companies here and there; each face was clouded; every gesture spoke

astonishment and dismay.

With an heavy heart I entered the palace, and stood fearful to advance, to

speak, to look. In the midst of the hall was Perdita; she sat on the marble

pavement, her head fallen on her bosom, her hair dishevelled, her fingers

twined busily one within the other; she was pale as marble, and every

feature was contracted by agony. She perceived me, and looked up

enquiringly; her half glance of hope was misery; the words died before I

could articulate them; I felt a ghastly smile wrinkle my lips. She

understood my gesture; again her head fell; again her fingers worked

restlessly. At last I recovered speech, but my voice terrified her; the

hapless girl had understood my look, and for worlds she would not that the

tale of her heavy misery should have been shaped out and confirmed by hard,

irrevocable words. Nay, she seemed to wish to distract my thoughts from the

subject: she rose from the floor: "Hush!" she said, whisperingly; "after

much weeping, Clara sleeps; we must not disturb her." She seated herself

then on the same ottoman where I had left her in the morning resting on the

beating heart of her Raymond; I dared not approach her, but sat at a

distant corner, watching her starting and nervous gestures. At length, in

an abrupt manner she asked, "Where is he?"

"O, fear not," she continued, "fear not that I should entertain hope! Yet

tell me, have you found him? To have him once more in my arms, to see him,

however changed, is all I desire. Though Constantinople be heaped above him

as a tomb, yet I must find him--then cover us with the city's weight,

265

The Last Man