As for Bannerworth Hall, I will yet have it in
my power; I have sworn to do so, I will keep my oath." --"The
accomplishment of our purpose, I regret to say, seems as far off as
ever." "Not so--not so. As I before remarked, we must disappear, for a time, so
as to lull suspicion. There will then arise a period when Bannerworth
Hall will neither be watched, as it is now, nor will it be inhabited,--a
period before the Bannerworth family has made up its mind to go back to
it, and when long watching without a result has become too tiresome to
be continued at all; then we can at once pursue our object." --"Be it
so." "And now, Marchdale, I want more money." --"More money!" "Yes; you know well that I have had large demands of late." --"But I
certainly had an impression that you were possessed, by the death of
some one, with very ample means." "Yes, but there is a means by which all is taken from me. I have no real
resources but what are rapidly used up, so I must come upon you
again." --"I have already completely crippled myself as regards money
matters in this enterprise, and I do certainly hope that the fruits will
not be far distant. If they be much longer delayed, I shall really not
know what to do. However, come to the lodge where you have been staying,
and then I will give you, to the extent of my ability, whatever sum you
think your present exigencies require." "Come on, then, at once. I would certainly, of course, rather leave this
place now, before daybreak. Come on, I say, come on." Sir Francis Varney and Marchdale walked for some time in silence across
the meadows. It was evident that there was not between these associates
the very best of feelings. Marchdale was always smarting under an
assumption of authority over him, on the part of Sir Francis Varney,
while the latter scarcely cared to conceal any portion of the contempt
with which he regarded his hypocritical companion. Some very strong band of union, indeed, must surely bind these two
strange persons together! It must be something of a more than common
nature which induces Marchdale not only to obey the behests of his
mysterious companion, but to supply him so readily with money as we
perceive he promises to do. And, as regards Varney, the vampyre, he, too, must have some great
object in view to induce him to run such a world of risk, and take so
much trouble as he was doing with the Bannerworth family. What his object is, and what is the object of Marchdale, will, now that
we have progressed so far in our story, soon appear, and then much that
is perfectly inexplicable, will become clear and distinct, and we shall
find that some strong human motives are at the bottom of it all. CHAPTER LXV. VARNEY'S VISIT TO THE DUNGEON OF THE LONELY PRISONER IN THE RUINS. [Illustration]

Evident it was that Marchdale was not near so scrupulous as Sir Francis
Varney, in what he chose to do. He would, without hesitation, have
sacrificed the life of that prisoner in the lonely dungeon, whom it
would be an insult to the understanding of our readers, not to presume
that they had, long ere this, established in their minds to be Charles
Holland. His own safety seemed to be the paramount consideration with Marchdale,
and it was evident that he cared for nothing in comparison with that
object. It says much, however, for Sir Francis Varney, that he did not give in
to such a blood-thirsty feeling, but rather chose to set the prisoner
free, and run all the chances of the danger to which he might expose
himself by such a course of conduct, than to insure safety,
comparatively, by his destruction. Sir Francis Varney is evidently a character of strangely mixed feelings. It is quite evident that he has some great object in view, which he
wishes to accomplish almost at any risk; but it is equally evident, at
the same time, that he wishes to do so with the least possible injury to
others, or else he would never have behaved as he had done in his
interview with the beautiful and persecuted Flora Bannerworth, or now
suggested the idea of setting Charles Holland free from the dreary
dungeon in which he had been so long confined. We are always anxious and willing to give every one credit for the good
that is in them; and, hence, we are pleased to find that Sir Francis
Varney, despite his singular, and apparently preternatural capabilities,
has something sufficiently human about his mind and feelings, to induce
him to do as little injury as possible to others in the pursuit of his
own objects. Of the two, vampyre as he is, we prefer him much to the despicable and
hypocritical, Marchdale, who, under the pretence of being the friend of
the Bannerworth family, would freely have inflicted upon them the most
deadly injuries. It was quite clear that he was most dreadfully disappointed that Sir
Francis Varney, would not permit him to take the life of Charles
Holland, and it was with a gloomy and dissatisfied air that he left the
ruins to proceed towards the town, after what we may almost term the
altercation he had had with Varney the vampyre upon that subject. It must not be supposed that Sir Francis Varney, however, was blind to
the danger which must inevitably accrue from permitting Charles Holland
once more to obtain his liberty. What the latter would be able to state would be more than sufficient to
convince the Bannerworths, and all interested in their fortunes, that
something was going on of a character, which, however, supernatural it
might seem to be, still seemed to have some human and ordinary objects
for its ends. Sir Francis Varney thought over all this before he proceeded, according
to his promise, to the dungeon of the prisoner; but it would seem as if
there was considerable difficulty, even to an individual of his long
practice in all kinds of chicanery and deceit, in arriving at any
satisfactory conclusion, as to a means of making Charles Holland's
release a matter of less danger to himself, than it would be likely to
be, if, unfettered by obligation, he was at once set free. At the solemn hour of midnight, while all was still, that is, to say, on
the night succeeding the one, on which he had had the interview with
Marchdale, we have recorded, Sir Francis Varney alone sought the silent
ruins. He was attired, as usual, in his huge cloak, and, indeed, the
chilly air of the evening warranted such protection against its numerous
discomforts. Had any one seen him, however, that evening, they would have observed an
air of great doubt, and irresolution upon his brow, as if he were
struggling with some impulses which he found it extremely difficult to
restrain. "I know well," he muttered, as he walked among the shadow of the ruins,
"that Marchdale's reasoning is coldly and horribly correct, when he says
that there is danger in setting this youth free; but, I am about to
leave this place, and not to show myself for some time, and I cannot
reconcile myself to inflicting upon him the horror of a death by
starvation, which must ensue."