of the setting rays; and, soon after,
the horns being then silent, she heard the faint swell of choral voices
from a distance.

'What voices are those, upon the air?' said the Count, looking
round, and listening; but the strain had ceased. 'It seemed to be a
vesper-hymn, which I have often heard in my convent,' said Blanche.

'We are near the monastery, then,' observed the Count; and, the boat
soon after doubling a lofty head-land, the monastery of St. Claire
appeared, seated near the margin of the sea, where the cliffs, suddenly
sinking, formed a low shore within a small bay, almost encircled with
woods, among which partial features of the edifice were seen;--the great
gate and gothic window of the hall, the cloisters and the side of a
chapel more remote; while a venerable arch, which had once led to a part
of the fabric, now demolished, stood a majestic ruin detached from the
main building, beyond which appeared a grand perspective of the woods.
On the grey walls, the moss had fastened, and, round the pointed windows
of the chapel, the ivy and the briony hung in many a fantastic wreath.

All without was silent and forsaken; but, while Blanche gazed with
admiration on this venerable pile, whose effect was heightened by the
strong lights and shadows thrown athwart it by a cloudy sun-set, a sound
of many voices, slowly chanting, arose from within. The Count bade his
men rest on their oars. The monks were singing the hymn of vespers, and
some female voices mingled with the strain, which rose by soft degrees,
till the high organ and the choral sounds swelled into full and solemn
harmony. The strain, soon after, dropped into sudden silence, and was
renewed in a low and still more solemn key, till, at length, the holy
chorus died away, and was heard no more.--Blanche sighed, tears trembled
in her eyes, and her thoughts seemed wafted with the sounds to heaven.
While a rapt stillness prevailed in the boat, a train of friars, and
then of nuns, veiled in white, issued from the cloisters, and passed,
under the shade of the woods, to the main body of the edifice.

The Countess was the first of her party to awaken from this pause of
silence.

'These dismal hymns and friars make one quite melancholy,' said she;
'twilight is coming on; pray let us return, or it will be dark before we
get home.'

The count, looking up, now perceived, that the twilight of evening
was anticipated by an approaching storm. In the east a tempest was