The tone of the letters, too, which Charles had written, materially aggravated the moral delinquency of which he had been guilty; better, far better, had he not attempted an excuse at all than have attempted such excuses as were there put down in those epistles. A more cold blooded, dishonourable proceeding could not possibly be conceived. It would appear, that while he entertained a doubt with regard to the reality of the visitation of the vampyre to Flora Bannerworth, he had been willing to take to himself abundance of credit for the most honourable feelings, and to induce a belief in the minds of all that an exalted feeling of honour, as well as a true affection that would know no change, kept him at the feet of her whom he loved. Like some braggart, who, when there is no danger, is a very hero, but who, the moment he feels convinced he will be actually and truly called upon for an exhibition of his much-vaunted prowess, had Charles Holland deserted the beautiful girl, who, if anything, had now certainly, in her misfortunes, a far higher claim upon his kindly feeling than before. Henry could not sleep, although, at the request of George, who offered to keep watch for him the remainder of the night he attempted to do so. He in vain said to himself, “I will banish from my mind this most unworthy subject. I have told Admiral Bell that contempt is the only feeling I can now have for his nephew, and yet I now find myself dwelling upon him, and upon his conduct, with a perseverance which is a foe to my repose.” At length came the welcome and beautiful light of day, and Henry rose fevered and unrefreshed. His first impulse now was to hold a consultation with his brother George, as to what was to be done, and George advised that Mr. Marchdale, who as yet knew nothing of the matter, should be immediately informed of it, and consulted, as being probably better qualified than either of them to come to a just, a cool, and a reasonable opinion upon the painful circumstance, which it could not be expected that either of them would be able to view calmly. “Let it be so, then,” said Henry; “Mr. Marchdale shall decide for us.” They at once sought this friend of the family, who was in his own bed-room, and when Henry knocked at the door, Marchdale opened it hurriedly, eagerly inquiring what was the matter. “There is no alarm,” said Henry. “We have only come to tell you of a circumstance which has occurred during the night, and which will somewhat surprise you.” “Nothing calamitous, I hope?” “Vexatious; and yet, I think it is a matter upon which we ought almost to congratulate ourselves. Read those two letters, and give us your candid opinion upon them.” Henry placed in Mr. Marchdale’s hands the letter addressed to himself, as well as that to the admiral. Marchdale read them both with marked attention, but he did not exhibit in his countenance so much surprise as regret. When he had finished, Henry said to him,—