The absence of the body, however, had seemingly, at
all events, the effect of releasing them from the mental and physical
thraldom in which they were, and they were enabled to move from the
spot, which they did immediately, making their way towards the town with
great speed. As they got near, they held a sort of council of war as to what they
should do under the circumstances, the result of which was, that they
came to a conclusion to keep all that they had done and seen to
themselves; for, if they did not, they might be called upon for some
very troublesome explanations concerning the fate of the supposed
Hungarian nobleman whom they had taken upon themselves to believe was a
vampyre, and to shoot accordingly, without taking the trouble to inquire
into the legality of such an act. How such a secret was likely to be kept, when it was shared amongst
seven people, it is hard to say; but, if it were so kept, it could only
be under the pressure of a strong feeling of self-preservation. They were forced individually, of course, to account for their absence
during the night at their respective homes, and how they managed to do
that is best known to themselves. As to the landlord, he felt compelled to state that, having his
suspicions of his guest aroused, he followed him on a walk that he
pretended to take, and he had gone so far, that at length he had given
up the chase, and lost his own way in returning. Thus was it, then, that this affair still preserved all its mystery,
with a large superadded amount of fear attendant upon it; for, if the
mysterious guest were really anything supernatural, might he not come
again in a much more fearful shape, and avenge the treatment he had
received? The only person who fell any disappointment in the affair, or whose
expectations were not realised, was the boy who had made the appointment
with the supposed vampyre at the end of the lane, and who was to have
received what he considered so large a reward for pointing out the
retreat of Sir Francis Varney. He waited in vain for the arrival of the Hungarian nobleman, and, at
last, indignation got the better of him, and he walked away. Feeling
that he had been jilted, he resolved to proceed to the public-house and
demand the half-crowns which had been so liberally promised him; but
when he reached there he found that the party whom he sought was not
within, nor the landlord either, for that was the precise time when that
worthy individual was pursuing his guest over meadow and bill, through
brake and through briar, towards the stepping stones on the river. What the boy further did on the following day, when he found that he was
to reap no more benefit for the adventure, we shall soon perceive. As for the landlord, he did endeavour to catch a few hours' brief
repose; but as he dreamed that the Hungarian nobleman came in the
likeness of a great toad, and sat upon his chest, feeling like the
weight of a mountain, while he, the landlord, tried to scream and cry
for help, but found that he could neither do one thing nor the other, we
may guess that his repose did not at all invigorate him. As he himself expressed it, he got up all of a shake, with a strong
impression that he was a very ill-used individual, indeed, to have had
the nightmare in the day time. And now we will return to the cottage where the Bannerworth family were
at all events, making themselves quite as happy as they did at their
ancient mansion, in order to see what is there passing, and how Dr.
Chillingworth made an effort to get up some evidence of something that
the Bannerworth family knew nothing of, therefore could not very well be
expected to render him much assistance. That he did, however, make what
he considered an important discovery, we shall perceive in the course of
the ensuing chapter, in which it will be seen that the best hidden
things will, by the merest accident, sometimes come to light, and that,
too, when least expected by any one at all connected with the result. CHAPTER LXXXVI. THE DISCOVERY OF THE POCKET BOOK OF MARMADUKE BANNERWORTH.--ITS
MYSTERIOUS CONTENTS. [Illustration]

The little episode had just taken place which we have recorded between
the old admiral and Jack Pringle, when Henry Bannerworth and Charles
Holland stepped aside to converse. "Charles," said Henry, "it has become absolutely necessary that I should
put an end to this state of dependence in which we all live upon your
uncle. It is too bad to think, that because, through fighting the
battles of his country, he has amassed some money, we are to eat it up." "My dear friend," said Charles, "does it not strike you, that it would
be a great deal worse than too bad, if my uncle could not do what he
liked with his own?" "Yes; but, Charles, that is not the question." "I think it is, though I know not what other question you can make of
it." "We have all talked it over, my mother, my brother, and Flora; and my
brother and I have determined, if this state of things should last much
longer, to find out some means of honourable exertion by which we may,
at all events, maintain ourselves without being burdensome to any." "Well, well, we will talk of that another time." "Nay, but hear me; we were thinking that if we went into some branch of
the public service, your uncle would have the pleasure, such we are
quite sure it would be to him, of assisting us greatly by his name and
influence." "Well, well, Henry, that's all very well; but for a little time do not
throw up the old man and make him unhappy. I believe I am his only
relative in the world, and, as he has often said, he intended leaving me
heir to all he possesses, you see there is no harm done by you receiving
a small portion of it beforehand." "And," said Henry, "by that line of argument, we are to find an excuse
for robbing your uncle; in the fact, that we are robbing you likewise." "No, no; indeed, you do not view the matter rightly." "Well, all I can say is, Charles, that while I feel, and while we all
feel, the deepest debt of gratitude towards your uncle, it is our duty
to do something. In a box which we have brought with us from the Hall,
and which has not been opened since our father's death, I have stumbled
over some articles of ancient jewellery and plate, which, at all events,
will produce something." "But which you must not part with." "Nay, but, Charles, these are things I knew not we possessed, and most
ill-suited do they happen to be to our fallen fortunes. It is money we
want, not the gewgaws of a former state, to which we can have now no
sort of pretension." "Nay, I know you have all the argument; but still is there something sad
and uncomfortable to one's feelings in parting with such things as those
which have been in families for many years." "But we knew not that we had them; remember that, Charles. Come and look
at them.