nry Bannerworth handed his card, on which he had written, in
pencil, likewise the name of Mr. Marchdale.

"If your master," he said, "is within, we shall be glad to see him."

"Sir Francis is at home, sir," was the reply, "although not very well.
If you will be pleased to walk in, I will announce you to him."

Henry and Marchdale followed the man into a handsome enough
reception-room, where they were desired to wait while their names were
announced.

"Do you know if this gentleman be a baronet," said Henry, "or a knight
merely?"

"I really do not; I never saw him in my life, or heard of him before he
came into this neighbourhood."

"And I have been too much occupied with the painful occurrences of this
hall to know anything of our neighbours. I dare say Mr. Chillingworth,
if we had thought to ask him, would have known something concerning
him."

"No doubt."

This brief colloquy was put an end to by the servant, who said,--

"My master, gentlemen, is not very well; but he begs me to present his
best compliments, and to say he is much gratified with your visit, and
will be happy to see you in his study."

Henry and Marchdale followed the man up a flight of stone stairs, and
then they were conducted through a large apartment into a smaller one.
There was very little light in this small room; but at the moment of
their entrance a tall man, who was seated, rose, and, touching the
spring of a blind that was to the window, it was up in a moment,
admitting a broad glare of light. A cry of surprise, mingled with
terror, came from Henry Bannerworth's lip. _The original of the portrait
on the panel stood before him!_ There was the lofty stature, the long,
sallow face, the slightly projecting teeth, the dark, lustrous, although
somewhat sombre eyes; the expression of the features--all were alike.

"Are you unwell, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in soft, mellow accents,
as he handed a chair to the bewildered Henry.

"God of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!"

"You seem surprised, sir. Have you ever seen me before?"

Sir Francis drew himself up to his full height, and cast a strange
glance upon Henry, whose eyes were rivetted upon his face, as if with a
species of fascination which he could not resist.

"Marchdale," Henry gasped; "Marchdale, my friend, Marchdale. I--I am
surely mad."

"Hush! be calm," whispered Marchdale.

"Calm--calm--can you not see? Marchdale, is this a dream?
Look--look--oh! look."

"For God