“Hurrah!—­down with the vampyre—­pull him out!”

Then came an instant knocking at the doors, and the people on the outside made so great a din, that it seemed as though they contemplated knocking the house down at once, without warning the inmates that they waited there.

There was a cessation for about a minute, when one of the family hastened to the door, and inquired what was wanted.

“Varney, the vampyre,” was the reply.

“You must seek him elsewhere.”

“We will search this place before we go further,” replied a man.

“But he is not here.”

“We have reason to believe otherwise.  Open the door, and let us in—­no one shall be hurt, or one single object in the house; but we must come in, and search for the vampyre.”

“Come to-morrow, then.”

“That will not do,” said the voice; “open, or we force our way in without more notice.”

At the same a tremendous blow was bestowed upon the door, and then much force was used to thrust it in.  A consultation was suddenly held among the inmates, as to what was to be done, but no one could advise, and each was well aware of the utter impossibility of keeping the mob out.

“I do not see what is to become of me,” said Sir Francis Varney, suddenly appearing before them.  “You must let them in; there is no chance of keeping them off, neither can you conceal me.  You will have no place, save one, that will be sacred from their profanation.”

“And which is that?”

“Flora’s own room.”

All started at the thought that Flora’s chamber could in any way be profaned by any such presence as Sir Francis Varney’s.

However, the doors below were suddenly burst open, amid loud cries from the populace, who rushed in in great numbers, and began to search the lower rooms, immediately.

“All is lost!” said Sir Francis Varney, as he dashed away and rushed to the chamber of Flora, who, alarmed at the sounds that were now filling the house, stood listening to them.

“Miss Bannerworth—­” began Varney.

“Sir Francis!”

“Yes, it is indeed I, Miss Bannerworth; hear me, for one moment.”

“What is the matter?”

“I am again in peril—­in more imminent peril than before; my life is not worth a minute’s purchase, unless you save me.  You, and you alone, can now save me.  Oh!  Miss Bannerworth, if ever pity touched your heart, save me from those only whom I now fear.  I could meet death in any shape but that in which they will inflict it upon me.  Hear their execrations below!”

“Death to the vampyre! death to Varney! burn him! run a stake through his body!”

[Illustration]

“What can I do, Sir Francis?”

“Admit me to your chamber.”

“Sir Francis, are you aware of what you are saying?”

“I am well.  It is a request which you would justly scorn to reply to, but now my life—­recollect you have saved me once—­my life,—­do not now throw away the boon you have so kindly bestowed.  Save me, Miss Bannerworth.”