er welled
through a crevice of the rock, in drops that fell like tears, was decay
manifest. Here the stone, worn by the constant dripping, had, in some
places, given way. In shape, the vault was circular. The integral
between each massive pillar formed a pointed arch. Again, from each
pillar sprang other arches, which, crossed by diagonal, ogive branches,
weaving one into the other, and radiating from the centre, formed those
beautifully intricate combinations upon which the eye of the
architectural enthusiast loves to linger. Within the ring formed by
these triple columns, in which again the pillars had their own web of
arches, was placed an altar of stone, and beside it a crucifix of the
same rude material. Here also stood the sainted image of her who had
filled the prior with holy aspirations, now a shapeless stone. The dim
lamp, that, like a star struggling with the thick gloom of a wintry
cell, had shed its slender radiance over the brow of the Virgin Thecla,
was gone. But around the keystone of the central arches, whence a chain
had once depended, might be traced in ancient characters, half effaced
by time, the inscription:

STA. THECLA ORA PRO NOBIS.

One outlet only was there from the chapel--that which led by winding
steps to the monastery; one only recess--the prior's cell. The former
faced the altar; the latter yawned like the mouth of a tomb at its back.
Altogether it was a dreary place. Dumb were its walls as when they
refused to return the murmured orisons of the anchorite. One uniform sad
coloring prevailed throughout. The gray granite was grown hoar with age,
and had a ghostly look; the columns were ponderous, and projected heavy
shadows. Sorrow and superstition had their tale, and a moral gloom
deepened the darkness of the spot. Despair, which had inspired its
construction, seemed to brood therein. Hope shunned its inexorable
recesses.

Alone, within this dismal sanctuary, with hands outstretched towards the
desecrated image of its tutelar saint, knelt Sybil. All was darkness.
Neither the heavy vapors that surrounded her, nor the shrine before
which she bent, were visible; but, familiar with the dreary spot, she
knew that she had placed herself aright. Her touch had satisfied her
that she bowed before the altar of stone; that her benighted vision was
turned towards the broken image of the saint, though now involved in
gloom the most profound; and with clasped hands and streaming eyes, in
low and