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It was certainly a wonderful night a night of enormous silence, of great steady stars, of gold-dusted air, of a sky like a purple dome encrusted with jewelled lights. The two boys sat together, blinking at so much speechless glory. Castracane's arm was round his fellow's shoulder; that fellow's lips parted, and his breath came soft and eager yet too quickly for ease.
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. "Loose him, Signore," says Silvestro. The Sub-Prefect with a knife cut his bonds.
It was certainly a night of wonder. Castracane's arm slipped down to Silvestro's waist; Silvestro sighed, and snuggled into the haven it made. "O holy night!" said he. "Now might miracles happen, and we be by." "Ah," said Castracane, "the miracle of choice would be an angel with a basket of bread and cheese or a beautiful maiden to come and lie in one's arms." Silvestro thrilled.
"I am going to eat something. Tie him up and wait for me there. You can let the other go. This is the lad, fast enough. Avanti!" So the shackles were taken off Andrea's raw wrists, and transferred to Castracane's; the neck halter was shifted; Castracane was bond, Andrea free. Then Messer Alessandro went down the hill to what supper the hermit could afford.
Silvestro blushed; Castracane pinched his cheek, which made matters worse. They took the road together through the deep hedges of the valley. Monte Venda rose before them, dark with woods. Castracane's arm was round Silvestro's waist: every twenty yards they stopped. "To think of it!" cried Castracane, on one of these breathless halts.
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