LITMIR.BIZ

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your eye from it in a horizontal line, as near as you can, towards the wood."

      Henry did so, and then he uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise, and pointed to a rising spot of ground, which was yet, in consequence of the number of tall trees in its vicinity, partially enveloped in shadow.

      "What is that?" he said.

      "I see something," said Marchdale. "By Heaven! it is a human form lying stretched there."

      "It is—as if in death."

      "What can it be?" said Chillingworth.

      "I dread to say," replied Marchdale; "but to my eyes, even at this distance, it seems like the form of him we chased last night."

      "The vampyre?"

      "Yes—yes. Look, the moonbeams touch him. Now the shadows of the trees gradually recede. God of Heaven! the figure moves."

      Henry's eyes were riveted to that fearful object, and now a scene presented itself which filled them all with wonder and astonishment, mingled with sensations of the greatest awe and alarm.

      As the moonbeams, in consequence of the luminary rising higher and higher in the heavens, came to touch this figure that lay extended on the rising ground, a perceptible movement took place in it. The limbs appeared to tremble, and although it did not rise up, the whole body gave signs of vitality.

      "The vampyre—the vampyre!" said Mr. Marchdale. "I cannot doubt it now. We must have hit him last night with the pistol bullets, and the moonbeams are now restoring him to a new life."

      Henry shuddered, and even Mr. Chillingworth turned pale. But he was the first to recover himself sufficiently to propose some course of action, and he said—

      "Let us descend and go up to this figure. It is a duty we owe to ourselves as much as to society."

      "Hold a moment," said Mr. Marchdale, as he produced a pistol. "I am an unerring shot, as you well know, Henry. Before we move from this position we now occupy, allow me to try what virtue may be in a bullet to lay that figure low again."

      "He is rising!" exclaimed Henry.

      Mr. Marchdale levelled the pistol—he took a sure and deliberate aim, and then, just as the figure seemed to be struggling to its feet, he fired, and, with a sudden bound, it fell again.

      "You have hit it," said Henry.

      "You have indeed," exclaimed the doctor. "I think we can go now."

      "Hush!" said Marchdale—"Hush! Does it not seem to you that, hit it as often as you will, the moonbeams will recover it?"

      "Yes—yes," said Henry, "they will—they will."

      "I can endure this no longer," said Mr. Chillingworth, as he sprung from the wall. "Follow me or not, as you please, I will seek the spot where this being lies."

      "Oh, be not rash," cried Marchdale. "See, it rises again, and its form looks gigantic."

      "I trust in Heaven and a righteous cause," said the doctor, as he drew the sword he had spoken of from the stick, and threw away the scabbard. "Come with me if you like, or I go alone."

      Henry at once jumped down from the wall, and then Marchdale followed him, saying—

      "Come on; I will not shrink."

      They ran towards the piece of rising ground; but before they got to it, the form rose and made rapidly towards a little wood which was in the immediate neighbourhood of the hillock.

      "It is conscious of being pursued," cried the doctor. "See how it glances back, and then increases its speed."

      "Fire upon it, Henry," said Marchdale.

      He did so; but either his shot did not take effect, or it was quite unheeded if it did, by the vampyre, which gained the wood before they could have a hope of getting sufficiently near it to effect, or endeavour to effect, a capture.

      "I cannot follow it there," said Marchdale. "In open country I would have pursued it closely; but I cannot follow it into the intricacies of a wood."

      "Pursuit is useless there," said Henry. "It is enveloped in the deepest gloom."

      "I am not so unreasonable," remarked Mr. Chillingworth, "as to wish you to follow into such a place as that. I am confounded utterly by this affair."

      "And I," said Marchdale. "What on earth is to be done?"

      "Nothing—nothing!" exclaimed Henry, vehemently; "and yet I have, beneath the canopy of Heaven, declared that I will, so help me God! spare neither time nor trouble in the unravelling of this most fearful piece of business. Did either of you remark the clothing which this spectral appearance wore?"

      "They were antique clothes," said Mr. Chillingworth, "such as might have been fashionable a hundred years ago, but not now."

      "Such was my impression," added Marchdale.

      "And such my own," said Henry, excitedly. "Is it at all within the compass of the wildest belief that what we have seen is a vampyre, and no other than my ancestor who, a hundred years ago, committed suicide?"

      There was so much intense excitement, and evidence of mental suffering, that Mr. Chillingworth took him by the arm, saying—

      "Come home—come home; no more of this at present; you will but make yourself seriously unwell."

      "No—no—no."

      "Come home now, I pray you; you are by far too much excited about this matter to pursue it with the calmness which should be brought to bear upon it."

      "Take advice, Henry," said Marchdale, "take advice, and come home at once."

      "I will yield to you; I feel that I cannot control my own feelings—I will yield to you, who, as you say, are cooler on this subject than I can be. Oh, Flora, Flora, I have no comfort to bring to you now."

      Poor Henry Bannerworth appeared to be in a complete state of mental prostration, on account of the distressing circumstances that had occurred so rapidly and so suddenly in his family, which had had quite enough to contend with without having superadded to every other evil the horror of believing that some preternatural agency was at work to destroy every hope of future happiness in this world, under any circumstances.

      He suffered himself to be led home by Mr. Chillingworth and Marchdale; he no longer attempted to dispute the dreadful fact concerning the supposed vampyre; he could not contend now against all the corroborating circumstances that seemed to collect together for the purpose of proving that which, even when proved, was contrary to all his notions of Heaven, and at variance with all that was recorded and established is part and parcel of the system of nature.

      "I cannot deny," he said, when they had reached home, "that such things are possible; but the probability will not bear a moment's investigation."

      "There are more things," said Marchdale, solemnly, "in Heaven, and on earth, than are dreamed of in our philosophy."

      "There are indeed, it appears," said Mr. Chillingworth.

      "And are you a convert?" said Henry, turning to him.

      "A convert to what?"

      "To a belief in—in—these vampyres?"

      "I? No, indeed; if you were to shut me up in a room full of vampyres, I would tell them all to their teeth that I defied them."

      "But after what we have seen to-night?"

      "What have we seen?"

      "You are yourself a witness."

      "True; I saw a man lying down, and then I saw a man get up; he seemed then to be shot, but whether he was or not he only knows; and then I saw him walk off in a desperate hurry. Beyond that, I saw nothing."

      "Yes; but, taking such circumstances into combination with others, have you not a terrible fear of the truth of the dreadful

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