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206 hear of his coming, and perhaps prepare, however fruitlessly to oppose it. As he rode up the hill, he saw lights gleaming from the convent, and a sound of music floated upon the air. To his great surprise, the gates were all unbarred. Not a creature was visible: all were evidently assembled in the chapel, whence issued both the light and music. The doors of the chapel were unfastened, though closed. In they went; but even Sir John and his reckless soldiers paused a moment on the threshold, and two or three even doffed their steel caps. Chanting—though, it must be owned, some of them rather tremulously—their choral hymn, the nuns, closely veiled, knelt on each side,—but for their sweet voices, like figures carved, rather than life. The prioress alone was unveiled, and standing on the steps of the altar, which, added to her long flowing garments, gave her the appearance of almost preternatural height. In one hand, even as her forefathers had grasped the sword, not less boldly did she hold a torch; in the other, even as they had held their shield, she held the cross. For a moment even Sir John Arundel quailed before the dark eye that