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The silent passengers cast a melancholy look behind at the

mountains and the landscape, illumined by the moon, and varied by

multitudes of shadows. They discerned villages, houses, cottages;

the palace of Don Roderick, raised above the huts that crowded

the base of the promontory, like a savage prowling in the dark

over his slumbering prey. Lucy beheld it, and shuddered; then

cast a glance beyond the declivity, towards her own little home,

and beheld the top of the fig-tree which towered in the

court-yard; moved at the sight, she buried her face in her hands,

and wept in silence.