“You are exceedingly delicate.”—­“Perhaps I am; it’s my way, though.  I have shot him—­not you, mind; so, in a manner of speaking, he belongs to me.  Now, mark, me:  I won’t have him touched any more to-night, unless you think there’s a chance of making a prisoner of him without violence.”

“There he lies; you can go and make a prisoner of him at once, dead as he is; and if you take him out of the moonlight—­”

“I understand; he won’t recover.”—­“Certainly not.”

“But, as I want him to recover, that don’t suit me.”—­“Well, I cannot but honour your scruples, although I do not actually share in them; but I promise you that, since such is your wish, I will take no steps against the vampyre; but let us come up to him and see if he be really dead, or only badly wounded.”

Tom Eccles hang back a little from this proposal; but, upon being urged again by Marchdale, and told that he need not go closer than he chose, he consented, and the two of them approached the prostrate form of Sir Francis Varney, which lay upon its face in the faint moonlight, which each moment was gathering strength and power.

“He lies upon his face,” said Marchdale.  “Will you go and turn him over?”—­“Who—­I?  God forbid I should touch him.”

“Well—­well, I will.  Come on.”

They halted within a couple of yards of the body.  Tom Eccles would not go a step farther; so Marchdale advanced alone, and pretended to be, with great repugnance, examining for the wound.

“He is quite dead,” he said; “but I cannot see the hurt.”—­“I think he turned his head as I fired.”

“Did he?  Let us see.”

Marchdale lifted up the head, and disclosed such a mass of clotted-looking blood, that Tom Eccles at once took to his heels, nor stopped until he was nearly as far off as the ruins.  Marchdale followed him more slowly, and when he came up to him, he said,—­

“The slugs have taken effect on his face.”—­“I know it—­I know it.  Don’t tell me.”

“He looks horrible.”—­“And I am a murderer.”

“Psha!  You look upon this matter too seriously.  Think of who and what he was, and then you will soon acquit yourself of being open to any such charge.”—­“I am bewildered, Mr. Marchdale, and cannot now know whether he be a vampyre or not.  If he be not, I have murdered, most unjustifiably, a fellow-creature.”

“Well, but if he be?”—­“Why, even then I do not know but that I ought to consider myself as guilty.  He is one of God’s creatures if he were ten times a vampyre.”

“Well, you really do take a serious view of the affair.”—­“Not more serious than it deserves.”

“And what do you mean to do?”—­“I shall remain here to await the result of what you tell me will ensue, if he be a real vampire.  Even now the moonbeams are full upon him, and each moment increasing in intensity.  Think you he will recover?”

“I do indeed.”—­“Then here will I wait.”