At the
corner of that wall there I am certain there is the flutter of a human
garment." --"There is--there is." "Hush! Keep close. It must be the vampyre." --"Give me my pistol. What
are you doing with it?" "Only ramming down the charge more firmly for you. Take it. If that be
Varney the vampyre, I shall challenge him to surrender the moment he
appears; and if he does not, I will fire upon him, and do you do so
likewise." --"Well, I--I don't know." "You have scruples?" --"I certainly have." "Well, well--don't you fire, then, but leave it to me. There;
look--look. Now have you any doubt? There he goes; in his cloak. It
is--it is----"--"Varney, by Heavens!" cried Tom Eccles. [Illustration]

"Surrender!" shouted Marchdale. At the instant Sir Francis Varney sprang forward, and made off at a
rapid pace across the meadows. "Fire after him--fire!" cried Marchdale, "or he will escape. My pistol
has missed fire. He will be off." On the impulse of the moment, and thus urged by the voice and the
gesture of his companion, Tom Eccles took aim as well as he could, and
fired after the retreating form of Sir Francis Varney. His conscience
smote him as he heard the report and saw the flash of the large pistol
amid the half sort of darkness that was still around. The effect of the shot was then to him painfully apparent. He saw Varney
stop instantly; then make a vain attempt to stagger forward a little,
and finally fall heavily to the earth, with all the appearance of one
killed upon the spot. "You have hit him," said Marchdale--"you have hit him. Bravo!" --"I
have--hit him." "Yes, a capital shot, by Jove!" --"I am very sorry." "Sorry! sorry for ridding the world of such a being! What was in your
pistol?" --"A couple of slugs." "Well, they have made a lodgment in him, that's quite clear. Let's go up
and finish him at once." --"He seems finished." "I beg your pardon there. When the moonbeams fall upon him he'll get up
and walk away as if nothing was the matter." --"Will he?" cried Tom, with
animation--"will he?" "Certainly he will." --"Thank God for that. Now, hark you, Mr. Marchdale:
I should not have fired if you had not at the moment urged me to do so. Now, I shall stay and see if the effect which you talk of will ensue;
and although it may convince me that he is a vampyre, and that there are
such things, he may go off, scot free, for me." "Go off?" --"Yes; I don't want to have even a vampyre's blood upon my
hands." "You are exceedingly delicate." --"Perhaps I am; it's my way, though. I
have shot him--not you, mind; so, in a manner of speaking, he belongs to
me. Now, mark, me: I won't have him touched any more to-night, unless
you think there's a chance of making a prisoner of him without
violence." "There he lies; you can go and make a prisoner of him at once, dead as
he is; and if you take him out of the moonlight--"

"I understand; he won't recover." --"Certainly not." "But, as I want him to recover, that don't suit me." --"Well, I cannot
but honour your scruples, although I do not actually share in them; but
I promise you that, since such is your wish, I will take no steps
against the vampyre; but let us come up to him and see if he be really
dead, or only badly wounded." Tom Eccles hang back a little from this proposal; but, upon being urged
again by Marchdale, and told that he need not go closer than he chose,
he consented, and the two of them approached the prostrate form of Sir
Francis Varney, which lay upon its face in the faint moonlight, which
each moment was gathering strength and power. "He lies upon his face," said Marchdale. "Will you go and turn him
over?"--"Who--I? God forbid I should touch him." "Well--well, I will. Come on." They halted within a couple of yards of the body. Tom Eccles would not
go a step farther; so Marchdale advanced alone, and pretended to be,
with great repugnance, examining for the wound. "He is quite dead," he said; "but I cannot see the hurt." --"I think he
turned his head as I fired." "Did he? Let us see." Marchdale lifted up the head, and disclosed such a mass of
clotted-looking blood, that Tom Eccles at once took to his heels, nor
stopped until he was nearly as far off as the ruins. Marchdale followed
him more slowly, and when he came up to him, he said,--

"The slugs have taken effect on his face." --"I know it--I know it. Don't
tell me." "He looks horrible." --"And I am a murderer." "Psha! You look upon this matter too seriously. Think of who and what he
was, and then you will soon acquit yourself of being open to any such
charge." --"I am bewildered, Mr. Marchdale, and cannot now know whether
he be a vampyre or not. If he be not, I have murdered, most
unjustifiably, a fellow-creature." "Well, but if he be?" --"Why, even then I do not know but that I ought to
consider myself as guilty. He is one of God's creatures if he were ten
times a vampyre." "Well, you really do take a serious view of the affair." --"Not more
serious than it deserves." "And what do you mean to do?" --"I shall remain here to await the result
of what you tell me will ensue, if he be a real vampire. Even now the
moonbeams are full upon him, and each moment increasing in intensity. Think you he will recover?" "I do indeed." --"Then here will I wait." "Since that is you resolve, I will keep you company. We shall easily
find some old stone in the ruins which will serve us for a seat, and
there at leisure we can keep our eyes upon the dead body, and be able to
observe if it make the least movement." This plan was adopted, and they sat down just within the ruins, but in
such a place that they had a full view of the dead body, as it appeared
to be, of Sir Francis Varney, upon which the sweet moonbeams shone full
and clear. Tom Eccles related how he was incited to come upon his expedition, but
he might have spared himself that trouble, as Marchdale had been in a
retired corner of the inn parlour before he came to his appointment with
Varney, and heard the business for the most part proposed. Half-an-hour, certainly not more, might have elapsed; when suddenly Tom
Eccles uttered an exclamation, partly of surprise and partly of
terror,--

"He moves; he moves!" he cried. "Look at the vampyre's body." Marchdale affected to look with an all-absorbing interest, and there was
Sir Francis Varney, raising slowly one arm with the hand outstretched
towards the moon, as if invoking that luminary to shed more of its beams
upon him. Then the body moved slowly, like some one writhing in pain,
and yet unable to move from the spot on which it lay. From the head to
the foot, the whole frame seemed to be convulsed, and now and then as
the ghastly object seemed to be gathering more strength, the limbs were
thrown out with a rapid and a frightful looking violence.