The night overtook us ere we had traversed the moor; there was, however, no haze, to the great joy of my guide, and a corner of the moon partially illumined our steps. Our situation, however, was dreary enough: we were upon the wildest heath of the wildest province of Spain, ignorant of our way, and directing our course we scarcely knew whither, for my guide repeatedly declared to me that he did not believe that such a place as Finisterre existed, or if it did exist, it was some bleak mountain pointed out in a map. When I reflected on the character of this guide, I derived but little comfort or encouragement: he was at best evidently half-witted, and was by his own confession occasionally seized with paroxysms which differed from madness in no essential respect; his wild escapade in the morning of nearly three leagues, without any apparent cause, and lastly his superstitious and frantic fears of meeting the souls of the dead upon this heath, in which event he intended, as he himself said, to desert me and make for the sea, operated rather powerfully upon my nerves. I likewise considered that it was quite possible that we might be in the route neither of Finisterre nor Corcuvion, and I therefore determined to enter the first cabin at which we should arrive, in preference to running the risk of breaking our necks by tumbling down some pit or precipice. No cabin, however, appeared in sight: the moor seemed interminable, and we wandered on until the moon disappeared, and we were left in almost total darkness. At length we arrived at the foot of a steep ascent, up which a rough and broken pathway appeared to lead. “Can this be our way?” said I to the guide. “There appears to be no other for us, captain,” replied the man; “let us ascend it by all means, and when we are at the top, if the sea be in the neighbourhood we shall see it.” I then dismounted, for to ride up such a pass in such darkness would have been madness. We clambered up in a line, first the guide, next the pony, with his nose as usual on his master’s shoulder, of whom he seemed passionately fond, and I bringing up the rear, with my left hand grasping the animal’s tail. We had many a stumble, and more than one fall: once, indeed, we were all rolling down the side of the hill together. In about twenty minutes we reached the summit, and looked around us, but no sea was visible: a black moor, indistinctly seen, seemed to spread on every side. “We shall have to take up our quarters here till morning,” said I. Suddenly my guide seized me by the hand. “There is _lúme_, _senhor_,” said he; “there is _lúme_.” I looked in the direction in which he pointed, and after straining my eyes for some time, imagined that I perceived, far below and at some distance, a faint glow. “That is _lúme_,” shouted the guide, “and it proceeds from the chimney of a _choza_.”