"With all my heart. Come, neighbour." "Well, as I said, he was fidgetty; but yet he was not a man to be very
easily frightened or overcome, for he was stout and bold. "When he shut himself up in the room, he took out a bottle of some good
wine, and helped himself to drink; it was good old wine, and he soon
felt himself warmed and, comforted. He could have faced the enemy. "If one bottle produces such an effect," he muttered, "what will two
do?" This was a question that could only be solved by trying it, and this he
proceeded to do. But first he drew a brace of long barrelled pistols from his coat
pocket, and taking a powder-flask and bullets from his pocket also, he
loaded them very carefully. "There," said he, "are my bull-dogs; and rare watch-dogs they are. They
never bark but they bite. Now, if anybody does come, it will be all up
with them. Tricks upon travellers ain't a safe game when I have these;
and now for the other bottle." He drew the other bottle, and thought, if anything, it was better than
the first. He drank it rather quick, to be sure, and then he began to
feel sleepy and tired. "I think I shall go to bed," he said; "that is, if I can find my way
there, for it does seem to me as if the door was travelling. Never mind,
it will make a call here again presently, and then I'll get through." So saying he arose. Taking the candle in his hand, he walked with a
better step than might have been expected under the circumstance. True
it was the candle wagged to and fro, and his shadow danced upon the
wall; but still, when he got to the bed, he secured his door, put the
light in a safe place, threw himself down, and was fast asleep in a few
moments, or rather he fell into a doze instantaneously. How long he remained in this state he knew not, but he was suddenly
awakened by a loud bang, as though something heavy and flat had fallen
upon the floor--such, for instance, as a door, or anything of that sort. He jumped up, rubbed his eyes, and could even then hear the
reverberations through the house. "What is that?" he muttered; "what is that?" He listened, and thought he could hear something moving down stairs, and
for a moment he was seized with an ague fit; but recollecting, I
suppose, that there were some valuables down stairs that were worth
fighting for, he carefully extinguished the light that still burned, and
softly crept down stairs. When he got down stairs he thought he could hear some one scramble up
the kitchen stairs, and then into the room where the bureau was. Listening for a moment to ascertain if there were more than one, and
then feeling convinced there was not, he followed into the parlour, when
he heard the cabinet open by a key. This was a new miracle, and one he could not understand; and then he
heard the papers begin to rattle and rustle; so, drawing out one of the
pistols, he cocked it, and walked in. The figure instantly began to jump about; it was dressed in white--in
grave-clothes. He was terribly nervous, and shook, so he feared to fire
the pistol; but at length he did, and the report was followed by a fall
and a loud groan. This was very dreadful--very dreadful; but all was quiet, and he lit the
candle again, and approached the body to examine it, and ascertain if he
knew who it was. A groan came from it. The bureau was open, and the
figure clutched firmly a will in his hand. The figure was dressed in grave-clothes, and he started up when he saw
the form and features of his own uncle, the man who was dead, who
somehow or other had escaped his confinement, and found his way up,
here. He held his will firmly; and the nephew was so horrified and
stunned, that he threw down the light, and rushed out of the room with a
shout of terror, and never returned again. *       *       *       *       *

The narrator concluded, and one of the guests said,--

"And do you really believe it?" --"No, no--to be sure not." "You don't?" --"Why should I? My friend was, out of all hand, one of the
greatest liars I ever came near; and why, therefore, should I believe
him? I don't, on my conscience, believe one word of it." It was now half-past twelve, and, as Tom Eccles came not back, and the
landlord did not feel disposed to draw any more liquor, they left the
inn, and retired to their separate houses in a great state of anxiety to
know the fate of their respective wagers. CHAPTER LXIV. THE VAMPIRE IN THE MOONLIGHT.--THE FALSE FRIEND. [Illustration]

Part of the distance being accomplished towards the old ruins, Tom
Eccles began to feel that what he had undertaken was not altogether such
child's-play as he had at first imagined it to be. Somehow or another,
with a singular and uncomfortable sort of distinctness, there came
across his mind every story that he had remembered of the wild and the
wonderful. All the long-since forgotten tales of superstition that in
early childhood he had learned, came now back upon him, suggesting to
his mind a thousand uncomfortable fancies of the strangest description. It was not likely that when once a man, under such circumstances, got
into such a frame of mind, he would readily get out of it again, while
he continued surrounded by such scenes as had first called them into
existence. No doubt, had he turned about, and faced the inn again instead of the
old ruins he would soon have shaken off these "thick coming fancies;"
but such a result was no to be expected, so long as he kept on towards
the dismal place he had pledged himself to reach. As he traversed meadow after meadow he began to ask himself some
questions which he found that he could not answer exactly in a
consolatory manner, under the present state of things. Among these question was the very pertinent one of,--"It's no argument
against vampyres, because I don't see the use of 'em--is it?" This he
was compelled to answer as he had put it; and when, in addition, he
began to recollect that, without the shadow of a doubt, Sir Francis
Varney the supposed vampyre, had been chased across the fields to that
very ruin whither he was bound, and had then and there disappeared, he
certainly found himself in decidedly uncomfortable and most unpromising
situation. "No," he said, "no. Hang it, I won't go back now, to be made the
laughing-stock of the whole town, which I should be. Come what may of
it, I will go on as I have commenced; so I shall put on as stout a heart
as I can." Then, having come to this resolve, he strove might and main to banish
from his mind those disagreeable reminiscences that had been oppressing
him, to turn his attention to subjects of a different complexion. During the progress of making this endeavour, which was rather futile,
he came within sight of the ruins. Then he slackened his pace a little,
telling himself, with a pardonable self-deceit, that it was common,
ordinary caution only, which induced him to do so, and nothing at all in
the shape of fear.