In certain places, where the
stout old walls still stood, repairs had been made at some former time.
Roofs of red tile had been laid roughly over four of the ancient cells;
wooden doors had been added; and the old monastic chambers had been
used as sheds to hold the multifarious lumber of St. Crux. No padlocks
guarded any of the doors. Magdalen had only to push them to let the
daylight in on the litter inside. She resolved to investigate the sheds
one after the other--not from curiosity, not with the idea of making
discoveries of any sort. Her only object was to fill up the vacant time,
and to keep the thoughts that unnerved her from returning to her mind.
The first shed she opened contained the gardener's utensils, large and
small. The second was littered with fragments of broken furniture,
empty picture-frames of worm-eaten wood, shattered vases, boxes without
covers, and books torn from their bindings. As Magdalen turned to leave
the shed, after one careless glance round her at the lumber that it
contained, her foot struck something on the ground which tinkled against
a fragment of china lying near it. She stooped, and discovered that the
tinkling substance was a rusty key.
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