be a shapeless
fragment of stone, possibly marble, which was partly concealed by the
crumbling down of earth.

But his practised eye was soon aware of something artistic in this rude
object. To relieve the anxious tedium of his situation, he cleared
away some of the soil, which seemed to have fallen very recently, and
discovered a headless figure of marble. It was earth stained, as well it
might be, and had a slightly corroded surface, but at once impressed the
sculptor as a Greek production, and wonderfully delicate and beautiful.
The head was gone; both arms were broken off at the elbow. Protruding
from the loose earth, however, Kenyon beheld the fingers of a marble
hand; it was still appended to its arm, and a little further search
enabled him to find the other. Placing these limbs in what the nice
adjustment of the fractures proved to be their true position, the
poor, fragmentary woman forthwith showed that she retained her modest
instincts to the last. She had perished with them, and snatched them
back at the moment of revival. For these long-buried hands immediately
disposed themselves in the manner that nature prompts, as the antique
artist knew, and as all the world has seen, in the Venus de' Medici.

"What a discovery is here!" thought Kenyon to himself. "I seek for
Hilda, and find a marble woman! Is the omen good or ill?"

In a corner of the excavation lay a small round block of stone, much
incrusted with earth that had dried and hardened upon it. So, at least,
you would have described this object, until the sculptor lifted it,
turned it hither and thither in his hands, brushed off the clinging
soil, and finally placed it on the slender neck of the newly discovered
statue. The effect was magical. It immediately lighted up and vivified
the whole figure, endowing it with personality, soul, and intelligence.
The beautiful Idea at once asserted its immortality, and converted that
heap of forlorn fragments into a whole, as perfect to the mind, if not
to the eye, as when the new marble gleamed with snowy lustre; nor was
the impression marred by the earth that still hung upon the exquisitely
graceful limbs, and even filled the lovely crevice of the lips. Kenyon
cleared it away from between them, and almost deemed himself rewarded
with a living smile.

It was either the prototype or a better repetition of the Venus of the
Tribune. But those who have been dissatisfied with the small head, the
narrow, soulless face,