"Yes, she will die and Merrin's God will not save her, Karras! You will not save her! She will die from Merrin's pride and your incompetence! Bungler! You should not have given her the Librium!"

Karras turned now and looked at the eyes. They were shining with triumph and piercing spite.

"Feel her pulse!" The demon grinned "Go ahead, Karras! Feel it!"

Regan's wrist was still gripped in his hand, and now he frowned worriedly. The pulse beat was rapid and...

"Feeble?" croaked the demon. "Ah, yes. A trifle. For the moment, just a bit."

Karras fetched his medical bag and took out his stethoscope. The demon rasped, "Listen, Karras! Listen well!"

Karras listened. The heart tones sounded distant and inefficient.

"I will not let her sleep!"

Karras flicked up his glance to the demon. Felt chilled.

"Yes, Karras!" it croaked. "She will not sleep! Do you hear? I will not let the piglet sleep!"

As Karras stared numbly, the demon put its head back in gloating laughter. He did not hear Merrin come back into the room.

The exorcist stood by him at the side of the bed and studied his face. "What is it?" he asked.

Karras answered dully, "The demon... said he wouldn't let her sleep." He turned haunted eyes on Merrin. "Her heart's begun to work inefficiently, Father. If she doesn't get rest pretty soon, she'll die of cardiac exhaustion."

Merrin looked grave. "Can you give her drugs? Some medicine to make her sleep?"

Karras shook his head. "No, that's dangerous. She might go into coma." He turned as Regan clucked like a hen. "If her blood pressure drops any more..." He trailed off.

"What can be done?" Merrin asked.

"Nothing... nothing..." Karras answered. "But I don't know--- maybe new advances---" He said abruptly to Merrin, "I'm going to call in a cardiac specialist, Father." Merrin nodded.

Karras went downstairs. He found Chris keeping vigil in the kitchen and from the room off the Pantry he heard Willie sobbing, heard the sound of Karras consoling voice. He explained the need for consultation, carefully not divulging the full extent of Regan's danger. Chris gave him permission, and Karras telephoned a friend, a noted specialist at the Georgetown University Medical School, awakening him and briefing him tersely.

"Be right there," said the specialist.

He was at the house in less than half an hour. In the bedroom he reacted with bewilderment to the cold and the stench and with horror and compassion to Regan's condition. She was now croaking gibberish. While the specialist examined her, she alternately sang and made animal noises. Then Dennings appearied.

"Oh, it's terrible,"' it whined at the specialist. "Just awful! Oh, I do hope there's something you can do! Is there something? We'll have no place to go, you see, otherwise, and all because...

Oh, damn the stubborn devil!" As the specialist stared oddly while taking Regan's blood pressure, Dennings looked to Karras and complained, "What the hell are you doing! Can't you see the little bitch should be in hospital? She belongs in a madhouse, Karras! Now you know that! Really! Now let's stop all this cunting mumbo-jumbo! If she dies, you know, it's your fault! All yours! I mean, just because he's stubborn doesn't mean you should behave like a snot!

You're a doctor! You should know better, Karras! Now come along; there's just a terrible shortage of housing these days. If we're---"

Back came the demon now, howling like a wolf. The specialist, expressionless, undid the sphygmomanometer wrapping. Then he nodded at Karras. He was finished.

They went out into the hall, where the specialist looked back at the bedroom door for a moment, and then turned to Karras. "What the hell's going on in there, Father?" The Jesuit averted his face. "I can't say," he said softly.

"Okay."

"What's the story?"

The specialist's manner was somber. "She's got to stop that activity... sleep... go to sleep before the blood pressure drops...."

"Is there anything I can do, Bill?"

The specialist looked directly at Karras and said, "Pray."

He said good night and walked away. Karras watched him, every artery and nerve begging rest, begging hope, begging miracles though he knew none could be. "...You should not have given her the Librium!"

He turned back to the room and pushed open the door with a hand that was heavy as his soul.

Merrin stood by the bedside, watching while Regan neighed shrilly like a horse. He heard Karras enter and looked at him inquiringly. Karras shook his head. Merrin nodded. There was sadness in his face; then acceptance; and as he turned back to Regan, there was grim resolve.

Merrin knelt by the bed. "Our Father..." he began.

Regan splattered him with dark and stinking bile, and then croaked, "You will lose! She will die!She will die!"

Karras picked up his copy of the Ritual. Opened it. Looked up and stared at Regan.

" 'Save your servant,' " prayed Merrin.

" 'In the face of the enemy.' "

In Karras' heart there was a desperate torment. Go to sleep! Go to sleep! roared his will in a frenzy.

But Regan did not sleep.

Not by dawn.

Not by noon.

Not by nightfall.

Not by Sunday, when the pulse rate was one hundred and forty, and ever threadier, while the fits continued unremittingly, while Karras and Merrin kept repeating the ritual, never sleeping, Karras feverishly groping for remedies: a restraining sheet to hold Regan's movements to a minimum; keeping everyone out of the bedroom for a time to see if lack of provocation might terminate the fits. It did not. And Regan's shouting was as draining as her movements. Yet the blood pressure held. But how much longer? Karras agonized. Ah, God, don't let her die! he cried repeatedly to himself. Don't let her die! Let her sleep! Let her sleep! Never was he conscious that his thoughts were prayers; only that the prayers were never answered.

At seven o'clock that Sunday evening, Karras sat mutely next to Merrin in the bedroom, exhausted and racked by the demonic attacks: his lack of faith; his incompetence; his flight from his mother in search of status. And Regan. His fault. "You should not have given her the Librium..."

The priests had just finished a cycle of the ritual. They were resting, listening to Regan singing

"Panis Angelicus." They rarely left the room, Karras once to change clothes and to shower. But in the cold it was easier to stay wakeful; in the stench that since morning had altered in character to the gorge-raising odor of decayed, rotted flesh.

Staring feverishly at Regan with red-veined eyes, Karras thought he heard a sound. Something creaked. Again: As he blinked. And then he realized it was coming from his own crusted eyelids. He turned toward Merrin. Through the hours, the exorcist had said very little: now and then a homely story of his boyhood; reminiscences; little things; a story about a duck he owned named Clancy. Karras worried about him. The lack of sleep. The demon's attacks. At his age.

Merrin closed his eyes and let his chin rest on his chest. Karras glanced around at Regan, and then wearily stood up and moved over to the bed. He checked her pulse and then began to take a blood pressure reading. As he wrapped the black sphygmomanometer cloth around the arm, he blinked repeatedly to clear the blurring of his vision.

"Today Muddir Day, Dimmy."