beauties." Caressingly he went over them. "Lancet, probe, trocar, bistoury, tourniquet,"—mentioning the collection, while he passed his fingers affectionately along the small sharp knives.

"For years and years," he went on, "I have studied this theory. The only thing is to find a young, strong, healthy subject; I found her. I was hiding in the bushes; she was on the highway; but she would not listen to me."

"You did not kill her?" the girl forced her dry lips to ask.

"Nay, nay; that is an ugly word. I had to sacrifice her—I did not kill. Then the foolish mob came and I fled hither. But I had a bit of bread and meat; she dropped her basket of lunch. I've been hiding in yonder tower," pointing upward. "I thought I might find what I want; and now, my dear, you will help me, won't you?" This he said coaxingly.

"Help you? What can I do?"

"Such a simple thing. Hold very still while I draw the rich red blood from your pretty white throat."

"You would not spoil my throat?" pleaded Jessie in winning tones, with the courage born of despair; "such a very little throat," clasping her soft fingers about it in unconscious paraphrase of King Hal's hapless queen.

"But where else can I find the glorious stream so rich and red?" he argued, with a perplexed frown. "It must be transfused into my own veins, that I, too, may be young again."

"But not the throat! I could not sing any more then."

"Ah, so—I heard you singing; it was not loud; it pleased me. Yes, 'twould be a pity. Well, I'll tell you what I will do. I'll open a vein in your arm—just here," laying his finger on the round white member. "This will quicken the nervous centers. Then I will cut my own arm and insert your blood at the opening till the two life-currents mingle in one stream."

He paused and reflected a moment. The generous warmth of the fire, together with the terrified girl's enforced quiet manner, were evidently soothing to him.

"Listen now, very closely: Here is my greatest scientific discovery. I do not mean to impart the secret to another. It is the transfusion of brain! Some other man's head got on to my shoulders, and my brain is all wrong. Now with your red blood charged in my veins, and your young active brain absorbed into my own uncertain head, I shall find the elixir of life, and you will not have lived in vain."

Gracious Heaven! Did she hear aright? She had submitted to blood-letting once to gratify an old family physician, who insisted upon the remedy; and she felt almost brave enough to endure the operation again, if it would only kill time and satisfy her tormentor. But to cut into her brain! Merciful God! What should she do? She could not escape, for he watched her with cat-like vigilance. Scream she dare not, for so did the other frightened victim. She must try to gain time.

With a rapt expression he continued: "Since the days of Esculapius there has been no such transcendent theory as this which is to make me famous. All my weary nights of thought and days of study are to be rewarded at last. Come child, are you ready? It will not hurt you. Only a little pin-prick, and no pain. I would not pain you my dear."

What if he should let her bleed to death! Oh sister, oh lover, come, or she would die of horror, if not the knife! And Katie—why didn't she come! At this moment the sound of the train whistle in the distance broke on the stillness of the night. How could she gain ten minutes more? The man had not noticed the sound.

"What do you wish?" she asked sweetly, "What shall I get for you?"

"Only a handkerchief and a basin," he replied coolly, still fingering a sharp lancet. "You are not afraid? Good girl; now for my crowning victory!"

As a sleep-walker she procured the articles and bared her arm. Tenderly he was binding it above the blue veins, when she said in winning tones:

"Let me tell you how I think would be the best way to do this—may I?" and she fixed her large eyes upon him in entreaty. He paused, and she continued:

"Now let me tie your arm in the same way. You open your own vein with the lancet, then open mine, and quickly after mix the two while the blood is warm. Do you see? You can't fail if you do it that way."

He looked at her. She did not flinch.

"Perhaps you are right; very well."

She arose as deliberately as she dared and went to her dresser for another handkerchief. At the moment she opened the linen case her ears, strained to the utmost, caught a murmur from below stairs. Turning quickly to see if the man also had heard, the door was pushed open and Katie's neat cap filled the aperture.

"Get on as fast as you can, driver," said George Randolph, as he and Mabel took seats in the village stage. Then turning to his companion, he said in reassuring tones: "Don't be frightened, dear; she is all right."

"I know it is foolish," said Mabel, half crying; "but those wretched placards made me nervous, and all that talk about escaped murderers and lunatics. I am fairly beside myself; do hurry!"

As the wide portals of Crestdale appeared, Mabel cried, in sudden terror:

"Something is wrong, George; see how dim the lights are! She would never welcome us like this. Don't wait to ring; open the doors!"

As George fitted his key in the lock and swung wide the door, a shrill scream from above made their blood curdle. Shriek upon shriek followed, as Katie came bounding down the stairs, almost knocking backward the two who ran past her to Jessie's room. White and lifeless they found her, prostrate, her arm still bound with the handkerchief. She had risen nobly to the awful emergency, but succumbed when relief came.

In vain Katie continued a shriek that a murtherer was in the room. The anxious watchers bent over their stricken darling, who was now lying on her own bed and beginning to show signs of life.

Before they could ascertain what had happened, for Katie was crazed and incoherent from fright, a furious ringing of the bell sounded long and loud. Michael opened the door to a party of men who were in pursuit of a strange-looking person whose face had been seen at the tower window; whether an escaped lunatic from the state asylum, or an escaped murderer for whom a large reward was offered, remained to be proved.

The search was instituted with George Randolph at the head. The victim was soon unearthed, but in a moment, laughing wildly in the frenzy of madness, he darted out upon the roof and, rather than be captured, dashed himself to the pavement below.

All night they sat beside the brave girl, and bit by bit heard her story. For days she was ill from the shock of her fearful experience. The wedding was very quiet, but George refused to have it deferred.

It was months before the bride could summon courage to live at Crestdale, and she was a much older woman before she could refer with composure to Katie's murtherin' ghost.