s much as mine was hers; yet I must have her
to show it, dwelling upon every proof, lengthening out all certainty.
Perhaps the jealous heart is loath to own a life worth twice its own. Be
that as it may, I know that we thawed the window nicely.

And then I saw, far down the stream (or rather down the bed of it, for
there was no stream visible), a little form of fire arising, red, and
dark, and flickering. Presently it caught on something, and went upward
boldly; and then it struck into many forks, and then it fell, and rose
again.

"Do you know what all that is, John?" asked Lorna, smiling cleverly at
the manner of my staring.

"How on earth should I know? Papists burn Protestants in the flesh; and
Protestants burn Papists in effigy, as we mock them. Lorna, are they
going to burn any one to-night?"

"No, you dear. I must rid you of these things. I see that you are
bigoted. The Doones are firing Dunkery beacon, to celebrate their new
captain."

"But how could they bring it here through the snow? If they have
sledges, I can do nothing."

"They brought it before the snow began. The moment poor grandfather was
gone, even before his funeral, the young men, having none to check them,
began at once upon it. They had always borne a grudge against it; not
that it ever did them harm; but because it seemed so insolent. 'Can't a
gentleman go home, without a smoke behind him?' I have often heard them
saying. And though they have done it no serious harm, since they threw
the firemen on the fire, many, many years ago, they have often promised
to bring it here for their candle; and now they have done it. Ah, now
look! The tar is kindled."

Though Lorna took it so in joke, I looked upon it very gravely, knowing
that this heavy outrage to the feelings of the neighbourhood would cause
more stir than a hundred sheep stolen, or a score of houses sacked. Not
of course that the beacon was of the smallest use to any one, neither
stopped anybody from stealing, nay, rather it was like the parish knell,
which begins when all is over, and depresses all the survivors; yet
I knew that we valued it, and were proud, and spoke of it as a mighty
institution; and even more than that, our vestry had voted, within
the last two years, seven shillings and six-pence to pay for it, in
proportion with other parishes. And one of the men who attended to
it, or at least who was paid for doing so, was our Jem Slocombe's
grandfather.

However, in spite of