The taciturnity of the seamen and the deep melancholy of his guest
were not broken until they reached the Tower stairs.
"Go, Ben, fetch the gentleman a coach."
The count bowed to the captain, who gave the order, and in a few
minutes the boy returned, saying there was one in waiting. He took up
the portmanteau, and Thaddeus, following him, ascended the Tower
stairs, where the carriage stood. Ben threw in the baggage and the
count put his foot on the step. "Where must the man drive to?"
Thaddeus drew it back again.
"Yes, sir," continued the lad; "where be your honor's home?"
"In my grave," was the response his aching heart made to this
question. He hesitated before he spoke. "An hotel," said he, flinging
himself on the seat, and throwing a piece of silver into the lad's
hat.
"What hotel, sir?" asked the coachman.
"Any."
The man closed the door, mounted his box, and drove off.
It was now near seven o'clock, on a dark December evening. The lamps
were lighted; and it being Saturday-night, the streets were crowded
with people. Thaddeus looked at them as he was driven along. "Happy
creatures!" thought he; "you have each a home to go to; you have each
expectant friends to welcome you; every one of you knows some in the
world who will smile when you enter; whilst I, wretched, wretched
Sobieski where are now all thy highly-prized treasures, thy boasted
glory, and those beloved ones who rendered that glory most precious
to thee? Alas! all are withdrawn; vanished like a scene of
enchantment, from which I have indeed awakened to a frightful
solitude.
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