'Maiden, where I come from the land is beautiful as the sea is; the shores laugh; the hills are rich as a mother's breasts for her first-born; men and women live on fruit and wine, and song and love; yet not in my own Sicilia did ever I see so handsome a maiden as art thou!'
And this he said in his own soft amatory Sicilian tongue, which is like the flow of honey from the lip of a ewer of gold.
She looked straight at him and frowned a little.
'I took your fruit, friend, because you gave me it with good friendliness; if you clog it with lies, I will fling it in the waves.'
The Sicilian stared at her hard with his brown starry eyes; then he laughed all over his face.
'Lies? I said never a truer word. But if it displease you, so much the wiser are you. Tell me, who are you? Nay, do tell me, I pray of you.'
'I am no one,' said Musa, curtly. 'They call me the Musoncella and the Velia. Go you back to your ship, and leave me to go home.'
'Where is your home?
