When they reached the residence of Sir Francis Varney, they were received courteously enough, and the admiral desired Jack to wait for him in the handsome hall of the house, while he was shewn up stairs to the private room of the vampyre.

“Confound the fellow!” muttered the old admiral, “he is well lodged at all events.  I should say he was not one of those sort of vampyres who have nowhere to go to but their own coffins when the evening comes.”

The room into which the admiral was shewn had green blinds to it, and they were all drawn down.  It is true that the sun was shining brightly outside, although transiently, but still a strange green tinge was thrown over everything in the room, and more particularly did it appear to fall upon the face of Varney, converting his usually sallow countenance into a still more hideous and strange colour.  He was sitting upon a couch, and, when the admiral came in, he rose, and said, in a deep-toned voice, extremely different to that he usually spoke in,—­

“My humble home is much honoured, sir, by your presence in it.”

“Good morning,” said the admiral.  “I have come to speak to you, sir, rather seriously.”

“However abrupt this announcement may sound to me,” said Varney, “I am quite sure I shall always hear, with the most profound respect, whatever Admiral Bell may have to say.”

“There is no respect required,” said the admiral, “but only a little attention.”

Sir Francis bowed in a stately manner, saying,—­

“I shall be quite unhappy if you will not be seated, Admiral Bell.”

“Oh, never mind that, Sir Francis Varney, if you be Sir Francis Varney; for you may be the devil himself, for all I know.  My nephew, Charles Holland, considers that, one way and another, he has a very tolerable quarrel with you.”

“I much grieve to hear it.”

“Do you?”

“Believe me, I do.  I am most scrupulous in what I say; and an assertion that I am grieved, you may thoroughly and entirely depend upon.”

“Well, well, never mind that; Charles Holland is a young man just entering into life.  He loves a girl who is, I think, every way worthy of him.”

“Oh, what a felicitous prospect!”

“Just hear me out, if you please.”

“With pleasure, sir—­with pleasure.”

“Well, then, when a young, hot-headed fellow thinks he has a good ground of quarrel with anybody, you will not be surprised at his wanting to fight it out.”

“Not at all.”

“Well, then, to come to the point, my nephew, Charles Holland, has a fancy for fighting with you.”

“Ah!”

“You take it d——­d easy.”

“My dear sir, why should I be uneasy?  He is not my nephew, you know.  I shall have no particular cause, beyond those feelings of common compassion which I hope inhabit my breast as well as every one else’s.”

“What do you mean?”