son, had been
especially attentive to the maintenance of this custom, as something
intimately connected with the dignity of their family; and in the hands
of Sir Geoffrey, the observance was not likely to be omitted.

Accordingly, the polar-star of Peveril had continued to beam more
or less brightly during all the vicissitudes of the Civil War; and
glimmered, however faintly, during the subsequent period of Sir
Geoffrey's depression. But he was often heard to say, and sometimes to
swear, that while there was a perch of woodland left to the estate, the
old beacon-grate should not lack replenishing. All this his son Julian
well knew; and therefore it was with no ordinary feelings of surprise
and anxiety, that, looking in the direction of the Castle, he perceived
that the light was not visible. He halted--rubbed his eyes--shifted
his position--and endeavoured, in vain, to persuade himself that he had
mistaken the point from which the polar-star of his house was visible,
or that some newly intervening obstacle, the growth of a plantation,
perhaps, or the erection of some building, intercepted the light of the
beacon. But a moment's reflection assured him, that from the high
and free situation which Martindale Castle bore in reference to the
surrounding country, this could not have taken place; and the inference
necessarily forced itself upon his mind, that Sir Geoffrey, his father,
was either deceased, or that the family must have been disturbed by some
strange calamity, under the pressure of which, their wonted custom and
solemn usage had been neglected.

Under the influence of undefinable apprehension, young Peveril now
struck the spurs into his jaded steed, and forcing him down the broken
and steep path, at a pace which set safety at defiance, he arrived at
the village of Martindale-Moultrassie, eagerly desirous to ascertain the
cause of this ominous eclipse. The street, through which his tired horse
paced slow and reluctantly, was now deserted and empty; and scarcely a
candle twinkled from a casement, except from the latticed window of the
little inn, called the Peveril Arms, from which a broad light shone, and
several voices were heard in rude festivity.

Before the door of this inn, the jaded palfrey, guided by the instinct
or experience which makes a hackney well acquainted with the outside of
a house of entertainment, made so sudden and determined a pause, that,
notwithstanding his haste, the rider thought it bes