"I watched from the topmost, topmost height, Till the sun's bright beams were o'er, And the pale moon shed her vestal light-- But my lover returned no more." Whether the men were still incited by a dread of the Seven Whistlers, and were really afraid to descend into the mines, or whether they used the pretext as an excuse for a second day's holiday, certain it was that not a single man had gone to work. Ross, the overseer, reiterated his threats of punishment again and again; and reiterated in vain. As a general rule, there exists not a more sober race of men than that of the Cornish miners; and the miners in question had once been no exception to the rule. But some few years before this, on the occasion of a prolonged dispute between masters and men, many fresh workmen had been imported from distant parts of England, and they had brought their drinking habits with them. The Cornish men caught them up in a degree: but it was only on occasions like the present that they indulged them to any extent, and therefore, when they did so, it was the more noticeable. Mr. John Float at the Golden Shaft was doing a great stroke of business these idle days. As many men as could find seats in his hospitable house took possession of it. Amongst them was Josiah Bell. Few had ever seen Bell absolutely intoxicated; but he now and then took enough to render him more sullen than usual; and at such times he was sure to be quarrelsome. Turning out of the Golden Shaft on this second day between twelve and one o'clock, Bell went down the street towards his home, with some more men who lived in that direction. Dr. Raynor chanced to be standing outside his house, and accosted Bell. The other men walked on. "Not at work yet, Bell!" "Not at work yet," echoed Bell, as doggedly as he dared, and standing to face the doctor. "How long do you mean to let this fancy about the Seven Whistlers hinder you? When is it to end?" Bell's eyes went out straight before him, as if trying to foresee what and where the end would be, and his tones lost their fierceness. This fancy in regard to the Seven Whistlers--as the doctor styled it--had evidently taken a serious, nay, a solemn hold upon him. Whether or not the other men anticipated ill-fortune from it, most indisputably Bell did so. "I don't know, sir," he said, quite humbly. "I should like to see the end." "Are you feeling well, Bell?" continued Dr. Raynor, in a tone of sympathy--for the strange grey pallor was on the man's face still. "I'm well enough, doctor. What should ail me?" "You don't look well." Bell shifted his stick from one hand to the other. "The Whistlers gave me a turn, I suppose," he said. "Nonsense, man! You should not be so superstitious."