e.

"I don't care whether you believe it or not. Now then?" The blue eyes
were steady enough on the black by this time.

"Look here," said Castracane after a pause, "I'll fight you if you
like. That'll settle it."

Silvestro laughed nervously. "Why should we fight, Castracane? Besides,
we have no knives. How can we fight?"

"Like this," said the other between his teeth. His left arm whipped out,
like a lizard's tongue, and Silvestro lay flat on his back among the
cistus flowers, seeing ink and scarlet clouds.

"Stick a Jew indeed!" cried Castracane. "Stick a grandmother! Why,
you're as soft as cheese!"

Silvestro's shoulders told a tale. He had turned on his face, but his
shoulders were enough. Lord, Lord, look at that! Scorn in his conqueror
gave way to amazement, amazement to disgust, disgust to contempt. Last
came pity. Who'd have thought such a leggy lad such a green one? He was
crying like a girl. Castracane had no malice in him: he was sorry for
those sobbing shoulders. He stooped over the wreck he had made, and
tried to put it together again.

"Come, Silvestro," he said gruffly, "I never meant to hurt you."

The wet face was up in a moment--red and wet and angry.

"It's not that! It's not that! I never killed the Jew--there! But I was
a stranger, and I tried to be friendly, and you hated me. I hate being
hated. Why should you hate me? What have I done?"

This was too subtle for the youth. "The trouble was," he said, "that I
hit you in the right place. That's the knock-out blow, that one. Morte
di Ercole, and down you went! Well, I'm sorry; will that do?"

"Yes, yes--I want no more. Let us be friends, Castracane."

"Benissimo."

He helped his late enemy up; they kissed each other, then sat together
on the grass--admirable friends.

"So you didn't kill the Jew?" Castracane began. "I knew it! But what did
you do to run away?"

"Ah, you mustn't ask. Indeed, I can't tell you. It was rather bad."

Castracane looked keenly at his new friend. "Was it a girl?" he said.

Silvestro blushed. "Yes, it was a girl."

"Ah, ah! Then I say no more. I like girls myself. But they get you into
trouble quicker than anything. You would rather not tell me any
more--quite sure?"

"No, I can't indeed. Let's talk of something else. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"I'm not sixteen yet. Is Castracane your real name?"

Castracane looked pleased.

"I'm glad you asked. No; they call me that among ourselves, because