"As for capturing him," said Marchdale, "I should prefer shooting
him."--"You would?"

"I would, indeed. I have seen him once shot down, and he is now, I have
no doubt, as well as ever. What were you doing with that huge stone I
saw you bending over?"--"I have some handkerchiefs to hide here, as a
proof that I have to-night really been to this place."

"Oh, I will show you a better spot, where there is a crevice in which
you can place them with perfect safety. Will you walk with me into the
ruins?"--"Willingly."

"It's odd enough," remarked Marchdale, after he had shown Tom Eccles
where to hide the handkerchiefs, "that you and I should both be here
upon so similar an errand."--"I'm very glad of it. It robs the place of
its gloom, and makes it ten times more endurable than it otherwise would
be. What do you propose to do if you see the vampyre?"

"I shall try a pistol bullet on him. You say you are armed?"--"Yes."

"With pistols?"--"One. Here it is."

"A huge weapon; loaded well, of course?"--"Oh, yes, I can depend upon
it; but I did not intend to use it, unless assailed."

"'Tis well. What is that?"--"What--what?"

"Don't you see anything there? Come farther back. Look--look. At the
corner of that wall there I am certain there is the flutter of a human
garment."--"There is--there is."

"Hush! Keep close. It must be the vampyre."--"Give me my pistol. What
are you doing with it?"

"Only ramming down the charge more firmly for you. Take it. If that be
Varney the vampyre, I shall challenge him to surrender the moment he
appears; and if he does not, I will fire upon him, and do you do so
likewise."--"Well, I--I don't know."

"You have scruples?"--"I certainly have."

"Well, well--don't you fire, then, but leave it to me. There;
look--look. Now have you any doubt? There he goes; in his cloak. It
is--it is----"--"Varney, by Heavens!" cried Tom Eccles.

[Illustration]

"Surrender!" shouted Marchdale.

At the instant Sir Francis Varney sprang forward, and made off at a
rapid pace across the meadows.

"Fire after him--fire!" cried Marchdale, "or he will escape. My pistol
has missed fire. He will be off."

On the impulse of the moment, and thus urged by the voice and the
gesture of his companion, Tom Eccles took aim as well as he could, and
fired after the retreating form of Sir Francis Varney. His conscience
smote him as he heard the report and saw the flash of the large pistol
amid the half sort of darkn