Sir Francis Varney walked rapidly until he came nearly to the outskirts
of the town, and then he slackened his pace, proceeding more cautiously,
and looking carefully about him, as if he feared to meet any one who
might recognise him. He had not proceeded far in this manner, when he became conscious of the
cautious figure of a man gliding along in the opposite direction to that
which he was taking. A suspicion struck him, from the general appearance, that it was
Marchdale, and if so he wondered to see him abroad at such a time. Still
he would not be quite certain; but he hurried forward, so as to meet the
advancing figure, and then his suspicions were confirmed; and Marchdale,
with some confusion in his looks and manners, accosted him. "Ah, Sir Francis Varney," he said, "you are out late." --

"Why, you know I should be out late," said Varney, "and you likewise
know the errand upon which I was to be out." "Oh, I recollect; you were to release your prisoner." --

"Yes, I was." "And have you done so?" --

"Oh, no." "Oh, indeed. I--I am glad you have taken better thoughts of it. Good
night--good night; we shall meet to-morrow." --

"Adieu," said Sir Francis Varney; and he watched the retreating figure
of Marchdale, and then he added, in a low tone to himself,--

"I know his object well. His craven spirit shrinks at the notion, a
probable enough one, I will admit, that Charles Holland has recognised
him, and that, if once free, he would denounce him to the Bannerworths,
holding him up to scorn in his true colours, and bringing down upon his
head, perhaps, something more than detestation and contempt. The
villain! he is going now to take the life of the man whom he considers
chained to the ground. Well, well, they must fight it out together. Charles Holland is sufficiently free to take his own part, although
Marchdale little thinks that such is the case." Marchdale walked on for some little distance, and then he turned and
looked after Sir Francis Varney. "Indeed!" he said; "so you have not released him to-night, but I know
well will do so soon. I do not, for my part, admire this romantic
generosity which sets a fox free at the moment that he's the most
dangerous. It's all very well to be generous, but it is better to be
just first, and that I consider means looking after one's self first. I
have a poniard here which will soon put an end to the troubles of the
prisoner in his dungeon--its edge is keen and sharp, and will readily
find a way to his heart." He walked on quite exultingly and carelessly now, for he had got into
the open country, and it was extremely unlikely that he would meet
anybody on his road to the ruins. It did not take many minutes, sharp walking now to bring him close to
the spot which he intended should become such a scene of treacherous
slaughter, and just then he heard from afar off something like the
muttering of thunder, as if Heaven itself was proclaiming its vengeance
against the man who had come out to slay one of its best and noblest
creatures. "What is that'" said Marchdale, shrinking back a moment; "what is
that--an approaching storm? It must be so, for, now I recollect me, the
sun set behind a bank of clouds of a fiery redness, and as the evening
drew in there was every appearance in the heavens of some ensuing strife
of the elements." He listened for a few moments, and fixed his eyes intently in the
direction of the horizon from where the muttering sounds had proceeded. He had not long to wait before he saw a bright flash of blue lightning,
which for one instant illumined the sky; then by the time he could have
counted twelve there came the thunder which the flash preceded, and he
felt terribly anxious to complete his enterprize, so that he might get
back to the town and be safely housed before the storm, which was
evidently approaching, should burst upon him. "It is sweeping on apace," he said; "why did I not come earlier?" Even as he spoke he plunged among the recesses of the ruins, and
searching about for the old stone which covered the entrance to the
dungeon, he was surprised to find it rolled from its place, and the
aperture open. "What is the meaning of this?" he said; "how negligent of Sir Francis
Varney; or perhaps, after all, he was only jesting with me, and let the
prisoner go. If that should be the case, I am foiled indeed; but surely
he could not be so full of indiscretion." Again came a dazzling flash of lightning, which now, surrounded by the
ruins as he was, made him shrink back and cover his eyes for a moment;
and then followed a peal of thunder with not half the duration of time
between it and the flash which had characterized the previous electric
phenomenon. "The storm approaches fast," said Marchdale; "I must get my work done
quickly, if indeed my victim be here, which I begin seriously to doubt." He descended the intricate winding passage to the vault below, which
served the purpose of a dungeon, and when he got very nearly into the
depth of its recesses, he called aloud, saying,--

"Ho! what ho! is there any one here?" --"Yes," said Charles Holland, who
fancied it might be his former visitor returned. "Have you come to
repent of your purpose?" "Ah!" said Marchdale to himself, "Sir Francis, after all, has told me
the truth--the prisoner is still here." The light from without was not near sufficient to send the least ray
into the depths of that dungeon; so that Marchdale, when he entered the
place, could see nothing but an absolute blackness. It was not so, however, with Charles Holland, whose eyes had been now so
long accustomed to the place that he could see in it as if a dim
twilight irradiated it, and he at once, in his visitor, saw his worst
foe, and not the man who had comparatively set him free. He saw, too, that the hand of his visitor grasped a weapon, which
Marchdale thought that, favoured by the darkness, he might carry openly
in perfect security. "Where are you?" said Marchdale; "I cannot see you."--"Here!" said
Charles, "you may feel my grip;" and he sprung upon him in an instant. The attack was so sudden and so utterly unexpected, that Marchdale was
thrown backwards, and the dagger wrested from his grasp, during the
first impulse which Charles Holland had thrown into his attack. Moreover, his head struck with such violence against the earthern floor,
that it produced a temporary confusion of his faculties, so that, had
Charles Holland been so inclined, he might, with Marchdale's own weapon,
have easily taken his life. The young man did, on the impulse of the moment, raise it in his hand,
but, on the impulse of another thought, he cast it from him,
exclaiming--

"No, no! not that; I should be as bad as he, or nearly so. This villain
has come to murder me, but yet I will not take his life for the deed. What shall I do with him? Ha! a lucky thought--chains!"