CHAPTER IV.
THE MORNING.--THE CONSULTATION.--THE FEARFUL SUGGESTION.
What wonderfully different impressions and feelings, with regard to thesame circumstances, come across the mind in the broad, clear, andbeautiful light of day to what haunt the imagination, and often renderthe judgment almost incapable of action, when the heavy shadow of nightis upon all things.
There must be a downright physical reason for this effect--it is soremarkable and so universal. It seems that the sun's rays so completelyalter and modify the constitution of the atmosphere, that it produces,as we inhale it, a wonderfully different effect upon the nerves of thehuman subject.
We can account for this phenomenon in no other way. Perhaps never in hislife had he, Henry Bannerworth, felt so strongly this transition offeeling as he now felt it, when the beautiful daylight gradually dawnedupon him, as he kept his lonely watch by the bedside of his slumberingsister.
That watch had been a perfectly undisturbed one. Not the least sight orsound of any intrusion had reached his senses. All had been as still asthe very grave.
And yet while the night lasted, and he was more indebted to the rays ofthe candle, which he had placed upon a shelf, for the power todistinguish objects than to the light of the morning, a thousand uneasyand strange sensations had found a home in his agitated bosom.
He looked so many times at the portrait which was in the panel that atlength he felt an undefined sensation of terror creep over him wheneverhe took his eyes off it.
He tried to keep himself from looking at it, but he found it vain, so headopted what, perhaps, was certainly the wisest, best plan, namely, tolook at it continually.
He shifted his chair so that he could gaze upon it without any effort,and he placed the candle so that a faint light was thrown upon it, andthere he sat, a prey to many conflicting and uncomfortable feelings,until the daylight began to make the candle flame look dull and sickly.
Solution for the events of the night he could find none. He racked hisimagination in vain to find some means, however vague, of endeavouringto account for what occurred, and still he was at fault. All was to himwrapped in the gloom of the most profound mystery.
And how strangely, too, the eyes of that portrait appeared to look uponhim--as if instinct with life, and as if the head to which they belongedwas busy in endeavouring to find out the secret communings of his soul.It was wonderfully well executed that portrait; so life-like, that thevery features seemed to move as you gazed upon them.
"It shall be removed," said Henry. "I would remove it now, but that itseems absolutely painted on the panel, and I should awake Flora in anyattempt to do so."
He arose and ascertained that such was the case, and that it wouldrequire a workman, with proper tools adapted to the job, to remove theportrait.
"True," he said, "I might now destroy it, but it is a pity to obscure awork of such rare art as this is; I should blame myself if I were. Itshall be removed to some other room of the house, however."
Then, all of a sudden, it struck Henry how foolish it would be to removethe portrait from the wall of a room which, in all likelihood, afterthat night, would be uninhabited; for it was not probable that Florawould choose again to inhabit a chamber in which she had gone through somuch terror.
"It can be left where it is," he said, "and we can fasten up, if weplease, even the very door of this room, so that no one need troublethemselves any further about it."
The morning was now coming fast, and just as Henry thought he wouldpartially draw a blind across the window, in order to shield from thedirect rays of the sun the eyes of Flora, she awoke.
"Help--help!" she cried, and Henry was by her side in a moment.
"You are safe, Flora--you are safe," he said.
"Where is it now?" she said.
"What--what, dear Flora?"
"The dreadful apparition. Oh, what have I done to be made thusperpetually miserable?"
"Think no more of it, Flora."
"I must think. My brain is on fire! A million of strange eyes seemgazing on me."
"Great Heaven! she raves," said Henry.
"Hark--hark--hark! He comes on the wings of the storm. Oh, it is mosthorrible--horrible!"
Henry rang the bell, but not sufficiently loudly to create any alarm.The sound reached the waking ear of the mother, who in a few moments wasin the room.
"She has awakened," said Henry, "and has spoken, but she seems to me towander in her discourse. For God's sake, soothe her, and try to bringher mind round to its usual state."
"I will, Henry--I will."
"And I think, mother, if you were to get her out of this room, and intosome other chamber as far removed from this one as possible, it wouldtend to withdraw her mind from what has occurred."
"Yes; it shall be done. Oh, Henry, what was it--what do you think itwas?"
"I am lost in a sea of wild conjecture. I can form no conclusion; whereis Mr. Marchdale?"
"I believe in his chamber."
"Then I will go and consult with him."
Henry proceeded at once to the chamber, which was, as he knew, occupiedby Mr. Marchdale; and as he crossed the corridor, he could not but pausea moment to glance from a window at the face of nature.
As is often the case, the terrific storm of the preceding evening hadcleared the air, and rendered it deliciously invigorating and life-like.The weather had been dull, and there had been for some days a certainheaviness in the atmosphere, which was now entirely removed.
The morning sun was shining with uncommon brilliancy, birds were singingin every tree and on every bush; so pleasant, so spirit-stirring,health-giving a morning, seldom had he seen. And the effect upon hisspirits was great, although not altogether what it might have been, hadall gone on as it usually was in the habit of doing at that house. Theordinary little casualties of evil fortune had certainly from time totime, in the shape of illness, and one thing or another, attacked thefamily of the Bannerworths in common with every other family, but heresuddenly had arisen a something at once terrible and inexplicable.
He found Mr. Marchdale up and dressed, and apparently in deep andanxious thought. The moment he saw Henry, he said,--
"Flora is awake, I presume."
"Yes, but her mind appears to be much disturbed."
"From bodily weakness, I dare say."
"But why should she be bodily weak? she was strong and well, ay, as wellas she could ever be in all her life. The glow of youth and health wason her cheeks. Is it possible that, in the course of one night, sheshould become bodily weak to such an extent?"
"Henry," said Mr. Marchdale, sadly, "sit down. I am not, as you know, asuperstitious man."
"You certainly are not."
"And yet, I never in all my life was so absolutely staggered as I havebeen by the occurrences of to-night."
"Say on."
"There is a frightful, a hideous solution of them; one which everyconsideration will tend to add strength to, one which I tremble to namenow, although, yesterday, at this hour, I should have laughed it toscorn."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, it is so. Tell no one that which I am about to say to you. Let thedreadful suggestion remain with ourselves alone, Henry Bannerworth."
"I--I am lost in wonder."
"You promise me?"
"What--what?"
"That you will not repeat my opinion to any one."
"I do."
"On your honour."
"On my honour, I promise."
Mr. Marchdale rose, and proceeding to the door, he looked out to seethat there were no listeners near. Having ascertained then that theywere quite alone, he returned, and drawing a chair close to that onwhich Henry sat, he said,--
"Henry, have you never heard of a strange and dreadful superstitionwhich, in some countries, is extremely rife, by which it is supposedthat there are beings who never die."
"Never die!"
"Never. In a word, Henry, have you never heard of--of--I dread topronounce the
word."
"Speak it. God of Heaven! let me hear it."
"A _vampyre_!"
Henry sprung to his feet. His whole frame quivered with emotion; thedrops of perspiration stood upon his brow, as, in, a strange, hoarsevoice, he repeated the words,--
"A vampyre!"
"Even so; one who has to renew a dreadful existence by human blood--onewho lives on for ever, and must keep up such a fearful existence uponhuman gore--one who eats not and drinks not as other men--a vampyre."
Henry dropped into his scat, and uttered a deep groan of the mostexquisite anguish.
"I could echo that groan," said Marchdale, "but that I am so thoroughlybewildered I know not what to think."
"Good God--good God!"
"Do not too readily yield belief in so dreadful a supposition, I prayyou."
"Yield belief!" exclaimed Henry, as he rose, and lifted up one of hishands above his head. "No; by Heaven, and the great God of all, whothere rules, I will not easily believe aught so awful and so monstrous."
"I applaud your sentiment, Henry; not willingly would I deliver upmyself to so frightful a belief--it is too horrible. I merely have toldyou of that which you saw was on my mind. You have surely before heardof such things."
"I have--I have."
"I much marvel, then, that the supposition did not occur to you, Henry."
"It did not--it did not, Marchdale. It--it was too dreadful, I suppose,to find a home in my heart. Oh! Flora, Flora, if this horrible ideashould once occur to you, reason cannot, I am quite sure, uphold youagainst it."
"Let no one presume to insinuate it to her, Henry. I would not have itmentioned to her for worlds."
"Nor I--nor I. Good God! I shudder at the very thought--the merepossibility; but there is no possibility, there can be none. I will notbelieve it."
"Nor I."
"No; by Heaven's justice, goodness, grace, and mercy, I will not believeit."
"Tis well sworn, Henry; and now, discarding the supposition that Florahas been visited by a vampyre, let us seriously set about endeavouring,if we can, to account for what has happened in this house."
"I--I cannot now."
"Nay, let us examine the matter; if we can find any natural explanation,let us cling to it, Henry, as the sheet-anchor of our very souls."
"Do you think. You are fertile in expedients. Do you think, Marchdale;and, for Heaven's sake, and for the sake of our own peace, find out someother way of accounting for what has happened, than the hideous one youhave suggested."
"And yet my pistol bullets hurt him not; he has left the tokens of hispresence on the neck of Flora."
"Peace, oh! peace. Do not, I pray you, accumulate reasons why I shouldreceive such a dismal, awful superstition. Oh, do not, Marchdale, as youlove me!"
"You know that my attachment to you," said Marchdale, "is sincere; andyet, Heaven help us!"
His voice was broken by grief as he spoke, and he turned aside his headto hide the bursting tears that would, despite all his efforts, showthemselves in his eyes.
"Marchdale," added Henry, after a pause of some moments' duration, "Iwill sit up to-night with my sister."
"Do--do!"
"Think you there is a chance it may come again?"
"I cannot--I dare not speculate upon the coming of so dreadful avisitor, Henry; but I will hold watch with you most willingly."
"You will, Marchdale?"
"My hand upon it. Come what dangers may, I will share them with you,Henry."
"A thousand thanks. Say nothing, then, to George of what we have beentalking about. He is of a highly susceptible nature, and the very ideaof such a thing would kill him."
"I will; be mute. Remove your sister to some other chamber, let me begof you, Henry; the one she now inhabits will always be suggestive ofhorrible thoughts."
"I will; and that dreadful-looking portrait, with its perfect likenessto him who came last night."
"Perfect indeed. Do you intend to remove it?"
"I do not. I thought of doing so; but it is actually on the panel in thewall, and I would not willingly destroy it, and it may as well remainwhere it is in that chamber, which I can readily now believe will becomehenceforward a deserted one in this house."
"It may well become such."
"Who comes here? I hear a step."
There was a tip at the door at this moment, and George made hisappearance in answer to the summons to come in. He looked pale and ill;his face betrayed how much he had mentally suffered during that night,and almost directly he got into the bed-chamber he said,--
"I shall, I am sure, be censured by you both for what I am going to say;but I cannot help saying it, nevertheless, for to keep it to myselfwould destroy me."
"Good God, George! what is it?" said Mr. Marchdale.
"Speak it out!" said Henry.
"I have been thinking of what has occurred here, and the result of thatthought has been one of the wildest suppositions that ever I thought Ishould have to entertain. Have you never heard of a vampyre?"
Henry sighed deeply, and Marchdale was silent.
"I say a vampyre," added George, with much excitement in his manner. "Itis a fearful, a horrible supposition; but our poor, dear Flora has beenvisited by a vampyre, and I shall go completely mad!"
He sat down, and covering his face with his hands, he wept bitterly andabundantly.
"George," said Henry, when he saw that the frantic grief had in somemeasure abated--"be calm, George, and endeavour to listen to me."
"I hear, Henry."
"Well, then, do not suppose that you are the only one in this house towhom so dreadful a superstition has occurred."
"Not the only one?"
"No; it has occurred to Mr. Marchdale also."
"Gracious Heaven!"
"He mentioned it to me; but we have both agreed to repudiate it withhorror."
"To--repudiate--it?"
"Yes, George."
"And yet--and yet--"
"Hush, hush! I know what you would say. You would tell us that ourrepudiation of it cannot affect the fact. Of that we are aware; but yetwill we disbelieve that which a belief in would be enough to drive usmad."
"What do you intend to do?"
"To keep this supposition to ourselves, in the first place; to guard itmost zealously from the ears of Flora."
"Do you think she has ever heard of vampyres?"
"I never heard her mention that in all her reading she had gathered evena hint of such a fearful superstition. If she has, we must be guided bycircumstances, and do the best we can."
"Pray Heaven she may not!"
"Amen to that prayer, George," said Henry. "Mr. Marchdale and I intendto keep watch over Flora to-night."
"May not I join you?"
"Your health, dear George, will not permit you to engage in suchmatters. Do you seek your natural repose, and leave it to us to do thebest we can in this most fearful and terrible emergency."
"As you please, brother, and as you please, Mr. Marchdale. I know I am afrail reed, and my belief is that this affair will kill me quite. Thetruth is, I am horrified--utterly and frightfully horrified. Like mypoor, dear sister, I do not believe I shall ever sleep again."
"Do not fancy that, George," said Marchdale. "You very much add to theuneasiness which must be your poor mother's portion, by allowing thiscircumstance to so much affect you. You well know her affection for youall, and let me therefore, as a very old friend of hers, entreat you towear as cheerful an aspect as you can in her presence."
"For once in my life," said George, sadly, "I will; to my dear mother,endeavour to play the hypocrite."
"Do so," said Henry. "The motive will sanction any such deceit as that,George, be assured."
The day wore on, and Poor Flora remained in a very precarious situation.It was not until mid-day that Henry made up his mind he would call in amedical gentleman to her, and then he rode to the neighbouringmarket-town, where he knew an extremely intelligent practitionerresided. This gentleman He
nry resolved upon, under a promise of secrecy,makings confidant of; but, long before he reached him, he found he mightwell dispense with the promise of secrecy.
He had never thought, so engaged had he been with other matters, thatthe servants were cognizant of the whole affair, and that from them hehad no expectation of being able to keep the whole story in all itsdetails. Of course such an opportunity for tale-bearing and gossipingwas not likely to be lost; and while Henry was thinking over how he hadbetter act in the matter, the news that Flora Bannerworth had beenvisited in the night by a vampyre--for the servants named the visitationsuch at once--was spreading all over the county.
As he rode along, Henry met a gentleman on horseback who belonged to thecounty, and who, reining in his steed, said to him,
"Good morning, Mr. Bannerworth."
"Good morning," responded Henry, and he would have ridden on, but thegentleman added,--
"Excuse me for interrupting you, sir; but what is the strange story thatis in everybody's mouth about a vampyre?"
Henry nearly fell off his horse, he was so much astonished, and,wheeling the animal around, he said,--
"In everybody's mouth!"
"Yes; I have heard it from at least a dozen persons."
"You surprise me."
"It is untrue? Of course I am not so absurd as really to believe aboutthe vampyre; but is there no foundation at all for it? We generally findthat at the bottom of these common reports there is a something aroundwhich, as a nucleus, the whole has formed."
"My sister is unwell."
"Ah, and that's all. It really is too bad, now."
"We had a visitor last night."
"A thief, I suppose?"
"Yes, yes--I believe a thief. I do believe it was a thief, and she wasterrified."
"Of course, and upon such a thing is grafted a story of a vampyre, andthe marks of his teeth being in her neck, and all the circumstantialparticulars."
"Yes, yes."
"Good morning, Mr. Bannerworth."
Henry bade the gentleman good morning, and much vexed at the publicitywhich the affair had already obtained, he set spurs to his horse,determined that he would speak to no one else upon so uncomfortable atheme. Several attempts were made to stop him, but he only waved hishand and trotted on, nor did he pause in his speed till he reached thedoor of Mr. Chillingworth, the medical man whom he intended to consult.
Henry knew that at such a time he would be at home, which was the case,and he was soon closeted with the man of drugs. Henry begged his patienthearing, which being accorded, he related to him at full length what hadhappened, not omitting, to the best of his remembrance, any oneparticular. When he had concluded his narration, the doctor shifted hisposition several times, and then said,--
"That's all?"
"Yes--and enough too."
"More than enough, I should say, my young friend. You astonish me."
"Can you form any supposition, sir, on the subject?"
"Not just now. What is your own idea?"
"I cannot be said to have one about it. It is too absurd to tell youthat my brother George is impressed with a belief a vampyre has visitedthe house."
"I never in all my life heard a more circumstantial narrative in favourof so hideous a superstition."
"Well, but you cannot believe--"
"Believe what?"
"That the dead can come to life again, and by such a process keep upvitality."
"Do you take me for a fool?"
"Certainly not."
"Then why do you ask me such questions?"
"But the glaring facts of the case."
"I don't care if they were ten times more glaring, I won't believe it. Iwould rather believe you were all mad, the whole family of you--that atthe full of the moon you all were a little cracked."
"And so would I."
"You go home now, and I will call and see your sister in the course oftwo hours. Something may turn up yet, to throw some new light upon thisstrange subject."
With this understanding Henry went home, and he took care to ride asfast as before, in order to avoid questions, so that he got back to hisold ancestral home without going through the disagreeable ordeal ofhaving to explain to any one what had disturbed the peace of it.
When Henry reached his home, he found that the evening was rapidlycoming on, and before he could permit himself to think upon any othersubject, he inquired how his terrified sister had passed the hoursduring his absence.
He found that but little improvement had taken place in her, and thatshe had occasionally slept, but to awaken and speak incoherently, as ifthe shock she had received had had some serious affect upon her nerves.He repaired at once to her room, and, finding that she was awake, heleaned over her, and spoke tenderly to her.
"Flora," he said, "dear Flora, you are better now?"
"Harry, is that you?"
"Yes, dear."
"Oh, tell me what has happened?"
"Have you not a recollection, Flora?"
"Yes, yes, Henry; but what was it? They none of them will tell me whatit was, Henry."
"Be calm, dear. No doubt some attempt to rob the house."
"Think you so?"
"Yes; the bay window was peculiarly adapted for such a purpose; but nowthat you are removed here to this room, you will be able to rest inpeace."
"I shall die of terror, Henry. Even now those eyes are glaring on me sohidiously. Oh, it is fearful--it is very fearful, Henry. Do you not pityme, and no one will promise to remain with me at night."
"Indeed, Flora, you are mistaken, for I intend to sit by your bedsidearmed, and so preserve you from all harm."
She clutched his hand eagerly, as she said,--
"You will, Henry. You will, and not think it too much trouble, dearHenry."
"It can be no trouble, Flora."
"Then I shall rest in peace, for I know that the dreadful vampyre cannotcome to me when you are by-"
"The what, Flora!"
"The vampyre, Henry. It was a vampyre."
"Good God, who told you so?"
"No one. I have read of them in the book of travels in Norway, which Mr.Marchdale lent us all."
"Alas, alas!" groaned Henry. "Discard, I pray you, such a thought fromyour mind."
"Can we discard thoughts. What power have we but from that mind, whichis ourselves?"
"True, true."
"Hark, what noise is that? I thought I heard a noise. Henry, when yougo, ring for some one first. Was there not a noise?"
"The accidental shutting of some door, dear."
"Was it that?"
"It was."
"Then I am relieved. Henry, I sometimes fancy I am in the tomb, and thatsome one is feasting on my flesh. They do say, too, that those who inlife have been bled by a vampyre, become themselves vampyres, and havethe same horrible taste for blood as those before them. Is it nothorrible?"
"You only vex yourself by such thoughts, Flora. Mr. Chillingworth iscoming to see you."
"Can he minister to a mind diseased?"
"But yours is not, Flora. Your mind is healthful, and so, although hispower extends not so far, we will thank Heaven, dear Flora, that youneed it not."
She sighed deeply, as she said,--
"Heaven help me! I know not, Henry. The dreadful being held on by myhair. I must have it all taken off. I tried to get away, but it draggedme back--a brutal thing it was. Oh, then at that moment, Henry, I feltas if something strange took place in my brain, and that I was goingmad! I saw those glazed eyes close to, mine--I felt a hot, pestiferousbreath upon my face--help--help!"
"Hush! my Flora, hush! Look at me."
"I am calm again. It fixed its teeth in my throat. Did I faint away?"
"You did, dear; but let me pray you to refer all this to imagination; orat least the greater part of it."
"But you saw it."
"Yes--"
"All saw it."
"We all saw some man--a housebreaker--It must have been somehousebreaker.
What more easy, you know, dear Flora, than to assume somesuch disguise?"
"Was anything stolen?"
"Not that I know of; but there was an alarm, you know."
Flora shook her head, as she said, in a low voice,--
"That which came here was more than mortal. Oh, Henry, if it had butkilled me, now I had been happy; but I cannot live--I hear it breathingnow."
"Talk of something else, dear Flora," said the much distressed Henry;"you will make yourself much worse, if you indulge yourself in thesestrange fancies."
"Oh, that they were but fancies!"
"They are, believe me."
"There is a strange confusion in my brain, and sleep comes over mesuddenly, when I least expect it. Henry, Henry, what I was, I shallnever, never be again."
"Say not so. All this will pass away like a dream, and leave so faint atrace upon your memory, that the time will come when you will wonder itever made so deep an impression on your mind."
"You utter these words, Henry," she said, "but they do not come fromyour heart. Ah, no, no, no! Who comes?"
The door was opened by Mrs. Bannerworth, who said,--
"It is only me, my dear. Henry, here is Dr. Chillingworth in thedining-room."
Henry turned to Flora, saying,--
"You will see him, dear Flora? You know Mr. Chillingworth well."
"Yes, Henry, yes, I will see him, or whoever you please."
"Shew Mr. Chillingworth up," said Henry to the servant.
In a few moments the medical man was in the room, and he at onceapproached the bedside to speak to Flora, upon whose pale countenance helooked with evident interest, while at the same time it seemed mingledwith a painful feeling--at least so his own face indicated.
"Well, Miss Bannerworth," he said, "what is all this I hear about anugly dream you have had?"
"A dream?" said Flora, as she fixed her beautiful eyes on his face.
"Yes, as I understand."
She shuddered, and was silent.
"Was it not a dream, then?" added Mr. Chillingworth.
She wrung her hands, and in a voice of extreme anguish and pathos,said,--
"Would it were a dream--would it were a dream! Oh, if any one could butconvince me it was a dream!"
"Well, will you tell me what it was?"
"Yes, sir, it was a vampyre."
Mr. Chillingworth glanced at Henry, as he said, in reply to Flora'swords,--
"I suppose that is, after all, another name, Flora, for the nightmare?"
"No--no--no!"
"Do you really, then, persist in believing anything so absurd, MissBannerworth?"
"What can I say to the evidence of my own senses?" she replied. "I sawit, Henry saw it, George saw, Mr. Marchdale, my mother--all saw it. Wecould not all be at the same time the victims of the same delusion."
"How faintly you speak."
"I am very faint and ill."
"Indeed. What wound is that on your neck?"
A wild expression came over the face of Flora; a spasmodic action of themuscles, accompanied with a shuddering, as if a sudden chill had comeover the whole mass of blood took place, and she said,--
"It is the mark left by the teeth of the vampyre."
The smile was a forced one upon the face of Mr. Chillingworth.
"Draw up the blind of the window, Mr. Henry," he said, "and let meexamine this puncture to which your sister attaches so extraordinary ameaning."
The blind was drawn up, and a strong light was thrown into the room. Forfull two minutes Mr. Chillingworth attentively examined the two smallwounds in the neck of Flora. He took a powerful magnifying glass fromhis pocket, and looked at them through it, and after his examination wasconcluded, he said,--
"They are very trifling wounds, indeed."
"But how inflicted?" said Henry.
"By some insect, I should say, which probably--it being the season formany insects--has flown in at the window."
"I know the motive," said Flora "which prompts all these suggestions itis a kind one, and I ought to be the last to quarrel with it; but what Ihave seen, nothing can make me believe I saw not, unless I am, as onceor twice I have thought myself, really mad."
"How do you now feel in general health?"
"Far from well; and a strange drowsiness at times creeps over me. Evennow I feel it."
She sunk back on the pillows as she spoke and closed her eyes with adeep sigh.
Mr. Chillingworth beckoned Henry to come with him from the room, but thelatter had promised that he would remain with Flora; and as Mrs.Bannerworth had left the chamber because she was unable to control herfeelings, he rang the bell, and requested that his mother would come.
She did so, and then Henry went down stairs along with the medical man,whose opinion he was certainly eager to be now made acquainted with.
As soon as they were alone in an old-fashioned room which was called theoak closet, Henry turned to Mr. Chillingworth, and said,--
"What, now, is your candid opinion, sir? You have seen my sister, andthose strange indubitable evidences of something wrong."
"I have; and to tell you candidly the truth, Mr. Henry, I am sorelyperplexed."
"I thought you would be."
"It is not often that a medical man likes to say so much, nor is it,indeed, often prudent that he should do so, but in this case I own I ammuch puzzled. It is contrary to all my notions upon all such subjects."
"Those wounds, what do you think of them?"
"I know not what to think. I am completely puzzled as regards them."
"But, but do they not really bear the appearance of being bites?"
"They really do."
"And so far, then, they are actually in favour of the dreadfulsupposition which poor Flora entertains."
"So far they certainly are. I have no doubt in the world of their beingbites; but we not must jump to a conclusion that the teeth whichinflicted them were human. It is a strange case, and one which I feelassured must give you all much uneasiness, as, indeed, it gave me; but,as I said before, I will not let my judgment give in to the fearful anddegrading superstition which all the circumstances connected with thisstrange story would seem to justify."
"It is a degrading superstition."
"To my mind your sister seems to be labouring under the effect of somenarcotic."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; unless she really has lost a quantity of blood, which loss hasdecreased the heart's action sufficiently to produce the languor underwhich she now evidently labours."
"Oh, that I could believe the former supposition, but I am confident shehas taken no narcotic; she could not even do so by mistake, for there isno drug of the sort in the house. Besides, she is not heedless by anymeans. I am quite convinced she has not done so."
"Then I am fairly puzzled, my young friend, and I can only say that Iwould freely have given half of what I am worth to see that figure yousaw last night."
"What would you have done?"
"I would not have lost sight of it for the world's wealth."
"You would have felt your blood freeze with horror. The face wasterrible."
"And yet let it lead me where it liked I would have followed it."
"I wish you had been here."
"I wish to Heaven I had. If I though there was the least chance ofanother visit I would come and wait with patience every night for amonth."
"I cannot say," replied Henry. "I am going to sit up to-night with mysister, and I believe, our friend Mr. Marchdale will share my watch withme."
Mr. Chillingworth appeared to be for a few moments lost in thought, andthen suddenly rousing himself, as if he found it either impossible tocome to any rational conclusion upon the subject, or had arrived at onewhich he chose to keep to himself, he said,--
"Well, well, we must leave the matter at present as it stands. Time mayaccomplish something towards its development, but at present so palpablea mystery I never came across, or a matter in which human calculationwas so completely foiled
."
"Nor I--nor I."
"I will send you some medicines, such as I think will be of service toFlora, and depend upon seeing me by ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
"You have, of course, heard something," said Henry to the doctor, as hewas pulling on his gloves, "about vampyres."
"I certainly have, and I understand that in some countries, particularlyNorway and Sweden, the superstition is a very common one."
"And in the Levant."
"Yes. The ghouls of the Mahometans are of the same description ofbeings. All that I have heard of the European vampyre has made it abeing which can be killed, but is restored to life again by the rays ofa full moon falling on the body."
"Yes, yes, I have heard as much."
"And that the hideous repast of blood has to be taken very frequently,and that if the vampyre gets it not he wastes away, presenting theappearance of one in the last stage of a consumption, and visibly, so tospeak, dying."
"That is what I have understood."
"To-night, do you know, Mr. Bannerworth, is the full of the moon."
Henry started.
"If now you had succeeded in killing--. Pshaw, what am I saying. Ibelieve I am getting foolish, and that the horrible superstition isbeginning to fasten itself upon me as well as upon all of you. Howstrangely the fancy will wage war with the judgment in such a way asthis."
"The full of the moon," repeated Henry, as he glanced towards thewindow, "and the night is near at hand."
"Banish these thoughts from your mind," said the doctor, "or else, myyoung friend, you will make yourself decidedly ill. Good evening to you,for it is evening. I shall see you to-morrow morning."
Mr. Chillingworth appeared now to be anxious to go, and Henry no longeropposed his departure; but when he was gone a sense of great lonelinesscame over him.
"To-night," he repeated, "is the full of the moon. How strange that thisdreadful adventure should have taken place just the night before. 'Tisvery strange. Let me see--let me see."
He took from the shelves of a book case the work which Flora hadmentioned, entitled, "Travels in Norway," in which work he found someaccount of the popular belief in vampyres.
He opened the work at random, and then some of the leaves turned over ofthemselves to a particular place, as the leaves of a book willfrequently do when it has been kept open a length of time at that part,and the binding stretched there more than anywhere else. There was anote at the bottom of one of the pages at this part of the book, andHenry read as follows:--
"With regard to these vampyres, it is believed by those who are inclinedto give credence to so dreadful a superstition, that they alwaysendeavour to make their feast of blood, for the revival of their bodilypowers, on some evening immediately preceding a full moon, because ifany accident befal them, such as being shot, or otherwise killed orwounded, they can recover by lying down somewhere where the full moon'srays will fall upon them."
Henry let the book drop from his hands with a groan and a shudder.
Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood Page 6