d foot.

As the galley flew to the port, higher and higher, the castle and its
battled towers rose to view, a huge, solemn, dark-red pile. In Saxon
strength the massive arches broad and round, row on row, supported by
short, ponderous columns, frowned upon the approaching visitor. It stood
at the very water's edge, and had been built long before the birth of
Gothic architecture. On its walls the tempestuous sea and heathen Dane
alike had vainly poured their impious rage. For more than a thousand
years, wind, wave, and warrior had been held at bay. The deep walls of
the old abbey still stood worn but unsubdued.

As they drew near, the maidens raised St. Hilda's song. Borne on the
wind over the wave, their voices met a response of welcome in the chorus
which arose upon the shore. Soon, bearing banner, cross, and relic,
monks and nuns filed in order from the grim cloister down to the harbor,
echoing back the hymn. Among her maidens, conspicuous in veil and hood,
stood the Abbess, even then engaged in holy devotion.

When the reception at harbor and hall was over, and the evening banquet
ended, the vestal maidens and their visitors, secure from unhallowed
eyes, roamed at will through each holy cloister, aisle, gallery, and
dome. Though it was a summer night, the evening fell damp and chill, the
sea breeze blowing cold, and the pure-minded girls closed around the
blazing hearth, each in turn to paint the glory of her favorite saint.

While, round the fire, legends were rehearsed by the happy group, a very
different scene was taking place in a secret underground aisle, where a
council of life and death was being held. The spot was more dark and
lone than a dungeon cell. Light and air were excluded, as it was a
burial place for those who, dying in sin, might not be laid within the
Church. It was also a place of punishment, whence if a cry pierced the
upper air, the hearer offered a prayer, thinking he heard the moaning of
spirits in torment.

Few save the Abbot knew the place, and fewer still, the devious way by
which it was approached. When taken there, victims and judge were led
blindfold. The walls were rude rocks, the pavement, gravestones sunken
and worn. The noxious vapor, chilled into drops, fell tinkling on the
floor. An antique lamp, hanging from an iron chain, gave a dim light,
which strove with darkness and damp to show the horrors of the scene.
Here the three judges were met to pronounce the sentence of doom.