“God of Heaven!” cried Flora; and she stretched out her arms. [Illustration: A beam of sunlight illuminates Flora, Charles, and the house.] “The clouds that hover over your spirit now,” said Charles, “shall pass away. Accept this beam of sunlight as a promise from God.” “I will—I will. It is going.” “It has done its office.” The clouds closed over the small orifice, and all was gloom again as before. “Flora,” said Charles, “you will not ask me now to leave you?” She allowed him to clasp her to his heart. It was beating for her, and for her only. “You will let me, Flora, love you still?” Her voice, as she answered him, was like the murmur of some distant melody the ears can scarcely translate to the heart. “Charles we will live, love, and die together.” And now there was a wrapt stillness in that summer-house for many minutes—a trance of joy. They did not speak, but now and then she would look into his face with an old familiar smile, and the joy of his heart was near to bursting in tears from his eyes. • • • • • A shriek burst from Flora’s lips—a shriek so wild and shrill that it awakened echoes far and near. Charles staggered back a step, as if shot, and then in such agonised accents as he was long indeed in banishing the remembrance of, she cried,— “The vampyre! the vampyre!” CHAPTER XVII. THE EXPLANATION.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE ADMIRAL AT THE HOUSE.—A SCENE OF CONFUSION, AND SOME OF ITS RESULTS. So sudden and so utterly unexpected a cry of alarm from Flora, at such a time might well have the effect of astounding the nerves of any one, and no wonder that Charles was for a few seconds absolutely petrified and almost unable to think. Mechanically, then, he turned his eyes towards the door of the summer-house, and there he saw a tall, thin man, rather elegantly dressed, whose countenance certainly, in its wonderful resemblance to the portrait on the panel, might well appall any one. The stranger stood in the irresolute attitude on the threshold of the summer-house of one who did not wish to intrude, but who found it as awkward, if not more so now, to retreat than to advance. [Illustration: Sir Varney stands before Charles and Flora, who are cowering.] Before Charles Holland could summon any words to his aid, or think of freeing himself from the clinging grasp of Flora, which was wound around him, the stranger made a very low and courtly bow, after which he said, in winning accents,— “I very much fear that I am an intruder here. Allow me to offer my warmest apologies, and to assure you, sir, and you, madam, that I had no idea any one was in the arbour. You perceive the rain is falling smartly, and I made towards here, seeing it was likely to shelter me from the shower.” These words were spoken in such a plausible and courtly tone of voice, that they might well have become any drawing-room in the kingdom.