It was easy to make the mixture strong;
but not so easy to have a ' cheerful glass.'
The host had too many dismal stories to tell for
that; and, when he could be diverted from the
theme of the fate of Bleaburn, it was only to
talk of the old king's madness, and the disasters
of the war, and the weight of the taxes, and the
high price of food, and the riots in the
manufacturing districts; a long string of disasters
all undeniably true. He was just saying that
he had been assured that something would
soon appear which would explain the terrors
of the time, when a strange cry was heard in
the street, and a bustle among the neighbours;
and then two or three people ran in
and exclaimed, with white lips, that there
was a fearful sign in the sky.

There indeed it was, a lustrous thing,
shining down into the hollow. Was there
ever such a star seen,—as large as a saucer—
some of the people said, and with a long white
tail, which looked as if it was about to sweep
all the common stars out of the sky! The
sounds of amazement and fear that ran along
the whole street, up and down, brought the
neighbours to their doors; and some to the
windows, to try how much they could see
from windows that would not open. Each
one asked somebody else what it was; but all
agreed that it was a token of judgment, and
that it accounted for everything; the cold
spring, the bad crops, the king's illness, the
war, and this dreadful sickly autumn. At
last, they bethought them of the pastor, and
they crowded round him for an explanation.
They received one in a tone so faltering as to
confirm their fears, though Mr. Finch
declared that it certainly must be a comet: he
had never seen a comet; but he was confident
this must be one, and that it must be very
near the earth:—he did not mean near enough
to do any harm;—it was all nonsense talking
of comets doing any harm.

"Will it do us any good, Sir? " asked the
carpenter, sagely.

"Not that I know of. How should it do
us any good?"

"Exactly so, Sir: that is what we say. It
is there for no good, you may rely upon it:
and, for the rest, Heaven knows!"

"I hope farmer Neale may be seeing it,"
observed a man to his neighbour. " It may be
a mercy to him, if it is sent to warn him of
his hard ways."

"And the doctor, too. I hope it will take
effect upon him," whispered another. The
whisper was caught up and spread. "The
doctor! the doctor! " every one said, glancing
at the comet, and falling to whispering again.

"What are they saying about the doctor?"
whispered Mr. Finch to the landlord. " What
is the matter about him? " But the landlord
only shook his head, and looked excessively
solemn in the yellow light which streamed
from his open door. After this, Mr. Finch
was very silent, and soon stole away
homewards. Some who watched him said that he
was more alarmed than he chose to show.
And this was true. He was more shaken
than he chose to admit to his own mind. He
would not have acknowledged to himself that
he, an educated man, could be afraid of a comet:
but, unnerved before by anxiety of mind, and
a stronger dose of spirit and water than he had
intended to take, he was as open to impression
as in the most timid days of his childhood.
As he sat in his study, the bright,
silent, steady luminary seemed to be still
shining full upon his very heart and brain:
and the shadowy street, with its groups of
gazers, was before his eyes; and the hoarse
or whimpering voices of the terrified people
were in his ear. He covered his eyes, and
thought that he lived in fearful times. He
wished he was asleep: but then, there were three
funerals for to-morrow! He feared he could
not sleep, if he went to bed. Yet, to sit up
would be worse; for he could not study
tonight, and sitting up was the most wearing
thing of all to the nerves. Presently he went
to his cupboard. Now, if ever, was the time
for a cordial; for how should he do his duty,
if he did not get sleep at night, with so many
funerals in the morning? So he poured out
his medicine, as he called it, and uncorked
his laudanum bottle, and obtained the oblivion
which is the best comfort of the incapable.

PART II.

CHAPTER IV.

THERE were some people in Bleaburn to
whom the sign in heaven looked very differently.
On the night when the people assembled
in the street to question each other about
it, Mary was at the Billiters' house, where, but
for her, all would have been blank despair.
Mrs. Billiter lay muttering all night in the
low delirium of the fever; and Mary could
not do more for her than go to the side of her
mattress now and then, to speak to her, and
smooth her pillow, or put a cool hand on her
forehead, while one of the dying children
hung on the other shoulder. At last, the
little fellow was evidently so near death that
the slightest movement on her part might put
out the little life. As he lay with his head
on her shoulder, his bony arms hanging helpless,
and his feet like those of a skeleton
across her lap, she felt every painful breath
through her whole frame. She happened to
sit opposite the window; and the window,
which commanded a part of the brow of the
hollow, happened to be open. Wherever the
Good Lady had been, the windows would
open now; and, when closed, they were so
clear that the sunshine and moonlight could
pour in cheerfully. This September night
was sultry and dry; and three fever patients
in two little low rooms needed whatever fresh
air could be had. There sat Mary, immoveable,
with her eyes fixed on the brow from
which she had seen more than one star come
up, since she last left her seat. She now and
then spoke cheerfully to the poor mutterer