But then she felt quite sure that it was Henry, and before the knocking had taken her by surprise.
"Come in," she said, in a cheerful voice.

"Come in." The door opened with wonderful swiftness--a figure stepped into the room, and then closed it as rapidly, and stood against it.

Flora tried to scream, but her tongue refused its office; a confused whirl of sensations passed through her brain--she trembled, and an icy coldness came over her.

It was Sir Francis Varney, the vampyre! He had drawn up his tall, gaunt frame to its full height, and crossed his arms upon his breast; there was a hideous smile upon his sallow countenance, and his voice was deep and sepulchral, as he said,-- "Flora Bannerworth, hear that which I have to say, and hear it calmly.
You need have nothing to fear.

Make an alarm--scream, or shout for help, and, by the hell beneath us, you are lost!" There was a death-like, cold, passionless manner about the utterance of these words, as if they were spoken mechanically, and came from no human lips.
Flora heard them, and yet scarcely comprehended them; she stepped slowly back till she reached a chair, and there she held for support.