Benshee House was sheeted in flames!
This ancient seat was one of those fine old mansions still to be found in the less wild portions of the Scottish Highlands. Though I call it mansion, it really was more of a castle than anything else. It had been the seat of many a lord and laird in by-gone feudal times, and had more than once probably even stood a siege, or at least red-handed war must have raged on its ramparts and around its moats.
The largest portion, however, was unoccupied, a modern-looking wing or two alone being retained as the residence of the Fieldings.
The fire had doubtless broken out here, but by the time Eean and his party reached the mountain brow, this portion was already roofless and gutted, and the flames had full possession of the main block itself.
Flames were issuing from every port and window thereof, and the turrets and towers were but shapes in the centre of gleaming tongues of fire and clouds of rolling smoke. Far over the woods to the westward flew the sparks as thick as the flakes in a snow shower.
The burning of Benshee House will be remembered by many who read these lines, as one of the grandest but most awful sights ever witnessed in the western Highlands.
Eean and his neighbours stood for hours on that bleak hill-top, regardless of the bitter wind that raged around them. Indeed they seemed spell-bound.
Then slowly home through the heather and the forest they returned to their peaceful village by the sea.
* * * * * *
But news of even sadder import spread through the country within the next two or three days.