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“Truly, ay,” said Ippolito, with a stubborn significance of manner.

“Have a care,” cried Giulio, “have a care, Ippolito; do not thwart me. Am I not your elder brother?”

“Yes; and marry, what of that? Though you came first into the world, I trow you left some manhood for him who followed after.”

“You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, despite the determination of your elder brother, you will pasture your sheep in my grounds?”

“In truth but I do.”

“And that,” rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, and his lip tremulous, “and that without fee or recompense?”

“Assuredly.”

Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clenched hand against a tree, with a face full of passion, and in a voice made terrible by rage, he screamed, rather than said, “By the Blessed Virgin but you do not!”

“And by St Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins I protest I will.” This was uttered by Ippolito in a tone of banter and bravado that for a moment made the excited frame of Giulio quiver from head to foot. He gazed at the features of Ippolito, all drawn into a sneer, and for a moment gnashed his teeth. He was hastily approaching the scoffer, when, by an apparently strong effort, he arrested himself, and, turning upon his heel, struck hastily down another path, where he might be seen pacing with short, quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a tree, carelessly sang a few lines of a serenata. This indifference was too much for Giulio; he stopped short, turned, and then rapidly came up to Ippolito, and with a manner of attempted tranquillity, said, “Ippolito, I do not wish to quarrel with you; I am your elder brother; then give up the point.”