The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. Melusine shrugged. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. “I think they do. Open it. Taber and no one comment upon it. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape.
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