She shook her head slightly, as if she no longer believed in a favourable turn of affairs, pushed the little curls which had escaped from the wealth of her black hair back from her forehead with her slender hand, and walked firmly to the house. The old dame was crouching beside the hearth in the middle room, turning the metal spit, on which she had put the ducks, over the freshly kindled fire. The smoke hurt her eyes, which were slightly inflamed, yet they seemed to serve their purpose better than her half-dulled ear, for, after a swift glance at Ledscha, she stammered in her faltering speech: “What has happened? Nothing good, certainly. It is written on your face.” The girl nodded assent, pointed with a significant gesture to her eyes and the open air, and went down to the shore again to convince herself that no other vessel was approaching. What she had to confide to Tabus was intended for her alone, and experience taught how far spoken words could be heard at night over the water. When she had returned to the hut, she bent down to the old woman’s ear and, holding her curved hand to her lips, cried, “He is not coming!” Tabus shrugged her shoulders, and the smile of satisfaction which flitted over her brown, wrinkled face showed that the news was welcome. For her murdered grandson’s sake the girl’s confession that she had given her heart to a Greek affected her painfully; but Tabus also had something else on her mind for her beautiful darling. Now she only intimated by a silent nod that she understood Ledscha, and her head remained constantly in motion as the latter continued: “True, I shall see him again to-morrow, but when we part, it will hardly be in love. At any rate--do you hear, grandmother?--to-morrow must decide everything. Therefore--do you understand me?--you must question the cords now, to-night, for to-morrow evening what they advised might be too late.”