They all bent over, and saw that the cliff fell perpendicularly downward to about the depth, or rather more, at which the tall palace rose in height above their heads.  Not that it was still the natural, shaggy front of the original precipice; for it appeared to be cased in ancient stonework, through which the primeval rock showed its face here and there grimly and doubtfully.  Mosses grew on the slight projections, and little shrubs sprouted out of the crevices, but could not much soften the stern aspect of the cliff.  Brightly as the Italian moonlight fell adown the height, it scarcely showed what portion of it was man’s work and what was nature’s, but left it all in very much the same kind of ambiguity and half-knowledge in which antiquarians generally leave the identity of Roman remains.

The roofs of some poor-looking houses, which had been built against the base and sides of the cliff, rose nearly midway to the top; but from an angle of the parapet there was a precipitous plunge straight downward into a stonepaved court.

“I prefer this to any other site as having been veritably the Traitor’s Leap,” said Kenyon, “because it was so convenient to the Capitol.  It was an admirable idea of those stern old fellows to fling their political criminals down from the very summit on which stood the Senate House and Jove’s Temple, emblems of the institutions which they sought to violate.  It symbolizes how sudden was the fall in those days from the utmost height of ambition to its profoundest ruin.”

“Come, come; it is midnight,” cried another artist, “too late to be moralizing here.  We are literally dreaming on the edge of a precipice.  Let us go home.”

“It is time, indeed,” said Hilda.

The sculptor was not without hopes that he might be favored with the sweet charge of escorting Hilda to the foot of her tower.  Accordingly, when the party prepared to turn back, he offered her his arm.  Hilda at first accepted it; but when they had partly threaded the passage between the little courtyard and the Piazza del Campidoglio, she discovered that Miriam had remained behind.

“I must go back,” said she, withdrawing her arm from Kenyon’s; “but pray do not come with me.  Several times this evening I have had a fancy that Miriam had something on her mind, some sorrow or perplexity, which, perhaps, it would relieve her to tell me about.  No, no; do not turn back!  Donatello will be a sufficient guardian for Miriam and me.”

The sculptor was a good deal mortified, and perhaps a little angry:  but he knew Hilda’s mood of gentle decision and independence too well not to obey her.  He therefore suffered the fearless maiden to return alone.

Meanwhile Miriam had not noticed the departure of the rest of the company; she remained on the edge of the precipice and Donatello along with her.

“It would be a fatal fall, still,” she said to herself, looking over the parapet, and shuddering as her eye measured the depth.  “Yes; surely yes!  Even without the weight of an overburdened heart, a human body would fall heavily enough upon those stones to shake all its joints asunder.  How soon it would be over!”