gained
the end of the ascent and stood upon the turret top.

Oh! the glory of the sudden burst of light; the freshness of the fields
and woods, stretching away on every side, and meeting the bright blue
sky; the cattle grazing in the pasturage; the smoke, that, coming from
among the trees, seemed to rise upward from the green earth; the
children yet at their gambols down below--all, everything, so beautiful
and happy! It was like passing from death to life; it was drawing
nearer Heaven.

The children were gone, when she emerged into the porch, and locked the
door. As she passed the school-house she could hear the busy hum of
voices. Her friend had begun his labours only on that day. The noise
grew louder, and, looking back, she saw the boys come trooping out and
disperse themselves with merry shouts and play. 'It's a good thing,'
thought the child, 'I am very glad they pass the church.' And then she
stopped, to fancy how the noise would sound inside, and how gently it
would seem to die away upon the ear.

Again that day, yes, twice again, she stole back to the old chapel, and
in her former seat read from the same book, or indulged the same quiet
train of thought. Even when it had grown dusk, and the shadows of
coming night made it more solemn still, the child remained, like one
rooted to the spot, and had no fear or thought of stirring.

They found her there, at last, and took her home. She looked pale but
very happy, until they separated for the night; and then, as the poor
schoolmaster stooped down to kiss her cheek, he thought he felt a tear
upon his face.

CHAPTER 54

The bachelor, among his various occupations, found in the old church a
constant source of interest and amusement. Taking that pride in it
which men conceive for the wonders of their own little world, he had
made its history his study; and many a summer day within its walls, and
many a winter's night beside the parsonage fire, had found the bachelor
still poring over, and adding to, his goodly store of tale and legend.

As he was not one of those rough spirits who would strip fair Truth of
every little shadowy vestment in which time and teeming fancies love to
array her--and some of which become her pleasantly enough, serving,
like the waters of her well, to add new graces to the charms they half
conceal and half suggest, and to awaken interest and pursuit rather
than languor and indifference--as, unlike this stern and obdurate