The distance round, however, was not great, and as they had cast over the wall a handful of flowers from the garden to mark the precise spot, it was easily discoverable.
The moment they reached it, they were panic-stricken by the appearances which it presented. The grass was for some yards round about completely trodden up, and converted into mud. There were deep indentations of feet-marks in all directions, and such abundance of evidence that some most desperate struggle had recently taken place there, that the most sceptical person in the world could not have entertained any doubt upon the subject.
Henry was the first to break the silence with which they each regarded the broken ground.
"This is conclusive to my mind," he said, with a deep sigh. "Here has poor Charles been attacked."
"God keep him!" exclaimed Marchdale, "and pardon me my doubts—I am now convinced."
The old admiral gazed about him like one distracted. Suddenly he cried—
"They have murdered him. Some fiends in the shape of men have murdered him, and Heaven only knows for what."
"It seems but too probable," said Henry. "Let us endeavour to trace the footsteps. Oh! Flora, Flora, what terrible news this will be to you."
"A horrible supposition comes across my mind," said George. "What if he met the vampyre?"
"It may have been so," said Marchdale, with a shudder. "It is a point which we should endeavour to ascertain, and I think we may do so."