CHAPTER III.


The sweet-tongued convent bell had rung the Angelas, and all within
the cloistered courts was hushed, save the low monologue of the
fountain whose minor murmuring made solemn accord with the sacred
harmonious repose of its surroundings. The sun shone hot and blinding
upon the towering mass of brick and slate, which, originally designed
in the form of a parallelogram, had from numerous modern additions
projected here, and curved into a new chapel yonder, until the
acquisitive building had become eminently composite in its present
style of architecture. The belfry, once in the centre, had been left
behind in the onward march of the walls, but it lifted unconquerably
in mid-air its tall gilt cross, untarnished by time, though ambitious
ivy had steadily mounted the buttresses, and partially draped the
Gothic arches, where blue sky once shone freely through.

The court upon which the ancient monastery opened was laid out in the
stiff geometric style, which universally prevailed when its trim
hedges of box were first planted, and giant rosebushes, stately
lilacs, and snowballs attested the careful training and attention
which many years had bestowed. In the centre of this court, and
surrounded by a wide border of luxuriant lilies, was a triangular
pedestal of granite, now green with moss, and spotted with silver
grey lichen groups, upon which stood a statue of St. Francis, bearing
the stigmata, and wearing the hood drawn over his head, while the
tunic was opened to display the wound in his side, and the skull and