Now and again the moon peered out between the racing, wind-driven clouds, clearly limning the bold, black curve of the hill against a background of lowering sky.
Jean and Blaise were riding abreast, a little in advance of the rest, engrossed by the difficulties of carrying on an animated conversation in a high wind. As they swung round the bend in the road which brought the hill’s great shoulder into view, Jean threw back her head and stared at the sky above it with a puzzled frown on her face.
“Why... how queer!” she ejaculated. “The sun set nearly half an hour ago and yet there’s still quite a brilliant red glow in the sky. Look, Blaise—just above where Beirnfels stands.”
Blaise glanced up casually in the direction indicated, then suddenly reigned in his horse and half-rose in the stirrups, staring at the red glow deepening in the sky ahead.
“That’s no sunset!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s—Great heavens, Jean! Beirnfels is on fire!”
Even as he spoke a tongue of flame, mocking the dull glow with its gleaming blaze, shot up like a thin red knife into the sky and sank again.
A shout came from behind. The others had seen it, also, and recognised its deadly import. The next moment the clatter of galloping hoofs echoed along the road as the whole party urged their horses on towards home as fast as they could cover the ground.
Soon they struck off from the road, taking a bridle-path which slanted through the woods clothing the base of the hill, and as they emerged on to the broad plateau where Beirnfels had stood sentinel through wind and weather for so many years, the whole extent of the catastrophe was revealed.
By this time the angry glow in the sky had turned dusk into day, while from the doors and windows of the castle fire vomited forth as from a furnace—upward in long, sinuous tongues of flame, licking the blackened walls, downward in spangled showers of sparks that drifted towards the earth like flights of golden butterflies.
Little groups of men and women, helpless as ants to stay the fire, rushed futilely hither and thither with hosepipe and engine, while on the smooth sward which fronted the castle lay piled enormous quantities of household stuff a medley of fine old furniture, torn tapestry wrenched from its place against the walls, pictures, mirrors—anything and everything that could be dragged out into the open by eager hands and willing arms.