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fell into a daydream. "Queen of Bekla"-she knew what the Sacred Queen in Bekla had to do, for Tharrin had once told her, with much sniggering detail, about the great craftsman Fleitil's brazen image of Cran, that marvel of dedicated artistry; which, in answer to her abashed but fascinated questioning, he was forced to admit he had never seen for
    himself. "And if she didn't do it, lass, the crops wouldn't grow-nothing would grow."
    "You mean, not any longer at all?" she had asked.
    He chuckled. "Nothing would grow any longer. Not mine or anyone else's. Wouldn't that be terrible?"
    "I don't understand."
    "Ah, well, there's plenty of time. Every apple falls in time, you know." And, pinching her arm and laughing, he was off to the tavern.
    She settled herself more comfortably in the net, stretched and yawned. The job was nearly finished. There would be about another half-hour's work. Once she had taken on a task for Tharrin she liked to take pains to please him: but this had been a long, dull, careful job and now she felt weary of it. She was overcome by a sudden, depressing sense of the monotony of her life; dull food, rough, dirty clothes, too much work and tedious, unvarying companionship. Save for her solitary escapes to the lake it was seldom enough, she reflected, that she got away. Last year Tharrin had taken them all to the wine festival at Meerzat-a piffling enough sort of affair, he'd called it, compared with those he had known in Ikat and Thettit. And yet, she thought resentfully, it was the best she was ever likely to see. "Queen of Bekla"-She felt herself to be beautiful, she felt confidence in her beauty-oh, ah, she thought, beautiful in dirt and rags, in a hovel on the Tonildan Waste. Mend the nets, gather the firewood, mind the banzi, don't eat so much, there isn't enough to go round. If only there could be something
sweet
to eat, she thought-and swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth at the longing.
    She felt drowsy. Her deft fingers recommenced their work, then faltered and paused, lying still as she leant back in the soft, resilient thickness of the piled net and closed her eyes. The breeze, the wavelets lapping on the shore, the leaves of the ash-tree, the flies darting in the bright air-all these were in motion above and around her, so that she herself seemed like a still centre, a sleeping princess, motionless save for the gentle rise and fall of her bosom under the self-mended dress.
    She woke with a start, conscious that someone was standing beside her. She half-sprang up, then lay back, laughing with relief as she realized that it was only Tharrin.
    "Oh-Tharrin-oh, you give me such a turn! I'd dropped
    off for a moment. Don't matter, I've done most of it, look. It's done proper, too-won't go again in 'urry."
    He lay down beside her, leaning on his elbow and gazing up at her intently. As he still said nothing she felt a touch of nervousness.
    "What's up, then, Tharrin? Nothin' wrong, is there?"
    At this he smiled. "No, nothing," he answered, laying a hand on her bare forearm. "Nothing at all."
    "Well, go on,
look
at it, then! I've made a good job of it, you c'n see that."
    He began picking over the mended places, lifting the net in his two hands and idly testing the knotting between his fingers. She saw that they were trembling slightly and felt still more puzzled.
    "You all right? What's matter then?"
    Suddenly he flung one entire fold of the net over her from head to foot and, as she struggled beneath the mesh, pushed her back into the piled folds, laughing and pressed his hands down on her shoulders. She laughed, too, for she had often romped with him before; but then quickly shook her head, throwing one hand up to her face.
    "Ow! You caught me in the eye, Tharrin-do look out-"
    "I've caught a fish! A golden fish! What a beauty!"
    "No, honesty Tharrin, it hurts! Look, does it show?" And, still lying under the net, she turned her face towards the light, pulling down her lower eyelid as the water ran