His brain was in a complete whirl; nothing of a tangible nature,
but that he was there, chained down, and left to starve to death, came
across his intellect. Then a kind of madness, for a moment or two, took
possession of him; he made a tremendous effort to burst asunder the
bands that held him. But it was in vain. The chains--which had been placed upon Charles
Holland during the first few days of his confinement, when he had a
little recovered from the effects of the violence which had been
committed upon him at the time when he was captured--effectually
resisted Marchdale. They even cut into his flesh, inflicting upon him some grievous wounds;
but that was all he achieved by his great efforts to free himself, so
that, after a few moments, bleeding and in great pain, he, with a deep
groan, desisted from the fruitless efforts he had better not have
commenced. Then he remained silent for a time, but it was not the silence of
reflection; it was that of exhaustion, and, as such, was not likely to
last long; nor did it, for, in the course of another five minutes, he
called out loudly. Perhaps he thought there might be a remote chance that some one
traversing the meadows would hear him; and yet, if he had duly
considered the matter, which he was not in a fitting frame of mind to
do, he would have recollected that, in choosing a dungeon among the
underground vaults of these ruins, he had, by experiment, made certain
that no cry, however loud, from where he lay, could reach the upper air. And thus had this villain, by the very precautions which he had himself
taken to ensure the safe custody of another, been his own greatest
enemy. "Help! help! help!" he cried frantically "Varney! Charles Holland! have
mercy upon me, and do not leave me here to starve! Help, oh, Heaven! Curses on all your heads--curses! Oh, mercy--mercy--mercy!" In suchlike incoherent expressions did he pass some hours, until, what
with exhaustion and a raging thirst that came over him, he could not
utter another word, but lay the very picture of despair and discomfited
malice and wickedness. CHAPTER LXIX. FLORA BANNERWORTH AND HER MOTHER.--THE EPISODE OF CHIVALRY. [Illustration]

Gladly we turn from such a man as Marchdale to a consideration of the
beautiful and accomplished Flora Bannerworth, to whom we may, without
destroying in any way the interest of our plot, predict a much happier
destiny than, probably, at that time, she considers as at all likely to
be hers. She certainly enjoyed, upon her first removal from Bannerworth Hall,
greater serenity of mind than she had done there; but, as we have
already remarked of her, the more her mind was withdrawn, by change of
scene, from the horrible considerations which the attack of the vampyre
had forced upon her, the more she reverted to the fate of Charles
Holland, which was still shrouded in so much gloom. She would sit and converse with her mother upon that subject until she
worked up her feelings to a most uncomfortable pitch of excitement, and
then Mrs. Bannerworth would get her younger brother to join them, who
would occasionally read to her some compositions of his own, or of some
favourite writer whom he thought would amuse her. [Illustration]

It was on the very evening when Sir Francis Varney had made up his mind
to release Charles Holland, that young Bannerworth read to his sister
and his mother the following little chivalric incident, which he told
them he had himself collated from authentic sources:--

"The knight with the green shield," exclaimed one of a party of
men-at-arms, who were drinking together at an ancient hostel, not far
from Shrewsbury--"the knight with the green shield is as good a knight
as ever buckled on a sword, or wore spurs." --"Then how comes it he is
not one of the victors in the day's tournament?" exclaimed another.--"By
the bones of Alfred!" said a third, "a man must be judged of by his
deserts, and not by the partiality of his friends. That's my opinion,
friends." --"And mine, too," said another. "That is all very true, and my opinion would go with yours, too; but not
in this instance. Though you may accuse me of partiality, yet I am not
so; for I have seen some of the victors of to-day by no means forward in
the press of battle-men who, I will not say feared danger, but who liked
it not so well but they avoided it as much as possible." "Ay, marry, and so have I. The reason is, 'tis much easier to face a
blunted lance, than one with a spear-head; and a man may practise the
one and thrive in it, but not the other; for the best lance in the
tournament is not always the best arm in the battle." "And that is the reason of my saying the knight with the green shield
was a good knight. I have seen him in the midst of the melee, when men
and horses have been hurled to the ground by the shock; there he has
behaved himself like a brave knight, and has more than once been noticed
for it." "But how canne he to be so easily overthrown to-day? That speaks
something." --"His horse is an old one." "So much the better," said another; "he's used to his work, and as
cunning as an old man." --"But he has been wounded more than once, and is
weakened very much: besides, I saw him lose his footing, else he had
overthrown his opponent. "He did not seem distressed about his accident, at all events, but sat
contented in the tent." --"He knows well that those who know him will
never attribute his misadventure either to want of courage or conduct;
moreover, he seems to be one of those who care but little for the
opinion of men who care nothing for him." "And he's right. Well, dear comrades, the health of Green Knight, or the
Knight with a Green Shield, for that's his name, or the designation he
chooses to go by." --"A health to the Knight with the Green Shield!" shouted the men-at-arms, as they lifted their cups on high. "Who is he?" inquired one of the men-at-arms, of him who had spoken
favourably of the stranger.--"I don't know." "And yet you spoke favourably of him a few seconds back, and said what a
brave knight he was!" --"And so I uphold him to be; but, I tell you what,
friend, I would do as much for the greatest stranger I ever met. I have
seen him fight where men and horses have bit the dust in hundreds; and
that, in my opinion, speaks out for the man and warrior; he who cannot,
then, fight like a soldier, had better tilt at home in the castle-yard,
and there win ladies' smiles, but not the commendation of the leader of
the battle." "That's true: I myself recollect very well Sir Hugh de Colbert, a very
accomplished knight in the castle-yard; but his men were as fine a set
of fellows as ever crossed a horse, to look at, but they proved
deficient at the moment of trial; they were broken, and fled in a
moment, and scarce one of them received a scratch." "Then they hadn't stood the shock of the foeman?" --"No; that's certain." "But still I should like to know the knight,--to know his name very
well."