It was oblong in form: the walls were not far from fifteen feet in height: its roof—its most wonderful part—being a massive arch, formed of large blocks of stone hewn to the required form for the purpose.
Its broad doorway was an open arch toward the south, and on the sides were six arched openings for windows, with the brazen frames and leaden mullions of the casements intact; but there were no panes—no signs of glass to be seen.
How many years the structure had stood there none could tell. Tradition told that a fraternity of Franciscans—gray friars—had once occupied a monastery near where the castle now stood; and that they had erected this chapel as an offering to St. Francis, whose effigy, in stone, had stood near the altar, while they had occupied it.
How many years it had stood there, none could tell; yet its wall, and its wonderful roof, were as tight, as impervious to water, as ever. At the open windows, and at the deep arch of the vestibule, the storm could find entrance; but nowhere else.
Our three adventurers entered the chapel and looked around. The altar, at the end opposite the entrance, was a single stone set against the rear wall.
It was four feet high by about five feet wide, and three feet deep from front to rear. In a far corner at the other end, toward the door, were a dozen or more square blocks of stone that had evidently been intended for seats.
In those old times, and amongst those old friars, it was not deemed necessary that a worshiper should sit while holding communion with Jehovah; and seats, as a general thing, were not provided.
These few granite blocks might have been designed for the sick, lame, or aged, who could not stand. As they left the chapel Percy looked at his watch, a reliable time-piece his father had brought to him from France, and found it to be almost three o’clock.
“Shall we have time to go to the top of the crag?” he asked, with a shade of anxiety on his face.
“Oh, yes! yes! We shall have plenty of time—four hours, at least.”