Captain Belfield proposed a saunter before tea, to which his sister and myself gladly assented; and it was agreed that we should explore the little paraclete before us, which, in its pure and modest whiteness, seemed, as it were, tranquilly reposing in the mingled moon and twilight. The captain took his stick, a stout shillelagh of some Javanese wood, on the merits of which he afterwards often expatiated; Miss Belfield, bonneted and scarfed; I tendered my arm, like an attentive young man, and followed by a chaprassee and the captain’s black terrier, _Thug_, we commenced our first evening’s ramble. “How delightfully tranquil is your evening hour in India!” said Miss Belfield. “As far as my experience goes, I should almost say it compensates for the fiery sun of the day.” “It is a relief, certainly,” said the captain. “Old Phœbus’ disappearance below the horizon in this country, and the effect produced by it on man and beast, remind me of that which usually followed the exit of my old preceptor from the school-room—a general uproar and rejoicing.” CHAPTER XX. The little church of Bandel is a pleasing, modest structure—its white tower, cross, cloisters, and adjoining priest’s house and garden, creating a pleasing illusion; transporting the spectator in imagination (forgetting he is in India) to the orange groves of Portugal or Madeira. The vesper bell had ceased to sound as we slowly entered the building. The interior was invested with a deepening gloom, but partially broken by the waning light of evening, which, streaming in at the windows, chequered the worn pavement, pencilling, as it were, with its sad and sober ray, the touching but evanescent record of another departing day. Within, all was silence and repose, save when slightly broken by the closing of a door, or the echo of a distant footfall. The altars, with their splendid adornments of the Romish ritual, tapers, crucifixes, &c., sparkled through the “dim, religious light” of the place, whilst here and there a few solitary native Portuguese women, on their knees, met our eyes, absorbed in silent prayer. The scene was solemn and impressive; my light thoughts fled, and a deep sense of the holiness and loveliness of devotion fell upon me. We moved through the body of the church and the adjoining courts and cloisters, pleased with the tranquillity of the spot, before we bent our steps towards the budgerow, whose whereabouts was now plainly indicated by the numerous fires of our servants and boatmen, cooking their evening meal on the banks. “Well, Ann!” said the captain to his sister, as we sauntered along, “what do you think of the old chapel of Bandel?” “I have been greatly pleased with it,” answered Miss Belfield; “with me, you know, ‘Even the faintest relics of a shrine Of any worship wake some thought divine.’