A great thunder-storm was at hand, and was calling him.

It was almost dark before he reached the top, but he knew the surface of Glashgar nearly as well as the floor of the cottage.

Just as he had fought his way to the crest of the peak in the face of one of the fiercest of the blasts abroad that night, a sudden rush of fire made the heavens like the smoke-filled vault of an oven, and at once the thunder followed, in a succession of single sharp explosions without any roll between.

The mountain shook with the windy shocks, but the first of the thunder-storm was the worst, and it soon passed.

The wind and the rain continued, and the darkness was filled with the rush of the water everywhere wildly tearing down the sides of the mountain.