At the moment I heard chairs pushed back in the kitchen.  In came Hogvardt, with an amused smile on his broad face; in came Watkins, with his impassive acquiescence in anything that his lordship might order; in came Master Denny, brandishing his whip in jovial relentlessness.

“Well, has he told you anything?” cried Denny.  It was plain that he hoped for the answer “No.”

“I have asked him half a dozen questions,” said I, “and he has not answered one.”

“All right,” said Denny, with wonderful emphasis.

Had I been wrong to extort this much punishment for my most inhospitable reception?  Sometimes now I think that it was cruel.  In that night much had occurred to breed viciousness in a man of the most equable temper.  But the thing had now gone to the extreme limit to which it could; and I said to Denny: 

“It’s a gross case of obstinacy, of course, Denny; but I don’t see very well how we can horsewhip the lady!”

A sudden, astounded cry, “The lady!” rang from three pairs of lips; the lady herself dropped her head on the table, and fenced her face round about with her protecting arms.

“You see,” said I, “this lad is the Lady Euphrosyne.”

For who else could it be that would give orders to Constantine Stefanopoulos, and ask where “my people” were?  Who else, I also asked myself, save the daughter of the noble house, would boast the air, the hands, the face, that graced our young prisoner?  In all certainty it was Lady Euphrosyne.

CHAPTER V.

THE COTTAGE ON THE HILL.

The effect of my remark was curious.  Denny turned scarlet, and flung his whip down on the table; the others stood for a moment motionless, then turned tail and slunk back to the kitchen.  Euphrosyne’s face remained invisible.  However, I felt quite at my ease.  I had a triumphant conviction of the importance of my capture, and a determination that no misplaced chivalry should rob me of it.  Politeness is, no doubt, a duty, but only a relative duty; and, in plain English, men’s lives were at stake here.  Therefore I did not make my best bow, fling open the door, and tell the lady that she was free to go whither she would; but I said to her in a dry, severe voice: 

“You had better go, madam, to that room you usually occupy here, while we consider what to do with you.  You know where the room is; I don’t.”

She raised her head, and said in tones that sounded almost eager: 

“My own room?  May I go there?”

“Certainly,” said I.  “I shall accompany you as far as the door; and when you’ve gone in, I shall lock the door.”

This programme was duly carried out, Euphrosyne not favoring me with a word during its progress.  Then I returned to the hall, and said to Denny: 

“Rather a trump card, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but they’ll be back pretty soon to look for her, I expect.”