“It doesn't matter,” said Woodward, addressing Caterine, “I shall hear what you both have to say--but you first.” He accordingly crossed her hand with a piece of silver, after which she looked closely into it--then upon his countenance, and said, “You have two things in your mind, and they'll both succeed.” “But, my good woman, any one might tell me as much.” “No,” she replied, with confidence; “examine your own heart and you'll find the two things there that it is fixed upon; and whisper,” she added, putting her lips to his ear, “I know what they are, and can help you in both. When you want me, inquire for Caterine Collins. My uncle is Sol Donnell, the herb doctor.” He smiled and nodded, but made no reply. “Now,” said he, “my old crone, come and let me hear what you have to say for me;” and as he spoke another coin was dropped into her withered and skinny hand. “Bring me a candle,” said she, in a voice that whistled with age, and if one could judge by her hag-like and repulsive features, with a malignity that was a habit of her life. After having inspected his palm with the candle, she uttered three eldrich laughs, or rather screams, that sounded through the room as if they were more than natural. “Ha, ha, ha!” she exclaimed; “look here; there's the line of life stopped by a red instrument; that's not good; I see it, I feel it; your life will be short and your death violent; ay, indeed, the purty bonfire of your life, for all so bright as it burns, will be put out wid blood--and that soon.” “You're a d--d old croaker,” said Woodward, “and take delight in predicting evil. Here, my good woman,” he added, turning to the other, “there's an additional half-crown for you, and I won't forget your words.” He and Charles then joined their friends in the other room, and as it was getting late they all resolved to stroll once more through the town, in order to take a parting look at the bonfires, to wish the people good-night, and to thank them for the kindness and alacrity with which they got them up, and manifested their good feeling upon so short a notice. The large fire was again blazing, having been recruited with a fresh supply of materials. The crowd were looking on; many were staggering about, uttering a feeble huzza, in a state of complete intoxication, and the fool of the parish was attempting to dance a hornpipe, when large, blob-like drops began to fall, as happens at the commencement of a heavy shower. Lindsay put his hand to his face, on which some few of them had fallen, and, on looking at his fingers, perceived that they were spotted as if with blood! “Good God!” he exclaimed, “what is this? Am I bleeding?” They all stared at him, and then at each other, with dismay and horror; for there, unquestionably, was the hideous and terrible fact before them, and legible on every! face around them--it was raining blood!