“I say, admiral,” said Mr. Chillingworth, when they reached the gates, “you know it is not quite the thing to call a man a vampyre at his own breakfast-table, so just oblige me by promising not to make any such remark to Sir Francis.”

“A likely thing!” said the admiral; “he knows I know what he is, and he knows I’m a plain man and a blunt speaker; however, I’ll be civil to him, and more than that I can’t promise.  I must wring out of him, if I can, what has become of Charles Holland, and what the deuce he really wants himself.”

“Well, well; come to no collision with him, while we’re his guests.”

“Not if I can help it.”

The doctor rang at the gate bell of Walmesley Lodge, and was in a few moments answered by a woman, who demanded their business.

“Is Sir Francis Varney here?” said the doctor.

“Oh, ah! yes,” she replied; “you see his house was burnt down, for something or other—­I’m sure I don’t know what—­by some people—­I’m sure I don’t know who; so, as the lodge was to let, we have took him in till he can suit himself.”

“Ah! that’s it, is it?” said the admiral—­“tell him that Admiral Bell and Dr. Chillingworth are here.”

“Very well,” said the woman; “you may walk in.”

“Thank ye; you’re vastly obliging, ma’am.  Is there anything going on in the breakfast line?”

“Well, yes; I am getting him some breakfast, but he didn’t say as he expected company.”

The woman opened the garden gate, and they walked up a trimly laid out garden to the lodge, which was a cottage-like structure in external appearance, although within it boasted of all the comforts of a tolerably extensive house.

She left them in a small room, leading from the hall, and was absent about five minutes; then she returned, and, merely saying that Sir Francis Varney presented his compliments, and desired them to walk up stairs, she preceded them up a handsome flight which led to the first floor of the lodge.

Up to this moment, Mr. Chillingworth had expected some excuse, for, notwithstanding all he had heard and seen of Sir Francis Varney, he could not believe that any amount of impudence would suffice to enable him to receive people as his guests, with whom he must feel that he was at such positive war.

It was a singular circumstance; and, perhaps, the only thing that matched the cool impertinence of the invitation, was the acceptance of it under the circumstances by the admiral.

Sir Francis Varney might have intended it as a jest; but if he did so, in the first instance, it was evident he would not allow himself to be beaten with his own weapons.

The room into which they were shown was a longish narrow one; a very wide door gave them admission to it, at the end, nearest the staircase, and at its other extremity there was a similar door opening into some other apartments of the house.

Sir Francis Varney sat with his back towards this second door, and a table, with some chairs and other articles of furniture, were so arranged before him, that while they seemed but to be carelessly placed in the position they occupied, they really formed a pretty good barrier between him and his visitors.