He could not wholly rely upon the secrecy of the Bannerworth family,
much as they might well be supposed to shrink from giving publicity to
circumstances of so fearfully strange and perilous a nature as those
which had occurred amongst them. The merest accident might, at any
moment, make him the town's talk. The overhearing of a few chance words
by some gossiping domestic--some ebullition of anger or annoyance by
some member of the family--or a communication from some friend who had
been treated with confidence--might, at any time, awaken around him some
such a storm as that which now raged at his heels. Varney the vampire must have calculated this. He must have felt the
possibility of such a state of things; and, as a matter of course,
politicly provided himself with some place of refuge. After about twenty minutes of hard chasing across the fields, there
could be no doubt of his intentions. He had such a place of refuge; and,
strange a one as it might appear, he sped towards it in as direct a line
as ever a well-sped arrow flew towards its mark. That place of refuge, to the surprise of every one, appeared to be the
ancient ruin, of which we have before spoken, and which was so well
known to every inhabitant of the county. Truly, it seemed like some act of mere desperation for Sir Francis
Varney to hope there to hide himself. There remained within, of what had
once been a stately pile, but a few grey crumbling walls, which the
hunted have would have passed unheeded, knowing that not for one instant
could he have baffled his pursuers by seeking so inefficient a refuge. And those who followed hard and fast upon the track of Sir Francis
Varney felt so sure of their game, when they saw whither he was
speeding, that they relaxed in their haste considerably, calling loudly
to each other that the vampire was caught at last, for he could be
easily surrounded among the old ruins, and dragged from amongst its
moss-grown walls. In another moment, with a wild dash and a cry of exultation, he sprang
out of sight, behind an angle, formed by what had been at one time one
of the principal supports of the ancient structure. Then, as if there was still something so dangerous about him, that only
by a great number of hands could he be hoped to be secured, the
infuriated peasantry gathered in a dense circle around what they
considered his temporary place of refuge, and as the sun, which had now
climbed above the tree tops, and dispersed, in a great measure, many of
the heavy clouds of morning, shone down upon the excited group, they
might have been supposed there assembled to perform some superstitious
rite, which time had hallowed as an association of the crumbling ruin
around which they stood. By the time the whole of the stragglers, who had persisted in the chase,
had come up, there might have been about fifty or sixty resolute men,
each intent upon securing the person of one whom they felt, while in
existence, would continue to be a terror to all the weaker and dearer
portions of their domestic circles. There was a pause of several minutes. Those who had come the fleetest
were gathering breath, and those who had come up last were looking to
their more forward companions for some information as to what had
occurred before their arrival. All was profoundly still within the ruin, and then suddenly, as if by
common consent, there arose from every throat a loud shout of
"Down with the vampyre! down with the vampyre!" The echoes of that shout died away, and then all was still as before,
while a superstitious feeling crept over even the boldest. It would
almost seem as if they had expected some kind of response from Sir
Francis Varney to the shout of defiance with which they had just greeted
him; but the very calmness, repose, and absolute quiet of the ruin, and
all about it, alarmed them, and they looked the one at the other as if
the adventure after all were not one of the pleasantest description, and
might not fall out so happily as they had expected. Yet what danger could there be? there were they, more than half a
hundred stout, strong men, to cope with one; they felt convinced that he
was completely in their power; they knew the ruins could not hide him,
and that five minutes time given to the task, would suffice to explore
every nook and corner of them. And yet they hesitated, while an unknown terror shook their nerves, and
seemingly from the very fact that they had run down their game
successfully, they dreaded to secure the trophy of the chase. One bold spirit was wanting; and, if it was not a bold one that spoke at
length, he might be complimented as being comparatively such. It was one
who had not been foremost in the chase, perchance from want of physical
power, who now stood forward, and exclaimed,--

"What are you waiting for, now? You can have him when you like. If you
want your wives and children to sleep quietly in their beds, you will
secure the vampyre. Come on--we all know he's here--why do you hesitate? Do you expect me to go alone and drag him out by the ears?" Any voice would have sufficed to break the spell which bound them. This
did so; and, with one accord, and yells of imprecation, they rushed
forward and plunged among the old walls of the ruin. Less time than we have before remarked would have enabled any one to
explore the tottering fabric sufficient to bring a conviction to their
minds that, after all, there might have been some mistake about the
matter, and Sir Francis Varney was not quite caught yet. It was astonishing how the fact of not finding him in a moment, again
roused all their angry feelings against him, and dispelled every feeling
of superstitious awe with which he had been surrounded; rage gave place
to the sort of shuddering horror with which they had before contemplated
his immediate destruction, when they had believed him to be virtually
within their very grasp. Over and over again the ruins were searched--hastily and impatiently by
some, carefully and deliberately by others, until there could be no
doubt upon the mind of every one individual, that somehow or somewhere
within the shadow of those walls, Sir Francis Varney had disappeared
most mysteriously. Then it would have been a strange sight for any indifferent spectator to
have seen how they shrunk, one by one, out of the shadow of those ruins;
each seeming to be afraid that the vampyre, in some mysterious manner,
would catch him if he happened to be the last within their sombre
influence; and, when they had all collected in the bright, open space,
some little distance beyond, they looked at each other and at the ruins,
with dubious expressions of countenance, each, no doubt, wishing that
each would suggest something of a consolatory or practicable character. "What's to be done, now?" said one. "Ah! that's it," said another, sententiously. "I'll be hanged if I
know." "He's given us the slip," remarked a third.