that a fire was rarely lighted there. The only picture was the martyrdom of St. Sebastian; and Norbourne shuddered at the terrible truth, which gave so vivid a representation of torture. The crucifix, on which the Saviour was extended in his last agony, occupied a recess; and, beyond these, not an object caught his attention: all around depicted suffering and gloom.
But Norbourne had little time to dwell on the life of ascetic penance to which, it was obvious, his mother had condemned herself; for she came from the inner apartment. Stern must have been the mental discipline that had so banished all trace of emotion. Her clear olive cheek was pale, and the lip colourless; but so had they been for years. Perhaps the large black eyes had a brightness that had since left their thoughtful depths, but the scarcely checked tears glistened on the eyelids. Her tall figure was drawn up to its utmost; and the long black flowing garments and veil might have suited the abbess of some strict and proud order, who had re-
