The thoughts of her father's death stopped Clara's further utterance, and the bravo, again lifting her in his arms, bore her onward. He now again turned through some partially ruined streets, several fierce bands passing him who uttered horrid jests, and seemed inclined to dispute possession of his prize; but his fierce threats of vengeance made them desist, for his character was well-known to all. Full two hours had passed ere he finally stopped before the door of a low house, which appeared uninjured; for while the lofty temples and the proud palaces of the great had been overwhelmed in ruin, the humble shed of the mechanic had escaped. He forced open the door, and entered without hesitation. An old woman was seated on the floor, trembling and weeping with alarm: a small oil lamp burning near her gave just sufficient light to show the wretched state of the apartment. He placed Clara on one of the two only chairs the room afforded, and then fastened the door behind him. "Come, rouse up, mother, and stop your tears, the earthquake will do no further harm. Here is a lady I have brought you to attend upon, and remember you must treat her properly." "Take her away--I want no ladies here!" muttered the old hag, without looking up. "Hark you, mother! I expect to be well paid for my trouble, and you shall have plenty of gold if I return her safe to her friends. My taste is not for such delicate fish as this." "Am I to have plenty of gold?" said the old woman, eagerly. "Yes, yes, then I will do all you require." "That is well," answered Rodrigo. "Treat her kindly, and give her food, if she can eat such as we poor people have; and take care she does not escape, or we shall lose our reward--remember that." "Ay, ay, we are to have gold, are we? then I will take care she does not get away," returned the hag, glancing at her with her baneful eyes. "I have said, no harm shall happen to you, lady, so cease crying," said the bravo, turning to Clara; and, whispering a few words in his mother's ear, he quitted the house, locking the door behind him, and taking away the key. The old woman followed her son's directions, without addressing a word to her prisoner; but, weak and faint as Clara was, she could not, as may be supposed, partake of the fare placed before her. Her witch-like hostess then supported her to a rough couch in a corner of the room, on which, more in a state of fainting than sleeping, she forgot, for a time, the horrors of her situation, though her brain yet retained a confused impression of the terrific sounds and dreadful scenes she had encountered.