He felt as great an interest in the escape of the vampyre as if some great advantage to himself bad been contingent upon such an event; and, although he spoke not a word, while the echoes of the little wood were all awakened by the clamorous manner in which the mob searched for their victim, his feelings could be well read upon his countenance.

The admiral, too, without possessing probably the fine feelings of Henry Bannerworth, took an unusually sympathetic interest in the fate of the vampyre; and, after placing himself in various attitudes of intense excitement, he exclaimed,—­

“D—­n it, Jack, I do hope, after all, the vampyre will get the better of them.  It’s like a whole flotilla attacking one vessel—­a lubberly proceeding at the best, and I’ll be hanged if I like it.  I should like to pour in a broadside into those fellows, just to let them see it wasn’t a proper English mode of fighting.  Shouldn’t you, Jack?”

“Ay, ay, sir, I should.”

“Shiver me, if I see an opportunity, if I don’t let some of those rascals know what’s what.”

Scarcely had these words escaped the lips of the old admiral than there arose a loud shout from the interior of the wood.  It was a shout of success, and seemed at the very least to herald the capture of the unfortunate Varney.

“By Heaven!” exclaimed Henry, “they have him.”

“God forbid!” said Mr. Marchdale; “this grows too serious.”

“Bear a hand, Jack,” said the admiral:  “we’ll have a fight for it yet; they sha’n’t murder even a vampyre in cold blood.  Load the pistols and send a flying shot or two among the rascals, the moment they appear.”

“No, no,” said Henry; “no more violence, at least there has been enough—­there has been enough.”

Even as he spoke there came rushing from among the trees, at the corner of the wood, the figure of a man.  There needed but one glance to assure them who it was.  Sir Francis Varney had been seen, and was flying before those implacable foes who had sought his life.

He had divested himself of his huge cloak, as well as of his low slouched hat, and, with a speed which nothing but the most absolute desperation could have enabled him to exert, he rushed onward, beating down before him every obstacle, and bounding over the meadows at a rate that, if he could have continued it for any length of time, would have set pursuit at defiance.

“Bravo!” shouted the admiral, “a stern chase is a long chase, and I wish them joy of it—­d——­e, Jack, did you ever see anybody get along like that?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“You never did, you scoundrel.”

“Yes, I did.”

“When and where?”

“When you ran away off the sound.”

The admiral turned nearly blue with anger, but Jack looked perfectly imperturbable, as he added,—­

“You know you ran away after the French frigates who wouldn’t stay to fight you.”