mble, and,
therefore I will say at once that I have a guess."

"In which way does it tend?"--

"Against Sir Francis Varney, called the vampyre."

"Does it not strike you that this may be a dangerous candour?"--"It may,
or it may not be; I cannot help it. I know I am at the mercy of my foes,
and I do not believe that anything I can say or do will make my
situation worse or better."

"You are much mistaken there. In other hands than mine, it might make it
much worse; but it happens to be one of my weaknesses, that I am charged
with candour, and that I admire boldness of disposition."--"Indeed! and
yet can behave in the manner you have done towards me."

"Yes. There are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in
your philosophy. I am the more encouraged to set you free, because, if I
procure from you a promise, which I intend to attempt, I am inclined to
believe that you will keep it."--"I shall assuredly keep whatever
promise I may make. Propound your conditions, and if they be such as
honour and honesty will permit me to accede to, I will do so willingly
and at once. Heaven knows I am weary enough of this miserable
imprisonment."

"Will you promise me then, if I set you free, not to mention your
suspicions that it is to Sir Francis Varney you owe this ill turn, and
not to attempt any act of vengeance against him as a retaliation for
it."--"I cannot promise so much as that. Freedom, indeed, would be a
poor boon, if I were not permitted freely to converse of some of the
circumstances connected with my captivity."

"You object?"--"I do to the former of your propositions, but not to the
latter. I will promise not to go at all out of my way to execute any
vengeance upon you; but I will not promise that I will not communicate
the circumstances of my forced absence from them, to those friends whose
opinion I so much value, and to return to whom is almost as dear to me
as liberty itself."

Sir Francis Varney was silent for a few moments, and then he said, in a
tone of deep solemnity,--

"There are ninety-nine persons out of a hundred who would take your life
for the independence of your tongue; but I am as the hundredth one, who
looks with a benevolent eye at your proceedings. Will you promise me, if
I remove the fetters which now bind your limbs, that you will make no
personal attack upon me; for I am weary of personal contention, and I
have no disposition to endure it. Will you make me this promise?"--