her as she was returning to the tombs with a load of freshly-cut chair-maker's rush put on the back of the mule. Her hands were quick and clever at the plaiting of the reeds, and wove rude matting and baskets with care and skill. She did not know how she should be able to sell them now that she had no more the assistance of Zirlo; but she continued to make them, and meant, when she had made enough to fill a boat, to sail with them to some place on the coast where she was not known and barter them herself for shoes, and flax, and other necessary things. Of clothing and linen she had still a good store, for Joconda had laid by much of the cloth she wove, and the stout handwoven stuff was tough and lasted long even in the wear and tear of Musa's open-air life.
She saw Sanctis approach with a frown on her straight brows and no greeting on her lips. He wearied her; he importuned her; he rendered her angry and impatient.
Her life was good in her own sight; she could not see why he should want to interfere with it.
On this last day he argued with her almost passionately for a man so calm of
