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This recalled to him a distant memory of Weymouth, when, a little child,
he had carried Dea, an infant, in his arms.
He battered the door again violently, like a lord, which, alas! he was.
The house remained silent. He felt that he was losing his head. He no
longer thought of caution. He shouted,--
"
Nicless! Govicum!"
At the same time he looked up at the windows, to see if any candle was
lighted. But the inn was blank. Not a voice, not a sound, not a glimmer
of light. He went to the gate and knocked at it, kicked against it, and
shook it, crying out wildly,--
"Ursus! Homo!"
The wolf did not bark.
A cold sweat stood in drops upon his brow. He cast his eyes around. The
night was dark; but there were stars enough to render the fair-green
visible. He saw--a melancholy sight to him--that everything on it had
vanished.
There was not a single caravan. The circus was gone. Not a tent, not a
booth, not a cart, remained. The strollers, with their thousand noisy
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