Mr. M. remained for a considerable time lost in thought; then throwing the bridle over his horse’s neck, folded his arms, and suffered it to take its own course: it was the same animal which had so often carried him to Inismore. When he had determined on following his father to the Lodge he had ordered a fresh horse; that which the groom led out was the same which Mr. M. had left behind him, and which, by becoming the companion of his singular adventure, had obtained a peculiar interest in his affections. When he had passed the avenue of the Lodge, the animal instinctively took to that path he had been accustomed to go; his instinct was too favourable to the secret wishes of the heart of his unhappy master; he smiled sadly, and suffered him to proceed. The evening was far advanced the sun had sunk in the horizon, as from an eminence he perceived the castle of Inismore. His heart throbbed with violence--a thousand hopes, a thousand wishes, a thousand fears agitated his breast: he dared not for a moment listen to the suggestions of either. Lost in the musings of his heart and imagination, he was already within a mile of Inismore. The world now disappeared--he descended rapidly to a wild and trackless shore, screened from the high road by a range of inaccessible cliffs. Twilight faintly lingered on the summit of the mountains only: the tide was out; and, crossing the strand, he found himself beneath those stupendous cliffs which shelter the western part of the peninsula of Inismore from the ocean. The violence of the waves had worn several defiles through the rocks, which commanded a near view of the _ruined castle_: it was involved in gloom and silence--all was dark, still, and solemn!--No lights issued from the windows--no noise cheered at intervals the silence of desolation.