This produced a momentary panic, and the servants then had the whole of
the victory to themselves, and were about to charge, and clear the
passage of their enemies, when a shout behind attracted their attention. That shout was caused by an entrance being gained in another quarter,
whence the servants were flying, and all was disorder. "Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the mob. The servants retreated to the stairs, and here united, they made a
stand, and resolved to resist the whole force of the rioters, and they
succeeded in doing so, too, for some minutes. Blows were given and taken
of a desperate character. Somehow, there were no deadly blows received by the servants; they were
being forced and beaten, but they lost no life; this may be accounted
for by the fact that the mob used no more deadly weapons than sticks. The servants of Sir Francis Varney, on the contrary, were mostly armed
with deadly weapons, which, however, they did not use unnecessarily. They stood upon the hall steps--the grand staircase, with long poles or
sticks, about the size of quarter-staves, and with these they belaboured
those below most unmercifully. Certainly, the mob were by no means cowards, for the struggle to close
with their enemies was as great as ever, and as firm as could well be. Indeed, they rushed on with a desperation truly characteristic of John
Bull, and defied the heaviest blows; for as fast as one was stricken
down another occupied his place, and they insensibly pressed their close
and compact front upon the servants, who were becoming fatigued and
harassed. "Fire, again," exclaimed a voice from among the servants. The mob made no retrogade movement, but still continued to press
onwards, and in another moment a loud report rang through the house, and
a smoke hung over the heads of the mob. A long groan or two escaped some of the men who had been wounded, and a
still louder from those who had not been wounded, and a cry arose of,--

"Down with the vampyre--pull down--destroy and burn the whole
place--down with them all." A rush succeeded, and a few more discharges took place, when a shout
above attracted the attention of both parties engaged in this fierce
struggle. They paused by mutual consent, to look and see what was the
cause of that shout. CHAPTER LII. THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE MOB AND SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.--THE MYSTERIOUS
DISAPPEARANCE.--THE WINE CELLARS. [Illustration]

The shout that had so discomposed the parties who were thus engaged in a
terrific struggle came from a party above. "Hurrah! hurrah!" they shouted a number of times, in a wild strain of
delight. "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" The fact was, a party of the mob had clambered up a verandah, and
entered some of the rooms upstairs, whence they emerged just above the
landing near the spot where the servants were resisting in a mass the
efforts of the mob. "Hurrah!" shouted the mob below. "Hurrah!" shouted the mob above. There was a momentary pause, and the servants divided themselves into
two bodies, and one turned to face those above, and the other those who
were below. A simultaneous shout was given by both parties of the mob, and a sudden
rush was made by both bodies, and the servants of Sir Francis Varney
were broken in an instant. They were instantly separated, and knocked
about a good bit, but they were left to shift for themselves, the mob
had a more important object in view. "Down with the vampyre!" they shouted. "Down with the vampyre!" shouted they, and they rushed helter skelter
through the rooms, until they came to one where the door was partially
open, and they could see some person very leisurely seated. "Here he is," they cried. "Who? who?" "The vampire." "Down with him! kill him! burn him!" "Hurrah! down with the vampire!" These sounds were shouted out by a score of voices, and they rushed
headlong into the room. But here their violence and headlong precipitancy were suddenly
restrained by the imposing and quiet appearance of the individual who
was there seated. The mob entered the room, and there was a sight, that if it did not
astonish them, at least, it caused them to pause before the individual
who was seated there. The room was well filled with furniture, and there was a curtain drawn
across the room, and about the middle of it there was a table, behind
which sat Sir Francis Varney himself, looking all smiles and courtesy. "Well, dang my smock-frock!" said one, "who'd ha' thought of this? He
don't seem to care much about it." "Well, I'm d----d!" said another; "he seems pretty easy, at all events. What is he going to do?" "Gentlemen," said Sir Francis Varney, rising, with the blandest smiles,
"pray, gentlemen, permit me to inquire the cause of this condescension
on your part. The visit is kind." The mob looked at Sir Francis, and then at each other, and then at Sir
Francis again; but nobody spoke. They were awed by this gentlemanly and
collected behaviour. "If you honour me with this visit from pure affection and neighbourly
good-will, I thank you." "Down with the vampyre!" said one, who was concealed behind the rest,
and not so much overawed, as he had not seen Sir Francis. Sir Francis Varney rose to his full height; a light gleamed across his
features; they were strongly defined then. His long front teeth, too,
showed most strongly when he smiled, as he did now, and said, in a bland
voice,--

"Gentlemen, I am at your service. Permit me to say you are welcome to
all I can do for you. I fear the interview will be somewhat inconvenient
and unpleasant to you. As for myself, I am entirely at your service." As Sir Francis spoke, he bowed, and folded his hands together, and
stepped forwards; but, instead of coming onwards to them, he walked
behind the curtain, and was immediately hid from their view. "Down with the vampyre!" shouted one. "Down with the vampyre!" rang through the apartment; and the mob now,
not awed by the coolness and courtesy of Sir Francis, rushed forward,
and, overturning the table, tore down the curtain to the floor; but, to
their amazement, there was no Sir Francis Varney present. "Where is he?" "Where is the vampyre?" "Where has he gone?" These were cries that escaped every one's lips; and yet no one could
give an answer to them. There Sir Francis Varney was not. They were completely thunderstricken. They could not find out where he had gone to. There was no possible
means of escape, that they could perceive. There was not an odd corner,
or even anything that could, by any possibility, give even a suspicion
that even a temporary concealment could take place. They looked over every inch of flooring and of wainscoting; not the
remotest trace could be discovered. "Where is he?" "I don't know," said one--"I can't see where he could have gone. There
ain't a hole as big as a keyhole." "My eye!" said one; "I shouldn't be at all surprised, if he were to blow
up the whole house." "You don't say go!" "I never heard as how vampyres could do so much as that.