A general impression, they knew not why exactly, seemed to pervade everybody, that in the room from whence streamed that bright light was Sir Francis Varney.

“The vampyre’s room!” said several.  “The vampyre’s room!  That is it!”

“Yes,” said he who had a kind of moral control over his comrades; “I have no doubt but he is there.”

“What’s to be done?” asked several.

“Make no noise whatever, but stand aside, so as not to be seen from the door when it is opened.”

“Yes, yes.”

“I will knock for admittance, and, the moment it is answered, I will place this stick in such a manner within, that the door cannot be closed again.  Upon my saying ‘Advance,’ you will make a rush forward, and we shall have possession immediately of the house.”

All this was agreed to.  The mob slunk close to the walls of the house, and out of immediate observation from the hall door, or from any of the windows, and then the leader advanced, and knocked loudly for admission.

The silence was now of the most complete character that could be imagined.  Those who came there so bent upon vengeance were thoroughly convinced of the necessity of extreme caution, to save themselves even yet from being completely foiled.

They had abundant faith, from experience, of the resources in the way of escape of Sir Francis Varney, and not one among them was there who considered that there was any chance of capturing him, except by surprise, and when once they got hold of him, they determined he should not easily slip through their fingers.

The knock for admission produced no effect; and, after waiting three or four minutes, it was very provoking to find such a wonderful amount of caution and cunning completely thrown away.

“Try again,” whispered one.

“Well, have patience; I am going to try again.”

The man had the ponderous old-fashioned knocker in his hand, and was about to make another appeal to Sir Francis Varney’s door, when a strange voice said,—­

“Perhaps you may as well say at once what you want, instead of knocking there to no purpose.”

He gave a start, for the voice seemed to come from the very door itself.

Yet it sounded decidedly human; and, upon a closer inspection, it was seen that a little wicket-gate, not larger than a man’s face, had been opened from within.

This was terribly provoking.  Here was an extent of caution on the part of the garrison quite unexpected.  What was to be done?

“Well?” said the man who appeared at the little opening.

“Oh,” said he who had knocked; “I—­”

“Well?”

“I—­that is to say—­ahem!  Is Sir Francis Varney within?”

“Well?”

“I say, is Sir Francis Varney within?”

“Well; you have said it!”

“Ah, but you have not answered it.”

“No.”

“Well, is he at home?”