“I shall try a pistol bullet on him.  You say you are armed?”—­“Yes.”

“With pistols?”—­“One.  Here it is.”

“A huge weapon; loaded well, of course?”—­“Oh, yes, I can depend upon it; but I did not intend to use it, unless assailed.”

“’Tis well.  What is that?”—­“What—­what?”

“Don’t you see anything there?  Come farther back.  Look—­look.  At the corner of that wall there I am certain there is the flutter of a human garment.”—­“There is—­there is.”

“Hush!  Keep close.  It must be the vampyre.”—­“Give me my pistol.  What are you doing with it?”

“Only ramming down the charge more firmly for you.  Take it.  If that be Varney the vampyre, I shall challenge him to surrender the moment he appears; and if he does not, I will fire upon him, and do you do so likewise.”—­“Well, I—­I don’t know.”

“You have scruples?”—­“I certainly have.”

“Well, well—­don’t you fire, then, but leave it to me.  There; look—­look.  Now have you any doubt?  There he goes; in his cloak.  It is—­it is——­“—­“Varney, by Heavens!” cried Tom Eccles.

[Illustration]

“Surrender!” shouted Marchdale.

At the instant Sir Francis Varney sprang forward, and made off at a rapid pace across the meadows.

“Fire after him—­fire!” cried Marchdale, “or he will escape.  My pistol has missed fire.  He will be off.”

On the impulse of the moment, and thus urged by the voice and the gesture of his companion, Tom Eccles took aim as well as he could, and fired after the retreating form of Sir Francis Varney.  His conscience smote him as he heard the report and saw the flash of the large pistol amid the half sort of darkness that was still around.

The effect of the shot was then to him painfully apparent.  He saw Varney stop instantly; then make a vain attempt to stagger forward a little, and finally fall heavily to the earth, with all the appearance of one killed upon the spot.

“You have hit him,” said Marchdale—­“you have hit him.  Bravo!”—­“I have—­hit him.”

“Yes, a capital shot, by Jove!”—­“I am very sorry.”

“Sorry! sorry for ridding the world of such a being!  What was in your pistol?”—­“A couple of slugs.”

“Well, they have made a lodgment in him, that’s quite clear.  Let’s go up and finish him at once.”—­“He seems finished.”

“I beg your pardon there.  When the moonbeams fall upon him he’ll get up and walk away as if nothing was the matter.”—­“Will he?” cried Tom, with animation—­“will he?”

“Certainly he will.”—­“Thank God for that.  Now, hark you, Mr. Marchdale:  I should not have fired if you had not at the moment urged me to do so.  Now, I shall stay and see if the effect which you talk of will ensue; and although it may convince me that he is a vampyre, and that there are such things, he may go off, scot free, for me.”

“Go off?”—­“Yes; I don’t want to have even a vampyre’s blood upon my hands.”