she stepped briskly across the compound, till she reached the rocks on the other side.  I crept forward after her, for I was afraid of losing sight of her in the darkness, and yet did not desire to arrest her progress till I saw where she was going.  On she went, skirting the perpendicular drop of rock, I was behind her now.  At last she came to the angle formed by the rock running north and that which, turning to the east, enclosed the compound.

“How’s she going to get up?” I asked myself.

But up she began to go—­her right foot on the north rock, her left foot on the east.  She ascended with such confidence that it was evident that steps were ready for her feet.  She gained the top.  I began to mount in the same fashion, finding steps cut in the face of the cliff.  I reached the top, and I saw her standing still, ten yards ahead of me.  She went on.  I followed.  She stopped, looked, saw me, screamed.  I rushed on her.  Her arms dealt a blow at me—­I caught her hand, and in her hand there was a little dagger.  Seizing her other hand, I held her fast.

“Where are you going?” I asked in a matter-of-fact tone, taking no notice of her hasty resort to the dagger.  No doubt that was purely a national trait.

Seeing that she was caught, she made no attempt to struggle.

“I was trying to escape,” she said.  “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you.  Where were you going?”

“Why should I tell you?  Shall you threaten me with the whip again?”

I loosed her hands.  She gave a sudden glance up the hill.  She seemed to measure the distance.

“Why do you want to go to the top of the hill?” I asked.  “Have you friends there?”

She denied the suggestion, as I thought she would.

“No, I have not.  But anywhere is better than with you.”

“Yet there is some one in the cottage up there,” I observed.  “It belongs to Constantine, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” she answered, defiantly.  “Dare you go and seek him there?  Or dare you only skulk behind the walls of the house?”

“As long as we are only four against a hundred I dare only skulk,” I answered.  She did not annoy me at all by her taunts.  “But do you think he’s there?”

“There!  No, he’s in the town—­and he’ll come from the town to kill you to-morrow.”

“There is nobody there?” I pursued.

“Nobody,” she answered.

“You’re wrong,” said I.  “I saw somebody there to-day.”

“Oh, a peasant, perhaps.”

“Well, the dress didn’t look like it.  Do you really want to go there now?”

“Haven’t you mocked me enough?” she burst out.  “Take me back to my prison.”

Her tragedy air was quite delightful.  But I had been leading her up to something which I thought she ought to know.

“There’s a woman in that cottage,” said I.  “Not a peasant—­a woman in some dark-colored dress, who uses opera glasses.”