ve a charming sister, young,
beautiful, and accomplished. Shall I confess, now, that I had hopes of
making myself agreeable to her?"

"You make yourself agreeable to her? The sight of you would blast her
for ever, and drive her to madness."

"Am I so hideous?"

"No, but--you are--"

"What am I?"

"Hush, Henry, hush," cried Marchdale. "Remember you are in this
gentleman's house."

"True, true. Why does he tempt me to say these dreadful things? I do not
want to say them."

"Come away, then--come away at once. Sir Francis Varney, my friend, Mr.
Bannerworth, will think over your offer, and let you know. I think you
may consider that your wish to become the purchaser of the Hall will be
complied with."

"I wish to have it," said Varney, "and I can only say, that if I am
master of it, I shall be very happy to see any of the family on a visit
at any time."

"A visit!" said Henry, with a shudder. "A visit to the tomb were far
more desirable. Farewell, sir."

"Adieu," said Sir Francis Varney, and he made one of the most elegant
bows in the world, while there came over his face a peculiarity of
expression that was strange, if not painful, to contemplate. In another
minute Henry and Marchdale were clear of the house, and with feelings of
bewilderment and horror, which beggar all description, poor Henry
allowed himself to be led by the arm by Marchdale to some distance,
without uttering a word. When he did speak, he said,--

"Marchdale, it would be charity of some one to kill me."

"To kill you!"

"Yes, for I am certain otherwise that I must go mad."

"Nay, nay; rouse yourself."

"This man, Varney, is a vampyre."

"Hush! hush!"

"I tell you, Marchdale," cried Henry, in a wild, excited manner, "he is
a vampyre. He is the dreadful being who visited Flora at the still hour
of midnight, and drained the life-blood from her veins. He is a vampyre.
There are such things. I cannot doubt now. Oh, God, I wish now that your
lightnings would blast me, as here I stand, for over into annihilation,
for I am going mad to be compelled to feel that such horrors can really
have existence."

"Henry--Henry."

"Nay, talk not to me. What can I do? Shall I kill him? Is it not a
sacred duty to destroy such a thing? Oh, horror--horror. He must be
killed--destroyed--burnt, and the very dust to which he is consumed must
be scattered to the winds of Heaven. It would be a deed well done,
Marchdale."

"Hush! hush! These words are da