Herbert echoed the cry of his comrade—at the same time imitating his action.
Neither thought of questioning the other. Both had halted under the same impulse. The evil omen had been seen simultaneously by both.
Over the summit of the ridge a yellow light glared, halo-like, against the sky.
“Fire!” exclaimed Cubina. “Just over Mount Welcome! Santa Madre! the mansion is in flames!”
“Oh, heavens!” cried Herbert; “we shall be too late!”
Not another word passed between the two horsemen. Stirred by the same instinct, they renewed their gallop; and silently, side by side, urged their horses up the hill.
In a few minutes they had attained the summit of the ridge, whence they could command a full view of the valley of Mount Welcome.
The mansion was in flames.
There was no further utterance of surprise: that was past. It was scarce a conjecture which Cubina had pronounced, on seeing that glare against the sky, but a conviction; and the crackling sounds which had assailed their ears, as they were riding upward to the crest of the ridge, had fully confirmed the event before their eyes looked on the fire itself.
There was no more a mansion of Mount Welcome. In its place a blazing pile—a broad sheet of flame, rising in gigantic jets to the sky, crowned with huge sparks and murky smoke, and accompanied by a continuous roaring and crackling of timbers, as if fiends were firing a feu-de-joie in the celebration of some terrible holocaust.