It was an unlucky time, too, for the night was creeping on, a period at
which people's apprehension of the supernatural becomes each moment
stronger and more vivid--a period at which a number of idlers are let
loose for different employments, and when anything in the shape of a row
or a riot presents itself in pleasant colours to those who have nothing
to lose and who expect, under the cover of darkness, to be able to
commit outrages they would be afraid to think of in the daytime, when
recognition would be more easy.

Thus was it that Sir Francis Varney's position, although he knew it not,
became momentarily one of extreme peril, and the danger he was about to
run, was certainly greater than any he had as yet experienced. Had
Charles Holland but known what was going on, he would undoubtedly have
done something to preserve the supposed vampyre from the mischief that
threatened him, but the time had not arrived when he had promised to pay
him a second visit, so he had no idea of anything serious having
occurred.

Perhaps, too, Mr. and Mrs. Philpots scarcely anticipated creating so
much confusion, but when they found that the whole place was in an
uproar, and that a tumultuous assemblage of persons called aloud for
vengeance upon Varney, the vampyre, they made their way home again in no
small fright.

And, now, what was the result of all these proceedings will be best
known by our introducing the reader to the interior of the house in
which Varney had found a temporary refuge, and following in detail his
proceedings as he waited for the arrival of Charles Holland.

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

THE HUNT FOR VARNEY.--THE HOUSE-TOPS.--THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE.--THE LAST
PLACE OF REFUGE.--THE COTTAGE.

[Illustration]

On the tree tops the moon shines brightly, and the long shadows are
shooting its rays down upon the waters, and the green fields appear
clothed in a flood of silver light; the little town was quiet and
tranquil--nature seemed at rest.

The old mansion in which Sir Francis Varney had taken refuge, stood
empty and solitary; it seemed as though it were not associated with the
others by which it was surrounded. It was gloomy, and in the moonlight
it reminded one of things long gone by, existences that had once been,
but now no longer of this present time--a mere memento of the past.

Sir Francis Varney reclined upon the house-top; he gazed upon the sky,
and upon the earth; he saw the calm tranquillity that