t even warn her, or
she die, then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers
of the devils against us!"

Suddenly he jumped to his feet. "Come," he said, "come, we must see and
act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not.
We must fight him all the same." He went to the hall door for his
bag, and together we went up to Lucy's room.

Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the
bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face with
the same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern
sadness and infinite pity.

"As I expected," he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his
which meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and
then began to set out on the little table the instruments for yet
another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognized
the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a
warning hand. "No!" he said. "Today you must operate. I shall
provide. You are weakened already." As he spoke he took off his coat
and rolled up his shirtsleeve.

Again the operation. Again the narcotic. Again some return of colour
to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep. This
time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested.

Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she
must not remove anything from Lucy's room without consulting him.
That the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of
their odour was a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the
care of the case himself, saying that he would watch this night and
the next, and would send me word when to come.

After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright and
seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.

What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit of
life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own brain.

LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY

17 September.--Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong
again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through
some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful
sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a
dim half remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing,
darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present
distress more poignant. And then long spells of obliv