THE VINEYARD
"Never mind Znleika," he said, sitting down again; "go on talking to me. I like to hear you talk, and give me your hand again. Put it in mine; it is so soft and white. I never saw a hand like yours!"
Suleima laughed.
"There you are, then. Oh, Mitsos, don't squeeze it so; you hurt me! What shall I talk about? I have nothing to talk about. Nothing ever happened to me. Zuleika—"
"Don't talk about Zuloika " said Mitsos, between his teeth.
"Well, you told me to talk. I don't want to talk about Zuleika. Oh, Mitsos, look héw far we are out! There is Nauplia behind us. We must go back!"
"No, not yet."
"But we must! It will take us an hour or more to get back! Please let us go back, Mitsos?"
Mitsos sat still a moment.
"Tell me you don't want to go back," he said, in a whisper.
"Of course I don't; why should I tell you that? I should like to be thus with you always, you alone, and no other."
Mitsos sprang up.
"I'll put about," he said.
There were two or three moments of confusion, as the heavy sail flapped and shook. The wind had veered a point towards the east, and they could get back in a couple of tacks. Mitsos stood up till the boat had settled down on the homeward journey, and then, with the tiller in one hand, he sat down again by Suleima's side.
"It will be fine weather now," he said, "and will you come out with me again? You tell me you like it."
Suleima nestled a little closer to him. "Yes, I like
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