ed their progress. By dint of
scrambling, rather than walking, they, however, approached to the
summit, when a light became visible over the hill, growing brighter as
they ascended. It was the castle turret, where Lord Monteagle generally
spent the greater part of the night in study. Whatever might be the
precise nature of his pursuits, they were not supposed to be of the most
reputable sort.

"Wizard spells and rites unholy"

were said to occupy these midnight vigils. Often, as that lonely
watch-tower caught the eye of the benighted peasant, did he cross
himself, and fancy that shadows were flitting to and fro on the
trembling and distant beam.

"There it is," said the hindmost person, who was none other than the
parson of Slaidburn. "That lantern, I think, is unquenchable. Does thy
master never quit yon burning pinnacle?"

"May be," replied the servant, "he careth not to be oft abroad; and who
dare thwart his will? 'Troth he had need be of a tough temper that
should give him speech unquestioned."

"They who hold a higher communion reck but little of this frail and
pitiful dust," returned the clergyman, after a solemn pause. "It is
enough that he hath sent for me. I would fain warn him ere he depart,
else yon walls had not again echoed my footstep."

This confidential domestic spoke not; he was either too much attached to
his master, or implicated with him, to hazard a remark.

The path was now wider and less difficult of access, leading over a
pretty knoll, glittering like lode-stars in the dew, beyond which arose
the huge and cumbrous pile then distinguished as the castle of Hornby.

The barking of some half-dozen hoarse-mouthed dogs announced their
approach. Passing over the drawbridge, they entered the court-yard, from
whence a side postern at that time opened a communication to the
turret-chamber without passing through the main building. A winding
staircase led them directly to the summit. Soft gleams of moonlight came
at intervals through the narrow loopholes, being the only help or
direction whereby to accomplish their ascent. After a tedious gyration,
which more than once made the hindmost party pause to obtain a respite,
the guide opened a low door. It swung heavily aside, disclosing a small
ante-room, destitute of all furniture save a large oaken chest, that
seemed to be the depository, or "ark," as it was usually called, for the
safe keeping of the family archives.

The conductor approaching an o