“I will attend,” said Flora.  “I do not shudder now; there’s an icy coldness through my veins, but it is the night air—­speak, I will attend you.”

“I will.  Flora Bannerworth, I am one who has witnessed time’s mutations on man and on his works, and I have pitied neither; I have seen the fall of empires, and sighed not that high reaching ambition was toppled to the dust.  I have seen the grave close over the young and the beautiful—­those whom I have doomed by my insatiable thirst for human blood to death, long ere the usual span of life was past, but I never loved till now.”

“Can such a being as you,” said Flora “be susceptible of such an earthly passion?”

“And wherefore not?”

“Love is either too much of heaven, or too much of earth to find a home with thee.”

“No, Flora, no! it may be that the feeling is born of pity.  I will save you—­I will save you from a continuance of the horrors that are assailing you.”

“Oh! then may Heaven have mercy in your hour of need!”

“Amen!”

“May you even yet know peace and joy above.”

“It is a faint and straggling hope—­but if achieved, it will be through the interposition of such a spirit as thine, Flora, which has already exercised so benign an influence upon my tortured soul, as to produce the wish within my heart, to do a least one unselfish action.”

“That wish,” said Flora, “shall be father to the deed.  Heaven has boundless mercy yet.”

“For thy sweet sake, I will believe so much, Flora Bannerworth; it is a condition with my hateful race, that if we can find one human heart to love us, we are free.  If, in the face of Heaven, you will consent to be mine, you will snatch me from a continuance of my frightful doom, and for your pure sake, and on your merits, shall I yet know heavenly happiness.  Will you be mine?”

A cloud swept from off the face of the moon, and a slant ray fell upon the hideous features of the vampire.  He looked as if just rescued from some charnel-house, and endowed for a space with vitality to destroy all beauty and harmony in nature, and drive some benighted soul to madness.

“No, no, no!” shrieked Flora, “never!”

“Enough,” said Varney, “I am answered.  It was a bad proposal.  I am a vampyre still.”

“Spare me! spare me!”

“Blood!”

Flora sank upon her knees, and uplifted her hands to heaven.  “Mercy, mercy!” she said.

“Blood!” said Varney, and she saw his hideous, fang-like teeth.  “Blood!  Flora Bannerworth, the vampyre’s motto.  I have asked you to love me, and you will not—­the penalty be yours.”

“No, no!” said Flora.  “Can it be possible that even you, who have already spoken with judgment and precision, can be so unjust? you must feel that, in all respects, I have been a victim, most gratuitously—­a sufferer, while there existed no just cause that I should suffer; one who has been tortured, not from personal fault, selfishness, lapse of integrity, or honourable feelings, but because you have found it necessary, for the prolongation of your terrific existence, to attack me as you have done.  By what plea of honour, honesty, or justice, can I be blamed for not embracing an alternative which is beyond all human control?—­I cannot love you.”