On his left hand, the majestic west front of York
Minster soared over the city and caught the last brightest light of
heaven on the summits of its lofty towers. Had this noble prospect
tempted the lost girl to linger and look at it? No; thus far, not a sign
of her. The captain looked round him attentively, and walked on.
He reached the spot where the iron course of the railroad strikes its
way through arches in the old wall. He paused at this place--where
the central activity of a great railway enterprise beats, with all the
pulses of its loud-clanging life, side by side with the dead majesty
of the past, deep under the old historic stones which tell of fortified
York and the sieges of two centuries since--he stood on this spot, and
searched for her again, and searched in vain. Others were looking idly
down at the desolate activity on the wilderness of the iron rails; but
she was not among them. The captain glanced doubtfully at the darkening
sky, and walked on.
He stopped again where the postern of Micklegate still stands, and still
strengthens the city wall as of old. Here the paved walk descends a
few steps, passes through the dark stone guardroom of the ancient gate,
ascends again, and continues its course southward until the walls reach
the river once more.
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