"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Lucy wore it every day from then on. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. Out of the beaten track! He must not appear too eager. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John. “Let me see,” he said. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. ’ ‘Is she now? And what would you be wanting of her, may I ask?’ ‘Because she knows something that may make this fool understand that I am the mistress of—’ She broke off. ” She paused.
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