interview with
Mr. Andrews and Mr. Green.

I gave full instructions to Andrews, and he informed Mrs. Potter of my
wishes, at the same time conveying to her another large bottle of blood.

_CHAPTER VII._

About one o'clock that night Mrs. Potter rose, quietly dressed herself,
and stealthily left the house. She walked to the nearest point on the
creek and began to drop blood from her bottle. She spilled small
portions of it all the way back to the house, up the front walk, in the
hall, and finally, slipping into Drysdale's room, she scattered the
crimson drops on his pillow. She then retired to bed.

When she awoke in the morning, she found Mrs. Drysdale in a very uneasy
state of mind. She said that her husband had again been attacked by
bleeding at the nose, and that he was quite weak from the loss of blood.
Mrs. Potter deeply sympathized with Mrs. Drysdale, but she could assist
her only by kind and consoling words.

The family had hardly finished their breakfast when a number of the
neighbors came in in a high state of excitement. They said that blood
had been discovered on the grass near where the ghost had been seen, and
that quite a crowd had gathered around it. They had found other
blood-marks at intervals along the road, and on following the direction
in which they traveled, it was found that they led straight to
Drysdale's house. The question now arose, did the wounded person go from
the house to the creek, or _vice versa_. Drysdale was terribly excited
on learning of the discovery, and he was soon in a species of delirium.
It was known that he was quite sick, so that the neighbors soon
withdrew. Many thought that the blood was that of a burglar or negro
sneak-thief, who might have gone to Drysdale's house to steal, but who
had been frightened off before he had secured any plunder. The blood
might have been from an old hurt. Others, more superstitiously inclined,
believed that the ghost was in some way responsible for the blood. No
one was able to solve the mystery, however, and it added to the terror
with which the ghost story had inspired the negroes.

Drysdale was now confined to his bed, and he would see no one except his
wife and Andrews. He insisted that he was not sick, but only run down by
overwork, and so refused to have a doctor. Andrews' influence over him
was greater than that of any one else, and it was plain that the latter
had completely secured his confidence. As I now felt convinced