"Then, Charles, along with the forgiveness I must conjure up a host of
apprehensions." "Nay, why so?" "You would tell me if there were no circumstances that you feared would
fill me with alarm." "Now, Flora, your fears and not your judgment condemn me. Surely you
cannot think me so utterly heedless as to court danger for danger's
sake." "No, not so--"

"You pause." "And yet you have a sense of what you call honour, which, I fear, would
lead you into much risk." "I have a sense of honour; but not that foolish one which hangs far more
upon the opinions of others than my own. If I thought a course of honour
lay before me, and all the world, in a mistaken judgment, were to
condemn it as wrong, I would follow it." "You are right, Charles; you are right. Let me pray of you to be
careful, and, at all events, to interpose no more delay to our leaving
this house than you shall feel convinced is absolutely necessary for
some object of real and permanent importance." Charles promised Flora Bannerworth that for her sake, as well as his
own, he would be most specially careful of his safety; and then in such
endearing conversation as may be well supposed to be dictated by such
hearts as theirs another happy hour was passed away. [Illustration]

They pictured to themselves the scene where first they met, and with a
world of interest hanging on every word they uttered, they told each
other of the first delightful dawnings of that affection which had
sprung up between them, and which they fondly believed neither time nor
circumstance would have the power to change or subvert. In the meantime the old admiral was surprised that Charles was so
patient, and had not been to him to demand the result of his
deliberation. But he knew not on what rapid pinions time flies, when in the presence
of those whom we love. What was an actual hour, was but a fleeting
minute to Charles Holland, as he sat with Flora's hand clasped in his,
and looking at her sweet face. At length a clock striking reminded him of his engagement with his
uncle, and he reluctantly rose. "Dear Flora," he said, "I am going to sit up to watch to-night, so be
under no sort of apprehension." "I will feel doubly safe," she said. "I have now something to talk to my uncle about, and must leave you." Flora smiled, and held out her hand to him. He pressed it to his heart. He knew not what impulse came over him then, but for the first time he
kissed the cheek of the beautiful girl. With a heightened colour she gently repulsed him. He took a long
lingering look at her as he passed out of the room, and when the door
was closed between them, the sensation he experienced was as if some
sudden cloud had swept across the face of the sun, dimming to a vast
extent its precious lustre. A strange heaviness came across his spirits, which before had been so
unaccountably raised. He felt as if the shadow of some coming evil was
resting on his soul--as if some momentous calamity was preparing for
him, which would almost be enough to drive him to madness, and
irredeemable despair. "What can this be," he exclaimed, "that thus oppresses me? What feeling
is this that seems to tell me, I shall never again see Flora
Bannerworth?" Unconsciously he uttered these words, which betrayed the nature of his
worst forebodings. "Oh, this is weakness," he then added. "I must fight out against this;
it is mere nervousness. I must not endure it, I will not suffer myself
thus to become the sport of imagination. Courage, courage, Charles
Holland. There are real evils enough, without your adding to them by
those of a disordered fancy. Courage, courage, courage." CHAPTER XXV. THE ADMIRAL'S OPINION.--THE REQUEST OF CHARLES. [Illustration]

Charles then sought the admiral, whom he found with his hands behind
him, pacing to and fro in one of the long walks of the garden, evidently
in a very unsettled state of mind. When Charles appeared, he quickened
his pace, and looked in such a state of unusual perplexity that it was
quite ridiculous to observe him. "I suppose, uncle, you have made up your mind thoroughly by this time?" "Well, I don't know that." "Why, you have had long enough surely to think over it. I have not
troubled you soon." "Well, I cannot exactly say you have, but, somehow or another, I don't
think very fast, and I have an unfortunate propensity after a time of
coming exactly round to where I began." "Then, to tell the truth, uncle, you can come to no sort of conclusion." "Only one." "And what may that be?" "Why, that you are right in one thing, Charles, which is, that having
sent a challenge to this fellow of a vampyre, you must fight him." "I suspect that that is a conclusion you had from the first, uncle?" "Why so?" "Because it is an obvious and a natural one. All your doubts, and
trouble, and perplexities, have been to try and find some excuse for not
entertaining that opinion, and now that you really find it in vain to
make it, I trust that you will accede as you first promised to do, and
not seek by any means to thwart me." "I will not thwart you, my boy, although in my opinion you ought not to
fight with a vampyre." "Never mind that. We cannot urge that as a valid excuse, so long as he
chooses to deny being one. And after all, if he be really wrongfully
suspected, you must admit that he is a very injured man." "Injured!--nonsense. If he is not a vampyre, he's some other
out-of-the-way sort of fish, you may depend. He's the oddest-looking
fellow ever I came across in all my born days, ashore or afloat." "Is he?" "Yes, he is: and yet, when I come to look at the thing again in my mind,
some droll sights that I have seen come across my memory. The sea is the
place for wonders and for mysteries. Why, we see more in a day and a
night there, than you landsmen could contrive to make a whole
twelvemonth's wonder of." "But you never saw a vampyre, uncle?" "Well, I don't know that. I didn't know anything about vampyres till I
came here; but that was my ignorance, you know. There might have been
lots of vampyres where I've been, for all I know." "Oh, certainly; but as regards this duel, will you wait now until
to-morrow morning, before you take any further steps in the matter?" "Till to-morrow morning?" "Yes, uncle." "Why, only a little while ago, you were all eagerness to have something
done off-hand." "Just so; but now I have a particular reason for waiting until to-morrow
morning." "Have you? Well, as you please, boy--as you please. Have everything your
own way." "You are very kind, uncle; and now I have another favour to ask of you." "What is it?" "Why, you know that Henry Bannerworth receives but a very small sum out
of the whole proceeds of the estate here, which ought, but for his
father's extravagance, to be wholly at his disposal." "So I have heard." "I am certain he is at present distressed for money, and I have not
much. Will you lend me fifty pounds, uncle, until my own affairs are
sufficiently arranged to enable you to pay yourself again?" "Will I!