Many a holy man has chanted the Psalms under the arches of Melrose Abbey, but the vampire priest had never lived aught but a worldly, carnal life.  He held a post that suited him well, as chaplain to a certain illustrious lady whose property lay near the Eildons, and who, so long as her Mess John performed his duties as family priest, paid no heed to his mode of occupying his time when these were performed.

The chaplain was of the type of the sporting parson of later days.  He loved the hunt.  He loved a good bottle, a good horse, a good dog. “The Hundeprest" was the name he went by.  Other things he also loved that made not for sanctity, and when, at last, he died, his death was no more holy than his selfish, sensual life had been.  No protecting aspen stake had been driven through his body, and so when he was laid to rest under the shadow of the monastery, for him rest there was none.  The holy brothers inside the walls protected themselves from him, when he came a-wandering, by vigils and by prayers.  The lady whose chaplain he had been was less well protected, and when, night after night, her sleep was broken by horrible groans and murmurings from a thing that always seemed just without her room, and almost about to enter, she became nearly frantic.  She came to Melrose, and with tears besought the holy fathers, who owed much to her bounty, to wrestle for her in prayer and drive this evil thing away.  The monks of Melrose did for her what they could.  Not only did they pray, but two stout-hearted friars and two powerful young laymen all well armed were appointed to guard the grave of the lady’s late chaplain, and to go on duty that very night.

It was chill autumn, and as they paced the damp grass of the graveyard there was a smell of dead leaves in the air, and a grey mist crept up from the Tweed that moaned as it bore its flooded waters to the sea.  When midnight came they expected to see the Hundeprest, but midnight passed in safety, and in “the wee, sma’ hours” the two laymen and one of the monks went into the nearest cottage to warm their icy feet.  Now came the chance of the vampire.  With “a terrible noise” the Hundeprest suddenly appeared, a thing of horror, and rushed at the monk who was slowly pacing towards the grave.  The holy man bravely stood the charge, and, as the monster was almost touching him, he swung the axe which he carried, and drove it with all his might into the body of his diabolic adversary.  With a groan, the vampire turned and fled away, and the friar, the tables turned, ran in pursuit until the grave of the Hundeprest was reached, and the horror vanished.

Nothing of the encounter was to be seen when the other three watchers returned, but grey dawn was near, and at the first sign of light the four men, with pick-axe and spade, opened up the grave.  Even as they dug their spades turned up mingled blood and clay, and when they came to the corpse of the Hundeprest, they found it fresh as on the day he died, but with a terrible wound in the body, from which the blood still oozed away.