fact is, we have every reason to believe that one member of our own family is one of those horrible preternatural beings called vampyres."
"Good God, Henry, can you allow your judgment for a moment to stoop to such a supposition?"
"That is what I have asked myself a hundred times; but, Charles Holland, the judgment, the feelings, and all the prejudices, natural and acquired, must succumb to actual ocular demonstration. Listen to me, and do not interrupt me. You shall know all, and you shall know it circumstantially."
Henry then related to the astonished Charles Holland all that had occurred, from the first alarm of Flora, up to that period when he, Holland, caught her in his arms as she was about to leave the room.
"And now," he said, in conclusion, "I cannot tell what opinion you may come to as regards these most singular events. You will recollect that here is the unbiassed evidence of four or five people to the facts, and, beyond that, the servants, who have seen something of the horrible visitor."
"You bewilder me, utterly," said Charles Holland.
"As we are all bewildered."
"But—but, gracious Heaven! it cannot be."
"It is."
"No—no. There is—there must be yet some dreadful mistake."
"Can you start any supposition by which we can otherwise explain any of the phenomena I have described to you? If you can, for Heaven's sake do so, and you will find no one who will cling to it with more tenacity than I."
"Any other species or kind of supernatural appearance might admit of argument; but this, to my perception, is too wildly improbable—too much at variance with all we see and know of the operations of nature."
"It is so. All that we have told ourselves repeatedly, and yet is all human reason at once struck down by the few brief words of—'We have seen it.'"
"I would doubt my eyesight."
"One might; but many cannot be labouring under the same delusion."
"My friend, I pray you, do not make me shudder at the supposition that such a dreadful thing as this is at all possible."
"I am, believe me, Charles, most unwilling to oppress anyone with the knowledge of these evils; but you are so situated with us, that you ought to know, and you will clearly understand that you may, with perfect honour, now consider yourself free from all engagements you have entered into with Flora."
"No, no! By Heaven, no!"
"Yes, Charles. Reflect upon the consequences now of a union with such a family."
"Oh, Henry Bannerworth, can you suppose me so dead to all good feeling, so utterly lost to honourable impulses, as to eject from my heart her who has possession of it entirely, on such a ground as this?"
"You would be justified."
"Coldly justified in prudence I might be. There are a thousand circumstances in which a man may be justified in a particular course of action, and that course yet may be neither honourable nor just. I love Flora; and were she tormented by the whole of the supernatural world, I should still love her. Nay, it becomes, then, a higher and a nobler duty on my part to stand between her and those evils, if possible."
"Charles—Charles," said Henry, "I cannot of course refuse to you my meed of praise and admiration for your generosity of feeling; but, remember, if we are compelled, despite all our feelings and all our predilections to the contrary, to give in to a belief in the existence of vampyres, why may we not at once receive as the truth all that is recorded of them?"
"To what do you allude?"
"To this. That one who has been visited by a vampyre, and whose blood has formed a horrible repast for such a being, becomes, after death, one of the dreadful race, and visits others in the same way."
"Now this must be insanity," cried Charles.
"It bears the aspect of it, indeed," said Henry; "oh, that you could by some means satisfy yourself that I am mad."
"There may be insanity in this family," thought Charles, with such an exquisite pang of misery, that he groaned aloud.
"Already," added Henry, mournfully, "already the blighting influence of the dreadful tale is upon you, Charles. Oh, let me add my advice to Flora's entreaties. She loves you, and we all esteem you; fly, then, from us, and leave us to encounter our miseries alone. Fly from us, Charles Holland, and take with you our best wishes for happiness which you cannot know here."
"Never," cried Charles; "I devote my existence to Flora. I will not play the coward, and fly from one whom I love, on such grounds. I devote my life to her."
Henry could not speak for emotion for several minutes, and when at length, in a faltering voice, he could utter some words, he said—
"God of heaven, what happiness is marred by these horrible events? What have we all done to be the victims of such a dreadful act of vengeance?"
"Henry, do not talk in that way," cried Charles. "Rather let us bend all our energies to overcoming the evil, than spend any time in useless lamentations. I cannot even yet give in to a belief in the existence of such a being as you say visited Flora."
"But the evidences."
"Look you here, Henry: until I am convinced that some things have happened which it is totally impossible could happen by any human means whatever, I will not ascribe them to supernatural influence."
"But what human means, Charles, could produce what I have now narrated to you?"
"I do not know, just at present, but I will give the subject the most attentive consideration. Will you accommodate me here for a time?"
"You know you are as welcome here as if the house were your own, and all that it contains."
"I believe so, most truly. You have no objection, I presume, to my conversing with Flora upon this strange subject?"
"Certainly not. Of course you will be careful to say nothing which can add to her fears."
"I shall be most guarded, believe me. You say that your brother George, Mr. Chillingworth, yourself, and this Mr. Marchdale, have all been cognisant of the circumstances."
"Yes—yes."
"Then with the whole of them you permit me to hold free communication upon the subject?"
"Most certainly."
"I will do so then. Keep up good heart, Henry, and this affair, which looks so full of terror at first sight, may yet be divested of some of its hideous aspect."
"I am rejoiced, if anything can rejoice me now," said Henry, "to see you view the subject with so much philosophy."
"Why," said Charles, "you made a remark of your own, which enabled me, viewing the matter in its very worst and most hideous aspect, to gather hope."
"What was that?"
"You said, properly and naturally enough, that if ever we felt that there was such a weight of evidence in favour of a belief in the existence of vampyres that we are compelled to succumb to it, we might as well receive all the popular feelings and superstitions concerning them likewise."
"I did. Where is the mind to pause, when once we open it to the reception of such things?"
"Well, then, if that be the case, we will watch this vampyre and catch it."
"Catch it?"
"Yes; surely it can be caught; as I understand, this species of being is not like an apparition, that may be composed of thin air, and utterly impalpable to the human touch, but it consists of a revivified corpse."
"Yes, yes."
"Then it is tangible and destructible. By Heaven! if ever I catch a glimpse of any such thing, it shall drag me to its home, be that where it may, or I will make it