of the
company. It was more common still, in those days.

Sora Nanna gave Dalrymple his dinner and kept him company for a while.
But he was gloomy and preoccupied, and before long she retired to the
regions of the laundry, which was installed in a long low building that
ran out into the vegetable garden at the back of the house. Monday was
generally the day for ironing the heavy linen of the convent, which was
taken up on Tuesdays in the huge baskets carried by four women, slung to
a pole which rested on their shoulders in the old primitive fashion,
just as litters are still carried in many parts of Asia. It had
occurred more than once to Dalrymple, during the last two days, that he
could hide almost anything he chose in one of these baskets, which were
always delivered directly to Maria Addolorata and which she was at
liberty to unpack in the privacy of the linen room if she chose.

He thought of this again as he sat over his dinner, and heard the
endless song of the women, far off, at their work. He knew the habits of
the house thoroughly and all the customs regarding the carrying up of
the baskets, and he remembered that several of them would surely be
taken to the convent on the morrow. He thought that if he could procure
some more suitable clothes for Maria to wear, this would be a safe means
of conveying them to her. She could put them on in her cell, just before
the hour at which she was to expect him, so that there would be no time
lost and the danger of detection during their flight would be greatly
diminished. But there were all sorts of difficulties in the way, and he
realized them one by one, until he almost abandoned the scheme in favour
of the cloak and plaid which he had first proposed.

He pushed back his chair and went upstairs to his own room. The
impression made upon him by Maria Addolorata, when she had bitten her
hand, had been a strong one, but the man's nature, though not exactly
distrustful, was melancholic and pessimistic. Two hours and more had
passed since they had been together, and things had a different look. He
realized more clearly the strength of the ties which bound Maria to her
convent life, and the effort it must be to her to break them. He
remembered the arguments he had used, and he saw that they had been
those of passion rather than of reason. Their effect could not be
lasting, when he himself was not there to lend them his words and the
persuasion of his strength. Maria would re