There was a loud cry of pain, and the
vampyre fled. The smoke and the confusion that was incidental to the
spot prevented her from seeing if the figure walked or ran away. She
thought she heard a crashing sound among the plants outside the window,
as if it had fallen, but she did not feel quite sure. It was no effort of any reflection, but a purely mechanical movement,
that made her raise the other pistol, and discharge that likewise in the
direction the vampyre had taken. Then casting the weapon away, she rose,
and made a frantic rush from the room. She opened the door, and was
dashing out, when she found herself caught in the circling arms of some
one who either had been there waiting, or who had just at that moment
got there. The thought that it was the vampyre, who by some mysterious means, had
got there, and was about to make her his prey, now overcame her
completely, and she sunk into a state of utter insensibility on the
moment. CHAPTER X. THE RETURN FROM THE VAULT.--THE ALARM, AND THE SEARCH AROUND THE HALL. [Illustration]

It so happened that George and Henry Bannerworth, along with Mr.
Marchdale, had just reached the gate which conducted into the garden of
the mansion when they all were alarmed by the report of a pistol. Amid
the stillness of the night, it came upon them with so sudden a shock,
that they involuntarily paused, and there came from the lips of each an
expression of alarm. "Good heavens!" cried George, "can that be Flora firing at any
intruder?" "It must be," cried Henry; "she has in her possession the only weapons
in the house." Mr. Marchdale turned very pale, and trembled slightly, but he did not
speak. "On, on," cried Henry; "for God's sake, let us hasten on." As he spoke, he cleared the gate at a bound, and at a terrific pace he
made towards the house, passing over beds, and plantations, and flowers
heedlessly, so that he went the most direct way to it. Before, however, it was possible for any human speed to accomplish even
half of the distance, the report of the other shot came upon his ears,
and he even fancied he heard the bullet whistle past his head in
tolerably close proximity. This supposition gave him a clue to the
direction at all events from whence the shots proceeded, otherwise he
knew not from which window they were fired, because it had not occurred
to him, previous to leaving home, to inquire in which room Flora and his
mother were likely to be seated waiting his return. He was right as regarded the bullet. It was that winged messenger of
death which had passed his head in such very dangerous proximity, and
consequently he made with tolerable accuracy towards the open window
from whence the shots had been fired. The night was not near so dark as it had been, although even yet it was
very far from being a light one, and he was soon enabled to see that
there was a room, the window of which was wide open, and lights burning
on the table within. He made towards it in a moment, and entered it. To
his astonishment, the first objects he beheld were Flora and a stranger,
who was now supporting her in his arms. To grapple him by the throat was
the work of a moment, but the stranger cried aloud in a voice which
sounded familiar to Harry,--

"Good God, are you all mad?" Henry relaxed his hold, and looked in his face. "Gracious heavens, it is Mr. Holland!" he said. "Yes; did you not know me?" Henry was bewildered. He staggered to a seat, and, in doing so, he saw
his mother, stretched apparently lifeless upon the floor. To raise her
was the work of a moment, and then Marchdale and George, who had
followed him as fast as they could, appeared at the open window. Such a strange scene as that small room now exhibited had never been
equalled in Bannerworth Hall. There was young Mr. Holland, of whom
mention has already been made, as the affianced lover of Flora,
supporting her fainting form. There was Henry doing equal service to his
mother; and on the floor lay the two pistols, and one of the candles
which had been upset in the confusion; while the terrified attitudes of
George and Mr. Marchdale at the window completed the strange-looking
picture. "What is this--oh! what has happened?" cried George. "I know not--I know not," said Henry. "Some one summon the servants; I
am nearly mad." Mr. Marchdale at once rung the bell, for George looked so faint and ill
as to be incapable of doing so; and he rung it so loudly and so
effectually, that the two servants who had been employed suddenly upon
the others leaving came with much speed to know what was the matter. "See to your mistress," said Henry. "She is dead, or has fainted. For
God's sake, let who can give me some account of what has caused all this
confusion here." "Are you aware, Henry," said Marchdale, "that a stranger is present in
the room?" He pointed to Mr. Holland as he spoke, who, before Henry could reply,
said,--

"Sir, I may be a stranger to you, as you are to me, and yet no stranger
to those whose home this is." "No, no," said Henry, "you are no stranger to us, Mr. Holland, but are
thrice welcome--none can be more welcome. Mr. Marchdale, this is Mr
Holland, of whom you have heard me speak." "I am proud to know you, sir," said Marchdale. "Sir, I thank you," replied Holland, coldly. It will so happen; but, at first sight, it appeared as if those two
persons had some sort of antagonistic feeling towards each other, which
threatened to prevent effectually their ever becoming intimate friends. The appeal of Henry to the servants to know if they could tell him what
had occurred was answered in the negative. All they knew was that they
had heard two shots fired, and that, since then, they had remained where
they were, in a great fright, until the bell was rung violently. This
was no news at all and, therefore, the only chance was, to wait
patiently for the recovery of the mother, or of Flora, from one or the
other of whom surely some information could be at once then procured. Mrs. Bannerworth was removed to her own room, and so would Flora have
been; but Mr. Holland, who was supporting her in his arms, said,--

"I think the air from the open window is recovering her, and it is
likely to do so. Oh, do not now take her from me, after so long an
absence. Flora, Flora, look up; do you not know me? You have not yet
given me one look of acknowledgment. Flora, dear Flora!" The sound of his voice seemed to act as the most potent of charms in
restoring her to consciousness; it broke through the death-like trance
in which she lay, and, opening her beautiful eyes, she fixed them upon
his face, saying,--

"Yes, yes; it is Charles--it is Charles." She burst into a hysterical flood of tears, and clung to him like some
terrified child to its only friend in the whole wide world. "Oh, my dear friends," cried Charles Holland, "do not deceive me; has
Flora been ill?" "We have all been ill," said George. "All ill?" "Ay, and nearly mad," exclaimed Harry.