But still she slept--if that half-waking sleep could indeed be
considered as any thing akin to ordinary slumber--still she slept, and
called mournfully upon her lover's name; and in tender, beseeching
accents, that should have melted even the stubbornest hearts, did she
express her soul's conviction that he loved her still. The very repetition of the name of Charles Holland seemed to be galling
to Sir Francis Varney. He made a gesture of impatience, as she again
uttered it, and then, stepping forward, he stood within a pace of where
she sat, and in a fearfully distinct voice he said,--

"Flora Bannerworth, awake! awake! and look upon me, although the sight
blast and drive you to despair. Awake! awake!" It was not the sound of the voice which aroused her from that strange
slumber. It is said that those who sleep in that eccentric manner, are
insensible to sounds, but that the lightest touch will arouse them in an
instant; and so it was in this case, for Sir Francis Varney, as he
spoke, laid upon the hand of Flora two of his cold, corpse-like looking
fingers. A shriek burst from her lips, and although the confusion of her
memory and conceptions was immense, yet she was awake, and the
somnambulistic trance had left her. "Help, help!" she cried. "Gracious Heavens! Where am I?" Varney spoke not, but he spread out his long, thin arms in such a manner
that he seemed almost to encircle her, while he touched her not, so that
escape became a matter of impossibility, and to attempt to do so, must
have been to have thrown herself into his hideous embrace. She could obtain but a single view of the face and figure of him who
opposed her progress, but, slight as that view was, it more than
sufficed. The very extremity of fear came across her, and she sat like
one paralysed; the only evidence of existence she gave consisting in the
words,--

"The vampyre--the vampyre!" "Yes," said Varney, "the vampyre. You know me, Flora
Bannerworth--Varney, the vampyre; your midnight guest at that feast of
blood. I am the vampyre. Look upon me well; shrink not from my gaze. You
will do well not to shun me, but to speak to me in such a shape that I
may learn to love you." Flora shook as in a convulsion, and she looked as white as any marble
statue. "This is horrible!" she said. "Why does not Heaven grant me the death I
pray for?" "Hold!" said Varney. "Dress not up in the false colours of the
imagination that which in itself is sufficiently terrific to need none
of the allurements of romance. Flora Bannerworth, you are
persecuted--persecuted by me, the vampyre. It is my fate to persecute
you; for there are laws to the invisible as well as the visible creation
that force even such a being as I am to play my part in the great drama
of existence. I am a vampyre; the sustenance that supports this frame
must be drawn from the life-blood of others." "Oh, horror--horror!" "But most I do affect the young and beautiful. It is from the veins of
such as thou art, Flora Bannerworth, that I would seek the sustenance
I'm compelled to obtain for my own exhausted energies. But never yet, in
all my long career--a career extending over centuries of time--never yet
have I felt the soft sensation of human pity till I looked on thee,
exquisite piece of excellence. Even at the moment when the reviving
fluid from the gushing fountain of your veins was warming at my heart, I
pitied and I loved you. Oh, Flora! even I can now feel the pang of being
what I am!" There was a something in the tone, a touch of sadness in the manner, and
a deep sincerity in these words, that in some measure disabused Flora of
her fears. She sobbed hysterically, and a gush of tears came to her
relief, as, in almost inarticulate accents, she said,--

"May the great God forgive even you!" "I have need of such a prayer," exclaimed Varney--"Heaven knows I have
need of such a prayer. May it ascend on the wings of the night air to
the throne of Heaven. May it be softly whispered by ministering angels
to the ear of Divinity. God knows I have need of such a prayer!" "To hear you speak in such a strain," said Flora, "calms the excited
fancy, and strips even your horrible presence of some of its maddening
influence." "Hush," said the vampire, "you must hear more--you must know more ere
you speak of the matters that have of late exercised an influence of
terror over you." "But how came I here?" said Flora, "tell me that. By what more than
earthly power have you brought me to this spot? If I am to listen to
you, why should it not be at some more likely time and place?" "I have powers," said Varney, assuming from Flora's words, that she
would believe such arrogance--"I have powers which suffice to bend many
purposes to my will--powers incidental to my position, and therefore is
it I have brought you here to listen to that which should make you
happier than you are." "I will attend," said Flora. "I do not shudder now; there's an icy
coldness through my veins, but it is the night air--speak, I will attend
you." "I will. Flora Bannerworth, I am one who has witnessed time's mutations
on man and on his works, and I have pitied neither; I have seen the fall
of empires, and sighed not that high reaching ambition was toppled to
the dust. I have seen the grave close over the young and the
beautiful--those whom I have doomed by my insatiable thirst for human
blood to death, long ere the usual span of life was past, but I never
loved till now." "Can such a being as you," said Flora "be susceptible of such an earthly
passion?" "And wherefore not?" "Love is either too much of heaven, or too much of earth to find a home
with thee." "No, Flora, no! it may be that the feeling is born of pity. I will save
you--I will save you from a continuance of the horrors that are
assailing you." "Oh! then may Heaven have mercy in your hour of need!" "Amen!" "May you even yet know peace and joy above." "It is a faint and straggling hope--but if achieved, it will be through
the interposition of such a spirit as thine, Flora, which has already
exercised so benign an influence upon my tortured soul, as to produce
the wish within my heart, to do a least one unselfish action." "That wish," said Flora, "shall be father to the deed. Heaven has
boundless mercy yet." "For thy sweet sake, I will believe so much, Flora Bannerworth; it is a
condition with my hateful race, that if we can find one human heart to
love us, we are free. If, in the face of Heaven, you will consent to be
mine, you will snatch me from a continuance of my frightful doom, and
for your pure sake, and on your merits, shall I yet know heavenly
happiness. Will you be mine?" A cloud swept from off the face of the moon, and a slant ray fell upon
the hideous features of the vampire. He looked as if just rescued from
some charnel-house, and endowed for a space with vitality to destroy all
beauty and harmony in nature, and drive some benighted soul to madness. "No, no, no!" shrieked Flora, "never!" "Enough," said Varney, "I am answered.