and the heat had brought back violent inflammation, and
when at last the little village came in sight, my reason was fast yielding
to the torturing agonies of my wound. But the transports with which I
greeted my resting-place were soon destined to a change; for as we drew
near, not a light was to be seen, not a sound to be heard, not even a dog
barked as the heavy mule-cart rattled over the uneven road. No trace of
any living thing was there. The little hamlet lay sleeping in the pale
moonlight, its streets deserted, and its homes tenantless; our own
footsteps alone echoed along the dreary causeway. Here and there, as we
advanced farther, we found some relics of broken furniture and house-gear;
most of the doors lay open, but nothing remained within save bare walls;
the embers still smoked in many places upon the hearth, and showed us that
the flight of the inhabitants had been recent. Yet everything convinced
us that the French had not been there; there was no trace of the reckless
violence and wanton cruelty which marked their footsteps everywhere.

All proved that the desertion had been voluntary; perhaps in compliance
with an order of our commander-in-chief, who frequently desired any
intended line of march of the enemy to be left thus a desert. As we
sauntered slowly on from street to street, half hoping that some one human
being yet remained behind, and casting our eyes from side to side in search
of quarters for the night, Mike suddenly came running up, saying,--

"I have it, sir; I've found it out. There's people living down that small
street there; I saw a light this minute as I passed."

I turned immediately, and accompanied by the mule-driver, followed Mike
across a little open square into a small and narrow street, at the end
of which a light was seen faintly twinkling. We hurried on and in a few
minutes reached a high wall of solid masonry, from a niche of which we now
discovered, to our utter disappointment, the light proceeded. It was a
small lamp placed before a little waxen image of the Virgin, and was
probably the last act of piety of some poor villager ere he left his home
and hearth forever. There it burned, brightly and tranquilly, throwing its
mellow ray upon the cold, deserted stones.

Whatever impatience I might have given way to in a moment of chagrin was
soon repressed, as I saw my two followers, uncovering their heads in silent
reverence, kneel down before the little shrine. There was someth