Arrived at the gateway of the Konak, Armitage knocked authoritatively, and though the guard on duty refused vehemently at first even to entertain the idea of admitting them before sunrise, he yielded when he heard who was outside. Harold in his furry disguise was wrapped in Sotīri’s kapota, and completely hidden, which excited wild curiosity on the guard’s part as to the results of the expedition. Armitage imposed silence on him by means of a gift, and they hurried across the courtyard to the colonnade outside the unused rooms, where he had spoken to Kalliopé two nights before. Harold was suddenly thrust into his arms, as Sotīri said hastily, “One moment, lord!” then turned back to say with great emphasis, “Since we started, lord, my cousin has been hiding in one of these rooms. So anxious was she for the child’s recovery that she could not bring herself to remain among the servants, but sought refuge here, that I might bring her the news as soon as we returned.”
“Poor thing! she must indeed have been anxious,” said Armitage gravely, and the boy disappeared. When a step was next heard on the stone pavement, it was Kalliopé who approached. She lifted her eyes silently to Armitage’s face, and he saw that there were black circles of fatigue surrounding them which stood out clearly in comparison with the whiteness of her cheeks, but inconsistently enough, he found her more beautiful than even the first day he had seen her. She took his hand and kissed it, lifted Harold from his arms, and was gone. Armitage felt a sudden sense of flatness, an uncertainty as to what ought to be done next, which was disconcerting after the crowding events of the last eighteen hours. Then he surprised himself in a tremendous yawn, and very wisely found his way to his room and went to bed.
He was awakened after what seemed about a minute’s sleep by a vigorous knocking, followed by the unceremonious entrance of Wylie, who burst in, and seizing his hand, shook it with such energy that Armitage cried for mercy.
“My dear good man,” he nursed the released hand ostentatiously, “what in the world is it?”
“Oh, nonsense, don’t try to shirk! We know it’s all owing to you, old man. Kalliopé has been telling us all about it, though we can’t make head or tail of her story. Who is this cousin who went with you? We never heard of him. But what does it signify, when you’ve brought the boy back? I tell you I thought I was dreaming, when I felt a tug at my moustache—something like a tug, too—and heard a little voice saying ‘Da! da!’ but when I opened my eyes there was Zoe with the child in her arms. Old man, you can’t conceive what it is to get him back. Hurry up and dress. Zoe wants to thank you herself. She and Linton and Kalliopé are all on their knees at this moment baby-worshipping, with a shifting audience of women from other parts of the place. I’m going on now to tell Maurice. We can never thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me at all,” said Armitage. “The whole idea was Kalliopé’s, and she provided in her cousin a highly efficient instrument for carrying it out. I only obeyed orders. By the bye, I hear she was in hiding all day yesterday. Did you find it out?”
“We thought she had slipped through our fingers, of course, and there was a good deal of mutual recrimination among the servants. Where she hid I can’t imagine, for we thought we had hunted everywhere. Well, poor girl, she has heaped coals of fire upon our heads—in a sort of way, for there are a lot of suspicious things about her still. But be quick and get dressed.”
When he was gone, Armitage obeyed, and in due course found his way to the verandah, where Harold, fresh from a most necessary bath, and dressed by the rejoicing Linton in his Sunday frock, was the centre of attraction on his mother’s knee. Zoe looked up with eyes full of tears.
“Oh, we can never, never thank you enough!” she cried. “Harold, give Uncle a kiss and say ‘Ta’ to him for bringing you back.” Harold obeyed solemnly. “I don’t think he looks any worse, except perhaps a little thinner—do you?” she went on anxiously. “Isn’t it horrid that he can never tell us how they treated him, because he will have forgotten all about it when he is able to talk? But I really believe he hasn’t had his face washed all the time he has been gone. Still, if there’s nothing worse than that, we may be most thankful. What is it, Parisi? Breakfast? How can one think of breakfast now? If you really had the fine feelings you expect me to credit you with, you would have put some food unobtrusively on the table over there, and left us to discover it when we remembered we were hungry.”
Parisi smiled respectfully. He was a highly cultured person, having once edited an Athenian newspaper, but he could never see a joke when it was against himself. Having duly acknowledged Zoe’s attempt at wit, he repeated in a soft murmur, “The gracious lady is served,” and stood aside to allow her to pass downstairs.