“No one is here,” said one of my companions.
“The sun is setting,” added another, looking at the sun, which, although it had not yet set, was hanging low above the hill.
The doors and windows were boarded up for some distance above the ground, but, with the help of my companions, I had hopes of scaling them and peeping into the chapel.
“Don’t!” cried one of my band, suddenly losing his courage and seizing my arm.
“Get away, you old woman!” the oldest of our little army shouted at him, deftly offering me his back.
I jumped bravely upon it; he stood up, and I found myself with my feet on his shoulders. In this position I could easily reach the window-sill with my hand. I made sure of its strength, and then pulled myself up and sat on it.
“Well, what do you see?” the boys asked from below, with lively curiosity.
I was silent. By peering over the sill I could see down into the interior of the chapel, from whence there rose to meet me all the solemn quiet of an abandoned place of worship. The interior of the tall, narrow building was innocent of paint. The evening sunlight was streaming unobstructed through the open windows, staining the peeling walls a brilliant gold. I saw the inside of the closed door, the crumbling gallery, the ancient tottering columns. The distance from the window to the floor appeared much greater than from the window to the grass outside. I seemed to be looking down into a deep abyss, and at first I could not make out what certain strange objects were whose fantastic forms were resting upon the floor.
Meanwhile my friends were growing weary of standing below waiting for me to give them news, and one of them climbed up by the same method that I had employed, and took his seat beside me, holding on to the window frame.
“That’s the altar,” he said, looking down at one of the strange objects on the floor.