It was not until the morning of Friday, May 13, that the comet once more deigned to reveal itself to the straining eyes of the lonely watcher on the tower. The first glimpse was obtained at ten minutes past three. The comet then resembled a faint white streak drifting in the sky. A minute or so later the planet Venus came into view, gaining in brilliancy as it rose above the mists near the horizon. At twenty-five minutes past three the train of the comet was twenty degrees in length, and by half past three it extended to a distance of thirty-five degrees, or seven times the distance between the pointers (Alpha and Beta in Ursa Major). It spread out like a partly opened fan, its greatest width at the extreme end being about five degrees or more. The nucleus shone brightly as a star of the second magnitude, but by half past three it began to grow less distinct, and at twenty minutes past four the comet had faded from view on the arrival of the first few streaks of dawn. The comet was barely visible the next few mornings, though watched for anxiously, since there was always the possibility that it might reveal itself, but these hopes were not realized. A glance at the cloudy skies on the morning of May 18 suggested the impossibility of seeing the comet, and for the first time since the morning of May 1, the writer missed her vigil at the tower. Interest was revived, however, on learning that Professor Barnard had seen that morning “a narrow twilight (which later proved to be the tail of the comet) which seemed to extend along the eastern horizon.... The head of the comet could not be seen when it rose, with either the five-inch or the forty-inch telescope, because of the thick sky near the horizon.... The observations show that the tail was at least 109° long on that date. (_Astrophysical Journal_, vol. XXXIX, no 5, pp. 387–388, June, 1914.) Now despite the fact that an astronomer at Columbia University had declared the comet would be in the evening sky, and it was useless looking for it in the morning sky of May 19, the writer decided, nevertheless, to watch for the comet at about the usual hour, and with the most gratifying results. The parapet surrounding the tower was crowded to its utmost capacity by a favored few on the eventful evening of May 18, awaiting they knew not what, for a report had gone forth that we were scheduled to pass through the train of the comet. Below us we could see comet parties in progress on the roof gardens of some of the leading hotels. Sounds of merriment occasionally reached us, but by half past ten we—that is, Miss L., who had offered to share the lonely vigil with the writer until dawn—were the only watchers on the tower. The hush of a great silence had gradually fallen over the city, and in silence, too, we watched the eastern sky for any further trace of the comet.