CHAPTER III.
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BODY.--FLORA'S RECOVERY AND MADNESS.--THE OFFEROF ASSISTANCE FROM SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.
"He is human!" cried Henry; "I have surely killed him."
"It would seem so," said Mr. Marchdale. "Let us now hurry round to theoutside of the wall, and see where he lies."
This was at once agreed to, and the whole three of them made whatexpedition they could towards a gate which led into a paddock, acrosswhich they hurried, and soon found themselves clear of the garden wall,so that they could make way towards where they fully expected to findthe body of him who had worn so unearthly an aspect, but who it would bean excessive relief to find was human.
So hurried was the progress they made, that it was scarcely possible toexchange many words as they went; a kind of breathless anxiety was uponthem, and in the speed they disregarded every obstacle, which would, atany other time, have probably prevented them from taking the direct roadthey sought.
It was difficult on the outside of the wall to say exactly which was theprecise spot which it might be supposed the body had fallen on; but, byfollowing the wall in its entire length, surely they would come upon it.
They did so; but, to their surprise, they got from its commencement toits further extremity without finding any dead body, or even anysymptoms of one having lain there.
At some parts close to the wall there grew a kind of heath, and,consequently, the traces of blood would be lost among it, if it sohappened that at the precise spot at which the strange being had seemedto topple over, such vegetation had existed. This was to be ascertained;but now, after traversing the whole length of the wall twice, they cameto a halt, and looked wonderingly in each other's faces.
"There is nothing here," said Harry.
"Nothing," added his brother.
"It could not have been a delusion," at length said Mr. Marchdale, witha shudder.
"A delusion?" exclaimed the brother! "That is not possible; we all sawit."
"Then what terrible explanation can we give?"
"By heavens! I know not," exclaimed Henry. "This adventure surpasses allbelief, and but for the great interest we have in it, I should regard itwith a world of curiosity."
"It is too dreadful," said George; "for God's sake, Henry, let us returnto ascertain if poor Flora is killed."
"My senses," said Henry, "were all so much absorbed in gazing at thathorrible form, that I never once looked towards her further than to seethat she was, to appearance, dead. God help her! poor--poor, beautifulFlora. This is, indeed, a sad, sad fate for you to come to.Flora--Flora--"
"Do not weep, Henry," said George. "Rather let us now hasten home, wherewe may find that tears are premature. She may yet be living and restoredto us."
"And," said Mr. Marchdale, "she may be able to give us some account ofthis dreadful visitation."
"True--true," exclaimed Henry; "we will hasten home."
They now turned their steps homeward, and as they went they much blamedthemselves for all leaving home together, and with terror pictured whatmight occur in their absence to those who were now totally unprotected.
"It was a rash impulse of us all to come in pursuit of this dreadfulfigure," remarked Mr. Marchdale; "but do not torment yourself, Henry.There may be no reason for your fears."
At the pace they went, they very soon reached the ancient house, andwhen they came in sight of it, they saw lights flashing from thewindows, and the shadows of faces moving to and fro, indicating that thewhole household was up, and in a state of alarm.
Henry, after some trouble, got the hall door opened by a terrifiedservant, who was trembling so much that she could scarcely hold thelight she had with her.
"Speak at once, Martha," said Henry. "Is Flora living?"
"Yes; but--"
"Enough--enough! Thank God she lives; where is she now?"
"In her own room, Master Henry. Oh, dear--oh, dear, what will become ofus all?"
Henry rushed up the staircase, followed by George and Mr. Marchdale, norpaused he once until he reached the room of his sister.
"Mother," he said, before he crossed the threshold, "are you here?"
"I am, my dear--I am. Come in, pray come in, and speak to poor Flora."
"Come in, Mr. Marchdale," said Henry--"come in; we make no stranger ofyou."
They all then entered the room.
Several lights had been now brought into that antique chamber, and, inaddition to the mother of the beautiful girl who had been so fearfullyvisited, there were two female domestics, who appeared to be in thegreatest possible fright, for they could render no assistance whateverto anybody.
The tears were streaming down the mother's face, and the moment she sawMr. Marchdale, she clung to his arm, evidently unconscious of what shewas about, and exclaimed,--
"Oh, what is this that has happened--what is this? Tell me, Marchdale!Robert Marchdale, you whom I have known even from my childhood, you willnot deceive me. Tell me the meaning of all this?"
"I cannot," he said, in a tone of much emotion. "As God is my judge, Iam as much puzzled and amazed at the scene that has taken place hereto-night as you can be."
The mother wrung her hands and wept.
"It was the storm that first awakened me," added Marchdale; "and then Iheard a scream."
The brothers tremblingly approached the bed. Flora was placed in asitting, half-reclining posture, propped up by pillows. She was quiteinsensible, and her face was fearfully pale; while that she breathed atall could be but very faintly seen. On some of her clothing, about theneck, were spots of blood, and she looked more like one who had sufferedsome long and grievous illness, than a young girl in the prime of lifeand in the most robust health, as she had been on the day previous tothe strange scene we have recorded.
"Does she sleep?" said Henry, as a tear fell from his eyes upon herpallid cheek.
"No," replied Mr. Marchdale. "This is a swoon, from which we mustrecover her."
Active measures were now adopted to restore the languid circulation,and, after persevering in them for some time, they had the satisfactionof seeing her open her eyes.
Her first act upon consciousness returning, however, was to utter a loudshriek, and it was not until Henry implored her to look around her, andsee that she was surrounded by none but friendly faces, that she wouldventure again to open her eyes, and look timidly from one to the other.Then she shuddered, and burst into tears as she said,--
"Oh, Heaven, have mercy upon me--Heaven, have mercy upon me, and save mefrom that dreadful form."
"There is no one here, Flora," said Mr. Marchdale, "but those who loveyou, and who, in defence of you, if needs were would lay down theirlives."
"Oh, God! Oh, God!"
"You have been terrified. But tell us distinctly what has happened? Youare quite safe now."
She trembled so violently that Mr. Marchdale recommended that somestimulant should be given to her, and she was persuaded, although notwithout considerable difficulty, to swallow a small portion of some winefrom a cup. There could be no doubt but that the stimulating effect ofthe wine was beneficial, for a slight accession of colour visited hercheeks, and she spoke in a firmer tone as she said,--
"Do not leave me. Oh, do not leave me, any of you. I shall die if leftalone now. Oh, save me--save me. That horrible form! That fearful face!"
"Tell us how it happened, dear Flora?" said Henry.
"Or would you rather endeavour to get some sleep first?" suggested Mr.Marchdale.
"No--no--no," she said, "I do not think I shall ever sleep again."
"Say not so; you will be more composed in a few hours, and then you cantell us what has occurred."
"I will tell you now. I will tell you now."
She placed her hands over her face for a moment, as if to collect herscattered, thoughts, and then she added,--
"I was awakened by the storm, and I saw that terrible apparition at thewindow. I think I screamed, but I could not fly. Oh, God! I could notfly. It
came--it seized me by the hair. I know no more. I know no more."
She passed her hand across her neck several times, and Mr. Marchdalesaid, in an anxious voice,--
"You seem, Flora, to have hurt your neck--there is a wound."
"A wound!" said the mother, and she brought a light close to the bed,where all saw on the side of Flora's neck a small punctured wound; or,rather two, for there was one a little distance from the other.
It was from these wounds the blood had come which was observable uponher night clothing.
"How came these wounds?" said Henry.
"I do not know," she replied. "I feel very faint and weak, as if I hadalmost bled to death."
"You cannot have done so, dear Flora, for there are not abovehalf-a-dozen spots of blood to be seen at all."
Mr. Marchdale leaned against the carved head of the bed for support, andhe uttered a deep groan. All eyes were turned upon him, and Henry said,in a voice of the most anxious inquiry,--
"You have something to say, Mr. Marchdale, which will throw some lightupon this affair."
"No, no, no, nothing!" cried Mr. Marchdale, rousing himself at once fromthe appearance of depression that had come over him. "I have nothing tosay, but that I think Flora had better get some sleep if she can."
"No sleep-no sleep for me," again screamed Flora. "Dare I be alone tosleep?"
"But you shall not be alone, dear Flora," said Henry. "I will sit byyour bedside and watch you."
She took his hand in both hers, and while the tears chased each otherdown her cheeks, she said,--
"Promise me, Henry, by all your hopes of Heaven, you will not leave me."
"I promise!"
She gently laid herself down, with a deep sigh, and closed her eyes.
"She is weak, and will sleep long," said Mr. Marchdale.
"You sigh," said Henry. "Some fearful thoughts, I feel certain, oppressyour heart."
"Hush-hush!" said Mr. Marchdale, as he pointed to Flora. "Hush! nothere--not here."
"I understand," said Henry.
"Let her sleep."
There was a silence of some few minutes duration. Flora had dropped intoa deep slumber. That silence was first broken by George, who said,--
"Mr. Marchdale, look at that portrait."
He pointed to the portrait in the frame to which we have alluded, andthe moment Marchdale looked at it he sunk into a chair as heexclaimed,--
"Gracious Heaven, how like!"
"It is--it is," said Henry. "Those eyes--"
"And see the contour of the countenance, and the strange shape of themouth."
"Exact--exact."
"That picture shall be moved from here. The sight of it is at oncesufficient to awaken all her former terrors in poor Flora's brain if sheshould chance to awaken and cast her eyes suddenly upon it."
"And is it so like him who came here?" said the mother.
"It is the very man himself," said Mr. Marchdale. "I have not been inthis house long enough to ask any of you whose portrait that may be?"
"It is," said Henry, "the portrait of Sir Runnagate Bannerworth, anancestor of ours, who first, by his vices, gave the great blow to thefamily prosperity."
"Indeed. How long ago?"
"About ninety years."
"Ninety years. 'Tis a long while--ninety years."
"You muse upon it."
"No, no. I do wish, and yet I dread--"
"What?"
"To say something to you all. But not here--not here. We will hold aconsultation on this matter to-morrow. Not now--not now."
"The daylight is coming quickly on," said Henry; "I shall keep my sacredpromise of not moving from this room until Flora awakens; but there canbe no occasion for the detention of any of you. One is sufficient here.Go all of you, and endeavour to procure what rest you can."
"I will fetch you my powder-flask and bullets," said Mr. Marchdale; "andyou can, if you please, reload the pistols. In about two hours more itwill be broad daylight."
This arrangement was adopted. Henry did reload the pistols, and placedthem on a table by the side of the bed, ready for immediate action, andthen, as Flora was sleeping soundly, all left the room but himself.
Mrs. Bannerworth was the last to do so. She would have remained, but forthe earnest solicitation of Henry, that she would endeavour to get somesleep to make up for her broken night's repose, and she was indeed sobroken down by her alarm on Flora's account, that she had not power toresist, but with tears flowing from her eyes, she sought her ownchamber.
And now the calmness of the night resumed its sway in that evil-fatedmansion; and although no one really slept but Flora, all were still.Busy thought kept every one else wakeful. It was a mockery to lie downat all, and Henry, full of strange and painful feelings as he was,preferred his present position to the anxiety and apprehension onFlora's account which he knew he should feel if she were not within thesphere of his own observation, and she slept as soundly as some gentleinfant tired of its playmates and its sports.
Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood Page 5