CHAPTER XIV.
HENRY'S AGREEMENT WITH SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.--THE SUDDEN ARRIVAL AT THEHALL.--FLORA'S ALARM.
On the tray which the servant brought into the room, were refreshmentsof different kinds, including wine, and after waving his hand for thedomestic to retire, Sir Francis Varney said,--
"You will be better, Mr. Bannerworth, for a glass of wine after yourwalk, and you too, sir. I am ashamed to say, I have quite forgotten yourname."
"Marchdale."
"Mr. Marchdale. Ay, Marchdale. Pray, sir, help yourself."
"You take nothing yourself?" said Henry.
"I am under a strict regimen," replied Varney. "The simplest diet alonedoes for me, and I have accustomed myself to long abstinence."
"He will not eat or drink," muttered Henry, abstractedly.
"Will you sell me the Hall?" said Sir Francis Varney.
Henry looked in his face again, from which he had only momentarilywithdrawn his eyes, and he was then more struck than ever with theresemblance between him and the portrait on the panel of what had beenFlora's chamber. What made that resemblance, too, one about which therecould scarcely be two opinions, was the mark or cicatrix of a wound inthe forehead, which the painter had slightly indented in the portrait,but which was much more plainly visible on the forehead of Sir FrancisVarney. Now that Henry observed this distinctive mark, which he had notdone before, he could feel no doubt, and a sickening sensation came overhim at the thought that he was actually now in the presence of one ofthose terrible creatures, vampyres.
"You do not drink," said Varney. "Most young men are not so modest witha decanter of unimpeachable wine before them. I pray you help yourself."
"I cannot."
Henry rose as he spoke, and turning to Marchdale, he said, inaddition,--
"Will you come away?"
"If you please," said Marchdale, rising.
"But you have not, my dear sir," said Varney, "given me yet any answerabout the Hall?"
"I cannot yet," answered Henry, "I will think. My present impression is,to let you have it on whatever terms you may yourself propose, alwaysprovided you consent to one of mine."
"Name it."
"That you never show yourself in my family."
"How very unkind. I understand you have a charming sister, young,beautiful, and accomplished. Shall I confess, now, that I had hopes ofmaking myself agreeable to her?"
"You make yourself agreeable to her? The sight of you would blast herfor ever, and drive her to madness."
"Am I so hideous?"
"No, but--you are--"
"What am I?"
"Hush, Henry, hush," cried Marchdale. "Remember you are in thisgentleman's house."
"True, true. Why does he tempt me to say these dreadful things? I do notwant to say them."
"Come away, then--come away at once. Sir Francis Varney, my friend, Mr.Bannerworth, will think over your offer, and let you know. I think youmay consider that your wish to become the purchaser of the Hall will becomplied with."
"I wish to have it," said Varney, "and I can only say, that if I ammaster of it, I shall be very happy to see any of the family on a visitat any time."
"A visit!" said Henry, with a shudder. "A visit to the tomb were farmore desirable. Farewell, sir."
"Adieu," said Sir Francis Varney, and he made one of the most elegantbows in the world, while there came over his face a peculiarity ofexpression that was strange, if not painful, to contemplate. In anotherminute Henry and Marchdale were clear of the house, and with feelings ofbewilderment and horror, which beggar all description, poor Henryallowed himself to be led by the arm by Marchdale to some distance,without uttering a word. When he did speak, he said,--
"Marchdale, it would be charity of some one to kill me."
"To kill you!"
"Yes, for I am certain otherwise that I must go mad."
"Nay, nay; rouse yourself."
"This man, Varney, is a vampyre."
"Hush! hush!"
"I tell you, Marchdale," cried Henry, in a wild, excited manner, "he isa vampyre. He is the dreadful being who visited Flora at the still hourof midnight, and drained the life-blood from her veins. He is a vampyre.There are such things. I cannot doubt now. Oh, God, I wish now that yourlightnings would blast me, as here I stand, for over into annihilation,for I am going mad to be compelled to feel that such horrors can reallyhave existence."
"Henry--Henry."
"Nay, talk not to me. What can I do? Shall I kill him? Is it not asacred duty to destroy such a thing? Oh, horror--horror. He must bekilled--destroyed--burnt, and the very dust to which he is consumed mustbe scattered to the winds of Heaven. It would be a deed well done,Marchdale."
"Hush! hush! These words are dangerous."
"I care not."
"What if they were overheard now by unfriendly ears? What might not bethe uncomfortable results? I pray you be more cautious what you say ofthis strange man."
"I must destroy him."
"And wherefore?"
"Can you ask? Is he not a vampyre?"
"Yes; but reflect, Henry, for a moment upon the length to which youmight carry out so dangerous an argument. It is said that vampyres aremade by vampyres sucking the blood of those who, but for thatcircumstance, would have died and gone to decay in the tomb along withordinary mortals; but that being so attacked during life by a vampyre,they themselves, after death, become such."
"Well--well, what is that to me?"
"Have you forgotten Flora?"
A cry of despair came from poor Henry's lips, and in a moment he seemedcompletely, mentally and physically, prostrated.
"God of Heaven!" he moaned, "I had forgotten her!"
"I thought you had."
"Oh, if the sacrifice of my own life would suffice to put an end to allthis accumulating horror, how gladly would I lay it down. Ay, in anyway--in any way. No mode of death should appal me. No amount of painmake me shrink. I could smile then upon the destroyer, and say,'welcome--welcome--most welcome.'"
"Rather, Henry, seek to live for those whom you love than die for them.Your death would leave them desolate. In life you may ward off many ablow of fate from them."
"I may endeavour so to do."
"Consider that Flora may be wholly dependent upon such kindness as youmay be able to bestow upon her."
"Charles clings to her."
"Humph!"
"You do not doubt him?"
"My dear friend, Henry Bannerworth, although I am not an old man, yet Iam so much older than you that I have seen a great deal of the world,and am, perhaps, far better able to come to accurate judgments withregard to individuals."
"No doubt--no doubt; but yet--"
"Nay, hear me out. Such judgments, founded upon experience, when utteredhave all the character of prophecy about them. I, therefore, nowprophecy to you that Charles Holland will yet be so stung with horror atthe circumstance of a vampyre visiting Flora, that he will never makeher his wife."
"Marchdale, I differ from you most completely," said Henry. "I know thatCharles Holland is the very soul of honour."
"I cannot argue the matter with you. It has not become a thing of fact.I have only sincerely to hope that I am wrong."
"You are, you may depend, entirely wrong. I cannot be deceived inCharles. From you such words produce no effect but one of regret thatyou should so much err in your estimate of any one. From any one butyourself they would have produced in me a feeling of anger I might havefound it difficult to smother."
"It has often been my misfortune through life," said Mr. Marchdale,sadly, "to give the greatest offence where I feel the truest friendship,because it is in such quarters that I am always tempted to speak toofreely."
"Nay, no offence," said Henry. "I am distracted, and scarcely know whatI say. Marchdale, I know you are my sincere friend--but, as I tell you,I am nearly mad."
"My dear Henry, be calmer. Consider upon what is to be said concerningthis interview at home."
"Ay;
that is a consideration."
"I should not think it advisable to mention the disagreeable fact, thatin your neighbour you think you have found out the nocturnal disturberof your family."
"No--no."
"I would say nothing of it. It is not at all probable that, after whatyou have said to him this Sir Francis Varney, or whatever his real namemay be will obtrude himself upon you."
"If he should he die."
"He will, perhaps, consider that such a step would be dangerous to him."
"It would be fatal, so help me. However, and then would I take especialcare that no power of resuscitation should ever enable that man again towalk the earth."
"They say that only way of destroying a vampyre is to fix him to theearth with a stake, so that he cannot move, and then, of course,decomposition will take its course, as in ordinary cases."
"Fire would consume him, and be a quicker process," said Henry. "Butthese are fearful reflections, and, for the present, we will not pursuethem. Now to play the hypocrite, and endeavour to look composed andserene to my mother, and to Flora while my heart is breaking."
The two friends had by this time reached the hall, and leaving hisfriend Marchdale, Henry Bannerworth, with feelings of the mostunenviable description, slowly made his way to the apartment occupied byhis mother and sister.