"Please God they may find it!" sighed Delly. "They lock and bar out, then, when they rest, do they, Pierre?" said Isabel. "Yes, and you were thinking that does not bode well for the welcome I spoke of." "Thou read'st all my soul; yes, I was thinking of that. But whither lead these long, narrow, dismal side-glooms we pass every now and then? What are they? They seem terribly still. I see scarce any body in them;--there's another, now. See how haggardly look its criss-cross, far-separate lamps.--What are these side-glooms, dear Pierre; whither lead they?" "They are the thin tributaries, sweet Isabel, to the great Oronoco thoroughfare we are in; and like true tributaries, they come from the far-hidden places; from under dark beetling secrecies of mortar and stone; through the long marsh-grasses of villainy, and by many a transplanted bough-beam, where the wretched have hung." "I know nothing of these things, Pierre. But I like not the town. Think'st thou, Pierre, the time will ever come when all the earth shall be paved?" "Thank God, that never can be!" "These silent side-glooms are horrible;--look! Methinks, not for the world would I turn into one." That moment the nigh fore-wheel sharply grated under the body of the coach. "Courage!" cried Pierre, "we are in it!--Not so very solitary either; here comes a traveler." "Hark, what is that?" said Delly, "that keen iron-ringing sound? It passed us just now." "The keen traveler," said Pierre, "he has steel plates to his boot-heels;--some tender-souled elder son, I suppose." "Pierre," said Isabel, "this silence is unnatural, is fearful. The forests are never so still." "Because brick and mortar have deeper secrets than wood or fell, sweet Isabel. But here we turn again; now if I guess right, two more turns will bring us to the door. Courage, all will be well; doubtless he has prepared a famous supper. Courage, Isabel. Come, shall it be tea or coffee? Some bread, or crisp toast? We'll have eggs, too; and some cold chicken, perhaps."--Then muttering to himself--"I hope not that, either; no cold collations! there's too much of that in these paving-stones here, set out for the famishing beggars to eat. No. I won't have the cold chicken." Then aloud--"But here we turn again; yes, just as I thought. Ho, driver!" (thrusting his head out of the window) "to the right! to the right! it should be on the right! the first house with a light on the right!" "No lights yet but the street's," answered the surly voice of the driver. "Stupid! he has passed it--yes, yes--he has! Ho! ho! stop; turn back. Have you not passed lighted windows?" "No lights but the street's," was the rough reply. "What's the number? the number? Don't keep me beating about here all night! The number, I say!" "I do not know it," returned Pierre; "but I well know the house; you must have passed it, I repeat. You must turn back. Surely you have passed lighted windows?"