Several lights had been now brought into that antique chamber, and, in
addition to the mother of the beautiful girl who had been so fearfully
visited, there were two female domestics, who appeared to be in the
greatest possible fright, for they could render no assistance whatever
to anybody. The tears were streaming down the mother's face, and the moment she saw
Mr. Marchdale, she clung to his arm, evidently unconscious of what she
was about, and exclaimed,--

"Oh, what is this that has happened--what is this? Tell me, Marchdale! Robert Marchdale, you whom I have known even from my childhood, you will
not deceive me. Tell me the meaning of all this?" "I cannot," he said, in a tone of much emotion. "As God is my judge, I
am as much puzzled and amazed at the scene that has taken place here
to-night as you can be." The mother wrung her hands and wept. "It was the storm that first awakened me," added Marchdale; "and then I
heard a scream." The brothers tremblingly approached the bed. Flora was placed in a
sitting, half-reclining posture, propped up by pillows. She was quite
insensible, and her face was fearfully pale; while that she breathed at
all could be but very faintly seen. On some of her clothing, about the
neck, were spots of blood, and she looked more like one who had suffered
some long and grievous illness, than a young girl in the prime of life
and in the most robust health, as she had been on the day previous to
the strange scene we have recorded. "Does she sleep?" said Henry, as a tear fell from his eyes upon her
pallid cheek. "No," replied Mr. Marchdale. "This is a swoon, from which we must
recover her." Active measures were now adopted to restore the languid circulation,
and, after persevering in them for some time, they had the satisfaction
of seeing her open her eyes. Her first act upon consciousness returning, however, was to utter a loud
shriek, and it was not until Henry implored her to look around her, and
see that she was surrounded by none but friendly faces, that she would
venture again to open her eyes, and look timidly from one to the other. Then she shuddered, and burst into tears as she said,--

"Oh, Heaven, have mercy upon me--Heaven, have mercy upon me, and save me
from that dreadful form." "There is no one here, Flora," said Mr. Marchdale, "but those who love
you, and who, in defence of you, if needs were would lay down their
lives." "Oh, God! Oh, God!" "You have been terrified. But tell us distinctly what has happened? You
are quite safe now." [Illustration]

She trembled so violently that Mr. Marchdale recommended that some
stimulant should be given to her, and she was persuaded, although not
without considerable difficulty, to swallow a small portion of some wine
from a cup. There could be no doubt but that the stimulating effect of
the wine was beneficial, for a slight accession of colour visited her
cheeks, and she spoke in a firmer tone as she said,--

"Do not leave me. Oh, do not leave me, any of you. I shall die if left
alone now. Oh, save me--save me. That horrible form! That fearful face!" "Tell us how it happened, dear Flora?" said Henry. "Or would you rather endeavour to get some sleep first?" suggested Mr.
Marchdale. "No--no--no," she said, "I do not think I shall ever sleep again." "Say not so; you will be more composed in a few hours, and then you can
tell us what has occurred." "I will tell you now. I will tell you now." She placed her hands over her face for a moment, as if to collect her
scattered, thoughts, and then she added,--

"I was awakened by the storm, and I saw that terrible apparition at the
window. I think I screamed, but I could not fly. Oh, God! I could not
fly. It came--it seized me by the hair. I know no more. I know no more." She passed her hand across her neck several times, and Mr. Marchdale
said, in an anxious voice,--

"You seem, Flora, to have hurt your neck--there is a wound." "A wound!" said the mother, and she brought a light close to the bed,
where all saw on the side of Flora's neck a small punctured wound; or,
rather two, for there was one a little distance from the other. It was from these wounds the blood had come which was observable upon
her night clothing. "How came these wounds?" said Henry. "I do not know," she replied. "I feel very faint and weak, as if I had
almost bled to death." "You cannot have done so, dear Flora, for there are not above
half-a-dozen spots of blood to be seen at all." Mr. Marchdale leaned against the carved head of the bed for support, and
he uttered a deep groan. All eyes were turned upon him, and Henry said,
in a voice of the most anxious inquiry,--

"You have something to say, Mr. Marchdale, which will throw some light
upon this affair." "No, no, no, nothing!" cried Mr. Marchdale, rousing himself at once from
the appearance of depression that had come over him. "I have nothing to
say, but that I think Flora had better get some sleep if she can." "No sleep-no sleep for me," again screamed Flora. "Dare I be alone to
sleep?" "But you shall not be alone, dear Flora," said Henry. "I will sit by
your bedside and watch you." She took his hand in both hers, and while the tears chased each other
down her cheeks, she said,--

"Promise me, Henry, by all your hopes of Heaven, you will not leave me." "I promise!" She gently laid herself down, with a deep sigh, and closed her eyes. "She is weak, and will sleep long," said Mr. Marchdale. "You sigh," said Henry. "Some fearful thoughts, I feel certain, oppress
your heart." "Hush-hush!" said Mr. Marchdale, as he pointed to Flora. "Hush! not
here--not here." "I understand," said Henry. "Let her sleep." There was a silence of some few minutes duration. Flora had dropped into
a deep slumber. That silence was first broken by George, who said,--

"Mr. Marchdale, look at that portrait." He pointed to the portrait in the frame to which we have alluded, and
the moment Marchdale looked at it he sunk into a chair as he
exclaimed,--

"Gracious Heaven, how like!" "It is--it is," said Henry. "Those eyes--"

"And see the contour of the countenance, and the strange shape of the
mouth." "Exact--exact." "That picture shall be moved from here. The sight of it is at once
sufficient to awaken all her former terrors in poor Flora's brain if she
should chance to awaken and cast her eyes suddenly upon it." "And is it so like him who came here?" said the mother. "It is the very man himself," said Mr. Marchdale. "I have not been in
this house long enough to ask any of you whose portrait that may be?" "It is," said Henry, "the portrait of Sir Runnagate Bannerworth, an
ancestor of ours, who first, by his vices, gave the great blow to the
family prosperity." "Indeed. How long ago?" "About ninety years." "Ninety years. 'Tis a long while--ninety years." "You muse upon it." "No, no. I do wish, and yet I dread--"

"What?" "To say something to you all. But not here--not here. We will hold a
consultation on this matter to-morrow. Not now--not now."