tered
by rivers and brooks of singular beauty, and fringed by fair woods in
places; and, eastward, the hills rise into mountains, and amongst them
towers Cairnhope, striped with silver rills, and violet in the setting
sun.

Cairnhope is a forked mountain, with a bosom of purple heather and a
craggy head. Between its forks stood, at the period of my story, a great
curiosity; which merits description on its own account, and also as the
scene of curious incidents to come.

It was a deserted church. The walls were pierced with arrow-slits,
through which the original worshipers had sent many a deadly shaft in
defense of their women and cattle, collected within the sacred edifice
at the first news of marauders coming.

Built up among the heathery hills in times of war and trouble, it had
outlived its uses. Its people had long ago gone down into the fruitful
valley, and raised another church in their midst, and left this old
house of God alone, and silent as the tombs of their forefathers that
lay around it.

It was no ruin, though on the road to decay. One of the side walls was
much lower than the other, and the roof had two great waves, and was
heavily clothed, in natural patterns, with velvet moss, and sprinkled
all over with bright amber lichen: a few tiles had slipped off in two
places, and showed the rafters brown with time and weather: but the
structure was solid and sound; the fallen tiles lay undisturbed beneath
the eaves; not a brick, not a beam, not a gravestone had been stolen,
not even to build the new church: of the diamond panes full half
remained; the stone font was still in its place, with its Gothic cover,
richly carved; and four brasses reposed in the chancel, one of them
loose in its bed.

What had caused the church to be deserted had kept it from being
desecrated; it was clean out of the way. No gypsy, nor vagrant, ever
slept there, and even the boys of the village kept their distance.
Nothing would have pleased them better than to break the sacred windows
time had spared, and defile the graves of their forefathers with
pitch-farthing and other arts; but it was three miles off, and there was
a lion in the way: they must pass in sight of Squire Raby's house; and,
whenever they had tried it, he and his groom had followed them on
swift horses that could jump as well as gallop, had caught them in the
churchyard, and lashed them heartily; and the same night notice to quit
had been given to their parents,