That which had waked Bertric, as one may suppose, with its first flash, was set on the hill over the fishers' village, whence we were to look for the signal to tell us to be ready for departure. It had been just lighted, and blazed up fiercely as we stood outside the cell. Five minutes later another fire answered it to the eastward, and again beyond that a third, and fourth, one after the other, as men saw the glare. "Foes landing to the westward," said Bertric. "The fires run thence. Maybe the ship we saw went down the coast and has returned." Now we woke Dalfin, who came out yawning, and looked. "Danes, I suppose," he said carelessly. "That is the usual trouble; or else Connaught men on the raid. Well, as we cannot get at them, we need not trouble concerning them. And they cannot reach us." "The fires sprang up quickly as if men watched by them tonight," said Bertric. "Some enemy was looked for." "You have seen the like before then?" asked Dalfin. "Not once or twice. And for the same reason--the Danes." "Have you fought with them?" "I was at my own place when we beat them off once." So we stood and watched the fires until they twinkled as far as we could see to the eastward. Westward the hill, as I have said, cut off sight of both cliffs and open sea, but over it was the glow in the sky of far-off beacons. Fergus came out of the chapel, and I heard him give a little cry as he saw the fires. Then he came to us, seeing us in the moonlight, which was bright. "No need to fear, my sons," he said in his still voice. "Many a time I have seen those fires before, and doubtless shall see them again. The trouble may be far off, and of little account. Sleep in peace." We turned in again, but sleep was broken until daylight came, and we were astir with the first gleam of sun across the door. It was a bright morning, with a steady sea breeze from the northeast, and every promise of the fine weather that comes withal in the summer. On the hills the smoke of the war beacons still rose and drifted, but there was no sign of stir at the foot of the glen on the mainland where the fishers had their haven, such as it was. The brethren came from their cells, looked at the black smoke wreaths, and sighed, and went their ways into the chapel for the matins, and the little bell rang. Then Gerda came from her cell and saw us, for she, too, was early wakeful here in the quiet. "Why are you looking so troubled? she asked us, as we bade her good morrow. Her eyes went from one to the other in some dismay, for I dare say we showed that the night had been unquiet for us. "There seems to be some trouble on the mainland," I answered. "There are beacon fires yonder, but the brothers think little of them. They are not unusual here from all accounts."