"Oh! bother it; it's a d——d old tree, growing upon a little bit of a hill, I suppose you mean?"
"Precisely; only much more poetically expressed. The moon rises at a quarter past four to-night, or rather to-morrow, morning."
"Does it?"
"Yes; and if I should happen to be killed, you will have me removed gently to this mound of earth, and there laid beneath this tree, with my face upwards; and take care that it is done before the moon rises. You can watch that no one interferes."
"A likely job. What the deuce do you take me for? I tell you what it is, Mr. Vampyre, or Varney, or whatever's your name, if you should chance to be hit, where-ever you chance to fall, there you'll lie."
"How very unkind."
"Uncommon, ain't it?"
"Well, well, since that is your determination, I must take care of myself in another way. I can do so, and I will."
"Take care of yourself how you like, for all I care; I've come here to second you, and to see that, on the honour of a seaman, if you are put out of the world, it's done in a proper manner, that's all I have to do with you—now you know."
Sir Francis Varney looked after him with a strange kind of smile, as he walked away to make the necessary preparation with Marchdale for the immediate commencement of the contest.