“Take the little lord in, Eurynomé,” cried Despina wrathfully. “How often have I not told you that no modest girl goes peeping out of gates, and there you are, absolutely outside! You’re a bad one, and I always said so.”
Danaë obeyed, too much excited even to give Despina as good as she gave, so near and clear to her mind was the culmination of the plot. Her brother was going away somewhere, and Petros had contrived to avoid going with him, and the door could be opened by anyone who knew the secret of the obstructed lock. Moreover, the saints—so she gratefully phrased it—had put in her way the means of escape from the fears of Janni’s future in Strio which had been suggested by the words of Petros when last they met. With the Girdle of Isidora in her possession, she could bargain for his safety with her father. Prince Christodoridi was an unsatisfactory person to bargain with—she recognised it quite dispassionately and not without admiration—since he never kept any promises that were not strictly in accordance with his own interests, but with the treasure of the family in her hands, it would be hard if Danaë could not manage to bind him down to tolerance of Janni’s presence, if not to actual recognition of his rights. To leave the girdle where it was, for her brother to bestow on some other schismatic woman, was a thought which only suggested itself to be scouted.
The morning passed quietly. Despina went out with her baskets, shutting the gate with a tremendous bang, since the lock was difficult to manipulate. The Lady compassionated her on having to start so late on such a hot day, and called Mariora to carry her chair and table out of doors. The favourite spot on the lawn in front of the house was not sufficiently shady to-day, and only the thick foliage of the ilexes afforded tolerable shelter. The Lady sat down to finish her letter, with Danaë and Janni playing on the ground beside her, and Mariora returned to her work. As the day grew hotter and the air and the hum of insects more drowsy, the child became sleepy and fretful.
“Carry him indoors, Eurynomé,” said the Lady, looking up from her writing. “It is early for his sleep, but the excitement this morning must have tired him. I will come and sit beside him while you have your dinner.”
“It is done as you command, my Lady,” responded Danaë, with unusual meekness, and she lifted the child to carry him into the house. On the verandah she paused. There were sounds at the gate. The Lady had heard them too, and risen from her chair, just as Mariora rushed through the hall from the kitchen.
“Fly, my Lady, hide yourself! Murderers!” shrieked the old woman. “I will keep them back!” and she pushed her mistress violently inside the house and ran towards the gate, brandishing a chopper. The Lady turned to snatch Janni out of Danaë’s arms, but drew back suddenly.
“Hide him, my Eurynomé, save him! You love him, I know.”
“They will do you no harm, Lady,” responded Danaë confidently, “nor the little lord either.”
“What do you know about it, girl? Listen!” as the clash of weapons and a terrible sobbing shriek reached their ears. “Ah, my poor Mariora! Take him, hide him—you have some place. I will go and meet them and give you time.” She pressed a passionate kiss on Janni’s sleepy eyes. “Save him, I charge you, Eurynomé. Go, go quickly!”
Overmastered by sheer force of will, Danaë fled through the hall and kitchen and out into the ilex-grove, seeing nothing but the tall red figure stepping out with uncovered head into the blinding sunshine. A clamour of words followed her, menaces and evil names, then the Lady’s voice, very clear and distinct in her foreign Greek.