He was engaged in these reflections when he heard the sound of the lodge bell, and as a visitor was now somewhat rare at this establishment, he waited with some anxiety to see to whom he was indebted for so early a call.

In the course of a few minutes, one of the servants came to him with a letter in her hand.

It bore a large handsome seal, and, from its appearance, would seem to have come from some personage of consequence.  A second glance at it shewed him the name of “Varney” in the corner, and, with some degree of vexation, he muttered to himself,

“Another condoling epistle from the troublesome neighbour whom I have not yet seen.”

“If you please, sir,” said the servant who had brought him the letter, “as I’m here, and you are here, perhaps you’ll have no objection to give me what I’m to have for the day and two nights as I’ve been here, cos I can’t stay in a family as is so familiar with all sorts o’ ghostesses:  I ain’t used to such company.”

“What do you mean?” said Henry.

The question was a superfluous one—­:  too well he knew what the woman meant, and the conviction came across his mind strongly that no domestic would consent to live long in a house which was subject to such dreadful visitations.

“What does I mean!” said the woman,—­“why, sir, if it’s all the same to you, I don’t myself come of a wampyre family, and I don’t choose to remain in a house where there is sich things encouraged.  That’s what I means, sir.”

“What wages are owing to you?” said Henry.

“Why, as to wages, I only comed here by the day.”

“Go, then, and settle with my mother.  The sooner you leave this house, the better.”

“Oh, indeed.  I’m sure I don’t want to stay.”

This woman was one of those who were always armed at all points for a row, and she had no notion of concluding any engagement, of any character whatever, without some disturbance; therefore, to see Henry take what she said with such provoking calmness was aggravating in the extreme; but there was no help for such a source of vexation.  She could find no other ground of quarrel than what was connected with the vampyre, and, as Henry would not quarrel with her on such a score, she was compelled to give it up in despair.

When Henry found himself alone, and free from the annoyance of this woman, he turned his attention to the letter he held in his hand, and which, from the autograph in the corner, he knew came from his new neighbour, Sir Francis Varney, whom, by some chance or another, he had never yet seen.

To his great surprise, he found that the letter contained the following words:—­