"The sculptor of this statue knew what a king should be," observed
Kenyon, "and knew, likewise, the heart of mankind, and how it craves a
true ruler, under whatever title, as a child its father."
"O, if there were but one such man as this?" exclaimed Miriam. "One such
man in an age, and one in all the world; then how speedily would the
strife, wickedness, and sorrow of us poor creatures be relieved. We
would come to him with our griefs, whatever they might be,--even a poor,
frail woman burdened with her heavy heart,--and lay them at his feet,
and never need to take them up again. The rightful king would see to
all."
"What an idea of the regal office and duty!" said Kenyon, with a smile.
"It is a woman's idea of the whole matter to perfection. It is Hilda's,
too, no doubt?"
"No," answered the quiet Hilda; "I should never look for such assistance
from an earthly king."
"Hilda, my religious Hilda," whispered Miriam, suddenly drawing the girl
close to her, "do you know how it is with me? I would give all I have or
hope--my life, O how freely--for one instant of your trust in God! You
little guess my need of it. You really think, then, that He sees and
cares for us?"
"Miriam, you frighten me."
"Hush, hush? do not let them hear yet!" whispered Miriam. "I frighten
you, you say; for Heaven's sake, how? Am I strange? Is there anything
wild in my behavior?"
"Only for that moment," replied Hilda, "because you seemed to doubt
God's providence."
"We will talk of that another time," said her friend. "Just now it is
very dark to me."
On the left of the Piazza of the Campidoglio, as you face cityward, and
at the head of the long and stately flight of steps descending from the
Capitoline Hill to the level of lower Rome, there is a narrow lane
or passage. Into this the party of our friends now turned. The path
ascended a little, and ran along under the walls of a palace, but soon
passed through a gateway, and terminated in a small paved courtyard. It
was bordered by a low parapet.
The spot, for some reason or other, impressed them as exceedingly
lonely. On one side was the great height of the palace, with the
moonshine falling over it, and showing all the windows barred and
shuttered. Not a human eye could look down into the little courtyard,
even if the seemingly deserted palace had a tenant. On all other sides
of its narrow compass there was nothing but the parapet, which as it now
appeared was built right on the edge of a steep precipice. Gazing
from its imminent brow, the party beheld a crowded confusion of roofs
spreading over the whole space between them and the line of hills that
lay beyond the Tiber. A long, misty wreath, just dense enough to catch
a little of the moonshine, floated above the houses, midway towards the
hilly line, and showed the course of the unseen river. Far away on the
right, the moon gleamed on the dome of St. Peter's as well as on many
lesser and nearer domes.