We all reached the number 847 almost at the same second, when we stopped
the coach, and sure enough, there by the roadside, on a small rocky
hillock surrounded by a bleak moor, was the shrine. Even from the road we
could see the fragment of a cross projecting above the one piece of wall
left standing. One would hardly have taken it to be a shrine unless the
fact had been suggested, but with the thought in mind, the fragmentary
cross was convincing evidence. Had its sacred quality been suspected
during the time of Cromwell, not one stone would have been left upon
another, but no one knew that it was the Virgin's shrine, therefore it
was not disturbed, but stood there, black on a field of luminous white.
We all saw it at the same moment. I was content to view it from the
coach, but George went to examine it, and returned, saying:--
"It is a shrine. Part of the cross still remains surmounting a fragment
of a wall."
He climbed into the coach and was about to give the word to start again,
when Betty spoke up, hesitatingly, pleadingly but emphatically:--
"Please wait a moment. I want to see it."
I followed Betty when she got out of the coach, and, as we approached the
shrine, she exclaimed: "Doctor Lilly was right! There is no snow on the
shrine. The Virgin protects it. There must be a relic beneath the
stones!"
We climbed a little hillock and after standing before the shrine for a
moment, Betty said, "Please return to the coach and leave me alone.
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