"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. No amount of pain make me shrink. I could smile then upon the destroyer, and say, 'welcome—welcome—most welcome.'"
"Rather, Henry, seek to live for those whom you love than die for them. Your death would leave them desolate. In life you may ward off many a blow of fate from them."