"When we cannot get blood we can drink the red wine,
The Sea King sang in his might;
For it maddens the brain, it gives strength to the arm,
And kindles the soul in the fight."
Now he was on the outer side of the door, and he shut it, and then locked it and tossed the key into the snow.
But which way was he to go? He could not make out the locality, but it was evident that the hill rose above him, and he knew that from its summit he could discern the bearings of places, so he resolved to ascend.
It was now about nine at night, an hour when our ancestors generally retired to rest. All Alfgar's desire and hope--O how joyful a hope!--was to see from the hill the bearings of Clifton, and to descend, with all the speed in his power, towards it. He might arrive before they had retired to rest. So he ran eagerly forward. The moon was bright, and the snow reflected so much light that locomotion was easy.
And now he became conscious that there was a strange gleam along the snow on his left hand--a strange red gleam, which grew stronger and stronger as he advanced. It seemed above and below-- to redden the skies, the frozen treetops with their glittering snow wreaths, and the smooth surface beneath alike.
Redder and redder as he ascended, until he suddenly emerged upon the open hill. Before him were earthworks, which had been thrown up in olden wars, before Englishman or Dane had trodden these coasts. He scrambled into a deep hollow filled with snow, then out again, and up to the summit, when he saw the cause of the illumination.
Before him the whole country to the southeast seemed in flames. Village after village gave forth its baleful light; and even while he gazed the fiery flood burst forth in spots hitherto dark. He stood as one transfixed, until the wind brought with it a strange and fearful cry, as if the exultation of fiends were mingled with the despairing cry of perishing human beings.
He knew whence it came by the red light slowly stealing beyond the next hill, and the fiery tongues of flame which rose heavenward, although the houses were hidden by the ground.
It was from Wallingford, a town three miles below Dorchester. He knew, too, where he was himself; and the one impulse which rushed upon him was to hasten to Clifton, where he trusted he might find Edmund, or, at least, hear of him in this dread emergency. He saw the village lying beneath in the distance, and turned to rush downward, entering the wood in a different direction.
But what sound is that which makes him start and pause?