Lindbohm was quite voluble. "Bear up, my friend," he said; "we shall surely find her. Remember that she was in a Turkish house, the very safest place she could be in." Curtis continued to be silent and preoccupied, a condition which the Swede attributed to the fear that something had happened to Panayota, and that their long search would be rendered vain at the very end. Yet he could not understand the American's seeming listlessness, mingled with absorption and perplexity. "He acts like a man who has been hit on the head with a musket butt," thought the Swede, glancing shrewdly at his companion. "Great heavens, can it be that he has a presentiment of evil?" Then aloud: "We must go straight to the military authorities--to the English. We will tell them all about Panayota, and if Kostakes has her yet they will yust make him give her right up--eh, my friend?" "Ye-es," replied Curtis. "Yes, O yes; certainly." The Turks whom they met looked sullen. The foreign troops were everywhere, marching in small bodies through the streets. If two or three Mohammedans stopped to talk together an English redcoat was sure to step up to them with: "G'an now, move on!" Not much damage had been done to the part of the town through which they were now passing. There was a sprightly gossiping of bugles, hailing and replying from distant points, and the frequent clatter of shod hoofs as some orderly galloped across an intersecting street. And all the noise and bustle was threaded by a continual tune, not sung loudly, but insistently, like the motif of an opera. The Cretans whom they met, whether jubilant or sad of face, seemed to be humming it--some joyously, others revengefully. "Do you hear that?" cried Lindbohm, "Panayota will be singing the hymn of liberty herself to-day. We must make her sing it all through for us. I wish I could understand the words." And he beat time with his cane as a tall Cretan strode by, humming very distinctly: "We can tell you by the lightning Of your terrible swift brand, And we know you by the brightening When your proud eyes sweep the land!" "Panayota will be singing that at this very moment, eh?" cried Lindbohm, laying his hand upon Curtis' shoulder; but the latter made no reply. From the narrow street they passed into a place of smoldering ruins and roofless, ragged walls. Here a party of marines were at work, assisted by townspeople, throwing water on fires that were still burning, or in digging bodies out of the debris. A cart stood near, and an awestruck, silent throng lingered by, ready to identify the remains of possible relatives or friends. The air was full of powdered lime and smoke, and had a queer, pungent smell. "Come on," said Lindbohm, "before they find a body. I don't like to see such things, and don't let this affect you, my friend. Panayota, you know, is in the Turkish quarter."