But, oh, that look of
terror that sat upon her face, it was dreadful--a look to haunt the
memory for a lifetime--a look to obtrude itself upon the happiest
moments, and turn them to bitterness. The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon the face. It is
perfectly white--perfectly bloodless. The eyes look like polished tin;
the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next to those
dreadful eyes is the teeth--the fearful looking teeth--projecting like
those of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly white, and fang-like. It
approaches the bed with a strange, gliding movement. It clashes together
the long nails that literally appear to hang from the finger ends. No
sound comes from its lips. Is she going mad--that young and beautiful
girl exposed to so much terror? she has drawn up all her limbs; she
cannot even now say help. The power of articulation is gone, but the
power of movement has returned to her; she can draw herself slowly along
to the other side of the bed from that towards which the hideous
appearance is coming. But her eyes are fascinated. The glance of a serpent could not have
produced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of those
awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent on her face. Crouching down
so that the gigantic height was lost, and the horrible, protruding,
white face was the most prominent object, came on the figure. What was
it?--what did it want there?--what made it look so hideous--so unlike an
inhabitant of the earth, and yet to be on it? Now she has got to the verge of the bed, and the figure pauses. It
seemed as if when it paused she lost the power to proceed. The clothing
of the bed was now clutched in her hands with unconscious power. She
drew her breath short and thick. Her bosom heaves, and her limbs
tremble, yet she cannot withdraw her eyes from that marble-looking face. He holds her with his glittering eye. The storm has ceased--all is still. The winds are hushed; the church
clock proclaims the hour of one: a hissing sound comes from the throat
of the hideous being, and he raises his long, gaunt arms--the lips move. He advances. The girl places one small foot from the bed on to the
floor. She is unconsciously dragging the clothing with her. The door of
the room is in that direction--can she reach it? Has she power to
walk?--can she withdraw her eyes from the face of the intruder, and so
break the hideous charm? God of Heaven! is it real, or some dream so
like reality as to nearly overturn the judgment for ever? The figure has paused again, and half on the bed and half out of it that
young girl lies trembling. Her long hair streams across the entire width
of the bed. As she has slowly moved along she has left it streaming
across the pillows. The pause lasted about a minute--oh, what an age of
agony. That minute was, indeed, enough for madness to do its full work
in. With a sudden rush that could not be foreseen--with a strange howling
cry that was enough to awaken terror in every breast, the figure seized
the long tresses of her hair, and twining them round his bony hands he
held her to the bed. Then she screamed--Heaven granted her then power to
scream. Shriek followed shriek in rapid succession. The bed-clothes fell
in a heap by the side of the bed--she was dragged by her long silken
hair completely on to it again. Her beautifully rounded limbs quivered
with the agony of her soul. The glassy, horrible eyes of the figure ran
over that angelic form with a hideous satisfaction--horrible
profanation. He drags her head to the bed's edge. He forces it back by
the long hair still entwined in his grasp. With a plunge he seizes her
neck in his fang-like teeth--a gush of blood, and a hideous sucking
noise follows. _The girl has swooned, and the vampyre is at his hideous
repast!_




CHAPTER II. THE ALARM.--THE PISTOL SHOT.--THE PURSUIT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. [Illustration]

Lights flashed about the building, and various room doors opened; voices
called one to the other. There was an universal stir and commotion among
the inhabitants. "Did you hear a scream, Harry?" asked a young man, half-dressed, as he
walked into the chamber of another about his own age. "I did--where was it?" "God knows. I dressed myself directly." "All is still now." "Yes; but unless I was dreaming there was a scream." "We could not both dream there was. Where did you think it came from?" "It burst so suddenly upon my ears that I cannot say." There was a tap now at the door of the room where these young men were,
and a female voice said,--

"For God's sake, get up!" "We are up," said both the young men, appearing. "Did you hear anything?" "Yes, a scream." "Oh, search the house--search the house; where did it come from--can you
tell?" "Indeed we cannot, mother." Another person now joined the party. He was a man of middle age, and, as
he came up to them, he said,--

"Good God! what is the matter?" Scarcely had the words passed his lips, than such a rapid succession of
shrieks came upon their ears, that they felt absolutely stunned by them. The elderly lady, whom one of the young men had called mother, fainted,
and would have fallen to the floor of the corridor in which they all
stood, had she not been promptly supported by the last comer, who
himself staggered, as those piercing cries came upon the night air. He,
however, was the first to recover, for the young men seemed paralysed. "Henry," he cried, "for God's sake support your mother. Can you doubt
that these cries come from Flora's room?" The young man mechanically supported his mother, and then the man who
had just spoken darted back to his own bed-room, from whence he returned
in a moment with a pair of pistols, and shouting,--

"Follow me, who can!" he bounded across the corridor in the direction of
the antique apartment, from whence the cries proceeded, but which were
now hushed. That house was built for strength, and the doors were all of oak, and of
considerable thickness. Unhappily, they had fastenings within, so that
when the man reached the chamber of her who so much required help, he
was helpless, for the door was fast. "Flora! Flora!" he cried; "Flora, speak!" All was still. "Good God!" he added; "we must force the door." "I hear a strange noise within," said the young man, who trembled
violently. "And so do I. What does it sound like?" "I scarcely know; but it nearest resembles some animal eating, or
sucking some liquid." "What on earth can it be? Have you no weapon that will force the door? I
shall go mad if I am kept here." "I have," said the young man. "Wait here a moment." He ran down the staircase, and presently returned with a small, but
powerful, iron crow-bar. "This will do," he said. "It will, it will.--Give it to me." "Has she not spoken?" "Not a word. My mind misgives me that something very dreadful must have
happened to her." "And that odd noise!" "Still goes on. Somehow, it curdles the very blood in my veins to hear
it."