Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
Tom
Eccles hang back a little from this proposal; but, upon being urged again by
Marchdale, and told that he need not go closer than he chose, he consented, and
the two of them approached the prostrate form of Sir Francis Varney, which lay
upon its face in the faint moonlight, which each moment was gathering strength
and power.
"He
lies upon his face," said Marchdale. "Will you go and turn him
over?"—"Who—I? God forbid I should touch him."
"Well—well,
I will. Come on."
They
halted within a couple of yards of the body. Tom Eccles would not go a step
farther; so Marchdale advanced alone, and pretended to be, with great
repugnance, examining for the wound.
"He
is quite dead," he said; "but I cannot see the hurt."—"I
think he turned his head as I fired."
"Did
he? Let us see."
Marchdale
lifted up the head, and disclosed such a mass of clotted-looking blood, that
Tom Eccles at once took to his heels, nor stopped until he was nearly as far
off as the ruins. Marchdale followed him more slowly, and when he came up to him,
he said,—
"The
slugs have taken effect on his face."—"I know it—I know it. Don't
tell me."
"He
looks horrible."—"And I am a murderer."
"Psha!
You look upon this matter too seriously. Think of who and what he was, and then
you will soon acquit yourself of being open to any such charge."—"I
am bewildered, Mr. Marchdale, and cannot now know whether he be a vampyre or
not. If he be not, I have murdered, most unjustifiably, a
fellow-creature."
"Well,
but if he be?"—"Why, even then I do not know but that I ought to
consider myself as guilty. He is one of God's creatures if he were ten times a
vampyre."
"Well,
you really do take a serious view of the affair."—"Not more serious
than it deserves."
"And
what do you mean to do?"—"I shall remain here to await the result of
what you tell me will ensue, if he be a real vampire. Even now the moonbeams
are full upon him, and each moment increasing in intensity. Think you he will
recover?"
"I
do indeed."—"Then here will I wait."
"Since
that is you resolve, I will keep you company. We shall easily find some old
stone in the ruins which will serve us for a seat, and there at leisure we can
keep our eyes upon the dead body, and be able to observe if it make the least
movement."
This
plan was adopted, and they sat down just within the ruins, but in such a place
that they had a full view of the dead body, as it appeared to be, of Sir
Francis Varney, upon which the sweet moonbeams shone full and clear.
Tom
Eccles related how he was incited to come upon his expedition, but he might
have spared himself that trouble, as Marchdale had been in a retired corner of
the inn parlour before he came to his appointment with Varney, and heard the
business for the most part proposed.
Half-an-hour,
certainly not more, might have elapsed; when suddenly Tom Eccles uttered an
exclamation, partly of surprise and partly of terror,—
"He
moves; he moves!" he cried. "Look at the vampyre's body."
Marchdale
affected to look with an all-absorbing interest, and there was Sir Francis
Varney, raising slowly one arm with the hand outstretched towards the moon, as
if invoking that luminary to shed more of its beams upon him. Then the body
moved slowly, like some one writhing in pain, and yet unable to move from the
spot on which it lay. From the head to the foot, the whole frame seemed to be
convulsed, and now and then as the ghastly object seemed to be gathering more
strength, the limbs were thrown out with a rapid and a frightful looking
violence.
It
was truly to one, who might look upon it as a reality and no juggle, a
frightful sight to see, and although Marchdale, of course, tolerably well
preserved his equanimity, only now and then, for appearance sake, affecting to
be wonderfully shocked, poor Tom Eccles was in such a state of horror and
fright that he could not, if he would, have flown from the spot, so fascinated
was he by the horrible spectacle.
This
was a state of things which continued for many minutes, and then the body
showed evident symptoms of so much returning animation, that it was about to
rise from his gory bed and mingle once again with the living.
"Behold!"
said Marchdale—"behold!"—"Heaven have mercy upon us!"
"It
is as I said; the beams of the moon have revived the vampyre. You perceive now
that there can be no doubt."—"Yes, yes, I see him; I see him."
Sir
Francis Varney now, as if with a great struggle, rose to his feet, and looked
up at the bright moon for some moments with such an air and manner that it
would not have required any very great amount of imagination to conceive that
he was returning to it some sort of thanksgiving for the good that it had done
to him.
He
then seemed for some moments in a state of considerable indecision as to which
way he should proceed. He turned round several times. Then he advanced a step
or two towards the house, but apparently his resolution changed again, and
casting his eyes upon the ruins, he at once made towards them.
This
was too much for the philosophy as well as for the courage of Tom Eccles. It
was all very well to look on at some distance, and observe the wonderful and
inexplicable proceedings of the vampyre; but when he showed symptoms of making
a nearer acquaintance, it was not to be borne.
"Why,
he's coming here," said Tom.—"He seems so indeed," remarked
Marchdale.
"Do
you mean to stay?"—"I think I shall."
"You
do, do you?"—"Yes, I should much like to question him, and as we are
two to one I think we really can have nothing to fear."
"Do
you? I'm altogether of a different opinion. A man who has more lives than a cat
don't much mind at what odds he fights. You may stay if you
like."—"You do not mean to say that you will desert me?"
"I
don't see a bit how you call it deserting you; if we had come out together on
this adventure, I would have stayed it out with you; but as we came separate
and independent, we may as well go back so."—"Well, but—"
"Good
morning?" cried Tom, and he at once took to his heels towards the town,
without staying to pay any attention to the remonstrances of Marchdale, who
called after him in vain.
Sir
Francis Varney, probably, had Tom Eccles not gone off so rapidly, would have
yet taken another thought, and gone in another direction than that which led
him to the ruins, and Tom, if he had had his senses fully about him, as well as
all his powers of perception, would have seen that the progress of the vampyre
was very slow, while he continued to converse with Marchdale, and that it was
only when he went off at good speed that Sir Francis Varney likewise thought it
prudent to do so.
"Is
he much terrified?" said Varney, as he came up to Marchdale.—"Yes,
most completely."
"This
then, will make a good story in the town."—"It will, indeed, and not
a little enhance your reputation."
"Well,
well; it don't much matter now; but if by terrifying people I can purchase for
myself anything like immunity for the past, I shall be satisfied."—"I
think you may now safely reckon that you have done so. This man who has fled
with so much precipitation, had courage."
"Unquestionably."—"Or
else he would have shrunk from coming here at all."
"True,
but his courage and presence arose from his strong doubts as to the existence
of such beings as vampyres."—"Yes, and now that he is convinced, his
bravery has evaporated along with his doubts; and such a tale as he has now to
tell, will be found sufficient to convert even the most sceptical in the
town."
"I
hope so."—"And yet it cannot much avail you."
"Not
personally, but I must confess that I am not dead to all human opinions, and I
feel some desire of revenge against those dastards who by hundreds have hunted
me, burnt down my mansion, and sought my destruction."—"That I do not
wonder at."
"I
would fain leave among them a legacy of fear. Such fear as shall haunt them and
their children for years to come. I would wish that the name of Varney, the
vampire, should be a sound of terror for generations."—"It will be
so."
"It
shall."—"And now, then, for a consideration of what is to be done
with our prisoner. What is your resolve upon that point?"
"I
have considered it while I was lying upon yon green sward waiting for the
friendly moonbeams to fall upon my face, and it seems to me that there is no
sort of resource but to——"—"Kill him?"
"No,
no."—"What then?"
"To
set him free."—"Nay, have you considered the immense hazard of doing
so? Think again; I pray you think again. I am decidedly of opinion that he more
than suspects who are his enemies; and, in that case, you know what
consequences would ensue; besides, have we not enough already to encounter? Why
should we add another young, bold, determined spirit to the band which is
already arrayed against us?"
"You
talk in vain, Marchdale; I know to what it all tends; you have a strong desire
for the death of this young man."—"No; there you wrong me. I have no
desire for his death, for its own sake; but, where great interests are at
stake, there must be sacrifices made."
"So
there must; therefore, I will make a sacrifice, and let this young prisoner
free from his dungeon."—"If such be your determination, I know well
it is useless to combat with it. When do you purpose giving him his
freedom?"
"I
will not act so heedlessly as that your principles of caution shall blame me. I
will attempt to get from him some promise that he will not make himself an
active instrument against me. Perchance, too, as Bannerworth Hall, which he is
sure to visit, wears such an air of desertion, I may be able to persuade him
that the Bannerworth family, as well as his uncle, have left this part of the
country altogether; so that, without making any inquiry for them about the
neighbourhood, he may be induced to leave at once."—"That would be
well."
"Good;
your prudence approves of the plan, and therefore it shall be
done."—"I am rather inclined to think," said Marchdale, with a
slight tone of sarcasm, "that if my prudence did not approve of the plan,
it would still be done."
"Most
probably," said Varney, calmly.—"Will you release him to-night?"
"It
is morning, now, and soon the soft grey light of day will tint the east. I do
not think I will release him till sunset again now. Has he provision to last
him until then?"—"He has."
"Well,
then, two hours after sunset I will come here and release him from his weary
bondage, and now I must go to find some place in which to hide my proscribed
head. As for Bannerworth Hall, I will yet have it in my power; I have sworn to
do so, I will keep my oath."—"The accomplishment of our purpose, I
regret to say, seems as far off as ever."
"Not
so—not so. As I before remarked, we must disappear, for a time, so as to lull
suspicion. There will then arise a period when Bannerworth Hall will neither be
watched, as it is now, nor will it be inhabited,—a period before the
Bannerworth family has made up its mind to go back to it, and when long
watching without a result has become too tiresome to be continued at all; then
we can at once pursue our object."—"Be it so."
"And
now, Marchdale, I want more money."—"More money!"
"Yes;
you know well that I have had large demands of late."—"But I
certainly had an impression that you were possessed, by the death of some one,
with very ample means."
"Yes,
but there is a means by which all is taken from me. I have no real resources
but what are rapidly used up, so I must come upon you again."—"I have
already completely crippled myself as regards money matters in this enterprise,
and I do certainly hope that the fruits will not be far distant. If they be
much longer delayed, I shall really not know what to do. However, come to the
lodge where you have been staying, and then I will give you, to the extent of
my ability, whatever sum you think your present exigencies require."
"Come
on, then, at once. I would certainly, of course, rather leave this place now,
before daybreak. Come on, I say, come on."
Sir
Francis Varney and Marchdale walked for some time in silence across the
meadows. It was evident that there was not between these associates the very
best of feelings. Marchdale was always smarting under an assumption of
authority over him, on the part of Sir Francis Varney, while the latter
scarcely cared to conceal any portion of the contempt with which he regarded
his hypocritical companion.
Some
very strong band of union, indeed, must surely bind these two strange persons
together! It must be something of a more than common nature which induces
Marchdale not only to obey the behests of his mysterious companion, but to
supply him so readily with money as we perceive he promises to do.
And,
as regards Varney, the vampyre, he, too, must have some great object in view to
induce him to run such a world of risk, and take so much trouble as he was
doing with the Bannerworth family.