f the Palace of the
Caesars; portions of which have taken shape anew, in mediaeval convents
and modern villas. They turned their faces cityward, and, treading over
the broad flagstones of the old Roman pavement, passed through the
Arch of Titus. The moon shone brightly enough within it to show the
seven-branched Jewish candlestick, cut in the marble of the interior.
The original of that awful trophy lies buried, at this moment, in the
yellow mud of the Tiber; and, could its gold of Ophir again be brought
to light, it would be the most precious relic of past ages, in the
estimation of both Jew and Gentile.

Standing amid so much ancient dust, it is difficult to spare the reader
the commonplaces of enthusiasm, on which hundreds of tourists have
already insisted. Over this half-worn pavement, and beneath this Arch
of Titus, the Roman armies had trodden in their outward march, to fight
battles a world's width away. Returning victorious, with royal captives
and inestimable spoil, a Roman triumph, that most gorgeous pageant of
earthly pride, had streamed and flaunted in hundred-fold succession
over these same flagstones, and through this yet stalwart archway. It is
politic, however, to make few allusions to such a past; nor, if we would
create an interest in the characters of our story, is it wise to suggest
how Cicero's foot may have stepped on yonder stone, or how Horace was
wont to stroll near by, making his footsteps chime with the measure of
the ode that was ringing in his mind. The very ghosts of that massive
and stately epoch have so much density that the actual people of to-day
seem the thinner of the two, and stand more ghost-like by the arches
and columns, letting the rich sculpture be discerned through their
ill-compacted substance.

The party kept onward, often meeting pairs and groups of midnight
strollers like themselves. On such a moonlight night as this, Rome keeps
itself awake and stirring, and is full of song and pastime, the noise of
which mingles with your dreams, if you have gone betimes to bed. But it
is better to be abroad, and take our own share of the enjoyable time;
for the languor that weighs so heavily in the Roman atmosphere by day is
lightened beneath the moon and stars.

They had now reached the precincts of the Forum.

CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE

"Let us settle it," said Kenyon, stamping his foot firmly down, "that
this is precisely the spot where the chasm opene