And now, ere descending the gradually-sloping declivity, and just on its summit as it were, the inmates of the coach, by numerous hard, painful joltings, and ponderous, dragging trundlings, are suddenly made sensible of some great change in the character of the road. The coach seems rolling over cannon-balls of all calibers. Grasping Pierre's arm, Isabel eagerly and forebodingly demands what is the cause of this most strange and unpleasant transition.
"The pavements, Isabel; this is the town."
Isabel was silent.
But, the first time for many weeks, Delly voluntarily spoke:
"It feels not so soft as the green sward, Master Pierre."
"No, Miss Ulver," said Pierre, very bitterly, "the buried hearts of some dead citizens have perhaps come to the surface."
"Sir?" said Delly.
"And are they s
