a soft gentle silvery light began to spread itself over the heavens. The moon was rising, and as the beneficial effects of the storm of the preceding evening were still felt in the clearness of the air, the rays appeared to be more lustrous and full of beauty than they commonly were.
Each moment the night grew lighter, and by the time the brothers were ready to take their places in the chamber of Flora, the moon had risen considerably.
Although neither Henry nor George had any objection to the company of Mr. Marchdale, yet they gave him the option, and rather in fact urged him not to destroy his night's repose by sitting up with them; but he said—
"Allow me to do so; I am older, and have calmer judgment than you can have. Should anything again appear, I am quite resolved that it shall not escape me."
"What would you do?"
"With the name of God upon my lips," said Mr. Marchdale, solemnly, "I would grapple with it."
"You laid hands upon it last night."
"I did, and have forgotten to show you what I tore from it. Look here—what should you say this was?"
He produced a piece of cloth, on which was an old-fashioned piece of lace, and two buttons. Upon a close inspection, this appeared to be a portion of the lapel of a coat of ancient times, and suddenly, Henry, with a look of intense anxiety, said—
"This reminds me of the fashion of garments very many years ago, Mr. Marchdale."
"It came away in my grasp as if rotten and incapable of standing any rough usage."
"What a strange unearthly smell it has!"
"Now you mention it yourself," added Mr. Marchdale, "I must confess it smells to me as if it had really come from the very grave."
"It does—it does. Say nothing of this relic of last night's work to any one."
"Be assured I shall not. I am far from wishing to keep up in any one's mind proofs of that which I would fain, very fain refute."
Mr. Marchdale replaced the portion of the coat which the figure had worn in his pocket, and then the whole three proceeded to the chamber of Flora.
It was within a very few minutes of midnight, the moon had climbed high in the heavens, and a night of such brightness and beauty had seldom shown itself for a long period of time.
Flora slept, and in her chamber sat the two brothers and Mr. Marchdale, silently, for she had shown symptoms of restlessness, and they much feared to break the light slumber into which she had fallen.
Occasionally they had conversed in whispers, which could not have the effect of rousing her, for the room, although smaller than the one she had before occupied, was still sufficiently spacious to enable them to get some distance from the bed.
Until the hour of midnight now actually struck, they were silent, and when the last echo of the sounds had died away, a feeling of uneasiness came over them, which prompted some conversation to get rid of it.
"How bright the moon is now," said Henry, in a low tone.
"I never saw it brighter," replied Marchdale. "I feel as if I were assured that we shall not to-night be interrupted."
"It was later than this," said Henry.
"It was—it was."
"Do not then yet congratulate us upon no visit."
"How still the house is!" remarked George; "it seems to me as if I had never found it so intensely quiet before."
"It is very still."
"Hush! she moves."
Flora moaned in her sleep, and made a slight movement. The curtains were all drawn closely round the bed to shield her eyes from the bright moonlight which streamed into the room so brilliantly. They might have closed the shutters of the window, but this they did not like to do, as it would render their watch there of no avail at all, inasmuch as they would not be able to see if any attempt was made by any one to obtain admittance.
A quarter of an hour longer might have thus passed when Mr. Marchdale said in a whisper—
"A thought has just struck me that the piece of coat I have, which I dragged from the figure last night, wonderfully resembles in colour and appearance the style of dress of the portrait in the room which Flora lately slept in."
"I thought of that," said Henry, "when first I saw it; but, to tell the honest truth, I dreaded to suggest any new proof connected with last night's visitation."
"Then I ought not to have drawn your attention to it," said Mr. Marchdale, "and regret I have done so."
"Nay, do not blame yourself on such an account," said Henry. "You are quite right, and it is I who am too foolishly sensitive. Now, however, since you have mentioned it, I must own I have a great desire to test the accuracy of the observation by a comparison with the portrait."
"That may easily be done."
"I will remain here," said George, "in case Flora awakens, while you two go if you like. It is but across the corridor."
Henry immediately rose, saying—
"Come, Mr. Marchdale, come. Let us satisfy ourselves at all events upon this point at once. As George says it is only across the corridor, and we can return directly."
"I am willing," said Mr. Marchdale, with a tone of sadness.
There was no light needed, for the moon stood suspended in a cloudless sky, so that from the house being a detached one, and containing numerous windows, it was as light as day.
Although the distance from one chamber to the other was only across the corridor, it was a greater space than these words might occupy, for the corridor was wide, neither was it directly across, but considerably slanting. However, it was certainly sufficiently close at hand for any sound of alarm from one chamber to reach another without any difficulty.
A few moments sufficed to place Henry and Mr. Marchdale in that antique room, where, from the effect of the moonlight which was streaming over it, the portrait on the panel looked exceedingly life like.
And this effect was probably the greater because the rest of the room was not illuminated by the moon's rays, which came through a window in the corridor, and then at the open door of that chamber upon the portrait.
Mr. Marchdale held the piece of cloth he had close to the dress of the portrait, and one glance was sufficient to show the wonderful likeness between the two.
"Good God!" said Henry, "it is the same."
Mr. Marchdale dropped the piece of cloth and trembled.
"This fact shakes even your scepticism," said Henry.
"I know not what to make of it."
"I can tell you something which bears upon it. I do not know if you are sufficiently aware of my family history to know that this one of my ancestors, I wish I could say worthy ancestors, committed suicide, and was buried in his clothes."
"You—you are sure of that?"
"Quite sure."
"I am more and more bewildered as each moment some strange corroborative fact of that dreadful supposition we so much shrink from seems to come to light and to force itself upon our attention."
There was a silence of a few moments duration, and Henry had turned towards Mr. Marchdale to say something, when the cautious tread of a footstep was heard in the garden, immediately beneath that balcony.
A sickening sensation came over Henry, and he was compelled to lean against the wall for support, as in scarcely articulate accents he said—
"The vampyre—the vampyre! God of heaven, it has come once again!"
"Now, Heaven inspire us with more than mortal courage," cried Mr. Marchdale, and he dashed open the