"Yes, Flora; he seems to gather from all the circumstances, nothing but
an overwhelming desire on the part of Sir Francis Varney to become the
tenant of Bannerworth Hall." "He certainly wishes to possess it." "Yes; but can you, sister, in the exercise of any possible amount of
fancy, imagine any motive for such an anxiety beyond what he alleges?" "Which is merely that he is fond of old houses." "Precisely so. That is the reason, and the only one, that can be got
from him. Heaven only knows if it be the true one." "It may be, brother." "As you say, it may; but there's a doubt, nevertheless, Flora. I much
rejoice that you have had an interview with this mysterious being, for
you have certainty, since that time, been happier and more composed than
I ever hoped to see you again." "I have indeed." "It is sufficiently perceivable." "Somehow, brother, since that interview, I have not had the same sort of
dread of Sir Francis Varney which before made the very sound of his name
a note of terror to me. His words, and all he said to me during that
interview which took place so strangely between us, indeed how I know
not, tended altogether rather to make him, to a certain extent, an
object of my sympathies rather than my abhorrence." "That is very strange." "I own that it is strange, Henry; but when we come for but a brief
moment to reflect upon the circumstances which have occurred, we shall,
I think, be able to find some cause even to pity Varney the vampyre." "How?" "Thus, brother. It is said--and well may I who have been subject to an
attack of such a nature, tremble to repeat the saying--that those who
have been once subject to the visitations of a vampyre, are themselves
in a way to become one of the dreadful and maddening fraternity." "I have heard so much, sister," replied Henry. "Yes; and therefore who knows but that Sir Francis Varney may, at one
time, have been as innocent as we are ourselves of the terrible and
fiendish propensity which now makes him a terror and a reproach to all
who know him, or are in any way obnoxious to his attacks." "That is true." "There may have been a time--who shall say there was not?--when he, like
me, would have shrunk, with a dread as great as any one could have
experienced, from the contamination of the touch even of a vampyre." "I cannot, sister, deny the soundness of your reasoning," said Henry,
with a sigh; "but I still no not see anything, even from a full
conviction that Varney is unfortunate, which should induce us to
tolerate him." "Nay, brother, I said not tolerate. What I mean is, that even with the
horror and dread we must naturally feel at such a being, we may afford
to mingle some amount of pity, which shall make us rather seek to shun
him, than to cross his path with a resolution of doing him an injury." "I perceive well, sister, what you mean. Rather than remain here, and
make an attempt to defy Sir Francis Varney, you would fly from him, and
leave him undisputed master of the field." "I would--I would." "Heaven forbid that I or any one should thwart you. You know well,
Flora, how dear you are to me; you know well that your happiness has
ever been to us all a matter which has assumed the most important of
shapes, as regarded our general domestic policy. It is not, therefore,
likely now, dear sister, that we should thwart you in your wish to
remove from here." "I know, Henry, all you would say," remarked Flora, as a tear started to
her eyes. "I know well all you think, and, in your love for me, I
likewise know well I rely for ever. You are attached to this place, as,
indeed, we all are, by a thousand happy and pleasant associations; but
listen to me further, Henry, I do not wish to wander far." "Not far, Flora?" "No. Do I not still cling to a hope that Charles may yet appear? and if
he do so, it will assuredly be in this neighbourhood, which he knows is
native and most dear to us all." "True." "Then do I wish to make some sort of parade, in the way of publicity, of
our leaving the Hall." "Yes, yes." "And yet not go far. In the neighbouring town, for example, surely we
might find some means of living entirely free from remark or observation
as to who or what we were." "That, sister, I doubt. If you seek for that species of solitude which
you contemplate, it is only to be found in a desert." "A desert?" "Yes; or in a large city." "Indeed!" "Ay, Flora; you may well believe me, that it is so. In a small community
you can have no possible chance of evading an amount of scrutiny which
would very soon pierce through any disguise you could by any possibility
assume." "Then there is no resource. We must go far." "Nay, I will consider for you, Flora; and although, as a general
principle, what I have said I know to be true, yet some more special
circumstance may arise that may point a course that, while it enables
us, for Charles Holland's sake, to remain in this immediate
neighbourhood, yet will procure to us all the secrecy we may desire." "Dear--dear brother," said Flora, as she flung herself upon Henry's
neck, "you speak cheeringly to me, and, what is more, you believe in
Charles's faithfulness and truth." "As Heaven is my judge, I do." "A thousand, thousand thanks for such an assurance. I know him too well
to doubt, for one moment, his faith. Oh, brother! could he--could
Charles Holland, the soul of honour, the abode of every noble impulse
that can adorn humanity--could he have written those letters? No, no! perish the thought!" "It has perished." "Thank God!" "I only, upon reflection, wonder how, misled for the moment by the
concurrence of a number of circumstances, I could ever have suspected
him." "It is like your generous nature, brother to say so; but you know as
well as I, that there has been one here who has, far from feeling any
sort of anxiety to think as well as possible of poor Charles Holland,
has done all that in him lay to take the worst view of his mysterious
disappearance, and induce us to do the like." "You allude to Mr. Marchdale?" "I do." "Well, Flora, at the same time that I must admit you have cause for
speaking of Mr. Marchdale as you do, yet when we come to consider all
things, there may be found for him excuses." "May there?" "Yes, Flora; he is a man, as he himself says, past the meridian of life,
and the world is a sad as well as a bad teacher, for it soon--too soon,
alas! deprives us of our trusting confidence in human nature." "It may be so; but yet, he, knowing as he did so very little of Charles
Holland, judged him hastily and harshly." "You rather ought to say, Flora, that he did not judge him generously." "Well, be it so." "And you must recollect, when you say so, that Marchdale did not love
Charles Holland." "Nay, now," said Flora, while there flashed across her cheek, for a
moment, a heightened colour, "you are commencing to jest with me, and,
therefore, we will say no more.