her an old shrivelled man; the steward, her accuser.
He muttered quickly, in some shame:
'My dear—I am sorry—I had too much zeal—go back to the sepulchres if you will; go back; and the little child is buried in God's ground, buried beside Joconda, do not be afraid.'
Then he hurried away, being in great fear of her.
For Daniello Villamagna had said to him, 'If you will not disturb her in those tombs she loves I will rent them of you at a hundred scudi by the year, and your lord need never know.'
They had brought her out by the white salt-covered shore; and she stood still a moment, drinking in the autumnal air: all her soul, and mind, and body absorbed in one unspoken prayer, praising heaven that she was free.
She had not a friend in the world, nor any roof to cover her, nor even a coin to buy bread.
But she was not troubled by this; she was absorbed in thinking, 'How can I get back?' They might tell her, how they would, not to go there; this was her
