She found herself recovering; and there she sat, with her eyes fixed upon the window, looking more like some exquisitely-chiselled statue of despair than a being of flesh and blood, expecting each moment to have its eyes blasted by some horrible appearance, such as might be supposed to drive her to madness.
And now again came the strange knocking or scratching against the glass of the window.
This continued for some minutes, during which it appeared likewise to Flora that some confusion was going on at another part of the house, for she fancied she heard voices and the banging of doors.
It seemed to her as if she must have sat looking at the shutters of that window a long time before she saw them shake, and then one wide hinged portion of them slowly opened.
Once again horror appeared to be on the point of producing madness in her brain, and then, as before, a feeling of calmness rapidly ensued.
She was able to see plainly that something was by the window, but what it was she could not plainly discern, in consequence of the lights she had in the room.

A few moments, however, sufficed to settle that mystery, for the window was opened and a figure stood before her.
One glance, one terrified glance, in which her whole soul was concentrated, sufficed to shew her who and what the figure was.

There was the tall, gaunt form--there was the faded ancient apparel--the lustrous metallic-looking eyes--its half-opened month, exhibiting the tusk-like teeth! It was--yes, it was--_the vampyre!_ It stood for a moment gazing at her, and then in the hideous way it had attempted before to speak, it apparently endeavoured to utter some words which it could not make articulate to human ears.

The pistols lay before Flora.

Mechanically she raised one, and pointed it at the figure.