And, as Mr. Philpots pursued an extremely similar course, we are not
surprised that in the short space of one hour the news should have
spread through all the town, and that there was scarcely a child old
enough to understand what was being talked about, who was ignorant of
the fact, that Sir Francis Varney was to be found at the empty house
down the lane. It was an unlucky time, too, for the night was creeping on, a period at
which people's apprehension of the supernatural becomes each moment
stronger and more vivid--a period at which a number of idlers are let
loose for different employments, and when anything in the shape of a row
or a riot presents itself in pleasant colours to those who have nothing
to lose and who expect, under the cover of darkness, to be able to
commit outrages they would be afraid to think of in the daytime, when
recognition would be more easy. Thus was it that Sir Francis Varney's position, although he knew it not,
became momentarily one of extreme peril, and the danger he was about to
run, was certainly greater than any he had as yet experienced. Had
Charles Holland but known what was going on, he would undoubtedly have
done something to preserve the supposed vampyre from the mischief that
threatened him, but the time had not arrived when he had promised to pay
him a second visit, so he had no idea of anything serious having
occurred. Perhaps, too, Mr. and Mrs. Philpots scarcely anticipated creating so
much confusion, but when they found that the whole place was in an
uproar, and that a tumultuous assemblage of persons called aloud for
vengeance upon Varney, the vampyre, they made their way home again in no
small fright. And, now, what was the result of all these proceedings will be best
known by our introducing the reader to the interior of the house in
which Varney had found a temporary refuge, and following in detail his
proceedings as he waited for the arrival of Charles Holland. CHAPTER LXXXVII. THE HUNT FOR VARNEY.--THE HOUSE-TOPS.--THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE.--THE LAST
PLACE OF REFUGE.--THE COTTAGE. [Illustration]

On the tree tops the moon shines brightly, and the long shadows are
shooting its rays down upon the waters, and the green fields appear
clothed in a flood of silver light; the little town was quiet and
tranquil--nature seemed at rest. The old mansion in which Sir Francis Varney had taken refuge, stood
empty and solitary; it seemed as though it were not associated with the
others by which it was surrounded. It was gloomy, and in the moonlight
it reminded one of things long gone by, existences that had once been,
but now no longer of this present time--a mere memento of the past. Sir Francis Varney reclined upon the house-top; he gazed upon the sky,
and upon the earth; he saw the calm tranquillity that reigned around,
and could not but admire what he saw; he sighed, he seemed to sigh, from
a pleasure he felt in the fact of his security; he could repose there
without fear, and breathe the balmy air that fanned his cheek. "Certainly," he muttered, "things might have been worse, but not much
worse; however, they might have been much better; the ignorant are
away--the most to be feared, because they have no guide and no control,
save what can be exerted over them by their fears and their passions." He paused to look again over the scene, and, as far as the eye could
reach, and that, moonlight as it was, was many miles, the country was
diversified with hill and dale, meadow and ploughed land; the open
fields, and the darker woods, and the silvery stream that ran at no
great distance, all presented a scene that was well calculated to warm
the imagination, and to give the mind that charm which a cultivated
understanding is capable of receiving. There was but one thing wanted to make such a scene one of pure
happiness, and that was all absence of care of fears for the future and
the wants of life. Suddenly there was a slight sound that came from the town. It was very
slight, but the ears of Sir Francis Varney were painfully acute of late;
the least sound that came across him was heard in a moment, and his
whole visage was changed to one of listening interest. The sound was hushed; but his attention was not lulled, for he had been
placed in circumstances that made all his vigilance necessary for his
own preservation. Hence it was, what another would have passed over, or
not heard at all, he both heard and noticed. He was not sure of the
nature of the sound, it was so slight and so indistinct. There it was again! Some persons were moving about in the town. The
sounds that came upon the night air seemed to say that there was an
unusual bustle in the town, which was, to Sir Francis Varney, ominous in
the extreme. What could people in such a quiet, retired place require out at such an
hour at night? It must be something very unusual--something that must
excite them to a great degree; and Sir Francis began to feel very
uneasy. "They surely," he muttered to himself--"they surely cannot have found
out my hiding place, and intend to hunt me from it, the blood-thirsty
hounds! they are never satisfied. The mischief they are permitted to do
on one occasion is but the precursor to another. The taste has caused
the appetite for more, and nothing short of his blood can satisfy it." The sounds increased, and the noise came nearer and nearer, and it
appeared as though a number of men had collected together and were
coming towards him. Yes, they were coming down the lane towards the
deserted mansion where he was. For once in his life, Sir Francis Varney trembled; he felt sick at
heart, though no man was less likely to give up hope and to despair than
he; yet this sign of unrelenting hatred and persecution was too
unequivocal and too stern not to produce its effect upon even his mind;
for he had no doubt but that they were coming with the express purpose
of seeking him. How they could have found him out was a matter he could not imagine. The
Bannerworths could not have betrayed him--he was sure of that; and yet
who could have seen him, so cautious and so careful as he had been, and
so very sparing had he lived, because he would not give the slightest
cause for all that was about to follow. He hoped to have hidden himself;
but now he could hear the tramp of men distinctly, and their voices came
now on the night air, though it was in a subdued tone, as if they were
desirous of approaching unheard and unseen by their victim. Sir Francis Varney stirred not from his position. He remained silent and
motionless. He appeared not to heed what was going on; perhaps he hoped
to see them go by--to be upon some false scent; or, if they saw no signs
of life, they might leave the place, and go elsewhere. Hark!