Hilda, meanwhile, had separated herself from the sculptor, and turned

back to rejoin her friend. At a distance, she still heard the mirth of

her late companions, who were going down the cityward descent of the

Capitoline Hill; they had set up a new stave of melody, in which her

own soft voice, as well as the powerful sweetness of Miriam's, was sadly

missed.

The door of the little courtyard had swung upon its hinges, and

partly closed itself. Hilda (whose native gentleness pervaded all her

movements) was quietly opening it, when she was startled, midway, by the

noise of a struggle within, beginning and ending all in one breathless

instant. Along with it, or closely succeeding it, was a loud, fearful

cry, which quivered upward through the air, and sank quivering

downward to the earth. Then, a silence! Poor Hilda had looked into the

court-yard, and saw the whole quick passage of a deed, which took but

that little time to grave itself in the eternal adamant.




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