_The original of the portrait on the panel stood before him!_ There was the lofty stature, the long, sallow face, the slightly projecting teeth, the dark, lustrous, although somewhat sombre eyes; the expression of the features--all were alike.
"Are you unwell, sir ?" said Sir Francis Varney, in soft, mellow accents, as he handed a chair to the bewildered Henry.
"God of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!" "You seem surprised, sir.

Have you ever seen me before ?" Sir Francis drew himself up to his full height, and cast a strange glance upon Henry, whose eyes were rivetted upon his face, as if with a species of fascination which he could not resist.
"Marchdale," Henry gasped; "Marchdale, my friend, Marchdale.

I--I am surely mad." "Hush! be calm," whispered Marchdale.
"Calm--calm--can you not see?
Marchdale, is this a dream?
Look--look--oh! look." "For God's sake, Henry, compose yourself." "Is your friend often thus ?" said Sir Francis Varney, with the same mellifluous tone which seemed habitual to him.
"No, sir, he is not; but recent circumstances have shattered his nerves; and, to tell the truth, you bear so strong a resemblance to an old portrait, in his house, that I do not wonder so much as I otherwise should at his agitation." "Indeed." "A resemblance!" said Henry; "a resemblance! God of Heaven! it is the face itself." "You much surprise me," said Sir Francis.
[Illustration] Henry sunk into the chair which was near him, and he trembled violently.
The rush of painful thoughts and conjectures that came through his mind was enough to make any one tremble.

"Is this the vampyre ?" was the horrible question that seemed impressed upon his very brain, in letters of flame.

"Is this the vampyre ?" "Are you better, sir ?" said Sir Francis Varney, in his bland, musical voice.