"I war wond'rin' whether lang Dick o' the Syke had kindled a fire to-night, or whether yon lowe on the side of the Causey were frae the new smelting-house."
Paul glanced over the horse's head. A deep glow stood out against the fell. All around was darkness.
"The smelting-house, I should say," said Paul, and jumped to his seat beside Natt.
By one of the lamps that the trap carried, he looked at his watch.
"A quarter past seven. It will be smart driving, but you can give the mare her own time coming back."
Then he took the reins, and in another moment they were gone.
CHAPTER V.
At eight o'clock that night the sky was brilliantly lighted up, and the sound of many voices was borne on the night wind. The red flare came from the Syke; the mill was afire. Showers of sparks and sheets of flame were leaping and streaming into the sky. Men and women were hurrying to and fro, and the women's shrill cries mingled with the men's shouts. At intervals the brightness of the glare faded, and then a column of choking smoke poured out and was borne away on the wind. Dick, the miller, was there, with the scorching heat reddening his wrathful face. John Proudfoot had raised a ladder against the mill, and, hatchet in hand, was going to cut away the cross-trees; but the heat drove him back. The sharp snap of the flames told of timbers being ripped away.
"No use—it's gone," said the blacksmith, dragging the ladder behind him.