“But, perhaps, you can tell me.  I was to know the moon’s age.”

“The devil!” thought the landlord; “he’s a vampyre, and no mistake.  Why, sir, as to the moon’s age, it was a full moon last night, very bright and beautiful, only you could not see it for the clouds.”

“A full moon last night,” said the mysterious guest, thoughtfully; “it may shine, then, brightly, to-night, and if so, all will be well.  I thank you,—­leave the room.”

“Do you mean to say, sir, you don’t want anything to eat now?”

“What I want I’ll order.”

“But you have ordered nothing.”

“Then presume that I want nothing.”

The discomfited landlord was obliged to leave the room, for there was no such a thing as making any answer to this, and so, still further confirmed in his opinion that the stranger was a vampyre that came to see Sir Francis Varney from a sympathetic feeling towards him, he again reached the bar-parlour.

“You may depend,” he said, “as sure as eggs is eggs, that he is a vampyre.  Hilloa! he’s going off,—­after him—­after him; he thinks we suspect him.  There he goes—­down the High-street.”

The landlord ran out, and so did those who were with him, one of whom carried his brandy and water in his hand, which, being too hot for him to swallow all at once, he still could not think of leaving behind.

It was now gelling rapidly dark, and the mysterious stranger was actually proceeding towards the lane to keep his appointment with the boy who had promised to conduct him to the hiding-place of Sir Francis Varney.

He had not proceeded far, however, before he began to suspect that he was followed, as it was evident on the instant that he altered his course; for, instead of walking down the lane, where the boy was waiting for him, he went right on, and seemed desirous of making his way into the open country between the town and Bannerworth Hall.

His pursuers—­for they assumed that character—­when they saw this became anxious to intercept him; and thinking that the greater force they had the better, they called out aloud as they passed a smithy, where a man was shoeing a horse,—­

“Jack Burdon, here is another vampyre!”

“The deuce there is!” said the person who was addressed.  “I’ll soon settle him.  Here’s my wife gets no sleep of a night as it is, all owing to that Varney, who has been plaguing us so long.  I won’t put up with another.”

So saying, he snatched from a hook on which it hung, an old fowling-piece, and joined the pursuit, which now required to be conducted with some celerity, for the stranger had struck into the open country, and was getting on at good speed.

The last remnants of the twilight were fading away, and although the moon had actually risen, its rays were obscured by a number of light, fleecy clouds, which, although they did not promise to be of long continuance, as yet certainly impeded the light.