While thus conversing, they gradually strayed away from the cherry-tree, and taking a winding path leading in that direction, entered the conventual church, about the middle of the south aisle.  After gazing with wonder and delight at the still majestic pillars, that, like ghosts of the departed brethren, seemed to protest against the desolation around them, they took their way along the nave, through broken arches, and over prostrate fragments of stone, to the eastern extremity of the fane, and having admired the light shafts and clerestory windows of the choir, as well as the magnificent painted glass over the altar, they stopped before an arched doorway on the right, with two Gothic niches, in one of which was a small stone statue of Saint Agnes with her lamb, and in the other a similar representation of Saint Margaret, crowned, and piercing the dragon with a cross.  Both were sculptures of much merit, and it was wonderful they had escaped destruction.  The door was closed, but it easily opened when tried by Dorothy, and they found themselves in a small but beautiful chapel.  What struck them chiefly in it was a magnificent monument of white marble, enriched with numerous small shields, painted and gilt, supporting two recumbent figures, representing Henry de Lacy, one of the founders of the Abbey, and his consort.  The knight was cased in plate armour, covered with a surcoat, emblazoned with his arms, and his feet resting upon a hound.  This superb monument was wholly uninjured, the painting and gilding being still fresh and bright.  Behind it a flag had been removed, discovering a flight of steep stone steps, leading to a vault, or other subterranean chamber.

After looking round this chapel, Dorothy remarked, “There is something else that has just occurred to me.  When a child, a strange dark tale was told me, to the effect that the last ill-fated Abbot of Whalley laid his dying curse upon your grandmother, then an infant, predicting that she should be a witch, and the mother of witches.”

“I have heard the dread tradition, too,” rejoined Alizon; “but I cannot, will not, believe it.  An all-benign Power will never sanction such terrible imprecations.”

“Far be it from me to affirm the contrary,” replied Dorothy; “but it is undoubted that some families have been, and are, under the influence of an inevitable fatality.  In one respect, connected also with the same unfortunate prelate, I might instance our own family.  Abbot Paslew is said to be unlucky to us even in his grave.  If such a curse, as I have described, hangs over the head of your family, all your efforts to remove it will be ineffectual.”

“I trust not,” said Alizon.  “Oh! dear young lady, you have now penetrated the secret of my heart.  The mystery of my life is laid open to you.  Disguise it as I may, I cannot but believe my mother to be under some baneful influence.  Her unholy life, her strange actions, all impress me with the idea.  And there is the same tendency in Jennet.”