I fulfilled my commission; I saw Karazza.  He was somewhat surprised; he would see, he said, what could be done; but it required time; and Raymond had ordered me to return by noon.  It was impossible to effect any thing in so short a time.  I must stay till the next day; or come back, after having reported the present state of things to the general.  My choice was easily made.  A restlessness, a fear of what was about to betide, a doubt as to Raymond’s purposes, urged me to return without delay to his quarters.  Quitting the Seven Towers, I rode eastward towards the Sweet Waters.  I took a circuitous path, principally for the sake of going to the top of the mount before mentioned, which commanded a view of the city.  I had my glass with me.  The city basked under the noon-day sun, and the venerable walls formed its picturesque boundary.  Immediately before me was the Top Kapou, the gate near which Mahomet had made the breach by which he entered the city.  Trees gigantic and aged grew near; before the gate I discerned a crowd of moving human figures—­with intense curiosity I lifted my glass to my eye.  I saw Lord Raymond on his charger; a small company of officers had gathered about him; and behind was a promiscuous concourse of soldiers and subalterns, their discipline lost, their arms thrown aside; no music sounded, no banners streamed.  The only flag among them was one which Raymond carried; he pointed with it to the gate of the city.  The circle round him fell back.  With angry gestures he leapt from his horse, and seizing a hatchet that hung from his saddle-bow, went with the apparent intention of battering down the opposing gate.  A few men came to aid him; their numbers increased; under their united blows the obstacle was vanquished, gate, portcullis, and fence were demolished; and the wide sun-lit way, leading to the heart of the city, now lay open before them.  The men shrank back; they seemed afraid of what they had already done, and stood as if they expected some Mighty Phantom to stalk in offended majesty from the opening.  Raymond sprung lightly on his horse, grasped the standard, and with words which I could not hear (but his gestures, being their fit accompaniment, were marked by passionate energy,) he seemed to adjure their assistance and companionship; even as he spoke, the crowd receded from him.  Indignation now transported him; his words I guessed were fraught with disdain—­then turning from his coward followers, he addressed himself to enter the city alone.  His very horse seemed to back from the fatal entrance; his dog, his faithful dog, lay moaning and supplicating in his path—­in a moment more, he had plunged the rowels into the sides of the stung animal, who bounded forward, and he, the gateway passed, was galloping up the broad and desart street.