"Perhaps nothing; but, perhaps, everything."
Mr. Chillingworth sprang from his bed, and began dressing, a process which he executed with considerable rapidity, and in which he was much accelerated by two or three supplementary shouts from the people below.
Then, in a temporary lull, a loud voice shouted,—
"Down with the vampyre—down with the vampyre!"
The truth in an instant burst over the mind of Mr. Chillingworth; and, turning to his wife, he exclaimed,—
"I understand it now. You've been gossipping about Sir Francis Varney, and have caused all this tumult."
"I gossip! Well, I never! Lay it on me; it's sure to be my fault. I might have known that beforehand. I always am."
"But you must have spoken of it."
"Who have I got to speak to about it?"
"Did you, or did you not?"