It was evident that some one had been in the room; and that this was the woman whose excited fancy had led her to look upon the face of the corpse there could be no doubt, for the sheet was drawn aside just sufficiently to discover the countenance.

The fact was that the stranger was unknown at the inn, or probably ere this the coffin lid would have been screwed on; but it was hoped, up to the last moment, as advertisements had been put into the county papers, that some one would come forward to identify and claim him.

Such, however, had not been the case, and so his funeral had been determined upon.

The presence of so many persons at once effectually prevented any individual from exhibiting, even if he felt any superstitious fears about approaching the coffin; and so, with one accord, they surrounded it, and looked upon the face of the dead.

There was nothing repulsive in that countenance.  The fact was that decomposition had sufficiently advanced to induce a relaxation of the muscles, and a softening of the fibres, so that an appearance of calmness and repose had crept over the face which it did not wear immediately after death.

It happened, too, that the face was full of flesh—­for the death had been sudden, and there had not been that wasting away of the muscles and integuments which makes the skin cling, as it were, to the bone, when the ravages of long disease have exhausted the physical frame.

There was, unquestionably, a plumpness, a freshness, and a sort of vitality about the countenance that was remarkable.

For a few moments there was a death-like stillness in the apartment, and then one voice broke the silence by exclaiming,—­

“He’s a vampyre, and has come here to die.  Well he knows he’d be taken up by Sir Francis Varney, and become one of the crew.”

“Yes, yes,” cried several voices at once; “a vampyre! a vampyre!”

“Hold a moment,” cried one; “let us find somebody in the house who has seen him some days ago, and then we can ascertain if there’s any difference in his looks.”

This suggestion was agreed to, and a couple of stout men ran down stairs, and returned in a few moments with a trembling waiter, whom they had caught in the passage, and forced to accompany them.

This man seemed to think that he was to be made a dreadful example of in some sort of way; and, as he was dragged into the room, he trembled, and looked as pale as death.

“What have I done, gentlemen?” he said; “I ain’t a vampyre.  Don’t be driving a stake through me.  I assure you, gentlemen, I’m only a waiter, and have been for a matter of five-and-twenty years.”

“You’ll be done no harm to,” said one of his captors; “you’ve only got to answer a question that will be put to you.”

“Oh, well, certainly, gentlemen; anything you please.  Coming—­coming, as I always say; give your orders, the waiter’s in the room.”