He must be killed--destroyed--burnt, and the very dust to which he is consumed must be scattered to the winds of Heaven.

It would be a deed well done, Marchdale." "Hush! hush! These words are dangerous." "I care not." "What if they were overheard now by unfriendly ears?
What might not be the uncomfortable results?
I pray you be more cautious what you say of this strange man." "I must destroy him." "And wherefore ?" "Can you ask?
Is he not a vampyre ?" "Yes; but reflect, Henry, for a moment upon the length to which you might carry out so dangerous an argument.

It is said that vampyres are made by vampyres sucking the blood of those who, but for that circumstance, would have died and gone to decay in the tomb along with ordinary mortals; but that being so attacked during life by a vampyre, they themselves, after death, become such." "Well--well, what is that to me ?" "Have you forgotten Flora ?" A cry of despair came from poor Henry's lips, and in a moment he seemed completely, mentally and physically, prostrated.
"God of Heaven!" he moaned, "I had forgotten her!" "I thought you had." "Oh, if the sacrifice of my own life would suffice to put an end to all this accumulating horror, how gladly would I lay it down.

Ay, in any way--in any way.

No mode of death should appal me.