take what you
will."

Messer Alessandro shut his eyes, and slowly rose to his feet. Having
kissed the goatherd's hand, he very delicately kissed the goatherd's
proffered cheek. "I am paid immeasurably, most holy one," he said. "Lead
now; I will do what you desire."

Out sped Silvestro into the wood, the Sub-Prefect bareheaded behind him.
In a glade not far from the hermitage sat the two archers. The horses
were tethered to one tree, Castracane to another. Seeing their chief,
the men sprang to attention; their astonishment at what followed was no
greater than Castracane's. Silvestro (that timid slave), now as bold as
brass, walked straight to him, the Sub-Prefect tiptoeing behind.

"Loose him, Signore," says Silvestro.

The Sub-Prefect with a knife cut his bonds. "Your will is done."

"Thank you, Signor Alessandro: God be with you. Come, Pilade."

Silvestro took Castracane by the hand, but not before the gentleman had
kissed his own with profound respect. Then Silvestro led his friend away
through the trees, and the Sub-Prefect was understood to say--

"We have been on the wrong scent, men. Mount. To the city--Avanti!"

"What's all this? Whither now?" stammered Castracane.

Silvestro squeezed his hand. "Oh, dearest, let us go to the cave--let us
go to the cave on the hill!"

Castracane felt his friend trembling. Trembling is infectious; he began
to tremble too.

"Yes, yes, we will go to our cave," he agreed in a quick whisper.

X

CYMON FINDS HIS IPHIGENIA

They struggled upwards through the bushwood and starry flowers. It was a
scented night, the air heavy with the burden of midsummer. The fireflies
spread a jewelled web before their faces, great white moths flapped and
droned about them. On they pushed, their hands locked through all
hazards of brake or briar: neither would let go for a whole world, but
Silvestro was always in front, leading Castracane for this once. One
knew the way as well as another; but Silvestro led it. They rounded the
hill-top.

"Here we are at last," said Silvestro. "Let us sit here, and look at the
splendour of the night. Oh, Pilade! Oh, dear friend! How couldst thou do
so much for me?"

"What else could I do?" said he gruffly. "You never killed the pig-Jew."

"Nor did you, Pilade. Tell me why you gave yourself up."

"Because you didn't do it, of course."

"But you didn't do it either?"

"Well, but I knocked you down."

"Did you do it because of that; or beca