THE sculptor now looked through an embrasure, and threw down a bit of lime, watching its fall, till it struck upon a stone bench at the rocky foundation of the tower, and flew into many fragments.
If I were to do just as I like, at this moment, I should fling myself down after that bit of lime. It is a very singular temptation, and all but irresistible; partly, I believe, because it might be so easily done, and partly because such momentous consequences would ensue, without my being compelled to wait a moment for them.
Have you never felt this strange impulse of an evil spirit at your back, shoving you towards a precipice? And then a fall from a precipice is such an awful death! He does not leave his life in the air! No; but it keeps in him till he thumps against the stones, a horribly long while; then he lies there frightfully quiet, a dead heap of bruised flesh and broken bones!
A quiver runs through the crushed mass, and no more movement after that! No, not if you would give your soul to make him stir a finger! Ah, terrible! Yes, yes; I would fain fling myself down for the very dread of it, that I might endure it once for all, and dream of it no more!
You are not safe in your chamber. It is but a step or two, and what if a vivid dream should lead you up hither, at midnight, and act itself out as a reality! Donatello had hidden his face in his hands, and was leaning against the parapet.
