“Even if we were not sure of the Fates, it would be prudent to propitiate them in case they existed,” she said. “So I shall give them honey cakes, and if things go wrong with you and right with me, Danaë, we shall know why. And I shall also weep. My father calls me the weeper. Holy Marina! he shall see quite as many tears as he expects!”
And in truth, during the next two days, red eyes and perpetual weeping met Prince Christodoridi’s gaze whenever he glanced towards his younger daughter. They made him impatient, but he did not really object to them nearly as much as to Danaë’s set, tearless face. He was vaguely conscious of a conflict of wills between his elder daughter and himself, and he was determined that this should be the decisive battle. Once Danaë was betrothed, there was no help for her, and the greater her objection to the proposed bridegroom, the more signal her father’s triumph. It was no business of his to forecast the course of a loveless marriage between an unwilling couple. Its working-out might safely be left to Narkissos and his parents.
As for Danaë, the fact of her dependence upon Angeliké galled her almost as much as her father’s summary disposal of her hand. But for the assurance that Angeliké’s heart was firmly set upon Narkissos, she would have feared being left in the lurch at the last moment. It was a consolation to feel that Angeliké was working solely in her own interests, since that ensured a certain amount of loyalty on her part, but it was not pleasant to be so deeply indebted to her, while to Angeliké the bitterest drop in her cup was undoubtedly the reflection that in securing her own happiness she was working temporary deliverance for Danaë. How to counteract this involuntary boon was a problem at which her busy brain was hard at work whenever it was not perfecting the details of the original scheme.
* * * * * * * *
“Danaë, wake up! There is a ship lying off the shore—a pamporaki!” [steamer] It was the morning of the betrothal day, and Danaë, who had lain awake the night before, was still plunged in heavy sleep when her sister’s voice summoned her to the window. Out at sea, beyond the network of rocks and shoals which had formed an important part of the Striotes’ stock-in-trade in their palmy days as pirates and wreckers, lay a trim vessel, very unlike usual visitors to the island.
“I have only seen a pamporaki twice—no, three times—before, when we went to Tortolana,” mused Angeliké. “Certainly none has ever come so near Strio. Do you think it is the English lord’s ship, Danaë?”
“Certainly not—why should it be? How can I tell? I have never seen Milordo’s ship,” replied Danaë, in such confusion that Angeliké was emboldened to make a further attempt.
“Oh, sister mine, tell me about Milordo! Why did he break off the marriage?”
“There was no talk of a marriage, therefore no breaking-off,” said Danaë harshly. “I have told you before that Milordo never dreamed of marrying me.”
This ought to have been decisive, but to Angeliké the blush and the sudden eager look called up by her suggestion as to the vessel’s ownership were far more eloquent than words. Still, it was evidently hopeless to get anything more out of Danaë, so she turned to another informant. This was Petros, who was still hanging about, though not at all by his own wish. By way of accounting at once plausibly and concisely for the various events that had occurred at Therma—a large proportion of which were quite unintelligible to himself—he had told Prince Christodoridi that it had been discovered too late that the Lady was Orthodox by religion and royal by descent, and that she was now openly acknowledged to have been the wife of Prince Romanos. Thereupon the Despot turned upon him furiously, and charging him with having brought a false report at first, drove him from his presence, ordering him to leave the island. But his master had ordered him to stay in Strio, and he felt it highly inadvisable to return to Therma without a protector of some kind, so that his position was most unenviable. Angeliké had first come upon him—in sufficient secrecy—two days before, and by the sacrifice of the least conspicuous coin from her cap had drawn from him a statement to the effect that the marriage-broker had certainly been busy, at the instance of Prince Romanos, in arranging a marriage between Milordo and Lady Danaë, but that the English lord had suddenly and insultingly broken off the negociations. Pressed as to the reason, he replied—with a lumping together of cause and effect, and a confusion of times, that were truly magnificent—that the Lady Danaë had chosen to masquerade for a while as a servant in the household at Klaustra, and it was the discovery of this that had made her suitor alter his mind. To-day Angeliké managed to get hold of Petros again. He answered her question almost before it was asked.