“Yes; it may be possible,” said one; “and yet it is very dangerous, if not certain destruction to get over.”

“Oh, yes; there is no possibility of escape that way.  Why, it wouldn’t bear a cat, for there are no nails driven into the wall at this height.”

“Never mind,” said another, “we may as well leave no stone unturned, as the saying is, but at once set about looking out for him.”

The individual who spoke now leant over the coping stone, for some moments, in silence.  He could see nothing, but yet he continued to gaze for some moments.

“Do you see him?” inquired one.

“No,” was the answer.

“Ay, ay, I thought as much,” was the reply.  “He might as well have got hold of a corner of the moon, which, I believe, is more likely—­a great deal more likely.”

“Hold still a moment,” said the man, who was looking over the edge of the house.

“What’s the matter now?  A gnat flew into your eye?”

“No; but I see him—­by Jove, I see him!”

“See who—­see who?”

“Varney, the vampyre!” shouted the man.  “I see him about half-way down clinging, like a fly, to the wall.  Odd zounds!  I never saw the like afore!”

“Hurrah! after him then, boys!”

“Not the same way, if you please.  Go yourself, and welcome; but I won’t go that way.”

“Just as you please,” said the man; “but what’s good for the goose is good for the gander is an old saying, and so is Jack as good as his master.”

“So it may be; but cuss me if you ain’t a fool if you attempt that!”

The man made no reply, but did as Varney had done before, got over the coping stone, and then laid hold of the ivy; but, whether his weight was heavier than Varney’s, or whether it was that the latter had loosened the hold of the ivy or not, but he had no sooner left go of the coping stone than the ivy gave way, and he was precipitated from the height of about fifty feet to the earth—­a dreadful fall!

There was a pause—­no one spoke.  The man lay motionless and dead—­he had dislocated his neck!

The fall had not, however, been without its effect upon Varney, for the man’s heels struck him so forcibly on his head as he fell, that he was stunned, and let go his hold, and he, too, fell to the earth, but not many feet.

He soon recovered himself, and was staggering away, when he was assailed by those above with groans, and curses of all kinds, and then by stones, and tiles, and whatever the mob could lay their hands upon.

Some of these struck him, and he was cut about in various places, so that he could hardly stand.

The hoots and shouts of the mob above had now attracted those below to the spot where Sir Francis Varney was trying to escape, but he had not gone far before the loud yells of those behind him told him that he was again pursued.

Half dead, and almost wholly spent, unarmed, and defenceless, he scarce knew what to do; whether to fly, or to turn round and die as a refuge from the greater evil of endeavouring to prolong a struggle which seemed hopeless.  Instinct, however, urged him on, at all risks, and though he could not go very far, or fast, yet on he went, with the crowd after him.