approached the bedside to speak to Flora, upon whose pale countenance he
looked with evident interest, while at the same time it seemed mingled
with a painful feeling--at least so his own face indicated.

"Well, Miss Bannerworth," he said, "what is all this I hear about an
ugly dream you have had?"

"A dream?" said Flora, as she fixed her beautiful eyes on his face.

"Yes, as I understand."

She shuddered, and was silent.

"Was it not a dream, then?" added Mr. Chillingworth.

She wrung her hands, and in a voice of extreme anguish and pathos,
said,--

"Would it were a dream--would it were a dream! Oh, if any one could but
convince me it was a dream!"

"Well, will you tell me what it was?"

"Yes, sir, it was a vampyre."

Mr. Chillingworth glanced at Henry, as he said, in reply to Flora's
words,--

"I suppose that is, after all, another name, Flora, for the nightmare?"