True, she implored him to think of her no more—­no longer to cherish in his breast the fond dream of affection which had been its guest so long; but the manner in which she did so brought along with it an irresistible conviction, that she was making a noble sacrifice of her own feelings for him, from some cause which was involved in the profoundest mystery.

But now he was to hear all.  Henry had promised to tell him, and as he looked into his pale, but handsomely intellectual face, he half dreaded the disclosure he yet panted to hear.

“Tell me all, Henry—­tell me all,” he said.  “Upon the words that come from your lips I know I can rely.”

“I will have no reservations with you,” said Henry, sadly.  “You ought to know all, and you shall.  Prepare yourself for the strangest revelation you ever heard.”

“Indeed!”

“Ay.  One which in hearing you may well doubt; and one which, I hope, you will never find an opportunity of verifying.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“And yet speak truly, Charles.  You heard with what a frantic vehemence Flora desired you to think no more of her?”

“I did—­I did.”

“She was right.  She is a noble-hearted girl for uttering those words.  A dreadful incident in our family has occurred, which might well induce you to pause before uniting your fate with that of any member of it.”

“Impossible.  Nothing can possibly subdue the feelings of affection I entertain for Flora.  She is worthy of any one, and, as such, amid all changes—­all mutations of fortune, she shall be mine.”

“Do not suppose that any change of fortune has produced the scene you were witness to.”

“Then, what else?”

“I will tell you, Holland.  In all your travels, and in all your reading, did you ever come across anything about vampyres?”

“About what?” cried Charles, drawing his chair forward a little.  “About what?”

“You may well doubt the evidence of your own ears, Charles Holland, and wish me to repeat what I said.  I say, do you know anything about vampyres?”

Charles Holland looked curiously in Henry’s face, and the latter immediately added,—­

“I can guess what is passing in your mind at present, and I do not wonder at it.  You think I must be mad.”

“Well, really, Henry, your extraordinary question—­”

“I knew it.  Were I you, I should hesitate to believe the tale; but the fact is, we have every reason to believe that one member of our own family is one of those horrible preternatural beings called vampyres.”

“Good God, Henry, can you allow your judgment for a moment to stoop to such a supposition?”

“That is what I have asked myself a hundred times; but, Charles Holland, the judgment, the feelings, and all the prejudices, natural and acquired, must succumb to actual ocular demonstration.  Listen to me, and do not interrupt me.  You shall know all, and you shall know it circumstantially.”