“I would bring her here, lord, and cast her into a dungeon from which she should never escape. But when her beauty was gone, and her face as evil and ugly as herself, I would summon my brother and bid him behold her, that he might laugh at his own foolishness, and go his way.”
“And that you would account sufficient punishment?”
“Surely, lord, for her it would be worse than death, and she deserves it. But my brother has been led away.”
“Worse than death?” said Prince Christodoridi meditatively. “But not so safe, daughter—not so safe. Still,” he stopped and cut the knots in the sash with his dagger, and allowed Danaë to rise from her cramped position on the floor, “you are a worthy child of the Christodoridi, I believe. Would you help in carrying out this vengeance, little one?”
“Try me, lord! This fellow needs a confederate, does he? Let me go. I will enter the woman’s household as the meanest of her servants, and wait patiently until I can deliver her bound into his hands to be brought hither. Then I will dance for joy above her dungeon.”
“But what has she done to you?” asked Prince Christodoridi, still moved entirely by curiosity, and not by any disapproval of his daughter’s sentiments.
“She has bewitched my brother, lord. Is it not enough for you that she has bewitched your son?”
“Lady Danaë knows nothing of the matter. She is too young to do what has to be done, and I will not risk discovery by taking her with me,” growled Petros.
“Friend Petros, the women of the Christodoridi are never too young to do what the head of their house commands,” said the Prince.
“And you know, lord, whether any weakness of mine would lead to discovery,” cried Danaë eagerly. “I have risked much for my brother already—even your displeasure.”