"Bravo," said the admiral; "there's another of them." The pursuers of Varney the vampyre, however, now came too thick and fast
to be so easily disposed of, and as soon as his figure could be seen
coursing over the meadows, and springing over road and ditch with an
agility almost frightful to look upon, the whole rabble rout was in
pursuit of him. By this time, the man who had fallen into the ditch had succeeded in
making his appearance in the visible world again, and as he crawled up
the bank, looking a thing of mire and mud, Jack walked up to him with
all the carelessness in the world, and said to him,--

"Any luck, old chap?" "Oh, murder!" said the man, "what do you mean? who are you? where am I? what's the matter? Old Muster Fowler, the fat crowner, will set upon me
now." "Have you caught anything?" said Jack. "Caught anything?" "Yes; you've been in for eels, haven't you?" "D--n!" "Well, it is odd to me, as some people can't go a fishing without
getting out of temper. Have it your own way; I won't interfere with
you;" and away Jack walked. The man cleared the mud out of his eyes, as well as he could, and looked
after him with a powerful suspicion that in Jack he saw the very cause
of his mortal mishap: but, somehow or other, his immersion in the not
over limpid stream had wonderfully cooled his courage, and casting one
despairing look upon his begrimed apparel, and another at the last of
the stragglers who were pursuing Sir Francis Varney across the fields,
he thought it prudent to get home as fast he could, and get rid of the
disagreeable results of an adventure which had turned out for him
anything but auspicious or pleasant. Mr. Chillingworth, as though by a sort of impulse to be present in case
Sir Francis Varney should really be run down and with a hope of saving
him from personal violence, had followed the foremost of the rioters in
the wood, found it now quite impossible for him to carry on such a chase
as that which was being undertaken across the fields after Sir Francis
Varney. His person was unfortunately but ill qualified for the continuance of
such a pursuit, and, although with the greatest reluctance, he at last
felt himself compelled to give it up. In making his way through the intricacies of the wood, he had been
seriously incommoded by the thick undergrowth, and he had accidentally
encountered several miry pools, with which he had involuntarily made a
closer acquaintance than was at all conducive either to his personal
appearance or comfort. The doctor's temper, though, generally speaking,
one of the most even, was at last affected by his mishaps, and he could
not restrain from an execration upon his want of prudence in letting his
wife have a knowledge of a secret that was not his own, and the
producing an unlooked for circumstance, the termination of which might
be of a most disastrous nature. Tired, therefore, and nearly exhausted by the exertions he had already
taken, he emerged now alone from the wood, and near the spot where stood
Henry Bannerworth and his friends in consultation. The jaded look of the surgeon was quite sufficient indication of the
trouble and turmoil he had gone through, and some expressions of
sympathy for his condition were dropped by Henry, to whom he replied,--

"Nay, my young friend, I deserve it all. I have nothing but my own
indiscretion to thank for all the turmoil and tumult that has arisen
this morning." "But to what possible cause can we attribute such an outrage?" "Reproach me as much as you will, I deserve it. A man may prate of his
own secrets if he like, but he should be careful of those of other
people. I trusted yours to another, and am properly punished." "Enough," said Henry; "we'll say no more of that, Mr. Chillingworth. What is done cannot be undone, and we had better spend our time in
reflection of how to make the best of what is, than in useless
lamentation over its causes. What is to be done?" "Nay, I know not. Have you fought the duel?" "Yes; and, as you perceive, harmlessly." "Thank Heaven for that." "Nay, I had my fire, which Sir Francis Varney refused to return; so the
affair had just ended, when the sound of approaching tumult came upon
our ears." [Illustration]

"What a strange mixture," exclaimed Marchdale, "of feelings and passions
this Varney appears to be. At one moment acting with the apparent
greatest malignity; and another, seeming to have awakened in his mind a
romantic generosity which knows no bounds. I cannot understand him." "Nor I, indeed," said Henry; "but yet I somehow tremble for his fate,
and I seem to feel that something ought to be done to save him from the
fearful consequences of popular feeling. Let us hasten to the town, and
procure what assistance we may: but a few persons, well organised and
properly armed, will achieve wonders against a desultory and
ill-appointed multitude. There may be a chance of saving him, yet, from
the imminent danger which surrounds him." "That's proper," cried the admiral. "I don't like to see anybody run
down. A fair fight's another thing. Yard arm and yard arm--stink pots
and pipkins--broadside to broadside--and throw in your bodies, if you
like, on the lee quarter; but don't do anything shabby. What do you
think of it, Jack?" "Why, I means to say as how if Varney only keeps on sail as he's been
doing, that the devil himself wouldn't catch him in a gale." "And yet," said Henry, "it is our duty to do the best we can. Let us at
once to the town, and summons all the assistance in our power. Come
on--come on!" His friends needed no further urging, but, at a brisk pace, they all
proceeded by the nearest footpaths towards the town. It puzzled his pursuers to think in what possible direction Sir Francis
Varney expected to find sustenance or succour, when they saw how
curiously he took his flight across the meadows. Instead of
endeavouring, by any circuitous path, to seek the shelter of his own
house, or to throw himself upon the care of the authorities of the town,
who must, to the extent of their power, have protected him, he struck
across the fields, apparently without aim or purpose, seemingly intent
upon nothing but to distance his pursuers in a long chase, which might
possibly tire them, or it might not, according to their or his powers of
endurance. We say this seemed to be the case, but it was not so in reality. Sir
Francis Varney had a deeper purpose, and it was scarcely to be supposed
that a man of his subtle genius, and, apparently, far-seeing and
reflecting intellect, could have so far overlooked the many dangers of
his position as not to be fully prepared for some such contingency as
that which had just now occurred. Holding, as he did, so strange a place in society--living among men, and
yet possessing so few attributes in common with humanity--he must all
along have felt the possibility of drawing upon himself popular
violence.