It has seen sad changes in my time, for I recollect it when good Queen Bess ruled the land.

But come along, young man,--you have something else to think of now." Bestowing a momentary glance upon the matchless choir, with its groined roof, its clerestory windows, its arched openings, its carved stalls, and its gorgeous rose-window, Leonard followed his conductor through a small doorway on the left of the southern transept, and descending a flight of stone steps, entered a dark and extensive vault, for such it seemed.

The feeble light of the lantern fell upon ranks of short heavy pillars, supporting a ponderous arched roof.
"You are now in Saint Faith's," observed the verger, "and above you is the choir of Saint Paul's." Leonard took no notice of the remark, but silently crossing the nave of this beautiful subterranean church (part of which still exists), traversed its northern aisle.

At length the verger stopped before the entrance of a small chapel, once dedicated to Saint John the Baptist, but now devoted to a less sacred purpose.

As they advanced, Leonard observed a pile of dried skulls and bones in one corner, a stone coffin, strips of woollen shrouds, fragments of coffins, mattocks, and spades.
It was evidently half a charnel, half a receptacle for the sexton's tools.
"If you choose to open that door," said the verger, pointing to one at the lower end of the chamber, "you will find him you seek.