“Unless your Pannonian friends held out the hope of better terms, I suppose. Well, you are returning to Strio, and my advice to you is—stay there. Many years to you!”
“My Prince would soon want me back again. I make my bow to you, lord,” said Petros smilingly, but when he found himself outside the room with Danaë, his assurance wavered. “I have the promise, but I wonder whether the Lord Romanos is to be trusted to keep it? What do you think, lady?”
“You are pardoned for killing Despina, not the Lady,” said Danaë impatiently. “If I were you I would take the advice given me. If you return to Therma, the Lord Romanos may hold himself quit of his promise.”
“Why, then, it will be a case of who strikes first,” said Petros, his swagger returning. “On the whole, I think I have got off pretty lightly, considering you were foolish enough to let everything out, Eurynomé my girl. I don’t quite know what I thought would be the end of it all, but I certainly never expected to be taking you back to Strio in this way, like damaged goods. And the message to the Despot! Well, you will bear me out that I was charged to deliver it.”
Danaë made no answer as she followed him gloomily through the Palace gate. It seemed as though all the odium due to the other conspirators, who were so placed that they could not be touched, had heaped itself on her. In the softened state of mind which had been the result of her last conversation with Zoe, she had hoped her brother would allow her to attend, as a sort of expiation, the imposing religious ceremony of the translation of Donna Olimpia’s remains from their temporary resting-place to the principal church in Therma. But no, whatever favour might perforce be shown to Petros, she was to receive none. Nothing proved this more clearly than the prohibition to say good-bye to Janni, who would now be wailing his little heart out for his Nono. And the cruel message to her father! What could be the outcome but such a marriage as would justify ten times the dread with which she had looked forward to her return home?
The sea was no kinder to Danaë than the land, and the unpleasant experiences of her voyage to Therma were even intensified on her return—the sole comfort being the greater deference which infused itself gradually into the manner of Petros. From Tortolana onwards he took his proper place as the confidential servant who had been entrusted with the duty of bringing his young mistress home from school, and Danaë’s European luggage aroused much interest, though she disappointed all observers by not wearing Frank clothes. Reluctantly she set foot on the soil of Strio, and climbed the steep street between the white houses. To the islanders she seemed a stranger, and they seemed strangers to her. It was less than a year since she had left home, and yet most of the pretty girls who had roamed over the roofs with her seemed to be already transformed into blowzy matrons. The people looked after her curiously as she passed, noting the atmosphere of detachment which appeared to surround her, and wondering how the Despot would like the result of his experiment. It was the same when she reached the fortress, to find her mother, hastily awakened, regarding her with apprehensive, faintly hostile eyes, and Angeliké frankly of opinion that if she must come back at all, she need not have timed her arrival precisely at this juncture.
For the desire of Angeliké’s heart was in sight, and her betrothal to Narkissos Smaragdopoulos, the son of the chief man of Tortolana, within measurable distance. The old woman who was the recognised intermediary in such affairs among the aristocratic families of the group had voyaged from Strio to Tortolana, and informed Kyrios Smaragdopoulos that Prince Christodoridi might be brought to look favourably upon his son as his daughter’s bridegroom. The prudent father, after polite disparagement of the honour done him, made the regulation inquiry as to the amount of the bride’s dowry, and since then old Aristomaché had travelled backwards and forwards, on haggling intent. Over the last thousand drachmæ in dispute the projected match nearly came to shipwreck, but the contending parties had consented to split the difference, and the stalwart Narkissos was now a recognised suitor. Under his father’s wing, he had paid two or three state calls on Prince Christodoridi, in which the subject of the marriage was never mentioned, and Angeliké, demurely handing round the coffee, never addressed, but it was understood that everything was going on most propitiously.
“It really is very unfortunate that you should have come back just now,” lamented Angeliké as she and her sister knelt at their window that evening, with their arms upon the broad stone sill.
“I shouldn’t have come if I could have helped it,” snapped Danaë.
“Well, I wish you had managed better. I have had such trouble with our father about settling the betrothal, and all because of you. First he said that he would be disgraced if his younger daughter was married first, and then when I said that our brother was sure to find a husband for you, or if he didn’t, at any rate we could say he had, he said he had promised you not to let me be married before you. Of course I pointed out to him that we might be betrothed for ages before being married, and I do wish you could have kept away until the rings had been blessed. When we had exchanged them, I should have felt safe.”