Now as the light faded the wreaths of smoke which hung over the distant Fire-mountain began to glow luridly.  Redder and more angry did they become while the darkness gathered, till at length they seemed to be charged with pulsing sheets of flame propelled from the womb of the volcano, which threw piercing beams of light through the eye of the giant loop that crowned its brow.  Far, far fled those beams, making a bright path across the land, and striking the white crests of the bordering wall of mountains.  High in the air ran that path, over the dim roofs of the city of Kaloon, over the river, yes, straight above us, over the mountains, and doubtless—­though there we could not follow them—­across the desert to that high eminence on its farther side where we had lain bathed in their radiance.  It was a wondrous and most impressive sight, one too that filled our companions with fear, for the steersmen in our boats and the drivers on the towing-path groaned aloud and began to utter prayers.  “What do they say?” asked Leo of Simbri.

“They say, lord, that the Spirit of the Mountain is angry, and passes down yonder flying light that is called the Road of Hes to work some evil to our land.  Therefore they pray her not to destroy them.”

“Then does that light not always shine thus?” he asked again.

“Nay, but seldom.  Once about three months ago, and now to-night, but before that not for years.  Let us pray that it portends no misfortune to Kaloon and its inhabitants.”

For some minutes this fearsome illumination continued, then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and there remained of it only the dull glow above the crest of the peak.

Presently the moon rose, a white, shining ball, and by its rays we perceived that we drew near to the city.  But there was still something left for us to see before we reached its shelter.  While we sat quietly in the boat—­for the silence was broken only by the lapping of the still waters against its sides and the occasional splash of the slackened tow-line upon their surface—­we heard a distant sound as of a hunt in full cry.

Nearer and nearer it came, its volume swelling every moment, till it was quite close at last.  Now echoing from the trodden earth of the towing-path—­not that on which our ponies travelled, but the other on the west bank of the river—­was heard the beat of the hoofs of a horse galloping furiously.  Presently it appeared, a fine, white animal, on the back of which sat a man.  It passed us like a flash, but as he went by the man lifted himself and turned his head, so that we saw his face in the moonlight; saw also the agony of fear that was written on it and in his eyes.

He had come out of the darkness.  He was gone into the darkness, but after him swelled that awful music.  Look! a dog appeared, a huge, red dog, that dropped its foaming muzzle to the ground as it galloped, then lifted it and uttered a deep-throated, bell-like bay.  Others followed, and yet others:  in all there must have been a hundred of them, every one baying as it took the scent.