“I cannot, therefore, make her my wife under such very singular
     circumstances.

“Perhaps you may blame me for not taking at once advantage of the permission given me to forego my engagement when first I came to your house; but the fact is, I did not then in the least believe in the existence of the vampyre, but since a positive conviction of that most painful fact has now forced itself upon me, I beg to decline the honour of an alliance which I had at one time looked forward to with the most considerable satisfaction.

“I shall be on the continent as fast as conveyances can take me, therefore, should you entertain any romantic notions of calling me to an account for a course of proceeding I think perfectly and fully justifiable, you will not find me.

     “Accept the assurances of my respect for yourself and pity for
     your sister, and believe me to be, my dear sir, your sincere
     friend,

     “CHARLES HOLLAND.”

These two letters might well make the admiral stare at Henry Bannerworth, and Henry stare at him.

An occurrence so utterly and entirely unexpected by both of them, was enough to make them doubt the evidence of their own senses.  But there were the letters, as a damning evidence of the outrageous fact, and Charles Holland was gone.

It was the admiral who first recovered from the stunning effect of the epistles, and he, with a gesture of perfect fury, exclaimed,—­

“The scoundrel—­the cold-blooded villain!  I renounce him for ever! he is no nephew of mine; he is some d——­d imposter!  Nobody with a dash of my family blood in his veins would have acted so to save himself from a thousand deaths.”

“Who shall we trust now,” said Henry, “when those whom we take to our inmost hearts deceive us thus?  This is the greatest shock I have yet received.  If there be a pang greater than another, surely it is to be found in the faithlessness and heartlessness of one we loved and trusted.”

“He is a scoundrel!” roared the admiral.  “D—­n him, he’ll die on a dunghill, and that’s too good a place for him.  I cast him off—­I’ll find him out, and old as I am, I’ll fight him—­I’ll wring his neck, the rascal; and, as for poor dear Miss Flora, God bless her!  I’ll—­I’ll marry her myself, and make her an admiral.—­I’ll marry her myself.  Oh, that I should be uncle to such a rascal!”

“Calm yourself,” said Henry, “no one can blame you.”

“Yes, you can; I had no right to be his uncle, and I was an old fool to love him.”

The old man sat down, and his voice became broken with emotion as he said,—­

“Sir, I tell you I would have died willingly rather than this should have happened.  This will kill me now,—­I shall die now of shame and grief.”

Tears gushed from the admiral’s eyes and the sight of the noble old man’s emotion did much to calm the anger of Henry which, although he said but little, was boiling at his heart like a volcano.