y the
disturbance of his mind consequent upon the visit of that strange man to
his house, whose presence had awakened so many conflicting emotions.

Nearer and nearer still came that light footstep, and his deep-seated
fears would not let him perceive that it was not the step of caution or
of treachery, but owed its lightness to the natural grace and freedom of
movement of its owner.

The moon must have arisen, although obscured by clouds, through which it
cast but a dim radiance, for the night had certainly grown lighter; so
that although there were no strong shadows cast, a more diffused
brightness was about all things, and their outlines looked not so
dancing, and confused the one with the other.

He strained his eyes in the direction whence the sounds proceeded, and
then his fears for his personal safety vanished, for he saw it was a
female form that was slowly advancing towards him.

His first impulse was to rise, for with the transient glimpse he got of
it, he knew that it must be Flora Bannerworth; but a second thought,
probably one of intense curiosity to know what could possibly have
brought her to such a spot at such a time, restrained him, and he was
quiet. But if the surprise of Sir Francis Varney was great to see Flora
Bannerworth at such a time in such a place, we have no doubt, that with
the knowledge which our readers have of her, their astonishment would
more than fully equal his; and when we come to consider, that since that
eventful period when the sanctity of her chamber had been so violated by
that fearful midnight visitant, it must appear somewhat strange that she
could gather courage sufficient to wander forth alone at such an hour.

Had she no dread of meeting that unearthly being? Did the possibility
that she might fall into his ruthless grasp, not come across her mind
with a shuddering consciousness of its probability? Had she no
reflection that each step she took, was taking her further and further
from those who would aid her in all extremities? It would seem not, for
she walked onward, unheeding, and apparently unthinking of the presence,
possible or probable, of that bane of her existence.

But let us look at her again. How strange and spectral-like she moves
along; there seems no speculation in her countenance, but with a strange
and gliding step, she walks like some dim shadow of the past in that
ancient garden. She is very pale, and on her brow there is the stamp of
suffering; her