?”
“They don’t, but there’s a Greek village somewhere near, and the old monk who looks after me—who is second in command, or prior, or something—got me these things through a kosmikos, who seems to be a sort of lay-brother. But the women’s dress round here seems to be distinctly advanced—rather markedly rational, in fact—and I didn’t think you’d care to wear it.”
“Oh, well, tell them to send us two blouses and some stuff, and we’ll make skirts for ourselves—and scissors and needles and cotton, of course—and some hairpins. But how are we to pay?”
“With promises, I suppose. The people seem to share Stoyan’s touching faith in an Englishman’s word—which is rather rudely shaken in his case now, unfortunately. I told the monk I’d pay when we got back to civilisation.”
“But why are we here at all?” asked Eirene.
“That they either can’t or won’t tell me. It has something to do with one of the Committees, evidently—trust them to have a finger in the pie—but I can’t make out how long we are to be kept here, or whether anything is to happen or not. The monks are not half bad old fellows. The Hegoumenos—that’s the abbot—has been trotting me round this morning to show me the church and the library and all the chapels, and at dinner last night he was full of the most infantile questions. Of course, he had to ask them all through Papa Athanasios, who is my particular monk, and what with his French and mine, the abbot must have amassed some wonderful information.”