She was lying on her back in the shady wood whither they had ridden out to lunch that day, staring up at the bits of blue sky overhead which showed between the interlacing branches of the trees. The remainder of the party were grouped around her, reclining in various attitudes of a _dolce far niente_ nature, while from a little distance away, where the horses were picketed in charge of a groom, came the drowsy, rhythmic sound of the munching of corn, punctuated by an occasional stamp of an impatient hoof. “Yes, it’s been good,” agreed Lady Anne. “I shall never settle down again properly as a dowager at the Dower House!” And she laughed gleefully. To her, it had been almost like a return to the days of her youth, for “her four children”--as she called them--had insisted on her sharing in all their active pursuits, and Lady Anne, who in her girlhood and early married life had been a first-class horsewoman and a magnificent swimmer, had consented _con amore_. Blaise pulled himself lazily up into a sitting posture and glanced toward the crimson glow of westering sun where it struck athwart the tall trunks of the trees. “You’ll none of you live to go back to England. Instead, you’ll be dying of pneumonia and a few other complaints--if we don’t get a move on soon,” he observed. “It’s almost sunset, and after that it grows abominably chilly in this eastern paradise of Jean’s. Besides, I fancy it’s going to blow great guns before long.” It was true. Already a little chill whisper of wind was shaking the tops of the trees, and before the party was fairly mounted and away, the whisper had changed to a shrill whistling, heralding the big gale which drove along behind the innocent seeming breeze which at first had barely rocked the topmost branches. It was a longish ride back to Beirnfels, and the sun had dipped below the horizon in a sullen splendour of purple and red before the shoulder of the hill, upon the further side of which the castle stood, came into sight. Now and again the moon peered out between the racing, wind-driven clouds, clearly limning the bold, black curve of the hill against a background of lowering sky. Jean and Blaise were riding abreast, a little in advance of the rest, engrossed by the difficulties of carrying on an animated conversation in a high wind. As they swung round the bend in the road which brought the hill’s great shoulder into view, Jean threw back her head and stared at the sky above it with a puzzled frown on her face. “Why... how queer!” she ejaculated. “The sun set nearly half an hour ago and yet there’s still quite a brilliant red glow in the sky. Look, Blaise--just above where Beirnfels stands.” Blaise glanced up casually in the direction indicated, then suddenly reigned in his horse and half-rose in the stirrups, staring at the red glow deepening in the sky ahead. “That’s no sunset!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s--Great heavens, Jean! Beirnfels is _on fire!_”