THE VINTAGE
"Only the business of the devil-ships, of which I know nothing; and to get Yanni out of the kennel."
"The devil-ships can wait till Panitza. When will you be ready to start?"
Mitsos thought of the white wall, and his heartstrings throbbed within him.
"I could go to-morrow," he said. "The pony will need a day to rest."
Nicholas rose from the table and walked up and down once or twice.
"I don't want Yanni to stop at the house of that Turk longer than is necessary," he said. "It was a bold move and a clever one of Petrobey's, but it may become dangerous."
Mitsos said nothing, for it was a hard moment. Had not the thought of this evening—the white wail, the dark house on the bay with Suleima—been honey in the mouth for days past, and become ineffable sweetness as the time drew nearer? Yet, on the other hand, had he not sworn to Yanni the oath of the clan—that neither man, woman, nor child should make him tarry? He desired definite assurance on one point.
"Uncle Nicholas," he said, at length, "if I went today would Yanni get out of Tripoli a day sooner?"
Nicholas turned round briskly.
"Why, surely," he said; "when this business is put through there is still but little more to do, but until it is all done Yanni is clapped in his kennel. The moment it is over he is out."
Mitsos sat still a moment longer,
"I will start to-day," he said. "It is only a short day's journey to Nemea. Write your letter, please, Uncle Nicholas, and then I will go."
"I don't know whether it really matters if you go to-
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