"I have heard," said Charles, "that there are many persons whom no noise
will awaken, while the slightest touch rouses them in an instant. I will
try that upon this slumbering being." As he spoke, he advanced close to Sir Francis Varney, and touched him
slightly with the toe of his boot. The effect was as startling as it was instantaneous. The vampyre sprang
to his feet, as he had been suddenly impelled up by some powerful
machinery; and, casting his cloak away from his arms, so as to have them
at liberty, he sprang upon Charles Holland, and hurled him to the
ground, where he held him with a giant's gripe, as he cried,--

"Rash fool! be you whom you may. Why have you troubled me to rid the
world of your intrusive existence?" The attack was so sudden and so terrific, that resistance to it, even if
Charles had had the power, was out of the question. All he could say,
was,--

"Varney, Varney! do you not know me? I am Charles Holland. Will you now,
in your mad rage, take the life you might more easily have taken when I
lay in the dungeon from which you released me?" The sound of his voice at once convinced Sir Francis Varney of his
identity; and it was with a voice that had some tones of regret in it,
that he replied,--

"And wherefore have you thought proper, when you were once free and
unscathed, to cast yourself into such a position of danger as to follow
me to my haunt?" "I contemplated no danger," said Charles, "because I contemplated no
evil. I do not know why you should kill me." "You came here, and yet you say you do not know why I should kill you. Young man, have you a dozen lives that you can afford to tamper with
them thus? I have, at much chance of imminence to myself, already once
saved you, when another, with a sterner feeling, would have gladly taken
your life; but now, as if you were determined to goad me to an act which
I have shunned committing, you will not let me close my eyes in peace." "Take your hand from off my throat, Varney, and I will then tell you
what brought me here." Sir Francis Varney did so. "Rise," he said--"rise; I have seen blood enough to be sickened at the
prospect of more; but you should not have come here and tempted me." "Nay, believe me, I came here for good and not for evil. Sir Francis
Varney, hear me out, and then judge for yourself whether you can blame
the perseverance which enabled me to find out this secret place of
refuge; but let me first say that now it is as good a place of
concealment to you as before it was, for I shall not betray you." "Go on, go on. What is it you desire?" "During the long and weary hours of my captivity, I thought deeply, and
painfully too, as may be well imagined, of all the circumstances
connected with your appearance at Bannerworth Hall, and your subsequent
conduct. Then I felt convinced that there was something far more than
met the eye, in the whole affair, and, from what I have been informed of
since, I am the more convinced that some secret, some mystery, which it
is in your power only perhaps to explain, lurks at the bottom of all
your conduct." "Well, proceed," said Varney. "Have I not said enough now to enable you to divine the object of my
visit? It is that you should shake off the trammels of mystery in which
you have shrouded yourself, and declare what it is you want, what it is
you desire, that has induced you to set yourself up as such a determined
foe of the Bannerworth family." "And that, you say, is the modest request that brings you here?" "You speak as if you thought it was idle curiosity that prompts me, but
you know it is not. Your language and manner are those of a man of too
much sagacity not to see that I have higher notions." "Name them." "You have yourself, in more than one instance, behaved with a strange
sort of romantic generosity, as if, but for some great object which you
felt impelled to seek by any means, and at any sacrifice, you would be a
something in character and conduct very different from what you are. One
of my objects, then, is to awaken that better nature which is slumbering
within you, only now and then rousing itself to do some deed which
should be the character of all your actions--for your own sake I have
come." "But not wholly?" "Not wholly, as you say. There is another than whom, the whole world is
not so dear to me. That other one was serene as she was beautiful. Happiness danced in her eyes, and she ought--for not more lovely is the
mind that she possesses than the glorious form that enshrines it--to be
happy. Her life should have passed like one long summer's day of beauty,
sunshine, and pure heavenly enjoyment. You have poisoned the cup of joy
that the great God of nature had permitted her to place to her lips and
taste of mistrustingly. Why have you done this? I ask you--why have you
done this?" "Have you said all that you came to say?" "I have spoken the substance of my message. Much could I elaborate upon
such a theme; but it is not one, Varney, which is congenial to my heart;
for your sake, however, and for the sakes of those whom I hold most
dear, let me implore you to act in this matter with a kindly
consideration. Proclaim your motives; you cannot say that they are not
such as we may aid you in." Varney was silent for several moments; he seemed perceptibly moved by
the manner of the young man, as well as by the matter of his discourse. In fact, one would suppose that Charles Holland had succeeded in
investing what he said with some sort of charm that won much upon the
fancy of Sir Francis Varney, for when he ceased to speak, the latter
said in a low voice,--

"Go on, go on; you have surely much more to say." "No, Varney; I have said enough, and not thus much would I have said had
I not been aware, most certainly and truly aware, without the shadow of
a doubt, by your manner, that you were most accessible to human
feeling." "I accessible to human feeling! know you to whom you speak? Am I not he
before whom all men shudder, whose name has been a terror and a
desolation; and yet you can talk of my human feelings. Nay, if I had had
any, be sure they would have been extinguished by the persecutions I
have endured from those who, you know, with savage ferocity have sought
my life." "No, Varney; I give you credit for being a subtler reasoner than thus to
argue; you know well that you were the aggressor to those parties who
sought your life; you know well that with the greatest imaginable pains
you held yourself up to them as a thing of great terror." "I did--I did." "You cannot, then, turn round upon ignorant persons, and blame them
because your exertions to make yourself seem what you wish were but too
successful." "You use the word _seem_," said Varney, with a bitterness of aspect, "as
if you would imply a doubt that I am that which thousands, by their
fears, would testify me to be." "Thousands might," said Charles Holland; "but not among them am I,
Varney; I will not be made the victim of superstition.