y was his. The firmament rang with
laughter as the other candidates panted up. A great yell greeted the
fall of the fat old man in the roadway, where he lay prostrate.

An official tendered the winner the _pallio_ which was the prize--a
piece of red Venetian cloth. The young Jew took it, surveying it with
a strange, unfathomable gaze, but the Judge interposed.

"The captain of the soldiers tells me they did not start fair at the
Arch. They must run again to-morrow." This was a favorite device for
prolonging the fun. But the winner's eyes blazed ominously.

"Nay, but we started as balls shot from a falconet."

"Peace, peace, return him the _pallio_," whispered a racer behind him,
tugging apprehensively at his one garment.

"They always adjudge it again to the first winner." But the young man
was reckless.

"Why did not the captain stop us, then?" he asked.

"Keep thy tongue between thy dog's teeth," retorted the Judge. "In any
event the race must be run again, for the law ordains eight runners as
a minimum."

"We are eight," replied the young Jew.

The Judge glared at the rebel; then, striking each rueful object with
a stick, he counted out, "One--two--three--four--five--six--seven!"

"Eight," persisted the young man, perceiving for the first time the
old Jew on the ground behind him, and stooping to raise him.

"That creature! Basta! He does not count. He is drunk."

"Thou hell-begotten hound!" and straightening himself suddenly, the
young Jew drew a crucifix from within his cloak. "Thou art right!" he
cried in a voice of thunder. "There are only seven Jews, for I--I am
no Jew. I am Fra Giuseppe!" And the crucifix whirled round, clearing a
space of awe about him.

The Judge cowered back in surprise and apprehension. The soldiers sat
their horses in stony amazement, the seething crowd was stilled for a
moment, struck to silent attention. The shower had ceased and a ray of
watery sunlight glistened on the crucifix.

"In the name of Christ I denounce this devil's mockery of the Lord's
chosen people," thundered the Dominican. "Stand back all. Will no one
bring this poor old man a cup of cold water?"

"Hasn't Heaven given him enough cold water?" asked a jester in the
crowd. But no one stirred.

"Then may you all burn eternally," said the Friar. He bent down again
and raised the old man's head tenderly. Then his face grew sterner and
whiter. "He is dead," he said. "The Christ he denied receive him into
His