Linforth, in the shelter of a canvas screen, watched the glow suddenly expand, and a stream of bright sparkling red flow swiftly along the shoulder of the mountain, turn at a right angle, and plunge down towards the sea.

The bright red would become dull, the dull red grow black, the glare of light above the cone contract for a little while and then burst out again.

Yet men lived upon the slope of Stromboli, even as Englishmen--the thought flashed into his mind--lived in India, recognising the peril and going quietly about their work.

There was always that glare of menacing light over the hill-districts of India as above the crater of Stromboli, now contracting, now expanding and casting its molten stream down towards the plains.
At the moment when Linforth watched the crown of light above Stromboli, the glare was widening over the hill country of Chiltistan.

Ralston so far away as Peshawur saw it reddening the sky and was the more troubled in that he could not discover why just at this moment the menace should glow red.