"I will wait until it fades," he thought, by way of honouring his scorn for the past.
Presently and quickly the red glow faded from the tower.
"Now," he cried, "the sun is set, and no witchcraft can rekindle that glow for four-and-twenty——What! The light again! Am I mad already?"
Once more, beyond all doubt, the blood-red glare burnt on the summit of the Tower of Silence.
Grey turned quickly round, and looked in surprise and horror west. He shaded his eyes with his hands. He rushed forward a few paces, shaded his eyes again and looked. He swung himself into the branches of a tree, climbed up, and having reached the highest branches that would sustain his weight, glared into the west, into the track of crimson fire that shot the red shaft at the Tower.
Then he descended heavily, drowsily, as though half asleep.
When on the ground he threw himself on his face, and muttered in a thick voice:
"What is this? What is this? I have not been thinking murder, have I? I have not been thinking wife-murder? Have I? No, no, no, Grey! Not so bad as that."
Then a sudden change passed over him. He became inspired with superhuman energy and strength. He sprang to his feet, and winding his arms wildly about his head rushed towards the Castle, shouting:
"Help! help!"