"I thought I saw----"

The General uttered a sharp exclamation, pressing his head over
the priest's shoulder.

"That's the second," whispered the priest harshly.

Together they waited, staring out together through the tall,
narrow window that looked towards Rye.

Then for the third time there rose against the far-off horizon,
above that faint peak of luminosity that marked where Rye
watched over her marshes, a thin line of white fire, slackening
its pace as it rose.

Before it had burst in sparks, there roared out overhead a
deafening voice of fire and thunder, shaking the air about them,
bewildering the brain. Then another. Then another.

Beneath the two as they stood, shaking with the shock, silent and
open-mouthed, staring at one another, in the courtyard a door
banged; then another; and then a torrent of voices and footsteps
as the servants and grooms poured out of the lower doors.



(III)

Two hours later the two ecclesiastics sat together, on either