A thief,—more like, a sweetheart of some maid
Who pitched on the alcove for tryst perhaps."
"Stand there!" I bid.
Whereat my man but wraps
His face the closelier with uplifted arm
Whereon the cloak lies, strikes in blind alarm
This and that pedestal as,—stretch and stoop,—
Now in, now out of sight, he thrids the group
Of statues, marble god and goddess ranged
Each side the pathway, till the gate's exchanged