Helena stumbled once or twice, and Geoffrey caught her.
Thenceforward he scarcely let her go again. She protested at first,
mountaineer that she was; but he took no heed, and presently the warmth
of his strong clasp seemed to hypnotize her. She was silent, and let him
pull her up.
On the top was a motley crowd of farmers, labourers and visitors, with a
Welsh choir from a neighbouring village, singing hymns and patriotic
songs. The bonfire was to be fired on the stroke of ten, by a
neighbouring landowner, whose white head and beard flashed hither and
thither through the crowd and the mist, as he gave his orders, and
greeted the old men, farmers and labourers, he had known for a lifetime.
The sweet Welsh voices rose in the "Men of Harlech," "Land of My
Fathers," or in the magnificent "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the
Coming of the Lord." And when the moment arrived, and the white-haired
Squire, with his three chosen men, fired the four corners of the
high-built pile, out rushed the blaze, flaring up to heaven, defying the
rain, and throwing its crimson glow on the faces ringed round it.
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