Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"Curse
your impudence!" said the admiral, placing his elbows upon the table and
resting his chin in astonishment upon his two hands.
"Nay,"
interrupted Sir Francis, "you challenged me; and, besides, you'll have an
equal chance, you know that. If you succeed in striking me first, down I go;
whereas it I succeed in striking you first, down you go."
As he
spoke, Sir Francis Varney stretched out his foot, and closed a small bracket
which held out the flap of the table on which the admiral was leaning, and,
accordingly, down the admiral went, tea-tray and all.
Mr.
Chillingworth ran to help him up, and, when they both recovered their feet,
they found they were alone.
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.—THE PARTICULARS OF THE SUICIDE AT
BANNERWORTH HALL.
"Hilloa
where the deuce is he?" said the admiral. "Was there ever such a
confounded take-in?"
"Well,
I really don't know," said Mr. Chillingworth; "but it seems to me
that he must have gone out of that door that was behind him: I begin, do you
know, admiral, to wish—"
"What?"
"That
we had never come here at all; and I think the sooner we get out of it the
better."
"Yes;
but I am not going to be hoaxed and humbugged in this way. I will have
satisfaction, but not with those confounded scythes and things he talks about
in the dark room. Give me broad daylight and no favour; yardarm and yardarm;
broadside and broadside; hand-grenades and marling-spikes."
"Well,
but that's what he won't do. Now, admiral, listen to me."
"Well,
go on; what next?"
"Come
away at once."
"Oh,
you said that before."
"Yes;
but I'm going to say something else. Look round you. Don't you think this a
large, scientific-looking room?"
"What
of that?"
"Why,
what if suppose it was to become as dark as the grave, and Varney was to enter
with his scythe, that he talks of, and begin mowing about our legs."
"The
devil! Come along!"
The
door at which they entered was at this moment opened, and the old woman made
her appearance.
"Please,
sir," she said, "here's a Mr. Mortimer," in a loud voice.
"Oh, Sir Francis ain't here! Where's he gone, gentlemen?"
"To
the devil!" said the admiral. "Who may Mr. Mortimer be?"
There
walked past the woman a stout, portly-looking man, well dressed, but with a
very odd look upon his face, in consequence of an obliquity of vision, which
prevented the possibility of knowing which way he was looking.
"I
must see him," he said; "I must see him."
Mr.
Chillingworth started back as if in amazement.
"Good
God!" he cried, "you here!"
"Confusion!"
said Mortimer; "are you Dr.—— Dr.——"
"Chillingworth."
"The
same. Hush! there is no occasion to betray—that is, to state my secret."
"And
mine, too," said Chillingworth. "But what brings you here?"
"I
cannot and dare not tell you. Farewell!"
He
turned abruptly, and was leaving the room; but he ran against some one at the
entrance, and in another moment Henry Bannerworth, heated and almost breathless
by evident haste, made his appearance.
"Hilloa!
bravo!" cried the admiral; "the more the merrier! Here's a combined
squadron! Why, how came you here, Mr. Henry Bannerworth?"
"Bannerworth!"
said Mortimer; "is that young man's name Bannerworth?"
"Yes,"
said Henry. "Do you know me, sir?"
"No,
no; only I—I—must be off. Does anybody know anything of Sir Francis
Varney?"
"We
did know something of him," said the admiral, "a little while ago;
but he's taken himself off. Don't you do so likewise. If you've got anything to
say, stop and say it, like an Englishman."
"Stuff!
stuff!" said Mortimer, impatiently. "What do you all want here?"
"Why,
Sir Francis Varney," said Henry,—"and I care not if the whole world
heard it—is the persecutor of my family."
"How?
in what way?"
"He
has the reputation of a vampyre; he has hunted me and mine from house and
home."
"Indeed!"
"Yes,"
cried Dr. Chillingworth; "and, by some means or another, he seems
determined to get possession of Bannerworth Hall."
"Well,
gentlemen," said Mortimer, "I promise you that I will inquire into
this. Mr. Chillingworth, I did not expect to meet you. Perhaps the least we say
to each other is, after all, the better."
"Let
me ask but one question," said Dr. Chillingworth, imploringly.
"Ask
it."
"Did
he live after—"
"Hush!
he did."
"You
always told me to the contrary."
"Yes;
I had an object; the game is up. Farewell; and, gentlemen, as I am making my
exit, let me do so with a sentiment:—Society at large is divided into two great
classes."
"And
what may they be?" said the admiral.
"Those
who have been hanged, and those who have not. Adieu!"
He
turned and left the room; and Mr. Chillingworth sunk into a chair, and said, in
a low voice,—
"It's
uncommonly true; and I've found out an acquaintance among the former."
"-D—n
it! you seem all mad," said the admiral. "I can't make out what you
are about. How came you here, Mr. Henry Bannerworth?"
"By
mere accident I heard," said Henry, "that you were keeping watch and
ward in the Hall. Admiral, it was cruel, and not well done of you, to attempt
such an enterprise without acquainting me with it. Did you suppose for a moment
that I, who had the greatest interest in this affair, would have shrunk from
danger, if danger there be; or lacked perseverance, if that quality were
necessary in carrying out any plan by which the safety and honour of my family
might be preserved?"
"Nay,
now, my young friend," said Mr. Chillingworth.
"Nay,
sir; but I take it ill that I should have been kept out of this affair; and it
should have been sedulously, as it were, kept a secret from me."
"Let
him go on as he likes," said the admiral; "boys will be boys. After
all, you know, doctor, it's my affair, and not yours. Let him say what he
likes; where's the odds? It's of no consequence."
"I
do not expect. Admiral Bell," said Henry, "that it is to you; but it
is to me."
"Psha!"
"Respecting
you, sir, as I do—"
"Gammon!"
"I
must confess that I did expect—"
"What
you didn't get; therefore, there's an end of that. Now, I tell you what, Henry,
Sir Francis Varney is within this house; at least, I have reason to suppose
so."
"Then,"
exclaimed Henry, impetuously, "I will wring from him answers to various
questions which concern my peace and happiness."
"Please,
gentlemen," said the woman Deborah, making her appearance, "Sir
Francis Varney has gone out, and he says I'm to show you all the door, as soon
as it is convenient for you all to walk out of it."
"I
feel convinced," said Mr. Chillingworth, "that it will be a useless
search now to attempt to find Sir Francis Varney here. Let me beg of you all to
come away; and believe me that I do not speak lightly, or with a view to get
you from here, when I say, that after I have heard something from you, Henry,
which I shall ask you to relate to me, painful though it may be, I shall be
able to suggest some explanation of many things which appear at present
obscure, and to put you in a course of freeing you from the difficulties which
surround you, which, Heaven knows, I little expected I should have it in my
power to propose to any of you."
"I
will follow your advice, Mr. Chillingworth," said Henry; "for I have
always found that it has been dictated by good feeling as well as correct
judgment. Admiral Bell, you will oblige me much by coming away with me now and
at once."
"Well,"
remarked the admiral, "if the doctor has really something to say, it
alters the appearance of things, and, of course, I have no objection."
Upon
this, the whole three of them immediately left the place, and it was evident
that Mr. Chillingworth had something of an uncomfortable character upon his
mind. He was unusually silent and reserved, and, when he did speak, he seemed
rather inclined to turn the conversation upon indifferent topics, than to add
anything more to what he had said upon the deeply interesting one which held so
foremost a place in all their minds.
"How
is Flora, now," he asked of Henry, "since her removal?"
"Anxious
still," said Henry; "but, I think, better."
"That
is well. I perceive that, naturally, we are all three walking towards
Bannerworth Hall, and, perhaps, it is as well that on that spot I should ask of
you, Henry, to indulge me with a confidence such as, under ordinary
circumstances, I should not at all feel myself justified in requiring of
you."
"To
what does it relate?" said Henry. "You may be assured, Mr.
Chillingworth, that I am not likely to refuse my confidence to you, whom I have
so much reason to respect as an attached friend of myself and my family."
"You
will not object, likewise, I hope," added Mr. Chillingworth, "to
extend that confidence to Admiral Bell; for, as you well know, a truer and more
warm-hearted man than he does not exist."
"What
do you expect for that, doctor?" said the admiral.
"There
is nothing," said Henry, "that I could relate at all, that I should
shrink from relating to Admiral Bell."
"Well,
my boy," said the admiral, "and all I can reply to that is, you are
quite right; for there can be nothing that you need shrink from telling me, so
far as regards the fact of trusting me with it goes."
"I
am assured of that."
"A
British officer, once pledging his word, prefers death to breaking it. Whatever
you wish kept secret in the communication you make to me, say so, and it will never
pass my lips."
"Why,
sir, the fact is," said Henry, "that what I am about to relate to you
consists not so much of secrets as of matters which would be painful to my
feelings to talk of more than may be absolutely required."
"I
understand you."
"Let
me, for a moment," said Mr Chillingworth, "put myself right. I do not
suspect, Mr. Henry Bannerworth, that you fancy I ask you to make a recital of
circumstances which must be painful to you from any idle motive. But let me
declare that I have now a stronger impulse, which induces me to wish to hear
from your own lips those matters which popular rumour may have greatly
exaggerated or vitiated."
"It
is scarcely possible," remarked Henry, sadly, "that popular rumour
should exaggerate the facts."
"Indeed!"
"No.
They are, unhappily, of themselves, in their bare truthfulness, so full of all
that can be grievous to those who are in any way connected with them, that
there needs no exaggeration to invest them with more terror, or with more of
that sadness which must ever belong to a recollection of them in my mind."
In
suchlike discourse as this, the time was passed, until Henry Bannerworth and
his friends once more reached the Hall, from which he, with his family, had so
recently removed, in consequence of the fearful persecution to which they had
been subjected.
They
passed again into the garden which they all knew so well, and then Henry paused
and looked around him with a deep sigh.
In
answer to an inquiring glance from Mr. Chillingworth, he said,—
"Is
it not strange, now, that I should have only been away from here a space of
time which may be counted by hours, and yet all seems changed. I could almost
fancy that years had elapsed since I had looked at it."
"Oh,"
remarked the doctor, "time is always by the imagination measured by the
number of events which are crowded into a given space of it, and not by its
actual duration. Come into the house; there you will find all just as you left
it, Henry, and you can tell us your story at leisure."
"The
air," said Henry, "about here is fresh and pleasant. Let us sit down
in the summer-house yonder, and there I will tell you all. It has a local
interest, too, connected with the tale."
This
was agreed to, and, in a few moments, the admiral, Mr. Chillingworth, and Henry
were seated in the same summer-house which had witnessed the strange interview
between Sir Francis Varney and Flora Bannerworth, in which he had induced her
to believe that he felt for the distress he had occasioned her, and was
strongly impressed with the injustice of her sufferings.
Henry
was silent for some few moments, and then he said, with a deep sigh, as he
looked mournfully around him,—
"It
was on this spot that my father breathed his last, and hence have I said that
it has a local interest in the tale I have to tell, which makes it the most
fitting place in which to tell it."
"Oh,"
said the admiral, "he died here, did he?"
"Yes,
where you are now sitting."
"Very
good, I have seen many a brave man die in my time, and I hope to see a few
more, although, I grant you, the death in the heat of conflict, and fighting
for our country, is a vastly different thing to some shore-going mode of
leaving the world."
"Yes,"
said Henry, as if pursuing his own meditations, rather than listening to the
admiral. "Yes, it was from this precise spot that my father took his last
look at the ancient house of his race. What we can now see of it, he saw of it
with his dying eyes and many a time I have sat here and fancied the world of
terrible thoughts that must at such a moment have come across his brain."