These sounds were shouted out by a score of voices, and they rushed headlong into the room.
But here their violence and headlong precipitancy were suddenly restrained by the imposing and quiet appearance of the individual who was there seated.
The mob entered the room, and there was a sight, that if it did not astonish them, at least, it caused them to pause before the individual who was seated there.
The room was well filled with furniture, and there was a curtain drawn across the room, and about the middle of it there was a table, behind which sat Sir Francis Varney himself, looking all smiles and courtesy.
"Well, dang my smock-frock!" said one, "who'd ha' thought of this? He don't seem to care much about it."
"Well, I'm d——d!" said another; "he seems pretty easy, at all events. What is he going to do?"
"Gentlemen," said Sir Francis Varney, rising, with the blandest smiles, "pray, gentlemen, permit me to inquire the cause of this condescension on your part. The visit is kind."
The mob looked at Sir Francis, and then at each other, and then at Sir Francis again; but nobody spoke. They were awed by this gentlemanly and collected behaviour.
"If you honour me with this visit from pure affection and neighbourly good-will, I thank you."
"Down with the vampyre!" said one, who was concealed behind the rest, and not so much overawed, as he had not seen Sir Francis.