not going to throw away her good bread on honest citizens who've got all the Frate's prophecies to swallow."
"Come, madonna," said he of the red cap, "the old thief doesn't eat the bread, you see: you'd better try us. We fast so much, we're half saints already."
The circle had narrowed till the coarse men—most of them gaunt from privation—had left hardly any margin round Romola. She had been taking from her basket a small horn cup, into which she put the piece of bread and just moistened it with wine; and hitherto she had not appeared to heed them. But now she rose to her feet, and looked round at them. Instinctively the men who were nearest to her pushed backward, a little, as if their rude nearness were the fault of those behind. Romola held out the basket of bread to the man in the night-cap, looking at him without any reproach in her glance, as she said,—
"Hunger is hard to bear, I know, and you have the power to take this bread if you will. It was saved for sick women and children. You are strong men; but if you do not choose to suffer because you are strong, you have the power to take everything from the weak. You can take the bread from this basket; but I shall watch by this old man: I shall resist your taking the bread from him."
For a few moments there was perfect silence, while Romola looked at the faces before her, and held out the basket of bread. Her own pale face had the
