“I suppose that is, after all, another name, Flora, for the nightmare?” “No—no—no!” “Do you really, then, persist in believing anything so absurd, Miss Bannerworth?” “What can I say to the evidence of my own senses?” she replied. “I saw it, Henry saw it, George saw, Mr. Marchdale, my mother—all saw it. We could not all be at the same time the victims of the same delusion.” “How faintly you speak.” “I am very faint and ill.” “Indeed. What wound is that on your neck?” A wild expression came over the face of Flora; a spasmodic action of the muscles, accompanied with a shuddering, as if a sudden chill had come over the whole mass of blood took place, and she said,— “It is the mark left by the teeth of the vampyre.” The smile was a forced one upon the face of Mr. Chillingworth. “Draw up the blind of the window, Mr. Henry,” he said, “and let me examine this puncture to which your sister attaches so extraordinary a meaning.” The blind was drawn up, and a strong light was thrown into the room. For full two minutes Mr. Chillingworth attentively examined the two small wounds in the neck of Flora. He took a powerful magnifying glass from his pocket, and looked at them through it, and after his examination was concluded, he said,— “They are very trifling wounds, indeed.” “But how inflicted?” said Henry. “By some insect, I should say, which probably—it being the season for many insects—has flown in at the window.” “I know the motive,” said Flora “which prompts all these suggestions; it is a kind one, and I ought to be the last to quarrel with it; but what I have seen, nothing can make me believe I saw not, unless I am, as once or twice I have thought myself, really mad.” “How do you now feel in general health?” “Far from well; and a strange drowsiness at times creeps over me. Even now I feel it.” She sunk back on the pillows as she spoke and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. Mr. Chillingworth beckoned Henry to come with him from the room, but the latter had promised that he would remain with Flora; and as Mrs. Bannerworth had left the chamber because she was unable to control her feelings, he rang the bell, and requested that his mother would come. She did so, and then Henry went down stairs along with the medical man, whose opinion he was certainly eager to be now made acquainted with. As soon as they were alone in an old-fashioned room which was called the oak closet, Henry turned to Mr. Chillingworth, and said,— “What, now, is your candid opinion, sir? You have seen my sister, and those strange indubitable evidences of something wrong.” “I have; and to tell you candidly the truth, Mr. Henry, I am sorely perplexed.” “I thought you would be.” “It is not often that a medical man likes to say so much, nor is it, indeed, often prudent that he should do so, but in this case I own I am much puzzled. It is contrary to all my notions upon all such subjects.” “Those wounds, what do you think of them?”