The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

PEVERIL OF THE PEAK. 491
to bait his horse at a small hamlet through which he passed at noon, it was
nightfall ere he reached an eminence, from which, an hour sooner, the
battlements of Martindale Castle would have been visible; and where, when
they were~ hid in night, their situation was indicated by a light constantly
maintained in a lofty tower, called the Warder's Turret; and which domestic
beacon had acquired, through all the neighbourhood, the name of Peveril's
Pole-star.
This was regularly kindled at curfew toll, and supplied with as much
wood and charcoal as maintained the light till'sunrise; and at no period
was the ceremonial omitted, saving during the space intervening between
the death of a Lord of the Castle and his interment. When this last event
had taken place, the nightly beacon was rekindled with some ceremony,
and continued till fate called the successor to sleep with his fathers. It is
not known from what circumstance the practice of maintaining this light
originally sprung. Tradition spoke of it doubtfully. Some thought it was
the signal of general hospitality, which, in ancient times, guided the wandering knight, or the weary pilgrim, to rest and refreshment. Others spoke
of it as a "love-lighted watchfire," by which the provident anxiety of a
former lady of Martindale guided her husband homeward through the
terrors of a midnight storm. The less favyourable construction of unfriendly
neighbours of the dissenting persuasion, ascribed the origin and continuance
of this practice, to the assuming pride of the family of Peveril, who thereby
chose to intimate their ancient szzeraintef over the whole country, in the
manner of the admiral, who carries the lantern in. the poop, for the guidance
of the fleet. And in the former timnes, our old friend, Master Solsgrace,
dealt from the pulpit many a hard hit against Sir Geoffrey, as he that had
raised his horn, and set up his candlestick on high. Certain it is, that all
the Peverils, from father to 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 a11 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. lHe haltedrubbed his eyes-shifted his position-and endeavoured, in vain, to persuade
himself that he had mistaken the point fromt 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 Mlartindcale-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