“How now, Marina,” said the dissembling Dionysia, “do you weep alone? How does it chance my daughter is not with you? Do not sorrow for Lychorida; you have a nurse in me. Your beauty is quite changed with this unprofitable woe. Come, give me your flowers--the sea air will spoil them--and walk with Leonine; the air is fine, and will enliven you. Come, Leonine, take her by the arm and walk with her.” “No, madam,” said Marina, “I pray you let me not deprive you of your servant”; for Leonine was one of Dionysia’s attendants. “Come, come,” said this artful woman, who wished for a pretense to leave her alone with Leonine, “I love the prince, your father, and I love you. We every day expect your father here; and when he comes and finds you so changed by grief from the paragon of beauty we reported you, he will think we have taken no care of you. Go, I pray you, walk, and be cheerful once again. Be careful of that excellent complexion which stole the hearts of old and young.” Marina, being thus importuned, said, “Well, I will go, but yet I have no desire to it.” As Dionysia walked away she said to Leonine, “Remember what I have said!” shocking words, for their meaning was that he should remember to kill Marina. Marina looked toward the sea, her birthplace, and said, “Is the wind westerly that blows?” “Southwest,” replied Leonine. “When I was born the wind was north,” said she; and then the storm and tempest and all her father’s sorrows, and her mother’s death, came full into her mind, and she said, “My father, as Lychorida told me, did never fear, but cried, COURAGE, GOOD SEAMEN, to the sailors, galling his princely hands with the ropes, and, clasping to the masts, he endured a sea that almost split the deck.” “When was this?” said Leonine. “When I was born,” replied Marina. “Never were wind and waves more violent.” And then she described the storm, the action of the sailors, the boatswain’s whistle, and the loud call of the master, which,” said she, “trebled the confusion of the ship.” Lychorida had so often recounted to Marina the story of her hapless birth that these things seemed ever present to her imagination. But here Leonine interrupted her with desiring her to say her prayers. “What mean you?” said Marina, who began to fear, she knew not why. “If you require a little space for prayer, I grant it,” said Leonine; “but be not tedious; the gods are quick of ear and I am sworn to do my work in haste.” “Will you kill me?” said Marina. “Alas! why?” “To satisfy my lady,” replied Leonine. “Why would she have me killed?” said Marina. “Now, as I can remember, I never hurt her in all my life. I never spake bad word nor did any ill turn to any living creature. Believe me now, I never killed a mouse nor hurt a fly. I trod upon a worm once against my will, but I wept for it. How have I offended?”