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."