“Fly with me, Iona.  I know all.  Come with your Ranadar.  Ah, come quickly.  Hark, there are sounds without.  Hasten!”

She seemed incapable of motion.  So great were the conflicting emotions which disturbed her soul, that she neither spoke nor moved.

“Iona, my own love, my soul!” he cried imploringly, and as she leaned gently upon him, he raised her in his strong arms, and passing back through the secret door, he bore her down the stairs.  Then up he went with his lovely, trembling burden, up the stairs at which half an hour before he had paused, and a thrill of rapture went through him, as on reaching the top he found himself upon a low terrace which overlooked the sea.  Iona’s arms were clasped about his neck.  The lovely girl, overcome by her sudden escape from death, from sorrow and misery—­overcome at the sight of Ranadar, free, and making her free, felt a deep gush of joy and bliss, too great for utterance.  Her tears of happiness flowed freely, and while she clung to him she sighed his name,—­“Ranadar!”

“Cling to me closer, closer, Iona!  There is the water beneath us.  We must escape.  See, yonder there is a boat.  I must carry you there.”

About a hundred yards away, upon the moonlit surface of the water, a small boat could be seen lying at anchor.  None seemed to be on board.  There Ranadar determined to swim.  The water was dashing against the stone wall ten feet beneath.  He unwound his scarf and fastening it firmly to an iron bar, he took Iona in his manly arm, and then descended.  The cold water received the lovers and enfolded them.  Iona clinging to Ranadar as he directed her feared nothing, for her lover was with her.  He struck out boldly and swam slowly to the boat.  Gradually he approached, and at last his hands grasped it.  Raising himself stealthily, he looked into it, and found it empty.  Then he placed Iona within, and crawling in after her, a few moments sufficed for him to hoist the sails.  A fair wind blew from the harbor.  The light boat felt its influence and started at the blast, and bounded over the waves carrying them home to Scio.

CHAPTER III.

Once more the waters of the ’gean Sea and the blue waves of the Grecian Archipelago shone beneath the morning sun.  A small ship was seen stealing along the coast of the Isle of ’gina.  It was gaily painted, but guns peeped through her sides, and a long one was mounted amid-ships.  Aloft, a red flag streamed, and the sails, which were distended by the breeze, glistened from afar upon the blue water.  She was slowly and noiselessly sailing toward a promontory, upon whose summit a strange flag was flying, apparently a signal of some kind.

Upon the other side of the promontory, and sailing directly toward it was a Turkish vessel.  By the listlessness of all on board, it was evident that they were ignorant that an enemy was so near.  The captain leaned over the stern and gazed into the water.  An aged man in the dress of a slave, but whose intellectual countenance belied his costume, was cleaning a sword.