Its back was to the road: at its eastern end was a fine arched window like the oriel window of a church.
"That building," said my companion, "is called Pengwern Hall.

It was once a convent of nuns; a little time ago a farm-house, but is now used as a barn, and a place of stowage.

Till lately it belonged to the Mostyn family, but they disposed of it, with the farm on which it stood, together with several other farms, to certain people from Liverpool, who now live yonder," pointing to a house a little way farther on.

I still looked at the edifice.
"You seem to admire the old building," said my companion.
"I was not admiring it," said I; "I was thinking of the difference between its present and former state.

Formerly it was a place devoted to gorgeous idolatry and obscene lust; now it is a quiet old barn in which hay and straw are placed, and broken tumbrels stowed away: surely the hand of God is visible here ?" "It is so, sir," said the man in a respectful tone, "and so it is in another place in this neighbourhood.