nderly trimmed with gold. A little shrine of purple spar, with a
crystal front, contained a fragment of sacred bone; a silver shell help
holy water, perpetuated from some blessed by Bishop Ridley.

             'With velvet bound and broidered o'er,
                      Her breviary book'

Lay open at 'Sext,' and there, too, lay with its three marks at the
Daily Lessons, the Bishop's Bible, and the Common Prayer beside it.

The elder Baron de Ribaumont had never pardoned Cecily his single glance
at that table, and had seriously remonstrated with his father-in-law
for permitting its existence, quoting Rachel, Achan, and Maachah. Yet
he never knew of the hair-cloth smock, the discipline, the cord and
sack-cloth that lay stored in the large carved awmry, and were secretly
in use on every fast or vigil, not with any notion of merit, but of
simple obedience, and with even deeper comprehension and enjoyment of
their spiritual significance, of which, in her cloister life, she had
comprehended little.

It was not she, however, who knelt with bowed head and clasped hands
before the altar-table, the winter sunbeams making the shadows of
the ivy sprays dance upon the deep mourning dress and pale cheek. The
eyelashes were heavy with tear-drops, and veiled eyes that had not yet
attained to the region of calm, like the light quivering of the lips
showed that here was the beginning of the course of trial through which
serenity might be won, and for ever.

By and by the latch was raise, and Cecily came forward. Lucy rose
quickly to her feet, and while giving and returning a fond embrace,
asked with her eyes the question that Cecily answered, 'Still in the
same lethargy. The only shade of sense that I have seen is an unclosing
of the eyes, a wistful look whenever the door opened, and a shiver
through all his frame whenever the great bell rings, till my Lord
forbade it to be sounded.'

'That frightful bell that the men told us of,' said Lucy, shuddering;
'oh, what a heart that murderess must have had!'

'Hold, Lucy! How should we