Half the hillside seemed to be ablaze. Danny's fire over the Poolvash had spread north by many hundred yards. The wind was now blowing strongly from the sea, and fanned it into flame. The castle could be seen by its light from the black rocks fringed about with foam to the top of Fennella's Tower. When they came abreast of the cottage they saw that a dim light burned in one window. They stepped up and looked into the house. On a bed, covered by a white sheet, lay all that remained of Kisseck. An old woman, set to watch the body, sat knitting beside it. The deep roar of the sea was all that could be heard there above the moan of the wind. CHAPTER XXI OIEL VERREE On this occasion, as on all similar occasions for the last thirty years, Tommy-Bill-beg, the harbor-master, and Jemmy Quark Balladhoo had been each to contribute toward the curious Manx ritual of carol or carval singing. Great had hitherto been the rivalry between these musical celebrities. But word had gone around the town that to-night their efforts were to be combined in a carol which they were to sing together. A young wag had effected this extraordinary combination by a plot which was expected to add largely to the amusement of the listeners. Tommy-Bill-beg, as was well known, could not read a syllable, yet he would never sing his carol without having the printed copy of it in his hand. Such curious vanity had long been a cause of merriment, and now some capital was to be made out it. Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, on the other hand, could read, but he resembled Tommy-Bill-beg in being almost stone-deaf. Each could hear himself sing, but neither could hear another. And now for the plot. Young Mr. Wag had called on the harbor-master that morning at his ivy cottage, and, "Tommy," said he, "it's mortal strange the way a man of your common-sense can't see that you'd wallop that squeaking ould Jemmy Balladhoo in a jiffy if you'd only consent to sing a ballad along with him. Bless me, it's then they'd be seeing what a weak, ould, cracked pot of a voice is at him." Tommy-Bill-beg's face began to wear a smile of benevolent condescension. Observing his advantage, the young rascal continued, "Do it at the Oiel Verree to-night, Tommy. He'll sing his treble, and you'll sing seconds to him." It was an unlucky remark. The harbor-master frowned with the austerity of a Malvolio. "_Me_ sing _seconds_ to the craythur? No; never!" It was explained to Tommy-Bill-beg, with a world of abject apology, that there was a sense in which seconds meant firsts. The harbor-master was mollified, and at length consented to the proposal; but with one idea clearly impressed upon his mind, namely, that if he was to sing a carol with Jemmy Balladhoo, he must take good care to sing his loudest, in order to drown at once the voice of his rival, and the bare notion that it was _he_ who was singing seconds to such a poor creature as that.