"I should not be surprised," said Charles.
"How very odd."
"Very."
"And yet entertaining. I am rather amused than otherwise. The idea of being a vampyre. Ha! ha! If ever I go to a masquerade again, I shall certainly assume the character of a vampyre."
"You would do it well."
"I dare say, now, I should make quite a sensation."
"I am certain you would. Do you not think, gentlemen, that Sir Francis Varney would enact the character to the very life? By Heavens, he would do it so well that one might, without much difficulty, really imagine him a vampyre."
"Bravo—bravo," said Varney, as he gently folded his hands together, with that genteel applause that may even be indulged in in a box at the opera itself. "Bravo. I like to see young persons enthusiastic; it looks as if they had some of the real fire of genius in their composition. Bravo—bravo."
This was, Charles thought, the very height and acme of impudence, and yet what could he do? What could he say? He was foiled by the downright coolness of Varney.
As for Henry, George, and Mr. Marchdale, they had listened to what was passing between Sir Francis and Charles in silence. They feared to diminish the effect of anything Charles might say, by adding a word of their own; and, likewise, they did not wish to lose one observation that might come from the lips of Varney.
But now Charles appeared to have said all he had to say, he turned to the window and looked out. He seemed like a man who had made up his mind, for a time, to give up some contest in which he had been engaged.
And, perhaps, not so much did he give it up from any feeling or consciousness of being beaten, as from a conviction that it could be the more effectually, at some other and far more eligible opportunity, renewed.
Varney now addressed Henry, saying—
"I presume the subject of our conference, when you did me the honour of a call, is no secret to any one here?"
"None whatever," said Henry.
"Then, perhaps, I am too early in asking you if you have made up your mind?"
"I have scarcely, certainly, had time to think."
"My dear sir, do not let me hurry you; I much regret, indeed, the intrusion."
"You seem anxious to possess the Hall," remarked Mr. Marchdale, to Varney.
"I am."
"Is it new to you?"
"Not quite. I have some boyish recollections connected with this neighbourhood, among which Bannerworth Hall stands sufficiently prominent."
"May I ask how long ago that was?" said Charles Howard, rather abruptly.
"I do not recollect, my enthusiastic young friend," said Varney. "How old are you?"
"Just about twenty-one."
"You are, then, for your age, quite a model of discretion."
It would have been difficult for the most accurate observer of human nature to have decided whether this was said truthfully or ironically, so Charles made no reply to it whatever.
"I trust," said Henry, "we shall induce you, as this is your first visit, Sir Francis Varney, to the Hall, to partake of some thing."
"Well, well, a cup of wine—"
"Is at your service."
Henry now led the way to a small parlour, which, although by no means one of the showiest rooms of the house, was, from the care and exquisite carving with which it abounded, much more to the taste of any who possessed an accurate judgment in such works of art.
Then wine was ordered, and Charles took an opportunity of whispering to Henry—
"Notice well if he drinks."
"I will."
"Do you see that beneath his coat there is a raised place, as if his arm was bound up?"
"I do."
"There, then, was where the bullet from the pistol fired by Flora, when we were at the church, hit him."
"Hush! for God's sake, hush! you are getting into a dreadful state of excitement, Charles; hush! hush!"
"And can you blame—"
"No, no; but what can we do?"
"You are right. Nothing can we do at present. We have a clue now, and be it our mutual inclination, as well as duty, to follow it. Oh, you shall see how calm I will be!"
"For Heaven's sake, be so. I have noted that his eyes flash upon yours with no friendly feeling."
"His friendship were a curse."
"Hush! he drinks!"
"Watch him."
"I will."
"Gentlemen all," said Sir Francis Varney, in such soft, dulcet tones, that it was quite a fascination to hear him speak; "gentlemen all, being as I am, much delighted with your company, do not accuse me of presumption, if I drink now, poor drinker as I am, to our future merry meetings."
He raised the wine to his lips, and seemed to drink, after which he replaced the glass upon the table.
Charles glanced at it, it was still full.
"You have not drank, Sir Francis Varney," he said.
"Pardon me, enthusiastic young sir," said Varney, "perhaps you will have the liberality to allow me to take my wine how I please and when I please."
"Your glass is full."
"Well, sir?"
"Will you drink it?"
"Not at any man's bidding, most certainly. If the fair Flora Bannerworth would grace the board with her sweet presence, methinks I could then drink on, on, on."
"Hark you, sir," cried Charles, "I can bear no more of this. We have had in this house most horrible and damning evidence that there are such things as vampyres."
"Have you really? I suppose you eat raw pork at supper, and so had the nightmare?"
"A jest is welcome in its place, but pray hear me out, sir, if it suit your lofty courtesy to do so."
"Oh, certainly."
"Then I say we believe, as far as human judgment has a right to go, that a vampyre has been here."
"Go on, it's interesting. I always was a lover of the wild and the wonderful."
"We have, too," continued Charles, "some reason to believe that you are the man."
Varney tapped his forehead as he glanced at Henry, and said—
"Oh, dear, I did not know. You should have told me he was a little wrong about the brain; I might have quarreled with the lad. Dear me, how lamentable for his poor mother."
"This will not do, Sir Francis Varney alias Bannerworth."
"Oh—oh! Be calm—be calm."
"I defy you to your teeth, sir! No, God, no! Your teeth!"
"Poor lad! Poor lad!"
"You are a cowardly demon, and here I swear to devote myself to your destruction."
Sir Francis Varney drew himself up to his full height, and that was immense, as he said to Henry—
"I pray you, Mr. Bannerworth, since I am thus grievously insulted beneath your roof, to tell me if your friend here be mad or sane?"
"He's not mad."
"Then—"