ats in the broad chimney, had at some forgotten
date been part of the church or convent; for the oak, hastily
appropriated to its present purpose, had been little altered from its
former shape, and presented to the eye a pile of fragments of rich
carving from old monkish stalls.

An open door leading to a small room or cell, dim with the light that
came through leaves of ivy, completed the interior of this portion of
the ruin. It was not quite destitute of furniture. A few strange
chairs, whose arms and legs looked as though they had dwindled away
with age; a table, the very spectre of its race: a great old chest that
had once held records in the church, with other quaintly-fashioned
domestic necessaries, and store of fire-wood for the winter, were
scattered around, and gave evident tokens of its occupation as a
dwelling-place at no very distant time.

The child looked around her, with that solemn feeling with which we
contemplate the work of ages that have become but drops of water in the
great ocean of eternity. The old man had followed them, but they were
all three hushed for a space, and drew their breath softly, as if they
feared to break the silence even by so slight a sound.

'It is a very beautiful place!' said the child, in a low voice.

'I almost feared you thought otherwise,' returned the schoolmaster.
'You shivered when we first came in, as if you felt it cold or gloomy.'

'It was not that,' said Nell, glancing round with a slight shudder.
'Indeed I cannot tell you what it was, but when I saw the outside, from
the church porch, the same feeling came over me. It is its being so
old and grey perhaps.'

'A peaceful place to live in, don't you think so?' said her friend.

'Oh yes,' rejoined the child, clasping her hands earnestly. 'A quiet,
happy place--a place to live and learn to die in!' She would have said
more, but that the energy of her thoughts caused her voice to falter,
and come in trembling whispers from her lips.

'A place to live, and learn to live, and gather health of mind and body
in,' said the schoolmaster; 'for this old house is yours.'

'Ours!' cried the child.

'Ay,' returned the schoolmaster gaily, 'for many a merry year to come,
I hope. I shall be a close neighbour--only next door--but this house
is yours.'

Having now disburdened himself of his great surprise, the schoolmaster
sat down, and drawing Nell to his side, told her how he had learnt that
ancient tenement had b