When the Bannerworths left him abroad, he knew not what
to do with himself. Everything, and every pursuit in which he had before
taken a delight, became most distasteful to him. He was, in fact, in a
short time, completely "used up," and then he determined upon returning
to England, and finding out the dear object of his attachment at once. This resolution was no sooner taken, than his health and spirits
returned to him, and with what rapidity he could, he now made his way to
his native shores. The two years were so nearly expired, that he made up his mind he would
not communicate either with his uncle, the admiral, or the professional
gentleman upon whose judgment he set so high and so just a value. And at
the Hall he considered he was in perfect security from any interruption,
and so he would have been, but for that letter which was written to
Admiral Bell, and signed Josiah Crinkles, but which Josiah Crinkles so
emphatically denied all knowledge of. Who wrote it, remains at present
one of those mysteries which time, in the progress of our narrative,
will clear up. The opportune, or rather the painful juncture at which Charles Holland
had arrived at Bannerworth Hall, we are well cognisant of. Where he
expected to find smiles he found tears, and the family with whom he had
fondly hoped he should pass a time of uninterrupted happiness, he found
plunged in the gloom incidental to an occurrence of the most painful
character. Our readers will perceive, too, that coming as he did with an utter
disbelief in the vampyre, Charles had been compelled, in some measure,
to yield to the overwhelming weight of evidence which had been brought
to bear upon the subject, and although he could not exactly be said to
believe in the existence and the appearance of the vampyre at
Bannerworth Hall, he was upon the subject in a most painful state of
doubt and indecision. Charles now took an opportunity to speak to Henry privately, and inform
him exactly how he stood with his uncle, adding--

"Now, my dear friend, if you forbid me, I will not tell my uncle of this
sad affair, but I must own I would rather do so fully and freely, and
trust to his own judgment upon it." "I implore you to do so," said Henry. "Conceal nothing. Let him know the
precise situation and circumstances of the family by all means. There is
nothing so mischievous as secrecy: I have the greatest dislike to it. I
beg you tell him all." "I will; and with it, Henry, I will tell him that my heart is
irrevocably Flora's." "Your generous clinging to one whom your heart saw and loved, under very
different auspices," said Henry, "believe me, Charles, sinks deep into
my heart. She has related to me something of a meeting she had with
you." "Oh, Henry, she may tell you what I said; but there are no words which
can express the depth of my tenderness. 'Tis only time which can prove
how much I love her." "Go to your uncle," said Henry, in a voice of emotion. "God bless you,
Charles. It is true you would have been fully justified in leaving my
sister; but the nobler and the more generous path you have chosen has
endeared you to us all." "Where is Flora now?" said Charles. "She is in her own room. I have persuaded her, by some occupation, to
withdraw her mind from a too close and consequently painful
contemplation of the distressing circumstances in which she feels
herself placed." "You are right. What occupation best pleases her?" "The pages of romance once had a charm for her gentle spirit." "Then come with me, and, from among the few articles I brought with me
here, I can find some papers which may help her to pass some merry
hours." Charles took Henry to his room, and, unstrapping a small valise, he took
from it some manuscript papers, one of which he handed to Henry,
saying--

"Give that to her: it contains an account of a wild adventure, and shows
that human nature may suffer much more--and that wrongfully too--than
came ever under our present mysterious affliction." "I will," said Henry; "and, coming from you, I am sure it will have a
more than ordinary value in her eyes." "I will now," said Charles, "seek my uncle. I will tell him how I love
her; and at the end of my narration, if he should not object, I would
fain introduce her to him, that he might himself see that, let what
beauty may have met his gaze, her peer he never yet met with, and may in
vain hope to do so." "You are partial, Charles." "Not so. 'Tis true I look upon her with a lover's eyes, but I look still
with those of truthful observation." "Well, I will speak to her about seeing your uncle, and let you know. No
doubt, he will not be at all averse to an interview with any one who
stands high in your esteem." The young men now separated--Henry, to seek his beautiful sister; and
Charles, to communicate to his uncle the strange particulars connected
with Varney, the Vampyre. CHAPTER XIX. FLORA IN HER CHAMBER.--HER FEARS.--THE MANUSCRIPT.--AN ADVENTURE. [Illustration]

Henry found Flora in her chamber. She was in deep thought when he tapped
at the door of the room, and such was the state of nervous excitement in
which she was that even the demand for admission made by him to the room
was sufficient to produce from her a sudden cry of alarm. "Who--who is there?" she then said, in accents full of terror. "'Tis I, dear Flora," said Henry. She opened the door in an instant, and, with a feeling of grateful
relief, exclaimed--

"Oh, Henry, is it only you?" "Who did you suppose it was, Flora?" She shuddered. "I--I--do not know; but I am so foolish now, and so weak-spirited, that
the slightest noise is enough to alarm me." "You must, dear Flora, fight up, as I had hoped you were doing, against
this nervousness." "I will endeavour. Did not some strangers come a short time since,
brother?" "Strangers to us, Flora, but not to Charles Holland. A relative of
his--an uncle whom he much respects, has found him out here, and has now
come to see him." "And to advise him," said Flora, as she sunk into a chair, and wept
bitterly; "to advise him, of course, to desert, as he would a
pestilence, a vampyre bride." "Hush, hush! for the sake of Heaven, never make use of such a phrase,
Flora. You know not what a pang it brings to my heart to hear you." "Oh, forgive me, brother." "Say no more of it, Flora. Heed it not. It may be possible--in fact, it
may well be supposed as more than probable--that the relative of Charles
Holland may shrink from sanctioning the alliance, but do you rest
securely in the possession of the heart which I feel convinced is wholly
yours, and which, I am sure, would break ere it surrendered you." A smile of joy came across Flora's pale but beautiful face, as she
cried,--

"And you, dear brother--you think so much of Charles's faith?" "As Heaven is my judge, I do." "Then I will bear up with what strength God may give me against all
things that seek to depress me; I will not be conquered." "You are right, Flora; I rejoice to find in you such a disposition.