She checked Myrtilus's words with an imperious "Let me alone!" The next
day she had paced restlessly up and down the deck like a caged beast of
prey, and would permit no one to speak to her.

At noon Hanno was about to get into a boat to go to her father's ship,
and she insisted upon accompanying him. But this time the corsair seemed
completely transformed, and with the pitiless sternness, which he so well
knew how to use in issuing commands, ordered her to remain on the Hydra.

She, however, by no means obeyed her husband's mandate without
resistance, and, at the recollection of the conflict which now occurred
between the pair, in which she raged like a tigress, the narrator's
cheeks crimsoned.

The quarrel was ended by the powerful seaman's taking in his arms his
lithe, slender wife, who resisted him with all her strength and had
already touched the side of the boat with her foot, and putting her down
on the deck of his ship.

Then Hanno leaped back into the skiff, while Ledscha, groaning with rage,
retired to the cabin.

An hour after she again appeared on deck, called Myrtilus and Bias and,
showing them her eyes, reddened by tears, told them, as if in apology for
her weakness, that she had not been permitted to bid her father farewell.
Then, pallid as a corpse, she had turned the conversation upon Hermon,
and informed Myrtilus that an Alexandrian pilot had told her father that
he was blind, and her brother-in-law Labaja had heard the same thing.
While saying this, her lips curled scornfully, but when she saw how
deeply their friend's misfortune moved her two prisoners, she waved her