I saw her draw back with a start of surprise.

“It’s false,” she cried.  “There’s no one there.  Constantine told me no one went there except Vlacho, and sometimes Demetri.”

“Do you believe all Constantine tells you?” I asked.

“Why should I not?  He’s my cousin and—­”

“And your suitor?”

She flung her head back proudly.

“I have no shame in that,” she answered.

“You would accept his offer?”

“Since you ask, I will answer.  Yes; I have promised my uncle I would.”

“Good God!” said I, for I was very sorry for her.

The emphasis of my exclamation seemed to startle her afresh.  I felt her glance rest on me in puzzled questioning.

“Did Constantine let you see the old woman whom I sent to him?” I demanded.

“No,” she murmured.  “He told me what she said.”

“That I told him he was his uncle’s murderer?”

“Did you tell her to say that?” she asked, with a sudden inclination of her body toward me.

“I did.  Did he give you the message?”

She made no answer.  I pressed my advantage.

“On my honor I saw what I have told you at the cottage,” I said.  “I know what it means no more than you do.  But before I came here I saw Constantine in London.  And there I heard a lady say she would come with him.  Did any lady come with him?”

“Are you mad?” she asked; but I could hear her breathing quickly, and I knew that her scorn was assumed.  I drew suddenly away from her, and put my hands behind my back.

“Go to the cottage if you like,” said I.  “But I won’t answer for what you’ll find there.”

“You set me free?” she cried with eagerness.

“Free to go to the cottage.  You must promise to come back.  Or I’ll go to the cottage, if you’ll promise to go back to your room and wait till I return.”

She hesitated, looking again toward where the cottage was; but I had stirred suspicion and disquietude in her.  She dared not face what she might find in the cottage.

“I’ll go back and wait for you,” she said.  “If I went to the cottage and—­and all was well, I’m afraid I shouldn’t come back.”

The tone sounded softer.  I would have sworn a smile or a half smile accompanied the words, but it was too dark to be sure; and when I leaned forward to look, Euphrosyne drew back.

“Then you mustn’t go,” said I decisively, “I can’t afford to lose you,”

“But if you let me go, I could let you go,” she cried.

“Could you?  Without asking Constantine?  Besides, it’s my island, you see.”