dim groups
of pilgrims bent on the same errand with themselves. It was not much past
nine o'clock, and the evening would have been still light but for the
drizzle of rain and the low-hanging clouds. As it was, those bound for
the beacon-head had a blind climb up the rocks and the grassy slopes that
led to the top. Helena stumbled once or twice, and Geoffrey caught her.
Thenceforward he scarcely let her go again. She protested at first,
mountaineer that she was; but he took no heed, and presently the warmth
of his strong clasp seemed to hypnotize her. She was silent, and let him
pull her up.

On the top was a motley crowd of farmers, labourers and visitors, with a
Welsh choir from a neighbouring village, singing hymns and patriotic
songs. The bonfire was to be fired on the stroke of ten, by a
neighbouring landowner, whose white head and beard flashed hither and
thither through the crowd and the mist, as he gave his orders, and
greeted the old men, farmers and labourers, he had known for a lifetime.
The sweet Welsh voices rose in the "Men of Harlech," "Land of My
Fathers," or in the magnificent "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the
Coming of the Lord." And when the moment arrived, and the white-haired
Squire, with his three chosen men, fired the four corners of the
high-built pile, out rushed the blaze, flaring up to heaven, defying the
rain, and throwing its crimson glow on the faces ringed round it. "God
Save the King!" challenged the dark, and then, hand in hand, the crowd
marched round about the pyramid of fire in measured rhythm, while "Auld
Lang Syne," sorrowfully sweet, echoed above the haunted mountain-top
where in the infancy of Britain, Celt and Roman in succession had built
their camps and reared their watch-towers. And presently from all
quarters of the great horizon sprang the answering flames from mountain
peaks that were themselves invisible in the murky night, while they sent
forward yet, without fail or break, the great torch-race of victory,
leaping on, invincible by rain or dark, far into the clouded north.

But Geoffrey's eyes could not tear themselves from Helena. He saw her
bathed in light, from top to toe, now gold, now scarlet, a fire-goddess,
inimitably beautiful. They danced hand in hand, intoxicated by the music,
and by the movement of their young swaying bodies. He felt Helena
unconsciously leaning on him, her soft breath on his cheek. Her eyes were
his now, and her smiling lips, just parted