THE BAR SINISTER. A Tale. PROLOGUE. TWENTY years ago there stood-nay, there stands still, and will do for many a long year to come-in a certain valley in Gloucestershire, the remains of what was once a noble abbey. It is ten to one that the reader knows it well; knows how much roof is left on the old building, what remnants of windows show through the dense masses of ivy, what traces remain of altar-steps and altar, what inscriptions may yet be found in the more sheltered nooks and corners, how many arches of the ancient crypt are still standing, below, and, above, what turret staircases, powdery with age, lead upwards to the head-quarters of the rooks and daws which wheel and poise themselves, or drift along before the breeze as it sighs through the windows of the roofless choir. VOL. I. 1 |