ardarm; broadside and broadside; hand-grenades and
marling-spikes."

"Well, but that's what he won't do. Now, admiral, listen to me."

"Well, go on; what next?"

"Come away at once."

"Oh, you said that before."

"Yes; but I'm going to say something else. Look round you. Don't you
think this a large, scientific-looking room?"

"What of that?"

"Why, what if suppose it was to become as dark as the grave, and Varney
was to enter with his scythe, that he talks of, and begin mowing about
our legs."

"The devil! Come along!"

The door at which they entered was at this moment opened, and the old
woman made her appearance.

"Please, sir," she said, "here's a Mr. Mortimer," in a loud voice. "Oh,
Sir Francis ain't here! Where's he gone, gentlemen?"

"To the devil!" said the admiral. "Who may Mr. Mortimer be?"

There walked past the woman a stout, portly-looking man, well dressed,
but with a very odd look upon his face, in consequence of an obliquity
of vision, which prevented the possibility of knowing which way he was
looking.

"I must see him," he said; "I must see him."

Mr. Chillingworth started back as if in amazement.

"Good God!" he cried, "you here!

"Confusion!" said Mortimer; "are you Dr.---- Dr.----"

"Chillingworth."

"The same. Hush! there is no occasion to betray--that is, to state my
secret."

"And mine, too," said Chillingworth. "But what brings you here?"

"I cannot and dare not tell you. Farewell!"

He turned abruptly, and was leaving the room; but he ran against some
one at the entrance, and in another moment Henry Bannerworth, heated and
almost breathless by evident haste, made his appearance.

"Hilloa! bravo!" cried the admiral; "the more the merrier! Here's a
combined squadron! Why, how came you here, Mr. Henry Bannerworth?"

"Bannerworth!" said Mortimer; "is that young man's name Bannerworth?"

"Yes," said Henry. "Do you know me, sir?"

"No, no; only I--I--must be off. Does anybody know anything of Sir
Francis Varney?"

"We did know something of him," said the admiral, "a little while ago;
but he's taken himself off. Don't you do so likewise. If you've got
anything to say, stop and say it, like an Englishman."

"Stuff! stuff!" said Mortimer, impatiently. "What do you all want here?"

"Why, Sir Francis Varney," said Henry,--"and I care not if the whole
world heard it--is the persecutor of my family."

"How? in what way?"

"He has the reputation of a vampyre; he has hu