red as a
dog's tongue. Bah!"

"Damn the Jew," said Petruccio, yawning; "let's go to sleep, boys."

VII

CASTRACANE

She woke early, with the full light of day in her eyes. She felt tired,
but not inert, languid and luxurious, rather, and explored to the full
the happiness of stretching. Round about her were huddled the drowsy
boys; on the slopes of the steep place where she lay she could see the
goats browsing on lentisk and juniper, acanthus, bramble, mountain-ash.
Misty on the blue plain lay Padua, a sleeping city, white and
violet--remote now and in every sense below her and her concerns. The
sky was without cloud, very pale still, glowing white at the edge; the
sun not yet out of the sea. The freshness of the air fanned her
deliciously; larks were climbing the sky singing their prick-song,
scores of finches crossed the slopes, dipping from bush to bush.
Ippolita clasped her hands behind her head, and looked lazily at all
this early glory. The freedom of her heart seemed explicit in that of
her limbs. What she could do with her legs, for instance! How she could
sprawl at ease! She was just like all the others--as ragged, as dirty,
at least; and soon she would be as brown. Dio buono, the splendid life
of a goatherd!

Then she found that Castracane was watching her out of one wicked eye.
He had rolled over on to his belly, his face lay sideways on his hands;
one eye was shrewdly on her. She considered him, rather scared, out of
the corner of hers. Decidedly he was a sulky boy--you might say an
enemy. As unconcernedly as she could she got up, stretched herself with
elaborate ease, and strolled off along the edge of the hill. Castracane
followed her; she affected not to know it; but her heart began to
quicken, and when he was close beside her she found that she had to look
at him.

"Good morning, Castracane," says Silvestro.

He grunted. "Look here, Silvestro," he began, "about that Jew--"

The accursed Jew, who, so far from denying the resurrection of the dead,
seemed a standing proof of it! Was she never to have done with the Jew?

"Well, what about him?"

"Did you kill him or not? That's what about him."

"I told you last night."

"Yes, but I don't believe it."

"What!"

"I don't believe it. Now then?"

Silvestro looked about for help: they were out of sight of the others,
and there lay Padua, slumbrous in the plain. It seemed as if Castracane
meant quarrelling. Well, what must be, must b