men running through the hall towards my room. Whatever it was that had thus fastened itself upon me rose suddenly with a sort of grunt and I distinctly saw it disappear through the window. In a minute I was on my feet, had grasped my pistols and run to the window, but although the moon was shining brightly, could see no traces of a burglar or the means by which my chamber had been invaded. The landlord entered my room, looked solemnly at me, and when I had told my story shook his head gravely, and told me I had better make up my mind to die in a few days—two weeks at the farthest—for I had been sucked by a vampire. I told him I had not, but he only sighed, and asked me to let him see my neck. I did so, and his face brightened, for there was no trace of puncture there.     Shortly afterwards I was told that the devil was abroad and getting into corpses that should be lying quietly in their graves, and that all the village was frightened half out of its wits because only the night before not less than three of the villagers had been attacked by the devil, and had their blood sucked from their bodies. Of course I went to the churchyard, and there I found men in long, uncouth coats and terrible beards, and looking as if each of them when dead would naturally become a vampire, talking and gesticulating as if their whole lives were concentrated in that moment. A grave was to be opened—the grave of Peter Dickowitz, who had died three weeks before, and who, as the people said, had been harassing the village ever since.     The story in regard to this man was about as follows:—He had been a shepherd during the latter part of his life, but

many people remembered that he had often told them that when he was a young man he had lived in the service of a Turk near Belgrade. This Turk had died, and after death had become a vampire. Returning to the earth, he had sucked the blood from the throat of Dickowitz, who, as he claimed, had cured himself of the virus by eating earth from the grave of his old master, digging his body from the tomb and rubbing himself from head to foot in his blood. But, as it appeared, this cure had been imperfect.     The earth had already been removed from the two graves when I arrived at the churchyard, and men were engaged in pulling up the coffins. The priest of the village—of course, one of the priests of the Greek Church, than whom no more superstitious and ignorant set of men can be found on the face of the earth [our appologies for the casual bigotry]—stood near, mumbling prayers, and evidently scared much more than half out of his wits. The men now stood around with determination and horror in their eyes. In the background women and children were praying and wringing their hands, evidently dreading that at any moment a vampire might spring upon them. It was not long before the two coffins were placed side by side on the grass. Night had come on, and by the flickering light of lanterns the faces of all appeared weird and wild in their excitement and dread.     The coffins were opened, and as I, pressed forward by the crowd, looked into them, I saw—dare I tell it ?—in the sickly light of the flambeaux that the men within them were not dead; but, horrible beyond expression, deadly in their