As they stood in fear and terror, with their faces apparently bathed in blood, they seemed rather to resemble a group of hideous murderers, standing as if about to be driven into the! flames of perdition itself.  To compare them to a tribe of red Indians surrounding their war fires, would be but a faint and feeble simile when contrasted with the terror which, notwithstanding the gory hue with which they were covered from top to toe, might be read in their terrified eyes and visages.  After a few minutes, however, the alarm became more intense, and put itself forth into words.  The fearful intelligence now spread.  “It is raining blood! it is raining blood!” was shouted from every mouth; those who were in the houses rushed out, and soon found that it was true; for the red liquid was still descending, and in a few minutes they soon were as red as the others.  The flight home now became one of panic; every house was crowded with strangers, who took refuge wherever they could find shelter; and in the meantime the lightning was flashing and the thunder pealing with stunning depth throughout the heavens.  The bonfires were soon deserted; for even those who were drunk and tipsy had been aroused by the alarm, and the language in which it was uttered.  Nobody, in fact, was left at the great fire except those who composed the dinner party, with the exception of the two clergymen, who fled and disappeared along with the mob, urged, too, by the same motives.

“This will not be believed,” said Lindsay; “it is, beyond all doubt and scepticism, a prodigy from heaven, and must portend some fearful calamity.  May God in heaven protect us!  But who is this?”

As he spoke, a hideous old hag, bent over her staff, approached them; but it did not appear that she was about to pay them any particular attention.  She was mumbling and cackling to herself when about to pass, but was addressed by Lindsay.

“Where are you going, you old hag?  They say you are acquainted with more than you ought to know.  Can you account for this blood that’s falling?”

“Who are you that axes me?” she squeaked.

“I’m Mr. Lindsay, the magistrate.”

“Ay,” she screamed again, “it was for your son, Harry, na Suil Gloir, (* Suil Gloir was an epithet bestowed on persons whose eyes were of different colors) that this bonfire was made to-night.  Well he knows what I tould him, and let him think of it; but there will be more blood than this, and that before long, I can tell you and him.”

So saying, she hobbled on, mumbling and muttering to herself like a witch rehearsing her incantations on her way to join their sabbath.  They now turned their steps homewards, but had not proceeded far, when the rain came down as it might be supposed to have done in the deluge; the, lightnings flashed, the thunder continued! to roar, and by the time they reached Rathfillan House they were absolutely drenched to the skin.  The next morning, to the astonishment of the people, there was not visible a trace or fragment of the bonfires; I every vestige of them had disappeared; and the general impression now was, that there must have been something evil and unhallowed connected with the individual for whom they had been prepared.