“If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let her fade away into peace, for I see no light in life over her horizon.”  He went on with his work with, if possible, renewed and more frenzied vigour.

Presently we both began to be conscious that the heat was beginning to be of some effect.  Lucy’s heart beat a trifle more audibly to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible movement.  Van Helsing’s face almost beamed, and as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her in a hot sheet to dry her he said to me, “The first gain is ours!  Check to the King!”

We took Lucy into another room, which had by now been prepared, and laid her in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down her throat.  I noticed that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round her throat.  She was still unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than, we had ever seen her.

Van Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay with her and not to take her eyes off her till we returned, and then beckoned me out of the room.

“We must consult as to what is to be done,” he said as we descended the stairs.  In the hall he opened the dining room door, and we passed in, he closing the door carefully behind him.  The shutters had been opened, but the blinds were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette of death which the British woman of the lower classes always rigidly observes.  The room was, therefore, dimly dark.  It was, however, light enough for our purposes.  Van Helsing’s sternness was somewhat relieved by a look of perplexity.  He was evidently torturing his mind about something, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke.

“What are we to do now?  Where are we to turn for help?  We must have another transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor girl’s life won’t be worth an hour’s purchase.  You are exhausted already.  I am exhausted too.  I fear to trust those women, even if they would have courage to submit.  What are we to do for some one who will open his veins for her?”

“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?”

The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris.

Van Helsing started angrily at the first sound, but his face softened and a glad look came into his eyes as I cried out, “Quincey Morris!” and rushed towards him with outstretched hands.

“What brought you here?” I cried as our hands met.

“I guess Art is the cause.”

He handed me a telegram.—­’Have not heard from Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious.  Cannot leave.  Father still in same condition.  Send me word how Lucy is.  Do not delay.—­Holmwood.’

“I think I came just in the nick of time.  You know you have only to tell me what to do.”

Van Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking him straight in the eyes as he said, “A brave man’s blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble.  You’re a man and no mistake.  Well, the devil may work against us for all he’s worth, but God sends us men when we want them.”