“There is a strange confusion in my brain, and sleep comes over me suddenly, when I least expect it.  Henry, Henry, what I was, I shall never, never be again.”

“Say not so.  All this will pass away like a dream, and leave so faint a trace upon your memory, that the time will come when you will wonder it ever made so deep an impression on your mind.”

“You utter these words, Henry,” she said, “but they do not come from your heart.  Ah, no, no, no!  Who comes?”

The door was opened by Mrs. Bannerworth, who said,—­

“It is only me, my dear.  Henry, here is Dr. Chillingworth in the dining-room.”

Henry turned to Flora, saying,—­

“You will see him, dear Flora?  You know Mr. Chillingworth well.”

“Yes, Henry, yes, I will see him, or whoever you please.”

“Shew Mr. Chillingworth up,” said Henry to the servant.

In a few moments the medical man was in the room, and he at once approached the bedside to speak to Flora, upon whose pale countenance he looked with evident interest, while at the same time it seemed mingled with a painful feeling—­at least so his own face indicated.

“Well, Miss Bannerworth,” he said, “what is all this I hear about an ugly dream you have had?”

“A dream?” said Flora, as she fixed her beautiful eyes on his face.

“Yes, as I understand.”

She shuddered, and was silent.

“Was it not a dream, then?” added Mr. Chillingworth.

She wrung her hands, and in a voice of extreme anguish and pathos, said,—­

“Would it were a dream—­would it were a dream!  Oh, if any one could but convince me it was a dream!”

“Well, will you tell me what it was?”

“Yes, sir, it was a vampyre.”

Mr. Chillingworth glanced at Henry, as he said, in reply to Flora’s words,—­

“I suppose that is, after all, another name, Flora, for the nightmare?”

“No—­no—­no!”

“Do you really, then, persist in believing anything so absurd, Miss Bannerworth?”

“What can I say to the evidence of my own senses?” she replied.  “I saw it, Henry saw it, George saw, Mr. Marchdale, my mother—­all saw it.  We could not all be at the same time the victims of the same delusion.”

“How faintly you speak.”

“I am very faint and ill.”

“Indeed.  What wound is that on your neck?”

A wild expression came over the face of Flora; a spasmodic action of the muscles, accompanied with a shuddering, as if a sudden chill had come over the whole mass of blood took place, and she said,—­

“It is the mark left by the teeth of the vampyre.”

The smile was a forced one upon the face of Mr. Chillingworth.

“Draw up the blind of the window, Mr. Henry,” he said, “and let me examine this puncture to which your sister attaches so extraordinary a meaning.”

[Illustration]