“And why is that?”

She hesitated, fearing perhaps that her answer would itself tend to betray the secret.

“I dare tell you nothing,” she said.  “The oath binds me; and it binds every one of my kindred to kill me if I break it.”

“But you’ve no kindred left except Constantine,” I objected.

“He is enough.  He would kill me.”

“Sooner than marry you?” I suggested, rather maliciously.

“Yes, if I broke the oath.”

“Hang the oath!” said I, impatiently.  “The thing might help us.  Did they bury Stefan somewhere under the house?”

“No, he was not buried,” she answered.

“Then they brought him up, and got rid of his body when the islanders had gone?”

“You must think what you will.”

“I’ll find it out,” said I.  “If I pull the house down, I’ll find it.  Is it a secret door or—­”

She had colored at the question.  I put the latter part in a low, eager voice, for hope had come to me.

“Is it a way out?” I asked, leaning over to her.

She sat mute, but irresolute, embarrassed and fretful.

“Heavens!” I cried, impatiently, “it may mean life or death to all of us, and you boggle over your oath!”

My rude impatience met with a rebuke that it perhaps deserved.  With a glance of the utmost scorn, Euphrosyne asked, coldly: 

“And what are the lives of all of you to me?”

“True, I forgot,” said I with a bitter politeness.  “I beg your pardon.  I did you all the service I could last night, and now I and my friends may as well die as live!  But I’ll pull this place to ruin but I’ll find your secret.”

I was walking up and down now in a state of some excitement.  My brain was fired with the thought of stealing a march on Constantine through the discovery of his own family secret.

Suddenly Euphrosyne gave a little soft clap with her hands.  It was over in a minute, and she sat blushing, confused, trying to look as if she had not done it at all.

“What did you do that for?” I asked, stopping in front of her.

“Nothing,” said Euphrosyne.

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” said I.

She looked at me.  “I didn’t mean to do it,” she said again.  “But can’t you guess why?”

“There’s too much guessing to be done here,” said I, impatiently; and I started walking again.  But presently I heard a voice say softly, and in a tone that seemed to address nobody in particular—­me least of all: 

“We Neopalians like a man who can be angry, and I began to think you never would.”

“I am not the least angry,” said I, with great indignation.  I hate being told that I am angry when I am merely showing firmness.

Now, at this protest of mine Euphrosyne saw fit to laugh—­the most hearty laugh she had given since I had known her.  The mirthfulness of it undermined my wrath.  I stood still opposite her, biting the end of my mustache.