The Mysteries of Udolpho

As they went on, the heights contracted, and formed a narrow pass, at

the bottom of which, the torrent they had just crossed, was heard to

thunder. But they were again cheered by the bark of a dog, keeping

watch, perhaps, over the flocks of the mountains, to protect them

from the nightly descent of the wolves. The sound was much nearer than

before, and, while they rejoiced in the hope of soon reaching a place

of repose, a light was seen to glimmer at a distance. It appeared at a

height considerably above the level of their path, and was lost and seen

again, as if the waving branches of trees sometimes excluded and then

admitted its rays.

The guides hallooed with all their strength, but the

sound of no human voice was heard in return, and, at length, as a more

effectual means of making themselves known, they fired a pistol. But,

while they listened in anxious expectation, the noise of the explosion

was alone heard, echoing among the rocks, and it gradually sunk into

silence, which no friendly hint of man disturbed. The light, however,

that had been seen before, now became plainer, and, soon after, voices

were heard indistinctly on the wind; but, upon the guides repeating the

call, the voices suddenly ceased, and the light disappeared.

The Lady Blanche was now almost sinking beneath the pressure of anxiety,

fatigue and apprehension, and the united efforts of the Count and St.

Foix could scarcely support her spirits. As they continued to advance,

an object was perceived on a point of rock above, which, the strong rays

of the moon then falling on it, appeared to be a watch-tower. The Count,

from its situation and some other circumstances, had little doubt, that

it was such, and believing, that the light had proceeded from thence, he

endeavoured to re-animate his daughter's spirits by the near prospect

of shelter and repose, which, however rude the accommodation, a ruined

watch-tower might afford.

'Numerous watch-towers have been erected among the Pyrenees,' said the

Count, anxious only to call Blanche's attention from the subject of her

fears; 'and the method, by which they give intelligence of the approach

of the enemy, is, you know, by fires, kindled on the summits of these

edifices.

Signals have thus, sometimes, been communicated from post to

post, along a frontier line of several hundred miles in length. Then,

as occasion may require, the lurking armies emerge from their fortresses

and the forests, and march forth, to defend, perhaps, the entrance of

some grand pass, where, planting themselves on the heights, they assail

their astonished enemies, who wind along the glen below, with fragments

of the shattered cliff, and pour death and defeat upon them. The ancient

forts, and watch-towers, overlooking the grand passes of the Pyrenees,

are carefully preserved; but some of those in inferior stations have

been suffered to fall into decay, and are now frequently converted into

the more peaceful habitation of the hunter, or the shepherd, who, after

a day of toil, retires hither, and, with his faithful dogs, forgets,

near a cheerful blaze, the labour of the chace, or the anxiety of

collecting his wandering flocks, while he is sheltered from the nightly

storm.'