And ever since , the victim 's death-shrieks were often heard to echo between the cliffs . `` And see ! '' cried old Gascoigne , `` is the stream yet pure from the stain of the murderer 's hands ? '' `` Methinks it has a tinge of blood , '' faintly answered the Lily ; and being as slight as the gossamer , she trembled and clung to her lover 's arm , whispering , `` let us flee from this dreadful vale ! '' `` Come , then , '' said Adam Forrester , as cheerily as he could ; `` we shall soon find a happier spot . '' They set forth again , young Pilgrims on that quest which millions -- which every child of Earth -- has tried in turn . And were the Lily and her lover to be more fortunate than all those millions ? For a long time , it seemed not so . The dismal shape of the old lunatic still glided behind them ; and for every spot that looked lovely in their eyes , he had some legend of human wrong or suffering , so miserably sad , that his auditors could never afterwards connect the idea of joy with the place where it had happened . Here , a heart-broken woman , kneeling to her child , had been spurned from his feet ; here , a desolate old creature had prayed to the Evil One , and had received a fiendish malignity of soul , in answer to her prayer ; here , a new-born infant , sweet blossom of life , had been found dead , with the impress of its mother 's fingers round its throat ; and here , under a shattered oak , two lovers had been stricken by lightning , and fell blackened corpses in each other 's arms . The dreary Gascoigne had a gift to know whatever evil and lamentable thing had stained the bosom of Mother Earth ; and when his funereal voice had told the tale , it appeared like a prophecy of future woe , as well as a tradition of the past . And now , by their sad demeanor , you would have fancied that the pilgrim lovers were seeking , not a temple of earthly joy , but a tomb for themselves and their posterity . `` Where in this world , '' exclaimed Adam Forrester , despondingly , `` shall we build our Temple of Happiness ? '' `` Where in this world , indeed ! '' repeated Lilias Fay ; and being faint and weary , the more so by the heaviness of her heart , the Lily drooped her head and sat down on the summit of a knoll , repeating , `` Where in this world shall we build our Temple ? '' `` Ah ! have you already asked yourselves that question ? '' said their companion , his shaded features growing even gloomier with the smile that dwelt on them ; `` yet there is a place , even in this world , where ye may build it . '' While the old man spoke , Adam Forrester and Lilias had carelessly thrown their eyes around , and perceived that the spot where they had chanced to pause possessed a quiet charm , which was well enough adapted to their present mood of mind . It was a small rise of ground , with a certain regularity of shape , that had perhaps been bestowed by art ; and a group of trees , which almost surrounded it , threw their pensive shadows across and far beyond , although some softened glory of the sunshine found its way there .
The ancestral mansion , wherein the lovers would dwell together , appeared XXXXX one side , and the ivied church , where they were to worship , on another .
While across as by for like of on since with