th to
speak here freely. There is nothing in the whole world I so much admire
as candour."

"Then you so much resemble the vampyre," added Henry, "that--that I know
not what to think."

"Is it possible?" said Varney.

"It is a damning fact."

"Well, it's unfortunate for me, I presume? Ah!"

Varney gave a twinge of pain, as if some sudden bodily ailment had
attacked him severely.

"You are unwell, sir?" said Marchdale.

"No, no--no," he said; "I--hurt my arm, and happened accidentally to
touch the arm of this chair with it."

"A hurt?" said Henry.

"Yes, Mr. Bannerworth."

"A--a wound?"

"Yes, a wound, but not much more than skin deep. In fact, little beyond
an abrasion of the skin."

"May I inquire how you came by it?"

"Oh, yes. A slight fall."

"Indeed."

"Remarkable, is it not? Very remarkable. We never know a moment when,
from same most trifling cause, we may receive really some serious bodily
harm. How true it is, Mr. Bannerworth, that in the midst of life we are
in death."

"And equally true, perhaps," said Henry, "that in the midst of death
there may be found a horrible life."

"Well, I should not wonder. There are really so many strange things in
this world, that I have left off wondering at anything now."

"There are strange things," said Henry. "You wish to purchase of me the
Hall, sir?"

"If you wish to sell."

"You--you are perhaps attached to the place? Perhaps you recollected it,
sir, long ago?"

"Not very long," smiled Sir Francis Varney. "It seems a nice comfortable
old house; and the grounds, too, appear to be amazingly well wooded,
which, to one of rather a romantic temperament like myself, is always an
additional charm to a place. I was extremely pleased with it the first
time I beheld it, and a desire to call myself the owner of it took
possession of my mind. The scenery is remarkable for its beauty, and,
from what I have seen of it, it is rarely to be excelled. No doubt you
are greatly attached to it."

"It has been my home from infancy," returned Henry, "and being also the
residence of my ancestors for centuries, it is natural that I should be
so."

"True--true."

"The house, no doubt, has suffered much," said Henry, "within the last
hundred years."

"No doubt it has. A hundred years is a tolerable long space of time, you
know."

"It is, indeed. Oh, how any human life which is spun out to such an
extent, must lose its charms, by losing all its fondest and dea