Mr. Marchdale was not unmoved at this occurrence, but stood his ground
with Henry Bannerworth, the admiral, and Jack Pringle, until the mob
came very near to them, shouting, and uttering cries of vengeance, and
death of all imaginable kinds that it was possible to conceive, against
the unpopular vampyre. Pending the arrival of these infuriated persons, we will, in a few
words, state how it was that so suddenly a set of circumstances arose
productive of an amount of personal danger to Varney, such as, up to
that time, had seemed not at all likely to occur. We have before stated there was but one person out of the family of the
Bannerworths who was able to say anything of a positive character
concerning the singular and inexplicable proceedings at the Hall; and
that that person was Mr. Chillingworth, an individual not at all likely
to become garrulous upon the subject. But, alas! the best of men have their weaknesses, and we much regret to
say that Mr. Chillingworth so far in this instance forgot that admirable
discretion which commonly belonged to him, as to be the cause of the
popular tumult which had now readied such a height. In a moment of thoughtlessness and confidence, he told his wife. Yes,
this really clever man, from whom one would not have expected such a
piece of horrible indiscretion, actually told his wife all about the
vampyre. But such is human nature; combined with an amount of firmness
and reasoning power, that one would have thought to be invulnerable
safeguards, we find some weakness which astonishes all calculation. Such was this of Mr. Chillingworth's. It is true, he cautioned the lady
to be secret, and pointed to her the danger of making Varney the vampyre
a theme for gossip; but he might as well have whispered to a hurricane
to be so good as not to go on blowing so, as request Mrs. Chillingworth
to keep a secret. Of course she burst into the usual fervent declarations of "Who was she
to tell? Was she a person who went about telling things? When did she
see anybody? Not she, once in a blue moon;" and then, when Mr.
Chillingworth went out, like the King of Otaheite, she invited the
neighbours round about to come to take some tea. Under solemn promises of secrecy, sixteen ladies that evening were made
acquainted with the full and interesting particulars of the attack of
the vampyre on Flora Bannerworth, and all the evidence inculpating Sir
Francis Varney as the blood-thirsty individual. When the mind comes to consider that these sixteen ladies multiplied
their information by about four-and-twenty each, we become quite lost in
a sea of arithmetic, and feel compelled to sum up the whole by a candid
assumption that in four-and-twenty hours not an individual in the whole
town was ignorant of the circumstances. On the morning before the projected duel, there was an unusual commotion
in the streets. People were conversing together in little knots, and
using rather violent gesticulations. Poor Mr. Chillingworth! he alone
was ignorant of the causes of the popular commotion, and so he went to
bed wondering that an unusual bustle pervaded the little market town,
but not at all guessing its origin. Somehow or another, however, the populace, who had determined to make a
demonstration on the following morning against the vampyre, thought it
highly necessary first to pay some sort of compliment to Mr.
Chillingworth, and, accordingly, at an early hour, a great mob assembled
outside his house, and gave three terrific applauding shouts, which
roused him most unpleasantly from his sleep; and induced the greatest
astonishment at the cause of such a tumult. Oh, that artful Mrs. Chillingworth! too well she knew what was the
matter; yet she pretended to be so oblivious upon the subject. "Good God!" cried Mr. Chillingworth, as he started up in bed, "what's
all that?" "All what?" said his wife. "All what! Do you mean to say you heard nothing?" "Well, I think I did hear a little sort of something." "A little sort of something? It shook the house." "Well, well; never mind. Go to sleep again; it's no business of ours." "Yes; but it may be, though. It's all very well to say 'go to sleep.' That happens to be a thing I can't do. There's something amiss." "Well, what's that to you?" "Perhaps nothing; but, perhaps, everything." Mr. Chillingworth sprang from his bed, and began dressing, a process
which he executed with considerable rapidity, and in which he was much
accelerated by two or three supplementary shouts from the people below. Then, in a temporary lull, a loud voice shouted,--

"Down with the vampyre--down with the vampyre!" The truth in an instant burst over the mind of Mr. Chillingworth; and,
turning to his wife, he exclaimed,--

"I understand it now. You've been gossipping about Sir Francis Varney,
and have caused all this tumult." "I gossip! Well, I never! Lay it on me; it's sure to be my fault. I
might have known that beforehand. I always am." "But you must have spoken of it." "Who have I got to speak to about it?" "Did you, or did you not?" "Who should I tell?" Mr. Chillingworth was dressed, and he hastened down and entered the
street with great desperation. He had a hope that he might be enabled to
disperse the crowd, and yet be in time to keep his appointment at the
duel. His appearance was hailed with another shout, for it was considered, of
course, that he had come to join in the attack upon Sir Francis Varney. He found assembled a much more considerable mob than he had imagined,
and to his alarm he found many armed with all sorts of weapons of
offence. "Hurrah!" cried a great lumpy-looking fellow, who seemed half mad with
the prospect of a disturbance. "Hurrah! here's the doctor, he'll tell us
all about it as we go along. Come on." "For Heaven's sake," said Mr. Chillingworth, "stop; What are you about
to do all of you?" "Burn the vampyre--burn the vampyre!" "Hold--hold! this is folly. Let me implore you all to return to your
homes, or you will get into serious trouble on this subject." This was a piece of advice not at all likely to be adopted; and when the
mob found that Mr. Chillingworth was not disposed to encourage and
countenance it in its violence, it gave another loud shout of defiance,
and moved off through the long straggling streets of the town in a
direction towards Sir Francis Varney's house. It is true that what were called the authorities of the town had become
alarmed, and were stirring, but they found themselves in such a
frightful minority, that it became out of the question for them to
interfere with any effect to stop the lawless proceedings of the
rioters, so that the infuriated populace had it all their own way, and
in a straggling, disorderly-looking kind of procession they moved off,
vowing vengeance as they went against Varney the vampyre.