the severe and mortified maids of heaven, he now beheld gathered round the upper table, used of yore by the abbess, a strange, disorderly, ruffian herd, who at first glance seemed indeed of all ranks, for some wore serge, or even rags, others were tricked out in all the bravery of satin and velvet, plume and mantle.  But a second glance sufficed to indicate that the companions were much of the same degree, and that the finery of the more showy was but the spoil rent from unguarded palaces or tenantless bazaars; for under plumed hats, looped with jewels, were grim, unwashed, unshaven faces, over which hung the long locks which the professed brethren of the sharp knife and hireling arm had just begun to assume, serving them often instead of a mask.  Amidst these savage revellers were many women, young and middle-aged, foul and fair, and Adrian piously shuddered to see amongst the loose robes and uncovered necks of the professional harlots the saintly habit and beaded rosary of nuns.  Flasks of wine, ample viands, gold and silver vessels, mostly consecrated to holy rites, strewed the board.  As the young Roman paused spellbound at the threshold, the man who acted as president of the revel, a huge, swarthy ruffian, with a deep scar over his face, which, traversing the whole of the left cheek and upper lip, gave his large features an aspect preternaturally hideous, called out to him—­

“Come in, man—­come in!  Why stand you there amazed and dumb?  We are hospitable revellers, and give all men welcome.  Here are wine and women.  My Lord Bishop’s wine and my Lady Abbess’s women!

“Sing hey, sing ho, for the royal death, That scatters a host with a single breath; That opens the prison to spoil the palace, And rids honest necks from the hangman’s malice.  Here’s a health to the Plague!  Let the mighty ones dread, The poor never lived till the wealthy were dead.  A health to the Plague!  May She ever as now Loose the rogue from his chain and the nun from her vow:  To the gaoler a sword, to the captive a key, Hurrah for Earth’s Curse—­’tis a Blessing to me!”

Ere this fearful stave was concluded, Adrian, sensible that in such orgies there was no chance of prosecuting his inquiries, left the desecrated chamber and fled, scarcely drawing breath, so great was the terror that seized him, till he stood once more in the court amidst the hot, sickly, stagnant sunlight, that seemed a fit atmosphere for the scenes on which it fell.  He resolved, however, not to desert the place without making another effort at inquiry; and while he stood without the court, musing and doubtful, he saw a small chapel hard by, through whose long casement gleamed faintly, and dimmed by the noon-day, the light of tapers.  He turned towards its porch, entered, and saw beside the sanctuary a single nun kneeling in prayer.  In the narrow aisle, upon a long table, (at either end of which burned the tall dismal tapers whose rays had attracted him,) the drapery of several shrouds showed him the half-distinct outline of human figures hushed in death.  Adrian himself, impressed by the sadness and sanctity of the place, and the touching sight of that solitary and unselfish watcher of the dead, knelt down and intensely prayed.