Varney the Vampire. James Malcolm Rymer

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      Here the paper was torn across, and no further words were visible upon it.

      Mystery seemed now to be accumulating upon mystery; each one, as it showed itself darkly, seeming to bear some remote relation to what preceded it; and yet only confusing it the more.

      That this apparent scrap of a letter had dropped from some one's pocket during the fearful struggle, of which there were such ample evidences, was extremely probable; but what it related to, by whom it was written, or by whom dropped, were unfathomable mysteries.

      In fact, no one could give an opinion upon these matters at all; and after a further series of conjectures, it could only be decided, that unimportant as the scrap of paper appeared now to be, it should be preserved, in case it should, as there was a dim possibility that it might become a connecting link in some chain of evidence at another time.

      "And here we are," said Henry, "completely at fault, and knowing not what to do."

      "Well, it is a hard case," said the admiral, "that, with all the will in the world to be up and doing something, we are lying here like a fleet of ships in a calm, as idle as possible."

      "You perceive we have no evidence to connect Sir Francis Varney with this affair, either nearly or remotely," said Marchdale.

      "Certainly not," replied Henry.

      "But yet, I hope you will not lose sight of the suggestion I proposed, to the effect of ascertaining if he were from home last night."

      "But how is that to be carried out?"

      "Boldly."

      "How boldly?"

      "By going at once, I should advise, to his house, and asking the first one of his domestics you may happen to see."

      "I will go over," cried George; "on such occasions as these one cannot act upon ceremony."

      He seized his hat, and without waiting for a word from any one approving or condemning his going, off he went.

      "If," said Henry, "we find that Varney has nothing to do with the matter, we are completely at fault."

      "Completely," echoed Marchdale.

      "In that case, admiral, I think we ought to defer to your feelings upon the subject, and do whatever you suggest should be done."

      "I shall offer a hundred pounds reward to any one who can and will bring any news of Charles."

      "A hundred pounds is too much," said Marchdale.

      "Not at all; and while I am about it, since the amount is made a subject of discussion, I shall make it two hundred, and that may benefit some rascal who is not so well paid for keeping the secret as I will pay him for disclosing it."

      "Perhaps you are right," said Marchdale.

      "I know I am, as I always am."

      Marchdale could not forbear a smile at the opinionated old man, who thought no one's opinion upon any subject at all equal to his own; but he made no remark, and only waited, as did Henry, with evident anxiety for the return of George.

      The distance was not great, and George certainly performed his errand quickly, for he was back in less time than they had thought he could return in. The moment he came into the room, he said, without waiting for any inquiry to be made of him—

      "We are at fault again. I am assured that Sir Francis Varney never stirred from home after eight o'clock last evening."

      "D—n it, then," said the admiral, "let us give the devil his due. He could not have had any hand in this business."

      "Certainly not."

      "From whom, George, did you get your information?" asked Henry, in a desponding tone.

      "From, first of all, one of his servants, whom I met away from the house, and then from one whom I saw at the house."

      "There can be no mistake, then?"

      "Certainly none. The servants answered me at once, and so frankly that I cannot doubt it."

      The door of the room was slowly opened, and Flora came in. She looked almost the shadow of what she had been but a few weeks before. She was beautiful, but she almost realised the poet's description of one who had suffered much, and was sinking into an early grave, the victim of a broken heart:—

      "She was more beautiful than death,

       And yet as sad to look upon."

      Her face was of a marble paleness, and as she clasped her hands, and glanced from face to face, to see if she could gather hope and consolation from the expression of any one, she might have been taken for some exquisite statue of despair.

      "Have you found him?" she said. "Have you found Charles?"

      "Flora, Flora," said Henry, as he approached her.

      "Nay, answer me; have you found him? You went to seek him. Dead or alive, have you found him?"

      "We have not, Flora."

      "Then I must seek him myself. None will search for him as I will search; I must myself seek him. 'Tis true affection that can alone be successful in such a search."

      "Believe me, dear Flora, that all has been done which the shortness of the time that has elapsed would permit. Further measures will now immediately be taken. Rest assured, dear sister, that all will be done that the utmost zeal can suggest."

      "They have killed him! they have killed him!" she said, mournfully. "Oh, God, they have killed him! I am not now mad, but the time will come when I must surely be maddened. The vampyre has killed Charles Holland—the dreadful vampyre!"

      "Nay, now, Flora, this is frenzy."

      "Because he loved me has he been destroyed. I know it, I know it. The vampyre has doomed me to destruction. I am lost, and all who loved me will be involved in one common ruin on my account. Leave me all of you to perish. If, for iniquities done in our family, some one must suffer to appease the divine vengeance, let that one be me, and only me."

      "Hush, sister, hush!" cried Henry. "I expected not this from you. The expressions you use are not your expressions. I know you better. There is abundance of divine mercy, but no divine vengeance. Be calm, I pray you."

      "Calm! calm!"

      "Yes. Make an exertion of that intellect we all know you to possess. It is too common a thing with human nature, when misfortune overtakes it, to imagine that such a state of things is specially arranged. We quarrel with Providence because it does not interfere with some special miracle in our favour; forgetting that, being denizens of this earth, and members of a great social system; We must be subject occasionally to the accidents which will disturb its efficient working."

      "Oh, brother, brother!" she exclaimed, as she dropped into a seat, "you have never loved."

      "Indeed!"

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