Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. But there was a face pressed to the glass. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. All about her, hither and yon, lay the enticing Unknown.
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