Charles was a little astonished, although pleased, at his uncle’s ready acquiescence in his fighting a vampyre, but that circumstance he ascribed to the old man’s habits of life, which made him so familiar with strife and personal contentions of all sorts, that he did not ascribe to it that amount of importance which more peaceable people did. Had he, while he was writing the note to Sir Francis Varney, seen the old admiral’s face, and the exceedingly cunning look it wore, he might have suspected that the acquiescence in the duel was but a seeming acquiescence. This, however, escaped him, and in a few moments he read to his uncle the following note:— “+To Sir Francis Varney+. “Sir,—The expressions made use of towards me by you, as well as general circumstances, which I need not further allude to here, induce me to demand of you that satisfaction due from one gentleman to another. My uncle, Admiral Bell, is the bearer of this note, and will arrange preliminaries with any friend you may choose to appoint to act in your behalf. I am, sir, yours, &c. “+Charles Holland+.” “Will that do?” said Charles. “Capital!” said the admiral. “I am glad you like it.” “Oh, I could not help liking it. The least said and the most to the purpose, always pleases me best; and this explains nothing, and demands all you want—which is a fight; so it’s all right, you see, and nothing can be possibly better.” Charles did glance in his uncle’s face, for he suspected, from the manner in which these words were uttered, that the old man was amusing himself a little at his expense. The admiral, however, looked so supernaturally serious that Charles was foiled. “I repeat, it’s a capital letter,” he said. “Yes, you said so.” “Well, what are you staring at?” “Oh, nothing.” “Do you doubt my word?” “Not at all, uncle; only I thought there was a degree of irony in the manner in which you spoke.” “None at all, my boy. I never was more serious in all my life.” “Very good. Then you will remember that I leave my honour in this affair completely in your hands.” “Depend upon me, my boy.” “I will, and do.” “I’ll be off and see the fellow at once.” The admiral bustled out of the room, and in a few moments Charles heard him calling loudly,— “Jack—Jack Pringle, you lubber, where are you?—Jack Pringle, I say.” “Ay, ay, sir,” said Jack, emerging from the kitchen, where he had been making himself generally useful in assisting Mrs. Bannerworth, there being no servant in the house, to cook some dinner for the family. “Come on, you rascal, we are going for a walk.” “The rations will be served out soon,” growled Jack.