The journey was made without alarm or danger. On the evening of the first day they found themselves at the bottom of the Langarda pass, with the great fertile plain of Sparta spread out before them, now green, now gray, as the wind ruffled the groves of olive-trees. A mile beyond the bottom of the pass their way lay close under the walls of the little Turkish town of Mistra, and this they passed by quickly, in case the news of the taking of Kalamata had come and the soldiers were on the lookout for wandering Greeks. But as they skirted along a foot-path below the town Yanni looked back. "It's very odd," he said, "but we have passed nobody going home; and look, there are no lights in any of the houses." "That is queer," said Mitsos; "no, there is not a single light. We'll wait a bit, Yanni." They sat down off the path in the growing dusk, but not a sign came from the town; no lights appeared in the windows, it seemed perfectly deserted, and by degrees their curiosity made a convert of their caution. "We will go very quietly and have a look at the gate," said Yanni. "It will be pleasanter sleeping in a house than in the fields, for it will be cold before morning up here." "That comes of living in a fine house in Tripoli," remarked Mitsos. "Come on, then." The two went very cautiously back to the road which led up to the gate and found it standing wide open. "That ought to be shut at dark," says Mitsos; "we will go a little farther." Still there was no living thing to be seen, no glimmer shone from any house, and soon Mitsos stopped. "Oh, Yanni, I see," he said. "They must have had news of the Kalamata thing, and all have fled. There's not a soul left in the place. Come on, we'll just go to the top of the street." They left the horse for the time in the outer court of a mosque which stood near the gate, and advanced cautiously up the steep, cobbled road. Everywhere the same silence and signs of panic-stricken flight prevailed. Here a silk-covered sofa blocked the doorway of a house; farther on they came upon a couple of embroidered Turkish dresses; a big illuminated Koran lay with leaves flapping in the evening wind on a door-step, and outside the old Byzantine church at the top of the street, which had been turned into a mosque by the Turks, stood two immense silver candlesticks, four feet high, and each holding some twenty tapers. Yanni looked thoughtfully at these for a minute. "It is in my mind," he said, "that I will eat my dinner by the light of fine silver candlesticks. Pick up the other, cousin; I can't carry both. Holy Virgin, how heavy they are!" "Where are we to take them?" asked Mitsos. "To a nice house, where we will have supper," says Yanni. "I saw such a one as I came up. There was a barrel of wine outside it, and my stomach cries for plenty of good wine. Oh, here's a woman's dress. Eh, what a smart woman this must have been!"