He had forgotten his wife and his home; he
had forgotten Norah; he had forgotten all his pain.
Then the odd and unexpected character of an external object made an
impression sufficiently strong to rouse him from his reverie, and he
thought dreamily: "What is that? Why, yes, it is what I was asking
for--a blink of light."
Suddenly, straight in front of him, he saw the gleam again. What could
it be? Then something right ahead, in the darkness of the trees, a
bright flicker--as might be made by a man waving a lantern. There it
was again, but brighter than before, quite a long way off. And he
walked on faster.
Then, looking up, he saw a red glow in the sky, and he thought: "The
heath is on fire." He walked faster, saw a column of crimson smoke and
a great tongue of flame above the pine trees, and thought: "It is much
nearer than the heath. It must be right on the edge of the wood."
He ran now, and soon the track was brightly lighted and confused
sounds grew plain--shouting of voices, the galloping of a horse, the
clamorous ringing of a bell. The trees opened out and he was running
along the high ground above those broken fences, looking down at the
Orphanage gardens, at men clustered like black ants, at solid
buildings that seemed to send forth sheets, lakes, and seas of flame.
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