"There are strange things," said Henry. "You wish to purchase of me the
Hall, sir?" "If you wish to sell." "You--you are perhaps attached to the place? Perhaps you recollected it,
sir, long ago?" "Not very long," smiled Sir Francis Varney. "It seems a nice comfortable
old house; and the grounds, too, appear to be amazingly well wooded,
which, to one of rather a romantic temperament like myself, is always an
additional charm to a place. I was extremely pleased with it the first
time I beheld it, and a desire to call myself the owner of it took
possession of my mind. The scenery is remarkable for its beauty, and,
from what I have seen of it, it is rarely to be excelled. No doubt you
are greatly attached to it." "It has been my home from infancy," returned Henry, "and being also the
residence of my ancestors for centuries, it is natural that I should be
so." "True--true." "The house, no doubt, has suffered much," said Henry, "within the last
hundred years." "No doubt it has. A hundred years is a tolerable long space of time, you
know." "It is, indeed. Oh, how any human life which is spun out to such an
extent, must lose its charms, by losing all its fondest and dearest
associations." "Ah, how true," said Sir Francis Varney. He had some minutes previously
touched a bell, and at this moment a servant brought in on a tray some
wine and refreshments. CHAPTER XIV. HENRY'S AGREEMENT WITH SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.--THE SUDDEN ARRIVAL AT THE
HALL.--FLORA'S ALARM. [Illustration]

On the tray which the servant brought into the room, were refreshments
of different kinds, including wine, and after waving his hand for the
domestic to retire, Sir Francis Varney said,--

"You will be better, Mr. Bannerworth, for a glass of wine after your
walk, and you too, sir. I am ashamed to say, I have quite forgotten your
name." "Marchdale." "Mr. Marchdale. Ay, Marchdale. Pray, sir, help yourself." "You take nothing yourself?" said Henry. "I am under a strict regimen," replied Varney. "The simplest diet alone
does for me, and I have accustomed myself to long abstinence." "He will not eat or drink," muttered Henry, abstractedly. "Will you sell me the Hall?" said Sir Francis Varney. Henry looked in his face again, from which he had only momentarily
withdrawn his eyes, and he was then more struck than ever with the
resemblance between him and the portrait on the panel of what had been
Flora's chamber. What made that resemblance, too, one about which there
could scarcely be two opinions, was the mark or cicatrix of a wound in
the forehead, which the painter had slightly indented in the portrait,
but which was much more plainly visible on the forehead of Sir Francis
Varney. Now that Henry observed this distinctive mark, which he had not
done before, he could feel no doubt, and a sickening sensation came over
him at the thought that he was actually now in the presence of one of
those terrible creatures, vampyres. "You do not drink," said Varney. "Most young men are not so modest with
a decanter of unimpeachable wine before them. I pray you help yourself." "I cannot." Henry rose as he spoke, and turning to Marchdale, he said, in
addition,--

"Will you come away?" "If you please," said Marchdale, rising. "But you have not, my dear sir," said Varney, "given me yet any answer
about the Hall?" "I cannot yet," answered Henry, "I will think. My present impression is,
to let you have it on whatever terms you may yourself propose, always
provided you consent to one of mine." "Name it." "That you never show yourself in my family." "How very unkind. I understand you have a charming sister, young,
beautiful, and accomplished. Shall I confess, now, that I had hopes of
making myself agreeable to her?" "You make yourself agreeable to her? The sight of you would blast her
for ever, and drive her to madness." "Am I so hideous?" "No, but--you are--"

"What am I?" "Hush, Henry, hush," cried Marchdale. "Remember you are in this
gentleman's house." "True, true. Why does he tempt me to say these dreadful things? I do not
want to say them." "Come away, then--come away at once. Sir Francis Varney, my friend, Mr.
Bannerworth, will think over your offer, and let you know. I think you
may consider that your wish to become the purchaser of the Hall will be
complied with." "I wish to have it," said Varney, "and I can only say, that if I am
master of it, I shall be very happy to see any of the family on a visit
at any time." "A visit!" said Henry, with a shudder. "A visit to the tomb were far
more desirable. Farewell, sir." "Adieu," said Sir Francis Varney, and he made one of the most elegant
bows in the world, while there came over his face a peculiarity of
expression that was strange, if not painful, to contemplate. In another
minute Henry and Marchdale were clear of the house, and with feelings of
bewilderment and horror, which beggar all description, poor Henry
allowed himself to be led by the arm by Marchdale to some distance,
without uttering a word. When he did speak, he said,--

"Marchdale, it would be charity of some one to kill me." "To kill you!" "Yes, for I am certain otherwise that I must go mad." "Nay, nay; rouse yourself." "This man, Varney, is a vampyre." "Hush! hush!" "I tell you, Marchdale," cried Henry, in a wild, excited manner, "he is
a vampyre. He is the dreadful being who visited Flora at the still hour
of midnight, and drained the life-blood from her veins. He is a vampyre. There are such things. I cannot doubt now. Oh, God, I wish now that your
lightnings would blast me, as here I stand, for over into annihilation,
for I am going mad to be compelled to feel that such horrors can really
have existence." "Henry--Henry." "Nay, talk not to me. What can I do? Shall I kill him? Is it not a
sacred duty to destroy such a thing? Oh, horror--horror. He must be
killed--destroyed--burnt, and the very dust to which he is consumed must
be scattered to the winds of Heaven. It would be a deed well done,
Marchdale." "Hush! hush! These words are dangerous." "I care not." "What if they were overheard now by unfriendly ears? What might not be
the uncomfortable results? I pray you be more cautious what you say of
this strange man." "I must destroy him." "And wherefore?" "Can you ask? Is he not a vampyre?" "Yes; but reflect, Henry, for a moment upon the length to which you
might carry out so dangerous an argument. It is said that vampyres are
made by vampyres sucking the blood of those who, but for that
circumstance, would have died and gone to decay in the tomb along with
ordinary mortals; but that being so attacked during life by a vampyre,
they themselves, after death, become such." "Well--well, what is that to me?" "Have you forgotten Flora?" A cry of despair came from poor Henry's lips, and in a moment he seemed
completely, mentally and physically, prostrated. "God of Heaven!" he moaned, "I had forgotten her!" "I thought you had."