He, therefore, walked up the lawn without making the least attempt at
concealment, and when he reached the house he allowed his footsteps to
make what noise they would upon the stone steps which led up to it. But
no one appeared; nor was there, either by sight or by sound, any
indication of the presence of any living being in the place besides
himself. Insensibly, as he contemplated the deserted place around him, the solemn
sort of stillness began to have its effect upon his imagination, and,
without being aware that he did so, he had, with softness and caution,
glided onwards, as if he were bent on some errand requiring the utmost
amount of caution and discrimination in the conduction of it. And so he entered the hall of the house, where he stood some time, and
listened with the greatest attention, without, however, being able to
hear the least sound throughout the whole of the house. "And yet he must be here," thought Charles to himself; "I was not gone
many minutes, and it is extremely unlikely that in so short a space of
time he has left, after taking so much trouble, by making such a detour
around the meadows to get here, without being observed. I will examine
every room in the place, but I will find him." Charles immediately commenced going from room to room of that house in
his search for the vampyre. There were but four apartments upon the
ground floor, and these, of course, he quickly ran through. Nothing
whatever at all indicative of any one having been there met his gaze,
and with a feeling of disappointment creeping over him, he commenced the
ascent of the staircase. The day had now fairly commenced, so that there was abundance of light,
although, even for the country, it was an early hour, and probably Mr.
Nash had been not a little surprised to have a call from one whose
appearance bespoke no necessity for rising with the lark at such an
hour. All these considerations, however, sank into insignificance in Charles's
mind, compared with the object he had in view, namely, the unravelling
the many mysteries that hung around that man. He ascended to the landing
of the first story, and then, as he could have no choice, he opened the
first door that his eyes fell upon, and entered a tolerably large
apartment. It was quite destitute of furniture, and at the moment
Charles was about to pronounce it empty; but then his eyes fell upon a
large black-looking bundle of something, that seemed to be lying jammed
up under the window on the floor--that being the place of all others in
the room which was enveloped in the most shadow. He started back involuntarily at the moment, for the appearance was one
so shapeless, that there was no such thing as defining, from even that
distance, what it really was. Then he slowly and cautiously approached it, as we always approach that
of the character of which we are ignorant, and concerning the powers of
which to do injury we can consequently have no defined idea. That it was a human form there, was the first tangible opinion he had
about it; and from its profound stillness, and the manner in which it
seemed to be laid close under the window, he thought that he was surely
upon the point of finding out that some deed of blood had been
committed, the unfortunate victim of which was now lying before him. Upon a nearer examination, he found that the whole body, including the
greater part of the head and face, was wrapped in a large cloak; and
there, as he gazed, he soon found cause to correct his first opinion at
to the form belonging to the dead, for he could distinctly hear the
regular breathing, as of some one in a sound and dreamless sleep. Closer he went, and closer still. Then, as he clasped his hands, he
said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper,--

"It is--it is the vampyre." Yes, there could be no doubt of the fact. It was Sir Francis Varney who
lay there, enveloped in the huge horseman's cloak, in which, on two or
three occasions during the progress of this narrative, he had figured. There he lay, at the mercy completely of any arm that might be raised
against him, apparently so overcome by fatigue that no ordinary noise
would have awakened him. Well might Charles Holland gaze at him with mingled feelings. There lay
the being who had done almost enough to drive the beautiful Flora
Bannerworth distracted--the being who had compelled the Bannerworth
family to leave their ancient house, to which they had been bound by
every description of association. The same mysterious existence, too,
who, the better to carry on his plots and plans, had, by dint of
violence, immured him, Charles, in a dungeon, and loaded him with
chains. There he lay sleeping, and at his mercy. "Shall I awaken him," said Charles, "or let him sleep off the fatigue,
which, no doubt, is weighing down his limbs, and setting heavily on his
eyelids. No, my business with him is too urgent." He then raised his voice, and cried,--

"Varney, Varney, awake!" The sound disturbed, without altogether breaking up, the deep slumber of
the vampyre, and he uttered a low moan, and moved one hand restlessly. Then, as if that disturbance of the calm and deep repose which had sat
upon him, had given at once the reins to fancy, he begin to mutter
strange words in his sleep, some of which could be heard by Charles
distinctly, while others were too incoherently uttered to be clearly
understood. "Where is it?" he said; "where--where hidden?--Pull the house
down!--Murder! No, no, no! no murder!--I will not, I dare not. Blood
enough is upon my hands.--The money!--the money! Down, villains! down! down! down!" What these incoherent words alluded to specifically, Charles, of course,
could not have the least idea, but he listened attentively, with a hope
that something might fall from his lips that would afford a key to some
of the mysterious circumstances with which he was so intimately
connected. Now, however, there was a longer silence than before, only broken
occasionally by low moans; but suddenly, as Charles was thinking of
again speaking, he uttered some more disjointed sentences. "No harm," he said, "no harm,--Marchdale is a villain!--Not a hair of
his head injured--no, no. Set him free--yes, I will set him free. Beware! beware, Marchdale! and you Mortimer. The scaffold! ay, the
scaffold! but where is the bright gold? The memory of the deed of blood
will not cling to it. Where is it hidden? The gold! the gold! the gold! It is not in the grave--it cannot be there--no, no, no!--not there, not
there! Load the pistols. There, there! Down, villain, down!--down,
down!" Despairing, now, of obtaining anything like tangible information from
these ravings, which, even if they did, by accident, so connect
themselves together as to seem to mean something, Charles again cried
aloud,--

"Varney, awake, awake!" But, as before, the sleeping man was sufficiently deaf to the cry to
remain, with his eyes closed, still in a disturbed slumber, but yet a
slumber which might last for a considerable time.