The moment they reached it, they were panic-stricken by the appearances which it presented. The grass was for some yards round about completely trodden up, and converted into mud. There were deep indentations of feet-marks in all directions, and such abundance of evidence that some most desperate struggle had recently taken place there, that the most sceptical person in the world could not have entertained any doubt upon the subject. Henry was the first to break the silence with which they each regarded the broken ground. “This is conclusive to my mind,” he said, with a deep sigh. “Here has poor Charles been attacked.” “God keep him!” exclaimed Marchdale, “and pardon me my doubts—I am now convinced.” The old admiral gazed about him like one distracted. Suddenly he cried— “They have murdered him. Some fiends in the shape of men have murdered him, and Heaven only knows for what.” “It seems but too probable,” said Henry. “Let us endeavour to trace the footsteps. Oh! Flora, Flora, what terrible news this will be to you.” “A horrible supposition comes across my mind,” said George. “What if he met the vampyre?” “It may have been so,” said Marchdale, with a shudder. “It is a point which we should endeavour to ascertain, and I think we may do so.” “How!” “By some inquiry as to whether Sir Francis Varney was from home at midnight last night.” “True; that might be done.” “The question, suddenly put to one of his servants, would, most probably, be answered as a thing of course.” “It would.” “Then that shall be decided upon. And now, my friends, since you have some of you thought me luke-warm in this business, I pledge myself that, should it be ascertained that Varney was from home at midnight last evening, I will defy him personally, and meet him hand to hand.” “Nay, nay,” said Henry, “leave that course to younger hands.” “Why so?” “It more befits me to be his challenger.” “No, Henry. You are differently situated to what I am.” “How so?” “Remember, that I am in the world a lone man; without ties or connexions. If I lose my life, I compromise no one by my death; but you have a mother and a bereaved sister to look to who will deserve your care.” “Hilloa,” cried the admiral, “what’s this?” “What?” cried each, eagerly, and they pressed forward to where the admiral was stooping to the ground to pick up something which was nearly completely trodden into the grass. He with some difficulty raised it. It was a small slip of paper, on which was some writing, but it was so much covered with mud as not to be legible. “If this be washed,” said Henry, “I think we shall be able to read it clearly.” “We can soon try that experiment,” said George. “And as the footsteps, by some mysterious means, show themselves nowhere else but in this one particular spot, any further pursuit of inquiry about here appears useless.” “Then we will return to the house,” said Henry, “and wash the mud from this paper.”