There had passed scarce a quarter of an hour since the first alarm was given, and by now the townspeople had come out to aid. Step by step the Turks were driven back, and every moment a stab and a fallen heap of nerveless limbs revenged the Capsina; and by the time the church bells rang for the mass of Noël the Greeks were again in their camp, the wreckage of men lay round, and only a small body of cavalry were spurring back to Lepanto, saying these were not men, but fiends. Mitsos was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, when the bell began, but the sound caused him to look up. "Come, lads," he said, "we go to pray for the soul of the Capsina, and to give thanks to God for her"--and he clinched his teeth hard for a moment--"to give thanks to God for her great deeds and her splendid and shining life." * * * * * That afternoon the _Revenge_ came into port, and two days after Mitsos was landed at Corinth. From there he went across to Nauplia, and sunset saw him at the white house, and Suleima's hands were raised in amaze at so quick a return. "You have not brought the Capsina with you?" she asked. Mitsos looked at her a moment, the hasp of the garden-gate in his hand, out of eyes drooping and heavy. "No, I have not brought the Capsina," he cried, in a hard, dry tone, but at the word his voice broke suddenly, and he leaned on the gate and was shaken from head to foot with the tumult of his grief. That night they talked long together, and their tears were mingled. At last, and not long before the dawning of the winter's day, Suleima came closer to Mitsos, and lay with her arm cast round his neck. "She loved you, Mitsos," she said, "and I love her for it." THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Capsina, by Edward Frederic Benson