It was a bright moonlight night, and the reverend pile looked so beautiful, that, under any other frame of mind, Leonard must, have been struck with admiration.  The ravages of time could not now be discerned, and the architectural incongruities which, seen in the broad glare of day, would have offended the eye of taste, were lost in the general grand effect.  On the left ran the magnificent pointed windows of the choir, divided by massive buttresses,—­the latter ornamented with crocketed pinnacles.  On the right, the building had been new-faced, and its original character, in a great measure, destroyed by the tasteless manner in which the repairs had been executed.  On this side, the lower windows were round-headed and separated by broad pilasters, while above them ran a range of small circular windows.  At the western angle was seen one of the towers (since imitated by Wren), which flanked this side of the fane, together with a part of the portico erected, about twenty-five years previously, by Inigo Jones, and which, though beautiful in itself, was totally out of character with the edifice, and, in fact, a blemish to it.

Insensible alike to the beauties or defects of the majestic building, and regarding it only as the prison of his mistress, Leonard Holt scanned it carefully on either side.  But his scrutiny was attended with no favourable result.

Before resorting to force to obtain admission, he determined to make the complete circuit of the structure, and with this view he shaped his course towards the east.

He found two small doors on the left of the northern transept, but both were fastened, and the low pointed windows beneath the choir, lighting the subterranean church of Saint Faith’s, were all barred.  Running on, he presently came to a flight of stone steps at the north-east corner of the choir, leading to a portal opening upon a small chapel dedicated to Saint George.  But this was secured like the others, and, thinking it vain to waste time in trying to force it, he pursued his course.

Skirting the eastern extremity of the fane—­then the most beautiful part of the structure, from its magnificent rose window—­he speeded past the low windows which opened on this side, as on the other upon Saint Faith’s, and did not pause till he came to the great southern portal, the pillars and arch of which differed but slightly in character from those of the northern entrance.

Here he knocked as before, and was answered, as on the former occasion, by sullen echoes from within.  When these sounds died away, he placed his ear to the huge key-hole in the wicket, but could not even catch the fall of a footstep.  Neither could he perceive any light, except that afforded by the moonbeams, which flooded the transept with radiance.

Again hurrying on, he passed the cloister-walls surrounding the Convocation House; tried another door between that building and the church of Saint Gregory, a small fane attached to the larger structure; and failing in opening it, turned the corner and approached the portico,—­the principal entrance to the cathedral being then, as now, on the west.