Possibly, she might not herself be fully aware what power had laid its grasp upon her person.

What has chiefly perplexed us, however, among Hilda's adventures, is the mode of her release, in which some inscrutable tyranny or other seemed to take part in the frolic of the Carnival.

We can only account for it, by supposing that the fitful and fantastic imagination of a woman--sportive, because she must otherwise be desperate--had arranged this incident, and made it the condition of a step which her conscience, or the conscience of another, required her to take.
A few days after Hilda's reappearance, she and the sculptor were straying together through the streets of Rome.

Being deep in talk, it so happened that they found themselves near the majestic, pillared portico, and huge, black rotundity of the Pantheon.

It stands almost at the central point of the labyrinthine intricacies of the modern city, and often presents itself before the bewildered stranger, when he is in search of other objects.