He rose and dressed himself again, intending to sit up for an hour and then turn into bed and try a second time to get to sleep. But he had no means of getting a light, so he drew the heavy curtain from before the window, and let in as much of the moonlight as he could.
This window commanded a most beautiful and extensive view, for from it the eye could carry completely over the tops of the tallest trees, so that there was no interruption whatever to the prospect, which was as extensive as it was delightful.
Even the admiral, who never would confess to seeing much beauty in scenery where water formed not a large portion of it, could not resist opening his window and looking out, with a considerable degree of admiration, upon wood and dale, as they were illuminated by the moon's rays, softened, and rendered, if anything, more beautiful by the light vapours, through which they had to struggle to make their way.
Charles Holland, in order to avoid the likelihood of meeting with any one who would question him as to where he was going, determined upon leaving his room by the balcony, which, as we are aware, presented ample facilities for his so doing.
He cast a glance at the portrait in the panel before he left the apartment, and then saying—
"For you, dear Flora, for you I essay this meeting with the fearful original of that portrait," he immediately opened his window, and stepped out on to the balcony.
Young and active as was Charles Holland, to descend from that balcony presented to him no difficulty whatever, and he was, in a very few moments, safe in the garden of Bannerworth Hall.
He never thought, for a moment, to look up, or he would, in an instant, have seen the white head of his old uncle, as it was projected over the sill of the window of his chamber.
The drop of Charles from the balcony of his window, just made sufficient noise to attract the admiral's attention, and, then, before he could think of making any alarm, he saw Charles walking hastily across a grass plot, which was sufficiently in the light of the moon to enable the admiral at once to recognise him, and leave no sort of doubt as to his positive identity.
Of course, upon discovering that it was Charles, the necessity for making an alarm no longer existed, and, indeed, not knowing what it was that had induced him to leave his chamber, a moment's reflection suggested to him the propriety of not even calling to Charles, lest he should defeat some discovery which he might be about to make.
"He has heard something, or seen something," thought the admiral, "and is gone to find out what it is. I only wish I was with him; but up here I can do nothing at all, that's quite clear."
Charles, he saw, walked very rapidly, and like a man who has some fixed destination which he wishes to reach as quickly as possible.
When he dived among the trees which skirted one side of the flower gardens, the admiral was more puzzled than ever, and he said—
"Now where on earth is he off to? He is fully dressed, and has his cloak about him."
After a few moments' reflection he decided that, having seen something suspicious, Charles must have got up, and dressed himself, to fathom it.
The moment this idea became fairly impressed upon his mind, he left his bedroom, and descended to where one of the brothers he knew was sitting up, keeping watch during the night. It was Henry who was so on guard; and when the admiral came into the room, he uttered an expression of surprise to find him up, for it was now some time past twelve o'clock.
"I have come to tell you that Charles has left the house," said the admiral.
"Left the house?"
"Yes; I saw him just now go across the garden."
"And you are sure it was he?"
"Quite sure. I saw him by the moonlight cross the green plot."
"Then you may depend he has seen or heard something, and gone alone to find out what it is rather than give any alarm."
"That is just what I think."
"It must be so. I will follow him, if you can show me exactly which way he went."
"That I can easily. And in case I should have made any mistake, which it is not at all likely, we can go to his room first and see if it is empty."
"A good thought, certainly; that will at once put an end to all doubt upon the question."
They both immediately proceeded to Charles's room, and then the admiral's accuracy of identification of his nephew was immediately proved by finding that Charles was not there, and that the window was wide open.
"You see I am right," said the admiral.
"You are," cried Henry; "but what have we here?"
"Where?"
"Here on the dressing-table. Here are no less than three letters, all laid as it on purpose to catch the eye of the first one who might enter the room."
"Indeed!"
"You perceive them?"
Henry held them to the light, and after a moment's inspection of them, he said, in a voice of much surprise—
"Good God! what is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning of what?"
"The letters are addressed to parties in the house here. Do you not see?"
"To whom?"
"One to Admiral Bell—"
"The deuce!"
"Another to me, and the third to my sister Flora. There is some new mystery here."
The admiral looked at the superscription of one of the letters which was handed to him in silent amazement. Then he cried—
"Set down the light, and let us read them."
Henry did so, and then they simultaneously opened the epistles which were severally addressed to them. There was a silence, as of the very grave, for some moments, and then the old admiral staggered to a seat, as he exclaimed—
"Am I dreaming—am I dreaming?"
"Is this possible?" said Henry, in a voice of deep emotion, as he allowed the note addressed to him to drop on to the floor.
"D—n it, what does yours say?" cried the old admiral, in a louder tone.
"Read it—what says yours?"
"Read it—I'm amazed."
The letters were exchanged, and read by each with the same breathless attention they had bestowed upon their own; after which, they both looked at each other in silence, pictures of amazement, and the most absolute state of bewilderment.
Not to keep our readers in suspense, we at once transcribe each of these letters.
The one to the admiral contained these words—
"MY DEAR UNCLE,
"Of course you will perceive the prudence of keeping this letter to yourself, but the fact is, I have now made up my mind to leave Bannerworth Hall.
"Flora Bannerworth is not now the person she was when first I knew her and loved her. Such being the case, and she having altered, not I, she cannot accuse me of fickleness.
"I still love the Flora Bannerworth I first knew, but I cannot make my wife one who is subject to the visitations of a vampyre.
"I have remained here long enough now to satisfy myself that this vampyre business is no delusion. I am quite convinced that it is a positive fact, and that, after death, Flora will herself become one of the horrible existences known by that name.
"I will communicate to you from the first large city on the continent whither I am going, at which I make any stay, and in the meantime, make what excuses you like at Bannerworth Hall, which I advise you to leave as quickly as you can, and believe me to be, my dear