“They must mean something extraordinary,” said Connor; “whatever it is, it appears to be behind the hill that divides us from Bodagh's Buie's house. Blessed earth! it looks as if the sky was on fire!” The sky, indeed, presented a fearful but sublime spectacle. One spot appeared to glow with the red-white heat of a furnace, and to form the centre of a fiery cupola, from which the flame was flung in redder and grosser masses, that darkened away into wild and dusky indistinctness, in a manner that corresponded with the same light, as it danced in red and frightful mirth upon the earth. As they looked, the cause of this awful phenomenon soon became visible. From behind the hill was seen a thick shower of burning particles rushing up into the mid air, and presently the broad point of a huge pyramid of fire, wavering in terrible and capricious power, seemed to disport itself far up in the very depths of the glowing sky. On looking again upon the earth they perceived that this terrible circle was extending itself over a wider circumference of country, marking every prominent object around them with a dark blood--red tinge, and throwing those that were more remote into a visionary but appalling relief. “_Dhar Chriestha_,” exclaimed Flanagan, “I have it; thim I spoke about has paid Bodagh Buie the visit they promised him.” “Come round the hip o' the hill,” said Connor, “till we see where it really is; but I'll tell you what, Bartle, if you be right, woe betide you! all the water in Europe wouldn't wash you free in my mind, of being connected in this same Ribbon business that's spreading through the country. As sure as that sky--that fearful sky's above us, you must prove to me and other's how you came to know that this hellish business was to take place. God of heaven! let us run--surely it couldn't be the dwelling-house!” His speed was so great that Bartle could find neither breath nor leisure to make any reply. “Thank God!” he exclaimed; “oh, thank God it's not the house, and there lives are safe! but blessed Father, there's the man's whole haggard in flames!” “Oh, the netarnal villains!” was the simple exclamation of Flanagan. “Bartle,” said his companion, “you heard what I said this minute?” Their eyes met as he spoke, and for the first time O'Donovan was struck by the pallid malignity of his features. The servant gazed steadily upon him, his lips slightly but firmly drawn back, and his eye, in which was neither sympathy nor alarm, charged with the spirit of a cool and devilish triumph. Connor's blazed at the bare idea of his villainy, and, in a fit of manly and indignant rage, he seized Flanagan and hurled him headlong to the earth at his feet. “You have hell in your face, you villain!” he exclaimed; “and if I thought that--if I did--I'd drag you down like a dog, an' pitch you head--foremost into the flames!”