“She lies there, lord. She has not moved,” she faltered.
“A doctor! fetch a doctor!” cried Prince Romanos to the sentry, “and, Christos,” to the guard who was holding his horse, “the police—no, the chief of police. He is to come alone. Show me where your mistress is, Eurynomé. You say she has fainted?”
He passed the bodies of the two old women without heeding them, dragging Danaë with him at a pace which almost whirled her off her feet, until he released her with a suddenness that sent her staggering among the bushes. He had seen the rigid red figure on the grass. For the moment Danaë thought he would have fled, unable to face it, but he pulled himself together and went on, treading with fearful, uncertain steps. He was kneeling beside his dead wife, laying a hand on heart and brow, assuring himself of the awful truth, and then he broke into a wild lamentation which thrilled Danaë to the core, for its rough island Greek showed her the primitive Striote under the mask of the denationalised European.
“Alas, Olimpia, my fairest! Dear love of my heart, whom I wooed under the orange-trees in the twilight, who shouldst have sat beside me on the throne! Beloved, thou hast left me too soon; thou, who didst lay a healing hand upon my tortured brow, shouldst have worn with me the diadem of New Rome. Like a shy proud fawn wast thou when I first beheld thee, fearing to hear of the love to which thine own heart leaped out in response; like the stricken deer wounded by the huntsman do I see thee now. In thy glory did I behold thee last, beautiful exceedingly, worthily apparelled—not Helen’s self could have excelled thee. But now thou liest low; cruel Charon has snatched thee from me, who wast my eyes, my soul, my life, my all——”
Danaë could bear no more. Her brother was unconscious of her presence, and she burst through the bushes and ran across the lawn to the spot where she had left Janni. Catching him up, she hastened back and tried to put him into his father’s arms.
“See, lord, you are not left wholly desolate. There is yet one to love and that loves you.”
“Take the child away!” said Prince Romanos angrily.
“But, lord, your little son!”
“Take him away. What do I care for him? It is his mother I want—not a baby that cannot speak.” He turned again to the Lady’s body. “Sweet, hast thou no word for thy lover? How has he sinned that those lips are closed and silent which have so often overflowed with words of love? But no, it is neither his sin nor thine, but the iniquity of those who sought to strike him through thee——”
A howl from Janni, whom the indignant and perplexed Danaë had been vainly endeavouring to console for his father’s repulse, broke into the lament.