A remaining rampart fell, crushing the fire, and through the
diminished din of it the voice of the little old lunatic came
clearer. In the heart of that white-hot hell he was singing like
a bird. What he was singing it was not very easy to follow, but
it seemed to be something about playing in the golden hay.

"Good Lord!" cried Turnbull, bitterly, "there seem to be some
advantages in really being an idiot." Then advancing to the
fringe of the fire he called out on chance to the invisible
singer: "Can you come out? Are you cut off?"

"God help us all!" said MacIan, with a shudder; "he's laughing
now."

At whatever stage of being burned alive the invisible now found
himself, he was now shaking out peals of silvery and hilarious
laughter. As he listened, MacIan's two eyes began to glow, as if
a strange thought had come into his head.

"Fool, come out and save yourself!" shouted Turnbull.

"No, by Heaven! that is not the way," cried Evan, suddenly.
"Father," he shouted, "come out and save us all!"

The fire, though it had dropped in one or two places, was, upon
the whole, higher and more unconquerable than ever. Separate tall
flames shot up and spread out above them like the fiery cloisters
of some infernal cathedral, or like a grove of red tropical trees
in the garden of the devil. Higher yet in the purple hollow of