"Yes, yes, it is I. I have bought the island. We came out for a walk and—"
"But he will kill you, if he finds you here."
"He? Who?"
"Ah, pardon, my lord—they will kill you, they—the people—the men of the island."
I gazed at her sternly. She shrank back in confusion. And I spoke at a venture, yet in a well-grounded hazard:
"You mean that Constantine Stefanopoulos will kill me?"
"Ah, hush!" she cried. "He may be here! He may be anywhere!"
"He may thank his stars he's not here," said I grimly, for my blood was up. "Attend, woman! Who is this?"
"It is the lord of the island, my lord," she answered. "Alas, and he is wounded, I fear, to death. And yet I fell asleep. But I was so weary."
"Wounded—by whom?"