She did not speak, but a thought came across her mind, which at once
crimsoned her cheek--she knew she had fainted on the first visit of the
vampyre, and now he, with a hideous reverence, praised beauties which he
might have cast his demoniac eyes over at such a time. "You understand me," he said. "Well, let that pass. I am something
allied to humanity yet." "Speak your errand," gasped Flora, "or come what may, I scream for help
to those who will not be slow to render it." "I know it." "You know I will scream?" "No; you will hear me. I know they would not be slow to tender help to
you, but you will not call for it; I will present to you no necessity." "Say on--say on." "You perceive I do not attempt to approach you; my errand is one of
peace." "Peace from you! Horrible being, if you be really what even now my
appalled imagination shrinks from naming you, would not even to you
absolute annihilation be a blessing?" "Peace, peace. I came not here to talk on such a subject. I must be
brief, Flora Bannerworth, for time presses. I do not hate you. Wherefore
should I? You are young, and you are beautiful, and you bear a name
which should command, and does command, some portion of my best regard." "There is a portrait," said Flora, "in this house." "No more--no more. I know what you would say." "It is yours." "The house, and all within, I covet," he said, uneasily. "Let that
suffice. I have quarrelled with your brother--I have quarrelled with one
who just now fancies he loves you." "Charles Holland loves me truly." "It does not suit me now to dispute that point with you. I have the
means of knowing more of the secrets of the human heart than common men. I tell you, Flora Bannerworth, that he who talks to you of love, loves
you not but with the fleeting fancy of a boy; and there is one who hides
deep in his heart a world of passion, one who has never spoken to you of
love, and yet who loves you with a love as far surpassing the evanescent
fancy of this boy Holland, as does the mighty ocean the most placid lake
that ever basked in idleness beneath a summer's sun." There was a wonderful fascination in the manner now of Varney. His voice
sounded like music itself. His words flowed from his tongue, each gently
and properly accented, with all the charm of eloquence. Despite her trembling horror of that man--despite her fearful opinion,
which might be said to amount to a conviction of what he really was,
Flora felt an irresistible wish to hear him speak on. Ay, despite too,
the ungrateful theme to her heart which he had now chosen as the subject
of his discourse, she felt her fear of him gradually dissipating, and
now when he made a pause, she said,--

"You are much mistaken. On the constancy and truth of Charles Holland, I
would stake my life." "No doubt, no doubt." "Have you spoken now that which you had to say?" "No, no. I tell you I covet this place, I would purchase it, but having
with your bad-tempered brothers quarrelled, they will hold no further
converse with me." "And well they may refuse." "Be, that as it may, sweet lady, I come to you to be my mediator. In the
shadow of the future I can see many events which are to come." "Indeed." "It is so. Borrowing some wisdom from the past, and some from resources
I would not detail to you, I know that if I have inflicted much misery
upon you, I can spare you much more. Your brother or your lover will
challenge me." "Oh, no, no." "I say such will happen, and I can kill either. My skill as well as my
strength is superhuman." "Mercy! mercy!" gasped Flora. "I will spare either or both on a
condition." "What fearful condition?" "It is not a fearful one. Your terrors go far before the fact. All I
wish, maiden, of you is to induce these imperious brothers of yours to
sell or let the Hall to me." "Is that all?" "It is. I ask no more, and, in return, I promise you not only that I
will not fight with them, but that you shall never see me again. Rest
securely, maiden, you will be undisturbed by me." "Oh, God! that were indeed an assurance worth the striving for," said
Flora. "It is one you may have. But--"

"Oh, I knew--my heart told me there was yet some fearful condition to
come." "You are wrong again. I only ask of you that you keep this meeting a
secret." "No, no, no--I cannot." "Nay, what so easy?" "I will not; I have no secrets from those I love." "Indeed, you will find soon the expediency of a few at least; but if you
will not, I cannot urge it longer. Do as your wayward woman's nature
prompts you." There was a slight, but a very slight, tone of aggravation in these
words, and the manner in which they were uttered. As he spoke, he moved from the door towards the window, which opened
into a kitchen garden. Flora shrunk as far from him as possible, and for
a few moments they regarded each other in silence. "Young blood," said Varney, "mantles in your veins." She shuddered with terror. "Be mindful of the condition I have proposed to you. I covet Bannerworth
Hall." "I--I hear." "And I must have it. I will have it, although my path to it be through a
sea of blood. You understand me, maiden? Repeat what has passed between
us or not, as you please. I say, beware of me, if you keep not the
condition I have proposed." "Heaven knows that this place is becoming daily more hateful to us all,"
said Flora. "Indeed!" "You well might know so much. It is no sacrifice to urge it now. I will
urge my brother." "Thanks--a thousand thanks. You may not live to regret even having made
a friend of Varney--"

"The vampyre!" said Flora. He advanced towards her a step, and she involuntarily uttered a scream
of terror. In an instant his hand clasped her waist with the power of an iron vice;
she felt hit hot breath flushing on her cheek. Her senses reeled, and
she found herself sinking. She gathered all her breath and all her
energies into one piercing shriek, and then she fell to the floor. There
was a sudden crash of broken glass, and then all was still. CHAPTER XXI. THE CONFERENCE BETWEEN THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW, AND THE ALARM. [Illustration]

Meanwhile Charles Holland had taken his uncle by the arm, and led him
into a private room. "Dear uncle," he said, "be seated, and I will explain everything without
reserve." "Seated!--nonsense! I'll walk about," said the admiral. "D--n me! I've
no patience to be seated, and very seldom had or have. Go on now, you
young scamp." "Well--well; you abuse me, but I am quite sure, had you been in my
situation, you would have acted precisely as I have done." "No, I shouldn't." "Well, but, uncle--"

"Don't think to come over me by calling me uncle. Hark you,
Charles--from this moment I won't be your uncle any more." "Very well, sir." "It ain't very well. And how dare you, you buccaneer, call me sir, eh? I
say, how dare you?" "I will call you anything you like." "But I won't be called anything I like. You might as well call me at
once Morgan, the Pirate, for he was called anything he liked. Hilloa,
sir! how dare you laugh, eh?