The people were now somewhat relieved, as to their state of solemnity and silence.  They would all of them converse freely on the matter that had so long occupied their thoughts.

They seemed now let loose, and everybody found himself at liberty to say or do something, no matter if it were not very reasonable; that is not always required of human beings who have souls, or, at least it is unexpected; and were it expected, the expectation would never be realized.

The day was likely to wear away without a riot, nay, even without a fight; a most extraordinary occurrence for such a place under the existing circumstances; for of late the populace, or, perhaps, the townspeople, were extremely pugnacious, and many were the disputes that were settled by the very satisfactory application of the knuckles to the head of the party holding a contrary opinion.

Thus it was they were ready to take fire, and a hubbub would be the result of the slightest provocation.  But, on the present occasion, there was a remarkable dearth of, all subjects of the nature described.

Who was to lead Israel out to battle?  Alas! no one on the present occasion.

Such a one, however, appeared, at least, one who furnished a ready excuse for a disturbance.

Suddenly, Mrs Chillingworth appeared in the midst of a large concourse of people.  She had just left her house, which was close at hand, her eyes red with weeping, and her children around her on this occasion.

The crowd made way for her, and gathered round her to see what was going to happen.

“Friends and neighbours,” she said “can any of you relieve the tears of a distressed wife and mother, have any of you seen anything of my husband, Mr. Chillingworth?”

“What the doctor?” exclaimed one.—­“Yes; Mr. Chillingworth, the surgeon.  He has not been home two days and a night.  I’m distracted!—­what can have become of him I don’t know, unless—­”

Here Mrs Chillingworth paused, and some person said,—­

“Unless what, Mrs Chillingworth? there are none but friends here, who wish the doctor well, and would do anything to serve him—­unless what? speak out.”

“Unless he’s been destroyed by the vampyre.  Heaven knows what we may all come to!  Here am I and my children deprived of our protector by some means which we cannot imagine.  He never, in all his life, did the same before.”

“He must have been spirited away by some of the vampyres.  I’ll tell you what, friend,” said one to another, “that something must be done; nobody’s safe in their bed.”

“No; they are not, indeed.  I think that all vampyres ought to be burned and a stake run through them, and then we should be safe.”

“Ay; but you must destroy all those who are even suspected of being vampyres, or else one may do all the mischief.”—­“So he might.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the mob.  “Chillingworth for ever!  We’ll find the doctor somewhere, if we pull down the whole town.”