You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the dead." "It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly, "if it continues increasing much longer as it does now daily.

How do the bills of mortality run to-day ?" "I have not heard.

Hark! There goes St.Paul's tolling twelve." "And there goes a flash of fire--the first among many.

Look, look! How they spring up into the black darkness." "They will not do it long.

Look at the sky, my lord." The earl glanced up at the midnight sky, of a dull and dingy red color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like angry billows, all dingy with smoke and streaked with bars of fiery red.
"I see! There is a storm coming, and a heavy one! Our worthy burghers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires extinguished shortly, and themselves sent home with wet jackets." "And for weeks, almost month, there has not fallen a drop of rain," remarked Ormiston, gravely.
"A remarkable coincidence, truly.