THE VINEYARD
moon had risen, It took him an hour or more to reach the dim, white wall, for the breeze was yet but light and variable. As he neared it he began to feel his heart pulsing in his throat, as it had done one night before when he passed the scene of the hanging by the wayside, but somehow differently, and he peered out anxiously into the darkness to see if there was any one there. Something white glimmered on the wall, down went his sail, and a few minutes later the nose of his boat grated against the stone-work.
She gave a little chuckling laugh.
"I thought you would come," she said, "on the first night of stars. They are all in bed. I listened at Mohammed's door; he was Mohammed no more—only a grunt and a snore."
Mitsos said nothing, but threw the ladder and rope on the wall and sprang up himself.
"Yes, I have come," he said. "Ah, how I have been cursing this rain—may the saints forgive me!—but I cared not, and cursed."
Suleima looked at him a moment.
"Why, how smart you are!" she said. "Is it the Greek use that a man goes fishing in his best clothes? Oh, my clean fustanella!" she cried, looking sideways on him.
Mitsos smiled. The best clothes had been a good thought, in spite of a momentary confusion.
"Hush!" he whispered, "we will talk in the boat. I will hold the ladder. There, it is quite steady."
The girl stepped lightly down the rungs, and Mitsos, directing her to sit still, threw the ladder and rope back and let himself down onto the side of the boat.
"Where shall we go to-night?" he asked.
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