This was on the occasion of the count's and countess's marriage. It
seemed many months after the death of her son, whom she affected to
mourn for a long time. However, the marriage took place, and in all magnificence and splendour. The countess again appeared arrayed in splendour and beauty: she was
proud and haughty, and the count was imperious. In the mean time, the young Count de Hugo de Verole was confined in the
mines, and the doctor with him. By a strange coincidence, the doctor and the young count became
companions, and the former, meditating projects of revenge, educated the
young count as well as he was able for several years in the mines, and
cherished in the young man a spirit of revenge. They finally escaped
together, and proceeded to Leyden, where the doctor had friends, and
where he placed his pupil at the university, and thus made him a most
efficient means of revenge, because the education of the count gave him
a means of appreciating the splendour and rank he had been deprived of. He, therefore, determined to remain at Leyden until he was of age, and
then apply to his father's friends, and then to his sovereign, to
dispossess and punish them both for their double crime. The count and countess lived on in a state of regal splendour. The
immense revenue of his territory, and the treasure the late count had
amassed, as well as the revenue that the mines brought in, would have
supported a much larger expenditure than even their tastes disposed them
to enjoy. They had heard nothing of the escape of the doctor and the young count. Indeed, those who knew of it held their peace and said nothing about it,
for they feared the consequences of their negligence. The first
intimation they received was at the hands of a state messenger,
summoning them to deliver up the castle revenues and treasure of the
late count. This was astounding to them, and they refused to do so, but were soon
after seized upon by a regiment of cuirassiers sent to take them, and
they were accused of the crime of murder at the instance of the doctor. They were arraigned and found guilty, and, as they were of the patrician
order, their execution was delayed, and they were committed to exile. This was done out of favour to the young count, who did not wish to have
his family name tainted by a public execution, or their being confined
like convicts. The count and countess quitted Hungary, and settled in Italy, where they
lived upon the remains of the Count of Morven's property, shorn of all
their splendour but enough to keep them from being compelled to do any
menial office. The young count took possession of his patrimony and his treasure at
last, such as was left by his mother and her paramour. The doctor continued to hide his crime from the young count, and the
perpetrators denying all knowledge of it, he escaped; but he returned to
his native place, Leyden, with a reward for his services from the young
count. Flora rose from her perusal of the manuscript, which here ended, and
even as she did so, she heard a footstep approaching her chamber door. CHAPTER XX. THE DREADFUL MISTAKE.--THE TERRIFIC INTERVIEW IN THE CHAMBER.--THE
ATTACK OF THE VAMPYRE. [Illustration]

The footstep which Flora, upon the close of the tale she had been
reading, heard approaching her apartment, came rapidly along the
corridor. "It is Henry, returned to conduct me to an interview with Charles's
uncle," she said. "I wonder, now, what manner of man he is. He should in
some respects resemble Charles; and if he do so, I shall bestow upon him
some affection for that alone." Tap--tap came upon the chamber door. Flora was not at all alarmed now,
as she had been when Henry brought her the manuscript. From some strange
action of the nervous system, she felt quite confident, and resolved to
brave everything. But then she felt quite sure that it was Henry, and
before the knocking had taken her by surprise. "Come in," she said, in a cheerful voice. "Come in." The door opened with wonderful swiftness--a figure stepped into the
room, and then closed it as rapidly, and stood against it. Flora tried
to scream, but her tongue refused its office; a confused whirl of
sensations passed through her brain--she trembled, and an icy coldness
came over her. It was Sir Francis Varney, the vampyre! He had drawn up his tall, gaunt frame to its full height, and crossed
his arms upon his breast; there was a hideous smile upon his sallow
countenance, and his voice was deep and sepulchral, as he said,--

"Flora Bannerworth, hear that which I have to say, and hear it calmly. You need have nothing to fear. Make an alarm--scream, or shout for help,
and, by the hell beneath us, you are lost!" There was a death-like, cold, passionless manner about the utterance of
these words, as if they were spoken mechanically, and came from no human
lips. Flora heard them, and yet scarcely comprehended them; she stepped slowly
back till she reached a chair, and there she held for support. The only
part of the address of Varney that thoroughly reached her ears, was that
if she gave any alarm some dreadful consequences were to ensue. But it
was not on account of these words that she really gave no alarm; it was
because she was utterly unable to do so. "Answer me," said Varney. "Promise that you will hear that which I have
to say. In so promising you commit yourself to no evil, and you shall
hear that which shall give you much peace." It was in vain she tried to speak; her lips moved, but she uttered no
sound. "You are terrified," said Varney, "and yet I know not why. I do not come
to do you harm, although harm have you done me. Girl, I come to rescue
you from a thraldom of the soul under which you now labour." There was a pause of some moments' duration, and then, faintly, Flora
managed to say,--

"Help! help! Oh, help me, Heaven!" Varney made a gesture of impatience, as he said,--

"Heaven works no special matters now. Flora Bannerworth, if you have as
much intellect as your nobility and beauty would warrant the world in
supposing, you will listen to me." "I--I hear," said Flora, as she still, dragging the chair with her,
increased the distance between them. "'Tis well. You are now more composed." She fixed her eyes upon the face of Varney with a shudder. There could
be no mistake. It was the same which, with the strange, glassy looking
eyes, had glared upon her on that awful night of the storm when she was
visited by the vampyre. And Varney returned that gaze unflinchingly
There was a hideous and strange contortion of his face now as he said,--

"You are beautiful. The most cunning statuary might well model some rare
work of art from those rounded limbs, that were surely made to bewitch
the gazer. Your skin rivals the driven snow--what a face of loveliness,
and what a form of enchantment."