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for New York tomorrow. I shall be away approximately ten days. I hope to be back in England on the fourteenth and we are to be married on the fifteenth."
    Charlotte's breath seemed to be stuck in her throat. "But why?" she appealed, his confidence panicking her ail over again. "Isn't there anything I can say - anything I can do to make you change your mind?"
    "No." His expression hardened abruptly. "You have the choice - marry me, bear my child, and, in possibly a year, I'll set you free. Deny me that right, and I will not be res ponsible for the consequences."
    "You're - you're a beast! Inhuman!"
    "Why? Because I choose to make you honour your father's agreement?"
    "No. No, because — well, because you don't need to do this. You - " She bent her head. "You're an - attractive man. I'm sure you could find some other woman equally suitable - "
    "Why should I go to the trouble of doing that when I already have you?" He put out a hand and lifted her chin, and she flinched from the touch of those hard impersonal fingers. "Do not alarm yourself, little one. I shall not trouble you often. Only as long as it takes."
    "But - what if I don't - what if we can't - " Her voice trailed away as her cheeks blazed with colour .
    His hand fell away. "It's all arranged. While I am in New-York, you will have certain - tests. I have already had them."
    "You mean - you mean to see whether - whether I can?"
    "Yes."
    Charlotte uttered a gasp of horror. "Well, I hope I can't !" She spat the words at him.
    His sardonic smile returned. "Don't tempt me to find out. for myself, Charlotte. As my wife, you will have certain rights. As my mistress, you would have none at all."
    Charlotte could feel a wave of hopelessness sweeping over her. "But - but I know nothing about you," she protested ; bitterly.
    "What do you want to know? I have not refused to answer your questions. I am almost forty years of age, almost senile, I suppose that seems to you," he added shortly. "My father was killed by terrorists when I was twenty-four, and my mother died soon afterwards."
    Charlotte hid the shock the news of his father's death had given her. Until then, the simple precautions he took had seemed rather dramatic and ridiculous. But suddenly they were not, and she felt a reluctant sense of shame.
    "I am of English-Greek extraction," he went on flatly. "My grandmother on my father's side of the family comes from Eastern Macedonia. She is still alive and lives with me on Lydros ."
    Charlotte digested this uneasily. "Will she - continue to do so?"
    "After our marriage, you mean? Oh, yes. Do not be alarm ed. She does not live in my house. She has her own villa across the island."
    Charlotte shivered, but she couldn't help it. The reality of it all was gradually getting through to her.
    "Is - is it a big island?" she asked, in a low voice, not wanting to dwell on the thought of meeting his grandmother.
    "Not big, no . About five miles long, and two miles across at its widest point." He finished his cognac, and as he lowered the glass he looked at her over the rim. "It is a beautiful island. I was brought up there. As a boy I learned to swim and fish from its beaches; I explored its caves, and got trapped by the tide, so that Spiro had to come with his boat and get me out. My father taught me how to sail. He bought me a dinghy, and I used to spend hours trying to get back into shore after the wind had changed." His smile was not sardonic now. "There are only a few people on the island, the Yannis , and the Philippis and the Santos. We are not troubled by tourists, and the rocky coastline makes it impossible for large vessels to get inshore. It is very hot - very white - very beautiful. The sea is an unbelievable colour , always warm and soft. At night the only sounds come from the cicadas. Then occasionally, just occasionally, they are silent, and the stillness is uncanny."
    During those moments, as he looked at her, Charlotte felt the strength of his love for the island, and