"But how is that to be carried out?" "Boldly." "How boldly?" "By going at once, I should advise, to his house, and asking the first
one of his domestics you may happen to see." "I will go over," cried George; "on such occasions as these one cannot
act upon ceremony." He seized his hat, and without waiting for a word from any one approving
or condemning his going, off he went. "If," said Henry, "we find that Varney has nothing to do with the
matter, we are completely at fault." "Completely," echoed Marchdale. "In that case, admiral, I think we ought to defer to your feelings upon
the subject, and do whatever you suggest should be done." "I shall offer a hundred pounds reward to any one who can and will bring
any news of Charles." "A hundred pounds is too much," said Marchdale. "Not at all; and while I am about it, since the amount is made a subject
of discussion, I shall make it two hundred, and that may benefit some
rascal who is not so well paid for keeping the secret as I will pay him
for disclosing it." "Perhaps you are right," said Marchdale. "I know I am, as I always am." Marchdale could not forbear a smile at the opinionated old man, who
thought no one's opinion upon any subject at all equal to his own; but
he made no remark, and only waited, as did Henry, with evident anxiety
for the return of George. The distance was not great, and George certainly performed his errand
quickly, for he was back in less time than they had thought he could
return in. The moment he came into the room, he said, without waiting
for any inquiry to be made of him,--

"We are at fault again. I am assured that Sir Francis Varney never
stirred from home after eight o'clock last evening." "D--n it, then," said the admiral, "let us give the devil his due. He
could not have had any hand in this business." "Certainly not." "From whom, George, did you get your information?" asked Henry, in a
desponding tone. "From, first of all, one of his servants, whom I met away from the
house, and then from one whom I saw at the house." "There can be no mistake, then?" "Certainly none. The servants answered me at once, and so frankly that I
cannot doubt it." The door of the room was slowly opened, and Flora came in. She looked
almost the shadow of what she had been but a few weeks before. She was
beautiful, but she almost realised the poet's description of one who had
suffered much, and was sinking into an early grave, the victim of a
broken heart:--

      "She was more beautiful than death,
      And yet as sad to look upon." Her face was of a marble paleness, and as she clasped her hands, and
glanced from face to face, to see if she could gather hope and
consolation from the expression of any one, she might have been taken
for some exquisite statue of despair. "Have you found him?" she said. "Have you found Charles?" "Flora, Flora," said Henry, as he approached her. "Nay, answer me; have you found him? You went to seek him. Dead or
alive, have you found him?" "We have not, Flora." "Then I must seek him myself. None will search for him as I will search;
I must myself seek him. 'Tis true affection that can alone be successful
in such a search." "Believe me, dear Flora, that all has been done which the shortness of
the time that has elapsed would permit. Further measures will now
immediately be taken. Rest assured, dear sister, that all will be done
that the utmost zeal can suggest." "They have killed him! they have killed him!" she said, mournfully. "Oh,
God, they have killed him! I am not now mad, but the time will come when
I must surely be maddened. The vampyre has killed Charles Holland--the
dreadful vampyre!" "Nay, now, Flora, this is frenzy." "Because he loved me has he been destroyed. I know it, I know it. The
vampyre has doomed me to destruction. I am lost, and all who loved me
will be involved in one common ruin on my account. Leave me all of you
to perish. If, for iniquities done in our family, some one must suffer
to appease the divine vengeance, let that one be me, and only me." "Hush, sister, hush!" cried Henry. "I expected not this from you. The
expressions you use are not your expressions. I know you better. There
is abundance of divine mercy, but no divine vengeance. Be calm, I pray
you." "Calm! calm!" "Yes. Make an exertion of that intellect we all know you to possess. It
is too common a thing with human nature, when misfortune overtakes it,
to imagine that such a state of things is specially arranged. We quarrel
with Providence because it does not interfere with some special miracle
in our favour; forgetting that, being denizens of this earth, and
members of a great social system; We must be subject occasionally to the
accidents which will disturb its efficient working." "Oh, brother, brother!" she exclaimed, as she dropped into a seat, "you
have never loved." "Indeed!" "No; you have never felt what it was to hold your being upon the breath
of another. You can reason calmly, because you cannot know the extent of
feeling you are vainly endeavouring to combat." "Flora, you do me less than justice. All I wish to impress upon your
mind is, that you are not in any way picked out by Providence to be
specially unhappy--that there is no perversion of nature on your
account." "Call you that hideous vampyre form that haunts me no perversion of
ordinary nature?" "What is is natural," said Marchdale. "Cold reasoning to one who suffers as I suffer. I cannot argue with you;
I can only know that I am most unhappy--most miserable." "But that will pass away, sister, and the sun of your happiness may
smile again." "Oh, if I could but hope!" "And wherefore should you deprive yourself of that poorest privilege of
the most unhappy?" "Because my heart tells me to despair." "Tell it you won't, then," cried Admiral Bell. "If you had been at sea
as long as I have, Miss Bannerworth, you would never despair of anything
at all." "Providence guarded you," said Marchdale. "Yes, that's true enough, I dare say, I was in a storm once off Cape
Ushant, and it was only through Providence, and cutting away the
mainmast myself, that we succeeded in getting into port." "You have one hope," said Marchdale to Flora, as he looked in her wan
face. "One hope?" "Yes. Recollect you have one hope." "What is that?" "You think that, by removing from this place, you may find that peace
which is here denied you." "No, no, no." "Indeed. I thought that such was your firm conviction." "It was; but circumstances have altered." "How?" "Charles Holland has disappeared here, and here must I remain to seek
for him." "True he may have disappeared here," remarked Marchdale; "and yet that
may be no argument for supposing him still here." "Where, then, is he?" "God knows how rejoiced I should be if I were able to answer your
question. I must seek him, dead or alive! I must see him yet before I
bid adieu to this world, which has now lost all its charms for me."