The calm and steady advance of Henry and Mr. Marchdale to meet the advancing throng, seemed to have the effect of retarding their progress a little, and they came to a parley at a hedge, which separated them from the meadow in which the duel had been fought. “You seem to be advancing towards us,” said Henry. “Do you seek me or any of my friends; and if so, upon what errand? Mr. Chillingworth, for Heaven’s sake, explain what is the cause of all this tumult. You seem to be at the head of it.” “Seem to be,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “without being so. You are not sought, nor any of your friends?” “Who, then?” “Sir Francis Varney,” was the immediate reply. “Indeed! and what has he done to excite popular indignation? Of private wrong I can accuse him; but I desire no crowd to take up my cause, or to avenge my quarrels.” “Mr. Bannerworth, it has become known, through my indiscretion, that Sir Francis Varney is suspected of being a vampyre.” “Is this so?” “Hurrah!” shouted the mob. “Down with the vampyre! hurrah! where is he? Down with him!” “Drive a stake through him,” said a woman; “it’s the only way, and the humanestest. You’ve only to take a hedge stake, and sharpen it a bit at one end, and char it a little in the fire so as there mayt’n’t be no splinters to hurt, and then poke it through his stomach.” The mob gave a great shout at this humane piece of advice, and it was some time before Henry could make himself heard at all, even to those who were nearest to him. When he did succeed in so doing, he cried, with a loud voice,— “Hear me, all of you. It is quite needless for me to inquire how you became possessed of the information that a dreadful suspicion hangs over the person of Sir Francis Varney; but if, in consequence of hearing such news, you fancy this public demonstration will be agreeable to me, or likely to relieve those who are nearest or dearest to me from the state of misery and apprehension into which they have fallen, you are much mistaken.” “Hear him, hear him!” cried Mr. Marchdale; “he speaks both wisdom and truth.” “If anything,” pursued Henry, “could add to the annoyance of vexation and misery we have suffered, it would assuredly be the being made subjects of every-day gossip, and every-day clamour.” “You hear him?” said Mr. Marchdale. “Yes, we does,” said a man; “but we comes out to catch a vampyre, for all that.” “Oh, to be sure,” said the humane woman; “nobody’s feelings is nothing to us. Are we to be woke up in the night with vampyres sucking our bloods while we’ve got a stake in the country?” “Hurrah!” shouted everybody. “Down with the vampyre! where is he?” “You are wrong. I assure you, you are all wrong,” said Mr. Chillingworth, imploringly; “there is no vampyre here, you see. Sir Francis Varney has not only escaped, but he will take the law of all of you.”