Phil Briant looked at one and then at the other in unbounded amazement for a few seconds, after which he gave a short laugh as if of pity for his own weakness, and his face assumed a mild aspect as he said softly, "It's all a draim, av coorse it is!" He even turned away his eyes for a moment in order to give the vision time to dissipate. But on looking round again, there it was, as palpable as ever. Faith in the fidelity of his own eyesight returned in a moment, and Phil Briant, forgetting his bodily pains, sprang to his feet with a roar of joy, seized Ailie in his arms and kissed her, embraced Glynn Proctor with a squeeze like that of a loving bear, and then began to dance an Irish jig, quite regardless of the fact that the greater part of it was performed in the fire, the embers of which he sent flying in all directions like a display of fireworks. He cheered, too, now and then like a maniac--"Oh, happy day! I've found ye, have I? after all me trouble, too! Hooray! an' wan chair more for luck. Av me sowl only don't lape clane out o' me body, it's meself'll be thankful! But, sure--I'm forgittin'--" Briant paused suddenly in the midst of his uproarious dance, and seized a burning stick, which he attempted to blow into a flame with intense vehemence of action. Having succeeded, he darted towards an open space a few yards off, in the centre of which lay a large pile of dry sticks. To these he applied the lighted brand, and the next instant a glare of ruddy flame leaped upwards, and sent a shower of sparks high above the forest trees into the sky. He then returned, panting a good deal, but much composed, and said--"Now, darlints, come an' help me to gather the bits o' stick; somebody's bin scatterin' them all over the place, they have, bad luck to them! an' then ye'll sit down and talk a bit, an' tell me all about it." "But what's the fire for?" asked Ailie. "Ay, ye may say that," added Glynn; "we don't need such a huge bonfire as that to cook our supper with." "Och! be aisy, do. It'll do its work; small doubt o' that. The cap'n, poor man, ye know, is a'most deranged, an' they're every one o' them off at this good minute scourin' the woods lookin' for ye. O, then, it's sore hearts we've had this day! An' wan was sent wan way, an' wan another, an' the cap'n his-self he wint up the river, and, before he goes, he says to me, says he, `Briant, you'll stop here and watch the camp, for maybe they'll come wanderin' back to it, av they've bin and lost theirselves; an' mind ye don't lave it or go to slape. An' if they do come, or ye hear any news o' them, jist you light up a great fire, an' I'll be on the look-out, an' we'll all on us come back as fast as we can.' Now, that's the truth, an' the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth, as the judge said to the witness when he swore at him."