Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased. It was a dismal and depressing sight to see a great city thus suddenly overthrown; and the carpenter was deeply moved by the spectacle. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go.
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