“Henry, have you never heard of a strange and dreadful superstition which, in some countries, is extremely rife, by which it is supposed that there are beings who never die.”

“Never die!”

“Never.  In a word, Henry, have you never heard of—­of—­I dread to pronounce the word.”

“Speak it.  God of Heaven! let me hear it.”

“A vampyre!”

Henry sprung to his feet.  His whole frame quivered with emotion; the drops of perspiration stood upon his brow, as, in, a strange, hoarse voice, he repeated the words,—­

“A vampyre!”

“Even so; one who has to renew a dreadful existence by human blood—­one who lives on for ever, and must keep up such a fearful existence upon human gore—­one who eats not and drinks not as other men—­a vampyre.”

Henry dropped into his scat, and uttered a deep groan of the most exquisite anguish.

“I could echo that groan,” said Marchdale, “but that I am so thoroughly bewildered I know not what to think.”

“Good God—­good God!”

“Do not too readily yield belief in so dreadful a supposition, I pray you.”

“Yield belief!” exclaimed Henry, as he rose, and lifted up one of his hands above his head.  “No; by Heaven, and the great God of all, who there rules, I will not easily believe aught so awful and so monstrous.”

“I applaud your sentiment, Henry; not willingly would I deliver up myself to so frightful a belief—­it is too horrible.  I merely have told you of that which you saw was on my mind.  You have surely before heard of such things.”

“I have—­I have.”

“I much marvel, then, that the supposition did not occur to you, Henry.”

“It did not—­it did not, Marchdale.  It—­it was too dreadful, I suppose, to find a home in my heart.  Oh!  Flora, Flora, if this horrible idea should once occur to you, reason cannot, I am quite sure, uphold you against it.”

“Let no one presume to insinuate it to her, Henry.  I would not have it mentioned to her for worlds.”

“Nor I—­nor I. Good God!  I shudder at the very thought—­the mere possibility; but there is no possibility, there can be none.  I will not believe it.”

“Nor I.”

“No; by Heaven’s justice, goodness, grace, and mercy, I will not believe it.”

“Tis well sworn, Henry; and now, discarding the supposition that Flora has been visited by a vampyre, let us seriously set about endeavouring, if we can, to account for what has happened in this house.”

“I—­I cannot now.”

“Nay, let us examine the matter; if we can find any natural explanation, let us cling to it, Henry, as the sheet-anchor of our very souls.”

“Do you think.  You are fertile in expedients.  Do you think, Marchdale; and, for Heaven’s sake, and for the sake of our own peace, find out some other way of accounting for what has happened, than the hideous one you have suggested.”