my own island by anybody!"

And I brought my fist down with a crash on the table. And then, to our
amazement, we heard--from somewhere in the dark recesses of the hall,
where the faint light of Hogvardt's lantern did not reach--a low, but
distinct, groan, as of some one in pain. Watkins shuddered; Hogvardt
looked rather uncomfortable; Denny and I listened eagerly. Again the
groan came. I seized the lantern from Hogvardt's hand, and rushed in
the direction of the sound. There, in the corner of the hall, on
a couch, covered with a rug, lay an old man in an uneasy attitude,
groaning now and then, and turning restlessly. And by his side sat an
old serving-woman in weary, heavy slumber. In a moment I guessed the
truth--part of the truth.

"He's not dead of that fever yet," said I.

CHAPTER III.

THE FEVER OF NEOPALIA.

I looked for a moment on the old man's pale, clean-cut, aristocratic
face; then I shook his attendant vigorously by the arm. She awoke with
a start.

"What does this mean?" I demanded. "Who is he?"

"Heaven help us, who are you?" she cried, leaping up in alarm. Indeed,
we four, with our eager, fierce faces, may have looked disquieting
enough.

"I am Lord Wheatley; these are my friends," I answered in brisk, sharp
tones.

"What, it is you, then--?" A wondering gaze ended her question.

"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?"

Her face suddenly became vacant and expressionless.

"I do not know, my lord. It happened in the crowd. It was a mistake.
My dear lord had yielded what they asked. Yet some one--no, by heaven,
my lord, I do not know whom--stabbed him! And he cannot live."

"Tell me the whole thing," I commanded.

"They came up here, my lord, all of them--Vlacho and all, and with
them my Lord Constanti