“Ah, if only we had sent her straight down here when she first came, what a lot of trouble it would have saved!” lamented Linton. “You know how to manage her, you do.”
And she retired from the kitchen in a frame of mind that was almost cheerful, to assure her mistress that that bad girl Kalliopé was now where she belonged, and that it would do her a lot of good to be put back in her place after having so much notice taken of her. Zoe, discovering that the change was a voluntary one on Danaë’s part, was puzzled. Was it a kind of penance the girl was imposing on herself for her share in Harold’s disappearance, or was it more in the nature of an act of moral suicide? Danaë herself afforded her no help in deciding, for when they came across one another she met Zoe’s eager, entreating look with one of blank stolidity. From whatever motive she had chosen her present position, she was making full acquaintance with its disadvantages, for all the heaviest and most unpleasant tasks were by unanimous consent awarded to her. They were many, for the kitchen arrangements at the Konak were patriarchal, dinner being provided every day for the guards as well as for their superiors, and Artemisia had a sarcastic tongue and a heavy hand if everything was not done to her satisfaction. Danaë made no complaint, spoke to no one unless she was asked a question, and went through her work with a silent contempt for her surroundings which her associates found extremely galling. But in her own room at night she was preparing a suit of boy’s clothes, clad in which she might elude the vigilance of the guards and fulfil her purpose of escape. For the shirt, loose jacket, and heavy outer coat, her own clothes would do well enough, and the cap and long leggings were easy of manufacture. To make the linen kilt she had recourse to one of the sheets from her bed, cutting the other in two so that Linton’s eagle eye might not see that anything was wrong, and for a night or two she practised wearing the new garments, so as to accustom herself to walking in them.
CHAPTER XIV.
A RESCUE EXPEDITION.
Danaë had been three or four days at her new work, conscientiously returning scorn with scorn, when one afternoon the sound of music drew the servants out into the courtyard. A band of gipsies with a dancing bear had obtained admittance, affording a welcome distraction to the suitors waiting their turn to be heard by Prince Theophanis, and Artemisia and her subordinates hastened to take part in the fun. Danaë alone remained in the kitchen, morosely determined to accept no lightening of the penalty she had imposed on herself, though the many-stringed fiddles of the gipsies sounded very pleasant in her ears, and she had a great curiosity to see what a bear was like. She stood with her back to the door, pounding corn, and trying to keep the great pestle from beating time to the music, which made her feet long to dance, and the soft tread of moccasined footsteps failed to reach her ears until, looking up suddenly, she found one of the gipsies close beside her. Before she could scream, he threw back his hooded cloak and revealed the features of Petros. She stared at him aghast.
“So you have come down in the world, my lady!” he observed genially. “But so much the better for me, for I might have found it difficult to speak to you upstairs.”
“What are you doing here? You should have been at Therma before this,” cried Danaë, finding her tongue.
“Without what I came for, my lady? Besides, the roads were not safe. I had to wait here for a day or two, and it has given me this second chance.”
“But what do you want?” she asked, bewildered.
“Why, the little lord, of course. Yourself too, lady, if you insist upon it, but the Lord Janni at any rate.”
“But you took the Lord Harold. You can’t want both!”