CHAPTER LXV.
VARNEY'S VISIT TO THE DUNGEON OF THE LONELY PRISONER IN THE RUINS.
Evident it was that Marchdale was not near so scrupulous as Sir FrancisVarney, in what he chose to do. He would, without hesitation, havesacrificed the life of that prisoner in the lonely dungeon, whom itwould be an insult to the understanding of our readers, not to presumethat they had, long ere this, established in their minds to be CharlesHolland.
His own safety seemed to be the paramount consideration with Marchdale,and it was evident that he cared for nothing in comparison with thatobject.
It says much, however, for Sir Francis Varney, that he did not give into such a blood-thirsty feeling, but rather chose to set the prisonerfree, and run all the chances of the danger to which he might exposehimself by such a course of conduct, than to insure safety,comparatively, by his destruction.
Sir Francis Varney is evidently a character of strangely mixed feelings.It is quite evident that he has some great object in view, which hewishes to accomplish almost at any risk; but it is equally evident, atthe same time, that he wishes to do so with the least possible injury toothers, or else he would never have behaved as he had done in hisinterview with the beautiful and persecuted Flora Bannerworth, or nowsuggested the idea of setting Charles Holland free from the drearydungeon in which he had been so long confined.
We are always anxious and willing to give every one credit for the goodthat is in them; and, hence, we are pleased to find that Sir FrancisVarney, despite his singular, and apparently preternatural capabilities,has something sufficiently human about his mind and feelings, to inducehim to do as little injury as possible to others in the pursuit of hisown objects.
Of the two, vampyre as he is, we prefer him much to the despicable andhypocritical, Marchdale, who, under the pretence of being the friend ofthe Bannerworth family, would freely have inflicted upon them the mostdeadly injuries.
It was quite clear that he was most dreadfully disappointed that SirFrancis Varney, would not permit him to take the life of CharlesHolland, and it was with a gloomy and dissatisfied air that he left theruins to proceed towards the town, after what we may almost term thealtercation he had had with Varney the vampyre upon that subject.
It must not be supposed that Sir Francis Varney, however, was blind tothe danger which must inevitably accrue from permitting Charles Hollandonce more to obtain his liberty.
What the latter would be able to state would be more than sufficient toconvince the Bannerworths, and all interested in their fortunes, thatsomething was going on of a character, which, however, supernatural itmight seem to be, still seemed to have some human and ordinary objectsfor its ends.
Sir Francis Varney thought over all this before he proceeded, accordingto his promise, to the dungeon of the prisoner; but it would seem as ifthere was considerable difficulty, even to an individual of his longpractice in all kinds of chicanery and deceit, in arriving at anysatisfactory conclusion, as to a means of making Charles Holland'srelease a matter of less danger to himself, than it would be likely tobe, if, unfettered by obligation, he was at once set free.
At the solemn hour of midnight, while all was still, that is, to say, onthe night succeeding the one, on which he had had the interview withMarchdale, we have recorded, Sir Francis Varney alone sought the silentruins. He was attired, as usual, in his huge cloak, and, indeed, thechilly air of the evening warranted such protection against its numerousdiscomforts.
Had any one seen him, however, that evening, they would have observed anair of great doubt, and irresolution upon his brow, as if he werestruggling with some impulses which he found it extremely difficult torestrain.
"I know well," he muttered, as he walked among the shadow of the ruins,"that Marchdale's reasoning is coldly and horribly correct, when he saysthat there is danger in setting this youth free; but, I am about toleave this place, and not to show myself for some time, and I cannotreconcile myself to inflicting upon him the horror of a death bystarvation, which must ensue."
It was a night of more than usual dullness, and, as Sir Francis Varneyremoved the massy stone, which hid the narrow and tortuous entrance tothe dungeons, a chilly feeling crept over him, and he could not helpsupposing, that even then Marchdale might have played him false, andneglected to supply the prisoner food, according to his promise.
Hastily he descended to the dungeons, and with a step, which had in itfar less of caution, than had usually characterised his proceedings, heproceeded onwards until he reached that particular dungeon, in which ouryoung friend, to whom we wished so well, had been so long confined fromthe beautiful and cheering light of day, and from all that his heart'sbest affections most cling to.
"Speak," said Sir Francis Varney, as he entered the dungeon--"If theoccupant of this dreary place live, let him answer one who is as muchhis friend as he has been his enemy."
"I have no friend," said Charles Holland, faintly; "unless it be one whowould come and restore me to liberty."
"And how know you that I am not he?"
"Your voice sounds like that of one of my persecutors. Why do you notplace the climax to your injuries by at once taking away life. I shouldbe better pleased that you would do so, than that I should wear out theuseless struggle of existence in so dreary and wretched an abode asthis."
"Young man," said Sir Francis Varney, "I have come to you on a greatererrand of mercy than, probably, you will ever give me credit for. Thereis one who would too readily have granted your present request, and whowould at once have taken that life of which you profess to be sowearied; but which may yet present to you some of its sunniest and mostbeautiful aspects."
"Your tones are friendly," said Charles; "but yet I dread some newdeception. That you are one of those who consigned me by stratagem, andby brute force, to this place of durance, I am perfectly well assured,and, therefore, any good that may be promised by you, presents itself tome in a very doubtful character."
"I cannot be surprised," said Sir Francis Varney, "at such sentimentsarising from your lips; but, nevertheless, I am inclined to save you.You have been detained here because it was supposed by being so, aparticular object would be best obtained by your absence. That object,however has failed, notwithstanding, and I do not feel further inclinedto protract your sufferings. Have you any guess as to the parties whohave thus confined you?"--"I am unaccustomed to dissemble, and,therefore I will say at once that I have a guess."
"In which way does it tend?"--
"Against Sir Francis Varney, called the vampyre."
"Does it not strike you that this may be a dangerous candour?"--"It may,or it may not be; I cannot help it. I know I am at the mercy of my foes,and I do not believe that anything I can say or do will make mysituation worse or better."
"You are much mistaken there. In other hands than mine, it might make itmuch worse; but it happens to be one of my weaknesses, that I am chargedwith candour, and that I admire boldness of disposition."--"Indeed! andyet can behave in the manner you have done towards me."
"Yes. There are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of inyour philosophy. I am the more encouraged to set you free, because, if Iprocure from you a promise, which I intend to attempt, I am inclined tobelieve that you will keep it."--"I shall assuredly keep whateverpromise I may make. Propound your conditions, and if they be such ashonour and honesty will permit me to accede to, I will do so willinglyand at once. Heaven knows I am weary enough of this miserableimprisonment."
"Will you promise me then, if I set you free, not to mention yoursuspicions that it is to Sir Francis Varney you owe this ill turn, andnot to attempt any act of vengeance against him as a retaliation forit."--"I cannot promise so much as that. Freedom, indeed, would be apoor boon, if I were not permitted freely to converse of some of thecircumstances connected with my captivity."
"You object?"--"I do to the former of your propositions, but not to thelatter. I will promise not to go at all out of my way to execute anyvengeance upon you; but I will not
promise that I will not communicatethe circumstances of my forced absence from them, to those friends whoseopinion I so much value, and to return to whom is almost as dear to meas liberty itself."
Sir Francis Varney was silent for a few moments, and then he said, in atone of deep solemnity,--
"There are ninety-nine persons out of a hundred who would take your lifefor the independence of your tongue; but I am as the hundredth one, wholooks with a benevolent eye at your proceedings. Will you promise me, ifI remove the fetters which now bind your limbs, that you will make nopersonal attack upon me; for I am weary of personal contention, and Ihave no disposition to endure it. Will you make me this promise?"--"Ipromise?"--"I will."
Without another word, but trusting implicitly to the promise which hadbeen given to him, Sir Francis Varney produced a small key from hispocket, and unlocked with it a padlock which confined the chains aboutthe prisoner.
With ease, Charles Holland was then enabled to shake them off, and then,for the first time, for some weeks, he rose to his feet, and felt allthe exquisite relief of being comparatively free from bondage.
"This is delightful, indeed," he said.
"It is," said Sir Francis Varney--"it is but a foretaste of thehappiness you will enjoy when you are entirely free. You see that I havetrusted you."
"You have trusted me as you might trust me, and you perceive that I havekept my word."
"You have; and since you decline to make me the promise which I wouldfain have from you, to the effect that you would not mention me as oneof the authors of your calamity, I must trust to your honour not toattempt revenge for what you have suffered."
"That I will promise. There can be but little difficulty to any generousmind in giving up such a feeling. In consequence of your sparing me whatyou might still further have inflicted, I will let the past rest, and asif it had never happened really to me; and speak of it to others, but asa circumstance which I wish not to revert to, but prefer should beburied in oblivion."
"It is well; and now I have a request to make of you, which, perhaps,you will consider the hardest of all."
"Name it. I feel myself bound to a considerable extent to comply withwhatever you may demand of me, that is not contrary to honourableprinciple."
"Then it is this, that, comparatively free as you are, and in acondition, as you are, to assert your own freedom, you will not do sohastily, or for a considerable period; in fact, I wish and expect thatyou should wait yet awhile, until it shall suit me to say that it is mypleasure that you shall be free."
"That is, indeed, a hard condition to man who feels, as you yourselfremark, that he can assert his freedom. It is one which I have still ahope you will not persevere in.
"Nay, young man, I think that I have treated you with generosity, tomake you feel that I am not the worst of foes you could have had. All Irequire of you is, that you should wait here for about an hour. It isnow nearly one o'clock; will you wait until you hear it strike twobefore you actually make a movement to leave this place?"
Charles Holland hesitated for some moments, and then he said,--
"Do not fancy that I am not one who appreciates the singular trust youhave reposed in me; and, however repugnant to me it may be to remainhere, a voluntary prisoner, I am inclined to do so, if it be but toconvince you that the trust you have reposed in me is not in vain, andthat I can behave with equal generosity to you as you can to me."
"Be it so," said Sir Francis Varney; "I shall leave you with a fullreliance that you will keep your word; and now, farewell. When you thinkof me, fancy me rather one unfortunate than criminal, and tell yourselfthat even Varney the vampyre had some traits in his character, which,although they might not raise your esteem, at all events did not loudlycall for your reprobation."
"I shall do so. Oh! Flora, Flora, I shall look upon you once again,after believing and thinking that I had bidden you a long and lastadieu. My own beautiful Flora, it is joy indeed to think that I shalllook upon that face again, which, to my perception, is full of all themajesty of loveliness."
Sir Francis Varney looked coldly on while Charles uttered thisenthusiastic speech.
"Remember," he said, "till two o'clock;" and he walked towards the doorof the dungeon. "You will have no difficulty in finding your way outfrom this place. Doubtless you already perceive the entrance by which Igained admission."
"Had I been free," said Charles, "and had the use of my limbs, I should,long ere this, have worked my way to life and liberty."
"'Tis well. Goodnight."
Varney walked from the place, and just closed the door behind him. Witha slow and stately step he left the ruins, and Charles Holland foundhimself once more alone, but in a much more enviable condition than formany weeks he could have called his.