About four o'clock that afternoon the lad was just about to set off down to the shore when his father appeared. "We'll finish with the wine this evening," he said. "Come and begin at once, Mitsos." Mitsos paused a moment. "I was just going sailing," he said. "Cannot it wait till to-morrow?" "No; it had better be finished now. Besides, you can sail afterwards. Come, it won't take a couple of hours." "Uncle Nicholas told me to sail every day," he began. "And to obey me, Mitsos." Mitsos stood for a moment irresolute, but soon his habit of obedience reasserted itself. "Yes, father," he said; "I am sorry. I will come." The casks in which the first fermentation had taken place had been thoroughly scoured with boiling water, which had quite got rid of the sour-smelling fermented stuff, and they were to rack the cleared resinated wine back into them. They filled each cask again three-quarters full, and into the remaining space they poured a portion of the fine wine, dividing it equally among all. To Mitsos the process seemed insufferably long and tedious. The sun had set before the casks were filled, and it was dark before the work was over. Never before, it seemed to him, had the taps dribbled so dispiritingly. His father now and then addressed some remark to him, which he barely answered, and after a time they both lapsed into silence. Mitsos knew that he was behaving badly, and he thought he could not help it. Perhaps she was there; perhaps--bewildering thought--she was even wondering why he did not come. How could he simulate the slightest interest in the wine of grapes when the wine of love was fermenting within him, driving him mad with those sweet, intoxicating fumes for which there is no amethyst? At last it was over. No, he would not eat now; he would eat when he came in, and ten minutes later he was on his way. Soon the wall began to glimmer in front of him. Something, it looked only like a white shadow, was leaning on it, and as he drew nearer he heard again the voice singing low in the darkness, singing the common country song which had become so beautiful. CHAPTER VII THE PORT DUES OF CORINTH