1 tt-J 
 
 MONKS 
 
 treasum; 
 
 RGEHORTOy 
 
Cornell University Library 
 arV1228 •. 
 The, monks' treasure. 
 
 3 1924 031 246 675 
 
 olin.anx 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031246675 
 
THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
THE 
 
 Monk's Treasure 
 
 By GEORGE HORTON 
 
 Author of 
 
 " The Long Straight Road," " Like Another 
 
 Helen," etc. 
 
 Illustrated By 
 C. M. RELYEA 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 Publishers New Tork 
 
 . ' :,;;,'f. ;i ,^ ).. ■ , 
 
 ., -,.V ?- ' '' lit I . 1 ! 
 
Copyright 1905 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company 
 
 January 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 Sent to the Mediterranean 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 The Lady of Sorrows 
 
 8 
 
 III 
 
 The Beautiful Bond Girl 
 
 26 
 
 IV 
 
 Unraveling a Mystery 
 
 41 
 
 V 
 
 Dangerous Business 
 
 49 
 
 VI 
 
 Good Advice Wasted 
 
 55 
 
 VII 
 
 The Maiden Explains 
 
 64 
 
 VIII 
 
 A Man, a Woman, and a Nightingale 
 
 69 
 
 IX 
 
 The Face at the Window 
 
 81 
 
 X 
 
 Polyxene's Intuition 
 
 86 
 
 XI 
 
 The Monastery 
 
 93 
 
 XII 
 
 Knife Against Pistol 
 
 102 
 
 XIII 
 
 A Declaration of Love 
 
 "3 
 
 XIV 
 
 Stumbling on a Secret 
 
 122 
 
 XV 
 
 The Charnel House 
 
 137 
 
 XVI 
 
 A Startling Discovery 
 
 143 
 
 XVII 
 
 A Narrow Escape 
 
 149 
 
 XVIII 
 
 The American Investigates 
 
 159 
 
 XIX 
 
 He is Caught in a Trap 
 
 173 
 
 XX 
 
 Freed by a Chance 
 
 182 
 
 XXI 
 
 The Treasure and the Skeleton 
 
 188 
 
 XXII 
 
 A Trip to Athens 
 
 198 
 
 XXIII 
 
 The Story of the Skeleton 
 
 207 
 
 XXIV 
 
 For a Fair Woman's Sake 
 
 219 
 
 XXV 
 
 A Fight With Strange Weapons 
 
 230 
 
 XXVI 
 
 Beaten and Made Prisoner 
 
 239 
 
CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVII Plans for Escape 250 
 
 XXVIII McKenzie Finds a Rope 260 
 
 XXIX Off With the Old Love 272 
 
 XXX A Brave Sweetheart 285 
 
 XXXI Saved by a Lucky Thought 294 
 
 XXXII The American Escapes 302 
 
 XXXIII McKenzie Swings an Oar 313 
 
 XXXiy The American Goes After Recruits 323 
 
 XXXV Where is the Treasure Now ? 336 
 
 XXXVI Frightening the Monks 344 
 
 XXXVII The Destruction of the Monastery 360 
 
 XXXVIII The Prophecy Fulfilled 370 
 
 XXXIX " I am Glad for Your Sake, Dear I " 379 
 
TO MY FRIENDS 
 PROFESSOR AND MRS. MITCHELL CARROLL 
 
THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SENT TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 
 
 Two men were talking together in the private 
 office of a great business concern. One, who sat 
 at an open roll-top desk, was middle-aged, with a 
 firm mouth, and in his glance there was a mixture 
 of kindness and shrewdness; he pulled at a phil- 
 anthropic side whisker while he talked. The 
 other, who was standing, was an athletic young 
 fellow, with a thin eager face, regular features, 
 and a singularly sweet expression of the lips 
 when he smiled — which was very often. 
 
 " The two main things," continued the older 
 man didactically, holding up a finger of his left 
 hand as he counted off number one, " are, first, 
 don't let any of those Mediterranean dealers get 
 the advantage of you, through thinking that you 
 are an anxious purchaser or that you have much 
 money to spend. If you do, they will lose their 
 heads immediately and put on prohibitive prices. 
 
2 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Dwell on the great and growing production of 
 argols in California, and the fact that substitutes 
 are largely used in this country in the manufac- 
 ture of baking powders — eh, do you follow 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, — ^yes, sir," replied Walter somewhat 
 guiltily, for he had, in fact, been thinking of cer- 
 tain good-bys that must be said. 
 
 " Give me close attention, now, my boy, for you 
 are going to be thrown entirely on your own re- 
 sponsibility, after you leave this office. The sec- 
 ond thing — " counting off number two, " is to 
 look out for adulteration. Argols are the easiest 
 things in the world to adulterate and if you don't 
 watch those Latins and — and — Levantines, as 
 a cat watches a mouse, they will slip in something 
 or other — clay, gypsum, sand, that will render 
 your purchase almost useless. You understand 
 thoroughly the chemical tests ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied Walter again. 
 
 " Well, you ought to, with all the college train- 
 ing you have had. If you're ever going to put 
 your education to practical use, now is the time to 
 do it. I'm really hoping great things from you 
 on this expedition. This is a mission that you 
 seem particularly fitted for, and I will not con- 
 
SENT TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 3 
 
 ceal from you, my boy," — here the old man's 
 voice took on a tender tone, " that my affection 
 for you as my dead brother's son, has had much 
 to do with my creating it for you. You have 
 not been a remarkable success here in this office. 
 I might as well be frank about it. 
 
 " Now you will have an opportunity to travel 
 and get some idea of the extensive and even 
 romantic nature of the great enterprise of which 
 your uncle happens to be at the head. You will 
 have your wits sharpened, too, in dealing with the 
 shrewdest rascals on earth, the sellers of crude 
 cream o' tartar. You will have a chance to use 
 those languages which you learned in college — I 
 suppose you speak pretty nearly all known 
 tongues, do you not ? " Taking this for granted, 
 he continued, raising his voice and becoming elo- 
 quent as he drifted upon the great, the compelling 
 theme of his life : 
 
 " And you will be, in a certain way, doing mis- 
 sionary work. Remember that the Lythgoe 
 Baking Powder owes its unrivaled reputation 
 among the baking powders of the world to its 
 absolute purity, its freedom from poisonous in- 
 gredients. The product which enables us to 
 maintain that purity is found onjy in wine- 
 
4 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 making countries, and there is an immense de- 
 mand for it. It is used also in photography, in 
 the manufacture of woolen goods, of silks and 
 calicoes, in medicine and in the preparation of 
 effervescent drinks. Don't hesitate in buying up 
 every bit of it you can lay your hands on : round 
 up all the sources, train and establish agents. 
 We claim, in connection with others, similarly 
 interested, to control the entire product. But I 
 have a theory that we have not yet got our hands 
 on half the crude cream o' tartar in the world. 
 Are you still following me? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle, indeed. I am drinking in every 
 word you say." 
 
 This somewhat exaggerated expression was the 
 result of a subconscious feeling of annoyance and 
 an impulse to regard this lecture a trifle less seri- 
 ously than it was intended. But there was no be- 
 trayal of the feeling in the young man's voice or 
 manner, for he was devoted to this uncle who, 
 for some years past, had acted toward him the 
 part of a father. 
 
 "Don't neglect to write to your Aunt Julia 
 often, boy. You know how much good your let- 
 ters do her. And, now, as you have a hundred 
 little things to do, no doubt, I might as well bid 
 
SENT TO THE MEDITERRANEAN & 
 
 you good-by. I shan't be able to get down to the 
 station with you." 
 
 They both rose and shook hands; then they 
 started for the door, the older man with his arm 
 about his nephew's shoulder. 
 
 " Be a good boy, Walter. Live up to the 
 standard set you by your father, and it's all we'll 
 ask of you in business or anything else. And, by 
 the way, take an old man's advice : keep out of all 
 scrapes and complications with women. The/ re 
 especially dangerous in those frivolous, impulsive 
 latitudes. You know you have a soft side for 
 women." 
 
 Walter laughed, still holding his uncle's hand. 
 
 " I'm getting too old for such nonsense, I 
 reckon." [He was twenty-five, and had been in 
 love with the college widow.] "And at any 
 rate, I shan't be thrown in contact with an3rthing 
 but swarthy, heavy peasant girls." 
 
 " Well, good-by, Walter." 
 
 " Good-by, uncle." 
 
 " Oh, by the way, here's a letter of introduc- 
 tion to the Reverend Theophilus Ion, American 
 Missionary at — at — ah, yes, a place called Ta 
 Castra, in the island of Andros, Greece. I near- 
 ly forgot that, and it's one of the principal things. 
 
6 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 When you round up the Cyclades, and I advise 
 you to do that as soon as possible, because we're 
 pretty well represented in Italy and the other 
 Mediterranean countries now, you had better go 
 straight to this missionary. He's right in the 
 thick of things, and he speaks English, though 
 he is a native. He's a godly man and will keep 
 them from cheating you. I have a letter from his 
 wife, addressed to me as chairman of our church 
 committee on foreign missions. It seems they're 
 doing a great work there. You'd better give the 
 doctor fifty dollars for the cause as soon as you 
 arrive. It's a good cause and then, too, — ah, yes, 
 give him fifty dollars." 
 
 The young man laughed. " I'll not forget, 
 uncle." 
 
 " Mrs. Ion is an American woman, a former 
 school-teacher at Joliet, this state. You can 
 make their house a sort of operating center for the 
 entire Cyclades. Well, good-by once more and 
 God be with you. Come back to us safe and 
 sound." 
 
 "Good-by, uncle." 
 
 Walter was gone. 
 
 Erasmus Lythgoe stepped to the window of his 
 office and looked out. The blizzard of February 
 
SENT TO THE MEDITERRANEAN t 
 
 was fleeing from the whips of the wind down 
 the bleak, dismal street. 'Twas but the middle 
 of the afternoon, yet electric lights gleamed in a 
 thousand offices. Three or four great wagons, 
 backed against the curb below, were taking on 
 loads of the celebrated Cream Baking Powder, to 
 be shipped to the four corners of the earth. 
 
 "There isn't a bad hair in the boy's head," 
 muttered Erasmus Lythgoe ; " and I love him as 
 though he were my own son. It is an experiment 
 to send him off to those hot, godless countries, 
 but I must get him interested in the business, 
 somehow. Ha, this is a glorious climate ! " he 
 cried, as the wind hurled a great handful of hail 
 against the pane, the confetti of winter's carnival, 
 and then swept on, snapping its trailing skirts of 
 snow. " A day like this puts fight and vigor into 
 a man ! " 
 
 Sitting down before his desk, he pushed the 
 button for his stenographer. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE LADY OF SORROWS 
 
 In Athens, whither he had gone directly, in 
 pursuance of the hint thrown out by his uncle in 
 the final conversation, Walter Lythgoe picked up 
 Ian McKenzie. A conference with the American 
 consul elicited the fact that inquiries were fre- 
 quently received regarding Greek argols and that 
 a large firm located near San Francisco had re- 
 cently written concerning them. 
 
 " There's a queer sort of fellow connected with 
 the British school here," suggested our representa- 
 tive, when questioned on the subject of an inter- 
 preter, " who has been here for years and speaks 
 the language like a native. He's as poor as a 
 church mouse and nobody understands how he 
 has been able to stay on here as long as he has. 
 I give him odd jobs of translating to do and he 
 gets some little employment of that kind from the 
 other consular and diplomatic officers. But he 
 isn't here in Athens much. He disappears for 
 8 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 9 
 
 months at a time and they say he goes and lives 
 among the Greeks in their little villages. If so, 
 he doesn't need much money. About ten cents a 
 day would do him handsomely, living like that." 
 
 " That's just the fellow I want! " cried Lyth- 
 goe. " Where can I find him ? " 
 
 For answer, the consul arose and offered to 
 accompany Lythgoe to the home of Mr. McKen- 
 zie. They found him sitting in the garden of a 
 one-story dwelling high up on the slope of Mount 
 Lycabettus. A fragrant pepper-tree furnished 
 him shade, the while he pored over a yellow Greek 
 manuscript by the aid of a magnifying glass. A 
 dictionary, minus one cover, lay on the round 
 table at which he was reading, and an earthen 
 tea-pot, with a string for a handle, stood atop of 
 a pile of books upon an adjacent chair. 
 
 Mr. McKenzie arose, tall, big-jointed, big- 
 nosed, hollow-eyed, brown-bearded. 
 
 " Excuse my appearance, gentlemen," he said, 
 " but I have not yet dressed for the street. Please 
 be seated." 
 
 His voice was low and pleasant, despite his 
 fierce aspect, which was due to his unkempt, bris- 
 tling beard, and his shaggy eyebrows. He raised 
 no objection whatever to accompanying Walter, 
 
IQ THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 his only stipulation being that he be allowed to 
 look over the ancient manuscripts in the various 
 monasteries which they might visit. 
 
 " 'Twill be necessary to visit the monasteries," 
 he explained, " as the monks are great wine-mak- 
 ers, and, besides, they are about the only decent 
 hotel-keepers in many places." 
 
 He spoke clean, straight English, for he was a 
 graduate of Edinburgh. Yet any one could tell 
 from half a dozen words that he was a Scot, from 
 that peculiar flavor of the enunciation which can 
 be neither imitated nor written down, and he 
 rolled his r's bravely. 
 
 " A queer character, yet unmistakably a gen- 
 tleman," thought Lythgoe. 
 
 " Before I left the garden," Walter related to 
 the consul that evening, " Mr. McKenzie had 
 brewed me a cup of tea and told me a remarkable 
 dream." 
 
 " Oh, McKenzie's dreams are famous," laughed 
 the consul ; " and he has one every night, but he's 
 none the less a shrewd, hard-headed chap in his 
 way, and I have no fears at all in recommending 
 him to you." 
 
 Just at dusk, two weeks later, a dirty, sturdy 
 little steamer cast anchor opposite the town of Ta 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 11 
 
 Castra, island of Andros. The village consisted 
 of about a hundred brown houses, constructed of 
 thin lamina of stone, and it straggled pictur- 
 esquely up the sides of a natural terrace. Off at 
 the left lay a low, vividly green valley, planted 
 thick with olive trees of a paler green, and seem- 
 ing to cut into the row of hills that followed the 
 sea-shore on either hand as far as the eye could 
 reach. A cafe, two stories high in the rear and 
 one in front for the sake of the terrace, stood on 
 the edge of a cliff. Could natural scenery be 
 shipped, like obelisks, columns, or friezes, some 
 American millionaire would long ago have 
 bought and carried off the view from the terrace. 
 As it is, a man could sit for hours for the price of 
 a ha'penny cup of coffee, and drink his soul full 
 of sea, islands and sunsets. 
 
 At least so McKenzie told Lythgoe, as they 
 stood together on the deck of the steamer, and the 
 American concluded that his companion was not 
 exactly crazy, but that he had the soul of a poet. 
 A few tall cypress-trees, scattered about, and a 
 church whose dome rose from a building in the 
 shape of a Greek cross, all but completed the 
 picture of a typical small town of the Cyclades. 
 In addition, this town possessed two other fea- 
 
12 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 tures, somewhat distinctive in their nature, — ^the 
 missionary's house and a castle. 
 
 The former was by far the most imposing struc- 
 ture in the town proper. It was two stories high, 
 with neat green blinds, and, unlike the other dwell- 
 ings, was covered with white stucco. At one end 
 of the house was a vegetable and flower garden, 
 surrounded by a whitewashed wall. As the in- 
 closure was on the side of a hill, the people stand- 
 ing on the deck of the little steamer could look 
 into it, exactly as one looks into the gardens in old 
 drawings of cities, or into the inclosures seen in 
 those photographs which are taken from a balloon. 
 iThe castle was far back in the angle of a ravine, 
 near the top of the hills, as though it had been 
 built there by some over-lord of old time, to dom- 
 inate the village and surrounding farms. It had 
 a medieval look and seemed to be dreaming of 
 forgotten tragedies and old romances. 
 
 A boat put off from the beach, its sail toppling 
 to the breeze, as a tree that has felt the last stroke 
 of the ax, and came ruffling toward the steamer. 
 
 " It's a sleepy town," remarked Walter, 
 
 " They're having some sort of celebration, else 
 two or three boats would have come out to fetch 
 us," replied McKenzie, purring sweetly over his 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 13 
 
 B, Jiko a contented cat. The end of his tongue 
 jas thin dnd fluttered when he talked, and no 
 amount of Greek, Latin, Arabic and Hebrew had 
 been able to thicken and stiffen it. 
 
 " That's a fine beach ! " cried Lythgoe, with an 
 enthusiastic sweep of the arm. " I never saw 
 an)rthing so fine in my life." 
 
 A mile of sand, in shape like the new moon or 
 the blade* of a sickle, reached out its arms as 
 though to welcome the little vessel that lay cra- 
 dling gently on the evening swell. The sand was 
 clean as a cuttle-bone and the fringe of foam that 
 seethed at its edge as white as new lace. 
 
 " They're roasting lambs," persisted McKen- 
 zie. "Do you happen to know what particular 
 saint's day it is ? " 
 
 "Saint's day?" laughed Walter. "No, in- 
 deed. We don't keep account of saints in Amer- 
 ica. We're too busy sinning." 
 
 " Ah, well," sighed the Scot, " it makes small 
 odds to us, so long as we get our portion of the 
 beast — and lamb roasted on the spit is a tooth- 
 some creature. But for this blessed saint, we 
 might have fared ill. Let's be going ashore." 
 
 Stooping, he picked up a cloth bag the shape of 
 a huge slice of American cheese. The tea-pot 
 
14 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 with the string handle was tied to it. They 
 climbed down into the sail-boat that was now 
 waiting at the ladder and were soon flitting to- 
 ward the little town, and even as they approached, 
 the sun sank suddenly out of sight as it does where 
 the edge of the world is piled with mountains. 
 A purple glow, too beautiful to last, flushed the 
 air with glory and began to fade. There was 
 such utter silence for the moment that the 
 "Crack! Crack!" of a washerwoman's paddle, 
 beating her clothes far down the beach, sounded 
 sharp and close at hand. A convent bell rang 
 sweetly, faintly somewhere in the hills, and that 
 mysterious feeling of sadness pervaded the air 
 which is ever the attribute of ultimate beauty. 
 When they stepped upon the beach it was as dark 
 as it ever can be in a country where the stars are 
 rose diamonds. 
 
 " So you'll be going to the missionary's ? " 
 asked McKenzie, as they walked up the narrow, 
 rocky path toward the town together. 
 
 " Yes, and you'd better come along with me. 
 They speak English, you know." 
 
 " That's reason enough for my not going," re- 
 plied the Scot. " Why should a man ever torture 
 his ears with English when he knows the tongue 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 15 
 
 of Sappho, Theocritus and Menander? No, I'll 
 stop at the Orthodox priest's. As between the 
 two, I've no religious scruples. There's only- 
 one true church and that's the Presbyterian. But 
 we'll not part company for the night till we get 
 some of the saint's lamb, and then I'll e'en brew 
 you a cup of tea." 
 
 The path corkscrewed about a perpendicular 
 rock and came out upon the main street. A 
 throng of islanders was gathered before the mis- 
 sionary's house. Two or three candles in those 
 little glass globes which shield the flames from 
 the wind, stood on the table and threw a flicker- 
 ing light upon the tall islanders in their uncouth 
 costumes. An old man, squat upon the ground, 
 was roasting a lamb on a spit. 
 
 A woman stood in the door of the parsonage, 
 lifting a lamp above the head of a little man 
 with a white beard, which he held tightly clasped 
 in his right hand, as he gazed inquiringly at the 
 strangers. 
 
 " Is this the Reverend Theophilus Eyeon? " 
 asked Walter, raising his hat politely at sight of 
 the woman. 
 
 " E-on, sir, E-on," replied the missionary. 
 There was an apologetic note in his voice, as if 
 
16 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 he were not responsible for his name in case the 
 strangers were not suited with it. 
 
 " Then I have a letter of introduction to you," 
 said Lythgoe, advancing. " My name is Walter 
 Lythgoe, of Chicago." 
 
 Mrs. Ion set the lamp upon the mantel-piece 
 and watched her husband impatiently, as the latter 
 fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for his glasses. 
 
 "You're slower'n time, father," she cried at 
 last, snatching the epistle, "Here, let me read 
 it." Though snappy and decisive, her voice was 
 not unkind, as she addressed the old man. 
 
 " Yes, mother, read it aloud," he assented, but 
 the woman was too deeply absorbed in this mis- 
 sive from her native land to hear or heed him. 
 As she read, L3rthgoe, always with an eye for 
 the other sex, glanced at her with no little curi- 
 osity, and was not greatly impressed with the 
 lady's personal charm. She was attired in a 
 home-made calico gown, and her reddish hair, 
 that was streaked with gray, was pulled back so 
 tightly at the temples that tiny tents of skin 
 arose all about the roots. Her dress was ill- 
 fitting and her complexion sallow, but the bright 
 ribbon tied at her throat bore testimony to the 
 eternal feminine. The missionary, having at last 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 17 
 
 found the glasses, was standing on tiptoe at his 
 wife's side trying to read the letter also. 
 
 " Hold it a tr-ifle lower, mother," he pleaded, 
 " so I can see too." 
 
 " Well, it says," explained Mrs. Ion, " that this 
 gentleman is here on business, the nature of 
 which he will explain to you, and asks us to give 
 all the assistance in our power. It says, more- 
 over, that he will give something to the cause." 
 
 " Business ? Business ? " repeated the mis- 
 sionary wonderingly. " I don't see what busi- 
 ness any one could have here, other than the sav- 
 ing of souls." 
 
 " The letter says he will explain his business," 
 snapped the lady. Then noticing for the first 
 time that the two strangers were still standing 
 awkwardly and uneasily in the middle of the 
 floor, she dragged a couple of chairs to them, 
 with the remark : " Well, I'm real glad to see any 
 one from America. You didn't introduce your 
 friend." 
 
 Mr. McKenzie was presented, and the Scot, 
 who had been looking anxiously out of the door 
 where the Greeks were making short work of the 
 lamb, fixed his gray eyes solemnly upon Mrs. 
 Ion's face and whispered confidingly : " Madam, 
 
18 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 would it be possible for us to obtain a bit of 
 refreshment? We're faint with hunger." 
 
 "Merciful sakes!" cried Mrs. Ion. "Why, 
 father, these people are starving to death. I'll 
 get you something to eat right, away." 
 
 " Yes, and I should like to arrange to stay in 
 the house," added Walter. " I don't speak any 
 Greek, you know. I should, of course, like to 
 pay for my entertainment." 
 
 "You must both stay with me," replied the 
 missionary. " ' I was an hungered and ye gave 
 me meat.' Will you eat in the house here, or out 
 in the open air ? " 
 
 " Out in the air! " cried Walter. " Eh, Mc- 
 Kenzie?" 
 
 " Of course ! " replied McKenzie. " Only bar- 
 barians eat indoors, or those unfortunate people 
 who are still residing in countries where snow 
 and ice prevail for half the year." 
 
 The missionary went to the help of his wife, 
 who was already spreading a clean cloth upon a 
 table under the trees. One of the Greeks offi- 
 ciously seized a large platter and held it, while 
 another cut slices from the lamb, which was 
 leaning lengthwise, spit and all, against a tree. 
 It was McKenzie himself who pulled the head oflf 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 19 
 
 the spit, and, asking for an ax, split it in twain. 
 Mrs. Ion brought bread, and goat's cheese from 
 the house, water in a porous jug, and a round 
 dish, containing some confection or other covered 
 with a crust. Walter sat down, but McKenzie 
 bent from his tall height and whispered in Mrs. 
 Ion's ear : " And the wine ? " 
 
 " Not on our premises," snapped Mrs. Ion. 
 " We have no wine-bibbers and whisky-drinkers 
 here." 
 
 Her notions as to wine drinking were as un- 
 compromising as her accent. She was a teeto- 
 taler in any clime and under all conditions. 
 
 " Oh, ah," said the Scot apologetically, taking 
 his place at the board; but he sighed mourn- 
 fully, " 'twill be a dry feed, a dry feed ! " 
 
 " They're roasting another lamb over at the 
 cafe," observed Walter, his mouth full of the 
 delicious meat. " By the way, did you find out 
 what saint's day this is? I say, Mr. Ion, what 
 saint's day is this ? " 
 
 " 'Tis no saint's day," replied the missionary; 
 " and if it were we should not be observing it 
 here." 
 
 " That's so, of course. You see, McKenzie, 
 Mr. Ion doesn't belong to the Greek church. It's 
 
go THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 only the Greeks who celebrate saints' days, you 
 know," 
 
 Neither Mrs. Ion nor her husband volunteered 
 any information as to the occasion for the feast, 
 and the two strangers felt that it would be rudi 
 to be too inquisitive. McKenzie, indeed, was not 
 in a pleasant humor, for he felt that he was suf- 
 fering religious persecution in the matter of the 
 wine. Every moment he glanced wistfully from 
 beneath shaggy eyebrows at the throng at the 
 cafe, where, plainly visible by the light of a huge 
 lantern hanging in a tree, men were dancing and 
 receiving frequent refreshment from the hands 
 of the wine merchant and his assistant. 
 
 " 'Tis a dry feed," muttered McKenzie again, 
 quaffing every moment a full goblet of crystal 
 water, exquisitely light and sparkling. " Water 
 was made for beasts. Wine was the drink of the 
 gods. Do you know," and he leaned so close to 
 Lythgoe and spoke with such mysterious earnest- 
 ness that the latter thought some great revelation 
 impending, " do you know, I have small faith in 
 missionaries, except those of the Presbyterian 
 belief. The Presbyterians do a great work." 
 
 Walter felt that a pair of eyes were fairly bor- 
 ing themselves into his consciousness and he 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 21 
 
 looked around. A fat little girl, with a smooth, 
 pleasant face, stood within the radius of the light 
 on the table. She was dressed in a neat pinafore 
 and her hair was held back by one of those semi- 
 circular combs once so popular for children. 
 
 " Good evening," said Walter, with a whimsi- 
 cal desire to see what effect an unknown tongue 
 would produce on her. 
 
 " Good evening," she replied in excellent Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 " The missionary's daughter," hazarded Mc- 
 Kenzie. " Can you tell me, my little girl, what 
 saint's day this is?" 
 
 " 'Tisn't any saint's day that I know of," 
 she replied. " We have been — been — I don't 
 know what you call it in English. This is the 
 feast for Polyxene and Mr. Douzinas." 
 
 "What's Polyxene?" asked Walter. 
 
 " That's a girl's name," explained McKenzie. 
 Turning to the little maiden, he said something 
 to her in Greek. 
 
 " Yes, that's it," she cried with animation. 
 
 " It's a betrothal feast," said the Scot, — " quite 
 as important a ceremony as the wedding itself." 
 
 " Who is Polyxene ? " asked Walter, much in- 
 terested in the suggestion of romance. 
 
33 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 "Polyxene? Oh, she works for us. We 
 brought her up and converted her, and now Mr. 
 Douzinas wants to marry her." 
 
 " Where is she now ? " 
 
 *' Oh, they were all through long ago and she's 
 gone to bed. She said she wasn't feeling well." 
 
 "And Mr. Douzinas? Point him out to us, 
 that's a good girl." 
 
 " He's over there at the cafe, drinking wine. 
 Mama doesn't allow wine-bibbing here, because 
 the Bible says ' Look not upon the wine when it 
 is red.' ' Who hath woe, who hath contention ? 
 they that linger long over the wine.' So Spiro 
 took his friends and went over to the cafe. That's 
 him there, the tall man, leading the dance. Don't 
 you think it's dreadful wicked to dance ? " 
 
 " Teaching the child bigotry, too," muttered 
 McKenzie, as he swallowed another goblet of 
 water. 
 
 Walter glanced curiously in the direction of the 
 cafe. As well as he could distinguish in the un- 
 certain light, Mr. Douzinas was a manly, athletic 
 fellow, and if his agility and enthusiasm in the 
 dance were any criterion, he was in high spirits 
 over his engagement to Miss Polyxene. 
 
 And thus did these two men, the American and 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 33 
 
 the Greek, come within seeing distance. They 
 were destined to remember each other while Hfe 
 lasted. 
 
 The missionary now joined them and offered 
 cigarettes, and the three sat for perhaps an hour 
 in silence, except that twice McKenzie suggested 
 brewing a cup of tea, but made no move to put the 
 thought into effect. Mr. Ion arose at last with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " You must be tired," he said, " after traveling 
 all day. You'll be wanting to go to bed." 
 
 Walter yawned and threw away his cigarette. 
 "I'll go right now. Coming too, McKenzie?" 
 
 The Scot hesitated. 
 
 " I'm going to the Greek priest's," he said at 
 last, and departed. 
 
 The missionary took up a candle and led Wal- 
 ter through a gate into the garden, which smelled 
 sweetly of the night and of some flowering plant. 
 The house itself formed two sides of a rectangle. 
 A high whitewashed wall completed the square, 
 thus inclosing the garden, which, as we have seen, 
 was laid out on such an incline that persons on the 
 sea could look into it. The dwelling thus formed 
 a wide-spread V, one leg of which was composed 
 of sleeping rooms. A veranda, supported upon 
 
34 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 slender wooden posts, ran the entire length. 
 Pushing open a door, the missionary set the can- 
 dle upon a table, and, after fussing about for a 
 while, in the manner of an anxious host, bade his 
 guest good night. 
 
 "Good night, Mr. Ion," said Walter, "and 
 pleasant dreams. To-morrow we'll talk busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Walter fastened his door carefully, lest any of 
 the inmates of the house should hear the rasping 
 of the bolt as he pushed it home, and deem him 
 over-cautious in the house of friends. But, to 
 tell the truth, the strangeness, loneliness and re- 
 moteness of the place, his utter ignorance of the 
 character of the natives, and the fact that he had 
 about him a considerable amount of money, made 
 him feel a bit nervous. He had heard that 
 Greeks in remote settlements regarded all foreign- 
 ers as lords, and there might be some one on the 
 island who would be capable of murdering him 
 for the amount contained in his pocketbook. He 
 not only fastened the door, but pushed the single 
 bed across it ere he prepared to retire. 
 
 It must have been about one o'clock when he 
 partly awoke and became conscious that there was 
 a woman in the next room, sobbing as though her 
 
THE LADY OF SORROWS 25 
 
 heart would break, but not loudly. There is 
 something theatrical, often, in loud grief. These 
 were low, convulsive sobs, evidently forced from 
 some heart by unendurable sorrow. The very 
 fact that they were smothered, marked them as the 
 utterance of genuine despair. This woman, had 
 it been possible, would not have sobbed at all. 
 She seemed to be talking to herself, too, or pray- 
 ing, but though Walter sat up in bed and listened 
 his best, he could not understand a word ; of one 
 thing only he was sure, that never before in his 
 young, careless life, had he heard the voice of 
 such utter sorrow, such cruel and poignant de- 
 spair. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL 
 
 The woman's grief seemed to wear itself out 
 at last. At any rate she became quiet, and Wal- 
 ter, much wondering, drowsed off. When he 
 awoke, the light of day was streaming through 
 the transom above the door and he could hear 
 doves strutting and cooing in the court without 
 He remembered the incident of the night, the 
 voice of the sobbing woman. He was but twenty- 
 five, and for the moment he did not think of 
 business at all. An overwhelming desire, which 
 became stronger each moment, possessed him, to 
 solve the mystery of that woman's grief. Per- 
 haps he would be able to do something to help 
 her. He fancied that as soon as he got outside, 
 he could see or hear something that would give 
 him a clue to the mystery. 
 
 He dressed hastily, though nothing could make 
 him hurry in the selection of the string tie which 
 he took from his grip. A friend had brought 
 26 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL 27 
 
 him from London one of correct length, and by 
 this he always carefully measured each tie before 
 putting it on. As he invariably put the rejected 
 ones back together into his bag, with those which 
 had sometime or other passed muster, the measur- 
 ing process inevitably became a ceremony. He 
 finally selected a green tie, his favorite shade, after 
 which the completion of his toilet proceeded more 
 rapidly, though he paused frequently to listen if 
 perchance the mysterious woman were still in 
 the next room. 
 
 When he at length stepped out upon the ve- 
 randa, he was a jauntier and more up-to-date 
 figure than one would expect to find in a little 
 island village. His gray business suit had evi- 
 dently been made by some fashionable tailor, and 
 he had a knack even of giving a punch to his soft 
 traveling cap that left it no common head-cov- 
 ering. Glancing at the door next his own, he ob- 
 served that it was open. Muttering, " Must be 
 gone," he stepped down into the garden and 
 strolled by the door, as if casually. Seeing no 
 one, he looked more boldly and perceived nothing 
 more than a bed neatly made and covered with a 
 white spread, a bureau with a number of feminine 
 toilet articles, and a stand upon which stood a 
 
28 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 cracked flower-holder containing a few fresh 
 violets. There was no doubt that this was a 
 girl's room. Turning guiltily about, he noticed 
 that the fragrance of the night before came from 
 a cherry-tree in full bloom, and that there were 
 several beds of hyacinths and tulips in the yard. 
 The ground of the garden was so slanting that 
 his eyes, passing over the lower wall, fell imme- 
 diately upon the sea, merrily dancing and flash- 
 ing in the sun, and whitened here and there with 
 drifting sails. 
 
 " Good morning. I hope you slept well last 
 night?" 
 
 It was the missionary's wife, with a watering 
 pot, and there was something incongruous, a 
 jarring note, between the incorrigible American 
 accent and the place. 
 
 "Ve — very well," replied Walter, stumbling 
 a little over the white lie ; but he redeemed himself 
 by removing his cap with unconscious grace, 
 while his lips parted in an attractive smile. " Do 
 let me relieve you of that watering can. No ? " 
 
 " I'm all through, now," said Mrs. Ion, setting 
 the can down while her faded cheek flushed with 
 pleasure at the unexpected attention. 
 
 " If you had called me, I should have been only 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL g9 
 
 too glad to water them for you. I've been fuss- 
 ing about in my room for the last hour. I trust 
 that you and the doctor slept well last night ? " 
 
 Yes, they had slept well ; the doctor was asleep 
 yet, in fact. Evidently, it was not Mrs. Ion 
 whom he had heard weeping. 
 
 " And the little girl, she — she slept — well, of 
 course — children always sleep like logs. Where 
 is Maudie this morning ? I should like to see her. 
 She's as smart as a whip." 
 
 " Oh, Maudie's started for school by this time. 
 These pleasant mornings she leaves the house 
 about eight o'clock." 
 
 " She's a dear little girl. McKenzie and I fell 
 in love with her. So pretty, too! Which does 
 she resemble most, her father or you ? " 
 
 " People all say she most resembles me," re- 
 plied the missionary's wife, tucking a straggling, 
 reddish-gray lock into place. " But sakes alive ! 
 Here we stand talking and you haven't had any 
 breakfast." 
 
 The good lady brought a little round-topped 
 table into the garden and spread a while cloth 
 upon it. 
 
 " I'll have your breakfast here in no time," she 
 went on, and was as good as her word, for she 
 
30 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 soon brought from the kitchen fresh eggs and 
 weak American coffee, supplemented with a dish 
 of her most sacred preserves — these latter an un- 
 conscious feminine reward for his flattery. And 
 will it be ungallant to whisper a secret here ? Mrs. 
 Ion, as a result of that same flattery, raised the 
 bivouac of tents a little higher upon her forehead, 
 drew her chignon into a more compact knot, and 
 thrust into it a tortoise-shell comb which she had 
 not worn in years. 
 
 " I've had a delicious breakfast ! " cried Walter 
 cheerfully, entering the sitting-room where his 
 hostess was engaged in dusting. 
 
 " There! If I'd thought of it, I'd have made 
 you some griddle cakes. Go right back and sit 
 down and I'll make you some now." 
 
 " No, indeed, I couldn't eat another mouthful, 
 I positively couldn't." 
 
 Walter stood about for a few moments, hoping 
 to see something of Polyxene, or to hit upon some 
 subject of conversation that would throw light 
 upon the matter that was now uppermost in his 
 mind : who was the Lady of Sorrows ? He could 
 think of nothing more clever than a direct ques- 
 tion, however, so he went out at last with the re- 
 mark : " Well, I think I'll take a walk down by 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL 31 
 
 the sea-shore. The doctor will probably be up by 
 the time I get back, and then we can get to busi- 
 ness." 
 
 He had no difiSculty in finding his way to the 
 sea-shore, as a path led from the missionary's gar- 
 den-gate to the edge of the cliff upon which the 
 village was built and then, by a long flight of 
 steps cut in the rock, down to the sand. He was 
 nearly in the middle of the crescent formed by 
 the curving beach, and he stood for a moment 
 with his hands in his pockets, irresolute as to 
 which way he should go. It was an inconse- 
 quential matter, yet it was characteristic of the 
 man that he should stand and debate it for a mo- 
 ment in his mind. This interest in little things 
 was the chief source of his zest in life. There 
 was a rocky promontory at either horn ; the white 
 fringe at the sea's edge rustled on either side in 
 curves of equal length and infinity of number. 
 Yonder was a fishing fleet of four boats coming 
 in, their sails of exactly the same shape and size, 
 and all leaning at the same angle ; but they were 
 passing through the precise center of the opening. 
 
 He had about decided to turn to the right, be- 
 cause on that hand there was a flowering tree, 
 white as snow, far down the beach, but he changed 
 
32 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 his mind when he heard again that sharp, distinct 
 "Crack! Crack!" which McKenzie had told 
 him last night was made by the paddles of the 
 washerwomen, beating their clothes. There they 
 were, at the left, at the very tip of the crescent. 
 He had not seen them at first, because they were 
 standing at the base of a great rock and were at- 
 tired in homespun of a dull color. The distance, 
 as Walter estimated with his eye, could not have 
 been less than two miles, perhaps more, yet the 
 sounds rang out with a sharpness and nearness 
 that suggested wizardry. He could scarcely 
 credit his vision, which testified that those start- 
 ling reports were being made so far away. It 
 seemed rather that spirits of the air were shooting 
 off invisible pistols just above his head. 
 
 He ought not to go so far. He really must 
 look up McKenzie, and begin his campaign for 
 gathering and cornering Greek argols immediate- 
 ly. But then, it was beautiful walking here along 
 the beach. The sand was firm and so clean that 
 it slipped from his shoes without dimming the 
 polish which he had put on that morning. Be- 
 sides, he felt a revival of his school-boy interest in 
 Greece. He wondered if the women still retained 
 any traces of classic beauty. There were three 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL 33 
 
 or four of them over there, at least, and one or 
 more, he reasoned, must be young. He struck 
 out briskly toward the left, stopping only to pick 
 up an occasional cuttle-bone. 
 
 The distance was even greater than he had esti- 
 mated, and he was fully three quarters of an hour 
 reaching the spot where the girls, for they all 
 proved to be young, were at work. There were 
 four of them and he could see that they looked 
 up from time to time as he approached, and that, 
 when they at last became sure that he was indeed 
 coming to where they were, they flocked together 
 for a moment like a bevy of frightened doves. 
 But after a moment's chatter and much laughter 
 they deemed it best to resume their occupation 
 and to take no notice of him. 
 
 After Walter arrived at the spot, he scarcely 
 knew what to do, for it now occurred to him that 
 there was no way of talking to the girls, and he 
 saw plainly that they would be embarrassed if he 
 stood and stared at them. So he lifted his cap 
 gravely and passed on. They all bowed, very 
 gracefully, he thought, and it was not till he had 
 got some rods past them that they again burst into 
 merry laughter. It was a charming scene and 
 one that he felt he would never forget. 
 
34 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 The girls were all distinctly pretty — that is, 
 three were pretty and one superbly beautiful. Of 
 the three pretty ones, two were petite and bore 
 sufficient resemblance to mark them as sisters, 
 while the other was larger and more voluptuous. 
 The faces of the three were all of that oval type, 
 so common among the Greek peasantry. Their 
 complexions were a clear olive, their hair black 
 and glossy, their eyes wide apart, large and liquid 
 brown, like the eyes of the wild deer. As Walter 
 passed, one of the girls was kneeling by the edge 
 of the sea, another was spreading a piece of linen 
 upon the sand and the third was coming down to 
 the shore with a basket upon her head; for the 
 wash had evidently been brought in two huge 
 panniers slung over the back of a donkey, that, 
 tied to a little tree, stood nodding and dreaming 
 in the white sun. 
 
 The beautiful girl was tall, and might have been 
 Diana, if the immortal gods were not all dead. 
 She was attired like her companions, in scant 
 skirt of home-made blue, and loose jacket open 
 at the throat for freedom of motion. She was, 
 like them, barefoot, and her skirt was tucked up 
 at the side, revealing the neat ankle. Her little 
 feet were as white as the foam that caressed them, 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BDND-GIRL 35 
 
 as pink as almond blossoms. She it was who 
 was swinging the paddle there in the laughing 
 glory of the sky and sea, in the old, romantic 
 beauty of the world, and the motions of her lithe 
 young body were as rhythmic as the shoreward 
 pulsing of the waves. Her massive coil of soft 
 brown hair had slipped loose and fallen to the 
 nape of her neck, that was broad and tinted a rich 
 brown by the caressing sun. This girl's com- 
 plexion, Walter noticed in that quick, yet eager, 
 glance of youth, was not olive, like that of her 
 companions; as she glanced up at him, he saw 
 that her throat was as pink-white as the inner 
 surface of a sea-shell. She did not smile in re- 
 sponse to his salutation, and he was quite cer- 
 tain, through intuition, that she did not join in 
 the laughter after he had passed. 
 
 He understood now why the girls had come so 
 far to do the washing for their families : at this 
 point a stream of considerable volume leaped 
 flashing from the cliff and ran into the sea, and it 
 was the fresh water which had brought them 
 there. 
 
 Walter turned and retraced his steps rapidly, 
 carrying with him a vision of graceful poses, 
 bright, mischievous eyes, gleaming teeth, and a 
 
36 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 vague consciousness that there was something 
 classic in the beauty of the scene, reminiscent of 
 the rosy dawn-time of the world, when nymphs 
 were about, and princesses did the family wash, 
 thus ennobling labor for all time. Ere Walter 
 had got out of hearing, the girls began to sing a 
 monotonous oriental refrain, to which the falling 
 paddle kept time. He did not understand Greek, 
 but he noticed that two words recurred with reg- 
 ularity, which sounded like Lemonitsa, Nerant- 
 soula. 
 
 When he returned, he was informed that Mr. 
 Ion had arisen and gone to another village about 
 four miles distant, from where he hoped to catch 
 a little steamer that he had seen passing in the 
 offing, and with which he hoped to get to Syra. 
 He would probably be gone about three days. 
 
 "But I had hoped to have a talk with him," 
 said Walter to Mrs. Ion, annoyed that his morn- 
 ing walk should have delayed his business. " I 
 can't stay on here indefinitely, pleasant as it is, 
 and I hardly know how to begin till I go over 
 matters with Mr. Ion." 
 
 He decided at last to make the best of things, 
 and started in search of McKenzie. He found 
 him at the cafe, sitting under a great tree and 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL 3'? 
 
 as usual sipping a cup of tea, which he ha4. 
 brewed within. 
 
 " Sit down," he said, " I want to tell you my- 
 dream of last night." 
 
 " Mac," said Walter, and he wondered, even as, 
 he used the familiar address, that he had not em- 
 ployed it before, for he found his heart warming- 
 wonderfully to this whimsical Scot, " Mac, I 
 have seen a goddess, a-a-a-womanj-r^ upon my- 
 word, I never dreamed of such beauty." He de-. 
 scribed his stroll. " And to think," he added, 
 " that she should have to be a wash^irwoman ! " 
 
 "That's nothing," replied McKenzie. "In, 
 these primitive communities, labor has not yet lost 
 its dignity. We are still living in Phaeacian days. 
 You may have seen another Nausicaa. I used; 
 to imagine that Homer never could have seen 
 Nausicaa, if he had not been blind, — that such a, 
 woman could only have existed in, a poet's dream. 
 But one does find, sometimes, in th^se Greek is-. 
 lands, creatures that no poet could; have dreamed; 
 — that only a God could have called into life! " 
 As he spoke the Scot sighed deeply and sat for- 
 some moments with his head buried in his hands. 
 
 " They were singing," continued Walter, 
 " some kind of song to a qu^ei; t;Une. It went; 
 
38 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 like this — " and he hummed the air. " Every 
 minute I heard words that sounded like Lemon- 
 itza, Nerantsoula." 
 
 McKenzie began to sing in a feeble, but very- 
 sweet tenor — almost a soprano. 
 
 "That's it! That's it! "cried Walter. "What 
 does it mean, anyhow ? " 
 
 " Not much, in translation. It's a folk-song. 
 It means something like this, perhaps : 
 
 'Down by the sea-shore, down by the sea, 
 Down by the sea — little green, wild orange tree — 
 
 Chiote maidens wash, little daughters of the priest. 
 Yes, a little Chiote maiden — 
 Little budding lemon tree — 
 
 Washes, spreads the clothes and in the sand she plays, 
 Spreads the clothes to dry, this maiden — 
 Little green, wild orange tree — 
 
 Passes by a boat, all golden, leaning over, 
 Passes by a boat, O maiden. 
 Little green, wild orange tree — 
 
 And the sea was like a mirror, and the whole world 
 
 then grew brighter, 
 And the sea was like a mirror, maiden. 
 Little budding lemon tree !' " 
 
 " There must have been somebody in that 
 boat," said Walter, when McKenzie had finished. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL BOND-GIRL Sg* 
 
 " There generally is, sooner or later," replied 
 McKenzie. 
 
 Who can read the secrets of the human heart? 
 McKenzie, of all men in the world, was the last 
 to be thought of in connection with sentiment or 
 tender memories, yet for twenty minutes he sat 
 musing, yes, at times actually sighing. 
 
 And Walter, was he thinking of argols and 
 baking powder? If so, he must have found it 
 difficult to concentrate on the subject, for he broke 
 in upon McKenzie's reflections at last with a 
 question. 
 
 " How shall I talk to her ? I don't know a 
 word of Greek, and I can't stay here long enough 
 to learn the language." 
 
 And then he uttered an excited cry, so loud that 
 the proprietor of the cafe, walking some distance 
 off, looked in his direction. 
 
 " There she is now," he said. " Look ! I 
 can't point — coming up from the sea-shore 
 there." 
 
 And, indeed, at that very moment, the head and 
 shoulders of the beautiful unknown were appear- 
 ing, as she climbed slowly up the corkscrew path. 
 She was bare-headed, as is the custom of the 
 country, and her beautiful face, upon which the 
 
40 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 yellow sun fell softly, sifting through the trees, 
 was flushed with exercise. She had a rope in 
 her hand and the mule, laden with two panniers, 
 scrambled upon the cliff after her. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 UNRAVELING A MYSTERY 
 
 The girl led the mule up to the missionary's 
 house and disappeared through the garden gate. 
 A moment later Mrs. Ion came out and helped 
 her take the panniers within. 
 
 " That will be the missionary's servant, Poly- 
 xene," hazarded McKenzie, to whom the Greek 
 names were easy. 
 
 " Servant ! " cried Walter. " Can a woman 
 who looks like that be a servant ? " 
 
 " Ah, it makes small difference how you look," 
 replied McKenzie, " if you haven't the gold. 
 Apes have worn crowns and the sons of apes have 
 ridden in carriages ere now. King Alfred, they 
 say, baked scones once. Besides, strange things 
 have happened in these islands — that girl may 
 have the blood of King Paleologus in her veins." 
 
 " By Jove ! " exclaimed Walter, " if she's the 
 missionary's servant, it's likely that she speaks 
 English. Don't you suppose she does?" 
 
 41 
 
42 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " If she's the missionary's servant," said Mc- 
 Kenzie, dropping his voice to his favorite whis- 
 per, and leaning so close to the American that the 
 faces of the two almost touched, " then she's be- 
 trothed to that tall Spiro whom we saw dancing 
 at the cafe, and if you make love to her, you'll 
 get a knife in your back." 
 
 Walter started. 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of making love to her," he 
 laughed nervously; and then, as his uncle's part- 
 ing injunction arose to his mind, " I've no time 
 for that sort of thing. There's nothing inter- 
 feres with business like getting mixed up with a 
 woman. I think I'll stroll over to the house 
 though, just to see if she does talk English." 
 
 Walter walked quickly over to the house, and 
 entered his room, where, as he made a show of 
 busying himself at something or other, he could 
 hear plainly what was going on in the garden, as 
 the women went in and out of the kitchen at the 
 end of the other wing. He learned quickly that 
 this modern Nausicaa was no other than Poly- 
 xene, and that she spoke English perfectly. It 
 made his blood boil, and he could not at that mo- 
 ment have told why, to hear commonplace little 
 Mrs. Ion ordering this superb creature about in 
 
UNRAVELING A MYSTERY 43 
 
 decisive, though, not unkind, tones. Mrs. Ion 
 was an aggressive, bustling Yankee housekeeper, 
 who ruled everybody within reach, her husband 
 included, and ordered people to do things, even 
 while they were being done. 
 
 Walter was now seized with a desire to make 
 the girl's acquaintance and to talk with her. 
 
 " I can't do any business till Ion comes back," 
 he reflected. " Besides, there is no doubt that it 
 was she who was crying so in the room next to 
 mine the other night. Perhaps I can find out 
 what the trouble is and help her in some way. I 
 wonder if it is because they are making her marry 
 this Greek against her will ? " This reflection 
 gave him comfort and strengthened his resolve. 
 Even his uncle could not object to his performing 
 a conspicuous duty. His uncle's fear was lest he 
 become interested in some woman sentimentally. 
 
 Walter's opportunity came an hour later. At 
 some distance back of the house, perhaps two 
 hundred yards, was a tiny spring, and from this 
 the family obtained their water for drinking and 
 cooking purposes. The path to this spring was 
 shaded for a part of the way by a trellised grape- 
 vine, now putting on the green glory of spring 
 and thrusting out a million tiny baby fingers. 
 
44 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 eager to seize whatever they might touch. See- 
 ing Polyxene take up a large earthen amphora of 
 antique shape and go out of the rear garden-gate, 
 he left the house, walked round it and strolled 
 slowly down toward the spring. He found the 
 girl sitting on a rock under the shade of a cypress 
 tree; she was leaning forward slightly, holding 
 the jug so that the tenuous stream could trickle 
 into its mouth. She looked up at him inquiringly 
 and he perceived that her eyes, as she sat there in 
 the shade, were a dark blue, like the blue of the 
 deep sea when the sun is under a cloud. A mo- 
 ment later, when she stepped out into the splendor 
 of the Greek day, he thought they were a light 
 blue, still deep, as of the sea when the sun is 
 shining. She was not embarrassed at his ap- 
 proach, and her pose, even as she held the water- 
 jug and raised her eyes to his, was as graceful 
 and classic as though it had been carved out of 
 Pentelic marble by some pupil of Phidias. Her 
 face was sad, as she sat there now under the cy- 
 press tree, and Walter knew, without further in- 
 quiry, that she was indeed his Lady of Sorrows. 
 " I am Mr. Lythgoe," he explained, lifting his 
 hat ; " I am living in your house for a few days. 
 And you are Miss Polyxene, are you not ? " 
 
UNRAVELING A MYSTERY 45 
 
 "Yes, sir, Polyxene Abattis." She spoke 
 pleasantly enough, but there was a listless note 
 in her voice as though she had lost interest in 
 things and did not care. 
 
 " Yes ; I heard Mrs. Ion speak your name, so 
 I knew who you were. Had I suspected it when 
 I saw you down there on the sea-shore, I should 
 have stopped and talked with you. But who 
 •would ever have dreamed that among a group of 
 girls wa-washing clothes on the shore of a Greek 
 island, one should be able to speak English ! " 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Ion brought me up from quite a 
 small child," she explained, " and they don't talk 
 anjrthing else in the house." 
 
 " I suppose Mrs. Ion will make pies and use 
 good American English as long as she lives," 
 laughed Walter, " and wherever she is ! " 
 
 Polyxene smiled. There was something so in- 
 fectious in this young man's nature, — he was so 
 engaging and ingenuous ! As they were talking 
 now, the jug filled and the limpid water burst 
 gurgling over the sides. Polyxene arose, and 
 breaking off a wisp of some fragrant weed, 
 crushed it into an improvised cork and thrust it 
 into the amphora's mouth. Then she seized the 
 two handles, and ere Walter had realized what 
 
46 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 she was about to do, she threw the heavy amphora 
 to her right shoulder. There was extraordinary 
 grace in the act, with its supple play of young, 
 perfect muscles, its unconscious ease, its lithe 
 bending and straightening of the Hebe-like form. 
 Holding the amphora with her right hand, she set 
 her left upon her hip and said, with a smile, 
 " Good-by, I must be going now. Mrs. Ion needs 
 the water for lunch." 
 
 "But," cried Walter, "you're not going to carry 
 that great jug to the house, are you? Let me 
 take it — I insist ! " And he attempted to take 
 it from her shoulder. But the girl resisted with 
 considerable spirit. 
 
 " I carry it a dozen times a day," she said. 
 " It's nothing; I'm used to it." 
 
 " But while I am here, I will carry it for you. 
 I'm an American, and Americans don't allow their 
 women to do such work as this." 
 
 " Let go," she insisted, blushing prettily. " I 
 am Mrs. Ion's servant and it would set the whole 
 town to talking if you were seen carrying my 
 water- jug for me." 
 
 This appeal had its effect, and Walter glanced 
 guiltily around. It would not do for these ig- 
 norant and suspicious villagers even to see him 
 
UNRAVELING A MYSTERY 4? 
 
 struggling to take the jug from her shoulder. 
 He stood watching her as she passed down the 
 path in the checkered shade of the grape-arbor, 
 through the farther opening of which the sea 
 laughed and flashed. 
 
 Walter sat down by the spring and gave him- 
 self up to his reflections. She was crying be- 
 cause she had just pledged herself to marry one 
 of these Greeks — there could be no doubt of 
 that — he mused. She probably had never 
 known any other life than this, yet such a 
 girl must have intuitions of something better. 
 She had had hopes, perhaps — who knows? — 
 dreams, longings, maybe, but she had felt, after 
 all, how foolish such thoughts were, how hopeless 
 her condition really was, and she had taken the 
 fatal step. He wondered if many a woman did 
 not have " a good cry " the night after she had 
 promised to marry, even though she had pledged 
 her hand to the man of her choice? It was the 
 giving up of the old life, at best, and the begin- 
 ning of a new. It must be sad to say good-by 
 to girlhood, under any circumstances, he thought ; 
 but Polyxene — what a curious name! — never 
 could have had any girlhood. One would think 
 she would be glad to cease being a servant and to 
 
48 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 have a house of her own. This reflection con- 
 vinced Walter that the girl was contracting an 
 unhappy marriage. 
 
 The missionary and his wife were no doubt 
 kind to her, he soliloquized, but they could not 
 understand her. Perhaps all she needed in the 
 world was some human being to sympathize with 
 her and give her a word of advice. He was sure 
 that he sympathized with her, and he arose with 
 a brisk determination to gain her confidence if 
 possible. 
 
 He must lose no time, either, he mused further, 
 because the missionary would be back in a day or 
 two, and then he must give all his thoughts to the 
 argols. He must get to work in earnest, at the 
 first possible moment, but he must wait for Ion. 
 His uncle instructed him to confer with the mis- 
 sionary, and he might start the whole thing 
 wrong, if he failed to take this advice. He felt 
 well satisfied with himself because he was keep- 
 ing his main purpose so well in mind. Though 
 much annoyed that his business was being de- 
 layed, he felt less idle now that he had decided to 
 devote to Polyxene only the two or three vacant 
 days of Ion's absence, — this undesired vacation, 
 as it were, which had been forced upon him. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 DANGEROUS BUSINESS 
 
 Polyxene waited at table during luncheon, 
 which meal he took with Mrs. Ion in the garden. 
 There had been something romantic in finding the 
 girl by the sea-shore, washing clothes in company 
 with a bevy of nymphs, for Walter had not quite 
 forgotten his Homer. She was stately, too, car- 
 rying the water-jug down the trellised walk; but 
 this task of serving-maid was menial and inap- 
 propriate to her in his mind. Yet this very fact 
 only increased his sense of her superiority. He 
 felt as though he were being served by a princess 
 in disguise. 
 
 He did not dare follow her about with his eyes, 
 as he was constantly drawn to do, neither did he 
 think it prudent at this stage to question Mrs. Ion 
 concerning her. He rather jumped to the con- 
 clusion that if he were to help this beautiful 
 creature, he would accomplish his purpose the 
 more easily if he were to make an ally of his 
 
 49 
 
60 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 hostess. He was therefore most attentive to the 
 lady during the progress of the meal, evincing 
 such anxious solicitude as to the state of her ap- 
 petite, such sorrow over the absence of Maud 
 Persephone, and such interest in the lady's most 
 trivial affairs, as to solidify her judgment, already 
 fast forming, that he was an exemplary young 
 man. He sat for at least an hour after luncheon, 
 talking with her. Naturally, they spoke of 
 America, and by great good fortune, Walter had 
 visited Joliet quite recently. A certain promi- 
 nent banker there was a distant relative of his, 
 and though Mrs. Ion had never spoken with the 
 banker, she had seen him once as a little girl, and 
 she described him. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " cried Walter eagerly. " That's 
 Calverly exactly, only his whiskers are quite gray 
 now, and he's bald." 
 
 " He naturally would be changed," sighed Mrs. 
 Ion; " it's many years since I saw him last." 
 
 The circumstance of both having seen the 
 same man back in America was something tangi- 
 ble — a definite bond between them. Walter felt 
 emboldened. 
 
 " Yes," he sighed, " Calverly is getting along 
 in years — he must be sixty, if he's a day. They 
 
DANGEROUS BUSINESS 51 
 
 — ah, were having a little celebration when we 
 arrived here the other night. Maudie says it 
 was for the betrothal of your — Miss Polyxene 
 and a Mr. Douzinas." 
 
 The girl had gone into the kitchen. 
 
 " Yes. These Greeks make a great fuss over 
 getting married. I'll be glad when it's all fin- 
 ished." 
 
 " I suppose Miss Polyxene is very happy over 
 the idea of becoming a bride? " 
 
 " Polyxene naturally feels bad about leaving 
 us," replied Mrs. Ion. " She has been with us 
 ever since she was a small child, and my husband 
 and I have been like father and mother to her." 
 
 " Her parents died when she was a child ? " 
 
 " Yes, when she was very young. Her mother, 
 in fact, died when Polyxene was born, and her 
 father, who was a fisherman, was drowned one 
 morning early while he was out setting his nets. 
 So we took her in, according to the Greek custom. 
 We take care of her and she helps about the 
 house." 
 
 " And I suppose she is very much in love with 
 this Greek? I saw him over at the cafe dancing, 
 and he seemed a big, fine-looking fellow." 
 
 " So he is. and it's a good thing for her. He's 
 
5g THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the mayor's son, a sober, industrious young man. 
 My husband arranged it. The fact is, we've 
 really no further use for the girl here, and I told 
 her that it wouldn't be right for her to refuse such 
 a chance as this. Oh, I didn't make her feel that 
 she wasn't perfectly welcome, for she is. But she 
 knows that Mr. Ion and I are getting along in 
 years and that it is her duty to get married now 
 that she has the chance. And this is an oppor- 
 tunity that she would never get again — the 
 mayor's son, and he asks no dowry ! " 
 
 " I suppose this Mr. Douzinas is very much in 
 earnest ? " 
 
 " In earnest ? I think he would kill any other 
 man that so much as looked at Polyxene. He 
 knocked down with a heavy cane the other day 
 one of his friends who chid him with engaging 
 himself to a 'bond-girl,' as the Greeks call it. 
 But dear me! I must get to work. I don't 
 know when I've wasted so much time — but it 
 isn't every day that I get a chance to talk with 
 some one from dear old America." 
 
 "Where — ah — where is Mr. Douzinas, 
 now?" asked Walter with as much unconcern as 
 he could command, as Mrs, Ion arose and 
 brushed some crumbs from her lap. 
 
DANGEROUS BUSINESS 53 
 
 " Oh, he's gone off on a cruise. He's a sponge- 
 fisherman and he's absent, sometimes, for weeks 
 together." 
 
 " That's fortunate, then, in case Polyxene isn't 
 very deeply in love with him," persisted Walter, 
 rashly, as he thought, the moment the words were 
 spoken. But for some reason or other, Mrs. Ion 
 did not notice his unusual interest in the subject. 
 
 " Girls don't have much to say about such mat- 
 ters in Greece," she replied. " They aren't like 
 our girls at home. A husband is picked out for 
 a girl here, and she generally takes him, and I 
 sometimes think it's a good way, for they seem 
 to get along all right afterward. But I'd like to 
 see any one pick out a husband for one of our 
 girls, if she didn't like him!" The good lady 
 laughed at the idea, and Walter joined her. By 
 " our " she meant " American," and he perceived 
 that the bond established by the nebulous and re- 
 mote Mr. Calverly was still efficacious. 
 
 There was evidently no chance of seeing Poly- 
 xene to talk with her now. What course should 
 he pursue ? Tell Mrs. Ion, who was an American 
 woman, after all, of the girl's grief, and attempt 
 to enlist her aid in some scheme of deliverance? 
 Not yet. Perhaps the girl's sorrow had been for 
 
54 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 another cause connected with some phase of her 
 history with which he was wholly unfamiliar. 
 Then, too, the difficulties of the thing began to 
 take definite shape in his mind. This young man 
 was, it seemed, influential in the island, he was of 
 a fiery temper and sufficiently in love to attack 
 murderously a fellow Greek who had presumed to 
 criticize his choice. Besides, the couple was 
 actually betrothed by public ceremony. The 
 Greek would have a right to resent interference, 
 and he would be supported by all his countrymen, 
 as against a meddling foreigner. His life would 
 not be safe if he got mixed up with this Greek, 
 Walter reflected, and he could see at a glance that 
 the missionary and his wife would not care to 
 make enemies of these people among whom they 
 lived. He must draw out the girl herself in some 
 way and make sure as to the cause of her trouble. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 GOOD ADVICE WASTED 
 
 Walking over to the cafe, Walter found Mc- 
 Kenzie seated at a table with a glass of bitter 
 wine before him. The Scot bent toward him 
 with a look of such solemnity that Walter was 
 sure that he was about to be made the recipient of 
 some important discovery. 
 
 " It's a very pleasant day ! " whispered Mc- 
 Kenzie. 
 
 " It's perfect. Where've you been all the 
 morning ? " 
 
 " I've been taking a walk over to the monas- 
 tery. It's a rare old place, built, they say, in six 
 hundred A.D. They claim to have a fragment 
 of the true cross there, a painting by St. John, a 
 fragment of the carpenter's bench on which our 
 Saviour worked when he was a boy, and an eye- 
 tooth of St. Irene. There's a rare lot of old 
 manuscripts there, too, which I hope you'll be 
 giving me the time to look over/' 
 
 55 
 
56 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " Why, certainly ! And perhaps you'd better be 
 getting at them right away, for as soon as Ion 
 returns from Syra, we must take up this business 
 of the argols in earnest. By the way, how bind- 
 ing is this betrothal ceremony, such as they were 
 having here the night we arrived? Is it about 
 the same as marriage proper ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not, but it's rarely broken, 
 rarely broken — and," here he looked meaningly 
 at Walter, " 'tis a dangerous business to make 
 love to a betrothed girl in Greece." 
 
 " Who said an)rthing about making love ? " 
 asked Walter with considerable asperity. " I 
 was just asking out of natural curiosity. One 
 can't help feeling curious at times, you know." 
 
 " Will you take a little wholesome advice," 
 asked McKenzie, "if 'tis offered in a friendly 
 spirit?" 
 
 " Surely." 
 
 "Well, then — you'll pardon me, I know — 
 don't be showing too much natural curiosity in a 
 betrothed girl, here upon a Greek island." 
 
 Walter blushed. 
 
 " I must get together on this tartar business 
 right away," he said hastily. " Have you learned 
 anything about it yet, Mac? " 
 
GOOD ADVICE WASTED 57 
 
 " I asked the Father Superior a few questions. 
 They are famous wine-makers over there at the 
 monastery. They have one tun in their cellars 
 that holds four thousand gallons and that they 
 say is filled with wine one hundred years old. 
 That must be a divine elixir — no doubt there as 
 a constant discipline in self-control for the holy 
 Fathers. The Father Superior told me that the 
 lees are found when the new wines are racked off, 
 about two or three months after the vintage, — 
 say in October or November. They used to press 
 these out and send them to Syra in bricks, but of 
 late years there has been no demand, and the lees 
 are now thrown away. The argols are found on 
 the sides of the barrels from which old wine is 
 emptied." 
 
 " The thing to do," said Walter, " is to estab- 
 lish headquarters somewhere and send word 
 through the islands that so much will be paid, ac- 
 cording to the system here, for argols and lees. 
 Then, some one will have to stay here, inspect the 
 stuff as it comes in, and ship it off to America." 
 
 Having formulated this plan, Walter felt that 
 he had actually taken the first step in setting his 
 business going. As for McKenzie's advice re- 
 garding the betrothed girl, he knew that it was 
 
58 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 given in a friendly spirit, and acknowledged its 
 soundness. 
 
 He was thinking of this very matter, when he 
 saw Polyxene pass through the square, leading 
 the mule, this time accoutered with naught save a 
 halter and a leathern pack-saddle. 
 
 " Where can she be going now ? " he asked. 
 
 McKenzie eyed the trappings of the mule. 
 
 "I should say that she is going to the moun- 
 tain-side to gather wild thyme for baking bread," 
 he ventured. " They bake the bread in this coun- 
 try with wild thyme, you know, for the weed 
 gives it an aroma, faint, but delicious." The 
 Scot seemed immediately to forget the existence 
 of the girl. He was poring over a small and 
 badly printed volume of the Bacchanals of Euri- 
 pides, with notes in modern Greek. 
 
 Polyxene, with the rope dragging over her 
 shoulder, followed a path that threaded an olive 
 orchard, and that could be seen farther on 
 sketched like a rude sigma upon a distant hillside. 
 She wore upon her head a lilac-colored handker- 
 chief, elaborately embroidered and so tied that it 
 dropped in a V between her shoulders. She 
 passed into the shadow of the flowering olive 
 trees, where the light had lost its whiteness and 
 
GOOD ADVICE WASTED 59 
 
 yet was diffused with so soft and perfect a clear- 
 ness that objects were more distinct there than in 
 the sun itself. Sometimes she would appear at 
 the end of a vista of parallel trees, and then she 
 would be blotted from his sight for a long minute 
 or so. At last he saw her no more. 
 
 Half an hour later he was walking briskly 
 along the same path, glancing eagerly right and 
 left, his heart beating in a strange, turbulent way, 
 when one considers that he was a modern knight- 
 errant, bent upon a purely philanthropic mission. 
 He found Polyxene about a mile from town, 
 chopping at the roots of a wild thyme bush, and 
 tossing the branches which she cut off into a pile 
 that had already grown to considerable dimen- 
 sions. His indignation at the sight was not un- 
 mixed with pity. 
 
 What sort of Christians were this missionary 
 and his wife to allow this beautiful creature to 
 perform such menial tasks? McKenzie was not 
 there to tell him that the work which Polyxene 
 was now doing was neither hard nor unpleasant, 
 and that it would be difficult to find a girl in the 
 island of her age who had not performed the 
 same task a hundred times over. Polyxene was 
 fortunate to be furnished a mule that relieved her 
 
60 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 from carrying the wood upon her back, the more 
 common mode of transportation. 
 
 "This is an outrage, a — a — blamed out- 
 rage ! " cried Walter, unexpectedly appearing be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " How you frightened me !" she screamed, 
 turning her eyes upon him, as she stood there 
 bending over, with the ax in mid air. Her face 
 was prettily flushed and a damp, brown lock had 
 struggled loose from under the handkerchief and 
 fallen upon her forehead. 
 
 " Why, what are you doing here? " she asked. 
 
 " I saw you come out in this direction, and I 
 followed you," he replied boldly. "I want to 
 talk with you." 
 
 " To talk with me ? " There was no coquet- 
 tishness in the question. The blue eyes looked 
 into his with childlike wonder. 
 
 " Yes, why not ? You're the only person about 
 the place that I've seen that's worth talking to." 
 He did not glance at her to note the effect of this 
 speech, but reached out his hand, adding, " Here, 
 give me the ax." 
 
 She passed it over to him, and he immediately 
 attacked the thyme bush furiously. She stood 
 watching him quietly enough for about five min- 
 
GOOD ADVICE WASTED 61 
 
 utes, when at last she said, " Now give me back 
 the ax, please. I must finish and get home before 
 dark." 
 
 " I'm going to chop this wood," he replied. 
 " Americans don't stand about calmly and let 
 women do work like this." 
 
 " But suppose somebody should pass along and 
 see you ? " 
 
 " That would be a good thing — that would 
 be real missionary work. I'd like to show some 
 of these people how to treat their women." 
 
 He pitched into the thyme bush as though that 
 were the guilty party in the premises. Polyxene 
 regarded him with increasing wonder at first, and 
 then at last his boyishness, and something awk- 
 ward and comical in his style of work overcame 
 her and she burst into silvery laughter. 
 
 "Well!" thought Walter, as he noted how 
 ravishingly the rosy cheeks dimpled and how mer- 
 rily the sea-blue eyes flashed. " That's better 
 music than the sobs I heard last night." 
 
 " Well, I must be doing something," exclaimed 
 Polyxene. " We must be starting back before 
 sundown," — and she busied herself with making 
 the pile into a large bundle to be hung on one side 
 of the mule, which stood by patiently. 
 
63 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " I'll soon have enough for the other side," 
 shouted Walter, not abating one whit from his 
 zeal. 
 
 " At that rate," laughed Polyxene, " you would 
 soon clear the whole mountain-side." 
 
 He helped her bind the second bundle, kneeling 
 upon it with her, and, once or twice, as they 
 pulled at the rope, their hands touched, giving 
 Walter such a thrill as his heart had never felt 
 before. 
 
 While they were thus kneeling, a vast bank of 
 clouds in the west was reft asunder, and the sun 
 looked forth, low in the heavens, in the center of 
 a great opening with irregular edges, all of a 
 fierce golden yellow, as though they were burning. 
 Just above the sea's edge a ribbon of bright 
 orange, miles and miles long, stretched parallel 
 with the horizon. The village gleamed white 
 below them, at the head of its crescent bay, upon 
 the fringe of which the foam whitened, as though 
 the Divine Painter had traced a line to mark the 
 water from the land. Toward Athens an island 
 swam in purple mist and the sails of the homing 
 caiques were flushed with a golden light. 
 
 "Look!" cried Walter. "Isn't the world 
 beautiful?" And she understood him and was 
 
GOOD ADVICE WASTED 63 
 
 silent. They arose, lifted the second bundle to 
 the animal's side and started down the hill to- 
 gether. 
 
 " It is all beautiful," he said at last, gazing with 
 admiration at the noble face framed in the lilac 
 handkerchief, " and there is nothing in it all so 
 beautiful as you ! " 
 
 And this was the afternoon of the first day ! 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE MAIDEN EXPLAINS 
 
 In the village of Ta Castra there is no such 
 thing as flirting. If a man wants a woman, he 
 asks her relatives for her, and marries her, if they 
 will give her to him. The man who trifles with a 
 woman's affections is killed by her relatives, and, 
 if the honor of the family demands it, the woman 
 suffers the same fate. 
 
 " You mustn't talk that way to me," said 
 Polyxene, " I am betrothed to another. Spiro 
 would kill you if he heard you say that to me." 
 She spoke in a low voice, and without looking up, 
 but there was a world of suppressed emotion in 
 her tone. Here, then, was Walter's opening. 
 
 " Polyxene, I can say to you that you are beau- 
 tiful without harm, because it is true. I have as 
 much right to say it as I have to declare that the 
 setting sun is beautiful, or the light upon those 
 sails, or the purple glow upon that island. I am 
 American, and we Americans have different cus- 
 
 61 
 
THE MAIDEN EXPLAINS 65 
 
 toms from those of the people in this part of the 
 world. We are said — I don't know how true it 
 is — to be the best people in the iworld to our 
 women. We try to make them happy and not to 
 let them suffer. If an American knows that a 
 woman is in grief, he feels that it is his duty to 
 help her if he can." 
 
 Like many a man before him, he was arguing 
 as much to himself as to his hearer. She turned 
 her eyes full upon him, sweetly waiting. 
 
 " I heard you sobbing the other night, and I 
 know that you are not happy. Tell me what it is, 
 and I swear to you that I will help you if it lies 
 in my power — ^yes, if it lies in human power. Are 
 they marrying you to this Spiro against your 
 will?" 
 
 "N — o," she faltered, "I said that I would 
 marry him." 
 
 " Then what is it, Polyxene ? I can see that 
 you are different from these people here. Per- 
 haps you have felt that you were alone, that you 
 had not a friend in the world. If so, you cer- 
 tainly have one now." 
 
 He had stopped in his earnestness, and the 
 mule, advancing the length of the rope, rubbed 
 his nose against her shoulder. She buried her 
 
66 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 face in the animal's neck and again those despair- 
 ing sobs shook her frame. At length she looked 
 up, her eyes swimming in tears. 
 
 " Oh, what could you do? " she asked; " what 
 could anybody do ? " 
 
 "Do? I don't know exactly — anything, 
 everything ! I could talk with Mr. and Mrs. Ion, 
 I could talk with this Spiro. If he's a man at all, 
 he would not marry a woman that didn't want 
 him." 
 
 " Little he would care about that," she replied, 
 smiling sadly at the folly of the plan. " Here in 
 Andros a girl isn't supposed to have any choice 
 in such matters. He and his whole family would 
 be so insulted that they would drive you from the 
 island, or maybe kill you." 
 
 "But how about Mr. and Mrs. Ion? She, at 
 least, is an American woman, and would under- 
 stand." 
 
 " It was because of them," replied the girl with 
 sudden spirit, "that I promised. They have 
 been kind to me, they did not even force me to do 
 this, but I felt that I had become a burden to 
 them. I can no longer eat their bread, now that 
 I am sure that they do not need me. Had there 
 been anything else to do — had there been any 
 
THE MAIDEN EXPLAINS 67 
 
 way to get away from here — but there wasn't. 
 And there was no good excuse for refusing this 
 chance, as things are looked at here. If I had 
 asked Mr. Ion to stand out against Spire and his 
 relatives, he would have done so, but he would 
 have made enemies of them all, and that would 
 have put an end to his work in the island. That 
 much he told me. How the Greeks would have 
 laughed at Spiro, if he had been refused the hand 
 of a portionless servant girl ! " she added bitterly. 
 
 " By heaven, I'll prevent it," cried Walter, 
 " whatever it may cost ! I'm not afraid of all the 
 Greeks in Andros. These people claim to be 
 civilized — I'll show them what civilization 
 means." 
 
 " It's too late now," sighed Polyxene, shaking 
 her beautiful head sadly. " Had you come 
 sooner, perhaps you might have done something. 
 But now that I am betrothed to him, he regards 
 me as his. You must not interfere — you must 
 promise me that you will not ! You do not know 
 the danger you would run," and there was a look 
 of terror in her eyes when she now turned them 
 upon Walter. He realized that her anxiety was 
 for him, and his heart gave a bound. If she 
 hoped to deter him, this was not the right way. 
 
68 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 They came now to the upper edge of the olive 
 grove. The ribbon of orange changed into a 
 river of molten gold, into which the pompous disk 
 of the sun dropped, and was dissolved. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A NIGHTINGALE 
 
 Mr. Ion did not return from Syra on the day- 
 set, nor for several days thereafter. He was not 
 greatly missed either by Lythgoe or by McKen- 
 zie. The latter, relieved for once from the neces- 
 sity of financing his immediate future, soon be- 
 came absorbed in his own peculiar interests. He 
 could, in fact, go on for ever, fumbling about 
 among his old manuscripts, or reading one or an- 
 other of the tattered volumes which he carried in 
 his grip, provided there were some way of meet- 
 ing his various small expenses. He required 
 shelter, and his stomach was insatiable and could 
 not be reasoned with, nor its demands greatly 
 procrastinated. Indeed, many another poor stu- 
 dent has been distracted by this same organ, and 
 it is safe to say that the stomach is the greatest 
 of all enemies to learning, whether it be kept too 
 full or too empty. So, since his bills were being 
 paid for the nonce, McKenzie forgot all about the 
 
 69 
 
70 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 argols, which were, it must be admitted, at best 
 but a means to an end with him. 
 
 As for Walter, the more he saw of Polyxene, 
 the more determined he became to follow his 
 uncle's advice to the letter and do nothing until 
 after a conference with Mr. Ion. He was but 
 twenty-five and was so anxious to begin right! 
 Interest in a woman engenders in the human male 
 preternatural shrewdness ; when that interest pro- 
 gresses to the point of actual love, the shrewdness 
 develops into the cunning of madness. Walter 
 lounged about his room most of the day, encour- 
 aging Mrs. Ion's American reminiscences, and 
 feasting his eyes upon the beauty of Polyxene's 
 countenance. The elder woman, it is needless to 
 say, grasped eagerly at the slenderest threads of 
 memory, and was delighted with whatever she 
 pulled into view. Thus the banker Calverly was 
 reinforced by the old high school building, which 
 Walter had once seen before it was torn down; 
 and certain scenes upon the route from Joliet to 
 Chicago were distinctly remembered by both. 
 
 Polyxene, on her part, was of course aware that 
 she was the real object of the young man's inter- 
 est, and the situation was rife with pleasurable 
 emotions for her. It amused and flattered her 
 
A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A NIGHTINGALE 71 
 
 and contained enough of intrigue to be exciting. 
 There was a spice of danger, too, for she did not 
 know at what moment he might become incau- 
 tious and betray himself. 
 
 For two whole days he found no further op- 
 portunity to talk with her, except for a few mo- 
 ments at the spring, when she had so far 
 forgotten Spiro for the time being as to be in a 
 coquettish mood. 
 
 "Aren't you ever going after wood again?" 
 he asked her, and she replied, laughing, 
 
 " No, indeed ! I am going to stay at the house 
 and keep my eyes on you and Mrs. Ion." 
 
 " But, Polyxene," — as she started away with 
 the jug, — " you must help me a little. I really 
 must have another talk with you." She glanced 
 back over her shoulder at him, replying in a whis- 
 per : " Be careful, Mrs. Ion might see you and be 
 jealous." As she passed down the walk, she 
 tittered merrily at the absurd conceit — but, 
 woman-like, she had given him no satisfaction. 
 
 The moon, which had shone into Walter's room 
 with such brilliancy on the night of his arrival in 
 Andros, lingered later now among the dreaming 
 isles, and it was dark in the garden, save for the 
 light of the great stars. Walter sat up till all 
 
73 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 hours, wondering if he should again hear weep- 
 ing in the room next to his own, but Poly- 
 xene, now aware of his presence, managed to pass 
 to her apartment and to retire with all the shyness 
 and subtlety of a mother bird to its nest. 
 
 It was on the night after the last brief conver- 
 sation at the well, that he was astonished at hear- 
 ing a bird suddenly break into song just outside 
 his door. There was something startling in the 
 melody, which was clearer, wilder and more pas- 
 sionate than anything he had ever heard before. 
 It began abruptly, too, out of the listening silence 
 of the night, and as abruptly ended, giving the 
 silence itself a sort of tenseness and palpability. 
 It was such a natural and spontaneous volley of 
 sweet notes, that its first effect was to cause the 
 hearer to forget the hour, and then to exclaim, a 
 moment later, " Why, it's all dark without ! " 
 
 With this reflection the song became a strange 
 and wonderful thing, unreal and unlike an3rthing 
 else beneath the sun or the stars. It became a 
 song of dreams and of mystery, the audible cry 
 of the Greek night's passionate heart, the lyric of 
 unseen trystings, the threnody of sweethearts of 
 old time, the echo of forgotten Sapphics. A few 
 moments of silence and then the same clear voice 
 
A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A NIGHTINGALE 73 
 
 rang through its divine aria again, as fairy-clear 
 as though the singer were unraveling the starlight 
 and spinning it into song. 
 
 And now it seemed to Walter as though some 
 bird were dreaming. He tiptoed out upon the 
 porch, and thought he heard a faint rustling 
 among the leaves of a tree above his head. His 
 impression must have been correct, for, after a 
 long interval, he heard the song again, but farther 
 away and deeper among the trees this time. He 
 followed, still with the greatest caution, peering 
 among the dark branches, and came upon Poly- 
 xene, sitting upon a bench built around a large 
 fig-tree. 
 
 " What is it?" he whispered, that he might not 
 frighten the bird. She turned her sweet face in- 
 quiringly to his in the balmy April night and the 
 starlight. " What bird is singing? " he asked, in 
 hushed tones. 
 
 "What bird? Oh, it is the nightingale. 
 Have you never heard it before? " 
 
 The question, an unconscious confession that 
 she was not frightened at seeing him there, gave 
 him sufficient confidence to sit down beside her. 
 
 "No, We don't have them in America. 
 There it goes again! Isn't its song beautiful?" 
 
74 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " Yes. They say that no other bird sings so 
 sweetly. But we hear them so much in Greece 
 that we become used to them and sometimes do 
 not notice them. Often the garden here is filled 
 with them, and you can hear many, many singing 
 at once." 
 
 " You did not then come out to listen to the 
 nightingales, Polyxene? Why are you sitting 
 up so late, all by yourself in the garden ? " 
 
 "Oh, why do you ask me? You don't care! 
 Nobody cares. You think you do, because you 
 are kind-hearted, and an American, but in a few 
 days you will go away and forget all about me." 
 
 " Forget all about you, Pol3rxene? I shall 
 never forget you, and I have sworn to help you if 
 I can. But I know now why you came out here 
 alone. It was because you were sad and miser- 
 able and wanted to grieve where nobody could 
 see you. Poor little girl, you must indeed be 
 alone in the world, if you have no one to go to in 
 such trouble as this ! " 
 
 Both were talking in whispers now. The 
 nightingale had been forgotten, but Mrs. Ion and 
 the little girl were sleeping in the main part of the 
 house, not far off. 
 
 " I have always been alone," said Polyxene. 
 
A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A NIGHTINGALE 75 
 
 " My mother I never saw, and my father I can 
 scarcely remember, I was so young when they 
 brought him home dead. I can see him now as I 
 saw him twice : once, I had fallen and hurt myself 
 and the old woman who kept house for us was 
 cross with me because I cried so loud. I looked 
 up and saw my father standing there in the door, 
 tall and beautiful, and he picked me up in his arms 
 and called me his little sugar angel, and told me 
 to lay my head on his breast and cry all I wanted 
 to. And I forgot the hurt and looked up into 
 his eyes and laughed — oh, so happy! And I 
 saw him that day when four men brought him 
 home from the cruel sea, and his great strong 
 arms hung helpless, his face was white, and there 
 was sea-weed in his wet hair and his eyes stared 
 so ! I called to him ' Papa ! papa ! ' But he 
 did not look at me, nor smile — " she was sobbing 
 now and could not speak. 
 
 " Polyxene, dear girl — there ! there ! " whis- 
 pered Walter, taking her hand and stroking it as 
 though it were indeed a child's. After she had 
 regained control of herself, he asked : " And did 
 your father leave you nothing at all — you, an 
 only child?" 
 
 " Nothing," she replied, " but a queer old 
 
76 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 trunk, bound in leather, that had belonged to his 
 father's father. It is so old now that even the 
 leather is beginning to peel off. There is nothing 
 like it on the island. Oh, if lifeless things could 
 only talk, I sometimes think that old trunk could 
 tell me of the land of which the nightingales sing ! " 
 
 " Poor girl ! — But now, tell me, why is this 
 marriage so distasteful to you? I suppose, of 
 course, that you do not love this Spiro, — do you 
 actually hate him ? " 
 
 " At first I did not. I did not think of him 
 one way or the other. When he sought me for 
 his wife, I went to him and told him that I did 
 not love him, but he said that he would have me 
 if he had to commit murder to get me; that he 
 loved me and that neither hate nor love nor any- 
 thing should stand between us. I am very proud 
 — oh, you do not know how proud I am! 
 Strange, is it not, in a pauper and a servant 
 girl ? " she asked bitterly. " And so, when I un- 
 derstood that I was a burden to Mrs. Ion, and 
 that there was nowhere I could go, and nothing 
 that I could do, I said that I would marry Spiro. 
 I will work for him, I will be a good wife to him, 
 but I will be a burden to no one ! " she exclaimed, 
 and her voice had almost a tone of fierceness. 
 
A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A NIGHTINGALE 77 
 
 "But," said Walter, "perhaps if there were 
 an3rthing else you could do, if there were any way 
 out of it — " 
 
 " I would be a slave first, I would work my 
 fingers to the bone as a drudge ! For now I think 
 I hate him, because he has driven me into this 
 corner and has had no pity on me. Listen. I 
 have had dreams all my life. I have felt that I 
 am not of these people. I have waked in the 
 night and thought I heard strange voices, as of 
 my own kin, calling me out of a foreign land. It 
 has seemed to me as if sometime I should go 
 away from here, that I was not born to be a 
 drudge, nor even the wife of one of these fierce, 
 rough islanders. Oh, I hate ever3^hing here! 
 the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Ion, the faces of our 
 neighbors, the village streets, everything except 
 the voice of the nightingales, and sometimes they 
 call to me, ' Polyxene, Polyxene, do not hate us. 
 We sing in your own land, too, and the orange 
 trees and the almonds bloom there as sweetly as 
 here ! ' Am I not foolish ? " she laughed piti- 
 fully. " I often think I am out of my head, or 
 that I am dreaming of Heaven and that these 
 things shall come to me only after death. But 
 the dreams are all finished now, for I have chosen 
 
78 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 my lot, and I will bear it bravely — oh, you will 
 see how brave I shall be ! " 
 
 Walter was silent for some time. He was sure 
 that he must befriend this girl. All the chivalry 
 in his nature was now stirred to its profoundest 
 depths, and, as he was so much in earnest, he 
 wanted to be careful to promise nothing that he 
 could not perform. She inspired the deepest 
 respect in him, and he felt that any hasty utter- 
 ance would not do justice to the seriousness of 
 his purpose. He did not exactly reason ; he was 
 sitting too close to her in the balmy night, with 
 the whispering of the sea in his ears, for that, but 
 he realized that he must be alone and decide upon 
 some definite course of action. 
 
 "Listen, Polyxene," he said tenderly; "there 
 is the nightingale again. Is it not singing to 
 you of your own country now ? " 
 
 " And what matters it," she replied sadly, 
 " since all my dreaming is over for ever ? " 
 
 " It is not over ! It must not be over ! Trust 
 to me. I have an intuition that I was sent here 
 by fate to be your deliverer in some way. I do 
 not know exactly how ; I must think it over. But 
 this I will promise you; I will help you, I will 
 take you away from here, as far as to America, if 
 
A MAN. A WOMAN, AND A NIGHTINGALE 79 
 
 need be, and will get you established in a new 
 life, where you can go on with your dreaming, 
 where perhaps your dreams may come true. 
 Only promise me that you will not marry this 
 man. Put him off, manage to delay the fatal 
 step, until I have time to work out some plan. 
 Will you promise me that ? " 
 
 " You do not know what you are saying," she 
 replied hopelessly. " What would the neighbors 
 think of me if I went away with a strange man? 
 Where would my reputation be after that? I 
 could not hold up my head anywhere in the 
 world." 
 
 " The neighbors, dear girl ! You would never 
 see them again — they would never hear of you 
 more. You have lived too long in this little 
 island, Polyxene. The world is wide, and those 
 among whom you would take up your new life 
 need not even know how you came." 
 
 "I — I could not go away with you like that," 
 was all she said ; and then added, rising, " I must 
 be going now. It is dangerous to remain out 
 here with you." 
 
 " But Polyxene, promise that you will meet 
 me here to-morrow night. I may have thought 
 of something then to which you can consent." 
 
80 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " I dare not," she replied in a tone almost of 
 apprehension. " It is too dangerous." 
 
 He caught her dress to detain her, and pleaded 
 eagerly. 
 
 " But you say that the nightingales sing to you 
 of home. If the nightingale sings to-morrow 
 night, take it as an omen, as a voice calling you, 
 and come once more." 
 
 " Well, then, if the nightingale sings," she 
 whispered, and was gone. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 
 
 That first nightingale of Walter's life was but 
 the harbinger of a seraphic choir. Spring be- 
 gins in March in the Greek isles, with a softer 
 breath and a more alluring smile than she be- 
 stows upon any other part of the world. Here 
 she is not fickle, and the early blossoms know that 
 they are her children and that she has called them 
 with a mother's voice, the voice that never betrays. 
 While the temperate zone is still shivering in the 
 grip of belated winter, springtime blows the 
 mimic snow of the almond blossoms about the 
 purple hill-slopes of the Cyclades, and the trees 
 themselves, seen at a distance, are easily mistaken 
 for snow-banks — sweet deception ! By mid- 
 April, Nature's heart, ever as young as the heart 
 of a god, is throbbing with resistless joy, and the 
 pulsing sap is tingling in the finger-tips of a mil- 
 lion olive trees, in the buds of the vineyards upon 
 a thousand sunny slopes, in the veins of the gor- 
 
 81 
 
82 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 geous oleander and the fragrant thyme; the wild 
 partridge is calling to its mate and will not be 
 denied, and the young kids are capering nimbly 
 on the cliffs that overlook the sea. 
 
 Mr. Ion returned at last from Syra, and Walter 
 found him, when confronted with a business 
 proposition, helpless and impractical. He had 
 heard about argols, even knew what they were 
 and that certain Greeks had sold quantities of the 
 product in Syra; any scheme for systematically 
 collecting them, however, seemed to him fraught 
 with insurmountable difficulties. Then, too, he 
 had his religious scruples. Would not offering 
 money for the lees be an encouragement to the 
 wine industry itself? If so, he would have 
 nothing whatever to do with the enterprise, but 
 would even oppose it to the extent of his power. 
 His attitude was exasperating, — but less so than 
 it would have been before the nightingales sang. 
 
 And all this time the nightingales continued to 
 sing and the Greek spring worked like wine in 
 Walter's blood. Never did fate furnish more 
 convenient trysting-place for maiden and swain, 
 or more romantic. The missionary and his fam- 
 ily, leading uneventful lives of clock-like regular- 
 ity, retired each night at the same hour, and went 
 
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 83 
 
 soundly to sleep as people do who have good con- 
 sciences and think little — especially if the sea is 
 singing them its eternal lullaby. 
 
 Walter lingered much in the garden, and on 
 several occasions he met Polyxene there, and she 
 remained and talked with him, very low, to avoid 
 waking those people so near. She had not the 
 least fear of him, he was so different in his man- 
 ner from the rougher and more primitive men of 
 the island. And so she came to tell him of her 
 origin and of the strange story connected with it, 
 brooding over which had given rise to her dreams. 
 
 One night, as they sat beneath the fig-tree, very 
 close together, talking, a small schooner came 
 through the bay's narrow mouth, flitted silently 
 up to the foot of the town, and cast anchor in the 
 dim light of the new moon. A few minutes later 
 Polyxene shivered and gave a suppressed cry of 
 terror. Walter looked anxiously into her face 
 and was surprised to see that it was haggard. 
 
 " What is the matter? " he asked; " what has 
 happened ? " 
 
 "I — I don't know. I felt as though we were 
 in the presence of some dreadful danger — as if 
 — as if a black shadow had just passed over us." 
 
 Walter arose and looked cautiously about. 
 
84 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " Perhaps some one has seen us," he whispered. 
 
 " Stay here," said Polyxene, " I know the 
 house better, I will go and see." 
 
 She went on noiseless feet, but soon returned. 
 
 " They are all sleeping," she said ; and then she 
 gave a start, while her eyes stood wide and her 
 pretty mouth grew to a circle of conjecture. 
 
 " Perhaps some one looked over the wall," she 
 said. 
 
 " Nonsense," said Walter reassuringly. 
 " You are just nervous. This thing is getting on 
 your nerves ; it's too great a strain for you. Why 
 should any one look over the wall ? The idea is 
 preposterous." 
 
 Nevertheless, after Polyxene had retired, Wal- 
 ter went into the street and walked clear around 
 the garden on the outside. Neither seeing nor 
 hearing anything in the least suspicious, he went 
 to bed reassured. 
 
 As on the occasion of his first night on the 
 island, however, he could not sleep as a young 
 man should. He fell asleep, it is true, as soon as 
 a young man does who has been talking with a 
 beautiful girl in a garden, but he was restless 
 and awoke after an hour, dreaming that a malig- 
 nant face was pressed against a pane of the win- 
 
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 85 
 
 dow that opened upon the street. There was no 
 chaining of his limbs by the oppressive influence 
 of a nightmare, but he found himself sitting sud- 
 denly up in bed, staring at the window with all 
 his faculties preternaturally alert. He had an 
 idea that, in the brief moment between oblivion 
 and perfect wakefulness, the blind had moved 
 softly shut. He went to the window, looked, and 
 found that the blind was actually closed ; but when 
 he raised the sash to reassure himself, he discov- 
 ered that the hook was unfastened. This was not 
 conclusive as to the verity of his dream, albeit one 
 of the leaves was off at the bottom of the blind 
 and it would have been easy for any one from 
 without to insert a finger and release the hook; 
 for Walter was not sure as to whether he had 
 fastened the blind or not on retiring. Being of a 
 stout heart, he concluded at last that he had indeed 
 been dreaming and nothing more, and went back 
 to bed and to sleep. The next morning at break- 
 fast Mr. Ion remarked, casually, that Spiro had 
 returned during the night. Walter glanced at 
 Polyxene ; she was deathly pale. Then he " got 
 together " as he would have phrased it, and re- 
 marked cheerfully: "That will be good news 
 for Miss Polyxene." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 polyxene's intuition 
 
 About ten o'clock McKenzie came in from the 
 monastery where he was now stopping, and Wal- 
 ter went over to the cafe with him to have a chat. 
 
 " I'm all out of tea," he explained to Walter, 
 confiding the secret with as much impressiveness 
 as though it had been some discovery of dread 
 import, " and I came to see if I could buy some in 
 the town here," and he opened out upon the table 
 a red bandanna handkerchief containing several 
 ounces of grayish-looking tea, mostly reduced to 
 a state of powder. " I'm anxious to get back to 
 the monastery and make me a cup of it, to learn 
 what sort of stuff it might be. I fear me 'tis but 
 of indifferent quality," — and he smelled of it 
 long and anxiously. " What think you ? " he 
 said, pushing the handkerchief over to Walter, 
 and awaiting the latter's decision with deepest 
 concern. 
 
 " I'm not much of a judge of tea, old man," re- 
 
POLYXENE'S INTUITION 87 
 
 plied Walter, laughing, "but this smells to me 
 very much like powdered sage." 
 
 " I fear I'll have to make a trip to Syra to get 
 me some tea," sighed the Scot, " and even there 
 they may not have it of the best." 
 
 " Spiro is home," announced Walter. 
 
 "Spiro?" 
 
 " Yes — ah — Spiro Douzinas, the fellow that 
 is — ah — betrothed to Miss Polyxene, you 
 know." 
 
 The subject was a trifle embarrassing in view 
 of his last talk with the Scot, yet he felt that he 
 must make McKenzie his confidant, as he cer- 
 tainly stood in need of a friend and lieutenant. 
 
 " I had a troublesome dream last night," re^ 
 plied McKenzie with exasperating irrelevance; 
 " what think you of such a dream as this ? I 
 thought I was walking on a narrow path by the 
 sea, with the water on one hand and a steep wall 
 of rocks on the other. And all at once on the 
 beach, a vast distance away, miles perhaps, I saw 
 a tiny lobster. I wondered why I could see him 
 so far, when he was so small, and then it occurred 
 to me that I was dreaming, arid that was the ex- 
 planation of it." McKenzie was resting his el- 
 bows upon the table, his chin in his hands, and the 
 
88 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 shaggy brows uplifted from his serious gray eyes. 
 " Now a lobster is but a small beast, as God made 
 it, and therefore not terrible. But did you ever 
 stop to think what appalling creatures many of 
 the little beings would be, were they to become as 
 large as elephants or crocodiles — the caterpillar, 
 for instance, the centipede, or even the spider? 
 Well, this lobster began to grow, as big as a dog, 
 as big as a horse, and then as big as an elephant. 
 And then, in the twinkling of an eye, even as it 
 grow, the intervening distance was swept away, 
 and it was lumbering down on me upon eight legs, 
 its two great claws swaying from side to side, 
 opening and shutting with a grating, clattering 
 sound. It was all clad in plate armor, that, drip- 
 ping with water and crusted with brine, glistened 
 in the sun. I felt that it was not malignant, but 
 worse ; an unreasoning creature that came on like 
 fate, destroying whatever was in reach. A small 
 tree stood at the side of the path, and at this it 
 pointed a long tube, as big around as a man's 
 leg, upon the end of which was an eye as large as 
 the headlight of a locomotive. The other tube, 
 with the eye at the end, was directed at me, like an 
 accusing finger. Passing the tree, with one snap 
 it bit it off and then it advanced upon me. I 
 
POLYXENE'S INTUITION 89 
 
 could not flee, my limbs were paralyzed. I felt 
 that if I could yell, help would come, and I tried 
 to shout. I must have succeeded at last, for just 
 as the great shears opened and I stood within 
 them, the monks rushed into the room, and I 
 awoke." 
 
 " That dream was certainly a wonder," admit- 
 ted Walter, " and for a steady professional 
 dreamer you do take the prize. By the way, I 
 had a dream myself last night ; not so complicated 
 as yours, nor so original, but quite as artistic," 
 and he related his own nightmare of the face at 
 the window-pane. 
 
 A look of practical shrewdness came into the 
 Scot's eyes, quite at variance with the mystical 
 gleam there while talking of his nocturnal vaga- 
 ries. 
 
 " I fear that this is more serious dreaming than 
 mine," he said, shaking his head slowly ; " a 
 dream that may be continued by daylight. I 
 gave you some advice the other day ; now I hope 
 you'll not take it ill if I give you some more. 
 There is not much that you can do here. The 
 missionary is not of great use save as a man of 
 God, and if he were not a Presbyterian, I should 
 e'en doubt his influence in that sphere. Let us 
 
90 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 be going from here. Were it not for the manu- 
 scripts in the monastery, I should have advised 
 you ere this to set out for Santorine, which is in 
 reaUty a wine-making island. Let us be going to 
 Santorine by the first caique that sails." 
 
 Walter arose. 
 
 " If you think," he said, " that I am going to 
 be driven away from here by one Greek, or all the 
 Greeks upon the island, then you don't know me. 
 One of my ancestors was killed at Bunker Hill, 
 and my father was twice promoted for gallantry 
 upon the battle-field. The Lythgoes don't run, 
 and I'm not going to be the first to break the 
 record." 
 
 " Courage is a good thing," replied McKenzie, 
 " an admirable trait, if you're sure your cause is 
 good ? " He whispered the last words, that were, 
 from his lips, a gentle, deferential question. 
 
 " Where a lady is concerned, you must let me 
 be the best judge of that," replied Walter, a trifle 
 haughtily. 
 
 "Ah, well, we'll not quarrel," said McKenzie. 
 " I only meant the advice in a friendly spirit." 
 
 " I believe that ! " cried Walter, instantly mol- 
 lified and offering his hand. 
 
 That the Scot was indeed shrewder and more 
 
POLYXENE'S INTUITION 91 
 
 practical than his eccentricities and his ungainli- 
 ness would indicate was shown by the skill with 
 which he changed the subject. After a few mo- 
 ments he proposed to walk over to the monastery, 
 actually inducing Walter to set out with him im- 
 mediately. His object was to prevail upon the 
 American, if possible, to take up his residence 
 with the monks during the remainder of his so- 
 journ upon the island. Walter went to his room 
 to get a stout walking-stick, and found Polyxene 
 there busy putting it to rights. 
 
 " Don't go away," he said, " I only came after 
 my stick, and am going immediately." 
 
 She cast a hurried glance into the garden, to 
 make sure that no one was looking, and then, 
 stepping up close to him, whispered : " Spiro is 
 angry enough to kill you. You must leave here." 
 
 " Why, has he said anjrthing? " 
 
 " No, he is very sweet," — and she shuddered 
 — " but I saw murder in his eyes. I feel sure 
 that he was looking over the garden wall last 
 night. I know it; I — I feel it." 
 
 Walter knelt by his grip, opened it and slipped 
 something into the side pocket of his walking- 
 coat. 
 
 " I shall go when I get ready," he said to 
 
93 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Pol3rxene, his manner expressing his defiance of 
 Spiro. " Don't worry about me, little girl, and 
 remember our bargain. Good-by. Tell Mrs. 
 Ion that I'll be back to supper." 
 
 He left her wringing her hands, and there was 
 a prayer in her big blue eyes. 
 
 " Go, go," she whispered hoarsely, " and leave 
 me to my fate!" 
 
 As he stepped down into the garden, he noticed 
 the queer little trunk of which Polyxene had 
 spoken to him, and he remembered it as the only 
 thing left her by her father. She had dragged it 
 out to the porch while cleaning her own room. It 
 was bound in pig-skin, held in place by rows of 
 brass-headed tacks, but the leather had come loose 
 at the end next to him, and had rolled down for 
 several inches. He stood for some moments, 
 eying it curiously. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MONASTERY 
 
 The road to the monastery, which was about 
 three miles distant, followed the sea-shore for 
 most of the way. At times it straggled through 
 the sand of the beach, or ran so close to the pulsing 
 waves that footprints were washed out as soon as 
 made; or else, perhaps, it climbed the sides of 
 some cliff that projected out into the deep water, 
 and then led along the edge of the rocky wall, 
 with the sea pounding and leaping far below. 
 For some distance the path lay upon a ledge of 
 rock, barely wide enough for two to walk abreast : 
 safe enough, if one's nerves were good, yet peril- 
 ous to those who are tempted to leap from high 
 places. Here, since it mounted till it comes out 
 upon a plateau, it was known to the islanders as 
 the " Devil's Stairway." 
 
 The monastery was situated upon a small island 
 separated from this plateau by a deep channel. 
 You descended to the sea by an arduous path that 
 
 93 
 
94 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 sloped along the face of the bluff, and then crossed 
 over by means of a boat that was usually to be 
 found there. The monks towed it over, left it, 
 and then rowed it back again. This little island, 
 a small child of Andros, was largely cultivated by 
 the monks, and was partly covered by a fine old 
 olive orchard. Their vineyards were on the 
 slopes of the mountains which rose upon two sides 
 of the building, forming a background of dark 
 green, for higher up they were covered with pines, 
 against which the white of the ancient structure 
 gleamed distinctly when seen from far away at 
 sea. On the other side, toward the open ocean, 
 there was a very steep incline, and a road wound 
 down to a tiny harbor, where the monks had a 
 wharf, several boats and a caique of their own. 
 The cells, at least those which were occupied, had 
 little windows from which the gaze overleaped the 
 stretch of land below and fell upon the sea, 
 brightly gleaming or tumbling in stormful wind- 
 rows and seething with innumerable whitecaps. 
 
 In early days, there were as many as fifty 
 Brothers in the community of Agia Brysi, as the 
 monastery is called. The name signifies, in 
 Greek, Sacred Spring, and was suggested by the 
 supposed therapeutic qualities of a fine spring 
 
THE MONASTERY 95 
 
 which burst from a rock back of the building and 
 which supplied the good Brothers with water. 
 There was a legend of the place, duly set forth in 
 one of the manuscripts which McKenzie had al- 
 ready deciphered, that a certain high dignitary of 
 the Greek church, suffering from a disease pro- 
 nounced incurable by the doctors, had been di- 
 rected by the Virgin in a vision to seek out this 
 same spring and drink of its waters. He obeyed, 
 was healed, and from this circumstance arose the 
 name, Agia Brysi, or Sacred Spring. 
 
 The charter obtained from Constantinople 
 through the prelate's influence could be seen on 
 application to the Father Superior. It was writ- 
 ten on parchment in beautiful Greek script, with 
 much compounding of the characters, difficult 
 for the inexperienced to decipher. The initials, 
 ornately executed, were in red ink, and the docu- 
 ment was made impressive by two huge seals, 
 which dangled at the end of long blue ribbons. 
 This charter also mentioned the healing of the 
 church dignitary and the vision, thus verifying 
 the matter with proof that was indisputable, so 
 far as the faithful were concerned. For un- 
 believers, Ejiglishmen, Turks, Catholics and 
 others, it mattered little; were they worth sav- 
 
96 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 ing, God would most assuredly make them see the 
 truth. 
 
 At the time of our story, the number of Fathers 
 under the roof of the Agia Brysi had become re- 
 duced to six, and the institution was by no means 
 so prosperous as it had been formerly. A blight 
 had fallen upon the once profitable lemon 
 orchards, in the form of small spots that disfig- 
 ured the pale gold of the fruit like some loathsome 
 disease, and God had not yet sent thither the 
 scale-destroying insect; the olive trees were wax- 
 ing feeble of extreme old age, and the wines of 
 Greece were no longer so famous as they were in 
 the days when Venice was queen of the Cyclades 
 and her gorgeous galleons sailed to every port of 
 Europe, laden with divine vintage, now almost 
 forgotten, with oil and with silks for the great 
 ladies of yesteryear. 
 
 Walter and McKenzie passed through an 
 arched portal of medieval aspect into a spacious 
 paved court, in whose stones were worn deep 
 paths by the feet of generations of monks and the 
 hoofs of the mules that had been led through the 
 stables in the rear of the building. A large oak 
 stood in the court, its trunk half dead, seeming to 
 typify the death-in-life of the monastic existence. 
 
THE MONASTERY 9? 
 
 On the left of the two strangers, as they en- 
 tered, and built partly into a cave of the rocky side 
 of the mountain, was the chapel, sufficiently im- 
 posing to merit the name of church; directly in 
 front and on the right, were three stories of cells, 
 each with its balcony, covered and running the en- 
 tire length of both wings, thus forming a long 
 promenade for the monks in time of rain, or when 
 the sun was fierce overhead. 
 
 Papa Manoles, the wag of the community, was 
 resting on a bench under the oak-tree. He was a 
 joUy-jowled monk, who had a habit of cradling 
 his burdensome stomach in clasped hands and in- 
 flating his fat cheeks, preliminary to the letting 
 go of breaths in an explosive gust with a flutter- 
 ing of his thick lips. He burst out laughing as 
 his eyes fell upon the Scot, and began imme- 
 diately to relate some amusing story, pointing 
 meanwhile at a monk of Falstaffian proportions, 
 who was at that moment passing in the direction 
 of the kitchen, carrying a brace of dead chickens 
 by the legs. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Walter, observing that 
 McKenzie seemed to enjoy the story. McKenzie, 
 raising his index finger in explanatory gesture, 
 whispered in Walter's ear : " 'Tis a rare good 
 
98 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 joke on Brother Myrianthuses," — and then re- 
 garded the American intently for several seconds, 
 to see what effect this extraordinary statement 
 would produce. 
 
 " So I inferred," said Walter. " Let me share 
 it, will you ? " 
 
 " You ought to hear Brother Manoles himself 
 tell it. He is a rare wag, is Brother Manoles. It 
 seemed that during the lenten fast Brother My- 
 rianthuses came to the conclusion that he was 
 dying of hunger — you saw him just now" — 
 chuckled McKenzie, — " he dying of hunger ! " 
 
 " Eh ? eh ? " said Brother Manoles anxiously 
 lo McKenzie, watching Walter's face intently for 
 the effect of the story, that he might laugh with 
 him. "Eh? eh?" 
 
 McKenzie explained his progress to the monk 
 and then proceeded with the recital in English. 
 "Brother Manoles here, told Brother Myrian- 
 thuses that he might justify by logic the roasting 
 and eating of a chicken thus: 'AH crows are 
 birds: all chickens are also birds; therefore, all 
 crows are chickens.' " 
 
 "Eh? eh?" said Brother Manoles, his jolly 
 face now reflecting the smile that began to dawn 
 in Walter's eyes. 
 
THE MONASTERY 99 
 
 " Having convinced him of that — and he was 
 in a convincible mood — Brother Manoles defied 
 the other to find anything in the rules of the order 
 or of the church prohibitive of the eating of crow 
 at any time. Myrianthuses therefore secretly 
 procured a chicken and set about roasting it in 
 his cell. But the Reverend Hegoumenos, who has 
 a sharp nose, detected the smell and demanded 
 admittance. Brother Myrianthuses was fairly 
 caught, but he followed the Superior into the 
 court, explaining according to the principles of 
 logic. The explanation, however, so enraged the 
 good Superior, who is not a man to be trifled with, 
 that he caught up a roasting-spit, and beat Brother 
 Myrianthuses over the shoulders with it." 
 
 Walter burst out laughing at this point, and the 
 monk, taking a firm hold of his stomach, jiggled 
 all over like a huge jelly-pudding, his clasped 
 hands keeping rapid time to his mirth. After he 
 had laughed at the story as much as it deserved, 
 and possibly a little more, the monk led Walter 
 and McKenzie to the Father Superior's office, 
 which consisted of a large reception-room neatly 
 furnished, and hung with pictures of the church 
 at Tenos, the Tomb of the Saviour, and portraits 
 of the last Paleologos, the Emperor Constantine, 
 
100 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 St. Irene, and the priest who had been cured by 
 drinking the water of the Sacred Spring. The 
 library adjoining this was furnished with a goodly 
 number of books, mostly in pig-skin bindings, and 
 several drawers which McKenzie told the Ameri- 
 can contained the manuscripts which he was 
 reading. 
 
 The Father Superior was an impressive-look- 
 ing man, albeit not of large stature. His beard 
 and hair were snowy white, his thin, ascetic face 
 was of perfect Greek contour, and his black eyes 
 were as keen as those of a hawk. His manners 
 were distinguished by quiet dignity. He ordered 
 coffee brought in, and, using McKenzie as an in- 
 terpreter, questioned Walter quite sharply, though 
 politely, as to his family, his business, his educa- 
 tion, his religion. 
 
 Walter then went with McKenzie to the latter' s 
 room, which proved to be one of the vacant cells, 
 with a door opening upon the balcony, and a win- 
 dow with a view of the sea. The adjoining cell 
 was unoccupied, and McKenzie urged upon 
 Walter with much earnestness to secure it and 
 bring his effects over to the monastery. But 
 Walter was immovable in his determination to 
 remain where he was for the present. Failing 
 
THE MONASTERY 101 
 
 other reasons, the fear of being thought cowardly 
 would have been sufficient to keep him at the 
 missionary's. There is no more potent moral 
 cowardice than this fear of being suspected of 
 cowardice, and it is frequently associated with 
 superior physical prowess. 
 
 Lythgoe remained to dinner with the monks, 
 taking a seat in a high-backed wooden chair at a 
 long table in a great hall, with a high ceiling with 
 bare beams, and then he started out briskly for 
 home, eager to set eyes upon Polyxene again. 
 He had crossed the strait and ascended the bluff, 
 when he saw a man coming up the path. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 KNIFE AGAINST PISTOL 
 
 A sudden tightening about the heart, and a 
 thrill, succeeded by an immediate tenseness of the 
 muscles and a moral bracing, warned him that this 
 was Spiro. He had never seen the man's face 
 clearly before, but the tall form corresponded with 
 the mental picture of the Greek whom Maud 
 Persephone had pointed out to him, dancing at 
 the cafe on the evening of the betrothal. This 
 man was of goodly stature, and his picturesque 
 fustanellas gave him that burly and semi-savage 
 effect which is attained to perfection by the High- 
 lander in kilts. His sturdy legs were encased in 
 skin-tight trousers of homespun, and he came on 
 with a swinging stride, oscillating his arms, which 
 were slightly bent at the elbows. When first seen 
 at a distance, he made a bright bit of color against 
 the gray background of rock: his ruffled shirt- 
 bosom, his leggings and his fustanellas were 
 
 102 
 
KNIFE AGAINST PISTOL 103 
 
 white, but his embroidered jacket with wide 
 sleeves was blue, while his soft round fez and the 
 pompons at the tips of his tsaroukia, or slippers, 
 were of a bright red. About his waist was a 
 broad leather belt of many pockets, from which 
 peeped the handle, in shape not unlike the butt 
 of a Moorish gun, of a Cretan knife. 
 
 Walter gripped his heavy stick a trifle tighter, 
 and then strode on, trying to imagine that this 
 was some ordinary meeting, and yet conscious 
 that there was something exaggerated and 
 strained in his air of indifference. Spiro's fac^ 
 if this were indeed Spiro, was that of a man about 
 thirty-five years of age, bronzed by sun and wind, 
 with high cheek-bones, narrow forehead, high, 
 thin nose, shaped like the rudder of a rowboat, 
 and big chin, deeply cleft. 
 
 Walter wondered if this could indeed be Spiro, 
 and, if so, what he was doing so far from the 
 village. The answer that naturally entered his 
 mind was not reassuring, for if this man had 
 actually peeped over the wall, and had seen his 
 betrothed talking alone at night with a foreigner, 
 then it was very possible that there was murder in 
 his heart ; besides, it was plain that the face at the 
 window was no dream. 
 
104 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Walter had no particular feeling of exaspera- 
 tion against Spiro, who had been, up to the pres- 
 ent time, a rather shadowy individual in his mind. 
 He certainly did not wish to kill him, and his un- 
 willingness to be killed by the Greek was even 
 more pronounced. He would have preferred an- 
 other place of meeting, if this were indeed Spiro; 
 he would have liked it better if the path had not 
 been so narrow and the cliff so sheer to the sea 
 below. If one were to fall over there, would 
 he strike deep water, or would he hit some rocks 
 on the way down ? 
 
 A man thinks fast in concentrated moments, 
 and all these thoughts passed through Walter's 
 mind as the Greek advanced toward him. But he 
 did not one whit slacken his own speed or look 
 behind. Here was his opportunity to prove him- 
 self, and he did not mean to show the white 
 feather. 
 
 At last the Greek was only ten paces off. 
 
 Walter stepped to the right, away from the edge 
 of the precipice, and lifted his hat politely. The 
 Greek returned the salute, bowing with what 
 seemed, to the American's suspicious mind, exag- 
 gerated courtesy. They stood thus for several 
 seconds, looking into each other's eyes, but unable 
 
KNIFE AGAINST PISTOL 105 
 
 to communicate by means of speech. Walter 
 found the position quite embarrassing, and one 
 which, commonplace as it seemed, offered no im- 
 mediate prospect of solution^ unless the Greek 
 would wish to take the initiative. If Walter 
 passed him, he would be compelled to walk on 
 down the narrow path with his back toward him. 
 On the other hand, if he kept looking backward 
 at the Greek, it would be a confession that he had 
 cause to fear him. 
 
 At last he smiled amiably, and, pointing to the 
 monastery, said, " Going there, eh, up that way ? " 
 
 The Greek immediately began to talk, venting 
 his desire to make the other understand in the 
 violence of his gestures and the loudness of his 
 tone. 
 
 " It's no use, old man, it's no use," said Walter 
 with that rare smile of his, " I don't understand 
 your lingo and you can't understand mine, so I'll 
 just wish you ' good day,' and pass on" 
 
 The thought had occurred to him that this 
 could not be Spiro, after all. He had pictured the 
 Greek as ready to spring upon him at sight, or, 
 at least, to overwhelm him with violent and 
 threatening speech and gesture. To his surprise 
 and mystification, as he lifted his cane and pointed 
 
106 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 down the path, indicating the direction which he 
 was about to take, the other again made a pro- 
 found salute, and, turning upon his heel, came on 
 with Walter. 
 
 Evidently he had been sent for him, thought 
 Walter. He wondered if Spiro had run amuck 
 and killed Polyxene. 
 
 He had it in mind to say the word " Polyxene " 
 to his companion and note the effect, but some- 
 thing restrained him. He only walked the faster, 
 that he might solve this fear as quickly as possible. 
 So they came on in silence till they reached the 
 part of the path where it was so narrow that two 
 could not walk abreast with safety. Here Walter 
 hesitated and glanced at the Greek, who motioned 
 to his companion to pass on ahead. Walter was 
 equally polite, and this interchange of courtesies 
 was drawn out till it bade fair to become ridicu- 
 lous. At last the Greek, with an expressive 
 shrug of the shoulders, turned and strode swiftly 
 down the path, his rustling fustanellas brushing 
 the rocky wall on the one side and reaching to 
 the edge of the precipice on the other. 
 
 They had gone about half the length of this 
 narrow part of the path, when the Greek whirled 
 suddenly about, facing the American. 
 
KNIFE AGAINST PISTOL 107 
 
 " Spiro, by God ! " gasped Walter, springing 
 back. One look at the face, now contorted with 
 passion, as though he had slyly slipped on a 
 hideous mask, was enough. 
 
 The Greek drew his knife, but, strangely 
 enough, did not attack. He rather threw back 
 his head, and, lifting the weapon in the air, made 
 some sort of grandiloquent speech. It was im- 
 possible to understand what he said, but he was 
 evidently either denouncing his adversary, after 
 the manner of the old-time heroes, or proposing 
 a combat to the death, with the idea of proving 
 the right by recourse to arms. If the latter were 
 true, he must have been mad with rage and jeal- 
 ousy, indeed, to select such a place of action, 
 where anything like an evenly matched battle 
 would probably result in both falling over the 
 cliff together. Perhaps, when planning the scene, 
 he had expected Walter to fall upon his knees, 
 beg his pardon and promise to leave the island 
 immediately. Such a result would certainly have 
 been salve for Spiro's wounded pride, would have 
 established his reputation as a palikari, and made 
 Walter ridiculous in the eyes of Polyxene. 
 
 He now beat his breast with the hilt of the 
 knife and pointed to the sea below; tapping the 
 
108 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 blade with his fingers, he made a gesture of one 
 drawing a knife and pointed at Walter. The 
 American by this time had got his right hand into 
 his pocket where it came into contact with some- 
 thing cold and comforting. It dawned upon him 
 that the Greek was proposing a duel with knives, 
 the vanquished to be thrown over the cliff. There 
 was nothing for him to do but to keep his eyes 
 fixed upon the Greek, and wait. And this he did, 
 every faculty on the alert, every nerve strained to 
 highest tension. 
 
 Spiro, seeing that the other made no reply, but 
 stood thus regarding him, ceased his heroics, and 
 looked at Walter. This duel of the eyes could 
 not have lasted more than half a minute, but it 
 seemed an hour. A watery film for a second 
 covered the American's pupils and he winked hur- 
 riedly to clear it away, realizing that the least in- 
 terruption of the keenest vigilance might cost him 
 his life. And the fact that he could not make 
 himself understood added to the strain of the sit- 
 uation. He might as well have been confronted 
 by a wild beast. Strangely enough, he was won- 
 dering all the time what sort of a bush that was 
 on a rock there over the Greek's shoulder. It had 
 a red flower, and wrenched with hypnotic power 
 
KNIFE AGAINST PISTOL 109 
 
 at his eyes, to pull his gaze dangerously over to 
 one side. 
 
 Spiro took a step forward, threatening with the 
 knife. 
 
 Walter drew his revolver and the Greek 
 stopped, evidently more affected by surprise than 
 fear. And thus he stood, quite close now, his 
 knife raised. His eyes seemed to say that he ac- 
 cepted the challenge, no matter what the weapon. 
 
 Just as Spiro rushed, Walter fired. A musical 
 " ching " mingled with a report, and the gleaming 
 knife flew far out over the water, a flashing curve 
 of light, and dropped into the shimmering sea. 
 The Greek gazed at the whirling weapon, mouth 
 open, amazed. Then, suddenly, his face paled 
 and twitched, as he became conscious of a fierce 
 pain in his fingers. One of them was missing, 
 torn out at the joint, and all were dripping blood. 
 Doubting not that Spiro would rush upon him 
 with bare hands and attempt to hurl him over the 
 cliff, Walter was just about to press the trigger 
 a second time, when he heard frantic shouts be- 
 hind him and the sound of running feet. Spiro 
 turned and fled, kicking a shower of stones over 
 the cliff as he ran, the tassel of his fez streaming 
 straight out on the wind. 
 
110 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " What has happened, my friend ? What is 
 this ? What is it ? " breathlessly asked McKenzie. 
 
 " H — hold me a minute — take hold of me," 
 said Walter. " I am a little dizzy ! There, that's 
 right — steady me till we get oflf from this — this 
 cornice, will you ? " 
 
 When they had got out upon safer footing, 
 Walter sat down on a rock, replying to McKen- 
 zie's urgent anxiety, "Just wait a minute, till I 
 get hold of myself again, and I'll tell you all about 
 it. I feel kind of shaky." 
 
 At last he related the entire adventure as it had 
 happened. 
 
 " I didn't want to kill that fellow. He drove 
 me into firing. I didn't shoot till the last 
 moment. But wasn't it lucky that I hit his hand ? 
 I must have shot where I was looking. I was 
 fascinated by the long knife and the big hand 
 and I couldn't keep my eyes off from them. 
 Whew, but I'm glad I'm out of that scrape ! " 
 
 " I fear me that you are just getting into it," 
 said McKenzie, shaking his head sorrowfully. 
 " I warned you not to be making love to a be- 
 trothed girl. Now you will certainly take my 
 advice, and come down to Santorine, immediately 
 — this very night. I make no doubt we can get 
 
KNIFE AGAINST PISTOL 111 
 
 somebody to carry us over in a sail-boat. You'll 
 have Spiro's whole family after you now." 
 
 " Listen a minute, McKenzie. It's a case of a 
 lady in distress — " and Walter told of the sobs, 
 of Polyxene's dreams and of his vow to help her 
 if it lay within his power. " I can't take her 
 away," he added, " till I'm ready to get clean out 
 of Greece with her. Besides, she won't go. She 
 says it would ruin her reputation — " 
 
 " If you loved her yourself," mused McKenzie, 
 " if you were willing to marry her — " 
 
 " Loved her ! " cried Walter in great excite- 
 ment. " Why I love her as woman was never 
 loved before ! I dream of nothing night and day 
 but of marrying her. She's a creature of light 
 and beauty to me — some ancient goddess. I 
 never see her carry a jug from the spring, or — or 
 — pick up a broom, that I don't want to tear it 
 out of her hands and dash it to the floor. When 
 she waits upon me at the table, I feel as though I 
 were being waited upon by a princess in disguise, 
 as those old men must feel whose feet are washed 
 by the Emperor of Austria. Something tells me 
 that she is my fate, and that I was sent here to 
 carry her off and live with her the rest of my days, 
 or to die for her, here. But don't you see what 
 
112 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 a fix I'm in? I've nothing of my own. I'm just 
 sent out here on the company's money, and if I 
 don't make a success of this job, I hardly know 
 what I should turn my hand to next. If I could 
 only get this thing started, so as to win the con- 
 fidence of the firm, I'd marry Polyxene the next 
 day. But I'm so at my wits' end about her that 
 I can't get together on business." 
 
 McKenzie took his friend's hand. 
 
 " Ah well, if you love her," he said, " 'tis a 
 different matter. Let us go back to the mission- 
 ary's and see what has happened." 
 
 " How did you chance to come along just at 
 that moment ? " asked Walter, as they walked on. 
 
 " I tried the tea," sighed the Scot, " and found 
 it to be as you said, mere sage, and it seemed to 
 me that there must be something better in town. 
 'Tis not possible that men should be so uncivilized 
 as to drink tea like that." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A DECLARATION OF LOVE 
 
 Upon reaching the missionary's house, Walter 
 invited McKenzie into the garden with him. The 
 two men seated themselves on the porch and took 
 a quiet survey of the situation. To their surprise, 
 there were no indications that the inmates of the 
 residence were aware of the storm which was 
 brewing. Mrs. Ion was bustling about in her 
 energetic way, and the missionary himself was 
 engaged at some clerical work in one of the rooms 
 opening upon the gallery. Polyxene was no- 
 where to be seen. 
 
 " Excuse me a moment, Mac," said Walter. 
 " I think I'll walk up to the spring." 
 
 He did so, but failed to find the girl there, and 
 returned. 
 
 " You seem to have a great deal to do this 
 morning, Mrs. Ion," he remarked, reentering the 
 gate. " You really ought to have help." 
 
 113 
 
114 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 She laughed pleasantly, much gratified at this 
 young man's interest in her welfare. 
 
 " I'll warrant you were mother's boy," she 
 replied, and a moment after added, as though to 
 relieve his mind with regard to herself ; " if Poly- 
 xene were here, I should make her bring the 
 water to me, but I had to send her after more 
 thyme wood. I'm going to bake to-morrow." 
 
 Walter sprang up and took the canati or am- 
 phora away from the woman, after a playful 
 struggle. 
 
 " Let me bring it," he said, " it will be fun for 
 me!" 
 
 After filling the jug and getting it upon his 
 shoulder, he found it quite painful, as it pressed 
 against a protruding bone, and he was filled with 
 indignation that the soft and delicately-tinted 
 flesh of Polyxene should be subjected to such in- 
 dignity. In the grape-arbor he met McKenzie, 
 stooping a little lest his head hit against the 
 tangled vines. The Scot laid his great hand 
 confidentially upon Walter's shoulder and, bend- 
 ing toward him, whispered : 
 
 " I know these people better than you do. I 
 don't see Spiro anywhere and I am a bit uneasy. 
 The girl is off alone and he must be in a rage. 
 
A DECLARATION OF LOVE 115 
 
 If he should do her violence — murder her — 
 'tis quite common here — eh, man, don't let the 
 jug fall!" 
 
 McKenzie was now holding the canati in his 
 arms and Walter was staring at him, pale and 
 speechless. 
 
 " Come with me," he cried at last, " quick ! 
 quick!" 
 
 " 'Twas that I was going to propose. But you 
 must take the jug upon your shoulder again, set 
 it down in the garden and come quietly out. 
 Then we'll hie away together." 
 
 The two men were soon plunging through the 
 olive orchard, following the path which led to the 
 mountain-side where the wild thyme grew. 
 Long as McKenzie's legs were, he found difficulty 
 in keeping up with his more ardent companion, 
 and he followed, puffing out in Greek a frag- 
 ment of an old tragedy, which struck him as pe- 
 culiarly apt : 
 
 " Whoever does not think that Love is a great god. 
 And the ruler of all the celestial beings, 
 Either is blind, or being ignorant of excellent things. 
 Does not know which is the greatest divinity placed over 
 men." 
 
 " There she is, old man, there she is I " laughed 
 
116 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Walter, almost hysterically, as he saw Polyxene 
 at a distance, bending among the thyme bushes. 
 
 " I'll sit down here for a moment," said the 
 Scot discreetly, " and you can go and talk with 
 her. Never was mountain climbed at such a 
 speed since Perseus put on his winged sandals." 
 " Have you seen Spiro ? " Lythgoe asked the 
 girl, as soon as he came ujv with her. 
 
 " Not since talking with you last. Why ? " 
 " He met me on the road to the monastery and 
 attacked me, but — but I drove him off. He's 
 an ugly customer, and I feared he had come out 
 here to do you some mischief. By Jove, I'm 
 glad to find you are all right ! " 
 
 " He attacked you ? Tell me all about it." 
 Walter related in a few words the main fea- 
 tures of the encounter, adding, " If I could only 
 talk with him, I might be able to make him see 
 reason. I could show him that it isn't decent to 
 force himself on a girl who doesn't want him, 
 and I could let him know that I'm not afraid 
 of him and that he can't intimidate me. I could 
 show him, too, what a serious thing it will be for 
 him, if he keeps this up. If he hurts you, I'll 
 kill him, and if he kills me, my friends will set 
 Uncle Sam upon him and it will go hard with 
 
A DECLARATION OF LOVE 117 
 
 him. It's about time some of these Greeks 
 learned that a man can't do whatever he wishes." 
 
 Polyxene made no reply, but sat down on a 
 rock, and remained for a long time thinking, her 
 head in her hands. At last she looked up, saying, 
 " You must not remain at Mr. Ion's any longer. 
 You must go away from here immediately." 
 
 "And leave you to that crazy devil's mercy? 
 I couldn't do it, Polyxene." 
 
 "I have promised you that I will not marry 
 Spiro, that I will put it off some way, and get 
 out of it. If you stay here I can't keep my prom- 
 ise. I must break it for your sake, for he will 
 certainly kill you, if you remain in the same house. 
 And besides, now that there has been a quarrel 
 between you two, my reputation will be ruined, 
 if you remain." 
 
 Walter heard these last words with no little 
 impatience. He could not realize that this tiny 
 island was Polyxene's world, that she knew no 
 other, and had no conception of the vastness of 
 the globe and of the size of its great cities, where 
 no tidings of petty Andros ever reached. 
 
 " What do you care," he cried, " for the opinion 
 of these half-civilized Greeks? What does any- 
 body care what they think ? " 
 
118 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 She looked at him reproachfully. 
 
 " I am surprised that you ask," she said bit- 
 terly. " I am a servant girl, who has nothing else 
 in the world save her good name." 
 
 Walter yielded to an uncontrollable impulse. 
 He realized that if the girl wished him to leave 
 the house, he must do so. The avowal which 
 had so often been trembling on his lips must be 
 spoken now, or perhaps it would be everlastingly 
 too late. 
 
 ■" Pol3rxene," he said, " I will go away, since 
 you wish it. I will go over to the monastery and 
 live with McKenzie. But I shall not go without 
 telling you that I love you, that you are no ser- 
 vant girl to me, but the queen of all the world, a 
 revelation of beauty, sweetness and grace such 
 as I had not dreamed of. There are no such 
 women as you in the great world from which I 
 came, or, if so, I have never seen them, I love 
 you, Polyxene, and I want you to be my wife. 
 Will you come away from here and marry me ? " 
 
 In his madness he forgot his position, that he 
 had his way to make in the world and no re- 
 sources save the means supplied him by the busi- 
 ness corporation whose agent he was. For the 
 moment there was no one on earth save himself 
 
A DECLARATION OF LOVE 119 
 
 and the beautiful woman who now stood leaning 
 toward him, trembling in all her limbs, her face 
 as pale as death. A divine strength flooded him, 
 an unreasoning yearning that made him eager to 
 face all dangers and perplexities for her sweet 
 sake. She opened her arms toward him, uncon- 
 sciously, instinctively, then staggered against a 
 tree with one hand extended, motioning him back, 
 
 " You must not talk so to me," she panted, " I 
 am betrothed to another ! " 
 
 " But you do not love him and he has no right 
 to you ! You love me. Tell me, do you not ? " 
 
 " I can not tell you while I am betrothed to 
 Spiro. I will not be dishonorable, even to him." 
 
 " But you would not — " he was about to say 
 that she would not have met him so often in the 
 garden had she not cared for him ; but the gentle- 
 man in him told him that it would be ignoble to 
 take advantage of a lad/s favors. " Well, then," 
 he said, " this much you will promise me, that you 
 will break with Spiro? " 
 
 " I have already promised you that. But you 
 must help me by leaving the house, and not seek- 
 ing me till after I am free." 
 
 " I promise you that," Walter replied readily 
 enough. " And after you are free ? " 
 
120 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 "Ah, that is another thing. Perhaps then 
 you would not care for me. What would all 
 your relatives and friends think if you were to 
 bring home a servant girl to them as your wife ? " 
 
 Walter laughed. 
 
 " No one would believe that you had ever been 
 a servant girl. You would grace the palace of 
 any king." 
 
 " I believe you do love me," she murmured 
 joyfully. "But see, look yonder in the bay. 
 There is Spiro's caique, all his caiques putting 
 out to sea. I wonder if he has gone with them ? " 
 
 That such was the case, Walter and McKenzie 
 learned on their return to the village. 
 
 "He has said nothing about the encounter," 
 explained the Scot, who was better versed in 
 the Greek character. " As he came off second best, 
 he is ashamed and wishes to get well of his wound 
 and think out some plan of getting even with 
 you. 'Twould be a wise thing to take the girl 
 and leave the islands while he is gone." 
 
 " I shall not run," said Walter grimly. 
 
 "Ah, well," sighed McKenzie, "have your 
 own way. They say there's no fool like an old 
 one, but some young ones run a close second. 
 I feared he'd set his whole clan upon you, but I 
 
A DECLARATION OF LOVE 121 
 
 fancy there's not much danger of that now. He's 
 evidently ashamed to tell of the encounter, as I 
 said, and he loves the girl and doesn't wish to 
 compromise her by a public quarrel. But you'll 
 hear from him again when you least expect it. 
 He'll strike in the dark next time, and give you 
 no chance. We must both keep our eyes open." 
 " You're a comforting friend, I must say ! " 
 laughed Walter, who could think of nothing but 
 that slight, unconscious lifting of Polyxene's 
 arms. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 STUMBLING ON A SECRET 
 
 That very evening the two men left the mis- 
 sionary's and Walter took up quarters at the mon- 
 astery, in the cell next to McKenzie's. His 
 steamer trunk came with him, strapped to two 
 long roasting-spits in such manner that the ends 
 protruded, making handles for a couple of sturdy 
 Greek boys; a third carried his satchel, and the 
 American strode at the head of the comical little 
 caravan with that lordly air which every Euro- 
 pean assumes as soon as he gets settled in the 
 Orient and finds that his migrations, even over 
 insignificant distances, necessitate a retinue. 
 This feature is perhaps the chief charm of the 
 East for a man who has not evolved beyond the 
 love of personal importance and barbaric display, 
 and few men ever leave behind the danger of 
 slipping back to barbarism, of losing a few thou- 
 sand years of development in a moment. 
 
 122 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 12:3 
 
 In the practical and utilitarian West, a million- 
 aire may travel without even a man. His lug- 
 gage is sent on ahead of him, and he finds it in 
 the room of his hotel on arrival, or shortly after. 
 He rings for a cocktail, he turns on the water 
 in his bath-room. The man of wealth, indeed, 
 approaches more nearly to the ultimate concep- 
 tion of a god, who wills and things are done by 
 invisible and noiseless agencies. In the Orient, 
 a man sees things done, and it takes many slaves, 
 with much labor and shouting, to do them. He 
 realizes that they are being done for him and he 
 pays small sums in many pieces of little value and 
 feels great. 
 
 So Walter Lythgoe arrived at the monastery 
 with his steamer trunk strapped to roasting-spits, 
 and his valise carried by a full-grown man, and he 
 knew that these attendants regarded him as a 
 lordos, for society is very sharply divided in those 
 regions into the two great classes of those who 
 do things themselves and those who have things 
 done. 
 
 It did not take him long to get settled. Two 
 hours were before him until dinner time in the 
 great hall of the monks, and in that time the 
 American unrest took possession of him and he 
 
124: THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 felt that he must be doing something. He there- 
 fore entered McKenzie's room, seated himself 
 astride of a chair, with his face to the back thereof 
 and regarded his companion impatiently. The 
 Scot was leaning over a rough wooden table cov- 
 ered with dictionaries, and attempting to decipher 
 a thick volume, whose contents were inscribed in 
 large characters upon vellum. 
 
 " Well, Mac," said Walter, " the sooner we get 
 to work on this argol business and make some 
 sort of a showing, the better I shall like it. I 
 think I'll write a letter to my uncle to-night and 
 tell him exactly what progress we've made so far. 
 Do you know, I haven't written a word home 
 since I've been on the island ? And we really have 
 done something, you know. In the first place, 
 we've found out that Ion will be of no use to us 
 whatever. That much I can write to the firm as 
 certain." 
 
 " Then — " began McKenzie, but paused with- 
 out finishing the sentence. He was about to re- 
 mark that they ought to leave Andros immedi- 
 ately, but his eyes fell upon the yellow volume 
 before him, and he was unable to proceed. In- 
 stead, he murmured, " 'Tis a work of rare interest 
 that I have here, of rare interest. 'Tis written 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 135 
 
 in oval uncials of the seventh century style, and 
 seems to be the sermons and meditations of one 
 Father Heracles Skyllises. What would you say, 
 man, if I were to add another name to the Fathers 
 of the Church, were to discover a new Greek 
 author ? " Two hectic spots gleamed in McKen- 
 zie's cheeks as he said this, and his eyes shone 
 with the fire of enthusiasm. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," replied Walter. " Aren't 
 there enough dead saints already? I should 
 fancy that what we need is a few more live ones." 
 
 " Perhaps you're right, perhaps you're right," 
 sighed McKenzie. 
 
 " Then, too," continued Walter, " I can write 
 home that we can't set this thing going in a day. 
 I can write to my uncle that all we can do now is 
 to visit the principal wine-making centers, and 
 select fellows who will gather up the product for 
 us and ship it to some central point." 
 
 " Such as Santorine," suggested the other. 
 
 " Yes, Santorine or Syra. I wonder, if I went 
 away, if Douzinas would come back and frighten 
 Polyxene into marrying him ? If he tried it, and 
 I arrived here on the day of the wedding, I'd 
 take her away from him, even if all the Greeks on 
 the island stood at his back. What a thorough- 
 
126 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 bred she is ! She fairly detests him, she regards 
 him with horror, but she will not listen to me 
 until she has been released by him. If she were 
 a weaker character, she'd go away with me to- 
 morrow; but then I shouldn't love her so much, 
 I shouldn't admire her so immensely, if she were 
 any different. I suppose she is in a difficult posi- 
 tion. She went through this betrothal before she 
 saw me, and now it's hard for her to say that 
 she's discarded him because some one else has 
 appeared on the scene. Look at the sea out there 
 — how dark it looks when a cloud passes over it, 
 how it laughs the next moment in the sun. It's 
 fairly black one moment, as deeply tender as a 
 siimmer sky the next, and now it's bright as pol- 
 ished silver. Polyxene's eyes are like that. 
 Well, I'll go and write to my uncle now. Do you 
 suppose she's descended from the ancient Greeks ?" 
 
 " 'Tis quite possible. I am not one of those who 
 hold with Professor Fallmeyer that the Greeks 
 are all Slavonians. Carl Hopf seems to me to 
 have the better of it." 
 
 " Well, whatever she is, she is as noble and 
 beautiful as any goddess that ever lived. So — 
 let's see, yes, I'll write to my uncle that we are 
 getting started on the right track." 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 127 
 
 Left alone, the ungainly Scot hummed a little 
 love-song of Chios, very tender and passionate, 
 could one have understood the Romaic words. 
 Then, with a deep sigh, he bent again over the 
 yellow volume, and was soon deeply immersed 
 in a denunciation of Origen's theory concerning 
 the preexistence of souls. 
 
 Walter finished his letter after dinner and 
 walked over to Ta Castra to mail it. Polyxene's 
 request that he leave the missionary's caused him 
 to feel a slight hesitation as to visiting the house, 
 yet he argued that nothing should stand in the 
 way of business, and Mr. Ion was certainly the 
 safest person with whom to leave his letter. 
 Moreover, he remembered that the banker Cal- 
 verly had shaved off his beard since becoming 
 gray, and he wished to ask Mrs. Ion if she had 
 ever seen the great man clean-shaven. She had, 
 once, and the fact brought them still closer to- 
 gether. Walter did not succeed in getting a 
 glimpse of Polyxene, as the girl was absent from 
 the house on one of those missions which took 
 her to the sea-shore or the mountain-side. Hav- 
 ing left his letter, Walter walked back again, feel- 
 ing that he had begun his business campaign. 
 
 The next day the two guests, in company with 
 
128 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Father Manoles, made an exploration of the mon- 
 astery. They visited many of the empty cells, 
 several of which were still haunted by memories 
 of monks of old time, who had performed mir- 
 acles of fasting or of penance for self-accused 
 sins; the prayers of this brother had been an- 
 swered in miraculous manner, the life of that had 
 been prolonged by divine favor, another had been 
 visited each night in his cell by the spirit of Saint 
 Anthony, with whom he had been heard plainly 
 talking. 
 
 Of these things Father Manoles told them, but 
 it was in the great, dark wine cave, with its rows 
 of barrels and its one great tun, for which the 
 monastery was famous, that he grew eloquent. 
 Standing in front of it, the fat priest held aloft 
 a candle, and the two strangers looked up as at the 
 roof of a small cottage. 
 
 " They say that the wine in this tun is one hun- 
 dred years old," whispered McKenzie, smacking 
 his lips at the thought of the possibilities, " and 
 they only draw it for the high dignitaries. The 
 last that drank of it was King George, two years 
 ago, and before him, the Metropolitan from 
 Athens. Ah, truly saith the Scripture, ' To him 
 that hath shall be given.' " 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 129 
 
 At the end of the long row of barrels they camei 
 to a wooden door, fastened with a huge padlock 
 and marked with a rudely-drawn black cross. 
 Thrice the monk crossed himself devoutly, bow- 
 ing reverently each time, meanwhile mumbling a 
 prayer. Walter looked inquiringly at McKenzie, 
 who explained, after consulting with Brother 
 Manoles : 
 
 " 'Tis a charnel house they have in there. It 
 is the custom of the Greeks in many places to 
 take up the bodies of the dead after a number of 
 years, to scrape the bones, to wash them in wine 
 and put them away till Resurrection Day in bags. 
 Each bag is labeled, and they fancy 'twill save 
 the Creator trouble at that grand inventory of 
 bones. 'Tis a practical theological idea, and no 
 doubt will be taken in good part by the Creator. 
 Perhaps by this method a man would feel surer 
 of getting all the parts of his own framework. 
 Yet, after all, 'tis an imputation on divine omnip- 
 otence. What think you ? " 
 
 McKenzie, like all Scots, had a gift for theo- 
 logical hair-splitting. 
 
 " I think," replied Walter, " that I'd like to see 
 that pile of bags. This is one of the most — most 
 curious things that I have ever heard of. Is this 
 
130 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the — the universal custom in Greece? That is, 
 do they bury everybody in this way ?" 
 
 " The custom is not universal, but it is quite 
 common." 
 
 The great wine cave was dark, save for the 
 feeble light of the candle held by the old priest, 
 who, in his black cassock with the wide sleeves, 
 suggested rather some evil genius of these lower 
 regions than a fat and jolly monk. 
 
 " What did he say? " asked Walter. McKen- 
 zie and Brother Manoles had been talking- to- 
 gether. 
 
 " He said that the last monk who was laid away 
 here was one Brother Anthesimos, who begged 
 of the Father Superior that the door might 
 be left unlocked, so that the monks could get out 
 on the day of the Resurrection. But the Superior 
 rebuked the dying man, telling him that God, who 
 made the walls of Jericho to fall flat, could unlock 
 a cellar door. And so the monk died, with the 
 Hegoumenos lecturing him on the subject of faith, 
 and as the sermon was not finished when the end 
 came, the remainder of it was delivered to the 
 corpse, or perhaps shouted after the departing 
 spirit. But does not this incident," continued 
 McKenzie, suddenly dropping his voice to that 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 131 
 
 mysterious whisper so characteristic of him, 
 " show us how simple and childlike is the faith of 
 these people ? They confidently expect that those 
 bags, at the sound of Gabriel's trump, will be 
 changed into a throng of monks — that, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, the entire roster of the mon- 
 astery, from its foundation, will stand together 
 in a company, ready to answer the roll-call." 
 
 " I'd like to see those bags," repeated Walter. 
 
 McKenzie talked again with Brother Manoles, 
 and reported : 
 
 " They regard this as a holy place, and do not 
 open it to satisfy mere curiosity. Then, too, they 
 feel that it would be disrespect to their dead 
 brethren should they allow strangers to peer in 
 at their bones." 
 
 "Oh, I see," replied Walter. "Well, 'tis a 
 very natural feeling, and I respect them for it. 
 Just the same, I have an overpowering curiosity 
 to take a peep at those bags piled away in there, 
 those exhibits filed for future reference. If I 
 could get hold of the key, I'd come down here 
 some night and steal a look at them. That would 
 be something to tell the folks at home ! " 
 
 But McKenzie was anxious to get back to his 
 yellow book, so, after tasting the wine in several 
 
133 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 of the barrels, drawn by Brother Manoles into a 
 dipper made from a gourd, they ascended again 
 into the sunlight. 
 
 That very afternoon a little incident occurred 
 that gave to the two guests their first intimation 
 that the rambling old pile in which they were liv- 
 ing had its secret — that the old walls, could they 
 talk, could perhaps tell their own dark story, like 
 the walls of so many of the medieval castles and 
 gray piles of the Rhine and the Mediterranean. 
 McKenzie asked permission to look over the man- 
 uscripts in the drawers in the Father Superior's 
 room, hoping to find some document that might 
 throw light upon the history of the author of the 
 yellow book. The good Father gave him the 
 key to several of the drawers and sat socially 
 sipping a cup of coffee with Ljrthgoe while the 
 Scot rummaged. One of the monks came in to 
 report some matter that required the personal 
 attention of the chief, and the latter, hastily rising, 
 left the room. It was at this moment that the 
 learned Scot, not finding anything of importance 
 in the drawer which he had opened, tried the one 
 just below it, but found it locked. None of the 
 keys upon the ring fitted it. He therefore re- 
 sorted to the simple expedient of pulling the open 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 133 
 
 drawer clear out, and of thrusting his hand into 
 the one below. Extracting a paper, he sat upon 
 his haunches puzzling over it, when the Hegou- 
 menos returned, and walking up to him, glanced 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 The old man's face flushed with anger and then 
 turned pale. Seizing the paper, he wrenched it 
 from McKenzie's grasp, and thrust it out of sight 
 within his cassock. The Scot arose and the two 
 men stood looking at each other : the one inquir- 
 ingly, with an air of deprecation and surprise, 
 and the other with a soul-searching glance from 
 his keen eyes, in which Lythgoe imagined that he 
 detected an expression of mingled fear and anger. 
 McKenzie began to stammer apologies, but the 
 Hegoumenos regained his self-possession and his 
 suavity immediately. Laying his hand affection- 
 ately upon McKenzie's shoulder, he pushed the 
 Scot good-naturedly to a chair and, calling a boy, 
 ordered three cognacs brought in. 
 
 Walter could scarcely restrain his curiosity as 
 to the meaning of this little scene, but realized 
 that the priest would surmise what he was talking 
 about, should he and McKenzie engage in a con- 
 versation in English. He therefore waited till 
 they were alone in the latter's room. 
 
134 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " You must have stumbled upon some of the 
 monks' private papers," ventured Walter, as Mc- 
 Kenzie set the tea-pot with the string handle to 
 boil over a tiny spirit lamp which he produced 
 from his grip. 
 
 " 'Tis a great mystery," whispered the Scot, 
 bending close to Walter and regarding him sol- 
 emnly. " The paper was old and broken at the 
 creases, but the Greek was modern, and in the 
 script of to-day — that is to say, of the last two 
 hundred years. 'Twas a list of moneys and it 
 began, * Brother Loukas, drachmai 55,000 ' ; 
 ' Brother Gregorius, drachmai 60,000.' There 
 were many others, but I only got thus far when 
 the Reverend Father came in. He asked me how 
 much I had read and I told him, and he explained 
 that in old time wealthy men joined the monastery 
 and turned over all their property to the institu- 
 tion and that this was a list of the benefactions 
 thus received. I said to him, ' You must be very 
 wealthy, then ? ' but he replied that they were 
 poor; that a blight had settled upon their orange 
 trees and that there was no longer any market for 
 their wines or oil, and that in all these years their 
 money had got away from them in one way and 
 another. Moreover, he said, wealthy men no 
 
STUMBLING ON A SECRET 135 
 
 longer joined the order and they received no more 
 benefactions from such sources. 'Tis possible, 
 possible. I will not deny that gold is hard to get 
 and easy to go, but how," — and here he had the 
 air of a man suggesting some dark secret, some 
 mystery that no one else could possibly have 
 thought of — "but how do you account for the 
 Reverend Father's perturbation, man? How do 
 you account for that? " 
 
 "Perhaps," suggested Walter, "there may 
 have been some misappropriation of these 
 moneys. They may have got rid of them in some 
 way not creditable to the order." 
 
 " Now I believe you have fathomed the mys- 
 tery," cried McKenzie, pouring the tea into two 
 broken cups. 
 
 The next day Walter walked into Ta Castra 
 again to get another glimpse of Polyxene. He 
 was rewarded this time for his journey, for he not 
 only saw the girl, but had the inexpressible joy 
 of exchanging a few words with her. So intox- 
 icated was he during the entire remainder of the 
 day, that he nearly forgot to mention to McKen- 
 zie that he had had a long talk with Ion. 
 
 " I spoke of the rich monks and mentioned 
 (Brothers Loukas and Gregorius. Their families 
 
136 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 have lived here for the last hundred years, and 
 have always been poor fishermen." 
 
 "Eh?" said McKenzie, "then 'tis a greater 
 mystery than ever. Ah, well, 'tis likely that all 
 these donations were given more than a hundred 
 years — " 
 
 " Polyxene wore a red rose in her hair and she 
 blushed when she saw me," interrupted Walter. 
 " The rose was a dark, blood red, and her cheeks 
 were the color of American beauties." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE CHARNEL HOUSE 
 
 They took their coffee that evening with the 
 Father Superior again, and found the old man in 
 exceptionally good spirits. He had laid aside for 
 the moment, as though it were a black cassock, his 
 severity and habitual dignified reserve, and talked 
 fluently with McKenzie, even going so far as to 
 perpetrate several innocent jokes, at which he 
 laughed with great heartiness. He showed solici- 
 tude, also, as to the comfort of his two guests and 
 asked their pardon half a dozen times for not hav- 
 ing given personal attention to their entertainment 
 before. The duties of his office, he explained, 
 were greater than any one would suppose; and 
 hereupon he became quite confidential, mentioning 
 in detail his numerous responsibilities, and even 
 the shortcomings of the monks and the petty 
 annoyances which they caused him. He evidently 
 was trying to be as agreeable as possible, yet he 
 
 137 
 
138 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 gave the impression of one who was exerting him- 
 self to please. He overdid the thing, somehow, 
 and he was laboring under suppressed excitement. 
 
 As his guests, after repeatedly assuring the 
 reverend gentleman that they were most comfort- 
 able, were leaving, he said something to McKen- 
 zie which caused the latter to turn with sudden 
 animation to Walter. 
 
 " Man, the Reverend Father offers to accom- 
 pany us to the charnel. Father Manoles has in- 
 formed him of your desire to look into the room 
 and he will go with us — now, if you wish. He 
 says that 'tis a very sacred place, the holy of 
 holies, in fact, and that they do not encourage 
 idle curiosity, but he realizes that we are foreign- 
 ers, and he will extend a privilege to us that he 
 would not consider if we were Greeks." 
 
 Walter bowed very low to the white-bearded 
 and imposing monk. " Tell him that we appre- 
 ciate his generosity, and that I should indeed like 
 to see that room ; that it may seem quite natural 
 to him, but that to me it would be an extraordi- 
 nary sight, something — something to tell my 
 friends about and quite different from anything 
 we have in my part of the world. But — " and 
 here the young man's natural courtesy found ex- 
 
THE CHARNEL HOUSE 139 
 
 pression, " tell him not to do it if it is in the least 
 distasteful to him." 
 
 As McKenzie translated, Walter smiled at the 
 priest, that rare smile of his, here mingled with 
 becoming deference. 
 
 " Oriste," ("come on"), said the monk, and 
 taking down a tall candlestick, antique, and of 
 hand-worked brass, from a shelf, he led the way 
 briskly. As they passed into the court, the Rev- 
 erend Father called to Brothers Manoles and 
 Timoleon, the latter a young Albanian, to follow. 
 They descended into the great cellar, and the old 
 man walked ahead, holding high the candle and 
 calling out frequently to those behind him to mind 
 their steps and not fall over any obstacles, or run 
 against the projecting spigots of the wine-barrels. 
 
 When they came to the door of the charnel, the 
 Father Superior crossed himself three times and 
 intoned the same prayer which Brother Manoles 
 had uttered on the previous visit to the wine- 
 cellar : 
 
 "Where are the world's ambitions ; where its vain show ; 
 where are the gold and silver; where is the throng of 
 toilers and the tumult? All dust, all ashes, all shadow. But 
 come, we will cry to the Everlasting King : God of the ages, 
 deem worthy these who have gone down among us, giving 
 them rest in Thy eternal joy." 
 
140 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Handing the candle to Brother Manoles, the 
 Hegoumenos selected a key from a bunch hanging 
 at the end of a long chain attached to his girdle, 
 removed the padlock and threw the door wide. 
 
 " Oriste," he said again, that polite expression 
 which means almost anything in Greek, and the 
 sense of which is determined by the circumstances. 
 " Oriste, I beg of you." 
 
 Walter was peering into a room about twelve 
 feet square, in the center of which was a pyra- 
 midal pile of bags, somewhat larger than flour 
 sacks, all full. Each was gathered at one end to 
 a pucker and tied with a rope. He could scarcely 
 realize that this was a cemetery, that here were the 
 mortal remains of many generations of holy 
 Brothers, and that the men in long cowls standing 
 by his side expected to be laid away in this silent 
 and peaceful fellowship when their quiet lives in 
 the cloister above should be finished. This was 
 rather a storeroom. The imagination found it 
 hard to transform this pile of bags into an5rthing 
 but a heap of sacks filled with grain, to be made 
 into bread and washed down with wine from the 
 rows of dark barrels among which the uncertain 
 rays of the candle were playing hide and seek. 
 
 The Hegoumenos looked sharply into Walter's 
 
THE CHARNEL HOUSE 141 
 
 face and seemed to read there something, not ex- 
 actly of incredulity, but of failure of effect, for 
 he stepped into the room, and untying one of the 
 sacks, poured its contents rattling upon the floor. 
 
 "God of the ages, deem worthy these who have gone 
 down from among us, giving them rest in Thy eternal joy,'' 
 
 repeated Brothers Manoles and Timoleon, cross- 
 ing themselves, and the Hegoumenos responded 
 reverently, " Amen ! For the ages of ages ! " 
 
 This good brother, so the Hegoumenos ex- 
 plained, had passed away some sixty years ago, 
 and when the Creator wanted his framework 
 again on the last day, here it was : an incredible 
 jumble of small bones, the great goggling pelvis, 
 osseus clubs, curving ribs, and the unsightly skull, 
 grinning, grinning, at the littleness of life and the 
 folly of human pride. 
 
 " All dust, all ashes, all shadow," repeated Mc- 
 Kenzie in Greek, and the Father Superior replied : 
 
 "All things are vanity, save those which live after death; 
 
 for wealth does not befriend us, neither does glory 
 
 go with us. 
 Therefore we will lift up our voices to Christ, our King." 
 
 Brothers Manoles and Timoleon gathered up 
 the bones and replaced them in the sack, after 
 
143 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 which the Hegoumenos again locked the door and 
 the party turned to leave the cellar. Brother 
 Manoles could not get by the wine-barrels, how- 
 ever, without proposing that the Superior proffer 
 the hospitality of the place to the guests of the 
 monastery, — a suggestion not entirely disinter- 
 ested, as his own deep potation proved. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A STARTLING DISCOVERY 
 
 That night Walter and McKenzie sat up till 
 late, the latter deep in Brother Heracles' attack 
 upon Origen, the former immersed in mingled 
 thoughts of Polyxene and a scheme to send out a 
 Greek courier to the various islands, notifying the 
 wine-makers to store up all their argols from now 
 on. 
 
 Occasionally McKenzie would hum the air of 
 a Chios love ditty and would murmur, " We 
 ought to go to Santorine, we ought to go to San- 
 torine." 
 
 As Walter arose at last to go to bed, McKenzie 
 came close to him and, taking him by the lapel of 
 the coat, whispered, " You could not rest till you 
 saw the cemetery, — I, too, have a notion which I 
 can not get out of my head." 
 
 "Yes?" I 
 
 " Yes. I must taste the wine that is a hundred 
 
 143 
 
144 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 years old ; I must even have a bottle of it to take 
 away with me." 
 
 " Well, perhaps if we asked the Father Superior 
 for it—" 
 
 " I have not the assurance. 'Tis only given to 
 kings and princes of the Church. But I did not 
 tell you of all my notion. I think if 'twere given 
 me I should not prize it so much. I should feel 
 that it could be had for the asking. I would be- 
 come a midnight marauder. I would prowl 
 through the bowels of the earth, man" — he 
 touched Walter on the chest with the tips of two 
 fingers — " taste the precious stuff and take away 
 some of it. 'Twould be an adventure worth the 
 telling and they would not miss it." 
 
 " I'm with you ! " cried Walter. " I'd like to 
 take a small vial of it home to my uncle." 
 
 Tiptoeing to the door, he looked out into the 
 court. 
 
 " All is quiet as the grave," he reported. 
 
 McKenzie, after turning his grip inside out 
 and peering beneath the bed and into every cor- 
 ner of the room, took up the tea-pot with the 
 string handle. 
 
 " There's nothing to bring it in but this," he 
 said, " and this will do very well. If they see us 
 
A STARTLING DISCOVERY 145 
 
 in the court, they will think we have been after 
 water for tea." 
 
 Putting several pieces of candle in their pockets, 
 they silently stole into the court and down the 
 steps. Entering the cellar, the Scot lighted a bit 
 of candle, and walked straight to the immense 
 tun. 
 
 " Wait a moment," whispered Walter, " till I 
 find the gourd." 
 
 " Never mind the gourd, man, we'll e'en drink 
 it from the nozzle," replied the Scot, who was 
 already drawing some of the precious liquid into 
 the tea-pot. 
 
 " It's good," said Walter, after taking a copi- 
 ous draft, " but I can't see much difference 
 between it and the wine that Brother Manoles 
 gave us from that little barrel yonder." 
 
 " Ah, ye have not the discriminating taste," 
 replied McKenzie, smacking his lips. " Man, 'tis 
 like the old, sweet wine, the pure divine drink, in 
 casks fitted in order against the wall in the house 
 of Odysseus. Take another sip. You'll never 
 taste its like again." 
 
 " Hush, what's that? " said Walter. 
 
 The door at the entrance of the cellar creaked. 
 
 "There's some one coming," whispered Mc- 
 
146 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Kenzie, blowing out the candle and leaving him- 
 self and his companion in profound darkness. 
 " 'Twill be awkward if we are caught stealing the 
 wine." 
 
 There was a sound, as of a door closing, and 
 then a faint uncertain light streamed down the 
 steps and into the cellar. The dark body of a 
 man soon appeared, and the Father Superior came 
 shufHing down the narrow passage between the 
 rows of casks, the tiny flame of the candle gleam- 
 ing redly and ineffectually in the deep darkness, 
 like one star in the blackness of the night. In 
 the wan light and contrasted with the blackness 
 of his robe, his face appeared strangely pallid, 
 as though he were the ghost of one of those monks 
 whose bones were heaped there in the room be- 
 yond; an effect which was not lessened by the 
 snowy whiteness of his hair and beard. On he 
 came, shuffling along the passage, his eyes gleam- 
 ing with a fixity and a certain uncanny lust that 
 was out of keeping with his venerable and holy ap- 
 pearance, as though he were some malign spirit 
 masquerading as an aged monk, or as if he were a 
 Father of the Church walking in a devil-suggested 
 dream. 
 
 McKenzie seized Lythgoe by the arm and 
 
A STARTLING DISCOVERY 147 
 
 pulled him softly back toward the rear of the great 
 tun. But it is not likely that the Hegoumenos 
 would have seen the two strangers, had they re- 
 mained where they were, for he was looking 
 straight ahead and mumbling to himself as he 
 passed. They heard him fumble with the lock, 
 open the door and pass into the charnel ; heard him 
 repeat again, in a hurried mechanical way, a few 
 words of that sublime prayer for those who have 
 gone down into darkness : " God of the ages, 
 give them rest in Thy eternal joy." 
 
 "What in the world is he doing in there?" 
 asked Walter. 
 
 The Hegoumenos was busy for some little time, 
 as faint sounds, proceeding from within, indi- 
 cated. Then, after a moment's silence, there was 
 a jingling noise, as of nails, or bits of metal being 
 poured into a heap. 
 
 " That's not bones," whispered Walter, but 
 McKenzie pinched his arm as a warning to 
 silence. 
 
 Shortly after, the sound was repeated. Unable 
 to restrain their curiosity, the American and the 
 Scot tiptoed to the end of the tun, and, thrusting 
 out their heads, peeped toward the door of the 
 little room. Their eyes beheld such a sight as it 
 
148 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 has been permitted to few men to look upon. The 
 old monk was working by the light of a candle 
 which he had set upon a shingle fastened to a 
 post. He had dug a hole into the pyramid of 
 sacks, and even as they looked, he lifted one of 
 them out, evidently with great difficulty, and by 
 the exertion of all his powers. Untying the rope 
 around the end, he poured upon the floor, thereby 
 augmenting a very considerable pile which he had 
 already made, a cataract of shining, golden, jing- 
 ling coins. Tossing the empty sack into a heap 
 with the others, he lifted his black cassock fe) his 
 waist, revealing his trousers, and sat down astride 
 the pile of money with a deep sigh of content- 
 ment. Then he ran his hands into it repeatedly, 
 letting the coins trickle through his fingers. And 
 as he did this he laughed, a low chuckling sound 
 that gurgled from his throat in dying ripples, like 
 the laugh of an idiot or of a man just coming out 
 of the effects of an anesthetic. 
 
 " Come after me, man," whispered McKenzie, 
 " and be sure you make no noise." 
 
 They stole from the place in the darkness, much 
 wondering. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE 
 
 McKenzie and Lythgoe took a long walk in 
 the woods, the next day, to talk over their strange 
 discovery. They did not believe that any one 
 connected with the monastery understood Eng- 
 lish, yet the atmosphere of mystery and tragedy 
 had so thickened about them that they felt them- 
 selves in one of those medieval piles whose very 
 walls have ears. They were so impressed by that 
 weird, unearthly spectacle of last night, that ven- 
 erable monk transformed into a subterranean gob- 
 lin, a gibbering gnome ; so overwhelmed by a sense 
 of unreality and incredible hypocrisy, that they 
 did not feel comfortable while conferring 
 earnestly together. Moreover, McKenzie' s habit- 
 ual whisper had now become so low that it was 
 impossible to understand him till he had repeated 
 the same sentence half a dozen times. 
 
 Sitting at the breakfast table in the great hall, 
 
 149 
 
150 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 indeed, Walter found it difficult to believe that 
 last night's revelation had not been a nightmare. 
 The Father Superior was most courtly and 
 gracious, and, as he bowed his head in the silent 
 orthodox grace, making the sign of the cross, a 
 ray of golden sunlight fell upon his gray poll and 
 beard, seeming to envelop him in the sacred splen- 
 dor of an aureole. There was something so 
 wholesome, too, in the healthy appetites of Broth- 
 ers Manoles and Myrianthuses, so much good fel- 
 lowship in their jolly fat countenances, that it was 
 hard even to realize the existence of that charnel 
 room below, waiting to receive, in turn, the bones 
 of this generation. 
 
 After wishing the monks " Good morning " 
 and promising Brother Manoles that they would 
 return in time for luncheon, to try a certain 
 famous dish which he had ordered for that day, 
 Lythgoe and McKenzie struck out vigorously on 
 a path leading into the woods and up the mountain 
 side. 
 
 " Those are your benefactions that you read 
 about in the list," cried the former, much excited, 
 as soon as they had got well away from the build- 
 ings. " The moneys given by Brothers Loukas, 
 Gregorius and the rest. The people in the village 
 
A NARROW ESCAPE 151 
 
 must be mistaken — that is, Ion must be. Why, 
 here's the proof of it. We saw the money our- 
 selves. Now, how much do you estimate there 
 could have been in that pile ?" 
 
 " I have not the least idea," sighed McKenzie, 
 and then, smiling whimsically, " I know less of 
 gold than of any other commodity, having had 
 less experience in the handling of it. But there 
 was a great sum, a great sum, I wonder, man," 
 he stopped suddenly and seized Walter by the 
 lapel of his coat. Thrusting his face close down 
 to that of his companion, he regarded him for 
 several moments with a look of solemn inquiry. 
 
 "Wonder what?" asked Walter. "Why 
 don't you speak ? " 
 
 " I wonder," whispered McKenzie, " whether 
 that can be some great collection of ancient 
 coins ? " 
 
 Walter laughed. 
 
 " You'd look at a Chicago murder mystery 
 from an archaeological standpoint, somehow," he 
 replied. 
 
 " If they are antique coins and I can publish 
 them to the world, man," he cried, " my name is 
 made among scholars for ever." 
 
 The hill was very steep here and the path nar- 
 
153 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 row, so they climbed on for some distance in In- 
 dian file, without speaking. 
 
 " Stop, Mac," said Walter at last. " Hold on 
 a minute. I've an idea. I don't believe that the 
 other monks know anything about that treasure 
 down there. I believe it's the Father Superior's 
 own pile, that he has hoarded up and hidden away. 
 You could see what a miser he is. I've read about 
 such things and seen them on the stage, but I 
 always thought the description exaggerated. I 
 didn't believe the reality could be like that. That 
 was real genuine gloating. And did you hear 
 him chuckle ? " 
 
 " But why," asked the Scot, " why, if it is his, 
 should he keep it hidden away, and not drawing 
 interest ? Why should he visit it in the middle of 
 the night, like a thief?" 
 
 "Well, you see," replied the other, " if he got 
 it by peculation, by misappropriating funds — 
 then too, the man is a miser, pure and simple. 
 He loves to run his fingers through it. It's his 
 bride. He thinks he is running his fingers 
 through her hair." 
 
 " But," objected the Scot, " the revenues of the 
 monastery are small and have been for a long 
 time. He could never embezzle so great a sum." 
 
A NARROW ESCAPE 153 
 
 They were not far from the top now. The 
 path at this point lay between walls of rock per- 
 haps ten feet high, that grew lower and finally 
 disappeared altogether as the path neared the 
 ridge. Above them the hill rose in an abrupt 
 truncated cone, upon whose hither edge was a 
 large round rock, considerably projecting. 
 
 " Let's rest a wee bit before making that final 
 climb," said McKenzie, dropping down on an in- 
 viting log that lay right across the path. " Ah, 
 if we had some of that old wine now," he con- 
 tinued, wiping his brow with a large red hand- 
 kerchief, " or a nice hot cup of genuine Oolong." 
 
 " Let's wait till we get to the top," said Walter. 
 " That rock up there makes me nervous. If it 
 should come rolling down here, there'd be no es- 
 cape for us." 
 
 McKenzie glanced upward. " It has been there 
 for a thousand years and it will be there still when 
 you and I are forgotten. My legs are longer than 
 yours and when they weary in the whole length 
 of them, as now, my weariness is greater than 
 yours." 
 
 " Mac," said Lythgoe, " you don't suppose it's 
 possible that money was got by robbery, or any- 
 thing of that kind ? After what I saw last night, 
 
154 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 I'm ready to believe anything. Perhaps this is a 
 den of brigands masquerading as monks, and the 
 list that you read enumerates the results of suc- 
 cessful raids made by different brethren." 
 
 " Hm, — I don't know whom they'd rob in 
 Andros. The whole island is one of the poorest 
 in the Mediterranean and has been since the dawn 
 of history. Besides, 'tis a peaceful island, and 
 brigandage is unknown here." 
 
 " They've a caique down there. They might 
 sail away, make a haul somewhere and then come 
 back again. But no, that doesn't seem likely. 
 Old Brother Manoles is no brigand, ' neither is 
 Myrianthuses." 
 
 "'Tis more like, man," began McKenzie, but 
 he never finished his sentence, for Walter caught 
 him by the arm and pointed to the top of the 
 ravine. 
 
 A noise, a scraping, and the sound of a tiny 
 avalanche of loose dirt and pebbles had attracted 
 his attention. And now as they looked, the faces 
 of the two men blanched with sudden and help- 
 less fear. The great rock was evidently sway- 
 ing upon its precarious seat. It tilted slightly 
 forward, while more pebbles fell, and then settled 
 back again in its accustomed place. 
 
A NARROW ESCAPE 155^ 
 
 " God help us," cried Walter, " the rock is 
 falling. We must climb out of here ! " 
 
 Both men sprang to the sides of the ravine and 
 attempted to scramble up the rocky wall. But 
 it was too sheer and there was no projection into 
 which they could grip their hands. A muffled 
 crash, a grinding thud, and they saw the huge 
 boulder at the top of the pyramid. It made one 
 or two slow revolutions, then started toward them 
 with fearful velocity, whirling like an asteroid, 
 scattering the stones before it in the increasing 
 impetuosity of its rush, and throwing off a spray 
 of rock from its own periphery. In rainbow leaps 
 and bounds it came on, as though too full of its 
 new freedom, after ages of inactivity, to endure 
 longer the downward drag of the earth. It 
 spurned the ground, and ricochetted in rude joy, 
 ponderous, yet light as a child's pebble skipping 
 on the bosom of a lake. The helpless men turned 
 and ran down the path for a short distance, yield- 
 ing to the unreasoning instinct of fear, then, hear- 
 ing close behind them the crashing of the great 
 rock in its progress, fell flat upon their faces. At 
 such times the most thoughtless human — yes, 
 even the infidel — prays, and Walter shut his eyes 
 and gasped, " God save me, God save me f " 
 
156 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 A moment later they were both sitting up in 
 the path, looking into the woods below, through 
 which the rock was crashing, laying the smaller 
 trees low as though it had been a cannon ball 
 rolling through reeds. They saw it strike a stal- 
 wart pine, a lord of the forest, split into halves, 
 and thus continue its course. One of the frag- 
 ments stopped soon, but the other could be heard 
 long after the shaking tree-tops no longer be- 
 trayed its presence, crashing, crashing far below. 
 
 Walter looked at his companion for some time 
 in wonderment, and then his overwrought nerves 
 found voice in a mirthless laugh. McKenzie, 
 who was pale as a sheet, took him by the lapel of 
 the coat, and bending close, whispered solemnly, 
 " Man, yon big stone must have jumped over 
 us!" 
 
 No longer tired, they ran up the steep incline 
 and examined the place where the great rock had 
 been but a moment before. Walter pointed to 
 some marks in the earth, and they both, falling 
 upon their knees, examined them carefully. 
 
 " A crowbar," said Lythgoe. 
 
 " There can be no doubt about it," replied his 
 companion. " And I shouldn't wonder if we 
 found that Douzinas had come back ! " 
 
A NARROW ESCAPE 157 
 
 Walter's face flushed hotly with anger. 
 
 " If so," he cried, " he must have gone down 
 by the path on this side. If I catch him, I'll 
 waste no sentiment on him this time ! " 
 
 He was gone, leaping down the rocky way, Mc- 
 Kenzie following and shouting to him to turn 
 back. The search was fruitless and they both 
 returned to the monastery as quickly as possible. 
 
 " It couldn't have been one of the Brothers," 
 whispered McKenzie, " for they are all here." 
 
 " One of the monks ? By Jove, I never 
 thought of that ! " 
 
 Walter walked into Ta Castra and looked 
 about. If Spiro had returned, he certainly had 
 not put into that port. 
 
 " Man," said the Scot that night, looking up 
 from the yellow book, " I have been prowling in 
 the Father's library again, looking for old manu- 
 scripts, and hoping that I might find something 
 else that would throw light on the list of moneys. 
 But there was nothing, nothing. As I expected, 
 the Hegoumenos offered me every facility. If 
 there was anything else, he has removed it." 
 
 " Of course," replied Walter, " what else could 
 you expect ? " 
 
 He sat smoking for half an hour in silence, 
 
158 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 while McKenzie studied. " Well, good night, 
 old man," said Walter at last, rising to retire. 
 " What is this ? " His eyes had fallen upon a 
 tiny volume, lying upon the table, bound in silver 
 filigree work. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis a prayer-book in the Italian tongue. 
 I found it behind a row of big volumes, where it 
 had fallen down. I brought it with me, as I am 
 a little rusty in the Italian language, and this is a 
 bit archaic. I must speak to the Father about it. 
 I do not believe he saw me bring it away." 
 
 Walter examined the binding curiously, and as 
 he did so, he turned pale and then his face flushed 
 with excitement. He was studying a design 
 wrought out upon the cover in the dark-colored, 
 oxidized silver. 
 
 " May I take this with me, may I take it? " he 
 asked eagerly. "I — I would like to see if I 
 remember any Italian myself ! " 
 
 "I shall not care for it to-night," replied the 
 Scot. " I shall be busy till the wee hours with my 
 new saint here." 
 
 Walter left the room, carrying the little book 
 with him. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 
 
 Walter sat for a long time in his room, deeply 
 thinking. Very often he looked at the design 
 upon the cover of the little book. An idea was 
 taking shape in his brain, and a purpose, a plain of 
 action was forming there, the result of the idea. 
 The convent clock chimed softly, yet with weird 
 distinctness in the silence of the night, sounding 
 the hour of twelve. A nightingale burst into 
 song there in the court and his heart went out to 
 Polyxene with unutterable longing. 
 
 He would not confide in McKenzie, he de- 
 cided, until he had looked into this matter him- 
 self. He would do this thing for his sweetheart 
 alone, none other should share in it. He was 
 thinking of the story which Polyxene had told him 
 of her origin, all that she knew and all that she did 
 not know. If there should be something else be- 
 sides coin in those bags, he soliloquized, some- 
 
 169 
 
160 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 thing that would complete the story? If there 
 were anything more to be learned, here in the 
 monastery was the place to look for it ; there could 
 be no question about that. 
 
 Rising, he took his candle and stepped out on 
 the porch, or that part of the cloister shading the 
 door of his cell. Not a sound was to be heard, 
 save the wind in the trees on the mountain side; 
 there was no light but that of the stars spangling 
 the sky, and the feeble, yellow glow cast upon one 
 of the windows of the dining-room, from the oil 
 lamp kept constantly burning before the eikon 
 of the Blessed Virgin. Satisfying himself that 
 the doors to all the cells wherein the monks were 
 sleeping were closed, he stole across the court and 
 descended the flight of steps leading to the wine 
 cave. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he 
 lighted his candle and walked rapidly down the 
 long passage between the tuns, straight to the 
 door of the charnel. As he went, he drew a 
 bunch of keys from his pocket, dexterously sep- 
 arating one of the largest from the rest with his 
 finger and thumb. The lock upon the door was 
 an old-fashioned affair, of simple make, and he 
 was in hopes that he should be able to release it 
 with some other key than the one made for it. 
 
THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 161 
 
 To his surprise, he found the door shghtly ajar, 
 the lock hanging open in the staple. His first 
 thought was that the Hegoumenos was within, in 
 the dark, and he blew out his candle hurriedly and 
 listened for a minute, for ten minutes, his heart in 
 his mouth. All was silence. If the old man 
 were there, thought Walter, he would certainly 
 have betrayed his presence by some slight sound, 
 for the ten minutes of suspense seemed ten hours 
 and it was impossible that a man should not have 
 stirred or breathed in that time. Pushing open 
 the door, the American thrust his head within — 
 into the blackness of a Cimmerian cave. 
 
 The Hegoumenos must have been there al- 
 ready, concluded Walter. He had gone away 
 and forgotten to lock the door. Walter decided 
 that he could take his time, then, for he would 
 have three hours before him, without fear of in- 
 terruption. Entering the room, he lit his candle, 
 and dripping a little of the wax upon the shingle 
 projecting from the post, set the taper upright. 
 He then approached the pyramid of sacks and 
 was just lifting the one at the apex away, when 
 he heard a sound that set every faculty upon the 
 alert and caused him to pause and stand there, 
 his very soul listening. There could be no doubt 
 
163 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 of it: that shuffling tread of the old monk com- 
 ing nearer, nearer! The deHberate scraping of 
 his feet upon the cement floor, far off at first, and 
 scarcely perceptible except to an ear rendered pre- 
 ternaturally alert, grew more and more distinct. 
 Walter took for granted that the old man was 
 coming from the direction of the wine cellar, and 
 the dominance of the mind over the senses caused 
 the illusion to persist for some seconds. Spring- 
 ing noiselessly to the shelf, he plucked down the 
 candle and blew it out. Then he crowded back 
 into a corner of the room and waited, striving in 
 his despair to frame some sort of excuse : his great 
 curiosity, his — He could see in imagination 
 that grisly specter coming down the long subter- 
 ranean passage, ever approaching nearer, as plain- 
 ly as though his physical eyes were resting upon 
 it ; but it was not until the sound of the footsteps 
 was so distinct that they seemed in the very 
 charnel, that Walter became aware by a sudden 
 revelation, the ultimate dominance of sense over 
 mind, that the monk was not approaching through 
 the wine cellar, but from the opposite direction. 
 There was a grating sound, and a squeak, as of a 
 panel sliding; light streamed into the room, and 
 the Hegoumenos stepped into view. Closing the 
 
THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 163 
 
 Opening in the wall behind him, he shuffled on 
 through the room, crossing himself as he passed 
 the sacks. Closing the door behind him, he 
 locked it, leaving the American standing there in 
 the dark, alone with the bones of all those gen- 
 erations of monks and the golden treasure which 
 they guarded. Again could be heard the shuffling 
 of the Holy Father's feet upon the cement floor, 
 but now the sound grew ever less distinct and at 
 last tapered into silence. 
 
 Had Walter been less stout of heart, he would 
 have cried out, and thus have gained release from 
 his uncomfortable position. It must be confessed, 
 too, that his first feeling as the monk passed 
 without observing him was one of relief at his 
 temporary escape from detection in proximity to 
 the treasure. He feared nothing so much as the 
 probable imputation that he was there for the 
 purpose of abstracting some of the golden coins 
 — an act of which he was of course at that time 
 incapable. No, he would let the Father Supe- 
 rior go, and would trust to his wits or to chance 
 to get out undetected. At any rate, the eccle- 
 siastical miser would make his regular visit to- 
 morrow night, and then Walter might be able to 
 slip out, or, at the worst, then would be time 
 
164 THE' MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 enough to reveal himself. But here a horrible 
 thought arose in his mind: Suppose the He- 
 goumenos did not come the next night ? Suppose 
 he did not visit the place regularly and should not 
 come again in a week — in a month? Why, 
 then, Walter thought, McKenzie would look for 
 him. But no, perhaps not. Would not McKen- 
 zie take for granted that he had been made away 
 with by Spiro, and be scouring the woods for him, 
 while he was starving to death down there in that 
 underground prison ? At any rate, he should get 
 no help inside of twenty-four hours. He won- 
 dered how hungry and thirsty a man got in that 
 time? He might as well do what he came there 
 for anyway. The Superior would surely not be 
 back again that night. 
 
 Lighting his candle and setting it again upon 
 the shelf, he attacked the pile of bags resolutely, 
 tossing them into a heap at the bottom of the 
 pyramid as he dug straight down through its 
 center. The bags were light and rattled grue- 
 somely as he handled them or as they fell upon the 
 floor. 
 
 As he worked he thought of McKenzie's trans- 
 lation : " All dust, all ashes, all shadow." 
 
 Tied to each end of the ropes that bound the 
 
THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 165 
 
 mouths was a tag^, and he attempted to read the 
 writing upon one of these, but it was in Greek 
 script, with which he was entirely unfamiliar, and, 
 besides, he would scarcely have been able to de- 
 cipher it, had it been in the ordinary text. As 
 he had told his uncle, little of his college training 
 remained with him save the glees and the ath- 
 letics. There were in all about three hundred bags 
 in the pile, but it did not take him long to find 
 what he was after. It was necessary to stand 
 upon the packages, that he might reach down into 
 the hole that he was digging, and occasionally a 
 tibia or femur snapped dryly beneath his weight, 
 or the smaller bones crunched into powder. The 
 first time this happened, he was conscious of a 
 sickening feeling, a shock of horror, as of one 
 who has committed a sacrilege, but this soon 
 passed away in the absorption of his quest. The 
 bags containing the gold were in the center not 
 far from the bottom. The first one that he seized 
 pulled him sprawling. Exerting his strength, 
 he lifted it out, and then, standing over it, raised 
 and lowered it several times, estimating that it 
 weighed about fifty pounds. 
 
 There were ten of the heavy bags in all, and 
 after Walter had got them all together, he opened 
 
166 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 them one by one and examined their contents. 
 They all contained gold, yellow gold, and the ma- 
 jority of the pieces were somewhat smaller than 
 English pounds and inscribed with letters which 
 were unfamiliar to him, but which reminded him 
 of an Arabic inscription he had once seen. He 
 took for granted that they were Turkish, There 
 were Spanish coins, too, of larger size, great disks 
 of gold struck for the buying of men's souls and 
 for the price of murder, piracy and many a name- 
 less deed ; with French napoleons and the roubles 
 of Russia, marked with the shrewd, stolid, liber- 
 tine face of her greatest, most Christian, most 
 licentious queen. 
 
 Walter was about three quarters of an hour 
 going through the sacks, but if he had hoped to 
 find anything within them that might throw any 
 light upon the secret of their acquisition, or the 
 source from which all this wealth sprang, he was 
 doomed to disappointment. Of one thing only 
 he satisfied himself: none of the dates upon the 
 coins was later than the year 1820. He did not 
 examine them all, of course, but as many as he 
 glanced at, selected at random, antedated that 
 year and some were much older. Yet, despite 
 this fact, they were in general bright and little 
 
THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 167 
 
 worn, as though belonging to a hoard that had 
 been laid aside after collection and not put into 
 circulation. 
 
 There was an eleventh bag, not quite so heavy 
 as each of the ten, whose contents, nevertheless, 
 were presumably of great value, for they consisted 
 principally of jewelry: ropes of pearls, a dainty 
 coronet starred with big diamonds, crystal crosses 
 set in gold and fringed with diamonds, a reli- 
 quary set with a large sapphire, brooches not a 
 few, bracelets, rings, pendants. There was much 
 filigree and open work in fantastic designs, and 
 grouping of precious stones, diamonds, rubies, 
 emeralds, in showy clusters. As this pile of bar- 
 baric adornment lay on the floor, the gold shone 
 with a dull gleam in the dim light, but several of 
 the gems burned fiercely, like the eyes of serpents 
 lurking in the grass. Walter held each of the 
 large objects so that the rays of the candle might 
 fall on it, but laid them down in turn until he 
 picked up at last a solid silver box, narrow and 
 long, for cigarettes, perhaps, or snuff, or in- 
 tended as a dainty receptacle for a lady's toilet. 
 There was some design upon the cover of this 
 which he could not distinguish, so he sprang to 
 his feet and held the box close to the candle. 
 
168 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 At last ! This was enough to convince him — 
 to convince anybody. These people must be 
 blind, or they would have seen that she was no 
 servant. 
 
 He put the tiny box in his pocket, then took it 
 out and dropped it on the pile, at which he looked 
 as he stood there for some moments in deep 
 thought. 
 
 He would take it, he decided at last with resolu- 
 tion, and run his chances of the monks not missing 
 it. If he should never get down here again, this 
 might be his only proof. He would take it for 
 Polyxene's sake. 
 
 And he put the box into his pocket again. 
 
 Straightening his back, which ached after 
 stooping so long, he pressed his hands against it 
 with a sigh and glanced at the candle. The rim 
 at the top was broken through at one side, allow- 
 ing the wax to run down and form a lump of 
 waste at the base ; not more than two inches of the 
 precious cylinder remained, and the realization 
 of this fact caused Walter to exert himself to the 
 utmost in replacing the precious bags and re- 
 building the pyramid. He did not neglect, how- 
 ever, to detach one of the tags which were tied to 
 the heavy bags as well as to the others, and to 
 
THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 169 
 
 slip it into his pocket. He decided that it would 
 be a good thing to have with him. 
 
 Having finished his task, he stepped to that 
 spot in the wall where the monk had come 
 through, and examined it carefully. He was 
 facing a pine-board partition, neatly sealed, and 
 the sharpest scrutiny detected nothing in this 
 particular spot at all different from the remainder 
 of the wall. Placing both his palms against the 
 boards, he pushed steadily. As he had expected, 
 a rectangle about the size of a very narrow and 
 low door yielded to the pressure and retreated to 
 the depth of an inch or slightly more, thus clear- 
 ing the space into which it was set. It was now 
 easy to slide this panel out of the way and to step 
 through. Taking down the candle, Walter did 
 this and closed the opening behind him. The 
 panel was pulled out from this side, he noticed, 
 by slipping one's finger into a tiny knot-hole, in- 
 geniously left there for that purpose. He was 
 now in a long, low, vaulted passage-way, along 
 which he walked rapidly, shading the candle with 
 his hand, that the breeze generated by his motion 
 might not cause it to burn out too rapidly. 
 
 He decided that he could find his way back 
 there, even if he had no light. He couldn't get 
 
170 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 lost. All he had to do was to turn about and keep 
 going. 
 
 There was nothing of interest in this passage- 
 way, save one door, this also fastened by an old, 
 rusty padlock, as in the case of that admitting to 
 the charnel. The end of the tunnel was reached 
 at last. It had simply been walled up, and ter- 
 minated in a partition of massive, irregular stones, 
 held together by means of cement, after the man- 
 ner of the exterior walls of the building. If this 
 passage formerly opened out anywhere, there was 
 no indication of it now on the exterior, and its 
 very existence must have been forgotten save by 
 those in the secret. 
 
 As Walter stood absorbed in thought his candle 
 guttered and the flame expired. He awoke with 
 a start to a realization of the fact that he was in 
 absolute darkness, and, save for a few Swedish 
 matches, with no means of making a light. He 
 remembered now that locked door which he had 
 noticed, opening into the side of the passage. 
 Feeling his way to the place, he stood before the 
 door, and now, in the absolute and black darkness 
 it seemed to him that exceedingly faint beams of 
 yellow light trickled through the crevices at its 
 side and beneath it; so faint, indeed, that he 
 
THE AMERICAN INVESTIGATES 171 
 
 could not be sure, even after he had stood strain- 
 ing his eyes in the darkness for some minutes. 
 If it was indeed light, it was as indistinct as those 
 shapeless spots of color which sometimes float in 
 space before tightly closed eyes. Taking from 
 his pocket the bunch of keys which he had brought 
 for opening the door of the charnel, he found the 
 lock, and tried one key after another. 
 
 The sense of oppression which had been creep- 
 ing over him but a moment before, of growing 
 uneasiness at the horror of his situation in case 
 relief should be long delayed, now gave way to 
 uncontrollable excitement and his hands trembled 
 so that he could hardly find the hole in the lock 
 with the keys as he tried them, one by one. He 
 must know what was in that room. If he could 
 not get in with these present means, he would 
 find another way. Here was where the Father 
 Super — at this thought he stopped and lis- 
 tened with his ear against the door. It occurred 
 to him that there might be some living person 
 therein, or else, why the light, if indeed it was a 
 light ? Could it be possible that some unfortunate 
 prisoner was confined in this rayless dungeon, 
 some monk, perhaps, who was no longer trusted, 
 or some layman who knew too much? In such 
 
173 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 case, Walter would learn the secret of the treasure 
 viva voce — The lock yielded ! 
 
 That long key with the narrow tongue caught 
 the bolt and drew it. Walter entered the room, a 
 long, narrow apartment, and there was indeed a 
 sort of lamp burning at the farther end : a glass 
 tumbler filled with olive oil, upon whose surface 
 floated a bit of cork transfbced with a wick. The 
 tumbler, thus made luminous, could be seen plain- 
 ly, as could also the eikon of the Virgin, with 
 wide mat of polished brass, before which the light 
 was burning. Numerous dark objects could be 
 dimly discerned scattered about the floor, but in 
 the obscurity of the room, they appeared shape- 
 less and indistinguishable. As Walter stepped 
 eagerly forward toward the light, he felt some 
 soft material beneath his feet, and, looking down, 
 he thought he made out a dark object, lying 
 parallel with the wall, beneath the eikon. Taking 
 down the tumbler with its floating wick, he ex- 
 amined this object, and found it to be a heavy, 
 rough rug, such as Greek peasants weave. Lift- 
 ing this, he discovered that it had been used to 
 cover a skeleton. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HE IS CAUGHT IN A TRAP 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances the bravest man 
 would experience a distinct shock upon being un- 
 expectedly confronted by a skeleton; and if this 
 happened in the dark of an underground chamber, 
 possibly haunted by the memory of some ancient 
 crime, the impression produced would be none the 
 less fear-inspiring. But love, as McKenzie re- 
 marked, is the most powerful of all the gods. 
 Walter was no longer at all hazy or uncertain as 
 to the mental impulse which had sent him prowl- 
 ing among the half-buried secrets of the monas- 
 tery. His eagerness and excitement were now so 
 great that he would probably not have heard the 
 Father Superior,- had the latter at that moment 
 come shufHing into the room. He was kneeling 
 by the skeleton, passing the illuminated tumbler 
 above it, searching every detail. 
 
 Among the bones, inarticulate in many places, 
 173 
 
174 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 yet lying in an order that indicated that they had 
 not been disturbed since the time when they were 
 covered with flesh, were the shreds and remnants 
 of what had once been clothing. Walter took a 
 bit of the fabric between squeamish finger and 
 thumb, and it crumbled like ashes. He gave up 
 all hopes of finding any written testimony there. 
 iBut as he gazed now at the skull, it seemed to have 
 rolled a trifle, as a head might turn upon a neck, as 
 though the eyeless sockets wished to gaze into his 
 own eyes. It was all fancy, of course, yet a feel- 
 ing of companionship with that wreck of a man 
 long dead came over him, and he felt like saying 
 aloud, " You know the secrets of these catacombs 
 and would tell me, too, if you could speak." The 
 skeleton's feet were encased in a pair of high 
 boots, and by its side lay a slender rapier with hilt 
 in shape of a cross, and handle inlaid with pearl. 
 The American threw the rug back over this 
 melancholy sight, and cast his eye hurriedly over 
 the objects about the room. They were mostly 
 domestic utensils, many of them of solid silver, 
 as he judged by the weight, and nearly all of 
 graceful or artistic design. There were solid 
 silver candlesticks and a candelabrum, a brazier 
 of brass, surmounted by a dove with wings out- 
 
HE IS CAUGHT IN A TRAP 175 
 
 Spread, several disks of hammered brass, cov- 
 ered with Turkish inscriptions — evidently table- 
 tops; and numerous urns and vases of various 
 shapes, of copper. These latter were all orna- 
 mented with the same design : running grape-vines, 
 bearing clusters. Walter laughed aloud. Now, 
 he would make Polyxene's dreams come true. 
 He would tell her where that other country was 
 where the nightingales sang — the dead them- 
 selves should tell him her secret ! 
 
 The article which he had picked up and held, 
 a massive silver sugar-bowl, bore upon its side, 
 deeply engraved and plainly visible, an armorial 
 shield, within which were three arrows, arranged 
 after the manner of the bees on the device of the 
 Barberini family. The shield was surmounted 
 by a crown and beneath all were the Greek letters, 
 
 Could any one have peeped in at the door at 
 Walter, he would surely have thought that the 
 young man was losing his mind in this dreadful 
 place, for he continued to laugh, somewhat as 
 the Father Superior had done while gloating over 
 the gold, and he kissed the device upon the sugar- 
 bowl repeatedly. Finally, putting the utensil 
 down, he examined hastily the other objects in the 
 
176 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 room, looking always for the same device. 
 Everything, even to the cheapest candlesticks of 
 filled brass, bore the shield and the coronet, al- 
 though all were not marked with the motto. Sat- 
 isfied at last with his search, he set the primitive 
 lamp back before the eikon upon the shelf. 
 
 The next thing was to effect his escape, if pos- 
 sible, without letting the monks know that he had 
 been in there. He might have to go to Athens or 
 to Rome, and they would make away with the 
 treasure before he got back, if they caught him 
 down here. By Jove, he thought, if they caught 
 him they would never let him out ! They would 
 probably leave him here to keep company with 
 his friend on the floor. Consulting his watch, 
 he found that it was now five o'clock. It would 
 not be safe to remain in this room, since, if any- 
 body came he would not have time to fasten the 
 lock. He therefore went out into the dark corri- 
 dor, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in again 
 throwing home the bolt. His key did not work 
 so well in closing the lock as it had done in re- 
 leasing it. 
 
 What could he do now? There were about a 
 dozen matches in his pocket by which he could, 
 from time to time, consult his watch and ascer- 
 
HE IS CAUGHT IN A TRAP 117 
 
 tain the hour. He stood in the dark passage, 
 racking his brains. The entrance into the charnel 
 was easy, and the door admitting to the wine 
 cellar should not be an impassable obstacle. Pris- 
 oners had escaped from dungeons where the doors 
 were of massive iron. If he had only made a 
 study of such matters! A man should never 
 despise any sort of knowledge, for at some time 
 the most unlikely information or skill may prove 
 useful. Of course, his great hope was that the 
 Father Superior would visit the chamber of the 
 skeleton; Walter would then simply slip by him 
 while he was in the room, pass through the slid- 
 ing panel and out of the charnel, which could not 
 be locked on the inside. But did he make these 
 visits every night? The American began to re- 
 alize that his fate depended upon luck. 
 
 If he were some fellows, he reflected, the He- 
 goumenos would be down inside of an hour. 
 
 He began to feel hungry and found it distinct- 
 ly uncomfortable standing there. The monks 
 would be taking their early coffee soon now — at 
 six o'clock. They had deliciously fresh eggs. 
 If he waited for the Hegoumenos, he asked him- 
 self, how many hours would it be, supposing 
 it were six now? Suppose he came at eleven 
 
178 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the next night: seventeen hours. That would 
 soon pass. It must have been half an hour 
 already, since he had locked the door of the skele- 
 ton's room. 
 
 He scratched one of his matches and found that 
 it was exactly five minutes past five, that only five 
 minutes had elapsed since he last looked. 
 
 He felt he must do something to make the time 
 pass more rapidly. When one is watching time, 
 it goes with dragging steps. Guiding himself 
 by touching the wall with his fingers, he retraced 
 his steps back to the wooden panel and succeeded, 
 after some difficulty, in finding the knot-hole. He 
 even passed into the chamber where the treasure 
 was concealed, but he imagined now that it was 
 heavy with an oppressive and sickening odor, the 
 smell of death, and he did not remain. 
 
 The idea occurred to him to " play " that he 
 was blind, and to promenade up and down to de- 
 termine whether or not his other senses would 
 acquire immediately that added keenness which 
 comes to the aid of the sightless. Curiously 
 enough, when imagining himself blind, he closed 
 his eyes, although the darkness of the vault was 
 already absolute — blue-black. 
 
 As the hours wore slowly on, he grew faint 
 
HE IS CAUGHT IN A TRAP 179 
 
 from hunger, for the stomach of a young man ill 
 brooks delay. 
 
 " If I only had something to spread over the 
 damp floor," he thought, " I would lie or sit 
 down." But the only things he could think of as 
 available for this purpose, were the bags in the 
 charnel, or the rug covering the skeleton in 
 that other room. The grim humor of the thought 
 caused him to laugh aloud. But he stopped 
 abruptly, in the midst of his mirth, and peered 
 searchingly into the darkness. It seemed to him 
 that he had heard his laugh echoed far down the 
 corridor — spectral laughter. Were those foot- 
 falls approaching, almost noiselessly? Where 
 should he flee? But he did not flee. Waiting, 
 he stood with doubled fists, his muscles tense. He 
 realized that it was the dead that he now feared 
 and not the living ; that now, no longer engrossed 
 by his quest, superstition had swooped down upon 
 him and might, unless he were on his guard, 
 throw him into a panic. 
 
 He tried to recover himself, and so modern 
 had been his training and so great was his will 
 power that he managed to carry himself bravely, 
 though the natural man in him caused him to stop 
 now and then and listen, quite mechanically, or 
 
180 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 to cast his eyes over his shoulder, as though to 
 make sure that nothing was approaching from be- 
 hind. Once he apologized to himself that it was 
 not much wonder, for if the dead ever walked, 
 they certainly would haunt this place. 
 
 He passed a whole hour standing by the cham- 
 ber of the skeleton, watching the light beneath the 
 door, which he was able to see quite plainly now. 
 He had never realized before what a cheerful 
 thing light is. The more he studied the question 
 of escape, the less feasible it seemed to him, with- 
 out betraying the secret of his visit to the cellar. 
 'By pounding on the charnel door, he might or 
 might not make the monks hear. The door was 
 of heavy oak, but by throwing himself against it 
 frequently, he might loosen the staple. As his 
 situation grew more insupportable, the temptation 
 to try grew stronger, and once or twice he nearly 
 yielded to it. He restrained himself with the 
 thought that his only chance of getting out was 
 to wait for the Father Superior. Striking an- 
 other match, he looked at his watch again. It 
 was half-past seven. 
 
 Where would the monks think he was? Mc- 
 Kenzie would tell them that he had arisen early 
 and gone into Ta Castra, for the Scot would have 
 
HE IS CAUGHT IN A TRAP 181 
 
 no other idea, knowing his devotion to Polyxene. 
 It was by allowing his thoughts to dwell upon 
 that fair object, by the way, that he caused the 
 time to pass most rapidly. The knowledge that 
 she loved him — and he felt sure of that — came 
 as a ray of cheer into that place of darkness and 
 dead men's bones, and lifted its black influence 
 from his soul; and love walked for many hours 
 in that gloomy vault, from the charnel to the 
 chamber of the skeleton, and back again, and for 
 the first time in centuries there was something 
 besides darkness there. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 FREED BY A CHANCE 
 
 Love is sometimes propitious to her votaries, 
 just as in ancient days Aphrodite befriended those 
 who made offerings to her. Walter's deliverance 
 came earlier that night than he had hoped. A 
 little after ten (he had just consulted his watch 
 with his sixth match) he beheld a faint, twinkling 
 star of light far down the corridor, advancing to- 
 ward him, for he was at that moment near the 
 chamber of the skeleton. Removing his shoes 
 carefully, he retreated beyond the door to a safe 
 distance and waited. At first he could see noth- 
 ing but the point of light, coming on like a will- 
 o'-the-wisp, carried by invisible fairy hands. A 
 hand took shape in the darkness, and a pallid face, 
 the outlines of a black robe, seemingly gathered 
 up out of the darkness itself. It was not the 
 Father Superior. They must all know the secret ! 
 
 The little, gleaming fanatic eyes of Brother 
 
 182 
 
FREED BY A CHANCE 183 
 
 Pandelemon burned redly in his white face, like 
 two baleful stars: Brother Pandelemon, tall, 
 ungainly, loose- jointed, with thin black beard and 
 fleshless face — Brother Pandelemon, the one 
 ascetic, fasting monk beneath the roof of Agia 
 Brysi. He entered the chamber of the skeleton 
 and Walter ran past on noiseless feet, and slid 
 and replaced the panel, pushed the door opening 
 into the wine cellar ajar, and nearly ran into the 
 Father Superior. There, not ten feet off, the old 
 man stood, looking back over his shoulder, listen- 
 ing to confused sounds that came from the upper 
 regions : men running over the wooden floors of 
 the cloister, raucous shouting, the babel of con- 
 fused voices. The Hegoumenos glided away like 
 a frightened ghost, and Walter, following him, 
 escaped into the court, into the fresh sweet air and 
 the light of the stars. 
 
 The whole personnel of the monastery was sur- 
 rounding McKenzie, who, haggard, disheveled, 
 voluble, was discoursing in fluent, excited Greek, 
 bending every moment close to his hearers, with 
 fevered eyes, the while he dropped his voice to a 
 whisper of fearful impressiveness. 
 
 Walter thought he had discovered his absence, 
 and was just now telling them of it. 
 
184 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Crossing the court unobserved, he stepped out- 
 side the gate, that he might give the impression 
 of one just returning from Ta Castra. He waited 
 for a moment, however, before putting his plan 
 into effect and was surprised to see the monks 
 return to their cells, yawning; Brother Manoles 
 was evidently amused, for he laughed as though 
 the entire matter were a joke, while Brother 
 Myrianthuses was annoyed, it was plain to be 
 seen, at having been disturbed. When they were 
 all gone, Walter entered the Scot's cell and sank 
 into a chair. 
 
 " Get me something to eat, for heaven's sake," 
 he said. "I'm starving; I'm faint!" 
 
 McKenzie glanced at him from shaggy eye- 
 brows, then, perceiving that something was 
 wrong, came over to where Walter was sitting 
 and said, as tenderly as a woman : 
 
 "Man, you look sick. Did you have no supper?" 
 
 " I've had nothing to eat since day before yes- 
 terday, and I've got wonderful things to tell — 
 incredible things ! But I can not talk till I have 
 something to eat. Come on, let's go to the 
 kitchen and get something." 
 
 " Wait a bit," said McKenzie, " I'll find some- 
 thing for you." 
 
FREED BY A CHANCE 185 
 
 The Scot left the room and soon returned with 
 a bit of cheese and a huge chunk of black bread. 
 
 " You can e'en wash it down with the hundred- 
 year-old wine," he suggested, producing the tea- 
 pot. 
 
 Walter fell to contentedly. 
 
 " I didn't know that black bread was so good," 
 he remarked a moment later. " Why, our Amer- 
 ican bread can't be compared with it. This — 
 this bread is delicious ! But what was all that 
 huUaballooIheard?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied McKenzie, " such a dream 
 as man never had before ! While you were away 
 in the village, I put in the whole day on the ser- 
 mons of Saint Skylisses, and I have no doubt 
 that my mind became unduly excited — for 'tis 
 a wonderful find, a wonderful find! Man, I 
 thought I was fishing in a river as dark as ink — 
 the waters of Acheron, perhaps. I sat by a tree 
 whose limbs seemed to be fingers twisted and 
 broken with pain and disease. And in my heart 
 was a great fear, I knew not of what. At first 
 it seemed to me that I dreaded the Thing that I 
 was about to draw up from those black waters 
 and then I said, * I will go away from here.' 
 But I could not move; I sat and fished with fatal 
 
186 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 skill for the Thing that I did not want. Though 
 I could not see it, I knew when it was approaching 
 from afar off in the black depths. It came nearer 
 and nearer to the hook, it seized the bait and as I 
 felt the pole tremble, my hair arose on end and 
 my whole body turned cold with horror. I lifted 
 the pole and drew the creature out. It dropped 
 at my feet, a little toad, that for some reason or 
 other nauseated me. I started to laugh at my 
 fears, but too soon, too soon! The creature be- 
 gan to grow, it reached the size of a cat, of a dog, 
 of a tiger. Hopping to the tree, it stood upon 
 its hind legs and sharpened long, curving claws. 
 I wondered what it meant, and even as the 
 thought entered my mind, it slowly turned its 
 neck and rolled its great, fiery, malignant eyes 
 at me. Man, ye have never seen such a look of 
 hate, of lust for blood. I screamed for help, and 
 the good Brothers came hurrying in and awoke 
 me." 
 
 " And now, listen," said Walter, " till I tell you 
 my story, and then we'll put our heads together 
 and see what we can make out of all this. Oh, 
 by the way, read this tag, that I took from one 
 of the bags containing the gold." 
 
 McKenzie complied. 'Twas the name of a 
 
FREED BY A CHANCE 187 
 
 monk, with the date of his birth and death, a sort 
 of paper tombstone. 
 
 " The record that you stumbled on, then," said 
 Walter, " simply means that such and such sums 
 of gold have been put into bags formerly occu- 
 pied by the bones of the monks whose names are 
 given." 
 
 Walter began to tell his story, but had not pro- 
 ceeded further than half a dozen sentences when 
 he yielded to fatigue and fell asleep in his chair. 
 McKenzie lifted him as tenderly as though he had 
 been a child and laid him upon the bed. The 
 American did not awake until noon. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE TREASURE AND THE SKELETON 
 
 " Man, I never dreamed anything like that ! " 
 Walter had just finished relating to McKenzie 
 his adventures in the underground regions of the 
 monastery. The two men were sitting close in 
 the Scot's room and were talking low. 
 
 "And did you notice," replied the American, 
 " how absolutely simple and innocent they all 
 acted at lunch to-day? Isn't the Father Superior 
 a very able Jekyll-Hyde, though? Now listen, 
 while I tell you what I make of all this, and what 
 I propose to do. Polyxene's grandfather — " 
 
 "Oh, man," interrupted the Scot, "you're in 
 that frame of mind that you'd bring Miss Poly- 
 xene into any discussion or plans that might 
 enter your head." 
 
 "Damn it, don't interrupt me till you hear what 
 I have to say ! " snapped Walter, but added imme- 
 diately : " Oh, I beg your pardon, old man, but 
 
 iss 
 
THE TREASURE AND THE SKELETON 189 
 
 I'm tremendously worked up over this thing, 
 and besides, I haven't got over my night in the 
 cellar yet. Polyxene is descended from a baby 
 that was mysteriously produced by the monks of 
 this same monastery in May of 1822. Nobody 
 ever knew where he came from and nobody ever 
 has been able to find out. The Brothers, of 
 course, preserved secrecy as an obligation con- 
 nected with their sacred calling. Where did that 
 baby come from? Naturally, being — well — 
 being in love with Polyxene, I have studied my- 
 self dizzy over that baby. He couldn't have 
 dropped from heaven, and if he had been a prod- 
 uct of this gossiping, prying little community, 
 somebody would have chanced on the secret 
 sooner or later. Very well — don't get impa- 
 tient, I'm coming to it. You and I go down cel- 
 lar to get some of that old wine and we discover 
 that this ancient building has its skeleton in the 
 closet — its mystery. The Father Superior is a 
 miser and he gloats nightly over bags of money 
 concealed among the bones of the dead. Natur- 
 ally, I am thinking of Polyxene all the time. To 
 me she is the chief mystery of the island. I do 
 not take her for granted, as these people have 
 learned to do. Now, I have one little clue to her 
 
190 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 origin. This, I think, will surprise you : she has 
 an old trunk, a cypress-wood box, bound with 
 brass nails, in which the clothing of the little 
 foundling of 1822 was kept. The Brothers 
 turned it over with the child. 'Tis an antiquated 
 afifair, but it bears one mark that means a great 
 deal to me. She told me when we — that is, 
 when I — or rather, in our talks together, that 
 she didn't feel at home here, that the nightingales 
 — Mac, I suppose this sounds silly to you ! " 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied McKenzie, " I under- 
 stand such things better than you suppose." 
 
 " Well, that trunk had been covered after it 
 became old, with some sort of tough, yellow 
 leather, probably pig-skin. This has become loose 
 at one end and has peeled away, and under the 
 leather is a mark, a coat of arms, — a crown, and 
 beneath it a shield, marked with three arrows! 
 I saw it on her porch the other day, standing so 
 close that I could not be mistaken." Walter 
 clutched McKenzie's knees with such a grip that 
 the latter winced with pain. 
 
 " A shield with three arrows ! " exclaimed the 
 Scot. " Why, that's the device upon the prayer- 
 book." 
 
 " Exactly," cried Walter, leaping to his feet in 
 
THE TREASURE AND THE SKELETON 191 
 
 uncontrollable excitement ; " and every pot, can- 
 dlestick and vase in that secret chamber is marked 
 with the same device! See here!" — and he 
 shoved the snuff-box into McKenzie's hand. *' It 
 was the prayer-book which suggested to me that 
 there might be more proof of the same kind in 
 the cellars of the monastery. McKenzie, that 
 trunk came from here, with the baby; and if we 
 find where the monks got that treasure and those 
 jewels, we shall learn where they got the baby, 
 and who Polyxene really is. I firmly believe that 
 every coin and every jewel and every vase in that 
 cellar belongs to her." 
 
 The Scot was studying deeply. Though not a 
 practical man, his mind had been trained to weigh 
 and sift evidence in matters of history and phi- 
 lology and his memory was most delicately reten- 
 tive. Every detail of Walter's argument was 
 clearly before him and he was giving each point 
 its due consideration. At last he spoke: 
 
 " Applying the methods of modern scholarship 
 to your argument, I should say that you have no 
 grounds at all for your conclusion. Even though 
 the trunk belonged to the man whose remains you 
 saw, yet there may be no connection between the 
 man and the baby of 1822. The trunk may have 
 
193 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 been given to some baby not his, as easily as to his 
 own child. But granting that Miss Polyxene's 
 great-grandfather was his child, you have abso- 
 lutely no reason for believing that there is any 
 connection between the treasure and the man. 
 Your reasoning reminds me of that by which Doc- 
 tor Schliemann became convinced that the long 
 skeleton which he dug up at Mycense was that of 
 Agamemnon, king of the Greeks. Homer says 
 that Agamemnon was tall ; he was king of Myce- 
 nse : a tall skeleton accompanied with many royal 
 objects of gold was dug up at Mycenae, hence 
 those were the bones of Agamemnon." 
 
 " I remember about that," replied Walter, " and 
 I remember that while the proof was not sufficient 
 to convince scholars, who never believe an)rthing, 
 yet many people, without the courage to admit it, 
 actually do believe that those were the bones of 
 Agamemnon. There are fashions in scholarship, 
 you know, as in clothes. Just now it's the fash- 
 ion to disbelieve. By and by, when the exca- 
 vators have done a lot more digging and have 
 proved that Homer and the Bible are all history, 
 it will become the fashion among scholars to be- 
 lieve everjrthing. But now, listen, Mac : suppose 
 the case were still open, suppose the evidence were 
 
THE TREASURE AND THE SKELETON 193 
 
 not all in and Schliemann had said to the scholars : 
 ' Come with me, to Troy, for instance, and I will 
 show you that those were the bones of Agamem- 
 non.' Would they not have thought that he had 
 made a good enough start to justify them in 
 going, or would they have said, ' We won't be- 
 lieve anyway ' ? " 
 
 " Modern scholarship," replied McKenzie with 
 dignity, " continues to investigate so long as 
 there is a chance for the least ray of additional 
 light." 
 
 " Well, then : here is a clue to the identity of the 
 man whose skeleton lies down there, beneath us. 
 Suppose I go to Athens, or Rome, or Paris and 
 find out what family bears that coat of arms. If 
 any prominent member disappeared within the 
 last eighty or ninety years, taking a great treasure 
 with him, will they not know about it ? So that's 
 what I propose to do. I'll go and look up this 
 matter and you can go down to Santorine and 
 find out what amount of argols the island pro- 
 duces and whether the wine-makers will be will- 
 ing to save them up for the amount we offer." 
 
 "To Santorine?" cried McKenzie. "'Tis a 
 good plan. There's where ye'U find the argols, 
 man, — there's where ye'll find the argols ! " 
 
194 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " All right," said Walter, rising briskly, " I'll 
 write a letter to Polyxene, telling her I'm going 
 off for a month, and we'll get started to-raorrow 
 morning. Did you ever notice what beautiful 
 brown hair she has, as soft and beautiful as — as 
 — why, there's nothing in the world like it ! " 
 
 "I know," said McKenzie, "yes, I under- 
 stand," — and as Walter left the room, the Scot 
 again hummed the love tune of Chios. 
 
 As the two guests of the monastery were pass- 
 ing through the court, they encountered Brothers 
 Manoles and Pandelemon. The former, in his 
 jolly, friendly way, asked them where they were 
 going, and they replied, " To Ta Castra." 
 
 Brother Pandelemon for once abandoned his 
 austere and repellent mood and inquired affably 
 why they did not sail over, as there was a fair 
 breeze and going around by sea on such a pleas- 
 ant day was much more agreeable than walking. 
 
 " 'Tis a good idea," said McKenzie, and his 
 companion agreed. Brother Pandelemon accord- 
 ingly accompanied them to the pier and helped 
 them get out the small boat, the monk himself 
 raising the sail and shoving them off with true 
 Greek officiousness. 
 
 "This is much better than walking," ob- 
 
THE TREASURE AND THE SKELETON 195 
 
 served Walter, after they had been flying before 
 the wind for about ten minutes. " Whatever 
 may be the secret of the monastery, it's hard to 
 believe that the monks are involved in any crime. 
 They're an obliging, hospitable lot. Now, it was 
 very decent of Brother Pandelemon, for instance, 
 to send us off in this boat. It's tipping so, old 
 man, I believe I'll move to that side." Rising, 
 Walter took a step forward and his foot went 
 through the bottom of the boat, carrying with it 
 a piece of board about twelve inches long and four 
 wide. 
 
 " My God, we're sinking ! " he cried, as the 
 water gushed into the little craft. Fortunately 
 McKenzie, who was sailing the boat, had been 
 keeping close to shore, and both could swim, so 
 that they were not actually in great danger. 
 They were soon standing upon the beach, wet as 
 drowned rats, gazing ruefully at a few feet of 
 mast sticking from the surface of the sea and a 
 bit of white canvas, alternately bellying and flap- 
 ping in the wind. 
 
 " Well," observed Walter, " I suppose this 
 means going back and getting dry clothes." 
 
 " What do you say to going on as we are? " re- 
 plied his companion. " I have been wet many 
 
196 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 times to the skin, and have never caught cold. 
 We'll wring out our clothes and walk fast. The 
 hot sun will dry us, and when we get to the cafe 
 we'll take a drink of cognac." 
 
 " I'm game for it, if you are," replied the Amer- 
 ican, " but my collar and cuffs are wrecks." 
 
 They accordingly put this plan into effect and 
 were soon tramping vigorously along the path 
 toward the village. 
 
 " Well, man, what do you think of Brother 
 Pandelemon now ? " asked McKenzie. 
 
 " I was just thinking of that very thing. I 
 didn't know that you noticed how easily my foot 
 went through that board. And now I'm ready 
 to believe that it was this same amiable Brother 
 who rolled the stone down on us and not Spiro. 
 I wonder if the monks know all about my being 
 down there among their bones and treasure-bags ? 
 I wonder if they have kept watch on every move 
 we've made since we've been here ? " 
 
 " God knows, but one thing I'm quite sure of. 
 I shall be glad when we're safely away from here. 
 As for Spiro, if you haven't heard from him yet, 
 you are sure to, sooner or later. A Greek would 
 never let such a score as he owes you go unpaid." 
 
 " As I believe I remarked on a previous occa- 
 
THE TREASURE AND THE SKELETON 197 
 
 sion, Mac, you are certainly a comforting friend. 
 And now let me tell you, that if I find out what I 
 expect to when I get among civilized records, I'm 
 coming back here." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A TRIP TO ATHENS 
 
 Polyxene was at home and she flushed to her 
 white throat upon seeing Walter again. He not 
 only found an opportunity to slip the letter into 
 her hand (copied at the cafe, for the original was 
 saturated), but to hold a few minutes' conversa- 
 tion with her. Here is what the letter said : 
 
 " My Beautiful and Noble Darling, — 
 
 " I can think of nothing but you. I love you 
 more and more every day, and I do not know 
 what I am coming to, as it seems now as though 
 I could not live without you another minute 
 longer. You are so sweet and I am so proud of 
 you, that I feel like shouting to all the world that 
 I love you, I love you ! No man living has such 
 a wonderful sweetheart, — for you are my sweet- 
 heart, you know you are. And now, sweetheart, 
 sweetheart, I have wonderful news to tell you. I 
 
 198 
 
A TRIP TO ATHENS 199 
 
 think I have found out something over there in 
 the monastery that will help me to learn who your 
 father really was, what family you sprang from. 
 I must go away from you a month or so, dearest, 
 to look the matter up, and when I come back, I 
 will tell you all about it. You must not ask me 
 now, as I really know nothing, but I am sure that 
 I am on the right track. Besides, I want to wait 
 to tell you all about it, when I know all. So 
 good-by, sweetheart, sweetheart, for a little while. 
 Oh, how I wish I could kiss your sweet lips just 
 once before I go! Though you belong to me, 
 and though your glorious eyes have looked love 
 into mine, yet I have never kissed you. But I 
 will not ask you for this now. I came to tell you 
 why I am going away, and that I shall be back 
 soon. And you must not breathe a word of what 
 I have told you here to a soul, for if you do, you 
 may spoil ever3rthing. So good-by a little while, 
 sweetheart, darling! 
 
 " Yours to the end of the world, 
 
 " Walter." 
 
 The Greek women, like all women of the South, 
 expect warmth and impetuosity in love-making, 
 but it is safe to say that Polyxene found the Ian- 
 
300 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 guage of this letter quite satisfying. Love and 
 youth make us all Southerners. 
 
 To Ion and his wife Walter explained that he 
 was going away on business for a few weeks, and 
 they took for granted that he meant the business 
 of the argols. Mrs. Ion insisted on entertaining 
 her countryman and his friend at supper, and set 
 busily about the preparation of another rhubarb 
 pie for the occasion. Walter watched Polyxene 
 furtively to see if he could tell by her actions or 
 appearance when she had read his letter, and was 
 at last rewarded by a look that nearly caused him 
 to lose his self-control and betray himself. 
 
 None of the monks was visible when the two 
 foreigners returned that night, and nothing un- 
 usual happened, although they barricaded their 
 doors with the furniture, and each slept " with 
 one eye open." A steamer, bound for Syra, that 
 would stop at Ta Castra, was expected at ten the 
 next morning, so they left the monastery early, 
 that they might be sure of catching it. Brother 
 Pandelemon did not put in an appearance, but 
 Walter, in settling with the xenodochos, or stew- 
 ard, who chanced to be Brother Manoles, insisted 
 on paying for the boat, asking McKenzie to ex- 
 plain simply that they had swamped it : that they 
 
A TRIP TO ATHENS 201 
 
 were poor sailors, anyway. And so they got off, 
 as they had come, in a dirty little coasting 
 steamer, which waited for a few minutes in the 
 crescent bay, whistling frantically, and to which 
 they were taken in a row-boat. Ere the deck en- 
 gine had ceased its spasmodic throbbing as it 
 pulled at the rattling anchor chain, while the 
 screw was churning the water into foam with its 
 first revolutions, Walter sat on a bench and took 
 a sheet of white paper from his pocket: Poly- 
 xene's reply to his letter, his first written com- 
 munication from her. He had read it before, of 
 course, but he wished to read it again. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Walter, — 
 
 " I am very much surprised at what you tell me. 
 It was all I could do not to ask you what you have 
 found out, but since you told me not to ask, of 
 course I thought I ought to do as you said. 
 [" Dear girl," murmured Walter, furtively kiss- 
 ing the sheet. " She thinks she ought to do as I 
 say!"] Do not be afraid that I shall tell any 
 one what you have written me. It is so little that 
 you ask, and you are doing so much for me ! Be- 
 sides, there is no one here among these people to 
 whom I tell my real self — no one here in whom 
 
202 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 I have ever confided. I shall pray every night 
 for your safety, and shall thank God for having 
 sent you to Andros. I know that you will find 
 out what you have gone to seek, for one so wise 
 and noble could not fail. Oh, how glad and ex- 
 cited I am! It will be hard to keep Mrs. Ion 
 from seeing that I have something on my mind, 
 for she has sharp eyes, but even if she suspects 
 something, I am sure she will never guess what 
 it is. 
 
 " Your sincere and grateful friend, 
 
 " POLYXENE AbATTIS." 
 
 " P. S. — I have seen nothing more of Spiro, 
 but when he does come back, I will do what I told 
 you. Poor fellow, I am sorry for him, but I 
 shall make him see that he would be happier with 
 some nice girl that really loves him. I do hope 
 he will be reasonable. P. A." 
 
 Carefully replacing a sprig of fragrant helio- 
 trope that he had found between the leaves, he 
 walked to where McKenzie was standing, leaning 
 over the rail and asked : 
 
 " Does it mean anything in Greece when a girl 
 sends a flower to a — a young man, for in- 
 stance?" 
 
A TRIP TO ATHENS 303 
 
 "The language of flowers is more generally 
 known in Greece than in any other country. A 
 bit of white jasmine, for instance, signifies, ' You 
 are most lovely ' ; a white carnation, * My love for 
 you is pure ' ; red, ' I love you warmly, or ar- 
 dently ' ; the anemone, ' My love is betrayed * ; a 
 sprig of heliotrope, simply, ' I love you — ' " 
 
 "Eh? Oh, it does!" cried Walter. "It 
 means, * I love you.' But how in the name of 
 the seven wonders of the world did you come to 
 know all this?" He could not help laughing, 
 there was something so irresistible in the idea of 
 McKenzie, tall, ungainly, big-nosed, fiercely- 
 bearded, gazing solemnly at one from beneath 
 shaggy eyebrows, the while he whispered confi- 
 dentially the language of flowers. 
 
 McKenzie blushed; a red glow could be seen 
 spreading at the roots of his beard, as though low 
 grass was burning among bushes. 
 
 " 'Tis in my anthology of modern Greek 
 songs," he explained, " and I chanced to run my 
 eye over it." 
 
 They passed the arm of the bay, and Poly- 
 xene's island slowly melted into the sea-blue sky 
 and the sky-blue sea. 
 
 " When you just sail by an island," remarked 
 
204 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 McKenzie, " you are apt to think of it but as a 
 spot on the map, yet every one of these bits of 
 land is a little world by itself, with its history, its 
 tragedies, its memories of old loves and hates, its 
 unwritten romances. I warrant you, man, that 
 there is not an island in the ^gsean that has not 
 its story to tell, fully as interesting as this which 
 we have stumbled on in Andros ! " 
 
 " Mac," said Lythgoe, " I wonder if we 
 couldn't estimate pretty nearly the amount of 
 money there is down in that cellar. I lifted sev- 
 eral of the bags, and they seemed to weigh about 
 fifty pounds apiece. They were surely the weight 
 of fifty-pound dumb-bells. Now there were ten 
 of them in all. How much would five hundred 
 pounds of gold be worth, say ? Is there any way 
 to tell? Do you happen to know how much a 
 thousand dollars weigh ? " 
 
 " No," replied McKenzie, " but I know how 
 much an Attic gold stater weighed, and I can 
 come somewhere near it from that." 
 
 Taking a pad of paper from his pocket, the man 
 who knew the Trojan war better than the penin- 
 sular campaign, and the Attic demes more famil- 
 iarly than the counties of England, made the fol- 
 lowing calculation, which he expounded in all 
 
A TRIP TO ATHENS 305 
 
 seriousness to his companion : " One gold stater 
 of twenty drachmas' value, weighed 133 of our 
 grains, or .a^ of a pound, as I remember 
 that there are 7000 grains in a pound avoirdu- 
 pois. If 20 drachmas' value weighs that much, 
 then one drachma would weigh one twentieth of 
 that, or Y^^5 of a pound avoirdupois. In 
 500 pounds weight, then, there would be as many- 
 drachmas as that fraction is contained times in 
 500. Inverting the divisor and multiplying 
 we have ^X '^Va"" or 70,000,000, divided by 
 133. Dividing, we get 526,290 drachmas. 
 Now, the value of the ancient drachma was 9^d. 
 of our English money, therefore we find how 
 many pence there are in these drachmas, reduce 
 to pounds, and we get £21,901. Is it not simple, 
 man," cried the Scot, enthusiastically, " and does 
 not this calculation demonstrate the practical 
 value of classical learning ? " * 
 
 " Surely ! It demonstrates also the value of 
 the classics as mental gymnastics. Just multiply 
 
 * Mr. McKenzie's calculation was ingenious and does 
 credit to his rare classical scholarship. The reader who 
 happens to know the value of an ounce of gold, how- 
 ever, will see that the Scot's reckoning resulted in an 
 appreciable undervaluation. There was no way, of 
 course, of arriving at any idea of the worth of the 
 jewels. 
 
206 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 that now by five to reduce it roughly to American 
 dollars. Let's see. Thanks. $109,505 ! Oh; I 
 don't believe we'll carry water-jugs and cut 
 wood much longer ! " cried Walter, his face flush- 
 ing with excitement. " Now, when we get to 
 Athens — " 
 
 " Athens ? " repeated McKenzie, " I thought I 
 was going to Santorine to arrange for the argols." 
 
 " Oh, that's so. I forgot all about the argols. 
 At any rate, you'll have to come with me, now, 
 old man, as I might need you to read Greek or 
 Italian books for me. We must get to work on 
 the argols, though. We'll do it as soon as we get 
 back. $109,000 ! Mac, there's easily that much 
 in those bags ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE STORY OF THE SKELETON 
 
 It is June in the Greek isles, the early days of 
 June, when the world is like a great, red rose in 
 full perfection of bloom, while it is yet morning 
 and there is dew on its petals ; it is early June in 
 the ^gaean isles, and the world is like a glorious 
 woman in the heyday of her charms — radiant, 
 voluptuous, consummate, yet as tenderly dainty as 
 a young maiden. There is a time in the Greek 
 June as in the life of a woman, when every mo- 
 ment is precious, for nature can do no more; she 
 has exhausted all her resources and bestowed 
 every gift in her power and the inexorable law of 
 change whispers, " It is time to fade." 
 
 It is cool in the early mornings now, and the 
 
 stars linger late in a mauve, lilac-pink sky; it is 
 
 hot and still in the middle of the day, and through 
 
 the long yellow afternoon, save for the rasping of 
 
 the cicadas; and at evening the bees drift home 
 
 207 
 
308 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 from the fields of wild thyme upon the mountain 
 sides in tawny clouds. The ravines are gushing 
 over with their torrents of oleander blossoms, 
 pink and white, and the poverty vines and wan- 
 dering heliotrope are filling the air with their min- 
 gled perfumes ; and, after the sun goes down, the 
 heavens, the sea and the hills are bathed in ame- 
 thystine hues of indescribable beauty, as though 
 the day were not dying, but were lying down to 
 sleep upon a couch of violets. 
 
 Walter has returned from Athens, and he is 
 telling Polyxene the result of the journey. It is 
 nine o'clock in the evening, and the moon, a votive 
 shield of old gold, hung in the temple of the sky, 
 gleams with an almost dazzling radiance. Yon- 
 der, where its light falls in an open space, it would 
 be quite possible to read by it, and the shadows 
 cast by the trunks of the trees, and even by the 
 vine and fig leaves, are as blackly distinct as sil- 
 houettes. In the shade of the fig-tree, too, it is 
 quite dark, for the moon, in Greece, as in other 
 countries, is ever the lovers' torch: however 
 brightly she may shine in the open, her rays do 
 not penetrate and suffuse the hidden places. 
 
 " I don't know what you will think of me," she 
 was saying, " meeting you in this way ; but I just 
 
THE STORY OF THE SKELETON 209 
 
 couldn't wait to hear what you had to tell me." 
 She spoke earnestly. 
 
 " I don't think there's anything wrong in it at 
 all. It's awfully sweet of you. As I told you, in 
 my country the young people sit out in the gar- 
 dens and talk till all hours of the night. Of 
 course, where they are not watched as they are 
 here, they are put upon honor, as it were, and they 
 — they — always act just as though the whole 
 world were looking at them." 
 
 "Oh, of course," whispered Polyxene; and 
 then added, " I never met anybody like you be- 
 fore — a real gentleman. I — I trust you so[ 
 And to think that you should have been so kind to 
 a poor servant girl ! I can't understand it." 
 
 " Servant girl ? You are no servant girl. I 
 knew that from the first moment my eyes rested 
 upon you, when you were washing clothes down 
 there by the sea." 
 
 " No servant girl ? " repeated Polyxene, much 
 wondering. 
 
 " No indeed ! Of course not ! Listen, Poly- 
 xene, I am almost afraid to tell you. The baby 
 who was given by the monks to the Abattis, your 
 grandfather, was the heir of a noble Italian fam- 
 ily, originally from Genoa, but settled for hun- 
 
210 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 dreds of years in the island of Chios. I had no 
 difficulty whatever in finding out who he was, by 
 McKenzie's aid. McKenzie is a noble fellow, by 
 the way, and we must never forget him." This 
 unconscious use of the mutual " we " is a pretty 
 sure sign that a couple has drifted into deep 
 water. 
 
 " No," replied Polyxene, " we never will. 
 And what was my grandfather's name, my 
 father's name ? What was, what is, mine ? " 
 
 " I don't know what your name is, exactly, you 
 have so many of them, nor your grandfather's 
 either, since he was never rightly named. Your 
 great-grandfather, the man who brought the baby 
 to the monks, was Giovanni-Maria, Giovanni- 
 Maria — I can't remember it all, now. Come 
 this way a little, till I read it to you," — and he 
 slid along upon the bench into the bright moon- 
 light, the girl following him. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " she said, as he took a paper 
 from his pocket and held it so that the ghostly 
 light fell full on it. Their cheeks were almost 
 touching, and Polyxene's eyes shone like deep, 
 clear pools in her pale face. 
 
 " His name," read Walter slowly, " was Gio- 
 vanni-Maria-Antonio-Ossuni, Duca di Polcavera, 
 
THE STORY OF THE SKELETON 211 
 
 sixth Marchese di Cogoleto. So " and he 
 
 arose and bowed low, with playful reverence, 
 sweeping the earth with the brim of his hat. 
 
 "What a funny name!" laughed the girl ner- 
 vously, not clearly comprehending. 
 
 " So I have the honor of saluting Signorina 
 Polyxene Ossuni, Duchess of Polcavera, Mar- 
 chioness of Cogoleto." 
 
 " But what does all this mean ? Does it mean 
 that I am a rich woman, that I am no longer a 
 servant ? " 
 
 He sat down again by her side. 
 
 " You never were a servant, except in the sense 
 that it is possible for a queen to perform menial 
 tasks. Whenever you lift a water-jug, you be- 
 come a statue by Phidias, when you wash clothes 
 by the sea, you are a nymph. But I must tell you 
 what we have found out so far. There was no 
 difficulty in connecting the shield with the three 
 arrows with the Ossuni family. We went di- 
 rectly to the library of the Boule, and it proved to 
 be the one place in all the world where we should 
 have gone. Having got hold of the name Ossuni, 
 I said to McKenzie, ' Now what'll we do ? If 
 there had only been an Almanac de Gotha in those 
 days ! ' What was my surprise to find that the 
 
212 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Almanac de Gotha runs back to 1764, and from 
 this I learned that the Ossuni family has been ex- 
 tinct in Italy since 1800, at which time the titles 
 had passed to the representative of a branch living 
 in Chios. Here is where McKenzie came in. 
 ' The great massacre of Chios occurred in 1822, 
 man,' he said; McKenzie always says 'man' 
 when he gets excited, 'and you say that the 
 monks produced their baby in that year ? ' 
 " ' Yes,' I told him, ' in May of 1822.' 
 " ' In May, did you say, man ? ' he cried, more 
 excited than ever, and then he whispered to me: 
 ' The massacre took place in April ! ' In less 
 than an hour he came to me with a Greek book on 
 the massacre of Chios. It seems that they have 
 any amount of literature on that subject, and he 
 read me the following — I can remember it word 
 for word : ' Among those who disappeared and 
 were never heard of again, was an Italian noble- 
 man, the Duke of Polcavera, with his infant son, 
 and two servants. The duke was known to be 
 very wealthy, and it was reported that he kept his 
 money concealed in his palace, as was the custom 
 among the islands in those times, but though the 
 Turks dug everywhere, they could find nothing. 
 So enraged were they, that they set fire to the 
 
THE STORY OF THE SKELETON 313 
 
 duke's palace, utterly ruining it, with all its rare 
 furnishings, hangings and treasures of art, thus 
 destroying one of the most beautiful of the old 
 Venetian palaces in the island. The duke's 
 escape was almost miraculous, having been ef- 
 fected by an underground passage leading to the 
 sea, where a small, caique was anchored. His 
 wife and elder son, who were visiting at a neigh- 
 bor's, some distance away, were both murdered. 
 As neither the duke nor any of his followers were 
 ever heard of again, it is supposed that they es- 
 caped from the knives of the Turks, only to be 
 swallowed up by the waves. Thus became extinct 
 one of the oldest Italian families settled in the 
 Cyclades.' Don't you see, Polyxene, there can be 
 no doubt about it? Even McKenzie believes 
 now : the infant son taken from Chios in April ; 
 the mysterious baby given up by the monks of 
 Agia Brysi in May ; the implements in the monas- 
 tery marked with the family coat of arms; the 
 same coat of arms on your trunk, your personal 
 appearance, so different from that of these people 
 — everything points to the truth. There can be 
 no mistake." 
 
 " Yes, and then my dreams of another coun- 
 try," added Polyxene, with a woman's reason. 
 
214 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " My feelings in the matter ! And what do you 
 want me to do now ? " 
 
 " Now, Duchess " 
 
 She laid her hand upon his arm, appealingly: 
 " Don't, don't," she pleaded, " I must always be 
 Polyxene to you." 
 
 " Well, then, Polyxene, you must for a few 
 days yet be more cautious than ever, and must go 
 on in the old way. There are certain — certain 
 proofs yet to be got in the island, there is work to 
 be done, and we must not arouse the least sus- 
 picion. I want to get your rights for you, to get 
 possession of your property, and you must con- 
 tinue to live this lie for a little while, just a little 
 while longer." 
 
 " It is easy to do anything that you ask me to 
 do," said the girl simply. 
 
 She had put on a condogouni, a short jacket 
 with wide embroidered sleeves over her white 
 waist and had tied a white silk handkerchief 
 loosely about her head. As she stood there in the 
 moonlight, the sweetest ghost that ever walked, 
 there was something in her eyes, as she made this 
 last remark, that made Walter feel faint for a mo- 
 ment and then maddened him. 
 
 " Polyxene," he said, " I always thought you a 
 
THE STORY OF THE SKELETON 315 
 
 queen, or a goddess, as I told you. But I — I 
 wish you would forget anything I may have said 
 to you. I — I have nothing of my own, and you 
 are certainly a duchess and may be a compar- 
 atively rich woman. When you get in your new 
 sphere, and have seen life through your new eyes 
 for a while, then maybe you will give me an op- 
 portunity to speak of these things again." 
 
 Walter was surprised at the result of this 
 speech : the last of the Ossunis and the heir of a 
 hundred generations of Italian romance, threw 
 both her arms about his neck and held him in a 
 convulsive embrace. He could feel her warm, 
 firm, supple form trembling from head to foot as 
 it pressed against his. 
 
 Throwing her head back, with closed eyes, she 
 murmured, " Kiss me." 
 
 Cheek to cheek and lip to lip, she purred, as the 
 Italian women do when they love, " I will say it, 
 dear, nothing shall stand between us. I love you, 
 I love you ! " And then as if to justify herself, 
 she added : " If I am indeed a duchess, I am 
 your duchess, dear, for ever and ever. It is only 
 upon Polyxene the servant girl that these people 
 have claims, only Polyxene the bond-girl that 
 would refuse your love." 
 
gl6 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 As they stood thus, they began to say good 
 night, an interminable ceremony with young lov- 
 ers, as everybody who has really lived, knows; 
 and it was in the midst of this ceremony that Mrs. 
 Ion came upon them, stared for a moment speech- 
 less, and then sank on the bench as though struck 
 down by a physical blow. 
 
 " For the land's sake," she gasped at last, " who 
 would ever have dreamed of such a thing?" 
 And then, gathering breath and strength: 
 " Polyxene, aren't you ashamed of yourself — 
 you — you — oh ! Mr. Lythgoe, I never would 
 have thought this of you, an American, and com- 
 ing from the same part of the country where I do ! 
 To make love on the sly to this young girl in this 
 way and spoil her only chance to get married ! I 
 think it's too bad of you," — and, as a proof that 
 she really was agitated, she covered her face with 
 her handkerchief and burst out crying. 
 
 "There! there!" said Walter, patting her on 
 the shoulder; "don't cry, dear Mrs. Ion. I 
 should think you'd rather have Polyxene marry 
 an American than a Greek, you being an Amer- 
 ican. I want to marry her — to make her my 
 wife." 
 
 Mrs. Ion was pacified by this explanation as 
 
THE STORY OF THE SKELETON 317 
 
 soon as she clearly comprehended its import, for 
 she was very fond of Walter. 
 
 " But I advise you," said she, " to keep quiet 
 and run away with her, or the Greeks may kill 
 you both. And don't for goodness' sake let any- 
 body know that I knew anything about it. Mr. 
 Ion and I would have to move off the island if 
 you did." 
 
 Kissing Polyxene affectionately, she said: 
 " You can consider yourself lucky, my girl, to get 
 an American man for a husband. But why were 
 you so — so everlastingly sly? You couldn't 
 have gone on as long as this without my knowing 
 anything, if Maud Persephone had been here." 
 
 That young lady, it should be explained, had 
 been sent by her mother to America, to spend a 
 year at the home of Mrs. Ion's sister, and attend 
 school. A Presbyterian missionary from Athens 
 had gone over with his wife on a lecturing tour 
 and had offered to take the girl with him. " You 
 might know I would favor my own countryman. 
 Now run along to Mr. Ion, he's sick." 
 
 "Lucy, Lucy," called a querulous voice, 
 " who's that talking out there in the garden ? " 
 
 " It's Polyxene and I. I'm just sending her to 
 the spring for some fresh water. Here, my girl. 
 
gl8 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 you'll have to go. Take this jug. I mustn't tell 
 a fib. No, not you," seizing Walter by the arm 
 in her quick, imperative way. " You've done 
 spooning enough to-night. You must go to bed 
 now." 
 
 Walter took both of Mrs. Ion's hands in his. 
 " You're pure gold," he said, laughing, " an 
 American to the backbone." 
 
 Looking over Mrs. Ion's head he watched the 
 Duchess of Polcavera go out of the garden gate 
 in the splendid moonlight, with a water-jug upon 
 her shoulder. 
 
CHAPTER XXrV 
 
 FOF A FAIR woman's SAKE 
 
 " What did you say that those Greek words, 
 ft^ Xolo, Polyxene's motto, mean?" Walter 
 asked of McKenzie as the two were sitting in the 
 former's cell at the monastery, whither they had 
 returned. 
 
 " They signify, * Not deviously,' or ' obliquely.* 
 Taken in connection with the three arrows, they 
 might perhaps be best translated as ' Straight to 
 the mark.' The adverb, ' A,o^a/ which is very 
 good ancient Greek, is employed most frequently 
 to-day by dressmakers, with the sense of * on the 
 bias.' " McKenzie was at home when started on 
 a philological question, and could not be shut off 
 before he had exhausted his store of knowledge 
 on the subject. " It is not at all strange," he 
 continued, " to find a family of Italian origin 
 using a Greek motto, for this language, which 
 was, for hundreds of years after the Roman con- 
 
 219 
 
220 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 quest, the tongue of literature and polite society, 
 has never died and never quite lost its prestige. 
 Then, too, the Ossuni family lived so long in 
 Chios that they must have adopted Greek as their 
 mother tongue." 
 
 " Yes," replied Walter, who had not heard the 
 last part of this short homily. " ' Straight to the 
 mark.' McKenzie, I love Polyxene Ossuni, — 
 that fortune and those jewels belong to her, and I 
 mean to get them for her." 
 
 " I fear, man, 'twill be difficult, for if you ap- 
 peal to the authorities, the monks will put the 
 treasure where it will never be seen again, or the 
 government may declare that Polyxene's title is 
 not sufficiently clear and may seize the money. 
 We are not in England or America now." 
 
 " Yes, or the poor girl might be involved in a 
 lawsuit that would last for years, and the lawyers 
 would get it all. You have echoed my very 
 thoughts. So I mean to ' go straight to the 
 mark.' " 
 
 Walter's face was pale and he was trembling 
 with suppressed excitement, but there was a de- 
 termined look in his eyes, as he stood leaning with 
 one hand on the back of McKenzie's chair. 
 
 " I mean to take that money away to-night — " 
 
FOR A FAIR WOMAN'S SAKE 221 
 
 McKenzie started. " What do ye mean, man ? " 
 " Just what I say. Hear me out. The money 
 belongs to the duchess, and she must have it. 
 These reverend Brothers could have got posses- 
 sion of this treasure in no other way than by tak- 
 ing it from the Duke of Polcavera. Right here 
 is where he disappeared. Now, this is my plan, 
 that I have studied on night and day till I have 
 gone nearly mad over the matter. I will tell you, 
 because you must help me. I haven't said a word 
 to Polyxene, because if we get into trouble, I 
 don't want her to share any of the blame. We 
 must take that money out of there to-night, some- 
 how, and hide it. I have picked out a place where 
 the devil himself couldn't find it. I don't think 
 the monks suspect anything, for they seemed 
 mighty glad to get us back again. We'll hide it, 
 I say, and then we'll go away. We'll take 
 Polyxene with us, and after six months or a year, 
 we'll slip back here unexpectedly, with a steam 
 launch, or small steamer, and get the treasure. 
 Don't interrupt me — don't interrupt me, at any 
 rate, to say ' no,' because you've got to help me. 
 It's a risky kind of thing, I know. We might 
 get trapped down there, and these monks are 
 wolves in sheep's garb. It seems like robbery. 
 
233 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 too, to carry ofif money in this high-handed way, 
 but it isn't, it's eternal justice, it's the righting 
 of an old wrong, it's peril incurred for a fair 
 lady's sake — for as fair, virtuous and noble a 
 lady as ever lived. Then, there's another consid- 
 eration. They say that possession is nine points 
 in the law. If it should turn out that this money 
 belongs to any one except Polyxene, we can man- 
 age to restore it to the rightful owner. We are 
 convinced, I think, at least I am, that it does 
 not belong to the monks, and they are likely to 
 put it away where nobody ever will see it again, 
 and deny that it ever existed." 
 
 The Scot arose to his tall height. 
 
 " For the lady's sake," he said sweetly, " I'll 
 help ye, for I do believe that right is on the lady's 
 side." 
 
 Lythgoe sprang forward and seized both of 
 McKenzie's hands. 
 
 " You're the right sort," he cried, " through 
 and through, and together we can not fail. We'll 
 wait till there's no longer any danger of being 
 disturbed. We'll watch till, say, one or two 
 o'clock, and then we'll go down there. I have 
 the tools in my grip to draw the staple to the 
 chamel, or to saw through, if necessary, but I 
 
FOR A FAIR WOMAN'S SAKE 223 
 
 don't want to do that ; I want to make that money- 
 disappear as neatly as though the Duke of Polca- 
 vera's ghost had spirited it away. I know how to 
 go through the panel, and I can get into the cham- 
 ber of the skeleton. Now, there's a small window 
 opening into that, closed by an iron shutter on the 
 inside, and opening out into a sort of air-hole 
 about two feet deep on the outside. There's a 
 narrow path clear round the building, between the 
 walls and the foot of the mountain against which 
 it is built on the rear and north side. This path 
 ends where the big rock is, into which the chapel 
 has been scooped out, partly, as you know, by the 
 hand of God. I strolled around this path to-day, 
 and noticed the air-hole, and I understood in a 
 minute where it went to, for I remembered having 
 seen the shutter. Well, we'll take the bags two 
 and two — there are eleven of them, we can make 
 it in three trips — and we'll lift them up and push 
 them into this air-hole. Then we'll arrange 
 ever3^hing as it was before, go around and get 
 them and carry them off and hide them, and then 
 I'll elope with Polyxene. Mrs. Ion will help me 
 to carry out that part of the scheme — she's on 
 my side." 
 
 When Walter came to that part of the plan 
 
224 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 which had reference to Polyxene, his face flushed 
 with rapture, and there was that in his expres- 
 sion of mingled exaltation and joy, which showed 
 him capable of any madness for love's sweet sake. 
 But who shall say that aught is madness that is 
 done for love? His enthusiasm communicated 
 itself to McKenzie, whose gray eyes glowed be- 
 neath their shaggy eyebrows. 
 
 " Man," he cried, " ye are like Jason, bringing 
 away the golden fleece from the land of Colchis; 
 ye are a second Theseus fetching another Ariadne 
 from Crete! There's something wonderful in 
 your plan; I could never have thought it out in 
 my dreams. When we get away, I suppose you'll 
 be attending to the argols immediately? You'll 
 be going down to Santorine ? " 
 
 "The argols? Oh, surely. We'll get through 
 with this thing inside of a week, and then we'll 
 begin in earnest on the argols. By Jove, I'd al- 
 most forgotten about the argols ! As soon as we 
 get to Santorine, I'll write a full report to my 
 uncle, telling him what we've done already, and 
 describing to him the superior advantages of that 
 island. You can help me in that." 
 
 "I know that island well," replied McKenzie; 
 " I have been there so much, and I'll help you in 
 
FOR A FAIR WOMAN'S SAKE 325 
 
 this matter, because I should expect you to come 
 to my aid if my Arethusa — " 
 
 "Your Arethusa?" 
 
 " Oh, man, I've been wanting to talk to you 
 about her! While you have been paying your 
 court to Polyxene, you have had my fullest sym- 
 pathy, I have understood your feelings, because I 
 too love! Listen, man," whispered McKenzie, 
 and he had never looked so solemnly into Walter's 
 eyes as now. " In Heftamyloi, in the island of 
 Santorine, there is a young woman who has not 
 her equal upon earth for beauty. She is black- 
 browed, like Theocritus' Amaryllis, her eyes and 
 her hair are dark, the blood is like Cretan wine in 
 her cheeks, her lips are red as pomegranates, and 
 her teeth as white as cuttle-bone. She is as 
 m.ischievous as a nymph, so that I sometimes think 
 her to be a Nereid, trying to drive me mad. But 
 she loves me, man, I am sure of that, and she has a 
 heart as tender as an angel. She was grinding 
 coffee when I first saw her, and I never see a 
 coffee-mill that it does not call up before my mind 
 that sweet vision of Arethusa grinding coffee. 
 Let's take a cup of tea and talk about our sweet- 
 hearts. Ye have never seen beauty like Arethu- 
 sa's, man." 
 
326 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 "Except, of course, Polyxene's," corrected 
 Walter. 
 
 " Beauty is not everything," fenced the Scot. 
 " Polyxene is certainly beautiful, and she is sweet 
 and good." 
 
 Walter flushed with anger, but glanced at his 
 companion, who was evidently embarrassed at the 
 turn the discussion had taken, and yet not willing 
 to admit that his lady's beauty had its equal in 
 the world. The American burst out laughing 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 " Well, brew your tea," he said, " and let's talk 
 about your sweetheart. It certainly is your turn 
 now. Oh, you old rascal! So that's why you 
 were so anxious to get down to Santorine ? " 
 
 " 'Twas a mere coincidence, though I'll not 
 deny that Arethusa drew me more strongly than 
 the argols. But Santorine is the chief wine-mak- 
 ing island of the Cyclades — it really is." 
 
 Thus they whiled away the afternoon, but as 
 evening approached, Walter's excitement grew al- 
 most uncontrollable. Twice he walked around to 
 the back of the building to make sure that the 
 window was still there; and he thought that the 
 evening meal would never end. Whenever he 
 laughed at any of Brother Manoles' jokes, as 
 
FOR A FAIR WOMAN'S SAKE 237 
 
 translated by McKenzie, it seemed to him that his 
 voice sounded unnaturally high and shrill. The 
 Father Superior, he was sure, was regarding him 
 with a slyly malevolent gaze and could read his 
 thoughts. 
 
 By eight o'clock everything became quiet in the 
 monastery yard : so quiet that the mournful cry of 
 some nocturnal bird, common to the region, 
 " Piurp ! piurp ! " seemed the audible expression 
 of the vastness and loneliness of the night. A 
 little later the fat Brothers Manoles and Myrian- 
 thuses, who occupied adjoining cells, had fallen 
 to work in earnest in the business of sleeping and 
 were well started on their nocturnal duet. At 
 times they purred along amicably together, like 
 two happy lions ; then one would attempt an intri- 
 cate series of gurgling tremolos, or would imitate 
 the " Kek, kek!" of Aristophanes' batrachian 
 chorus; whereat his competitor would stop 
 suddenly with a sensational finish, and would re- 
 main silent for several minutes, as though gain- 
 ing breath for a supreme eflfort, which usually 
 proved to be an angry snarl, a deep hiss like that 
 of a geyser about to erupt, or a low rumble. 
 This somnial chorus was still on at eleven, and, 
 combined with the darkness and the quiet that 
 
238 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 otherwise prevailed, produced the impression that 
 the entire world was wrapped in the slumbers of 
 the Enchanted Palace. 
 
 The two plotters had put out their lights, and 
 conversed now only in the lowest whispers. By 
 a slight crack in the door — they were both in 
 the same room — they watched the court near the 
 entrance to the wine cellar. 
 
 " They're all asleep, Mac," whispered Walter, 
 "there's nobody coming out to-night. They 
 don't come out every night, of course. We just 
 happened to catch them those two times." 
 
 " But why did they try to kill us ? " 
 
 " We're not sure that they did. It might have 
 been Spiro, after all, the first time, and the wet- 
 ting may have been an accident." 
 
 "If they tried to kill us," persisted McKenzie, 
 " then they are watching us night and day like 
 cats. What do you say to locking them all in 
 their cells before we go down? " 
 
 Walter thought a moment. 
 
 " Too dangerous," he decided at last. " If one 
 of them should want to come out for any reason, 
 he'd raise a fearful hullaballoo, and they'd get us 
 somehow. No, we must run the risk. Come on, 
 we might as well go now." 
 
FOR A FAIR WOMAN'S SAKE 329 
 
 " If the monks discover us, what course shall 
 we pursue? We must not take human life, nor 
 must we allow them to kill us, as they seem crazy 
 enough to do." 
 
 " I've thought of that, McKenzie. The times 
 that we have seen any one of the monks in the 
 cellar, it has been only the Superior or Brother 
 Pandelemon. If we are discovered, it will be by 
 only one monk. We must grab him, whoever is 
 nearest, gag and bind him, and then go on with 
 our work. Once started, we can't stop. I believe 
 you're clearer-headed that I am. It would never 
 do to go down there without having planned for 
 every emergency. Do you think of anything 
 else?" 
 
 " N-n-o." 
 
 " Well, then, let's be going." 
 
 They stole across the court like shadows arid 
 again entered the dark cellar together. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A FIGHT WITH STRANGE WEAPONS 
 
 The reader must pause for a moment and try 
 to put himself in the place of these venturesome 
 young men, and let his imagination play, if he 
 desires to gain an idea of their feelings, as they 
 now entered upon their strange adventure. He 
 must try to picture in his mind the great dark 
 cellar, the rows of huge wine-tuns, looming in- 
 distinctly in the light of the one candle ; McKen- 
 zie, tall, awkward. Quixotic, roughly-bearded, his 
 eyes gleaming with excitement; Walter, thin- 
 faced, pale, eager, his young heart full of the 
 great love of a woman. 
 
 Without a word they fell to work upon the 
 staple to which the padlock was hanging, as it 
 was driven into the door and bade fair to yield 
 much more easily than the one at the other end of 
 the hasp, which was deeply imbedded in an oaken 
 post. Walter drew the iron little by little, by 
 
 230 
 
A FIGHT WITH STRANGE WEAPONS 231 
 
 means of a pair of pincers with a long handle, a 
 sort of general utility tool much used in Greece. 
 Biting with this one leg of the staple close to the 
 wood repeatedly and throwing his entire weight 
 upon the extreme end of the handle, he estab- 
 lished a leverage that was well-nigh irresistible. 
 They were soon in the charnel, and it was the Scot 
 who still held the light while the American again 
 dug down into the center of the uncanny pyramid, 
 making a hole like the crater of a volcano as he 
 tossed the rattling bags ruthlessly into a heap. 
 From time to time McKenzie thrust his hairy face 
 into the crack of the door and peered down the 
 long passage between the wine-tuns, but no twink- 
 ling candle appeared at the far end of the vista. 
 
 "There," said Walter, wiping his perspiring 
 brow. " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, 
 eight, nine, ten, eleven — that's all. Shall we put 
 the bones back first? No, I think not. We'd 
 better carry the gold through into the chamber 
 first and restore this pile afterward. Here, I'll 
 make sure of the jewels on the first trip." 
 
 Sliding back the panel, Walter passed through, 
 carrying two of the precious bags, besides a candle 
 in the grip of his thumb. He was followed by 
 McKenzie, the two men bending at the hips and 
 
333 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 knees as they trotted down the long passage, like 
 athletes about to jump by the aid of heavy 
 weights. Walter quickly opened the chamber of 
 the skeleton and the four bags were deposited be- 
 neath the window. The trip was repeated in 
 silence and fevered haste. So great was the agi- 
 tation, so intense the preoccupation of the men, 
 that McKenzie carried off the bones of Brother 
 Elias Palamaras, who received his crown of glory 
 in 1811, not noticing the greater size of the bag 
 or the lightness of its weight. This, however, 
 did not delay matters, as there were eleven bags 
 and three trips were necessary. 
 
 They had left a bit of candle burning at 
 each end of the route : one in the charnel and one 
 in the chamber of the skeleton. The passage was 
 thus left entirely dark. In the middle of the third 
 trip, just as Walter stepped through the door into 
 the passage, after having put down his two bags, 
 he was sure that he heard footfalls of some one 
 quite close to him, stealing away in the darkness. 
 He was himself standing in the faint light cast 
 by the candle, and could have been discerned by 
 any one a few feet away. He seized McKenzie 
 by the arm, giving the low hissing signal for 
 silence, "Sh-h-h!" 
 
A FIGHT WITH STRANGE WEAPONS 333 
 
 He was sure he heard the sounds, as stealthy 
 as the treacherous tread of a cat, and it occurred to 
 him, as though by inspiration, that one of the 
 Brothers had stolen upon them with intent of 
 locking them up in the chamber of the skeleton, 
 and that they had been delivered from this horrid 
 fate by the merest chance. Walter rushed for- 
 ward in the darkness, determined to seize the in- 
 truder, as they had planned, and immediately 
 there was a hurried shuffling of feet, as though the 
 person, whoever it might be, were running away 
 at the top of his speed. He was running rapidly 
 too, and seemed likely to elude pursuit. Soon he 
 bounded into the faint light shining through the 
 panel, passed into the charnel and stood for one 
 brief moment among the scattered bags of bones, 
 glaring back into the blackness of the tunnel — 
 Brother Pandelemon, tall and ungainly as Mc- 
 Kenzie himself. There was no fear in his fanatic 
 eyes, as he stood there with his long priest's hair 
 tumbled about his shoulders, his face haggard 
 with hate, a butcher-knife in his hand. Walter 
 paused, as did also McKenzie, who was standing 
 by his side. The seizing and binding of this man 
 did not seem practical now that the time had ar- 
 rived for putting their plan into effect. It is often 
 
334 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 SO much easier to plan than to execute ! A dozen 
 stout men would have had their hands full in 
 binding this member of the Church Militant, and 
 then there would have been some cuttings and 
 possibly killings before he would be relieved of 
 his weapon. But a moment he waited, then 
 turned and disappeared through the door. 
 
 " He'll lock us in here, man," whispered Mc- 
 Kenzie. 
 
 " We must not let him do that, knife or no 
 knife ! " exclaimed Walter. Even at that moment 
 they could hear the rattle of the staple and lock 
 on the outside, as they were fumbled by unseen 
 hands. They both rushed simultaneously and 
 struck the door with such terrific force that they 
 threw it wide. The drawing of the staple had 
 rendered its immediate locking impossible, and 
 Brother Pandelemon was hurled sprawling 
 among the entire body of monks, out in force: 
 the Father Superior with a candle in his left 
 hand and the roasting spit, his favorite 
 weapon, in the right; and around him were 
 grouped Brothers Manoles, Myrianthuses, Theo- 
 dore, Timoleon, weaponed for the most part with 
 kitchen utensils, a heavy iron frying-pan, a poker, 
 a pair of tongs, a brass candlestick three feet 
 
A FIGHT WITH STRANGE WEAPONS 335 
 
 high. For a brief second the opposing parties 
 looked at each other, and the Father Superior be- 
 gan a sentence, whether of denunciation or of 
 parley will never be known, as Brother Pandele- 
 mon, maddened by his undignified fall, scrambled 
 to his feet and sprang forward with a snarl of 
 rage, brandishing his knife. 
 
 But he was destined never to pass the door, 
 for the Scot, quick-witted enough in a fight, as 
 all Kelts are apt to be, grabbed a bag of bones 
 in each hand, and swinging one of them high in 
 air, brought it down with such force upon the 
 reverend Brother's head as to disqualify him for 
 further participation in the discussion. He col- 
 lapsed very prettily and lay limp across the 
 threshold. 
 
 The Scot was not slow to follow up his ad- 
 vantage. Flourishing his sacrilegious and un- 
 heard-of weapons, he charged, dealing blows right 
 and left. But the monks had no idea of letting 
 these young men escape. They returned Mc- 
 Kenzie's blows with interest, and Brother Man- 
 oles, throwing his arms about the Scot's neck, 
 tried to drag him down. He was indeed so far 
 successful that the twain fell athwart the long 
 spigot of the great wine-tun, knocking it out, and 
 
236 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the precious fluid, one hundred years old, the 
 special beverage of kings and princes of the 
 Church, spouted clean across the passage. This 
 was too much for Brother Manoles. Shrieking, 
 " Mother of God, the beautiful wine ! " he seized 
 the spigot and tried to stick it back into place, 
 but was immediately pushed over by Walter, who 
 had followed McKenzie and was trying to break 
 from the grip of a couple of monks. 
 
 At this juncture the Superior's candle was 
 knocked from his hand, and the fight went on in 
 the dark, the contestants plashing around in the 
 priceless wine that was now rapidly covering the 
 cement floor. Groans could be heard, the thud 
 of blows, delivered indiscriminately on friend 
 and foe alike, and the playing of the stream from 
 the great tun, interrupted now and again as that 
 despairing bon vivant, Brother Manoles, succeeded 
 in inserting the spigot for a brief instant; for 
 no sooner did he succeed, kneeling there before 
 the tun, praying frantically to the Virgin, mean- 
 while, to save the wine, than some one was sure 
 to push him over and set the stream going again. 
 Walter was possessed of no weapon at first, as 
 his impulse had been to dash through in Mc- 
 Kenzie's wake, but now, as he freed himself from 
 
A FIGHT WITH STRANGE WEAPONS 337 
 
 gripping hands with a supreme effort, he 
 wrenched way from Brother Theodore the tall 
 brass candlestick, and swinging this spitefully to 
 keep himself free, he backed to the door of the 
 charnel, and then was absolutely obliged to retreat 
 through the panel and down the long passage. 
 McKenzie had disappeared, and it occurred to the 
 American that his companion had probably been 
 killed or knocked senseless. 
 
 Walter was given short shrift in the passage, 
 for the monks, provided with a light, came hur- 
 rying after him almost immediately, and brought 
 him to bay against the partition wall at the 
 farther end. Holding his candlestick as a base- 
 ball bat, he stood watching them warily. But 
 Brother Pandelemon now appeared, armed with 
 a Gras rifle, which the Father Superior, after 
 some angry words, took from his hands. By the 
 actions of the two monks, Walter judged that 
 Brother Pandelemon wished to put him out of 
 the way without further parley. The Superior, 
 however, pointed significantly to the candlestick, 
 and then raised the rifle to his shoulder. Walter 
 dropped his weapon, and the rifle came down. 
 He was immediately overpowered and thrown 
 into the chamber of the skeleton. 
 
238 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 The monks locked the door and shuffled away, 
 gabbling excitedly, and left him there, a rich man 
 in gold and jewels but a very poor one in hope. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 BEATEN AND MADE PRISONER 
 
 Walter's first feeling, as he stood in this damp 
 underground cell, was one of utter despair. He 
 had been defeated in his attempt to get the fortune 
 which he believed to be rightfully Polyxene's, out 
 of the clutch of the monks, and he was momen- 
 tarily overwhelmed by the sense of defeat. But 
 what glorious possessions are youth and a stout 
 heart! That he was not crushed, was soon 
 evidenced by the fact that despair almost imme- 
 diately gave way to the healthier emotion of 
 rage, and he found considerable comfort in im- 
 agining what he would do could he but have that 
 fight over again. 
 
 Fool that he was, he thought, to be afraid he 
 might kill some of those sanctimonious hypo- 
 crites ! If he ever was turned loose among them 
 again, he would have no such compunctions! 
 Monks? Devils, thieves! 
 
 239 
 
340 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Grasping the candlestick in imagination, he 
 strode nervously up and down the obscure room, 
 grinding his teeth and laying about among im- 
 aginary foes. 
 
 That was one stout blow he got in, anyway, on 
 some good Brother's back, he reflected; it made 
 him howl — if it had only been the old scoundrel's 
 head, it would have cracked it, sure enough. 
 
 He was in pain, too, for he had been pretty 
 thoroughly cudgeled himself, and as the excite- 
 ment of the fight gradually wore off, his bruises 
 became clamorous in all portions of his body — 
 a fact which by no means tended to sweeten his 
 temper. He was not in the dark, fortunately, 
 nor in danger of being so, as those primitive 
 lamps which the Greeks use so much — wicks 
 floating in tumblers of olive oil, burn indefinitely. 
 
 " Hope springs eternal in the human breast," 
 said the poet. Walter had not been left alone 
 with his rage and his bruises ten minutes before 
 he began to look the situation squarely in the 
 face, and to search for its alleviating features. 
 
 First of all, was there any possibility of escape ? 
 He examined the window, but this did not offer 
 much encouragement. The opening was narrow, 
 the walls were thick, and a round iron bar, firmly 
 
BEATEN AND MADE PRISONER 341 
 
 imbedded in the mortar, cut it in halves, length- 
 wise. He would have to be a weasel or an india 
 rubber man to get through there, he decided. 
 
 The door was out of the question, unless he 
 could force it, as it was locked on the outside. 
 He threw his entire strength against it a number 
 of times, but failed to produce the least effect. 
 One thing was certain: McKenzie knew where 
 he was this time, and if at liberty, would make 
 every effort to rescue him. Perhaps the Scot 
 would come to the window on the outside and' 
 attempt to communicate with him. ,With this 
 in mind, Walter stood by the window for a long 
 time, on tiptoe, listening. As nothing resulted, 
 and as he was sure that he heard two persons 
 speaking Greek outside, along toward morning, 
 he became almost certain that something had' 
 happened to McKenzie. The more he thought 
 of this, the more plausible the idea became, as he 
 felt sure that his friend would have come around 
 to the window had it been possible. 
 
 Strange how superstition will invade the sanest 
 and stoutest heart! The dreadful sleeper, there 
 beneath the rug upon the floor, gradually became 
 an object of dread to Walter, and began to exert 
 an uncanny attraction upon him. He tried to 
 
243 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 reason that he was this man's — this Thing's 
 — friend, and that it would do him no harm, but 
 even the possibility of assistance from the dead 
 gave him little comfort. Had the bony wreck 
 arisen and thrown wide the door, or caused the 
 wall to gape for him, he would probably have 
 been too paralyzed with fear to avail himself of 
 the opportunity to escape. And the fancy came 
 to him at last that the orbless eyes were following 
 him, with some message of intelligence. 
 
 So uncomfortable did this notion become that 
 he was obliged to throw back the rug and glance 
 at the skull to rid himself of it. But the relief 
 was only momentary, for as soon as the death's 
 head was covered, the fancy returned. 
 
 The most curious phase of this attack of super- 
 stition was that the oval-faced and stolid Virgin, 
 upon whose features fell the yellow light of the 
 olive-oil dip, seemed a wholesome influence. 
 Her eyes also drew his gaze, and in whatever 
 part of the room he chanced to be, they were 
 looking into his own, with the ghost of a benefi- 
 cent smile. Thus do surroundings and circum- 
 stances affect the character of men, of nations. 
 Here was Walter Lythgoe, a product of American 
 civilization, an erstwhile devotee of golf and 
 
BEATEN AND MADE PRISONER 243 
 
 King Dodo, actually deriving comfort from the 
 presence of a painted eikon. But Mr. Lythgoe 
 was now in the cellar of a medieval monastery, 
 in possession of an ancient secret, looking at 
 things by means of a lamp as old in principle as 
 civilization itself ; alone with the bones of a man 
 whose spirit, if ever the dead do speak, would 
 find it hard to hold its peace. 
 
 But there were various objects scattered about 
 the room, as we have seen, and Walter searched 
 among these, in hopes of finding something that 
 would serve as a tool for opening the door. The 
 most hopeful among these was a tall, graceful 
 pitcher with slender neck, and a handle made in 
 imitation of grape-vine, with dainty leaves. 
 Taking this up, he inserted the long, pointed 
 snout in the crack of the door and pried with 
 all his might, but he only succeeded in twisting 
 the pretty utensil out of shape. 
 
 At five o'clock, or thereabouts, he heard foot- 
 steps outside, as of some one passing along the 
 path near the window, and pulling himself up 
 so that his face was in the opening, he shouted, 
 " Hey, hello, let me out ; I'm locked up down 
 here!" 
 
 He could not see any one, of course, as the 
 
244 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 window opened into a sort of air-hole, a trifle 
 below the level of the ground, and as his call 
 brought no response, he concluded that one of 
 the monks must have gone by. 
 
 It is no part of this narrative to describe 
 Walter's increasing terrors and despair as the 
 hours of night wore away. A Poe would have 
 had him nearly insane by the time the first faint 
 gray of dawn began to glimmer in the narrow 
 window, and would possibly have represented 
 him as falling with hysteric laughter into the arms 
 of the Father Superior when the latter came at 
 last to open the door; for the Father Superior 
 did come in the early morning with Brothers 
 Pandelemon and Timoleon. 
 
 The old man had possibly descended to take 
 away his precious gold bags. At any rate, he 
 could not keep his hands off them, for he picked 
 several of them up and dropped them into a 
 more compact pile; he weighed them one by one, 
 casting a pitifully suspicious eye at Walter, as 
 though the latter might have removed some of 
 the gold; he opened the contents and peered 
 within ; and as his eyes fell again upon the yellow 
 metal, he chuckled with satisfaction, an affection- 
 ate sound, such as a young lover makes in the 
 
BEATEN AND MADE PRISONER 245 
 
 heyday of youth's passion. He even picked up 
 one of the bags, seizing the neck with both hands, 
 and started for the door. Brother Pandelemon 
 followed his example, taking two, when their eyes 
 fell again upon Walter, who had been for the 
 moment forgotten. 
 
 " Uh ! " said Brother Pandelemon — a cry of 
 rage like that of some wild beast — and he ad- 
 vanced threateningly toward the American; but 
 the Father Superior, coming in between, 
 shouldered him back, remonstrating with him 
 with many loose-sleeved gestures. It was evident 
 that Brother Pandelemon found it difficult to re- 
 strain his wrath, but that the Superior, for some 
 reason, was opposed to further violence. After 
 a protracted and voluble discussion, the monks 
 bound Walter's hands and conducted him out of 
 the cellar into the light of day again. As they 
 passed through the court. Brother Manoles, his 
 arms folded within his cassock and his head cast 
 dejectedly down, espied them. The jolly monk 
 thrust out a fat arm, and shaking a ponderous, 
 greasy fist, advanced a few steps toward Walter. 
 
 Alas, for the frailties of human nature! 
 The word which he uttered and which indicated 
 the cause of his wrath was " Krasi, Krasi ! " 
 
246 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 which is the modern Greek for wine. Father 
 Manoles cared more for the beautiful, ancient 
 beverage, the elixir of kings and princes of the 
 Church, than for all the gold in all the bags. It 
 had been spilled and absorbed by the unappre- 
 ciative cellar floor; the great tun had spouted its 
 priceless blood into the air, a ruthless, wasted 
 stream of undreamed dreams, unloved friends, 
 songs unsung. Who knows how many hours 
 Brother Manoles may have sat in the shade of 
 the trellised grape-vine in one corner of the 
 court, doting over that precious wine, smacking 
 his lips ; or how often he may have arisen in the 
 middle of the night, and heedless of the Superior's 
 punitive roasting spit, may have stolen to the 
 cellar below to filch a generous draft from its 
 contents ? 
 
 If Brother Manoles ever dreamed of prefer- 
 ment, of mounting the grades of his order and 
 becoming a prince of the Church, 'twas only be- 
 cause such may drink of the contents of the 
 coveted tun without sin. If a devastating army 
 had fallen upon the monastery and had swallowed 
 the wine down with much roaring of songs in a 
 foreign tongue and clinking of cups. Brother 
 Manoles would not have been so utterly discon- 
 
BEATEN AND MADE PRISONER 347 
 
 solate, for wine is made to drink and soldiers 
 often have discriminating palates. But to spill 
 its brave blood into the untasting air ! No won- 
 der that Brother Manoles' exasperation was 
 almost murderous in its intensity! A monk has 
 no use for gold, and even if spent, it can only buy 
 palaces and slaves and the music of citharas. In 
 that wine-tun was the stuff to strew the hard 
 wooden bench in the monastery court with rugs 
 from Bokhara a foot deep, material to build a 
 palace fairer than that of Kubla Khan, magic to 
 summon all the houris of the prophet's heaven. 
 'Twas the fountain of Youth, now run dry. 
 
 Walter followed the monks very willingly, for 
 he was too weak to struggle and was so glad to 
 get out of his present gruesome quarters that any 
 change was welcome to him. They led him up 
 two exterior flights of stone stairs, to the gallery 
 of the second story, and shoved him into a well- 
 lighted room, where the sun streamed in through 
 a window of fair size. He owed these more 
 cheerful quarters, no doubt, to the fact that the 
 monks wished to remove him entirely from the 
 vicinity of the gold and the secret. 
 
 He seemed to be now in one of the guest 
 chambers of the monastery, as it was furnished 
 
248 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 with a narrow bed, a wash-stand with pitcher 
 and basin, and a wooden chair. The monks 
 slammed the door and fumbled for some time on 
 the outside, evidently securing the lock. Walter 
 tried to free his hands that were tied behind his 
 back, but found that they had been too well 
 fastened. 
 
 Stepping to the window, he looked out. He 
 could see the waters of the -^gaean rolling blue 
 in the distance, and the tops of some tall trees 
 growing on the slope of the hill below him. The 
 prospect gave him the impression of being 
 high up. 
 
 He was startled and surprised to hear the bell 
 of the monastery summoning the inmates to some 
 form of morning service — the voice of the bell 
 sounded so innocent and so familiar, as the voices 
 of church bells always do. Yet what irreligious 
 passions and evil impulses had been engendered 
 in the bosoms of the worshipers by the possession 
 of those bags of gold ! 
 
 Walter was not left alone long, for the Superior 
 soon returned with a boy bringing food. Brother 
 Pandelemon stood at the door to prevent escape. 
 At a word from the Superior, the boy untied the 
 cords about Walter's wrists, who, though very 
 
BEATEN AND MADE PRISONER 249 
 
 hungry, had an idea of carrying this thing off as 
 coolly and impudently as possible. He knew the 
 word used by the Greeks for valise, as it is similar 
 to the English, being no doubt a mere corruption 
 therefrom. So he called two or three times, 
 with the same manner as if he were at a hotel, 
 for his "valitza, valitza." The boy looked in- 
 quiringly at the Superior, who grunted assent and 
 the bag was soon brought ; but ere it was handed 
 to its owner, the Superior deliberately opened it, 
 examined the contents carefully and abstracted 
 an excellent American revolver. 
 
 Walter deliberately removed his soiled collar 
 and cuffs, and going to the wash-stand, com- 
 menced to make his toilet. There being not 
 much water in the pitcher, he offered it to the 
 boy, pointing to its interior with his finger. But 
 the Superior pushed the boy spitefully from the 
 room, and went out himself, locking the door 
 behind him. 
 
 Walter reflected that it was his cue to act as 
 though he took it for granted that they did not 
 dare do anything to him. Having changed his 
 collar and cuffs, he tied his cravat with consider- 
 able care and attacked his breakfast. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 PLANS FOR ESCAPE 
 
 Walter was in the last extremity for sleep, 
 yet he could not lie down on the narrow bed 
 and close his eyes. Brother Pandelemon's tall, 
 ungainly, sinewy form, his reputation for fanati- 
 cism, the fact that he shared with the Superior 
 the mad, secret, insane lust for that blighting 
 treasure there in the bags below, — all these 
 things combined to render him a disquieting and 
 altogether uncertain factor. Walter examined 
 his door, but found no means of fastening it, as 
 it was bolted on the outside. It opened out, too, 
 which rendered it impossible for him to secure 
 it by pushing the bed against it. But he must 
 sleep. He was so fatigued that there were red 
 lights floating before his eyes, and he was giddy. 
 There were two or three nails driven in the 
 plaster of the wall, for hanging clothing upon, 
 and it occurred to him that he could fasten the 
 
 250 
 
PLANS FOR ESCAPE 351 
 
 door with one of these. Accordingly he pulled 
 out a nail and drove it into the jamb near the 
 knob with the heel of his shoe, which he took off 
 to utilize as a hammer. Tying his handkerchief 
 tightly upon the door-knob and the nail, he tum- 
 bled upon the bed and was immediately fast 
 asleep. 
 
 About an hour later his eyes parted wide in 
 sudden and perfect wakefulness and he found 
 that he was gazing straight into the eyes of 
 Brother Pandelemon, who was advancing toward 
 him on tiptoe, half-way between the door and 
 the bed. Brother Pandelemon's right hand was 
 hidden in the breast of his cassock. He was not 
 making the slightest noise, and he must have 
 awakened Walter just by the intensity of that 
 basilisk gaze of his. The two men looked at each 
 other for a moment, when the priest, muttering 
 something, perhaps an apology, turned about and 
 shuffled from the room, closing the door softly 
 behind him. For a minute or possibly longer, 
 the American lay still, staring straight ahead with 
 wide-open eyes, when, all of a sudden, a thrill 
 of terror shivered through his frame and caused 
 his hair to feel as though it were indeed rising on 
 end. Springing from the bed, he reached the 
 
252 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 door at a bound and examined the handkerchief, 
 to find that it had been sliced through with a sharp 
 knife. Whoever had opened the door had evi- 
 dently pulled until he had made a crack sufficiently- 
 wide to admit a thin blade, and then had sawed 
 the handkerchief in two. 
 
 Walter's knees suddenly grew weak and he 
 sank into a chair, muttering " My God ! " He 
 knew why this fanatic monk had stolen into his 
 room, but he did not understand why he should 
 have opened his own eyes at that opportune mo- 
 ment. To that chance, a thing that might hap- 
 pen to a man only once out of a thousand times, 
 he owed his life. But for that extraordinary 
 psychological freak — or was it veriest chance? 
 — he would at this moment have been lying dead 
 upon the bed, or gasping out his last breath 
 while his life-blood oozed from a cowardly thrust. 
 
 He determined that he would escape somehow, 
 and would do it that very day. That monk was 
 crazy; he could see it in his eye, and had meant 
 to kill him. If he went to sleep in this room to- 
 night, he would never wake again. And first 
 it seemed to him that he must have some kind of 
 weapon, something with which to defend him- 
 self, should Brother Pandelemon return with 
 
PLANS FOR ESCAPE 253 
 
 murderous intent. The only objects in the room 
 which could possibly be utilized as weapons were 
 the water pitcher and the two chairs. Walter 
 practised for some time with one of the chairs, 
 swinging it about his head, and deciding upon 
 the most convenient way of gripping it. 
 
 He realized now that he was in actual peril of 
 his life ; that he was fairly in the power of a band 
 of men who were no better than madmen, whose 
 characters had been warped and perverted by the 
 possession of gold which was, to them, useless. 
 
 The windows of the upper story were wide 
 enough to allow the body of a man to pass, unlike 
 those of the cells below, which were merely long 
 slits, very narrow in the rooms and widening to- 
 ward the external surface of the walls. Evidently 
 the lower portion of the building was the medieval 
 part, and the upper story had been added more 
 recently. Placing his chair within convenient 
 reach, he pulled himself into the open window, 
 so that, lying on his stomach, he could look 
 straight down the white wall. The distance was 
 not great — a sheer fall of fifty or sixty feet, he 
 judged, but there were uninviting-looking rocks 
 below, and a drop from the window would have 
 killed him just as effectually as a leap from the 
 
254 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 top of the Washington monument. Nevertheless, 
 upon that window he centered all his thoughts; 
 it afforded his only chance for escape, it was his 
 only exit to liberty and safety. He examined 
 the bed carefully, with the idea of tearing up 
 the clothing to make a rope. There was but 
 one sheet, as is the custom in the Orient, and 
 that was a flimsy bit of fabric. The one woolen 
 blanket would be hard to tear and possibly not 
 strong in strips. The mattress was more prom- 
 ising, but all this work must be done at night, 
 after danger of interruption was over. 
 
 No one who has not been in a similar predica- 
 ment can realize the intensity with which Walter 
 was studying this problem. Where should he 
 fasten his rope when it was finished, into how 
 wide strips must he tear the blanket and the mat- 
 tress, and, consequently, how long a rope could 
 he make — these were the subjects he was study- 
 ing when he again leaned from the window, to 
 judge more accurately, if possible, its height from 
 the ground. 
 
 As he was thus occupied, he heard a sound that 
 so thrilled him with joy that he came near losing 
 his balance. That sound was " Hist ! hist ! " 
 and, though it might have been made by anybody. 
 
PLANS FOR ESCAPE 355 
 
 of any nationality, and have been exactly the 
 same sound, yet the only man on the isle of An- 
 dros who would hail him in this manner was 
 McKenzie. The American looked and looked 
 again, straining his eyes as he searched the deep 
 woodland and the cliff bordering the road that 
 led down to the sea. 
 
 But there was no sign of any one, and so 
 great was his shock of disappointment after that 
 first impulse of joy, that he narrowly missed 
 breaking down, and venting his exasperation in 
 tears or profanity. He had given up hope of 
 McKenzie; he had believed him dead — killed 
 in the fight — or captured like himself and locked 
 up. And now here comes some one with a 
 " Hist ! hist ! " or could it have been a trick of 
 his brain, of his overwrought imagination? He 
 was as nervous as a mother cat, anyway, from 
 loss of sleep and strain, and he had heard that 
 the brain sometimes plays exactly such tricks. 
 
 Yes, it was doubtless imagination, it — but no, 
 here are the eyes coming to the ears' assistance, in 
 glad confirmation. Yonder, in the shade of the 
 oaks, from behind that gray rock, rises for one 
 brief moment the hirsute and shaggy poll of Ian 
 McKenzie — silently, mysteriously rises, and as 
 
356 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 silently and mysteriously disappears. Had the 
 Scot been masquerading as one of the satyrs or 
 fauns that peopled the world with which he was 
 most familiar, he could not have grown out of 
 the sylvan landscape or melted into it again more 
 cunningly. Lying upon his stomach across the 
 wide window-sill, Walter laughed till the tears 
 came into his eyes, laughed immoderately. Then, 
 slipping to his feet, he danced about the room 
 like one mad, singing, irrelevantly, it is true, but 
 with an impulse of joy, the line, " Little Willie 
 went to war, na hum, na hum, na hum ! " 
 
 The words were from a fine old Scotch song, 
 which McKenzie was in the habit of droning 
 very comically, as an adjunct to contentment or 
 deep thought. And there he was, safe and sound ! 
 He had either got away, or the monks had not 
 caught him yet. Walter climbed into the window 
 and watched and watched again, and at last had 
 the inexpressible joy of seeing that shaggy head 
 rise a second time from the rock. He understood 
 why the Scot was so cautious. On that side 
 were the cells of several of the monks. But 
 there, at any rate, was McKenzie, and the first 
 thing was to get communication with him. 
 
 Walter took a pencil and bit of paper from 
 
PLANS FOR ESCAPE 357 
 
 his grip, and wrote as rapidly as possible: 
 
 " Dear Mac, — 
 
 " I've been planning to get out of here to-night, 
 by tearing up the bed-clothes and making a rope. 
 But I'm afraid such a rope wouldn't be safe, and 
 besides, I'm not sure that there's enough stuff. 
 Can't you pass a rope up to me during the night, 
 somehow? I'll let down a long string, and you 
 can tie a rope to it. If you find this note, and 
 think you can get a rope to me, wave your hand. 
 But, for heaven's sake, don't let the monks catch 
 you. If they ever get us both in here, we'll never 
 be heard of again. You can take some rope from 
 their old caique, down at the wharf. I'll let my 
 cord down as soon as it is dark, and you can 
 steal over and tie the end of the rope to it. 
 
 " Walter." 
 
 But how could he get this note to McKenzie? 
 To drop it was hopeless, as the Scot could not 
 come into the road before dark. Evidently he 
 must throw it, which would be easy from that 
 height, if he had any heavy object to which to 
 tie the bit of paper. A nail was too light and the 
 only other detachable object suitable to the pur- 
 pose was a castor from the bed. It did not take 
 
258 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Walter long to wrap the note around one of the 
 castors and to tie a handkerchief snugly over this. 
 Then, standing upon a chair, he again looked for 
 McKenzie, who was evidently watching, for he 
 responded to Walter's gestures by raising his 
 head. The prisoner now held up the white packet 
 and feinted two or three times, as though about 
 to throw it. Then, when he was satisfied that 
 the Scot understood, he hurled the thing with all 
 the skill of an old-time first baseman of high 
 repute, straight at the dim and shaggy head. 
 The white object flew clean across the road and 
 dropped among the bushes at McKenzie's side. 
 It disappeared and the head disappeared. 
 
 The Scot was evidently hunting, and he must 
 have hunted long, for it was fully ten minutes 
 before he gave the sign. At the end of that time, 
 which seemed an hour to Walter, the head slid 
 up from behind the rock for a third time, and a 
 long arm waved joyously in the air. The Ameri- 
 can jumped down from his chair with a light 
 heart. He regarded his deliverance as good as 
 accomplished, and waited for the night with 
 no little impatience. He no longer felt tired or 
 sleepy. One thing only occurred to cast a shadow 
 over the brightness of his anticipations. Looking 
 
PLANS FOR ESCAPE 
 
 from the window ten minutes later, he was dis- 
 turbed to see Brothers Pandelemon and Timoleon, 
 the two athletic priests, emerge from the wood 
 near the very spot where McKenzie had so re- 
 cently been. 
 
 Could this have been the result of a coincidence, 
 or had they been watching McKenzie? 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Mckenzie finds a rope 
 
 That the monks considered McKenzie as good 
 as captured, there can be no doubt, for they 
 had little conception of the bold spirit which in- 
 spires men of the world of action and hardy en- 
 deavor, especially men of the Anglo-Saxon race, 
 to regard seemingly insurmountable obstacles 
 merely "as incentives to greater effort. Between 
 the tiny bit of land on which the monastery was 
 situated and the mother island of Andros, rolled 
 a deep channel three hundred yards across in its 
 narrowest part. They were evidently waiting 
 till they should get the two intruders together, 
 within the walls of the building, before they 
 should put whatever plan they had with regard 
 to them into execution. McKenzie, they prob- 
 ably thought, must come in before very long, 
 driven by hunger, if for no other cause. Never- 
 theless, it made them feel uneasy that he should 
 
 260 
 
Mckenzie finds a rope aei 
 
 be even thus much at large, carrying their dread- 
 ful secret about with him, and the Scot soon 
 found that they were hunting him with great 
 vigor. Brothers Pandelemon and Timoleon, 
 young and active men, must have seen Walter 
 throw the note. With commendable shrewdness 
 they had seen that the latter would attempt to 
 make his location known to his confederate. 
 
 The Scot, who had caught sight of the two 
 monks, decided that he must not go near the win- 
 dow again for the whole day. He must get the 
 rope somehow, make them believe he was in some 
 other part of the island, elude them and steal back 
 there after dark. The program seemed a diffi- 
 cult one, and easily frustrated, yet nothing more 
 practicable presented itself to his mind. He was 
 relieved to observe that neither of the monks, 
 whom he had seen, carried firearms, and con- 
 cluded that, if they contemplated violence, it 
 formed no part of their plan to commit any act 
 which would leave damning traces of murder. 
 As he sat turning these thoughts over in his mind, 
 crouched in the bushes, he heard the crackle of 
 a breaking twig and glanced up to see the faces 
 of Brothers Timoleon and Pandelemon quite near 
 to him, peering through the leaves. The hair of 
 
263 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the latter monk had fallen loose, and a long 
 strand of it, tangled by clinging pins, dropped 
 even to his waist. He was bending forward with 
 clutching fingers, and but for the shape of his 
 tall hat, might easily have been mistaken for a 
 bearded witch, on mischief bent. A coil of rope 
 hung about Brother Timoleon's wrist. 
 
 McKenzie leaped to his feet with the agility 
 of a surprised giraffe, and tore through the thick 
 brush with tremendous strides, having the monks 
 in hot pursuit. It is possible that he would have 
 been overtaken and forced to try conclusions in 
 a hand-to-hand fight, two against one, but he 
 was saved from this by an accident which may 
 seem incredible, but whose plausibility is con- 
 firmed by an incident in Holy Writ ; and we must 
 remember, too, that this is a truthful narrative, 
 and that truth is often stranger than fiction. A 
 shriek of pain, followed by shouts of " Unfasten 
 me ! unfasten me ! " caused him to turn his head. 
 Brother Pandelemon's hair was securely caught 
 and thoroughly involved in the branches of a 
 vicious live-oak, through which he had attempted 
 to struggle and his confrere had paused for a 
 moment in perplexity, giving vent to exclama- 
 tions of astonishment. 
 
McKENZIE FINDS A ROPE 263 
 
 Even as the Scot bounded upon them, not will- 
 ing to lose this providential opportunity, Brother 
 Timoleon grabbed both hands into the hirsute 
 tangle and began to yank. McKenzie knocked 
 him down. A fleeting impulse possessed him to 
 sling the man over his shoulder and carry him 
 off as a hostage to assure Walter's safety, or per- 
 haps deliverance through exchange of prisoners, 
 but he thought better of the matter immediately 
 and hurried off, leaving the modern Absalom 
 tearing his hair from the bush, which seemed, 
 as fast as he got some of it away, to seize upon 
 and entangle new portions. Already numerous 
 silken strands, several feet in length, were cling- 
 ing to the implacable branches, and they may, no 
 doubt, be found there to this day, causing the 
 passer-by to imagine that a dryad or other nymph 
 may have met misfortune there. 
 
 It was fortunate for McKenzie that Brother 
 Timoleon's rope was too short for Walter's pur- 
 pose, as the Scot would probably have carried 
 it away with him thoughtlessly, thereby setting 
 the monks to thinking. 
 
 McKenzie concluded that now was the time 
 to secure a rope from the caique, while he was 
 sure that those two, at least, were not on his track. 
 
364 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 He therefore thrashed through the underbrush, 
 never stopping till he had come out into the 
 clearer spaces on the slope nearer to the sea. Be- 
 tween the trunks of the pines he could see the 
 waters glittering in the sun, and the gray needle 
 of rock that rose abruptly from their surface, a 
 little way out. This was directly opposite the 
 wharf, which was hidden from view by a mass 
 of boulders forming a tiny crag by the side of the 
 road, at its seaward terminus. This would also, 
 of course, eclipse the hull of the caique; still, 
 McKenzie thought it odd that its tall mast was 
 nowhere visible. There were many little springs 
 upon the island, in addition to the copious source 
 from which the monastery tods its name, and one 
 of these now quenched McKenzie's thirst, which 
 was becoming troublesome. It was about noon 
 now, and as he lay on his stomach drinking, his 
 mind reverted to a chunk of bread that he had 
 noticed not long before in the bottom of the 
 caique's dinghy, tied to the wharf. It was moldy 
 bread, swollen with sea water, and there had been 
 one or two stale fish Ijring near it. The idea of 
 it gave him a feeling of disgust, yet he was hurigry 
 enough to reflect that a starving man might con- 
 template such a morsel with avidity. 
 
McKENZIE FINDS A ROPE 2G5 
 
 He delayed but a moment at the spring. An- 
 other hundred yards and he had passed the mass of 
 boulders. The caique and the dinghy were both 
 gone! McKenzie had not the least doubt in the 
 world that the monks had removed them imme- 
 diately after his irruption from their midst, to 
 prevent his sailing away and bringing help. Or 
 had some of them gone after assistance? This 
 did not seem probable, as they were now numer- 
 ically strong enough to overpower him could they 
 capture him. He laughed as he thought of the 
 ease with which Walter and he would swim the 
 channel — if he could only find a piece of rope. 
 
 There was the boat-house, a long low cabin of 
 wood at the water's edge. Or was it a boat- 
 house ? McKenzie had taken this for granted in 
 that casual, uninterested glance which he had cast 
 at it one day. But now it occurred to him that 
 the structure was too large for the dinghy and 
 not big enough for the caique, and these two 
 craft were the monks' entire fleet, so far as he 
 knew. He crept to the edge of the boulder, pro- 
 jected his head, and looked up and down the road. 
 No one was visible, so he dropped into the road 
 and made a dash for the little hut. Its seaward 
 end was open and within was a channel with 
 
366 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 wooden flooring on either side, for the accommo- 
 dation of a long boat. There was no boat within, 
 but a fish-net was hanging to pegs upon the wall, 
 and in one corner lay a long coil of slender 
 rope. 
 
 McKenzie actually laughed to himself. Of 
 course, if the monks made their own oil and wine, 
 raised their own meat and vegetables, caught 
 their own fish, what more natural than that they 
 should have fish-nets and ropes? Fifty feet 
 would do, he thought. 
 
 The Scot knew that he measured two yards 
 from tip to tip with his arms extended and hands 
 open, and he reeled off eight of these units from 
 the coil, or something less than fifty feet. Wind- 
 ing this tightly about his left arm and taking the 
 end in his hand, he again plunged into the woods 
 and struck across the island. His idea was to 
 work around behind the monastery toward the 
 channel, so that if he were again located and hard- 
 pressed, he might jump into the sea and swim 
 over to the mainland of Andros. He found the 
 walk long and tedious, albeit the monks' terri- 
 tory was, geographically speaking, too insignifi- 
 cant a dot of land to be put down on any map. 
 Many other travelers have had the same ex- 
 
McKENZIE FINDS A ROPE 36? 
 
 perience. Almost any one of the isles, which 
 swarm in groups in the southern Pacific and are 
 indicated on the maps as mere dots whose num- 
 ber we do not even take the trouble to count, is a 
 tiny continent, with mountain peaks, slopes cov- 
 ered with trees, stretches of wave-kissed beach, 
 and fertile valleys. 
 
 McKenzie found at last a hiding place in a 
 thick tangle of underbrush on the hillslope look- 
 ing toward Andros, and lay down, determined to 
 pass the remainder of the day in this retreat. His 
 mind now reverted again to that piece of bread 
 which he had seen in the bottom of the dinghy, 
 and it did not seem so disgusting to him. He 
 remembered that it had not been in actual contact 
 with the decayed fish, which were, after all, the 
 offensive objects. 
 
 He would get less hungry, he reflected, if he 
 kept still. Exercise was a great thing to in- 
 crease the appetite. Ah, how refreshing a cup of 
 tea would have been then ! 
 
 Feeling in his pockets, he found that he ac- 
 tually had a few drawings of tea with him in a 
 brown paper, but, rack his brains as he would, 
 he could think of no way of steeping it. He fell 
 asleep at last chewing a handful of Oolong dust, 
 
268 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 and did not awake till late in the afternoon. The 
 sun had crept over behind the monastery build- 
 ing, which intercepted the glare, indeed, but left 
 the side of the island in a luminous shadow that 
 resembled a long twilight. 
 
 McKenzie sat up and rubbed his eyes. 
 
 " Ah, that was a beautiful dream ! " he sighed. 
 And was he not then in Santorine, at his be- 
 trothal feast? Ah, that lamb which Uncle 
 Loudovikos was roasting, how delicious it 
 smelled ! He told him it was done, he told him 
 a dozen times ! But the old pig-head would not 
 remove it from the fire. Had he not been so 
 obstinate, he could have eaten before he awoke. 
 His mind reverted again to the piece of bread in 
 the dinghy. He had no doubt that it would 
 have been quite clean and palatable with a bit of 
 the outside rubbed oflf. 
 
 It was now time to work back toward the 
 neighborhood of Walter's window, and this he 
 immediately began to do, keeping in the thickest 
 of the brush and creeping along as noiselessly as 
 possible. Ere he reached his objective point, the 
 vesper sounded, with that wild, sweet tone of 
 bells rung on a height above the water. It began 
 to rain now and through a vista between the trees, 
 
McKENZIE FINDS A ROPE 269 
 
 McKenzie could see the heaving waters, livid, as 
 they often are after the quenching of the sun, 
 everywhere and infinitely pitted by the pelting 
 rain. And there, looming strangely large in the 
 wan light, the monks' caique went heaving by, 
 with Brother Myrianthuses, an old-time sailor, at 
 the helm: Brother M)n:ianthuses, his tall hat 
 dripping rain, and his drenched robe clinging 
 shapelessly to his portly form. Three small boats 
 trailed after the caique, in tow. 
 
 " Have you seen anything of him ? " called a 
 voice from the shore. 
 
 " Nothing, absolutely nothing," shouted Broth- 
 er Myrianthuses, leaning against the tiller. " I 
 have been clear around the island. There's not 
 a boat now anywhere on the beach that he could 
 get away on." 
 
 It continued to rain, and now and then thunder 
 growled from over Andros, as though some great 
 beast were hidden among the hills. The dark- 
 ness was perfect, with the exception of an occa- 
 sional pallid gleam of lightning. Edging around 
 close to the end of the monastery where it abutted 
 against the hill, McKenzie stole along the wall 
 until he reached the exact spot beneath Walter's 
 window, and there, sure enough, he found, after 
 
270 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 some little search, the end of the long strip of torn 
 bed-clothing which had been let down. Tying 
 the rope to this, he pulled gently, and it immedi- 
 ately began to ascend the wall. The Scot retired 
 into the wood, by the side of the road, and 
 watched the window impatiently. 
 
 Walter would be out soon, he thought, and then 
 they would be off after something to eat. He 
 himself could swim the Hellespont for a bit of 
 bread. But a half-hour passed by, and Walter 
 did not come out. Meanwhile the storm in- 
 creased, and the flashes of lightning became more 
 vivid. And now it was that the Scot heard the 
 footfalls of some one running rapidly up the road 
 from the sea. Whoever it was must pass directly 
 beneath him, not ten feet off. Probably Brother 
 Myrianthuses, he mused, returning from his vain 
 cruise around the world. 
 
 At that moment the entire stretch of road, lined 
 with boulders and pine-trees, was lighted up by 
 an electric flash, and there in the center of it, not 
 twenty feet away, drenched to the skin, dis- 
 heveled, pallid, was the beautiful Duchess of Pol- 
 cavera. Drenched to the skin, truly, and that one 
 instant's glimpse, too fleeting for any change of 
 attitude, gave the impression of a human being in 
 
McKENZIE FINDS A ROPE 371 
 
 great and anxious haste; just as the figures on a 
 vase, or a statue, inanimate though they be, seem 
 to have been struck out in the acme of incompleted 
 action, by a lightning flash of genius. What was 
 Polyxene doing on that lonely road and how did 
 she get there? 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 
 
 To answer that question, we must go back a 
 few hours, and change the scene to the village of 
 Ta Castra. Polyxene stands beneath the trellised 
 grape-vine, with a dripping amphora upon her 
 shoulder. The sun shines upon the ^gaean and 
 makes it like unto that sea of glass which St. John 
 beheld; it suffuses the deep, cloudless heavens 
 with a light soft and yet so glowing that the eyes 
 can scarce endure it ; it cradles the uttermost isles, 
 nesting where the sky and the sea are one, in 
 amethystine radiance. 
 
 It shines, too, upon three little ships beyond the 
 
 harbor mouth, causing the white of their canvas 
 
 to flash as brightly out of the blue of the sea, as 
 
 the wings of doves fluttering upon a sunny green. 
 
 Side by side the)» come on, all rigged alike, and 
 
 leaning at exactly the same angle to the wind. 
 
 Polyxene bends forward, curving her shapely 
 272 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 273 
 
 fingers, the better to shut out the intensity of the 
 light, and peers long and searchingly at this little 
 fleet. Satisfied at last, she drops her arm to her 
 side and walks slowly toward the house. She 
 knows these particular ships; they are coming 
 home, something tells her, to her, but she does not 
 seem well-pleased, as those should be, whose 
 " ships come home." So many mingled emotions 
 sweep over her features, that it would be difBcult 
 for one who knew not what was passing in her 
 mind, to guess the cause of the girl's interest in 
 those ships. At one moment, as she glances again 
 seaward, she seems moved by pity, at another by 
 fear ; and there creeps into her eyes an expression 
 of resolve, as of one who has a disagreeable duty 
 to perform, and who means to get through with 
 the ordeal as quickly and kindly as possible. 
 
 The reader has already divined that those are 
 Spiro's ships coming in, and that Polyxene's 
 feminine intuition tells her that he is returning to 
 claim her. She knows, as women know such 
 things, that he loves her, and that no amount of 
 humiliation, or of taunts from his friends or his 
 family to the effect that this servant girl, already 
 beneath him, has been trifling with another, will 
 keep him from sailing back after her. 
 
274 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 The task that she has to perform is a hard one, 
 for, according to the island usage, she has given 
 her word and he has a claim upon her. But she 
 is no longer Pol)rxene Abattis, she is not the girl 
 who gave herself to Spiro, and moreover, she 
 loves another ; loves him as only those of her race 
 know how to love, and it would be much easier 
 for her to thrust a knife to her heart than to 
 marry Spiro. Her reasons are to her all-suf- 
 ficient, yet she knows that she can not urge them 
 upon this man who is standing now upon the deck 
 of one of the ships out there; she can simply tell 
 him that she has changed her mind. 
 
 She will appeal to his manhood, and when he 
 speaks of his love, she will beg him in the name 
 of that love, to let her go without hate or threat- 
 ened violence. He ought to give her up without 
 words ; there are so many beautiful girls upon the 
 island, why should he cling only to her? As she 
 reasons thus, she makes her own unworthiness 
 seem quite clear to herself. She is willing to 
 occupy any stratum of humility, so that he will 
 but leave her in peace. How gladly she would be- 
 lieve that Xene, or Maria or Kalirrhoe was more 
 beautiful than herself, and hand Spiro over to any 
 one of them, happy in his better fortune! 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 375 
 
 But she could not persuade herself that the 
 Greek would be easily convinced. He loved her, 
 in his fierce savage way, she was sure, and be- 
 sides, there was his pride to be taken into consid- 
 eration. It would madden him to the point of 
 fury to be told that she or any other woman, upon 
 whom he might have set his heart, had preferred 
 another man to himself. Self-abnegation — the 
 supreme desire to see a woman happy, even 
 if it be necessary to give her to another to secure 
 that happiness, forms no part of savage love. 
 
 " Spiro's coming back," said Polyxene quietly 
 fb Mrs. Ion, whom she found bustling about the 
 court. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " I said, 'Spiro's coming back ! ' His ships are 
 just outside the harbor mouth." 
 
 Mrs. Ion looked up. 
 
 " Good gracious ! How pale you are ! Do you 
 suppose he's after you? I kind o' thought he'd 
 gone off in a huflf. If he really insists on having 
 the ceremony performed, I don't know what you 
 will do. I told Mr. Lythgoe to run off with 
 you — " here Polyxene suddenly flushed rosy red 
 — " but he didn't take my advice. Father's sick 
 now," continued the lady petulantly, " and I 
 
276 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 couldn't mix him up in any such row as this, even 
 if he was well. If you and Mr. Lj?thgoe had just 
 quietly eloped, as I advised you to, nobody would 
 have suspected our knowing anjrthing about it. I 
 could have been as indignant as anybody. You 
 see, we've got to live here," she finished with a 
 sigh. 
 
 The little woman was tired from nursing her 
 husband, and she had been thinking of her native 
 land of late. She loved the gentle, weak, imprac- 
 tical missionary, with that motherly love which a 
 strong woman often feels for a weak man; but 
 there was no disloyalty in the thought that, if she 
 outlived him, there would be nothing to keep her 
 longer in this far-away isle, among these strange 
 people. She was a pitiful figure now, with her 
 reddish hair, streaked with gray, disheveled, and 
 her cheeks pale and sunken from much watch- 
 ing. 
 
 " Don't worry, mother," said Polyxene kindly. 
 " There'll be no fuss. I know how to manage 
 Spiro. Now you go and lie down a while, and 
 do let me take care of Mr. Ion — do, you are 
 worrying and working yourself to death." 
 
 An hour later Spiro's three caiques shed their 
 sails as a tree casts its leaves and came to anchor 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 27t 
 
 at the foot of the town ; and Spiro himself, land- 
 ing with Impatient haste, climbed the winding 
 path and flung across the square to the mission- 
 ary's house. The tassel of his fez danced mer- 
 rily as he walked, and his cheeks were as brown 
 as a nut from the kiss of the winds of the sea. 
 Straight to the missionary's front door he went 
 and knocked loudly. It was Polyxene who 
 opened for him, and he greeted her with a glad 
 cry and a movement as though he would push in 
 and take her in his arms. But she thrust out her 
 arm and said : 
 
 " Sh ! Mr. Ion is very sick. Did you wish to 
 see me, Spiro ? " For she had no mind to avoid 
 an interview, but rather to suggest one and have 
 the matter settled as soon as possible. 
 
 " Did I wish to see you? " he laughed. " 'Tis 
 not strange if a man should wish to see his af- 
 fianced bride, is it ? " 
 
 "No, no, not at all," she replied; "but Mr. 
 Ion is really very sick and we can not talk here. 
 Wait for me a moment, and I will walk with you 
 upon the beach." 
 
 Tying a handkerchief about her head, she 
 joined him and together they walked down to the 
 sea-shore, and strolled along the snowy sands. 
 
278 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 making, as seen from afar, a dainty aquarelle, in 
 the diaphanous, shell-tinted light, with the bright 
 blue of the sea, their picturesque costumes, and 
 gay bits of color here and there, of fez and hand- 
 kerchief, embroidered jacket and pompons. 
 
 " I couldn't stay mad at you, my little bird 
 (poulaki mou)," began Spiro. " I was mad with 
 jealousy because another should have even dared 
 to look at you, who belong to me — me, the de- 
 march's son." He was ill at ease and trembling 
 with eagerness and passion, and he kept on talk- 
 ing rapidly, as one will who is not sure of his 
 cause and desires to prevent any unfavorable 
 avowal — to sweep away all strength of opposi- 
 tion before the other speaks. 
 
 " The whole town was talking of you and him, 
 Polyxene, and you can understand what impres- 
 sion that would make upon me, your betrothed 
 — me, the demarch's son. You see, my treasure, 
 my relatives had already made life almost a bur- 
 den to me because I had taken you, a servant girl, 
 and intended to make you my wife, but I said to 
 them, ' What if she is a servant ? There is none 
 like her, none so beautiful in all Andros.' Of 
 course, I could marry any one, I could have my 
 pick." 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 379 
 
 It was becoming easier for Polyxene now, and 
 a gray tint was creeping into the sea-blue eyes. 
 
 " But if I prefer you, if I am determined to 
 lift you up to my level in life, that is my business, 
 is it not, my life ? (Zo'e mou.)" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " murmured Polyxene. 
 
 As in the case of all jealous men, Spiro could 
 not keep off the subject of the other man, not 
 knowing that it is by acts and not by words that 
 one establishes superiority in such an emergency. 
 
 " And when he met me there and threatened me 
 with a pistol, and made me turn about and — 
 and walk away — me, the demarch's son, I was 
 crazy with rage. A-a-a-h, I could have broken 
 his back, the accursed of heaven, the cowardly 
 dog ! Why, Polyxene, look at me ! I am a man. 
 I could take that girl, that Prankish fop in my 
 hands, thus, and hurl him over the cliff, or dash 
 him upon the ground as they do a devil-fish when 
 they slap it down to make it tender for boiling. 
 Ah, ha, ha, ha ! But he would never have waited 
 for me, if he had had no pistol — not he. So I 
 sailed away, into the night and the storm, and I 
 walked the deck when it thundered and the keen 
 spray whipped my face, and I cursed him and I 
 cursed you, even you, my treasure, and I shook 
 
280 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 my hands at the black sky and I cursed God, be- 
 cause he had sent this dog of a foreigner to nmke 
 me ridiculous and to take away my — my — " 
 
 " Your servant girl from you," suggested Poly- 
 xene. 
 
 "Yes," cried Spiro, who was too transported 
 to notice the irony. " But my rage at last wore 
 itself out, and there came calm upon the sea, and 
 the soft winds blew upon my hot brow and cooled 
 it, and the lapping of the waves against the prow 
 quieted the tumult in my heart, and my great 
 desire and loneliness for you surged in upon me 
 again, stronger than life or death or rage or 
 shame. And I said, ' She is mine, mine ! I will 
 go back and take her, and if any so much as 
 smile at me, he must settle with me, me, Spiro! 
 By the Virgin, they shall not do it twice ! ' I said, 
 ' She is mine, and if that white-livered infidel 
 cur be there still, I will drive him from the island, 
 I will kill him.' Ha ! If he broke into the house, 
 and I ate him (To' 'fage), if I thrust my knife 
 deep into him, thus, who would blame me ? And 
 shall I not kill him, if he try to steal what is 
 dearer to me than aught else in the world ? For 
 I love you, my little bird, my life, my light, my 
 eyes. I love you more than life, or heaven, — I 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 381 
 
 burn for you as one wandering in a hot desert 
 raves for cold water. And so, Polyxene, my 
 own, we will be crowned by the priest right away. 
 I have come back for my bride ! " 
 
 " I can not marry you, Spiro." 
 
 She spoke low, but very distinctly. 
 
 " You can not marry me? " 
 
 His face, flushed by excitement and the effort 
 of speaking, grew livid. " You can not marry 
 me ? " He had been talking very loudly a mo- 
 ment before, the words bursting forth in a tor- 
 rent. Now they came slowly and hoarsely. 
 " You do not know what you say. Why, you 
 will ruin my life if you do not marry me! You 
 are promised, you are betrothed to me ! " 
 
 He was suffering now and she felt pity for 
 him. 
 
 " Listen, my friend," she said, laying her hand' 
 upon his arm. " Listen. I beg you to forgive, 
 to forget me, and not to feel hard toward me. 
 I know that I promised, that I am betrothed to 
 you. But I should never have done it. I was 
 weak and I yielded because I was driven to it, 
 because I was a popr girl all alone here without 
 friends to help me and advise me. Any woman 
 ought to be proud of such a man as you, and bet- 
 
282 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 ter, oh, far better and more beautiful girls will 
 be proud of you. But I do not love you in that 
 way, Spiro, I — a girl can not instruct her heart 
 whom it should love. It is no disrespect to you 
 that I do not, God knows ! It is my own blind- 
 ness, perhaps. Spiro, I ask you to release me and 
 be my friend. If you will do this for me, I will 
 honor and bless you to the latest day of my life. 
 Will you release me and not feel hard toward me, 
 dear Spiro?" 
 
 They walked on for some distance in silence. 
 Polyxene glanced at her companion's face and 
 she was not reassured. At last, unable to endure 
 the suspense longer, she spoke : 
 
 " But you did not answer me, Spiro, my 
 (friend." 
 
 He aroused, as a man from a dream, and 
 laughed bitterly, — such a laugh as a damned 
 spirit might have given utterance to. 
 
 " Ha ! So you can not love me, eh ? I am not 
 sufficiently attractive for you ! Where is this cur, 
 this, bah! this cowardly blackguard of yours, 
 stopping?" 
 
 Her face flushed with anger, but she made him 
 no reply. 
 
 " Where is he ? " he cried, seizing her by the 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 283 
 
 wrist. "Is he still at the missionary's? Tell 
 me. I must know." 
 
 Polyxene thought of Mrs. Ion and replied : 
 
 " If you are referring to Mr. Lythgoe, the 
 American, he is not at our house. They are 
 friends of yours." 
 
 "Where is he, then?" 
 
 " He is at the monastery." 
 
 " I ought to kill you, my girl, to save my honor. 
 But I will marry you, first, and perhaps then I 
 will kill you. We will see. To-night I settle 
 with the foreigner. He shall not escape me 
 this time. Prepare for our wedding, my little 
 bride." 
 
 Throwing her wrist violently from him, he 
 turned and strode back toward his ships. Poly- 
 xene stood and watched him as he walked away, 
 along the edge of the sea, looming very large in 
 the red flare of the setting sun. A storm was 
 coming up and a few shining drops sailed ob- 
 liquely downward through the air. 
 
 For a few moments Polyxene stood irresolute, 
 fear in her eyes. But it did not take her long to 
 decide what course she should pursue. She took 
 for granted that Spiro would go by land and it 
 would be impossible for her to take the same 
 
284 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 route without being seen. But the missionary 
 owned a small boat, snugly moored in a crevice of 
 the cliff, and she knew how to sail. It was locked 
 and she must go by the house for the key. This 
 she did, and was relieved to observe that Spiro 
 had not yet left. Evidently he did not intend to 
 start until after dark. It was night before the 
 brave girl, herself, got off. 
 
 It was raining hard now, the sea was unsafe 
 ^Jor so small a craft and the vivid lightning, 
 illumining with a lurid glare the heaving waters, 
 would have terrified a woman under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances; but a girl who is going to save the 
 life of her lover is not easily deterred. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A BRAVE SWEETHEART 
 
 McKenzie slid down into the road, and yield- 
 ing to a sudden inspiration, called to the girl in 
 English. His thought was to avoid terrifying 
 her, if possible, and it struck him that she would 
 be more willing to meet one of her English- 
 speaking friends at that moment than any of the 
 Greeks. 
 
 "St! Miss Polyxene, Miss Polyxene!" he 
 called. 
 
 She stopped. He could not see her now in the 
 darkness, but he knew that she had stopped and 
 was listening, because the patter of her footsteps 
 suddenly ceased. 
 
 " Who is there ? " she called, bravely enough, 
 save for a scarcely perceptible quaver on the last 
 word. 
 
 " 'Tis I, Mr. McKenzie, here in the road, but 
 a few steps from you. Come closer and tell me 
 
 285 
 
286 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 what brings you here on such a night as this. 
 Speak and have no fear." 
 
 Another flash of lightning, — a weird, faint 
 flicker this time, — revealed the two, leaning to- 
 ward each other with straining eyes and faces 
 wan in the unearthly light. There could be no 
 mistaking the tall, ungainly Scot, and Polyxene 
 ran toward him with that perfect confidence 
 which the true gentleman inspires in all women. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad to see you ! " she laughed, 
 a trifle hysterically. " I can explain to you, and 
 — I — ^I wouldn't like to have the monks see me 
 here." 
 
 " What has happened ? " asked McKenzie. 
 " What can I do for you ? Ye have but to tell 
 me, and if it be in the power of man, 'tis done." 
 
 " Oh, I know that, I know it ! " — and then 
 she continued breathlessly: "Spiro came back 
 to-day, and when I told him that I could not 
 marry him, he said he was coming over here to 
 kill Walter. I know that he meant it, for his eyes 
 were like those of a wild beast. There was mur- 
 der in them. I hastened over ahead of him to 
 warn Walter." 
 
 The Scot whistled softly. 
 
 "When might we be looking for Spiro?" he 
 
A BRAVE SWEETHEART 287 
 
 asked, looking at Polyxene with undisguised ad- 
 miration. 
 
 " Now, any moment. I sailed over, and if he 
 comes by sea, he may be right behind me. If by 
 land, he may be going into the monastery now, 
 now while we are talking ! " 
 
 The Scot was puzzled and it was necessary to 
 think fast. If Walter dropped out of the window 
 within the next few moments, before the arrival 
 of Spiro and his crew, then it would be possible 
 for the two foreigners and the girl to sail away 
 together in Polyxene' s boat : and what a delight- 
 ful surprise that would be for Walter! The 
 Scot's romantic nature leaped at this possibility 
 joyfully. If, on the other hand, anything had 
 happened to Walter and his escape had been fore- 
 stalled, it would be useless to keep the girl there 
 in the rain, and cruel to let her suspect that her 
 lover was in danger also from the monks. If 
 Spiro caught her there, too, he would be prone, 
 in his jealous rage, to wreak his vengeance on 
 her — a most common proceeding in Greece, and 
 McKenzie very well knew it was ten to one that 
 her disappearance from the village would be no- 
 ticed by the missionary's family. 
 
 " Come ! " whispered Polyxene, " come ! you 
 must go now, this instant, and warn Walter." 
 
288 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 "Where did you leave your boat?" asked 
 McKenzie. 
 
 " Not right at the wharf — a little way off, 
 where Spiro could not see it, should he come that 
 way. On fete days, when many boats come to 
 the monastery, the smaller ones tie up at several 
 places along the shore." 
 
 " Ye' re a wonderful woman ! " exclaimed the 
 Scot. " There's only one other in the wor-rld 
 that's your equal. Run down to your boat and 
 wait for half an hour, and then I'll come to you, 
 if it is possible. At any rate, I'll warn Walter 
 and we'll see that Spiro doesn't find him. If I'm 
 not there in half an hour, you must sail away. 
 You came and I suppose you can get back. At 
 any rate, you mustn't stay here. Go, now, and 
 be careful that Spiro does not meet you on the 
 road." 
 
 " You — you think that Walter will be safe, 
 even if you do warn him ? " she asked tremu- 
 lously, the while a faint blush of lightning played 
 about her pale features. 
 
 " No doubt of it, no doubt of it ! " whispered 
 McKenzie, suddenly reminded by the lightning 
 that they were standing in plain view in the road 
 and imperiling the entire plan of escape. " But 
 
A BRAVE SWEETHEART 289 
 
 we are wasting precious time. You must run 
 along now," — and taking the girl gently by the 
 shoulder, he turned her about. She hastened 
 away and McKenzie crept into the bushes, where 
 he crouched, keeping his eyes turned toward the 
 window of Walter's room. The most of the time 
 he was gazing into blank darkness, but ever and 
 anon, as the fickle lightning gleamed, the black 
 wall loomed for an instant from the night, and 
 the window burned with a dull sheen, as the face 
 of still waters by starlight. Earlier in the even- 
 ing, the feeble glimmer of a candle had outlined 
 the panes in dull yellow, but that had gone out 
 now. 
 
 When the light first disappeared, McKenzie 
 took for granted that Walter had extinguished 
 it preparatory to his descent, and he stared the 
 more eagerly into the darkness, wondering where 
 the next lightning flash would strike out his 
 form : just emerging from the window, or sprawl- 
 ing black against the wall like a great spider at 
 the end of his filmy rope? But the precious 
 minutes passed away and still Walter did not 
 come forth, and, as McKenzie lurked and 
 watched, hunger raged within him like a fire. 
 
 " Why don't he come down," he muttered, 
 
290 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " that we may e'en go and get something to eat ? 
 I wonder if by chance there was a bit of bread in 
 the girl's boat? " What poor weak creatures we 
 are! Interfere with the seemingly most insig- 
 nificant function of our physical being, or deprive 
 us of food or water, and we can think of nothing 
 but our miserable bodies, or some part of them. 
 
 It seemed to McKenzie now that the crying 
 reason for delivering Walter was that his own 
 hunger might be satisfied. Ah, if he would only 
 come down while the girl was there with the boat, 
 how quickly they could sail over to the village and 
 get something to eat ! But if Spiro and his ruf- 
 fians came first — hark, was not that the sound of 
 footsteps? He was sure he heard something 
 down the road leading to the sea, and he turned 
 his face in that direction. Perhaps the girl was 
 returning, unable to control her anxiety. Yes, 
 somebody was certainly coming. The Scot drew 
 himself together still more compactly into the 
 clump of bushes within which he was hiding. 
 The person — the persons — approached, they 
 came to within ten feet of the Scot's hiding 
 place. There were several of them and they were 
 talking Greek in a low tone. 
 
 McKenzie raised a trifle on tiptoe and crouched 
 
A BRAVE SWEETHEART 391 
 
 there with his ear turned toward the voices, in 
 the attitude of a letter S, or of a man in a Chinese 
 torture box. He must hear what those people 
 were saying; if Spiro was there, he must detect 
 his voice. If this were a party of the monks, 
 they would not be likely to kill Walter when he 
 dropped from the window; but if it were Spiro 
 and his men, something savage and desperate 
 must be decided upon immediately. McKenzie 
 was not hungry now. He felt about him in the 
 dark. Could he but lay hold of a large club or 
 billet of wood he might leap among Spiro and his 
 crew just before Walter came within reach, shout- 
 ing to the American in the meantime to help him- 
 self. There was great virtue in a surprise and a 
 sudden attack, and two or three men might be 
 disabled before they knew what had happened. 
 The thought of it aroused all the good fighting 
 blood in him, and the very desperateness of the 
 chance added to his fierce, primal joy as he lay 
 squat upon the ground and his great, hairy hand 
 crawled about, spider-like, after the club. If only 
 he might find — something ! Then the probable 
 futility of such a search occurred to him and he 
 lay for a moment thinking. Ah, he had it ! 
 Yonder, by the side of the road, was a pile of 
 
g93 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 fagots, many of them limbs no larger than a 
 man's wrist, sawn from the sturdy scrub-oak. He 
 would listen now, and then, as soon as they moved 
 away a little, which they were sure to do, he 
 would creep over in the darkness and secure one 
 of those clubs. He clenched his fists and laughed 
 silently as he thought of how he would make it 
 ■whistle about their heads. Yes, yes, even if it 
 were the monks, that would be the plan to pur- 
 sue. He was now so possessed by the idea, it 
 seemed so good to him, that he determined to put 
 it in effect, whoever these new-comers might be, 
 always provided that they discovered Walter in 
 the act of escaping. With this thought in mind, 
 he pushed his shaggy face through the thick bush 
 and looked again at the monastery: and at that 
 moment there was another lightning flash, — a 
 vivid one this time. 
 
 " Look there ! look there ! " cried one of the 
 Greeks, pointing. McKenzie's heart almost 
 stopped beating, for there was the rope dangling 
 down the side of the wall and Walter just climb- 
 ing out — not from the window which McKenzie 
 had been watching, but from another, farther to- 
 ward the front of the building. In this latter 
 window a light had been faintly burning fo* some 
 
A BRAVE SWEETHEART 293 
 
 time and the Scot had taken for granted that one 
 of the Brothers was in that room. How did 
 Walter get there and why had he changed his 
 room ? But the Greeks were talking together ex- 
 citedly now, and he could hear what they were 
 saying. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 SAVED BY A LUCKY THOUGHT 
 
 Walter's joy when he felt the improvised cord 
 twitch can be easily imagined. He knew the 
 moment he began to pull, that there was a rope 
 at the other end. He leaned from the window, 
 and pulled carefully lest the flimsy cord should 
 part. He realized now that he could never have 
 got to earth safely on any rope that he might have 
 made out of those bed-clothes. There at last on 
 the floor was a goodly coil of stout, though light, 
 rope. 
 
 It would hold a horse, thought Walter. He 
 had already determined to attach it to the bed and 
 he stepped toward that object of furniture, with 
 intent of pulling it toward the window, when his 
 vigilant ear caught the sound of footsteps on the 
 gallery without, hastening toward his door. 
 
 His face blanched, and a dangerous light 
 gleamed in his eyes. Being an Anglo-Saxon, 
 
 294 
 
SAVED BY A LUCKY THOUGHT 295 
 
 and driven beyond all restraint and convention, 
 he said things that would not look well in print. 
 But five minutes more and he would have been 
 outside the walls, in the woods with McKenzie, 
 on his way to Polyxene. His gaze leaped about 
 the room, exploring every cranny with that mi- 
 croscopic intensity of search which the senses 
 acquire in supreme moments. He was looking 
 for a weapon, for he was fairly transported with 
 rage at the meddling monk, whoever he might be, 
 who was about to spoil his plans at the very mo- 
 ment of their realization. 
 
 " I'll smash you, curse you, and go out any- 
 way," he snarled. The footsteps stopped in front 
 of his door. There was no weapon more deadly 
 than the chair in sight, and his sudden, unthink- 
 ing anger had yearned for something that would 
 kill, without fail ; but there lay the precious rope 
 and there was his valise. Instinctively, with no 
 better developed thought than that he must hide 
 his means of escape, he stuffed the rope into the 
 valise and closed the latter, even while he heard 
 some one outside pushing at the reluctant bolt, 
 which slid back and allowed the door to open just 
 as Walter straightened up, and stood in the mid- 
 dle of the floor, feeling that his secret was written 
 
296 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 all over his face and could not be concealed from 
 these monks. 
 
 The Father Superior entered, with Brother 
 Timoleon. 
 
 "What do you want now, you old idiot?" 
 snarled Walter, addressing his question to the 
 elder of the two men, as he stepped forward. His 
 look must have been ugly, as they fell back with 
 evident trepidation. The American was even 
 cheered by a fleeting hope that they would retire 
 long enough for him to accomplish his purpose, 
 for which he needed now but a few seconds — 
 scarcely a minute. He was doomed to immediate 
 disappointment, however, as the Superior's only 
 idea in retreating toward the door was to call for 
 more help, which he proceeded to do. To reas- 
 sure him, Walter put his hands in his pocket and 
 backed toward the window, laughing — loudly 
 and unnaturally, as his own ears testified. 
 
 " What's the matter with you fellows ? " he 
 called out in as conciliatory a tone as possible ; " if 
 you'll only look about or do whatever you like and 
 go out, I'll not hurt a hair of your heads." 
 
 " Eh ? " said the Superior, advancing with re- 
 newed courage now that the burly form of 
 Brother Manoles appeared at the door. Walter 
 
SAVED BY A LUCKY THOUGHT 397 
 
 repeated his comforting words, to which the old 
 monk's only reply was a disdainful " Pah ! " He 
 had forgotten for the moment that all the world 
 did not talk Greek. It was now the Superior's 
 turn to look about the room. Walter in the mean- 
 time was standing with his back against the wall, 
 very close to the chair. He was fully determined, 
 in case his unwelcome visitors picked up his 
 valise, to leap suddenly upon them, swinging this 
 weapon, and to rush the door or lose his life in 
 the attempt. 
 
 The reason for the Superior's visit at this in- 
 opportune time will never be known. He prob- 
 ably forgot it himself in his amazement at seeing 
 the bed-clothing torn in strips. Giving vent to an 
 unecclesiastical whistle of astonishment, he point- 
 ed to the flimsy cord, and Brother Timoleon, ad- 
 vancing, picked it up. The two monks chattered 
 together in Greek, looking first at Walter and then 
 at the window, the Father Superior repeating 
 " Um hum ! Um hum ! " again and again, and 
 nodding his head wisely. Brother Timoleon 
 wound the cord about his hands and, pulling, 
 without much difficulty broke it. This seemed to 
 amuse the monks and they laughed merrily. Evi- 
 dently this foreigner had very little sense. Broth- 
 
298 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 er Manoles was called into the room, and Timo- 
 leon, after pointing to Walter and the window, 
 broke the cord in another place. Brother Manoles 
 was also amused. Here would be a joke worth 
 telling over a cannikin of wine, illustrative of the 
 stupidity of foreigners and the superior intelli- 
 gence of Greeks. 
 
 And still the valise attracted no attention. This 
 matter of the flimsy cord was all absorbing. 
 
 The merriment of the monks was but of short 
 duration. They were not in mood for continued 
 laughter, and even here the cause of their mirth 
 was grim enough. They were thinking what a 
 joke it would have been at the American's ex- 
 pense had he precipitated himself from the win- 
 dow at the end of those strips of torn bedding. 
 The fact remained, however, that Walter was 
 plotting escape, and this evidently was theme for 
 a serious discussion. A decision was at last 
 reached, for two of the monks stepped briskly up 
 to him, seized him by the arm and hustled him 
 toward the door. His mind being focused on 
 the grip, he was taken completely by surprise and 
 offered no resistance. Moreover, they were tak- 
 ing him out of the room and an attempt to break 
 away would stand a better chance of success in 
 
SAVED BY A LUCKY THOUGHT 299 
 
 the open court than behind a closed door. They 
 rushed him straight down the gallery toward the 
 front of the building, and stopped before another 
 door, which they proceeded to open. Walter 
 hardened his muscles and set his teeth for a strug- 
 gle. Brothers Manoles and Timoleon had him in 
 their clutch, and down there in the yard, looking 
 up with baleful eyes, was the murderous fanatic, 
 Pandelemon. Here, also, was the Father Su- 
 perior, himself an active man, despite his years. 
 
 It did seem hopeless. The door was open now 
 and they were about to shove him in. If he were 
 to attempt to break away, now was the instant. A 
 moment more and it would be too late. At that 
 critical needle-point of time, his eye caught sight 
 of the stupid monastery servant, slouching down 
 the gallery, bringing the valise, out of sheer force 
 of habit. Whenever one of the monks changed 
 his cell, or when, on rare occasions, a guest ar- 
 rived, this boy acted as porter. He had no intel- 
 lect beyond doing as he was told, or as he had 
 done before. Brother Manoles seized the grip 
 and pitched it into the room and Walter was un- 
 ceremoniously shoved in after it. There was 
 something in the way Brother Manoles threw the 
 valise into the chamber with a spiteful " Nah ! " 
 
300 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 expressive of the dislike which often includes even 
 the inanimate effects of a hated person. Walter 
 entered without the least opposition. The door 
 was locked behind him and he again found him- 
 self alone. 
 
 The room which he now occupied was evident- 
 ly used for storage purposes. Boxes of potatoes 
 and onions stood about the floor and stalactites of 
 garlic depended from the ceiling, while various 
 useful implements, such as hoes, spades, and the 
 like, leaned against the wall. There was no bed 
 here, and no furniture other than a broken chair 
 or two, and the remnants of an outworn and dis- 
 carded mule saddle. Walter hastily and eagerly 
 opened the grip, and there, as he expected, was 
 the coil of rope. 
 
 They searched it such a short time before, he 
 chuckled. They knew just what was in it, didn't 
 they ? Now what could he fasten it to ? A heavy 
 hook in the ceiling, put there for holding a bag 
 of cheese, perhaps, or other similar things, at- 
 tracted his attention. By means of the boxes he 
 was able to reach the hook, which he quickly un- 
 screwed by passing the hoe-handle through it and 
 twisting. It did not take long to fasten the hook 
 securely into the floor, below the window. Then 
 
SAVED BY A LUCKY THOUGHT 301 
 
 he tied the rope and jerked with all his might. 
 One could hang a horse on it, he thought again. 
 He was about to shove up the window and climb 
 out, when he remembered something that caused 
 him to hesitate and stand with lips pursed in sur- 
 prise, and wide-open, wondering eyes. The recol- 
 lection that saved him from a horrible death came 
 to him through the aid of associative memory, 
 calling up a story that he had read in boyhood. 
 What it was, and how Walter came to think of it 
 now, we shall see in the next chapter. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE AMERICAN ESCAPES 
 
 Our recollections of childhood and of early 
 youth consist rather of a series of detached im- 
 pressions than of a continuous panorama of 
 memory. Trivial incidents, utterly forgotten by 
 our elders, happenings, stories, remarks, sights, 
 linger with us to the day of our death, while much 
 more important things pass out of our minds for 
 ever in half an hour. 
 
 Among the first books that Walter had read as 
 a small boy was a collection of stories, among 
 which was the mournful history of a young lover 
 who came each night to visit his lady in a garden. 
 He was hated by the girl's father, hence the neces- 
 sity of clandestine trystings. One night the couple 
 were surprised in the garden, and the unfortunate 
 swain was captured and locked in an upper room 
 of the paternal tower. After he had languished 
 there several days, one of the retainers brought 
 
 302 
 
THE AMERICAN ESCAPES 303 
 
 him a note apparently in the handwriting of his 
 beloved, and a rope. The missive contained the 
 usual amount of lovers' nonsense, of course, and 
 something else, evidently in a more practical vein, 
 as it instructed him to escape from the window 
 that night by means of the rope. His lady-love 
 would be awaiting him below, it said, and he 
 would fairly fall from the window into her arms. 
 
 With what impatience did he await the hour 
 designated ! A little before the time, we have no 
 doubt, he dropped his rope from the window and 
 climbed down. Arrived at the end, he found that 
 his toes did not touch the ground, but he was not 
 disturbed at this, for the note, in the well-known 
 handwriting, had prepared him for just such an 
 emergency in the following words : " I could not 
 find a rope quite long enough, but do not fear, as 
 you will have but two or three feet to fall and the 
 sward is soft there." 
 
 He accordingly let go with the greatest confi- 
 dence, only to fall a tremendous distance through 
 the air and be crushed to death on the rocks below. 
 Walter did not remember how far this old-time 
 lover fell, but we can be sure that the story-book 
 made it a good long distance. There is no earthly 
 reason why a story writer should weaken his effect 
 
304 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 by leaving a hundred feet or so ofif from his castle 
 wall. It is just as easy, in a romance, to write big 
 figures as little ones. At any rate, the idea of that 
 youth hanging there in the dark, believing that his 
 toes were near the ground, while, in fact, he was 
 swinging in mid air, was one of the things that 
 had made a permanent impression on Walter's 
 youthful mind, and he thought of the story now, 
 as he stood there by the window with his rope in 
 his hand. It was a forged note, of course, which 
 sent the lover of old-time to his doom, and Walter 
 was setting his own trap; yet in other respects 
 there was a great analogy between the two cases. 
 The monastery wall at this point was built flush 
 with the face of a precipitous rock, at least twenty 
 feet high, which bulged out at the ground in sev- 
 eral large bubbles of stone. Walter remembered 
 the situation distinctly. The monastery was 
 backed up against the mountain, and used this 
 rock at its forward part as a portion of its founda- 
 tion. 
 
 His rope had seemed none too long for escape 
 from the other cell; would it suffice now? He 
 again fastened the door with a handkerchief, as 
 he had previously done, as a precaution against 
 surprise. Opening the window, he dropped the 
 
THE AMERICAN ESCAPES 305 
 
 rope out and, leaning far forth, looked down. A 
 flash of lightning revealed the end of the cord 
 dangling at an uncomfortable distance from the 
 ground. It fell just beyond the bottom of the 
 wall, in fact, so that, deducting his own length, 
 there would still be about fifteen feet for him to 
 reach to the uneven rocks below ; not a thrilling 
 distance, nor sufficient for the purposes of an an- 
 cient romance, but quite enough to break several 
 of a man's bones and to disable him so that he 
 might lie there on the ground, a bruised and bleed- 
 ing mass of helplessness. Walter had little hun- 
 ger for any such fate as this, nor did he wish to 
 take the one chance in a thousand by which a man 
 sometimes falls from a great height and escapes 
 with but slight injuries. 
 
 He had done so much thinking in the last few 
 hours over this plan of escape that he could afford 
 to do a little more. Should he try to communi- 
 cate with McKenzie and get a few feet more of 
 rope? He dismissed that thought instantly. In 
 the first place, it would be necessary to make too 
 much noise, and, secondly, he had now no means 
 of pulling the rope up, even if the Scot had any 
 more at his disposal. 
 
 He reflected that he might untwist the thing 
 
306 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 and make it double its length ; but the rope had, 
 of course, but three strands, and by untwisting it, 
 he would make two cords, one of which would be 
 too weak for his purpose. 
 
 If he only had some one to help him, he 
 thought, he could go half-way down, tie the rope 
 to something, have it untied at the upper end, and 
 then complete the distance. He suddenly won- 
 dered if that could not be done anyway. He must 
 "get together " and study the thing out — imme- 
 diately, too. 
 
 The idea had been suggested to him by think- 
 ing of a projecting beam that he had noticed, 
 right in the path of his descent, about two-thirds 
 of the distance down. In many of the old struc- 
 tures of Europe, the ends of timbers can thus be 
 seen, sticking out a couple of feet or more. 
 
 He could straddle that beam, tie up to it, and 
 then climb on down to the ground, if he had some- 
 body to untie for him at the upper end. Bribe the 
 errand boy ? It would be too risky, and besides, 
 he might not see him again in a day or two, and he 
 must get out this very evening. 
 
 Could he not set his candle upon the floor — 
 for the monks had left him one — pass the rope 
 out, and hang to the projecting beam until the 
 
THE AMERICAN ESCAPES 307 
 
 candle flame had done his work for him? This 
 seemed so simple and practicable that he thrilled 
 with excitement at the idea as though his deliver- 
 ance were already accomplished. He even went so 
 far as to throw the cord from the window and to 
 set the candle upon the floor close against it. Now 
 that he looked at the arrangement, it appeared 
 even more practicable than it had seemed in con- 
 ception. The little length of candle which he had 
 allowed would surely burn down in about five 
 minutes and the flame reach the cord. But suppose 
 the latter failed to ignite ? Impossible ! He held 
 the flame to the hard-twisted hemp, confident that 
 it would catch fire immediately. What was his 
 surprise to find that nothing of the kind hap- 
 pened — that, on the contrary, it was no easy 
 matter to ignite a tightly twisted cord. 
 
 It could be burned off, though, he soliloquized, 
 and he must find out immediately how to do it. 
 He wondered if hemp were an inflammable sub- 
 stance. 
 
 Cutting off a little bunch of the frayed ends 
 with his knife, he held them in the candle and they 
 burst into flame and consumed in his hand. It 
 was because the rope was twisted so tightly, he 
 concluded, that it would not burn off. But he 
 
308 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 could certainly rig up a spot in it that would catch 
 fire and eat clean through. 
 
 His experiment with the frayed ends led to the 
 following expedient : He opened up the strands 
 at the place which he desired to burn and threaded 
 through and through brushes of the loose hemp, 
 picking them out and opening them up with his 
 fingers. One strand he left long and twisted it 
 rather tight to serve as a wick. This wick, as well 
 as the rope itself at this point and the fuzzy pro- 
 tuberance, he soaked with drippings from the 
 old-fashioned tallow candle. His idea was that 
 the wick would bum down into the fuzz, which 
 would ignite and make such a hot flame all about 
 the rope that the latter would either catch fire or 
 become so weakened that he could jerk it in two. 
 He lit his improvised wick by way of experiment 
 and it began to burn strongly and rapidly. He 
 blew it out immediately, exclaiming : " If that 
 doesn't do the business, then I don't know what 
 will!" 
 
 He must scramble down fast, for if the rope 
 should turn over, the fuzz might catch fire before 
 he could reach the timber. Lighting the wick 
 again, he watched it for a moment with anxious 
 eyes, as a man will a thing upon which his life or 
 
THE AMERICAN ESCAPES 309 
 
 his fortune depends; then he climbed out of the 
 window into the dark and rainy night and started 
 down the slender rope, hand over hand. It cut 
 into his palms and tried his strong though unac- 
 customed arm to the uttermost, and a great wave 
 of fear swept over him that the burning rope, up 
 there in the chamber, might part before he 
 reached the timber and drop him down upon the 
 rock below. He took long strides with his arms, 
 flinging his legs about in air in his effort to twist 
 the rope around one of them, that he might slide 
 down, as he now remembered seeing some one do 
 — perhaps a trapeze performer in a circus — but 
 he found that many things which appear per- 
 fectly easy, only seem so because they are done 
 with consummate skill. 
 
 A vivid flash of lightning hissed at him as 
 though in derision, and its long pencil of fire pyro- 
 graphed him there, sprawling against the pallid 
 wall. 
 
 One of his shins struck the timber so sharply 
 that a sickening pain went to the pit of his stom- 
 ach. The next instant he was clinging to the pro- 
 jecting beam, lying upon it in the angle between 
 chest and elbows, muttering, "Thank God, it 
 holds ! " for the thought that it might be rotten 
 
310 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 had flashed upon his overwrought brain at this 
 juncture, fairly causing his hair to stand on end. 
 It held indeed, and he quickly and securely, 
 though 'twas no easy matter, tied the dangling end 
 of the rope and waited, pulling gently. A minute 
 probably passed away, which seemed to the Amer- 
 ican clinging there to his perch, like an hour. 
 
 It must have gone out, or the monks must have 
 put it out. This thought caused him to turn his 
 head and stare up along the black wall toward the 
 window, but he could see nothing save a little area 
 of the wall in his immediate vicinity. He pulled 
 again, more impatiently — he jerked — and to his 
 great joy the rope came loose and its blazing end 
 flew far out through the rainy night and fell with 
 a slap upon the rock below. With a.laugh Walter 
 swung loose from the beam and went on down, 
 scraping against the rough wall. 
 
 His toes touched the ground, but he had not 
 taken two steps away from the building when sev- 
 eral men leaped upon him, grunting passionate 
 gutturals in an unknown tongue. They struck 
 him savagely, they seized him with rough hands 
 that bit into his flesh and tore his clothing. He 
 fought them furiously, swearing frantically in a 
 delirium of rage, striking and kicking like a mad- 
 
THE AMERICAN ESCAPES 311 
 
 man. But all to no purpose. A blow upon the 
 head rendered him unconscious and when he came 
 to again, he was lying, bound hand and foot, in 
 the bottom of a large catboat, his back against the 
 bit of deck across the forward end. He was dizzy 
 from the blow upon his head and every bone in 
 his body ached from the rough usage he had re- 
 ceived. 
 
 His captors were four in number, tall Greeks 
 with handkerchiefs tied about their brows. Even 
 in the darkness he could discern that they were 
 not monks. He kept perfectly still as they shoved 
 oflf and ran up the sail with deft hands. Soon the 
 boat was boiling through the seething sea. Where 
 were they off to ? What fate was in store for him ? 
 What were his chances for escape ? He tugged at 
 the cords that were cutting into his wrists, but 
 those knots were tied by sailors and a ghost could 
 not have undone them. Again the lightning 
 played faintly, revealing the forms of four 
 sturdy, wild-looking islanders. He who sat at the 
 helm was Spiro, and there was a smile of hellish 
 triumph and hate upon his face, which was as 
 ghastly pale in the sulphurous light as the face of 
 a fiend. 
 
 Were they going out into the deep waters, to 
 
313 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 cast him overboard, thus bound? The thought 
 made him strain >at his bonds. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Mckenzie swings an oar 
 
 In silence thus they sailed on into the night and 
 over the heaving sea. The waters pounded against 
 the bottom of the boat, beneath the prow, shaking 
 the frail timber; yet she staggered on, obedient to 
 the will of him who sat there at the helm. Often 
 the little craft rose like a chip to the peak of some 
 monstrous wave, and swung down the next mo- 
 ment to the bed of the trough with a long, sicken- 
 ing swoop; or the beak caught the curl of a 
 breaker, and a volley of hissing spray drenched 
 the American, lying there huddled and helpless. 
 
 He at last concluded that these men had no in- 
 tention of casting him into the sea ; if such were 
 their plan, why did they defer putting it into 
 e£fect? Surely the water was deep enough where 
 they were now, and that jealous Greek would not 
 have been able longer to delay his vengeance, if 
 his heart had been fixed upon the sea as an instru- 
 
 313 
 
314 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 ment of revenge — or justice, as he no doubt re- 
 garded it. 
 
 No, they were saving him for some more linger- 
 ing or shameful death. Perhaps the Greek would 
 wait for daylight, that he might feast his eyes 
 upon his captive's agony or fear. Walter felt that 
 he must " get together," that he must be really of 
 stout heart. 
 
 As is always the case when men are in extreme 
 peril, or when they feel that their earthly moments 
 are but few, the American's mind reviewed rapid- 
 ly the past: his childhood, his college days, his 
 disappointing career since graduation. The sweet 
 face of his dead mother looked at him, very dis- 
 tinct, as he lay there with closed eyes, and his 
 kind, bustling, indulgent uncle gazed at him re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " I didn't do anything about the argols, after 
 all," he sighed, " and I did get mixed up with a 
 woman. But uncle didn't know, he didn't dream 
 '■ — who could ever have dreamed ? " 
 
 He saw Polyxene now, washing clothes by the 
 shimmering sea, coming down the grape-arbor 
 with the ancient amphora upon her shoulder, 
 standing in the moonlight while the nightingale 
 sang, her great eyes shining like stars. 
 
Mckenzie swings an oar 315 
 
 Who would get her rights for her now, he 
 mused bitterly. Fool that he was, that he did not 
 tell McKenzie his new plan ! 
 
 At this moment something happened which 
 caused Walter to start as though he had received 
 an unexpected shock from an electric battery, and 
 give vent to a stifled " Ha ! " fortunately unheard 
 in the seething of the waves, A great hand 
 reached out from beneath the deck and pinched 
 his arm gently ; then it slid down his sleeve to his 
 wrist, and one of the fingers slipped beneath the 
 rope binding him; the next instant a knife sliced 
 through the rope and his hands were free ! Wal- 
 ter grasped the big hand in his own and pressed it 
 gratefully, and the pressure was returned. A long 
 knife was then put into the American's fist and he 
 realized that he was in a position to release his feet 
 whenever he desired, that he was in possession of 
 an effective weapon, and that a friend and con- 
 federate was lying there beside him. 
 
 Two against four and free ! This was certainly 
 better than one against four and bound, much bet- 
 tei" if one of the two were McKenzie, whose 
 prowess Walter had already witnessed. There 
 would be the advantage, too, of a surprise, of a 
 sudden attack. They could kill two of their an- 
 
316 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 tagonists before the latter realized that anything 
 was wrong, and then throw themselves upon the 
 other two. Gripping the handle of the knife hard, 
 Walter leaned toward the dark form that was 
 nearest to him. Should he plunge the knife into 
 it and then spring forward ? Would McKenzie be 
 able to get out and follow his lead with sufficient 
 despatch? Why, he had not even freed his own 
 feet! 
 
 He would better go slow, he reflected, or he 
 might spoil the whole thing. 
 
 But he had been very near to thrusting at that 
 silent Greek with his knife. 
 
 He was restrained, too, by ignorance — want 
 of experience. One moment it seemed so easy to 
 him to tumble those four figures over the rail into 
 the sea — the next he was not even sure that a 
 knife thrust to the hilt would put a man hors du 
 combat. 
 
 He decided at last to wait for some sign from 
 his confederate, who must have a plan in mind; 
 and he resolved not even to cut the rope about his 
 ankles at present, lest a flash of lightning betray 
 him. But he clutched tightly the comfortable 
 handle of his knife, and smiled grimly as he 
 thought of the surprise in store for any who 
 
Mckenzie swings an oar 317 
 
 should attempt to lay violent hands on him. 
 Doubtless the man stowed away there beneath the 
 bit of deck had some surmise of Walter's im- 
 patience, for the great hand stole out again and 
 lay upon his leg with friendly, detaining pressure. 
 
 They had sailed for perhaps half an hour 
 through the inky blackness, save when the faint 
 lightning illumined the waters, heaving sullenly 
 in the fickle light, like the waves of Acheron in 
 the sulphurous flickerings of hell. At the end of 
 that time the man at the helm growled some or- 
 ders to the crew, who sprang to their feet and 
 began to take the sail down. The prow grated on 
 the sand, which could be dimly discerned, with its 
 skirt of white foam, for several feet on either side 
 of the boat. Some shore had been reached, Wal- 
 ter did not know where, but he imagined that it 
 was a tiny island, little more than a great rock, 
 which he had often gazed at from the monastery. 
 The great, strong hand tightened upon his leg, in 
 warning that he was to remain quiet even yet. 
 The entire crew, including Spiro, leaped ashore, 
 and bent to the sides of the boat, in act to pull it 
 high and dry, when a form slid quickly by Walter 
 and a voice whispered in his ear: 
 
 " Come on, now ! " 
 
318 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 In a twinkling he sawed the rope about his 
 ankles in two with the knife and arose. He was 
 too late to do anything, however, for McKenzie 
 stood in the prow swinging a heavy oar as though 
 it were a mullein stalk. It was wet and purred 
 as it circled about his head, falling with dull, 
 sunken thwacks upon the heads and backs in its 
 way. Walter stumbled over a cross seat, and ere 
 he could arise, the Scot had set the end of his ter- 
 rible weapon in the sand and given the boat a 
 shove that sent it far out into the darkness, leav- 
 ing the astonished Greeks upon the island to nurse 
 their bruises, or, perhaps, to bury their dead — 
 for those were no love-taps which Ian McKenzie 
 rained about him when his blood was up, and the 
 lust of fight aroused within him. 
 
 " Lie down ! lie down ! " cried the Scot, and the 
 reason for the request was soon evident, as a lively 
 fusillade from the pistols on shore bade adieu to 
 the departing foreigners. 
 
 Skilfully McKenzie ran up the convenient sail, 
 and with the sheet in his hand crept over the 
 benches to the tiller. As the boat, answering to 
 the helm, leaped away into the darkness, the 
 dwindling voice of Spiro could be heard freight- 
 ing the wild wind with screaming, ineffectual 
 
Mckenzie swings an oar 319 
 
 curses. Walter, lying flat on the bottom of the 
 boat, laughed like a madman, loudly, almost hys- 
 terically. Spiro must have heard him, for again 
 he shot, his pistol making a red streak of flame in 
 the darkness at each discharge. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if he were quite vexed at 
 us," remarked McKenzie in his soft woman's 
 voice, with his ever-present scholar's fear of over- 
 stating. 
 
 Walter went back to him and seized one of the 
 great hands in both of his. 
 
 " I owe you my life, old man," he cried, " and 
 I shall never forget it. That was splendid! 
 Grand! Didn't you surprise 'em, though? I 
 wonder what they thought had struck 'em ? " 
 
 And again, weakened by the sudden release 
 from the long strain to which he had been sub- 
 jected, he burst into uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 " Are you hungry ? " asked McKenzie. " Ye'U 
 find some bread and cheese under the deck there, 
 where I concealed myself. There was a whole loaf 
 when I first came down, and there's not much left 
 now. But there's a bite, man, a wee bite, if ye' re 
 hungry." 
 
 "Hungry?" asked Walter. "No, I'm not 
 hungry. I'm too happy to be hungry." 
 
330 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 " Then, if you'll kindly pass it to me," said the 
 Scot, with a sigh of content, " I'll e'en finish the 
 loaf." 
 
 " But how did you manage it ? " asked Walter. 
 " How did you plan it all out so splendidly ? " 
 
 " 'Twas easy enough. They planned it out for 
 me. I was hiding in the bushes and I heard Spiro 
 say that they would take you to this island and 
 leave you on it tied, in a cave, to starve to death. 
 'Twas an ancient Greek punishment that he had 
 planned for you, that decreed for Antigone by 
 Creon, King of Thebes. I doubt not that Spiro 
 would have come from time to time to taunt you." 
 
 Walter shuddered. 
 
 " I repeat that I shall never forget what I owe 
 you, old man," he mumured. 
 
 " You owe me nothing at all," replied McKen- 
 zie. " You owe your life to the bravest and most 
 beautiful woman, with one exception, that I have 
 ever seen. The duchess sailed over from the mis- 
 sionary's, through the darkness and the storm, to 
 warn you that Spiro was coming to seek your life. 
 I met her in the road, heard her story and was on 
 the watch for Spiro." 
 
 " Polyxene did that for me ! " cried Walter. 
 " Dear, noble, brave Polyxene ! Isn't such a worn- 
 
Mckenzie swings an oar 321 
 
 an as that worth living for and worth dying for, 
 McKenzie?" 
 
 " You may well say that," replied the Scot. " A 
 man's life or death is of but little worth when the 
 happiness of such a creature is concerned." 
 
 " Did you ever hear of such nobility, such 
 beauty, such sweetness before?" asked the Amer- 
 ican. It had ceased raining now and the great 
 round moon was racing through a wild and cloudy 
 sky. It was a shy, frightened moon, that hid one 
 moment behind a dark mass of cloud and the next 
 leaped across a blue interstice to hide its face 
 again. Walter sat with hands clasped, gazing far 
 across the turbulent waters, the rapt expression of 
 the dreaming lover upon his thin features. 
 
 " I have that," replied McKenzie stoutly, " as I 
 have often informed ye." 
 
 " Where is the dear girl now ? " asked Walter, 
 not noticing the peculiar reply. " Where did you 
 leave her ? " 
 
 " In Santorine." 
 
 " In — oh, I understand, now ! I mean Poly- 
 xene. Is she still on the monastery island ? " 
 
 " I told her to go back home, if I did not come 
 to her within half an hour. 'Twas the only thing 
 to do. I hoped that you would come out before 
 
332 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Spiro got there and that we could sail away with 
 her, over to the mainland. I trust that you will 
 excuse me for not escorting her back home, under 
 the circumstances ? " 
 
 " Where are you going now ? " 
 
 " To Ta Castra, to spend the rest of the night." 
 
 " Good ! Then we can find out whether Poly- 
 xene arrived safe or not. She would have got 
 back all right, wouldn't she, Mac? You can't 
 think anything can have happened to her, do you? 
 There is no way of hurrying up a little, is there ? " 
 
 " There's the missionary's house now," replied 
 the Scot, as the moon, bursting through the 
 clouds, flooded the world with light. "In ten 
 minutes we shall be in the village." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 
 
 From Mrs. Ion, Walter learned that Polyxene 
 had not been gone over two hours. The mis- 
 sionary's wife supposed that the girl had been with 
 Spiro all this time, and she was heartily glad when 
 she saw her enter the house again, safe and sound, 
 though thoroughly drenched. No one in Ta 
 Castra as yet knew anything of the episode with 
 the monks, and Walter had not the least idea of 
 taking any other person than McKenzie into his 
 confidence. He was greatly tempted, we may be 
 sure, to open up the whole matter to Polyxene, as 
 it seemed to him to be an unnatural thing that 
 there should be any secrets between himself and 
 this beautiful girl whom he loved so passionately. 
 
 He had perfect confidence in her. He believed, 
 of course, that she was the one woman of perfect 
 discretion who knew how to keep a secret. Yet 
 his plan for recovering the treasure included, in 
 
 323 
 
324 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the first place, as we have seen, its secret abstrac- 
 tion ; and now he had in mind to resort to vio- 
 lence. Either of these methods had a lawless look, 
 despite the fact that he was proceeding in the only 
 way to obtain justice and right a great wrong. 
 He did not wish Polyxene to be accessory, even 
 through knowledge, to anything that might be 
 high-handed or dangerous in his operations. 
 
 It would be time enough to tell her all when he 
 had brought things to a happy issue and was able 
 to lay her fortune at her feet. Still, he realized 
 that she was a woman, and could not but feel pity 
 for the curiosity which he knew must be consum- 
 ing her. 
 
 Mr. Ion was still very sick; so sick, in fact, 
 that his wife was talking of sending to Athens for 
 a physician. 
 
 " If we could only take him to America ! " she 
 sighed to Walter, as she dropped wearily into a 
 chair and folded her hands in her lap. " I don't 
 believe much in these Greek doctors, even the best 
 of them. Old Doctor Prout, of Joliet, our family 
 physician, could set him on his feet in a week." 
 
 " Why, I saw Doctor Prout once," cried Wal- 
 ter. " Tremendous lot of beautiful white hair — 
 wears an old-fashioned silk hat — drives a fat lit- 
 
THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 335 
 
 tie horse .without any check-rein, that holds his 
 head low down and goes grazing all around when 
 the doctor makes a call." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! That's him," cried Mrs. Ion, al- 
 most weeping with joy. " For the land's sake, 
 how plain you do make me see him! They say 
 these islands and all this scenery here are beauti- 
 ful, but I'd rather see honest old Doctor Front's 
 silk hat at this minute than all the isles of Greece." 
 
 What portion of this sentiment was inspired by 
 solicitude for Mr. Ion and what by homesickness, 
 Walter found it diflficult to decide, but of one 
 thing he was sure : the bond of sympathy between 
 himself and Mrs. Ion had been greatly strength- 
 ened. 
 
 There was a boat sailing for Athens at eleven, 
 on the morning following Walter's escape from 
 the monastery, and upon this the two friends em- 
 barked. 
 
 "I'll be back inside of a week, sweetheart," 
 Walter whispered to the young girl, as he held her 
 in his arms, " and the next time I go away I'll take 
 you with me, if you'll come." 
 
 " I would follow you to the end of the world, 
 my soul." 
 
 " Come now." he cried. " Come now ! We be- 
 
336 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 long to each other, why delay another day, an- 
 other hour ? " 
 
 " I can not leave Mrs. Ion yet, not till her hus- 
 band gets better." 
 
 " But Spiro — he will be so angry now that I 
 have evaded him again. Is it safe to leave you 
 here ? I did not tell you, he found McKenzie and 
 me and we had a struggle with him ; we got the 
 better of him and his men. Will he not be fright- 
 fully angry now? " 
 
 " Have no fears," she replied with confidence. 
 " There are some things a woman knows. He has 
 set his heart on marrying me, and will do no vio- 
 lence. I shall know how to manage him." 
 
 Walter did not tell her where Spiro was, be- 
 cause he feared that she might feel it her duty to 
 go and release him. At the present moment, the 
 fact that the Greek was marooned gave him a feel- 
 ing of security, and he had not yet found time to 
 give thought to Spiro's probable fate — a thing 
 that he was sure to do as soon as his bruises ceased 
 aching and his more generous side had oppor- 
 tunity to assert itself. 
 
 Polyxene's assurance also allayed his fears, and 
 he ceased urging her to come with him now. 
 
 He remembered those few hours in the morn- 
 
THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 337 
 
 ing, before the boat arrived, as the sweetest of his 
 life, for, the missionary being confined to his bed, 
 he was allowed perfect freedom to pass the time 
 with Polyxene. The girl, too, having settled with 
 Spire, was no longer troubled by conscientious 
 scruples, and returned his caresses. Pure as inno- 
 cence itself, yet unaffectedly and engagingly sim- 
 ple, there was none of the coquetry and pretended 
 shyness about her which the belles of our highly 
 civilized cities too often assume. She was de- 
 liciously modest, as the blushes mantling her deli- 
 cately tinted cheeks testified, yet she made no 
 attempt to dissemble the fact that she loved Wal- 
 ter and had given herself to him. 
 
 Such a girl would no more have entertained a 
 disloyal thought than she would have committed 
 theft. It would have been hard to convince her of 
 disloyalty in the one whom her heart had crowned, 
 but, once convinced, the very foundation of her 
 faith would be uprooted and she would never 
 again believe anything. As Walter sat under 
 the awning of the little steamer, he read a letter 
 from his uncle, in reply to one of his own, sent 
 soon after his arrival in Greece. 
 
 " I'm glad to find you so enthusiastic in busi- 
 ness matters, my boy," the letter said, among 
 
338 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 other things, " and I believe that you have finally 
 ' got together,' as you call it. I have at last con- 
 vinced the firm of the wisdom of my decision to 
 send you on this mission. I read your last letter 
 to Van Inwigen, our vice president, and he re- 
 marked, 'Well, I guess the boy is a chip off the old 
 block, after all. We can use all the crude tartar 
 he can buy, can't we, Erasmus ? ' And I answered 
 him, ' We can use all there is in the world, if wc 
 can get hold of it at the right price.' We shall be 
 expecting a tremendous shipment this fall from 
 the isles of Greece, at the figure I mentioned. If 
 you can carry out this thing so that we can reduce 
 the price of our finished product, you will not only 
 be one of the most important men of the firm, but 
 you will also become, in a way, as I explained to 
 you, a public benefactor. I hope you won't take 
 it ill if I again warn you against the besetting 
 weakness of young men, the absorbing wiles of 
 pretty women. Your aunt tells me that you have 
 a wonderfully taking way with the sex, you young 
 rascal, and you have my sympathy, for, in all con- 
 fidence, I believe you take after me — me as a 
 youth, I mean — in that regard. You have not, 
 of course, been in that country long enough yet to 
 get into any complications with the fair sex. That 
 
THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 339 
 
 would have been too rapid work for even me, in 
 my palmiest days. But you are beginning to get 
 waywised now and I must warn you again. You 
 are in Greece at the company's expense, and you 
 are there for business and not for philandering. I 
 think you made a great strike in selecting that 
 Scot, McKenzie, to act as your interpreter. He 
 will be of great service to you, and there is cer- 
 tainly no nonsense of a sentimental nature about 
 such a queer old dry-bones as he must be. And 
 now, my boy, I have a pleasant surprise in store 
 for you. Van Inwigen and I together have bought 
 Van Dervoort's steam yacht — Van Dervoort, the 
 New York millionaire. We are having her re- 
 painted and fitted up to suit our taste and shall re- 
 christen her * The Argolis ' — name of a country in 
 Greece, you know, and at the same time suggestive 
 of the thing that furnished the money that makes 
 her possible. She is big enough and steady enough 
 to cross the ocean safely, and if I can induce your 
 aunt to embark on her, we shall come across for a 
 cruise of the Mediterranean. You can then show 
 me what you have done, and we can zigzag about 
 the Mediterranean a little together. Your queer 
 Scotchman can come with us and explain the an- 
 tiquities and we can combine business, pleasure 
 
330 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 and instruction. Your aunt sends her love, and 
 advises you against staying out late nights. If 
 you feel the least bit under the weather, she says, 
 take eucalyptus. She is pinning her faith to that 
 now, a cure for all the ills that flesh is heir to — " 
 
 Walter let the sheet fall upon his knees and sat 
 gazing out upon the sea, rippling gently in the 
 bright noonday sun. A breeze, generated by the 
 motion of the ship, drifted through beneath the 
 awning, cool, yet indescribably balmy, and stirred 
 the damp locks that fell low on his forehead. 
 His hat lay on the seat beside him. 
 
 " Dear old uncle ! " he murmured with a sigh. 
 There was something so distinctly human about 
 the man, so kindly, that he could not help loving 
 him. " So the old gentleman is proud of his con- 
 quests as a youth ! " Walter was touched by the 
 confession. The elder Lythgoe was treating him, 
 now, no longer as a boy, but rather as an equal 
 and confidant. 
 
 " He believes that I have settled down to busi- 
 ness at last," mused Walter. There was no dis- 
 loyalty to Polyxene in the fact that the possibility 
 of disappointing and displeasing this kindly man 
 who had vouched for him, afforded him the keen- 
 est apprehension. But he was a buoyant youth 
 
THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 331 
 
 and the humor of the situation suddenly striking 
 him, he leaned back and burst into laughter. 
 
 " Well, even uncle himself must admit that I've 
 made record time in getting into a ' complication ', 
 as he calls it. However disgusted he becomes, 
 that feature of it must arouse his admiration." 
 When Walter turned his mind's eye from his 
 uncle upon Polyxene, he became reassured. 
 
 " When he sees her," he thought, " he'll throw 
 up both hands. If he has any sort of eye for a 
 woman, as he says he has, he must admit that she 
 hasn't her equal upon earth. What if he is getting 
 old ? Polyxene would have charmed Methuselah 
 silly or have brought old Diogenes out of his tub." 
 About his aunt he was not so sure, and he knew 
 that she possessed great influence over his uncle, 
 but he sat up very straight at last, and jerking his 
 cuffs down with decision, settled the whole matter 
 thus, as indeed it had been settled from the be- 
 ginning : 
 
 " Well, if they don't like it, I'll have to stand it. 
 I know that there's no one on earth like Polyxene, 
 and I'll have her if I have to work like a slave for 
 her all my life." 
 
 McKenzie came across the deck, carrying the 
 carpet-bag in shape like unto a huge piece of 
 
332 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 American cheese. His beard was more than 
 usually disheveled, and his deep-set eyes were al- 
 most sepulchral in their solemnity. 
 
 " Man, I had a dream last night," he whispered, 
 bending close to Walter's ear and fixing him with 
 a mournful gaze. " I thought — " For once 
 Lythgoe felt annoyed ; he had so many real things 
 to think of ! 
 
 " Do you think Spiro will starve to death on 
 that island ? " he inquired. " I wouldn't like to 
 have him starve, and we may not be back before a 
 week." 
 
 " There's water," replied the Scot. " Brother 
 Manoles told me so ; and they can pick up some- 
 thing to eat from the sea — echini, and so forth 
 — rather salt food, but then, there's the water, 
 you know. Man, my dream — " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! But they will be apt to get off right 
 away, won't they ? " 
 
 " Um, hardly — people rarely go there, and it's 
 out of the path of the ships coming into Ta Castra. 
 They might be picked off to-night, but it's more 
 likely that they'll stay there till we send after 
 them. I thought I was in a great — " 
 
 " Sit down, now, Mac," interrupted Walter 
 hastily, " and let me tell you my plan." 
 
THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 333 
 
 " Ye must hear my dream first. 'Tis on my 
 mind, and I'll not be easy till I get it off." 
 
 " All right, then, old man, let's have it. I sup- 
 pose you think it's just as important as anything 
 that happens in waking hours." 
 
 " Just as important, really ! Perhaps more so. 
 We live in two distinct worlds, one while we wake, 
 the other while we sleep, and I sometimes think 
 the latter is the more real world; for 'tis then 
 our bodies are dead for the time being, and our 
 minds, our true selves, wander at will. As I was 
 telling you, I thought I was lying upon a slab in a 
 great morgue. There were two rows of naked! 
 bodies, lying upon slabs about breast high, andl 
 between these rows was an aisle that stretched and 
 stretched away, interminable, as far as eye could' 
 reach. Right in the center of the aisle and at its 
 head was a monster clam, also upon a slab, whose 
 upper shell bore some resemblance to a grotesque, 
 humorous face. Man — " Here McKenzie 
 plucked at Walter's sleeve, bent nearer and spoke 
 still lower, "a whimsical, satirical face, something 
 like that upon the surface of the full moon, that 
 seemed to be infinitely amused at these intermina- 
 ble rows of naked dead bodies, as who should say 
 or think, ' So this is the end of it all, eh ? The end 
 
334 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 of all the plans and soaring ambitions, and hopes, 
 the delirium of love, the joy, the heart-aches, the 
 despair! A comfortable, cool little slab in the 
 morgue — he! he! he! It's really funny. It all 
 ends in such an exquisite anti-climax; perfectly 
 unexpected, too, nearly always unexpected.' " 
 
 " You do make something out of a dream," said 
 Walter, fascinated in spite of himself. 
 
 " But listen, man, I'm not through yet. That 
 fearful clam breathed by opening wide his mouth 
 and bringing it together again with a ' s-s-h.' 
 Within him were the heart, liver and lungs of a 
 man, all throbbing, and when he brought his cold, 
 thin lips together, a fine spray hissed from his 
 nostrils, and wherever it fell upon the corpses it 
 burned them, inflicting indescribable agony, as 
 though it were vitriol. And every time that 's-s-h' 
 was heard, for the clam breathed rh3rthmically, 
 taking a half-minute for each complete opening 
 and closing, the eyes of the corpses, all down the 
 line, rolled toward him, in agonized apprehension 
 ■ — and mine rolled, too, for I was one of them, 
 ye know." 
 
 Walter shuddered. 
 
 " How much of Mrs. Ion's mince pie did you 
 eat last night before you went to bed ? " 
 
THE AMERICAN GOES AFTER RECRUITS 335 
 
 " Three pieces. I was still very hungry, from 
 my long fast upon the island." 
 
 " Well, you have done it full justice, I must 
 say," laughed the American. "Mince pie is fa- 
 mous with us, you know, for its dreajn-producing 
 qualities." 
 
 " What a great blessing to the human race 
 'twould be," sighed McKenzie, " if, having this 
 potent influence, it incited only pleasant dreams ! " 
 
 Having thus relieved his mind, McKenzie was 
 ready to listen to Walter's plan for abstracting the 
 treasure belonging to the Duchess of Polcavera. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 WHERE IS THE TREASURE NOW ? 
 
 A few days later a steamer not much bigger 
 than a tug and in shape actually bearing much 
 resemblance to a wash-tub, stole slowly through 
 the deepening twilight toward the island whereon 
 the monastery was situated. Lythgoe, with trlie 
 American enterprise, had succeeded in hiring this 
 disreputable-looking craft shortly after his arrival 
 in Piraeus harbor. It was rusty, clumsy, begrimed 
 with smoke, and slow, it is true, but it was imme- 
 diately available and would answer his purpose. 
 The capitanyos, or captain, the engineer, and one 
 sailor were the only Greeks on board, as Walter 
 had insisted on making the contingent of this 
 nationality as small as possible. He was relying 
 for carrying out his plan on the assistance of one 
 American and one Englishman, whom McKenzie 
 had brought along from the American and Eng- 
 lish archaeological schools. These youths had 
 
 336 
 
WHERE IS THE TREASURE NOW? 337 
 
 been put upon their honor in the matter of secrecy 
 and had been taken into full confidence. In case 
 of success they were to receive three hundred dol- 
 lars each ; in the event of failure, nothing. They 
 came along with the greatest willingness. The ro- 
 mantic nature of the quest fired their young blood, 
 and the three hundred dollars would mean another 
 whole year in Greece ! 
 
 The captain, a merchant of the tramp variety, 
 was just the man for the purpose, as he had 
 brought many a cargo of the incomparable Andros 
 onions (better than those of Egypt) to the harbor 
 of Piraeus and even so far as France, and he knew 
 every inch of this coast perfectly. 
 
 Walter was in great fettle, albeit a trifle ner- 
 vous. Arrayed in a jaunty business suit and im- 
 maculate linen, all of which he had found time to 
 purchase in Athens, despite the haste, he walked 
 to and fro upon the deck, gazing now at the mon- 
 astery, snuggled in its green nook, now at Ta 
 Castra, the little village glorified by the presence 
 of Polyxene. It is no small thing to be a com- 
 mander of a ship, even a little ship. It is the next 
 thing to being an emperor of the earth, for the rea- 
 son that this whole floating world, to the jumping- 
 off place in every direction, is subject to one's or- 
 
338 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 ders. Herein is found the real source of a mil- 
 lionaire's pleasure in a yacht. It is the only way 
 that a man can buy absolute dominion. 
 
 " They will suspect nothing, if they see us pass- 
 ing here," Walter remarked to Bosanquet. 
 " Steamers like this go by here every day." The 
 little vessel rounded the island, as though to strike 
 down the coast of Andros, but it slowed up in the 
 shadow of a great cliff, at whose feet it presently 
 anchored. 
 
 "Unless one of them is prowling about," said 
 [Walter to McKenzie, "I don't believe they have 
 the least idea that we've stopped here. There's 
 nothing but the smoke to betray us." 
 
 " They're monks, and 'tis their dinner time," re- 
 marked McKenzie. " I don't think ye have much 
 to fear." 
 
 Walter laughed gaily. " If they were Presby- 
 terians, now ! " He was in the highest spirits 
 Thus far everything had worked out exactly as he 
 had planned it, and with the most perfect sim- 
 plicity. Nothing remained save to go up, get the 
 gold and sail away ; and was he not going to take 
 away a still greater treasure upon this very ship 
 — even Polyxene herself? He carried in his 
 pocket the key of the little cabin upon the deck, 
 
WHERE IS THE TREASURE NOW? 339 
 
 and there stood at this moment upon the table a 
 great bouquet of red roses and a dish of mixed 
 fruit upon the sideboard, to say nothing of a box 
 of the exquisite candy which they make at Athens. 
 He looked at his watch and reckoned that inside 
 of three hours Polyxene and he would be sitting 
 in the cabin and they would be sailing away to- 
 gether. 
 
 They cast anchor cautiously and preserved the 
 most perfect silence, while the shades of even- 
 ing enveloped them, and the gray shadow 
 of the rock deepened swiftly to black, blot- 
 ting out the ship that lurked at its base. 
 At nine o'clock the four conspirators went ashore 
 and stole into the wood. Each carried in his 
 hands several slender, yet strong, bars of hard 
 wood, of good length. Arriving at the edge of 
 the road, at the very spot where McKenzie had 
 watched so long a few evenings before, Walter 
 whispered : 
 
 " They seem to be all asleep, eh, Mac ? " 
 
 " All the lights are gone out," replied the Scot. 
 
 " You see, they go to bed about eight o'clock," 
 Walter explained to Bosanquet and Weadock, 
 " and should all be sound asleep by this time. The 
 only danger is in running into the Superior or 
 
340 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Brother Pandelemon. They are the ones who are 
 the prowlers." 
 
 " It's hardly late enough for them yet," sug- 
 gested McKenzie. " Man, I believe 'tis the very 
 hour for our business," 
 
 " Suppose we advance then, gentlemen, silently, 
 silently, remember. Follow me on tiptoe." 
 
 They crept around the building close to the 
 wall, and peeped into the court. There was no 
 sign of life within. To all appearances the monks 
 were sleeping soundly, lulled by the winds in the 
 trees. They certainly could not be expecting the 
 return of the troublesome foreigners, who had 
 seemed glad enough to get away. 
 
 The strangers removed their shoes and stole 
 into the inclosure, each stopping before a cell door 
 indicated by L3rthgoe. They fell immediately to 
 work. 
 
 Each took from his pocket a steel elbow, tipped 
 with a sharp screw, and began twisting it into 
 the frame of the door. There was no light in 
 the court, save that of the stars and the moon, 
 but it was a clear night, and they could see suffi- 
 ciently. Four doors were securely fastened in 
 half a minute: a steel elbow on either side and 
 the wooden bar laid across. 
 
WHERE IS THE TREASURE NOW? 341 
 
 McKenzie and Walter fastened the remaining 
 two doors, and then the four put their heads 
 together. 
 
 " There are eleven bags," explained Lythgoe. 
 " Bosanquet and I will go down and carry off four 
 of them, down nearly to the ship. We won't let the 
 captain see us, or he might sail away with those. 
 You fellows can keep watch till we get back. 
 Then we'll all go down and lug off the rest 
 Isn't it simple, though ? Come on, Bosanquet." 
 
 They descended into the cellar, Walter lead- 
 ing the way between the wine-tuns with a candle 
 which he took from his pocket. 
 
 "That strong smell," he explained, stopping 
 before the huge tun, " is from the hundred-year- 
 old wine that was spilled during the fight that I 
 told you about." 
 
 He felt so confident, so little nervous, that he 
 took the time for this explanation with a certain 
 degree of insolent assurance. 
 
 He did not see how his plan could fail, since 
 the most ticklish part of it had been got through 
 with such ease. He would send somebody from 
 Ta Castra to let the monks out and to look after 
 Spiro. 
 
 The same flimsy old lock was on the door of 
 
343 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the charnel and they found no difficulty in forc- 
 ing it, as before. 
 
 " There, those are the bags, Bosanquet. Each 
 one has the bones of a dead monk in it. His name 
 is on the label. See here ! Hold the candle now, 
 while I dig down to what we want." 
 
 Bosanquet was greatly interested. He was an 
 archaeologist, and McKenzie had explained to 
 him that the British had discovered the existence 
 of a similar custom at Palaiokastro, in Crete, a 
 survival from Mycenaean times. He stood hold- 
 ing the bag in the crook of his left arm, reading 
 the label, while Walter dug rapidly down into the 
 pyramid. The crater was soon excavated, clean 
 to the floor; it was enlarged. Bosanquet caught 
 the contagious excitement and, dropping the bag 
 which he was holding, bent over and looked into 
 the pit which Walter had digged, tilting the can- 
 dle so that the latter might the better see. At 
 last Walter looked up. His face was white at 
 first, but immediately a silly grin crept over his 
 features, followed by the burning signal of shame. 
 
 " The — the — treasure is not here ! " he 
 faltered. " They — they — have removed it." 
 
 Whirling about suddenly, he attacked the pile 
 of bones, and pitched all the rattling generations 
 
WHERE IS THE TREASURE NOW? 343 
 
 of the dead into the corner, in hopes that what 
 he was seeking might be mingled through the 
 pile. He worked with the frenzy of a madman, 
 hurling the bags savagely, as though they were 
 responsible for his disappointment. 
 
 But all to no purpose, for the monks had in- 
 deed changed the cache of the treasure. 
 
 Walter thought of the chamber of the skeleton, 
 whither he and McKenzie had carried several of 
 the bags, and thither he hastened, in company 
 with Bosanquet. He was disagreeably surprised 
 to find that the monks had not even taken the 
 trouble to lock this door. The reason for this 
 was evident, for the skeleton had disappeared, 
 and all its belongings : vases with the telltale coat 
 of arms, rug, sword, even the eikon was gone! 
 As for money, there was not the least sign of it. 
 Lythgoe rushed down the long, dark passage, 
 his fists doubled; his temples pounding with rage. 
 
 Bosanquet, following as best he could with the 
 candle flickering to a tiny point of blue, heard his 
 flying footsteps, and the string of angry adjec- 
 tives that trailed behind him down the narrow 
 vault : " The damned, scoundrelly, hypo- 
 critical — " 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 
 
 " Mac," cried Walter, bursting upon the lit- 
 tle group that stood beneath the tree in the court, 
 "the treasure is gone — ^"tis gone, I say, the 
 sanctimonious old devil has taken it away — 
 Polygene's money, he has taken it away ! But, by 
 God, I mean to have it, if I take it out of his 
 yellow old hide." Fairly beside himself with 
 rage that seemed to be growing with the exaspera- 
 tion that it fed upon, he strode toward the Father 
 Superior's door. McKenzie seized him, how- 
 ever, and held him fast. 
 
 " Stop, man, stop, the treasure's in the building, 
 I warrant you. We must find it." 
 
 " That's so," cried Walter. " Come on, then. 
 We'll ransack—" 
 
 " But wait a minute, man, wait a wee minute. 
 We must put our heads together and think a 
 little now. • Rushing aimlessly around will do us 
 
 344 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 345 
 
 small good." McKenzie took on the look of the 
 cautious counsellor and spoke in solemn tones. 
 
 "They will have hidden it well this time," 
 suggested Weadock, a black-haired, swarthy, 
 thick-set man, with a square chin. He spoke 
 with deliberation, as ever. " I doubt if we could 
 find it in this great pile, with all its secret cham- 
 bers, caves and underground passages, were we 
 to hunt a week. The only way to get it is to 
 make the monks tell us where it is." 
 
 "By torture?" whispered Bosanquet, a tall, 
 blue-eyed Englishman. " I don't like it — if the 
 surroundings are medieval," 
 
 " 'Twould serve 'em right, the thieves," fumed 
 Walter, " but I don't like it either." 
 
 "There must be some other way," said Mc- 
 Kenzie. " Let us put our heads together." 
 
 They had been discussing the subject about 
 ten minutes when Bosanquet, who had sharp ears, 
 whispered : 
 
 " Sht ! I thought I heard something." 
 
 "'Twas the latch of the Father Superior's 
 door," said Walter. " He is trying to get out." 
 
 He was indeed. He rattled the latch, he shook 
 the door, he threw his weight against it, and 
 at last he pounded and shouted. 
 
346 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 "Eh, ha, what?" cried Brother Manoles, in 
 Greek, his voice betraying the fact that he had 
 been aroused from a deep slumber. The impact 
 of the fat Brother's body could plainly be heard 
 as he lifted the latch of his own portal, and 
 bumped against it, expecting it to open. He 
 too, began to rattle, pound and shout, and soon 
 all six of the Brothers were screaming to the 
 others to let them out. They silenced down at 
 last, all except Brother Myrianthuses, who, sus- 
 pecting a practical joke on the part of Manoles, 
 kept up the hubbub for some time. 
 
 " Into the shadow deeper, deeper," whispered 
 the Scot, throwing his long arm about his com- 
 panions and drawing them behind the tree. The 
 cook at this moment came out of the kitchen, 
 yawning cavernously, and making desperate 
 efforts to open his heavy eyes. He was attired 
 in his shirt, his hair was matted, and he held a 
 candle high above his head. He was followed by 
 the kitchen boy, in similar dishabille, a whimper- 
 ing lout, who seemed to be frightened ; as indeed 
 he was, for supernatural visitors, angry saints, 
 for instance, often appeared to the denizens of 
 monasteries. 
 
 " We have forgotten the cook," said McKenzie. 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 347 
 
 " When I dash at him, you, Bosanquet, run for 
 the front gate, and you, Weadock, for the kitchen 
 door. Come, with me, Walter. He must never 
 open one of those doors." 
 
 The plan was instantly put into effect, and Mc- 
 Kenzie reached the cook just as the latter's hand 
 was on the bar closing Brother Pandelemon's 
 door. The cook's knees knocked together, his 
 face blanched and his jaws dropped ajar AArith 
 fright. The boy sank praying to the earth. 
 
 " If we only had some rope to bind them," said 
 McKenzie. 
 
 " The rope that I escaped with," said Walter, 
 "I'll get it." He soon came running back 
 with it. 
 
 The cook and the boy were securely tied and 
 thrown into the church. 
 
 " We'd better look at them from time to time, 
 to make sure that they don't get loose," suggested 
 Weadock. 
 
 McKenzie now proceeded to attempt to parley 
 with the Father Superior through the door, repre- 
 senting to him that all the monks were in the 
 power of Walter and his friends, that further 
 resistance was useless and that he would avoid a 
 great scandal if he told where the treasure was. 
 
348 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 In case of compliance the strangers would go 
 away, and never mention the matter of the stolen 
 treasure to any one. 
 
 "We are in complete possession of all the 
 facts regarding it," he argued, " and you can 
 not possibly keep it in any event. If you tell 
 us, we will take the cook a distance with us, till 
 we get safely away, and then we will free him 
 to come back and let you all out." 
 
 But the Father Superior kept as still as a 
 mouse, and all his family followed his example. 
 When McKenzie reached the door of Brother 
 Pandelemon, something happened. That war- 
 like monk had evidently prepared for any further 
 raids upon the precious bags, for he fired through 
 the door, very narrowly missing McKenzie's 
 head. The fact that the gallant gentleman was 
 stooping while he talked, saved him from perfora- 
 tion by the bullet from an old-fashioned pistol, 
 of large bore. 
 
 After the excitement arising from this episode 
 had subsided somewhat, Bosanquet volunteered: 
 
 " We can not resort to torture, it is true, but 
 can not we frighten the monks by pretending to 
 offer violence to some one of their number? " 
 
 " That might be an idea ! " assented McKenzie. 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 349 
 
 " For instance : that large window in the church 
 looks right out on the court here. Could we not 
 herd all the Brothers in the church, and threaten 
 solemnly to hang them one by one to this tree, 
 unless they give us the desired information ? We 
 could rig up an effigy and hang it, by the light 
 of the lantern. 'Twould take but a minute and 
 be most realistic, as seen through the window, and 
 by the uncertain light. We could begin on 
 Brother Pandelemon, alleging his rebellious con- 
 duct as the reason for selecting him as the first 
 victim." 
 
 "But do you think," asked Weadock, "that 
 they would take our theatrical exhibition se- 
 riously? Would they not know that we would 
 not dare commit murder, and see through the 
 deception ? " 
 
 McKenzie answered : " I know the Greek 
 country people as I do those of Scotland. They 
 are entirely ignorant of the outside world, con- 
 cerning which they have the wildest imagin- 
 ings. Indeed, they look upon all foreigners as 
 utterly unregenerate and savage at heart. 'Tis 
 very likely that they will be surprised if we do 
 not offer some violence." 
 
 " By Jove, I believe it'll work ! " cried the ever 
 
350 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 sanguine Walter. " There must be some weak 
 ones among them. One of them will be sure to 
 show the white feather. It will work — some- 
 thing must work ! " 
 
 " But where would we get the costume for 
 our effigy ? " asked Weadock. 
 
 " Why, from the monk that we pretend to 
 hang," explained Bosanquet. 
 
 " We'll put them all together in the church. 
 Then we'll make our little speech and wait for 
 them to speak. Failing this, we'll take Mr. — 
 what's his name? yes, Pandelemon, out to the 
 kitchen, strip off his garments, stuff them with 
 something or other — " 
 
 " The hair from my bed mattress," suggested 
 Walter. 
 
 " — and invite the Brothers confined in the 
 church to watch while we pull this clerical effigy 
 up into the tree. We can just flash the light 
 of the lantern upon it, you know, if we should 
 not succeed in making it very realistic." 
 
 " Will it be safe to let them all loose in the 
 church together?" asked Weadock. "Can we 
 manage them ?" 
 
 " We'll have to take them out one by one and 
 bind them," declared Walter. " I suppose this 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 351 
 
 may seem like sacrilege to you people, and I want 
 to say right here that no man respects the Greek 
 . Church more than I do, but I have had some ex- 
 periences with these particular Brethren which 
 convince me that they are not worthy representa- 
 tives of that Church. How shall we get Pande- 
 lemon out without letting him puncture one or 
 more of us ? " 
 
 It was decided to throw the door wide sud- 
 denly and without previous noise, and to let the 
 Brother find himself unexpectedly covered by 
 revolvers. This was done, and with the greater 
 success, as the weapon possessed by the monk 
 proved to be a single-barreled affair, for which 
 he had no more bullets in his cell. He fought 
 with desperation, however, like the mad fanatic 
 that he was, scratching and screaming like a 
 cornered wildcat ; but he was in the hands of four 
 active young fellows, who soon overpowered him, 
 and securely fastened his hands and feet. 
 
 "Bind him tight," said McKenzie grimly in 
 Greek ; " never mind if you do hurt him a little. 
 'Twill soon be over: they'll either tell us where 
 the treasure is, or they'll all be hanged within 
 half an hour." 
 
 The other Brothers, realizing that the odds were 
 
353 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 against them, offered no resistance, but submitted 
 with the best grace of which they were capable. 
 Brother Manoles alone was quite voluble, urging 
 that this was a poor return for hospitality, and 
 that such conduct would not have been possible 
 on the part of Christians. This was the result of 
 harboring barbarians, Franks, infidels; nah! all 
 the best wine had been spilled, and now they were 
 subjected to unspeakable indignities ! 
 
 The Father Superior bore himself with such 
 dignity that McKenzie was constrained to off«r 
 an apology, adding : 
 
 " It is just as painful to us as it is to you. 
 Father, but it is all your own fault. If you wil' 
 tell us where this money is that we may restore il 
 to its rightful owner, we will not lay the weighl 
 of our hands upon you." 
 
 Wonder of wonders ! " There is no money," 
 he replied, " and never has been. You gentle- 
 men are suffering from some strange illusion." 
 He said it with so much solemnity that Bosanquet 
 and Weadock looked inquiringly, almost doubt- 
 ingly at each other. 
 
 " What does he say ? " asked Walter, who alone 
 could not understand him. 
 
 McKenzie translated. 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 353 
 
 " Bind him tight, bind him tighter than the 
 others ! " shouted Walter. " The old hypocrite ! 
 Tell him, tell him, McKenzie, that he'll conclude 
 that we are no illusion before we get through with 
 him. What a mockery are gray hairs when they 
 mask so much wickedness ! The gray old rat ! " 
 
 Walter was very much in love, as we know, and 
 it made him frantic to think that these men per- 
 sisted so strenuously, so desperately, in holding 
 back his sweetheart's fortune and much that would 
 help him in proving her origin. 
 
 " God will judge between ye and me," said the 
 Father Superior, no doubt noticing the efifect 
 which he had produced on Bosanquet and Wea- 
 dock. " Bind me if ye will. I would share the 
 martyrdom with which he has seen fit to crown 
 my brothers," — and he held out his thin, white 
 hands, from which the wide sleeves fell away, 
 disclosing the blue-veined, slender wrists. 
 
 "I don't half like this business," muttered 
 Weadock, but he followed the others to the church. 
 
 The monks had seized the opportunity while 
 they were locked in their cells to make a hurried 
 toilet, and they were now seated in a row in the 
 church, in the high-backed cathedral chairs against 
 the wall. As each one was placed in the chair, 
 
354 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 his feet were bound, and now that the roster was 
 complete, McKenzie raised the lantern which he 
 had found in the kitchen, and the Anglo-Saxons 
 looked over the silent, impressive, yet grotesque 
 line. The rays of the lantern gleamed upon the 
 brazen frames of the eikon, upon the tall candle- 
 sticks, and flickered among the glass pendants 
 of the chandelier swinging from the ceiling. 
 They mingled with darkness in the high dome, 
 where only the bare feet of the saints painted 
 there, and the hem of their robes, were visible. 
 
 Father Timoleon alone had put on his tall hat, 
 and he sat near the middle of the line. 
 
 " Reverend Brethren," began McKenzie, " it 
 is with great regret that we have been obliged to 
 resort to these forcible measures. You know why 
 we are here, — to secure possession of certain 
 bags containing money, and to restore them to 
 their rightful owner — " Manoles bent forward 
 and glanced down the line, his mouth wide as 
 though in honest wonder. 
 
 "Money?" he repeated. Brother Timoleon 
 laughed, and there seemed to be a slight flavor 
 of real mirth in the sound. Bosanquet and Wea- 
 dock again exchanged glances. 
 
 " Yes, money," continued McKenzie, " and we 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 355 
 
 intend to have it. You must see that we are in 
 earnest. It is for you to say whether we shall 
 proceed to still more violent measures. We will 
 give you five minutes to begin telling where you 
 have removed those money bags to. If, at the 
 end, of that time no one has spoken, we shall take 
 you out one by one and hang you to the tree in 
 the yard, beginning with Brother Pandelemon." 
 
 " Bah ! " snarled Brother Pandelemon ; " hang, 
 and may the fiend take you ! " 
 
 Walter pulled out his watch and called the 
 minutes. 
 
 It seemed an hour to him till the second hand 
 traveled around the little circle, and all this time 
 Polyxene was being defrauded of her rights ! 
 
 " One minute ! " he called at last. The silence 
 was painful. Bosanquet and Weadock noticed 
 that the Superior's face was of ashen pallor, while 
 that of Pandelemon was spotted with rage. The 
 other monks were exchanging wondering glances, 
 as though they did not quite understand, or could 
 not believe their eyes and ears. 
 
 " Two minutes ! " 
 
 " Three minutes ! " 
 
 " Four minutes ! " 
 
 The Superior was evidently trying to catch 
 
356 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Pandelemon's eye, but the latter stared fixedly 
 at the earth, as though conscious of that magnetic 
 gaze, yet grimly determined not to yield to its 
 influence. 
 
 " Five minutes ! " 
 
 There was a moment's wait, as of indecision, 
 while the Scot searched the faces of the monks 
 to take advantage of the least sign of weakness. 
 
 " Come ! " he said sternly, and seized Pandele- 
 mon by the arm. 
 
 "We might as well see this experiment 
 through," muttered Weadock, stepping to Mc- 
 Kenzie's assistance, 
 
 Pandelemon offered no resistance this time, but 
 arose and came along as soon as the rope about 
 his ankles was cut. 
 
 " If I knew of any treasure," he cried, looking 
 the Superior full in the eyes, " I would die sooner 
 than yield to these vile unbelievers." 
 
 The Superior, who had been leaning forward 
 anxiously, settled back in his chair once more with 
 a sigh. 
 
 During the wait which now ensued in the 
 church, he sat silent, his chin buried in his breast, 
 over which his white beard spread like a silver 
 cataract. Fully ten minutes must have passed 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 357 
 
 away thus, which seemed so long a time that the 
 Other monks took hope and began to chatter vol- 
 ubly, saying: 
 
 " They would not dare." 
 
 "'Twould be murder and they would all be 
 guillotined for it." 
 
 At last, however, McKenzie again entered and 
 announced : 
 
 "All preparations are now complete for the 
 hanging of Brother Pandelemon. |We would 
 avoid this grave and dangerous step, if possible, 
 therefore we give you one more chance to speak." 
 
 " The Superior is going to speak," cried Bosan- 
 iquet ; and indeed, the old man had the appearance 
 of one about to say something. He thought bet- 
 ter of it, though, and again the chin dropped on 
 his breast, the while he shook his head and mut- 
 tered : " I can't believe that they will do it." 
 
 McKenzie left the room, and soon his voice 
 could be heard outside in Greek, commanding 
 grufSy: 
 
 " Throw the rope over that limb ! No, no, no, 
 not that one, the other, that will hold." 
 
 The light of the lantern now shone against the 
 window and the branches of the tree were dimly 
 visible. Who knows what terrors may have filled 
 
358 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 the minds of these simple monks, ignorant of all 
 the world save one little island? One could see 
 written plainly upon their faces the question: 
 " What savage men from over the sea are these? 
 What murderers, what brigands ? " 
 
 Two of them began to pray and Brother 
 Manoles to plead. 
 
 "There is no treasure, good strangers, I tell 
 you there is no treasure. My Virgin! Do you 
 think if there were, I would not tell you ? " 
 
 And above it all could be heard McKenzie's 
 voice : 
 
 " Once more, Pandelemon, have you anything 
 to say? He is silent. Pull him up then, pull! 
 Pull!" 
 
 A form dressed in a long black cassock, with 
 dangling legs and hands tied in front, danced 
 into the dim light of the lantern, and whirled 
 about. 
 
 " Let him down ! " screamed the Father Su- 
 perior, " let him down, and I will tell — not for 
 myself, not for myself, but for these others, whom 
 I can not see die." 
 
 He stood swaying upon his hobbled feet, hold- 
 ing out his bound wrists that trembled beseech- 
 ingly. Bosanquet sprang to the door and 
 
FRIGHTENING THE MONKS 359 
 
 shouted : " Let Pandelemon down. The Su- 
 perior will tell ! " 
 
 The dark form was dropped to the earth, and 
 almost immediately afterward McKenzie entered 
 the room. 
 
 "Is he dead ? " asked the old man. " Is he 
 dead, eh? He is not dead, is he? " 
 
 " No," replied McKenzie ; " I am glad to say 
 that he received a bad choking only, and will be 
 all right in a few moments. But you spoke just 
 in time." 
 
 " There is a treasure," whispered Bosanquet 
 to Weadock, who came in at this moment. " The 
 old man said so, but he was a pitiful sight, and 
 he has his good points. It made my heart ache to 
 see him." 
 
 Walter freed the Superior's feet and, turning 
 to his companions, cried joyfully : " Come, gen- 
 tlemen, all, we have nothing to do but to follow 
 the good Father here, who will take us to the 
 money-bags. Lead on, with the Father Superior, 
 Mr. McKenzie!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERY 
 
 The Hegoumenos was as fleshless as a hawk, 
 and, despite his age, as light and muscular. He 
 passed out through the front gate of the court 
 and led the way through the woods, flitting along 
 so rapidly that it was difficult for the others to 
 keep up with him. He climbed the path down 
 which the huge stone had rolled, so nearly crush- 
 ing the life out of Walter and the Scot. Several 
 times he stopped and looked up and down, saying: 
 " Hold the lantern lower, so that my old eyes can 
 find the mark which tells us where to turn off." 
 
 "Weadock, you were right," cried Walter 
 gaily ; " we never in the world could have found 
 it by simply hunting. They did hide it well this 
 time, sure enough ! " 
 
 Twice the Superior mumbled, "Ah, um, yes, 
 here it is," and left the path, striking into the 
 deep woods. But each time, after wandering 
 
 360 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERY 361 
 
 about for a while, he stopped and stood, shaking 
 his head, and muttering: 
 
 " Wrong, wrong, I can not find it, I am lost ! " 
 
 " I fear, gentlemen, that we are being made the 
 victims of Greek duplicity," affirmed McKenzie 
 at last. 
 
 " I know we are," said Walter. " He could 
 go as straight to that gold as a wolf to buried 
 meat, blindfolded, if he wanted to. Well, let's 
 take him back to the path once more." 
 
 They did so. 
 
 " What sort of a sign was it that marks the 
 place where you turn off ? " asked McKenzie. 
 
 "Twas a tree of peculiar shape — ah, there 
 it is !" cried the priest brightly. 
 
 " Now we've found it," said Bosanquet, trans- 
 lating for Walter's benefit. " The old man is not 
 so bad as you fellows think he is." 
 
 "He does seem to be going straight enough 
 this time," assented Walter. 
 
 They all plunged into the wood after him, and, 
 surely enough, he led them straight to a rock the 
 size of a small dwelling house, whose precipitous 
 face was covered with stunted brush and a great, 
 spreading grape-vine. 
 
 " There's a small cave in there," said the Su- 
 
363 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 perior, pulling the vine to one side, " and there 
 the treasure is hid. Take it, since you must, and 
 free us from your sacrilegious presence as soon 
 as possible ! " 
 
 McKenzie held the lantern in the mouth of the 
 cave, and Walter, standing by his side, peered 
 eagerly within. The others crowded about him. 
 Weadock spoke first, his calm, measured ut- 
 terance filling the breathless silence with con- 
 viction : 
 
 " There's nothing in there, absolutely nothing 
 at all." 
 
 "Eh? eh? What is it? What is it?" said 
 the Father Superior. 
 
 Walter strode up to him. 
 
 " You old sepulcher — " he began. 
 
 "What does he say, what is the matter, eh? 
 eh ? " repeated the Superior. 
 
 " There are no bags there, your Reverence," 
 explained McKenzie, " as you very well know, 
 and we shall have to hang Brother Pandelemon 
 for good this time, and perhaps one other of your 
 flock." 
 
 " No bags there? " The Father Superior spoke 
 in a resigned tone. " Now God forbid ! Some- 
 one then has taken the treasure, — some prowling 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERY 363 
 
 thief, who has no right to it at all! This is a 
 judgment on me. Would God that I had given 
 it to you in the first place ! " 
 
 " He does it very well," said Bosanquet, who 
 no longer doubted the old man's duplicity. 
 
 "Well, what'll we do now?" asked Walter. 
 " He'll play with us here till help arrives, or till 
 the monks get loose." 
 
 They were standing on a side hill, with the 
 monastery, dimly visible in the moonlight, loom- 
 ing beneath them. 
 
 " He really bit at the execution play," suggested 
 Bosanquet, " we'd better push that right home. 
 We — hah! Oh, good Lord, what's that!" A 
 roar shook the hills, and a burst of red light, of 
 indescribable brightness, awoke every little twig 
 in the forest, every pebble at the foot of the trees 
 into sudden and vivid being. It set a thousand 
 startled birds to twittering and flashed far over 
 the waters of the sea. A giant jet of irresistible 
 spouting flames leaped skyward from the rear por- 
 tion of the monastery, carrying bodily with it 
 much of the kitchen and completely wrecking the 
 cells. In the very center of the red brush of fire, 
 the body of Brother Pandelemon went tumbling 
 heavenward. 'Twas as fleeting as a flash-light, 
 
364 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 yet as vivid and lasting an impression as the 
 photograph thus taken. In the middle of the 
 white road leading to the water could be seen a 
 man in islander's costume, running. 
 
 " The prophecy is fulfilled ! " shrieked the 
 Father Superior. "Oh, holy One, Mother of God, 
 forgive us our sins and have mercy upon us!" 
 
 Dropping on his knees, with bound hands 
 raised toward heaven, he began to pray, rapidly, 
 volubly, beseechingly, as a frightened woman 
 might plead for her life to an executioner. 
 
 In a hole in the ground, where the cellar had 
 been, beams and debris were burning. The cells 
 upon the right of the court were a heap of ruins, 
 but having been constructed entirely of brick, 
 they did not burst into a fierce flame. 
 
 Even as the four Anglo-Saxons stood looking, 
 not having recovered yet from the first shock of 
 wonder and surprise, much of the wall upon the 
 left fell with a crash, revealing the surface of 
 rock against which it had been built. The church 
 alone, which sat a trifle back in a nook of solid 
 rock, remained standing. The sound of this last 
 crash attracted the attention of the Superior, who 
 desisted from his frenzied praying, and fixed his 
 keen old eyes upon the scene of the ruin below 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERY 365 
 
 him, now visible from the tongues of flame which 
 played here and there among the debris, especially 
 from the cellar. Scrambling to his feet, he 
 started on a run for the monastery, or all that 
 was left of it. 
 
 There was that in his manner to remind one 
 of the bird which misleads by various subterfuges 
 until her nest has been actually found, when she 
 throws off all restraint and forgets everything 
 save her distress. 
 
 " He'll be going to the treasure now," remarked 
 McKenzie, following. 
 
 " For shame ! " panted Weadock, " 'tis anxiety 
 for the Brothers." Not having free use of his 
 hands, which are nearly as necessary in running 
 as the feet, the Superior fell and rolled down 
 the steep incline. McKenzie assisted him to rise, 
 and he started on again, seemingly unconscious of 
 the Scot's presence. 
 
 They all arrived at the scene of desolation. 
 The front gate and the wall of the court were 
 standing. The Hegoumenos ran through the 
 gate and stood in the smoldering court, the light 
 of the flames playing upon his ashen face and 
 white beard, gazing at the face of rock upon 
 the left, from which the monastery wall had fal- 
 
366 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 len away. There was a small cavern there, which 
 had evidently been closed in front by the brick 
 wall. 
 
 In the natural chamber thus opened up, hung 
 the very eikon which Walter had seen in the 
 chamber of the skeleton, the oil dip before it still 
 serenely burning. Several of the urns and other 
 objects were also plainly visible, and — 
 
 " There are the bags," cried Walter, " hurrah ! 
 There they are ! " 
 
 It would have been quite impossible to reach 
 them from where he stood, but in his thoughtless 
 excitement, he started in their direction. Ob- 
 serving his intention, the Father Superior, still in 
 the frenzy of the bird whose nest has been un- 
 covered, darted into the church. McKenzie fol- 
 lowed him, down the long aisle, past the captive 
 monks who had dropped on their knees, and 
 transfixed by fright, were kneeling in a row be^ 
 fore the cathedral chairs, praying; into that part 
 of the edifice which had taken advantage of a 
 large dome-shaped cave (as at Mega Spelaion, 
 and other places in Greece) ; through a door be- 
 hind the Holy of Holies; along a dark narrow 
 passage in the rock, to emerge at last in full 
 view of the others, side by side with the Hegou- 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERY 367 
 
 menos. The latter fell weeping and mumbling 
 beside the money-bags, covering them with his 
 long robe as a hen does its chickens and calUng 
 them many endearing names, in a voice pitifully 
 rich with maternal tenderness. 
 
 The Scot touched him gently upon the shoulder. 
 He looked up as one in a dream, hugging the 
 bags to his bosom. 
 
 " We've no time to lose," shouted Walter, " the 
 whole town will be here in a minute." 
 
 " You're right about that," chorused Bosan- 
 quet and Weadock, and the three started on a run 
 for the interior of the church. As the door to 
 the passage had been left open, they found it 
 without difficulty and were soon standing beside 
 McKenzie and the Superior. It was very hot up 
 there and getting hotter, as the woodwork buried 
 beneath the brick was beginning to burn. 
 
 " Come on," said Walter, " let's get these out 
 of here as soon as possible," — and seizing two 
 of the bags he started down the passage. 
 
 At that moment a shouting was heard on the 
 edge of the wood, and the captain and his as- 
 sistant appeared by the side of the road. 
 
 " Hey, hello, there ! " called McKenzie, " come 
 ug here and help us." Depositing his two bags 
 
368 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 in the church, he enlisted the aid of these auxili- 
 aries, who had run over, as soon as they could 
 muster the courage, to learn the cause of the ter- 
 rific uproar. 
 
 " We can make it now in one trip," explained 
 the Scot, and they were soon staggering through 
 the woods in a line with their precious burden. 
 As they were six in number now, Walter found 
 that he had one hand unoccupied, and he accord- 
 ingly picked up a slender and graceful Venetian 
 vase, upon which the arms of the Polcavera family 
 were most clearly distinguishable. But before 
 he left, he threw back the rug from the skeleton, 
 lying there, and said: 
 
 " Gentlemen, we will now say farewell to the 
 remains of Giovanni - Maria - Antonio - Ossuni, 
 Duca di Polcavera, sixth Marquis of Cogoleto. 
 I had hoped to take these remains with us, that 
 they might be decently interred with his family. 
 !But that is now impossible." 
 
 Laying the rug back over the poor remains of 
 what was once a duke and a marquis, he added, 
 " Good-by, Polyxene's grandfather. If your 
 spirit be hovering somewhere near, as I feel that 
 it is, I am sure that you will understand and 
 will be satisfied with this night's work." 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERY 369 
 
 Before he plunged into the wood, Walter looked 
 back. Lights were dancing on the headland op- 
 posite the monastery island, and one, twinkling 
 on the water, showed where a boat was coming 
 across. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE PROPHECY FULFILLED 
 
 The Hesperinos Aster, or 'Evening Star, as the 
 rusty little tub was called, put directly for the 
 mouth of the moon-shaped bay of Ta Castra, by 
 .Walter's orders. 
 
 " I'm going for the real treasure, now, old 
 man," — Walter, fairly intoxicated with joy, ex- 
 plained to McKenzie. The Scot pressed his hand, 
 but made no reply. 
 
 " The Father Superior has something to say," 
 announced Weadock, coming up at this moment. 
 " Wouldn't it be a good idea if we all went in to 
 hear him ? " 
 
 The old man had followed the gold on board, 
 and into the cabin, where he sat down by the pile 
 of money-bags gazing at them, his head in his 
 hands. 
 
 He looked up as the four Anglo-Saxons en- 
 tered, and commenced to speak immediately, in 
 370 
 
THE PROPHECY FULFILLEI> 371 
 
 a weary, monotonous tone. His eyes were dull 
 now, he trembled with palsy, and his face was 
 like that of a corpse. Weadock pulled his stu- 
 dent's note-book from his pocket, and sitting 
 down at a small table in the cabin, took the aged 
 monk's story in shorthand, — an accomplishment 
 which the young archaeologist had acquired for 
 use in the lecture-room. McKenzie translated the 
 substance to Walter, whose impatience would not 
 brook delay, in his characteristic whisper. 
 
 " The prophecy has been fulfilled now, and I 
 know that you will take away the treasure," he 
 began. " God did not give me strength to give 
 it up, but now that it is gone, I speak these words 
 to absolve my soul from sin. Perhaps He will 
 account it to my credit, for my soul's good. You 
 will wonder at my freeing my mind to you in this 
 way, but I see the hand of God in what has hap- 
 pened and the fulfilment of prophecy. I wish to 
 confess, and right a great wrong while He still 
 spares my life. And, indeed, I believe He has 
 spared it, and has not destroyed me, as He did! 
 Pandelemon, that I may confess. God knows 
 how I have prayed for strength that I might give 
 up that treasure, but I could not, it had taken sucH 
 hold of me ! And the devil whispered that I was 
 
372 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 holding it for the good of the Church, that scandal 
 might not arise. 
 
 " It had been here so long, too ! Since the 
 year 1822, when a caique sailed up to the mon- 
 astery pier one evening, just at sunset, and a 
 man carrying a small baby in his arms was seen 
 walking up the road to the building. He knocked 
 at the gate and asked for the Superior, at that 
 time the venerable Father Loudovikos. Closeted 
 in the Superior's office, the stranger revealed his 
 identity. He was the Duke of Polcavera, and he 
 had escaped from the massacres of that year in 
 the isle of Chios, with his infant son, and three 
 servants, all the rest of his family having been 
 murdered by the Turks. He was a man stricken 
 with grief, who, but for the babe in his arms, 
 would not have cared to live. He confided to 
 the Superior that he had brought witli him 
 certain bags of treasure, which had been 
 concealed in his house, as was the custom in 
 those days, and he asked the Reverend Father 
 to take charge of them till he could de- 
 cide as to his future course. The Superior ac- 
 ceded, but suggested that the treasure be brought 
 up after the monks had gone to bed, as he thought 
 it best that such a dangerous secret be confided to 
 
THE PROPHECY FULFILLED 373 
 
 as few as possible. Accordingly it was brought 
 into the monastery that night, and there it has 
 been ever since, a hidden curse. The caique 
 sailed away, carrying the duke's servants on some 
 mission of inquiry, leaving himself and the little 
 babe. Thus was the secret burden of a great 
 crime thrust upon this sacred brotherhood; for 
 one of the monks, through the devil's connivance, 
 was awake and saw the bags brought into the 
 monastery. He overheard enough to know what 
 was in them. He saw how heavy they were, and 
 where they were put." 
 
 The Superior's face was flushed now, his eyes 
 were bright with a hectic light, and he was talk- 
 ing very rapidly. 
 
 " The devil working in him, and driving out 
 the Holy Spirit, this monk entered the duke's 
 room, murdered him, and, putting some of the 
 money into a bag, attempted to escape. But his 
 greed caused him to take a larger load than he 
 could carry, and he was overtaken by the Superior 
 and two of the Brothers. Crazed by the posses- 
 sion of gold, he fought them, and one of the 
 Brothers in self-defense struck him with a club, 
 causing him to die. Thus the blighting power 
 of the gold was felt, the very first night that it was 
 
374 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 under our roof. You can imagine the horror of 
 good Father Loudovikos and the two Brothers. 
 The one thing which they realized most of all was 
 that these things must be kept from the ears of 
 the world, lest the order, yea, the whole Christian 
 Church, be scandalized. They dug a grave for 
 the wicked monk and buried him there in the 
 woods. They hid the bag of gold, to go back 
 after it later. Then they hastened home and the 
 Superior sent such of the monks as were about 
 the building, out into the fields. 'Twas just day- 
 break, now, for Loudovikos, you see, had looked 
 into the stranger's room very early, being anxious, 
 when he thought of the treasure, the knowledge 
 of which and of what it would mean to a man, 
 having kept him restless all the night." 
 
 " Is he not getting garrulous ? " inquired Wea- 
 dock. " We'll soon be in the harbor now." 
 
 " We must hear the whole story," hastily re- 
 turned Bosanquet, " even if we have to take him 
 to Naples." 
 
 " The gold was put out of the way, together 
 with some other things which the duke had 
 brought up from the caique — " 
 
 "Where was the baby all this time?" asked 
 Weadock, 
 
THE PROPHECY FULFILLED 375 
 
 " I do not know. The paper did not say. The 
 dead body — " 
 
 " The paper — what paper ? " 
 
 " The report of the affair was written out by 
 Father Loudovikos, and must now be burned up, 
 as it was in the bag containing the sacred bones 
 of Brother Konstantinos, who passed away in 
 181 5. Doubtless one of the monks had taken the 
 child for the night, as I have known Brothers 
 to be afflicted with a pitiful yearning to hear the 
 voices of young children. The Superior called 
 the Brothers together and bound them by a most 
 solemn oath never to tell of the foul deed which 
 had befallen the monastery, lest the Church be 
 scandalized. He said naught of the treasure, but 
 let it be understood that the murder had been 
 committed for what money the man might have 
 had about him. The babe was given to a family 
 in the village and nothing was said as to its 
 origin. The Superior hoped, when the servants 
 of the duke returned, to induce them, being good 
 Christians, to keep silence as to the cause of 
 their master's death. He would give them the 
 money and the child and ask them to sail away 
 in God's name. But there was a terrible storm — 
 God so willed it for his own inscrutable purpose, 
 
376 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 and the caique was wrecked and all on board' 
 drowned. Thus," continued the Hegoumenos, 
 with a sigh, " was the treasure left here, and the 
 long history of its blighting influence began. The 
 child was small, there was no way of restoring the 
 money without revealing the secret of the monas- 
 tery. Father Loudovikos lived to be a very old 
 man, and on his death-bed prophesied in a whisper 
 to one of the two monks who shared the secret,, 
 that when the treasure should be given up, the 
 monastery would be destroyed. 
 
 " This same monk became his successor, and did 
 not dare give up the money, for he wrote that 
 there was the light of prophecy in the dying man's 
 eyes. Ah well, what else is there ? It was I who 
 hit upon the plan of hiding the gold among the 
 bones of the dead, that it might be in a place where 
 none would look and where I might visit it with- 
 out suspicion. It was I who set up an eikon of the 
 blessed Virgin in the room where lay the bones of 
 the murdered duke, and I went frequently to pray 
 for the repose of his soul, as he was taken away 
 without warning by one of our order. And I ever 
 restrained Pandelemon's hand, that no further 
 crime might be recorded against us, because of the 
 gold. He suspected from the start that you had 
 
THE -PROPHECY EULFIEtED 3?? 
 
 found out something, and pursued me night and 
 iday, with ' Kill them, Father, kill them, or we 
 perish and the Church will be disgraced.' But I 
 would not." 
 
 McKenzie and Walter exchanged glances. 
 iThey were thinking of that boulder which had so 
 nearly crushed out their lives and of the treacher- 
 ous boat. 
 
 " But what would you have done with us, had 
 you secured us both ? " asked the Scot. 
 
 The monk's hands closed convulsively, and a 
 look of hard greed, a wolfish contraction, distorted 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I — I — <io not ask me," he replied with an ef- 
 fort. " The spell of the devil was upon me while 
 1 had the gold, and I acted as a hag-ridden man, 
 or one who walks in an evil dream. I did not 
 jdare let myself think what I wanted you for. But 
 1 thank God that I have been rescued from utter 
 ruin. But let me finish. The babe grew up, and 
 at the age of forty married, and was blessed with 
 a son, who married and became the father of a 
 'daughter, Polyxene. God has also taken care 
 of her, and now she is soon to become the wife of 
 a wealthy young man. And the treasure, those 
 bags of gold, all that money — it has been with 
 
378 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 US SO many years — we have grown to love it so, 
 we who knew of it, we — O God, have mercy on 
 me!" 
 
 His hands had been freed for some time, and 
 falling on his knees beside the bags, he began to 
 pat and fondle, and coo endearing terms to them. 
 
 "That's a sad sight," said Walter; "I don't 
 like to look at it." 
 
 He was aware of an unmanly mist in his eyes 
 as he passed out upon the deck. 
 
 " The old man did the square thing at the last, 
 didn't he ? " said Weadock, following him out, 
 with the note-book in his hand. 
 
 " With this and the testimony of us all, there'll 
 be no difficulty in proving the young woman's 
 right and title. A duchess, eh? How does she 
 look ? How will she carry it off ?" 
 
 " Like a queen ! " cried Walter. " Duchess 
 (doesn't half express her." 
 
 Weadock turned away, whistling softly, and 
 murmuring : 
 
 "Ah, so that's it!" 
 
 At this moment the little hoisting engine began 
 to chug feverishly and the anchor chain buzzed 
 out. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 " 1 Am glad for your sake, dear ! " 
 
 McKenzie, who was still in the cabin, touched 
 the priest gently upon the shoulder, saying, " It 
 is time to go, Father." He arose with a deep sigh 
 and walked as far as the door, his venerable head 
 resting upon his chest. But he did not pass out, 
 for he seemed suddenly to be seized with some- 
 thing resembling hysterics. 
 
 " I will not go ! " he shrieked, his thin, white 
 hands, curved like the talons of a hawk, trembling 
 in the air. " I can not leave it, it is so beautiful. 
 For forty years I have communed with it and 
 talked with it every day. I have poured it through 
 my fingers and listened to its soft music, more 
 moving to the soul of man than cithara or harp. 
 It has smiled at me there in the dim cellar, with 
 the yellow smile of the sun, or of a thousand stars, 
 and it has whispered, ' I am yours. I belong to 
 him who can win and keep me. I am the genius 
 
 379 
 
380 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 of the earth, and I bring power and gratification 
 and ease and honor to those upon whom I smile. 
 They think you are a poor monk, but we know; 
 that you are a king/ I tell you that I will not 
 leave it ; it is mine, mine ! " 
 
 McKenzie and Bosanquet seized the old man's 
 arm, and forced him, screaming and struggling, 
 from the room. For a moment he seemed to have 
 the power of three men, but his strength soon de- 
 serted him, and they led him, limp as a rag andl 
 whimpering, to the ladder, down which it was 
 necessary to lift him. Walter took Bosanquet 
 ashore with him, leaving McKenzie to guard 
 the treasure, and save the Greek captain the temp- 
 tation of sailing away with it. 
 
 Springing lightly to the shore, the moment the 
 prow touched the sand, Walter ran swiftly up the 
 path with the Englishman, leaving the man from 
 the Evening Star, who had rowed them out, to get 
 rid of the Father Superior as best he might. It 
 was but a short distance from the landing to the 
 missionary's door, yet Walter ran as though there 
 had been miles to go and a life depended upon his 
 speed, A thousand disturbing conjectures urged 
 him on: perhaps Polyxene was away from the 
 home ; perchance Spiro had escaped and killed her, 
 
"I AM GLAD FOR YOUR SAKE, DEAR!" 381 
 
 in his jealous frenzy; or maybe he had carried her 
 off. The man running down to the monastery 
 road there in the light of the explosion, had he not 
 been Spire? And what had caused that terrific 
 and destructive detonation ? The wine-barrels or 
 casks filled with cognac? And, if that running 
 man had indeed been Spiro, what was he doing 
 there at that time ? 
 
 The reply to the last question seemed easy 
 enough. Escaped, he had returned immediately, 
 to the monastery, to carry out his threat of re- 
 venge; to hang about the place, doubtless, waiting 
 for an opportunity to murder his successful rival. 
 To take PoI)rxene away ! What a simple and 
 peaceable solution of the whole situation ! If only 
 nothing happened now, in these last few moments 
 to spoil ever3i;hing! 
 
 Here was the door, but what could this mean ? 
 There was a light in the front room. In thinking 
 out his coming for Polyxene — and Walter had 
 pictured this event a thousand times in his imag- 
 ination — it had always seemed to him that if he 
 came in the night, she would be sleeping, dream- 
 ing of him, perhaps, as she would confess after- 
 ward. He tapped at the door and Mrs. Ion opened 
 it. She was dressed in black, her eyes red with 
 
383 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 weeping. Even as he held out his hand to her, 
 Polyxene appeared from another room. 
 
 " My dear husband is dead," replied Mrs. Ion 
 to his look of inquiry. " We buried him yonder 
 on the hillside to-day." Her lips quivered. 
 " Alone. He did not belong to their Church, you 
 know." 
 
 Polyxene put her arms about the older woman's 
 neck, and tenderly patted the thin red hair, 
 streaked with gray. 
 
 "I — I am sorry," stammered Walter. It was 
 not much to say, but there was no doubt, as he 
 took the woman's two hands in his, that he meant 
 it. " I am sorry, and I don't know, under the cir- 
 cumstances, how I am going to tell you what I 
 came for. Mrs. Ion, I must take Polyxene away, 
 and she must go with me now, within the next 
 few moments. Polyxene is a duchess and a rich 
 woman, and I have got her whole fortune on 
 board my steamer, here in the bay. We must get 
 away before Spiro and his friends attack us, or 
 before the islanders know what I have on board." 
 
 " Polyxene a duchess — a rich woman ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I'll explain some other time. And now," 
 he continued in a tone in which courtesy struggled 
 with impatience, " if you don't want to spoil her 
 
"I AM GLAD FOR YOUR SAKE, DEAR!" 383 
 
 whole life, say good-by to her, and let her come 
 right with me, without a moment's delay." 
 
 Mrs. Ion kissed the girl and pushed her from 
 her. Then she ran out of the room and appeared 
 again in less than a minute with some wraps. 
 
 " Take these," she said, tumbling them into the 
 girl's arms, " and for goodness' sake, do get away 
 as soon as you can." 
 
 " Dear mother," said Polyxene, embracing her, 
 " dear, dear mother." 
 
 "Now, don't hinder me," snapped Mrs. Ion 
 not unkindly, as she disengaged herself, " for I'm 
 coming, too. And as soon as I can sell, I'll go to 
 America. I couldn't stay here now — now that 
 my husband is gone, I might as well come now." 
 
 "Good!" cried Walter, "good! But please 
 hurry." 
 
 " Oh, I'll be ready in no time. You'll see." 
 
 Nothing could have happened better suited to 
 divert this woman's mind from her grief, which 
 was real, than the necessity of bustling about — 
 the necessity of haste for a genuine reason. 
 
 " Oh, by the way, we must have that trunk," 
 said Walter, who, in the joy of standing by Poly- 
 xene and holding her hand, had nearly forgotten 
 this important bit of evidence. Bosanquet, who 
 
384 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 had remained on the porch, came at Walter's call 
 and they carried out the trunk together. Mrs. Ion, 
 now wearing a black hat and widow's veil, and 
 carrying a large crayon portrait of her husband 
 under her arm, locked the door, and put the key 
 in the pocket of her dress. Polyxene picked up 
 the heavy satchel, which the older woman had 
 packed in time that would have done credit to a 
 commercial traveler, and thus the procession start- 
 ed across the square. 
 
 " It's nearly midnight," remarked Bosanquet ; 
 " I suppose the village is all sound asleep ? " 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Ion. " They have about all 
 gone, at least all the men folks, to see what ex- 
 ploded. We should have gone to bed, but we 
 heard a loud noise and the house shook. It 
 sounded as though it came from the direction of 
 the monastery." 
 
 " It was the monastery," replied Walter. " I 
 will tell you all about it as soon as we get on 
 board. At present," he panted, for the trunk was 
 heavy, and the path down to the sea steep, " the 
 main thing is to get up anchor as soon as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 The Father Superior was walking up and down 
 the beach, his head bowed, his hands crossed be- 
 
"I AM GLAD FOR YOUR SAKE, DEAR! " 385 
 
 hind him. He came up as Polyxene was stepping 
 into the boat, and detaining her, said, " The Lord 
 is giving me strength and is casting out the devils 
 in his name. Daughter, you will soon learn of the 
 wrong which I and those of my order have done 
 you and yours. I shall never see you again, and 
 I am near to death. An old man asks your for- 
 giveness, that he may pass away in peace." 
 
 " Wrong? " murmured the fair girl ; then turn- 
 ing to Walter : " He says he has done me a great 
 wrong and asks me to forgive him." 
 
 " Tell him that you will ; he is right, and we 
 shall all feel better about it." 
 
 " I forgive you, Father, freely and fully from 
 the bottom of my heart, for whatever wrong you 
 may have done me and mine ! " 
 
 "And one thing more," persisted the priest, now 
 venerable indeed, his voice quavering with emo- 
 tion, " I would be assured that you will put the 
 wrong where it belongs, at the doors of the few 
 weak men who have sinned, and will not think the 
 less of the ancient and glorious Church of Christ, 
 of which they are such unworthy members." 
 
 "This, too, I promise," said Polyxene; and 
 then, the courtly blood of a score of Dukes of Pol- 
 cavera throbbing in her veins, she lifted the with- 
 
386 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 ered hand to her lips with reverent grace and fine 
 courtesy. 
 
 With Polyxene and Walter steaming out of the 
 harbor of Ta Castra, our story doubtless ends for 
 those who have read this truthful history simply 
 If or the love story which it contains. Such can lay 
 the book down here and be sure of the author's 
 blessing, inasmuch as they have come with him 
 thus far. For the benefit of the old guard, if any 
 remain, who love to linger on a while with the 
 characters, even after the story is told, we shall 
 follow Walter and Polyxene down the trail of the 
 waning moon, past the islands dreaming in its sil- 
 ver sheen, even perhaps to the land whose nightin- 
 gales had called her from afar. 
 
 From Mrs. Ion and Polyxene, Walter learned 
 enough to satisfy his mind as to the real cause of 
 the explosion. 
 
 During the recent war between Greece and Tur- 
 key, a large quantity of powder and muskets had 
 been stored in the cellar of the monastery, which 
 building the islanders had picked out as the scene 
 of their most desperate resistance, in case they 
 were attacked by the murderous Turks, who spare 
 neither women nor children when once aroused. 
 
 Spiro was the very man who brought these war- 
 
"I AM GLAD FOR YOUR SAKE, DEAR!" 387, 
 
 like supplies to the monastery, with his fleet of 
 caiques. He had been taken off from the rock 
 where McKenzie and Walter left him, the very- 
 night of Walter's arrival with the Evening Star. 
 
 " He and his companions had been living on sea 
 urchins, snails and a raw devil-fish which one of 
 them caught. They were staggering with faint- 
 ness, all except Spire, who seemed to be upheld 
 by anger. He was like a wild man, his cheeks 
 sunken, his eyes glaring. He cursed constantly, 
 and he made no reply to any question asked him. 
 In fact, none of the men would give any explana- 
 tion of how they came to be marooned. As soon 
 as Spiro's feet touched the shore, he plunged into 
 the woods, still cursing." 
 
 This was the story told by the sailor who 
 brought him ashore and who came directly to 
 Polyxene's house with the news. 
 
 " Yes," added Walter, after Polyxene had fin- 
 ished, "and he came directly to the monastery. 
 He dashed through the court while we were out 
 in the woods with the Superior, and lighted the 
 fire which caused the explosion. That's just what 
 he did, for he thought we were sleeping there, and 
 he was so maddened by jealousy and rage that he 
 didn't care whom else he blew up, so that he made 
 
388 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 sure of me. I — I can understand how it would 
 make a man crazy to lose you, dear." 
 
 Polyxene shuddered and laid her head upon 
 Walter's shoulder. 
 
 " God saved you for me," she whispered. And 
 later she asked : 
 
 " Won't your people find me ignorant and — 
 and queer ? I have scarcely any education at all, 
 and I don't know the ways and manners of the 
 world, of your world, my heart." 
 
 " You know quite enough of the world," replied 
 Walter fondly, " and as for manners, you possess 
 the grace and dignity of a queen. I have seen 
 society women in plenty, and I shall be proud of 
 you anywhere." 
 
 " If you are not ashamed of me, I shall be con- 
 tent, and as for my education, you will see how I 
 shall study, how fast I shall learn ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ion stood leaning against the rail looking 
 toward the island where she had passed so many 
 years. She could see nothing of it now, save a 
 light twinkling here and there. She thought of a 
 lonely grave on the hillside, where lay the body of 
 the kindly old man whom she had followed to this 
 remote corner of the world, and she wept silently. 
 She was going back to America, and she was 
 
"I AM GLAD FOR YOUR SAKE, DEAR!" 389 
 
 bristling with energy and courage, but something 
 told her that she would never see Andros, nor 
 that new-made grave again, and she had loved 
 him. 
 
 But a ship is naught more than a miniature 
 world, and ever in the world youth and its trans- 
 ports take but little note of sorrow. Walter 
 brought Polyxene into the cabin and, opening two 
 or three of the bags, said : 
 
 " Look, sweetheart, all this is yours." 
 
 " Then it is yours," she replied, " for all that I 
 am and have belongs to you." The gold did not 
 impress her as he had expected, but when he took 
 out the coronet of the Dukes of Polcavera, whose 
 gems burned fiercely in the light of the candles, 
 and set it upon her brow, woman-like, she turned 
 and looked long in the mirror over the sideboard. 
 Her eyes flashed proudly as they gazed on his 
 again, but she came straight up to him and hold- 
 ing out her hands, said with tears of joy in her 
 voice : 
 
 " I am glad for your sake, dear ! Always re- 
 member," she added, speaking low and with her 
 lips dangerously close, " that I am only a duchess, 
 and that you are my king ! " 
 
 And now we shall step from the deck of the 
 
390 THE MONKS' TREASURE 
 
 Evening Star to that of the elegant and commodi- 
 ous Argolis, floating at anchor in the harbor of 
 Piraeus. Let us descend to the smoking-room, 
 where sit together in evening dress, talking, three 
 men. One is advanced in years, but energetic and 
 shrewd; he pulls continuously at a philanthropic 
 side whisker as he converses. The other members 
 of the trio are Walter Lythgoe, his nephew, and 
 Ian McKenzie, archaeologist and dreamer. The 
 last mentioned, despite his lank, ungainly form 
 and shaggy head, seems entirely at home in even- 
 ing dress. 
 
 "They may laugh at us," continued Erasmus 
 Lythgoe, " and call it the Baking-Powder Univer- 
 sity, but I see no reason why we should not do 
 good with our surplus money, just as well as 
 though it came from oil, pork, pickles or whisky. 
 Van Inwigen and I have concluded to found a 
 university, and in talking with experts on the sub- 
 ject, we find that we need, besides buildings and 
 professors, a library and a museum. Now, I learn 
 that Mrs. Cranston, angel of the Wheelan-Crans- 
 ton University, out west, has kept a man in Eu- 
 rope several years, buying up statuary and vases 
 and — and things for their university. She gave 
 him two thousand a year and expenses. Now it 
 
"I AM GLAD FOR YOUR SAKE. DEAR!" 391 
 
 seems to me, Walter, that our friend McKenzie 
 here is just the man to do that for us." 
 
 " By Jove," cried Walter, leaping to his feet, 
 " it seems so to me, too. Capital ! capital ! You 
 couldn't duplicate him, if you were to hunt all over 
 Europe." 
 
 " Of course," concluded the elder Lythgoe, 
 *' when he finishes that job we could find a place 
 for him in the college. That is to say, his con- 
 nection with the institution would be permanent. 
 May we hope that you will give us the — ah — 
 benefit of your talents, Doctor ? " 
 
 McKenzie nodded solemnly, by way of assent^ 
 but for some reason or other did not trust himself 
 to speak, 
 
 "And how soon do you think you could be- 
 gin?" 
 
 The Scot, leaning forward with shining eyes 
 while a vivid blush flooded the roots of his beard, 
 whispered : 
 
 "Just as soon as I can make a trip to San- 
 torine. 'Twill not take me over a week." And 
 Walter, seizing one of the great shaggy hands in 
 both of his own, pressed it affectionately. 
 
 THE END 
 
Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT rVtODERATE PRICES 
 
 Any of the following titles can be bought of your 
 bookseller at 50 cents per volume. 
 
 The Shepherd of the Hills. By Harold Bell Wright. 
 
 Jane Cable. By George Barr McCutcheon. 
 
 Abner Daniel. By Will N. Harben. 
 
 The Far Horizon. By Lucas Malet. 
 
 The Halo. By Bettina von Hutten. 
 
 Jerry Junior. By Jean Webster. 
 
 The Powers and Maxine. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. 
 
 The Balance of Power. By Arthur Goodrich. 
 
 Adventures of Captain Kettle. By Cutcliffe Hyne. 
 
 Adventures of Gerard. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 Arms and the Woman. By Harold MacGrath. 
 
 Artemus Ward's Works (extra illustrated). 
 
 At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
 Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland. 
 
 Battle Ground, The. By Ellen Glasgow. 
 
 Belle of Bowling Green, The. By Amelia E. Barr. 
 
 Ben Blair. By Will Lillibridge. 
 
 Best Man, The. By Harold MacGrath. 
 
 Beth Norvell. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Bob Hampton of Placer. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant. 
 
 Brass Bowl, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. 
 
 Brethren, The. By H. Rider Haggard. 
 
 Broken Lance, The. By Herbert Quick. 
 
 By Wit of Women. By Arthur W. Marchmont. 
 
 Call of the Blood, The. By Robert Kitchens. 
 
 Cap'n Eri. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Cardigan. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 Car of Destiny, The. By C. N. and A. N. Williamson. 
 
 Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine. By Frank 
 
 R. Stockton. 
 Cecilia's Lovers. By Amelia E. Barr. 
 
Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT MODERATE PRICES 
 
 Any of the following titles can be bought of your 
 bookseller at 50 cents per volume. 
 
 Circle, The. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The 
 
 Masquerader," "The Gambler"). 
 Colonial Free Lance, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. 
 Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington. 
 Courier of Fortune, A. By Arthur W. Marchmont. 
 Darrow Enigma, The. By Melvin Severy. 
 Deliverance, The. By Ellen Glasgow. 
 Divine Fire, The. By May Sinclair. 
 Empire Bmlders. By Francis Lynde. 
 Exploits of Brigadier Gerard. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 For a Maiden Brave. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. 
 
 Fugitive Blacksmith, The. By Chas. D. Stewart. 
 God's Good Man. By Marie Corelli. 
 Heart's Highway, The. By Mary E. Wilkins. 
 HoUaday Case, The. By Burton Egbert Stevenson. 
 Hurricane Island. By H. B. Marriott Watson. 
 In Defiance of the King. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. 
 Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
 Lady Betty Across the Water. By C. N. and A. M. Will- 
 iamson. 
 Lady of the Mount, The. By Frederic S. Isham. 
 Lane That Had No Turning, The. By Gilbert Parker. 
 Langford of the Three Bars. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles. 
 Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey. 
 Leavenworth Case, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 Lilac Sunbonnet, The. By S. R. Crockett. 
 Lin McLean. By Owen Wister. 
 Long Night, The. By Stanley J. Weyman. 
 Maid at Arms, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 
Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT MODERATE PRSCES 
 
 Any of the following titles can be bought of your 
 bookseller at 50 cents per volume. 
 
 Man from Red Keg, The. By Eugene Thwing. 
 
 Marthon Mystery, The. By Burton Egbert Stevenson. 
 
 Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 Millionaire Baby, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 
 Missourian, The. By Eugene P. Lyle, Jr. 
 
 Mr. Barnes, American. By A. C. Gunter. 
 
 Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 My Friend the ChaufEeur. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. 
 
 My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Mystery of June 13th. By Melvin L. Severy. 
 
 Mystery Tales. By Edgar Allan Pee. 
 
 Nancy Stair. By Elinor Macartney Lane. 
 
 Order No. 11. By Caroline Abbot Stanley. 
 
 Pam. By Bettina von Hutten. 
 
 Pam Decides. By Bettina von Hutten. 
 
 Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Phra the Phoenician. By Edwin Lester Arnold. 
 
 President, The. By Afred Henry Lewis. 
 
 Princess Passes, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. 
 
 Princess Virginia, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. 
 
 Prisoners. By Mary Cholmondeley. 
 
 Private War, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. 
 
 Prodigal Son, The. By Hall Caine. 
 
 Quickening, The. By Francis Lynde. 
 Richard the Brazen. By Cyrus T. Brady and Edw. Peple. 
 Rose of the World. By Agnes and Egerton Castle. 
 Running Water. By A. E. W. Mason. 
 Sarita the Carlist. By Arthur W. Marchmont. 
 .Seats of the Mighty, The. By Gilbert Parker. 
 Sir Nigel. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 Sir Richard Calmady. By Lucas Malet. 
 Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT MODERATE PRICES 
 
 Any of the following titles can be bought of your 
 bookseller at 50 cents per volume. 
 
 Spirit of the Border, The. By Zane Grey. 
 
 Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Squire Phin. By Holman F. Day. 
 
 Stooping Lady, The. By Maurice Hewlett. 
 
 Subjection of Isabel Carnaby. By Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler. 
 
 Sunset Trail, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis. 
 
 Sword of the Old Frontier, A. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright. 
 
 Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis. 
 
 Trail of the Sword, The. By Gilbert Parker. 
 
 Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 Two Vanrevels, The. By Booth Tarkington. 
 
 Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington. 
 
 Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
 Viper of Milan, The (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen. 
 
 Voice of the People, The. By Ellen Glasgow. 
 
 Wheel of Life, The. By Ellen Glasgow. 
 
 When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 V/here the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge. 
 
 Woman in Grey, A. By Mrs. C. N. Williamson. 
 
 Woman in the Alcove, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 
 Younger Set, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 The Weavers. By Gilbert Parker. 
 
 The Little Brown Jug at Kildare. By Meredith Nicholson. 
 
 The Prisoners of Chance. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 My Lady of Cleve. By Percy J. Hartley. 
 
 Loaded Dice. By Ellery H. Clark. 
 
 Get Rich Quick Wallingford. By George Randolph Chester. 
 
 The Orphan. By Clarence Mulford. 
 
 A Gentleman of France. By Stanley J. Weyman. 
 
Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT MODERATE PRICES 
 
 Any of the following titles can be bought of your 
 bookseller at 50 cents per volume. 
 
 Purple Parasol, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. 
 Princess Dehra, The. By John Reed Scott. 
 Making of Bobby Burnit, The. By George Randolph 
 Chester. 
 
 Last Voyage of the Donna Isabel, The. By Randall 
 
 Parrish. 
 Bronze Bell, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. 
 Pole Baker, By Will N. Harben. 
 Four Million, The. By O. Henry. 
 Idols. By William J. Locke. 
 Wayfarers, The. By Mary Stewart Cutting. 
 Held for Orders. By Frank H. Spearman. 
 Story of the Outlaw, The. By Emerson Hough. 
 Mistress of Brae Farm, The. By Rosa N. Carey. 
 Explorer, The. By William Somerset Maugham. 
 Abbess of Vlaye, The. By Stanley Weyman. 
 Alton of Somasco. By Harold Bindloss. 
 Ancient Law, The. By Ellen Glasgow. 
 Barrier, The. By Rex Beach. 
 Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Beloved Vagabond, The. By William J. Locke. 
 Beulah. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans. 
 Chaperon, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. 
 Colonel Greatheart. By H. C. Bailey. 
 Dissolving Circle, The. By Will Lillibridge. 
 ■Elusive Isabel. By Jacques Futrelle. 
 Fair Moon of Bath, The. By Elizabeth Ellis. 
 54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough. 
 
Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT MODERATE PRICES 
 
 Any of the following titles can be bought of your 
 bookseller at 50 cents per volume. 
 
 Four Pool's Mystery, The. By Jean Webster. 
 
 Ganton and Co. By Arthur J. Eddy. 
 
 Heart of Jessy Laurie, The. By Amelia E. Barr. 
 
 Inez. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans. 
 
 Into the Primitive. By Robert Ames Bennet 
 
 Katrina. By Roy Rolfe Gilson. 
 
 King Spruce. By Holman Day. 
 
 Macaria. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans. 
 
 Meryl. By Wm. Tillinghast Eldredge. 
 
 Old, Old Story, The. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 
 
 Quest Eternal, The. By Will Lillibridge. 
 
 Silver Blade, The. By Charles K Walk. 
 
 St. Elmo. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans. 
 
 Uncle William. By Jennette Lee. 
 
 Under the Red Robe. By Stanley J. Weyman.