young mind. She seemed to be full of something to which she could not give

words; but, seizing an opportunity afforded by Perdita's absence, she

preferred to me an earnest prayer, that I would take her within view of the

gate at which her father had entered Constantinople. She promised to commit

no extravagance, to be docile, and immediately to return. I could not

refuse; for Clara was not an ordinary child; her sensibility and

intelligence seemed already to have endowed her with the rights of

womanhood. With her therefore, before me on my horse, attended only by the

servant who was to re-conduct her, we rode to the Top Kapou. We found a

party of soldiers gathered round it. They were listening. "They are human

cries," said one: "More like the howling of a dog," replied another; and

again they bent to catch the sound of regular distant moans, which issued

from the precincts of the ruined city. "That, Clara," I said, "is the gate,

that the street which yestermorn your father rode up." Whatever Clara's

intention had been in asking to be brought hither, it was balked by the

presence of the soldiers. With earnest gaze she looked on the labyrinth of

smoking piles which had been a city, and then expressed her readiness to

return home. At this moment a melancholy howl struck on our ears; it was

repeated; "Hark!" cried Clara, "he is there; that is Florio, my father's

dog." It seemed to me impossible that she could recognise the sound, but

she persisted in her assertion till she gained credit with the crowd about.

At least it would be a benevolent action to rescue the sufferer, whether

human or brute, from the desolation of the town; so, sending Clara back to

her home, I again entered Constantinople. Encouraged by the impunity

attendant on my former visit, several soldiers who had made a part of

Raymond's body guard, who had loved him, and sincerely mourned his loss,

269

The Last Man