esire for exploration, he
paused, turned into this obscure track, and incontinently began its
ascent.

For some hundreds of yards it led upward in a sharp incline; and with
its added steepness, the ardor of the explorer warmed. With impetuous
haste he climbed the last dozen yards; when, as the anticipated summit
was reached, he halted in abrupt, dismayed surprise; for with alarming
suddenness the land broke off short, disclosing a deep gap or fissure,
carpeted with heather and surrounded by natural protecting walls of
rock, in the centre of which was set a miniature chapel built of dark
stone.

At sight of the little edifice, he thrilled with adventurous surprise.
There was something mysterious, something almost fine in the sight of
the small temple, with the setting sun gleaming on its solid walls, its
low, massive door and round window of thick stained glass. He leaned out
over the shelving rock, staring down upon it with wide, astonished eyes;
then the natural instinct of the boy overtopped every other feeling.
With a quick-movement of excitement and expectation, he began to descend
into the hollow.

But though he walked round the little building a dozen times, shook the
heavy door and peered ineffectually into the opaque window, nothing
rewarded his curiosity, and after half an hour of diligent endeavor he
was compelled to return home no wiser than when he had first stood on
the summit of the path and looked down into the rocky cleft.

All that evening, however, the thought of his discovery remained with
him. At the eight-o'clock supper of porridge, vegetables, and fruit
which he shared with his uncle, he chafed under the silence of his
companion and at the air of calm indifference that the whitewashed room
with its raftered ceiling seemed to wear; and it was with a sigh of
satisfaction that he rose from table and bade his uncle a formal
good-night.

With the same suggestion of relief, he watched the old man light his
candle and ascend the bare stairs to his own room; then prompted by the
impulse he never neglected, he went into the study to write the daily
letter that made his mother's existence bearable.

He wrote for nearly an hour, omitting no detail of the evening's
discovery. Then, as he closed and sealed the letter, a clock on the
mantel-piece struck ten. The sound had an oddly hollow and chilly effect
in the bare, carpetless room; and unconsciously he raised his head and
glanced about him. His ideas,