osure that rivalled Euphrosyne's: "It is out of the question
that you should marry him. I'm going to get him hanged, and, anyhow, it
would be atrocious."

She smiled at that, but then she leant forward and asked:

"How long have you provisions for?"

"That's a good retort," I admitted. "A few days; that's all. And we
can't get out to procure any more; and we can't go shooting, because the
wood's infested with these ruff--I beg pardon--with your countrymen."

"Then it seems to me," said Euphrosyne, "that you and your friends are
more likely to be hanged."

Well, on a dispassionate consideration, it did seem more likely; but she
need not have said so. And she went on with an equally discouraging good
sense:

"There will be a boat from Rhodes in about a month or six weeks. The
officer will come then to take the tribute; perhaps the governor will
come. But till then nobody will visit the island, unless it be a few
fishermen from Cyprus."

"Fishermen? Where do they land? At the harbor?"

"No. My people do not like them, though the governor threatens to send
troops if we do not let them land. So they come to a little creek at the
opposite end of the island, on the other side of the mountain. Ah, what
are you thinking of?"

As Euphrosyne perceived, her words had put a new idea in my mind. If I
could reach that creek and find the fishermen and persuade them to help
me, or to carry me and my party off, that hanging might happen to the
right man, after all.

"You're thinking you can reach them?" she cried.

"You don't seem sure that you want me to," I observed.

"Oh, how can I tell what I want? If I help you, I am betraying the
island. If I do not--"

"You'll have a death or two at your door, and you'll marry the biggest
scoundrel in Europe," said I.

She hung her head, and plucked fretfully at the embroidery on the neck
of her dress.

"But, anyhow, you couldn't reach them," she said. "You are close
prisoners here."

That, again, seemed true, so true that it put me in a very bad temper.
Therefore I rose, and, leaving her without much ceremony, strolled into
the kitchen. Here I found Watkins dressing the cow's head, Hogvardt
surrounded by knives, and Denny lying on a rug on the floor with a small
book, which he seemed to be reading. He looked up with a smile that he.
considered knowing.

"Well, what does the captive queen say?" he asked with levity.

"She proposes to marry Constantine," I answered, and adde