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.

In the pale light sat the Abbess of St. Hilda. Closely she drew her veil
to hide the teardrops of pity. Near her was the Prioress of Tynemouth,
proud and haughty, yet white with awe. Next was the aged Abbot of St.
Cuthbert, or, as he was called, the "Saint of Lindisfarne." Before them,
under sentence, stood the guilty pair. One was a maiden who, disguised
in the dress of a page, had been taken from Marmion's train. The cloak
and hood could not conceal or mar her beauty. On the breast of her