to him more lovely than before, and more than ever sternly and fiercely hostile to him.
In truth she was not thinking of him at all, except in the sense of a fresh and terrible danger. How could she keep him out of the tombs? How could she prevent his finding Este there? It was of that alone she was thinking as she continued to gaze at him, her eyes full of anger and alarm.
'Do not look at me with so much fear and hatred,' he said patiently. 'I can wish you nothing but good. There is the memory of Joconda between us. Can it not be in some little measure a peace-maker?'
Her eyes softened at the name he invoked, but she was too deeply disturbed for her to be won over by his words.
'I do not know why you should trouble yourself as to me,' she said sullenly—sullenness that was the outcome of extreme dread. 'I told you in the summer-time I have all I want. I am happy. But I do not like to be hunted like this. Go back to your own country, and leave me alone in mine.'
'You are alone still?' he asked: he was thinking of the Sicilian sailor.
