 Chapter 191 of Varni the Vampire, Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Varni the Vampire, Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott-Prest, Chapter 191 The plot discovered. The letter left at the hotel by the vampire. The further pursuit of the vampire was very soon given up by those who had commenced it with, as they had vainly imagined, such an assurance of success. Probably with the exception of Mr. Lake himself, none were really very eager in it at all, and they were not sorry for a good excuse to drop it. There sat upon the countenance of Mr. Lake, an appearance of great anger, and when they got back to the hotel, he said to the landlord, This is a very disagreeable affair, and I cannot think of remaining here over tomorrow. But, sir, the vampire is gone now. Yes, and he may come again for all I know. Oh, dear me, surely not now, sir. After what has happened, I should be inclined to say that you will find this the quietest hotel in London. Mr. Lake would not be moved from his determination, however, and briefly again announced that he would, on the moral, remove. How very vexatious thought the landlord, but he could do nothing in the matter. His only hope, and that was a very slight one indeed, was, by the morning, the exasperated feelings of Mr. Lake should be somewhat assuaged, and therefore he thought it would be, at all events, a prudent thing to say no more to him just then, when he was in such a mood. When Mr. Lake retired to his own apartment, he was in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, for he found that things were not exactly turning out as he wished, and he much feared that all his schemes would turn out abortive, in which case they would recoil upon his own head in their consequences. It was quite by accident that, happening to cast his eyes upon the dressing-table, he saw a sealed letter lying there, and upon looking at the superscription, he was surprised to find that Annetta was the person for whom it was intended. It was not, as the reader may suppose, from what he knows of Mr. Lake, from any honourable scruples that he hesitated at once to open the letter addressed to his knees, but he was for a time considering whether he might not, by doing so, be getting himself into some scrape, from which he might find it very difficult to extricate himself. Who the deuce can it be from, he said? He turned the epistle about in all directions, but such an inquiry did not assist him, and finally he made up his mind that come what might, he would break the seal and look at the contents. He soon, after coming to the determination, carried it into effect, and to his surprise he found that the letter contained the following statement. To the Lady Annetta Lake, fear nothing, lady, he who disturbed your repose will disturb it no longer. Be happy and do not let the dread of such another visitation ever disturb your pure imaginings. Your father will rescue you from your present unhappy circumstances, and you will likewise soon see one who ere this would have been with you had he known of your being in London. This comes from Barney the Vampire. If Mr. Lake, your bad uncle, upon whose dressing table this note is placed, delivers it not to you, woe be to him, for I will make his nights hideous with realities and his days horrible with recollection and anticipation. Mr. Lake was superstitious. Are not the unprincipled always so? He read the post-script to the note with a shudder, and he felt that he could no more muster courage enough to destroy the letter than he could to lay violent hands upon himself. There he was with an epistle that he would feign have kept from Annetta, and yet he dared not do so. Con found my unlucky destiny, he said, for bringing me to this hotel. Perhaps if I had gone elsewhere all this would not have happened. Oh, if I could but have suspected what this Mr. Black really was I would have tried some means for his extermination. He paced his chamber in an agitated manner until Mrs. Lake made her appearance from the chamber of the Lady Annetta where she had been staying. And to her then he had once communicated the letter that gave him so much uneasiness. I don't know what to do, he said, or what to think. Indeed. Yes, indeed. Perhaps you can suggest something. And can you allow yourself to be made a slave of such fears? There is but one course to pursue, and that is, tomorrow to put the affair altogether in a different shape, by overwhelming Annetta with the seeming evidence that she is the daughter of an attorney's clerk instead of her real father, Lord Lake. I know of no other way, and then when she finds such, as she will think to be the case, it's my opinion that she will no longer hesitate to marry our son. You think so? Indeed, do I. The girl is not an absolute fool, surely? Well, of course. I should be very glad if that darling project could be, after all, brought about, but what is to be done with this letter? Can you ask? I do when I consider the threat that is in it. That threat, recollect, is to me, and you can afford to think lightly of it. I will take the consequences. It is hardly likely that you will be punished for what you can't help. I will take good care that this letter never reaches Annetta, and as you have it not, why, of course, you cannot deliver it and so cannot be blamed. But I might have it. No such thing, said the lady, snatching it up. You know me rather too well, I should think, to hope that I would give it up to you, and as for your taking it by force, I should think you would know me too well likewise to make such a ridiculous attempt. Well, then I wash my hands of it. Ah, you may as well. I don't know what has come over you of late. You are as mean-spirited as you can be, and formerly you used to be able to cope with anything. We never played for such a stake as we have now upon the board, and I confess that I am rather nervous for the consequences. Sha, I see that I must guide you, or all will be lost. Tomorrow let the whole affair be settled. Let this attorney Miller, as you call him, come here, and bring with him the person who is to claim Annetta as his own daughter. Let him have all the evidence that you tell me he has been so ingenious in getting up, ready, in order that he may be in a position to answer any questions. Yes, yes. And then, when all is settled, our son must come forward and make a speech saying, he don't care a bit who or what she is, that he loves her and will make her his wife, although she has not a pennypiece in the world. I see, I see. I think, from what I know of her, that such a course of proceeding will have great effect upon her. Well, I hope so. You hope so? How despondingly you talk! Why, the honest truth? Good God, what do you mean by making use of such words? I never told the honest truth in all my life. You may depend that won't do in this world on any consideration. Never let me hear you say such a thing again, I beg of you. I was merely going to remark that this vampire's business had really so completely unsettled my whole nervous system that I could not act with all the tact and determination that used to characterize my proceedings, and for which you were ever disposed to give me so much credit. Really? Yes, but I cannot regret such a state of things so much as I should otherwise do, because I see that you are unmoved and as energetic as ever. Well, well, say no more. I am done. I will prepare our boy for the part he is to act tomorrow, and, mind, I shall rely upon you to see your associates and get all the affair in train. Let it be all over by twelve in the morning, so that if you like you can send to Lord Lake where he is staying at Florence till I presume, an account of the matter by post that same night. Only let me see the letter before you send it. I will, I will. You are my guardian angel. Foe, foe, you are getting quite romantic and foolish. We have both made up our minds to get money, and we have likewise known so much the want of it, in abundance, that is to say, that we have resolved to get it in any way we can. Yes, that I rather think is our principle of action. And has it not succeeded hitherto? Have we not lived well without troubling ourselves to earn the means by which we have done so? Earn indeed. I leave that to the parcel of sleepy drones of people who have not the wit to live upon others as we have. So now go to bed and sleep off some of the unmanly fears that seem of late to be continually pressing upon you. It is well you have me to look after you as I do. End of Chapter 191 Chapter 192 of Varni the Vampire. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Varni the Vampire Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott-Prest. Chapter 192 The Meeting in the Morning at the Hotel. The Preparations of the Attorney It is no less than strange the difference that takes place in people's feelings with regard to precisely the same circumstances in the morning from what they really felt and thought in the evening and when the shadows of night were upon them. This mental phenomenon was not wanting in the case of Mr. Lake. He felt as he rose the next day and the sun was shining in at the window of his bedroom, most thoroughly ashamed of his fears and his nervous tremors of the preceding night. His wife saw with a smile the change in his feelings. You are no longer, she said, afraid of the vampire. Oh, say no more about it, was his reply. I shall go immediately after breakfast and see Mr. Miller. And with him make such arrangements, as will bring the affair upon which we have set our hearts to a crisis, and while I am gone you can instruct our son in what he has to do. I will. The breakfast passed over in rather a constrained manner. Mrs. Lake had made an attempt to persuade Annetta that she was really too unwell to get up for an hour or two, but that Annetta would not submit to as she felt herself notwithstanding all her sufferings and all her fright, really capable of rising. The consequence was that she appeared at the breakfast table and stopped most effectually anything in the shape of a confidential discourse taking place among the lakes. The meal therefore passed off rather silently, and there were only a few remarks made, incidentally, about the preceding night's alarm. Annetta was evidently in a state of great nervousness as well she might be, for the idea that she would be again subjected to the frightful visits of the vampire was ever present to her and she was denied the consolation which the letter of Varney might and most probably would have given her. After the morning meal Mr. Lake gave his wife a significant look to intimate that he was then going to Mr. Miller's and that in his absence she was to play her part. She perfectly understood him and nodded in return, and thus this worthy pair separated. We will follow Mr. Lake. The attorney did not live in one of the most respectable haunts of the profession, but he was a man of his word, and by the time Mr. Lake reached his chambers he was there, it being then not much above ten o'clock. There was some delay in admitting Mr. Lake to the private room of the attorney, and he thought that the clerk who was in the outer office looked a little confused. Is anybody with Mr. Miller, asked Lake? Yes. That is to say, I mean no. A strange answer, yes, and you mean no. Why, sir, I only meant that Mr. Miller was rather busy, and we are so much in the habit when that is the case of saying that he has someone with him that it slipped out unawares. Only as we would not deceive you, sir, for the world you understand that that was why you perceived, sir, that in a manner of speaking I corrected myself. This explanation was rather more wordy than satisfactory to Mr. Lake. However, for want of a better he was compelled to put up with it, and he said nothing, but waited with the most exemplary patience until Mr. Miller's bell rang. The clerk answered it, and in a few moments returned to say that Mr. Miller had got through a legal document he had been engaged upon, and that he much regretted having kept Mr. Lake waiting, but was then quite at his disposal. Now Lake could have sworn that he had heard the sound of a voice from the private room of the attorney, and he consequently did not feel quite easy. When he went in he found Mr. Miller with a number of letters before him. Ah, my dear sir, cried the lawyer, sit down. Thank you, I thought somebody was with you. Oh dear no, not at all. I was going through a lease, you see, and from long experience in such matters I have found that I have a better and clearer understanding of the matter if I read it aloud to myself, but perhaps that is only a peculiarity of mine. Then it was your voice I heard just now? Mr. Lake's suspicions were about half removed, certainly not more than half, but he could say no more about it, although he cast now and then suspicious glances round the room, yet if he had been asked what he was suspicious of he would hardly have been able to give a clear and understandable answer to the question. It is one of the curses of conscious guilt ever to live in an atmosphere of doubt and dread, and to the full did Mr. Lake feel that curse. Well, Mr. Miller, he said, after a pause, I have called upon you to say that I hope it will suit your convenience to settle a little affair today at twelve o'clock at the hotel. Twelve, let me see, twelve. Not at the hotel, my dear sir, I am compelled to be in chambers in case of a letter coming on very particular business, but if you will bring her here I can manage it very nicely. If she don't leave this place with a conviction that she has a father in London I'll eat my boots. Well, I don't see why we should not come here as you give me a great satisfaction, Mr. Miller, by avowing yourself to be so confident of the result. I am as confident as that I sit on this three-legged stool. Good, then you may depend upon our coming here at twelve o'clock precisely. There will be myself, Mrs. Lake, my son, and the young lady. Mind, she is no fool. She must be perfectly overwhelmed with proofs of what we wish to make her believe. Exactly that she is not the daughter of Lord Lake, but a mere changeling imposed upon him as his own child, the said own child being dead. Precisely. Agreed, sir, agreed. With respect to my reward I have been thinking that I should like, you know, to have some acknowledgement. You tell me you have no money now, but that this obstacle once removed you will come in for all the lake estates and that Lord Lake cannot live long. That's the state of the case. Then, sir, will you give me a note for two thousand pounds payable on demand? On demand? Yes, of course it would be needless folly of me to present it until you have the money, you know. True, true. We need not pursue the conversation further, but satisfy the reader by stating the result, which was that the attorney got the note for two thousand pounds from Lake, likewise a paper signed, which admitted the debt more fully still, and effectually barred Lake from objecting to any proceedings on account of want of consideration for the promissory note, or that it had not been fairly obtained of him, please, which might have inconvenienced Mr. Miller if he chose to pursue Lake for the amount. In the meantime Mrs. Lake had not been idle, but had spoken to her booby and cowardly son, making him aware of what he had to do in the business, namely, to shoo his great disinterestedness in taking for his wife Annetta after she was supposed to be proved not the daughter of Lord Lake, but quite a different personage and altogether destitute of pecuniary resources. He managed pretty well always to understand any villainy, and so entered life and soul into the scheme of his mother. Ah, I like that a monstrous deal better than keeping watch for a vampire, which is a sort of job that don't at all suit such a constitution as mine, do you see? Mrs. Lake not being aware of the alteration of arrangements by which they were all to proceed to the lawyer's chambers, instead of coming to the hotel, took no trouble with Annetta, conceiving that it would perhaps be better at twelve o'clock, when the parties were assembled, to take her by surprise, than to say anything to her beforehand, which might have the effect of preparing her for what was to come, and so getting up a spirit of resistance and of inquiry which it might be difficult to resist or satisfactorily to meet. When Mr. Lake came home from Grey's Inn, she was made aware of the alteration and consultations ensued as to how Annetta was to be got there at all. At length after several modes of managing the matter had been discussed, Mrs. Lake said, You too can walk there, and then I can say to Annetta that I am going for a drive and to make a few purchases, so that she will have no objection to go with me for an airing, and I will take good care to be with you at the hour of twelve. That will do prime, said the son, leave mother alone for managing things. Well said Mr. Lake, it shall be so. I don't see any objection to the scheme, nor can I suggest a better one, so we will look upon that as settled. All you have to do, turning to his son, is to play your part well. Oh, never fear me, I like the girl, and I like money. Chapter 193 The Vampire's Visit to the Barracks at Kingston The Young Officer We do not wish altogether to lose sight of Varney in these proceedings, and it so happens that he is sufficiently mixed up in what further occurred to make it desirable that we should now again refer to him. It was not the least singular fact in the character of that mysterious being to notice how he always endeavored to make some part of a men's or reparation to those whom he had so much terrified by his visitations. We have seen in the case of the family of the Bannerworths how eventually he was most anxious to do them a service as a recompense for this really serious injury he had inflicted upon them, and how it was really and eventually through him that they emerged from the circumstances of difficulty and danger in which they had been pecuniarily engaged. We shall now see if Varney, who really in his way is a very respectable sort of a personage, is about good or evil. We left him on the river after promising in his usual liberal spirit a handsome reward to the waterman whom he employed to row the boat in which he had embarked. After going some distance, the waterman, finding his fare was silent, thought it would be as well again to ask him where he was going. Accordingly, with a preparatory hymn, he began by saying, About as nice a tide, sir, as we could have for going up the stream. Very likely was the brief reply. Do you land near hand, sir? I want to go to Kingston. Take me to some quay on the river as near as you can for the purpose of my walking there. Kingston said the waterman with a look rather of surprise. It's a long pool to Kingston, and if your honour could get a conveyance, your best way would be to get out at Putney. Wherefore? Why, after that, the river takes such a plaguey lot of windings and turnings that you have to go treble the actual distance when you reach Teddington. I said Kingston. Well, that's close by Teddington, but I'll row your honour if you like, only it will take us some hours to get there, that's all. Go on, very good, pull away, pull away. Having now as he knew a long job before him, the waterman, husband, did his strength. He did not row near so fast, but to a low kind of tune he muttered to himself. He worked away at his skulls, slowly and surely, and got through the water at a moderate easy rate, while rather a quick jerking one would soon have exhausted him. The boat went slowly onward, and many an interesting sight was passed upon the banks of the river, but none appeared in the least to attract the attention of the man who sat in the boat, apparently deeply absorbed in his own meditations. The boatman began much to wonder who he had got as a fare, and to think that it would be but a dull and weirsome job to row all the way to Teddington without any amusing gossip, by the way, so he made yet another attempt to break the stillness that reigned around. The river up this way, sir, he said, is quiet enough at night. It's different below bridge, though, for there is always some bustle going on. Ah, said Varney, but here somehow it is dull to my mind. Ah! Though the gentry and those as his book learn find a deal of pleasure in looking at the old places on the banks, where things have been done and said by folks many a long year since, whose heads don't ache now, sir. Ah! There was no getting on at this rate, so, after two or three more remarks and getting nothing by ah as a reply, the waterman gave it up as a bad job altogether, and pulled away, chanting in a low tone his song again without making another attempt to disturb the tessiturnity of his fare, who sat as still as a statue in the boat, and looking as if he did not breathe, so rigid and strange were his attitude and the lifeless-like appearance he had. The waterman was really a little alarmed by the time they reached Teddington, for he thought that it might be possible his fare was dead, and the horrid idea that he had stiffened in that attitude as he sat, began to find a place in the boatman's imagination. When, however, the boat's keel grated on the landing-place, he cried, Here we are, Your Honor! The vampire rose, and stepped on shore. He held out his hand, and dropped a guinea into the extended palm of the waterman, then stalked off. After he had walked some distance he spoke to a watchman whom he met, saying, Are there not military barracks somewhere here about? Oh, yes! Thank you. Can you direct me? Certainly. You have only to go on and take the second turning to your left, and you will see the gate. It's horse soldiers that's there now, the fourth light dragoons. By keeping to the directions which the watchman had given, Varney soon reached the gate of the barracks. And then it was three o'clock in the morning. A sentinel was pacing to and fro at the gate. To him Varney at once went, and with a lofty kind of courtesy that made the man at once respectful to him, he said, Is Lieutenant Rankin in barracks? Yes, sir, on duty. Indeed, is he on guard tonight? Yes, sir, to four o'clock. He will be relieved then. That's fortunate. I want to see him. It is on business of the very first importance, or, of course, I would not trouble him or myself. You must send to him somehow. The sentinel hesitated. I hardly know, he said, how the lieutenant will take it. He is on duty. But I suppose he is human for all that, and is liable to all the accidents and alternations of human affairs, which may make it absolutely necessary he should be communicated with, even at such an hour as this. I will hold you harmless. This was so reasonable, and there was such an air of quiet, gentlemanly authority about Varney, that the soldier began to think he should run less risk of offending somebody of importance if he consented to disturb the lieutenant than if he refused. Accordingly, he stepped a pace or two within the gate and called out, Guard! A soldier from the guard room answered the summons. Aye, he said, what is it? A strange cat, I suppose. No, none of your nonsense. Here is a gentleman, I think a general officer, by Jove wants to see Lieutenant Rankin. Go and tell him. And give him this, said Varney, as he handed the soldier a card, on which was written, a friend to a friend of Lieutenant Rankin, whose initials are A-L. I know that this young soldier loves the lady Annetta, muttered the vampire to himself, and he shall be given the opportunity of flying to her rescue from her villainous relations. So far I will make reparation to her. In less than three minutes Lieutenant Rankin came hurriedly to the gate. Where is the gentleman, he said? Here, sir, said Varney, step aside with me. The young officer did so, and then Varney said to him, It matters not how I became acquainted with the fact, but I know that you love the lady Annetta Lake, and that you are far from being indifferently regarded by her. She is in London at the London Hotel. A vile plot is formed to marry her to her cousin, the gist of which is to make both her and her father believe that she is a changeling and not the daughter of Lord Lake. You love her, young man. Go and rescue her. Annetta in London. Yes, what I tell you you may rely upon, as if it were a voice from heaven that spoke to you. Go and snatch her whom you love from the base hands of those who, under the mask of pretended friendship, would betray her. And you, cried the young soldier, who are you? And how can I repay you for bringing me this intelligence of her whom I— Enough, said the vampire. I have performed my mission. It is for you, young sir, to take a due advantage of that which I have told you. In another moment he was gone. THE INNOCENT TRIUMPHANT It is eleven o'clock. Mr. and Mrs. Lake are standing by one of the windows at the hotel, conversing in whispers, while the hopeful sun is brushing his hat. It is time, you think, said Mrs. Lake. Yes, was the reply, and I will be off now at once. And depend upon you following with Annetta to Mr. Miller's. That, you may be sure of, she has had a refreshing night's rest, and this morning she eagerly enough caught at the proposal to take a drive round the principal thoroughfares in the carriage we have hired, so that it is no longer a difficulty. What is to be done if she rejects? Mr. Lake gave a jerk with his head in the direction of his son to signify that it was of him that he talked. It can't be helped if she does. Then I should say all we have to do is to persevere in making her out no child of Lord Lake and wait for his decease. We must be careful what we are about, though, or he may take it into his head to make some ample provision for her to the decrease of his personal means, which I hope to see all hours. The only way to stop that will be getting Miller and the pretending father to make it as a complete part of the plan that Annetta herself should seem laterally to have been a party to palming herself off upon him as his daughter when she knew the contrary quite well. Ah, if that could be done. It must and shall. Miller's ingenuity in such matters is immense. He will accomplish anything in the world. I seeming impossibilities for money. He is just the man for us, so now be off with you at once and expect me in good time. A few moments afterward Mr. Lake set off with his booby son to the lawyers in joining him all the way as they went to be especially careful how he maintained the character of a disinterested suitor which had been marked out for him in the program of the family proceedings. Oh, never fear me, Father. While I hope that you will do and say the right things and what is as important I hope you will do and say them at the right time otherwise you will spoil all. Mr. Miller was armed at all points as they thought for conquest, Old Lake and Young Lake, then whom all London could not have produced two more unprincipled persons, arrived at Grey's Inn, and were received in the outer room of Mr. Miller's chambers with every demonstration of respect. Walk in, gentlemen, walk into the client's private room if you please, said the clerk. Mr. Miller left directions with me that when you came you should be shown in at once. Mr. Miller was very gratifying indeed and the solicitor was there, seated in his easy chair, looking as full of serenity as possible and as if the least affair in the world was on tap-ice. Scarcely had the usual salutations passed when the clerk announced Mrs. Lake and a young lady. My wife with Annetta exclaimed Lake, and in a moment his words were verified by the appearance of the parties he had named. Tell me at once, said Annetta, why am I brought here? My dear young lady, said Mr. Miller, if you will condescend to take a seat, I will explain. Be brief, sir. The party was seated, and then Mr. Miller, clearing his throat, said, You are, of course, aware, Miss, that great doubt arose in the mind of Lord Lake with regard to your proper identity, and he sent you over to this country from Italy with his brother and family to have those doubts resolved. They are resolved, and you are found to be the daughter of a gentleman now in London. The proofs, sir, said Annetta, with a dignity and a calmness that surprised the whole party. Ah, ah, the proofs. Let me see. Oh, yes. There are the papers. Number one, copy of a confession made by Stop, sir, said young Lake, stop. This is—it must be painful to the feelings of this young lady, and very, very painful is it to my feelings, for I have been long, fervently attached to her, and let her be whose daughter she may, she is to me all perfection. I love her, and would gladly make her my wife. Let her be named whatever she may. But she is destitute, quite destitute, said Miller. It don't matter to me, cried young Lake. He was playing his part famously. It don't matter to me. I love her, and will work for her. She shall never want while I have life-blood in my veins. If this now were sincere, said Annetta, I should begin for the first time to respect you. But you will excuse me for doubting it very much. I likewise doubt much the pretended evidence that you bring forward regarding my birth. A tremendous knock at the outer door of the chambers now disturbed the party, an altercation was heard with the clerk, then a shout for police, and a heavy fall as if somebody had been knocked down, and in another moment the door of Mr. Miller's private room was dashed open, and Lieutenant Rankin, in his undressed military uniform, stood upon the threshold. Annetta, he cried. Rankin, oh George, George, shrieked Annetta, and in another moment she was in his arms. Here's a go, cried young Lake. I say, young fellow, this won't do. Oh George, George, said Annetta. They will have it that I am not my own father's child, that am nameless, houseless thing. They lie, Annetta, who say so, replied the young soldier. You shall be mine, and the proudest that ever stepped shall treat you with becoming respect, or shall rue the consequences. Well, I think it's time, cried Mr. Miller, in a marked manner, and throwing open the door of an inner room. He added, my Lord Lake, come forth. No doubt you have heard all. Lord Lake himself, the Mr. Blue of the London Hotel, the sham confidential clerk of Miller, made his appearance to the utter confusion of the lakes. My father, said Annetta, my dear father. Hold, said Lord Lake, gravely. I suspected, Annetta, from the first that your birth was impugned by my brother from the most interested motives, and I followed you from Italy. Mr. Miller disclosed all to me, and the infamous plot is discovered. Then I am your child? Confusion, muttered Lake. Death and the devil, what a contra-tongue. Stop, added Lord Lake, the strangest thing of all has yet to be told. This plot to make out that you are not my child is but a plot, but it is not baseless, as to the fact. You are not my daughter. I have by mere chance found out that lately, and I cannot provide for you, as the resources I have must go to him who will inherit my title. Let's say you, Master Lake, this girl with all her beauty is destitute. Her name is Smith. Will you have her? Not I in faith. Thank you for nothing. Will you young soldier knowing what she is? I will I with all my heart. She is the highest, brightest treasure this world can offer me, any name or no name, poor or rich, noble or commoner. She is still my own dear girl, and her resting place shall be my heart. The whole world shall not tear her from it. God's blessings on you, cried Lord Lake, grasping his hands. I did but this to give Yon's shrinking cower a chance of creeping into favor with me, because he boasted so of his disinterested affection a while ago. She is my child, the Lady Annetta Lake. I never doubted it, and she is yours, George Rankin, and you shall be the dear son of my adoption. I say, Father, said young Lake, I think we had better go. Curse you all, cried Lake, and doubly curse you, dear Miller, you have betrayed me, but I'll be avenged. Through the bars of a prison, said the lawyer, an officer is downstairs to arrest you for two thousand pounds. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Thus then it was that this episode in the life of Varney the Vampire terminated. But still he lived, and still there existed all the strange and fearful mixture of good and evil that was in his disposition. There he was yet upon the earth's surface, looking like one of the great world, and yet possessing so few feelings in common with its inhabitants. Surely to him there must have been periods of acute suffering, of intense misery, such as would have suffice to drive any ordinary mind to distraction, and yet he lived, although one cannot upon reviewing his career, and considering what he was, consider that death would have been other than a grateful release to him from intense suffering. Perhaps of all the suffering that, in consequence of his most awful and singular existence, was inflicted upon human nature, he suffered the most, for that he was a man of good intellect, no one who has followed us thus far can doubt, and one cannot help giving in almost at times to as strange and fanciful theory of his own, namely that this world was to him the place of perdition for crimes done in some other sphere. It must be so, he would say, but as the almighty master of all things is all merciful, as he is all powerful, the period of my redemption will surely come at last. This was the most consulate thought that Varney could have, and it showed that even yet there was a something akin to humanity lingering in his heart. This showed that despite the dreadful power he had, a power, as well as an awful propensity, he had some yearnings after a better state. What had he been? How did he become a vampire? Did the voice of fond defection ever thrill in his ears? Had little children ever climbed the knees of that wretched man? Fearful questions, if he could have answered them the affirmative, if he bore about with him deep in his memory a remembrance of such joys gone by. Read by Richard Wallace, Liberty, Missouri, 7 April, 2010. CHAPTER 195 The vampire has serious thoughts, the dream, the resolution. The next day after the events that we have detailed Varney found himself in a hotel in London. He did not even make the effort to inquire how the affair connected with the lady Annetta, in which towards the last he had played a generous part, prospered. He was too spirit broken himself to do so. For nearly the whole day he remained in a room by himself and although to avoid uncomfortable and ungracious remarks being made by the people of the house he ordered from time to time food and wine, he in accordance with his horrible nature, which forbade him any nourishment but human blood, touched neither. During that day he seemed to be suffering acutely. For now and then as the waiters of the hotel passed the door of the private room he occupied they heard deep agonizing groans, and when once or twice they went in, fancying that he must be very ill or dying, he found him seated at a table on which his head was resting. He would start up on these occasions and sternly questioned them for interrupting him, so at last they left him alone. Let us look at him in his solitude. It is getting towards the dim and dusky hours of late twilight, and he can only barely be described as he sits bolt upright in a high-backed armchair looking at vacancy while his lips move and he appears to be conversing with the spirits of another world, that in their dim untangibility are not visible to mortal eyes. Now and then he would strike his breast and utter a dull groan as if some sudden recollection of the dreadful past had come over him with such a full tide of horror that it could not be resisted. It was not until a considerable time had elapsed and the darkness had greatly increased that he at length spoke. And I was once happy, he said mournfully, once happy because I was innocent. O gracious heaven, how long am I to suffer? A spasmodic kind of movement of his whole features ensued that was quite dreadful to look upon and would have terrified anyone who could have seen them. Then he spoke again. I was happy one hundred and eighty years ago, he said. For that has been the awful duration of my life as yet. Yes, one hundred and eighty years have with their sunshine of summer and their winter storms just over my head. And I had a wife and children who, with the innocent and gladsome prattle, would climb my knee and nestle in my bosom. O, where are they all now? He wrung his hands, but he did not weep the fount of tears that had dried up for a hundred years in his bosom. Yes, yes, the grave holds them. Holds them, said I? No, no, long since have they crumbled into dust and nothing of them remains as a faint indication even of who once was human. I. I it was who listened to the counsels of a fiend and destroyed he, her, who had given up home kindred associations all for me. He rose up from the chair and seemed to think that he would find some relief in pacing the room to and fro, but he soon threw himself again into the seat. No, no, he said. No peace for me, and I cannot sleep. I have never slept what mortals call sleep, the sleep of rest and freedom from care. For many a long year, when I do seem to repose, then what dreadful images awake to my senses. Better, far better than my glaring eyeballs should crack with weariness than that I should taste such repose. The sympathetic shutter with which he uttered these words was quite proof sufficient of his deep and earnest sincerity. He must indeed have suffered much before he could have give such a sentiment such an utterance. We pity thee, Varney. And when, oh, when will my weary pilgrimage be over? he ejaculated. Oh, when will the crime of murder be cleansed from my soul? I killed her. Yes, I killed her who loved me. A fiend. I know it was a fiend, whispered suspicion in my ear. Suspicion of her who was as pure as the first ray of sunlight that from heaven shows itself to chase away the night. But I listened and then created from my own fevered brain the circumstances that gave suspicion, strength, and horrible consistency, and I killed her. After the utterance of these words he was silent for a time, and then in heart-rending accents he again repeated them. I killed her. I killed her, and she was innocent. Then I became what I am. There was a period of madness, I think, but I became a vampire. I have died many deaths, but recovered from them all. Forever by some strange accident or combination of circumstances the cold moonbeams have had access to my lifeless form, and I have recovered. By this time the landlord of the hotel in which Barney was staying had got in a fearful fidget, for he began to think that he had a madman in his house, and that it would turn out that his guest had made his escape from some lunatic asylum. I wonder now, he thought, if a little soothing civility would do any good. I will try it. It can't surely do any harm. With this intent the landlord went upstairs to the room in which Barney the vampire was, and he tapped gently at the door. There was no reply, and after a few moments' consideration the landlord opened the door and peeped in, when he saw his customer sitting in an armchair in the manner in which we have described him to sit. If you please, sir, said the landlord, would you not like? Blood, said Barney, rising. The landlord did not wait for any more, but bustled downstairs again with all the promptitude in his power. It was a bedroom and sitting-room that Barney occupied at the hotel, the one adjoining the other, and now, although he groaned inside at the idea of repose, he flung himself upon the bed full dressed as he was, and there he laid as still as death itself. One of those strange, fitful kind of slumbers, such as he had himself described as being so full of dread, came over him. For a time he was still, as we have said, but then as various images of agony began to chase each other through his brain he tossed about his arms, and more than once the word mercy came from his lips in accents of the most soul-heroing nature. This state of things continued for some considerable time, and then in his sleep a great change came over him, and he fancied he was walking in a garden replete with all the varied beauties of a southern climb, and through the center of which meandered a stream, the crystal music of which was delightfully calming and soothing to his senses. All around seemed to speak of the peace and loveliness of an Eden. As he wandered on he fancied that some form was walking by his side, and that he heard the gentle fall of its feet and the flutter of its garments. Varni, it said, you have suffered much. I have. O God knows I have. You would die, Varni, if the moon-beams could be prevented from reaching you. Yes, yes, but how? How? The ocean, the deep, deep sea, hides many a worse secret than the corpse of a vampire. It might have been that after all his sleep was to some extent refreshing to him, or that the dream he had had instilled a hope into him of a release from what, in his case, might truly be called the bondage of existence. But he certainly arose more calm, cool, and collected than he had been for some time past. Yes, he said, the deep sea holds a secret well, and if I could but be washed into some of its caverns I might lie there and rot until the great world itself had run its course. This idea took great possession of him. He thought over various modes of carrying it out. At one time he thought that if he bought a boat on the sea coast and went out alone, sailing away as far from land as he could he might be able to accomplish his object. But then he might not be able to get far enough. At length he thought of a more feasible and a better plan than that, and it was to take his passage and some ship for any port, and watch his opportunity some night when far from land to steal upon the deck and plunge in the waves. The more he considered of this plan the better he liked it, and the more it wore an appearance of probability and an aspect of success. So at length the thought grew into a resolution. Yes, yes, he muttered. Who knows but that some friendly spirit for the mid-air that floats tweaks to earth and heaven as peopled with such may have whispered such counsel in my ears. It shall be done. I will no longer hesitate but make this attempt to shake off the dreadful weight which mere existence is to me. End of chapter 195 Chapter 196 of Varney the Vampire Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Julie Bynum Varney the Vampire Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott-Prest Chapter 196 The Scotch Packet Ship The Suicide It was in pursuance of this resolution so strangely and suddenly formed that the unhappy Varney rose on the following morning and went to that region of pitch-slop clothing, red herrings and dirt, the docks. But yet somehow all of the docks may not be the cleanest or them most refined part of the vast city of London, the coarseness and litter there, for after all, it is more litter than dirt, are by no means so repulsive as those bad addenda to other localities. There is a kind of rough freshness induced by the proximity of the water which has a physical and moral effect. We are inclined to think upon the place in the people and which takes off much of what would otherwise wear the aspect of what is called low life. But this is all by the way and we will at once proceed to follow the fortunes of Varney and carrying out his plan of self-annihilation. The hour was an early one and many a curious glance was cast at him, for although he had humanized and modernized his apparel to a great extent he could not get rid of the strange unworldlike, if we may use the phrase look of his face. He was very pale too and jaded looking, for the thoughts that had recently occupied him were not such as to do good to the looks of anyone. He cared little in what vessel he embarked. He had but one object in embarking at all and that was to get out to sea, so that the ultimate destination of the ship that should receive so very odd and equivocal a passenger was a matter of no moment. Stopping a personage who had about him a seafaring look, Varney pointing to a bustling place of embarkation said, from here to day, yes there's one going now, or as soon as the tide serves her, she is for layth. On the coast of Scotland, I think. Yes, to be sure. Varney walked on until he came to a kind of counting-house where sat a man with books before him and not to take up more valuable space he secured what was called a birth on board the ocean, a small dirty inconvenient ship bound for the port near the Scotch metropolis of Kirk. Not wishing to be himself much noticed and having no desire to notice anybody, Varney went down below and seated himself in a dark corner of the generally dingy cabin, and there amid all the noise, bawling, abuse, and bustle contingent upon getting the ill-condition bark underway, he never moved or uttered a word to anyone although the cabin was frequently visited. But Varney had no idea of the amount of annoyance to which he was likely in the course of the evening and was rejected. The vessel got underway, and as both wind and tide happened to be favorable, she dropped down the river rapidly, and soon was clear of the nor-light and holding on her course northward. The cabin now began to fill with the passengers, and extraordinary as the fact may appear, there were many Scotchmen actually going back again. They were, however, only going to pay visits, for it is one of the popular delusions that Scotchmen try to keep up in this but they have left something dear and delightful behind them in Scotland, and that take it all together it is one of the most desirable spots in the whole world. It becomes, therefore, quite necessary for them to go back now and then in order to keep up that delusion. Personal Vanity II is one of the great characteristics of the nation, and many a Scotchman goes back to Edinburgh, for example, to make an appearance among his old friends and family connections, totally incompatible with his real position By about nine o'clock at night when the shore to the west could only be discovered as a dim gray line on the horizon, the cabin of the ocean packet was crammed. Whisky was produced, and a drink that the Scotch call Bottled Yell meaning Ale, and as these two heady liquids began to take effect, old Langzine was chanted in the vernacular by the whole party. At length the feeling of annoyance began to grow up from the fact of the isolated aspect of Barney, and the quiet, unobtrusive manner in which he looked on at the proceedings, appearing not in the smallest degree enthusiastic, even when the most abhorious Scotch songs, in the most unintelligible of all jargons, were sung, for strange to say the authors of that nation take a pride in slaughtering the English language. At length the Scotchman approached Barney and said You'll take a glass of old Rikimon? Edinburgh is called Rikie in consequence of the absence of drainage, giving it a horrible fetid smell, a Rikie atmosphere in a manner of speaking, which may be illustrated by the Scotchman who was returning to that place from England on the top of a stagecoach, when within about fifty miles he began sniffing and working his nose in an extraordinary manner. What are you doing that for? said an Englishman. Amon, I can smell the good old tone. I do not understand your language, said Barney, and he walked from the cabin to the deck of the vessel. He recoiled an instant for the moon was rising. Ever thus, even thus, he said, how strange it is that I never dream of ridding myself of the suffering of living, but the moon is shining brightly. Can its rays penetrate the ocean? The deck was very still and silent indeed. The man at the helm and one other pacing to and fro were all that occupied it, save Barney himself, and he stood by the side, gazing in the direction where he had last seen the dim gray speck of land. A pleasant run, sir, we shall have of it, said the man who had been pacing the deck if this kindly wind continues. It blows from the west. Yes, nearly do west, but that suits us. We keep ahead a few points in shore and do well with such a wind, although a south-west by south is our choice. How far are we ahead? It's the coast of Suffolk that is to our left, but we are, I hope, a good thirty miles or more from it. You hope? Yes, sir. Perhaps you are not sufficient of a sailor to know that we never hug the shore if we can possibly help it. I understand. And there? Oh, there lies the German ocean. How deep now should you say the sea was here? Can't say, sir, but it's blue water. That was not information to Varney, but he bowed his head and walked forward as much as to say that he had had enough of the information and conversation of the man, who was the mate of the vessel and quite disposed to be communicative. Perhaps in the very dim light he did not see exactly what a strange looking personage he was talking to. Thirty miles from land, thought Varney. Surely that is far enough, and I need have no dread of floating to the shore through such a mass of water as that of miles. The distance is very great. I can tonight in another hour make the attempt. To his great joy some heavy clouds climbed up the sky along with the moon and congregating around the beautiful satellite effectually obscured the greater number of its beams. There was, in fact, no absolute moonlight, but a soft reflected kind of twilight coming through the clouds and dispersed far and wide. This will do, muttered Varney. All I have to fear are the direct moon beams. It is they that have the effect of revivifying such as I am. The man who had been pacing the deck finally sat down and appeared to drop off to sleep so that all was still. And as Varney kept to the head of the vessel the man at the wheel could see nothing of him, there being many intervening obstacles. He was perfectly alone. Now and then, with a loud roaring about, he heard some boisterous drinking chorus come from the cabin. A rattle of glasses as fists were thumped upon the tables in token of boisterous approbation and then all would be still again. Varney looked up to the sky and his lips moved, but he uttered no sound. He went closer to the vessel's side and gazed upon the water as it lazily rippled past. How calm and peaceful he thought he ought to be far beneath that tide. A sudden plunge into the sea would have made a splash that would have been heard that he wished of all things to avoid. He clambered slowly over the side and only held on by his hands for a moment. Cool night air tossed about his long elfin locks and in another moment he was gone. End of Chapter 196 Chapter 197 of Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Julie Binham Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott Press Chapter 197 The Old Manor House The Rescue Varney's Despair At about ten o'clock on that same night on which Varney the Vampire plunged into the sea with hopes of getting rid of the world of troubles that oppressed him a small fishing boat might have been seen a distance of about twenty-five miles from the Suffolk coast trying to make for land and baffled continually by the wind that blew offshore. In this boat were two young men and from their appearance they evidently belong to the wealthier class of society. They were brothers. From their conversation we shall gather the circumstances that threw them into such situation not by any means divested of peril as it was. Well, Edwin said one, here we have been beating about for five hours trying to get inshore and all our little bark permits us to do is, I think, not materially to increase our distance from home. That is about the truth Charles said the other and it was my fault. Come, Edwin, don't talk in that way. There is no fault in the matter. How could you know that the wind would stiffen into such a breeze as it has so that we cannot fight out against it? Or, if there be fault, of course it is as much mine as yours. For am I not here and do I not know full well what an amount of consternation there will be at the Grange? There will indeed. Well, their joy when we get back will be all the greater. Shall we get back? Can you ask, look at our little boat. Is she not sea-worthy? Does she not dance on the waves merrily? It is only the wind after all that baffles us. If it would drop a little, we could, I think, make head against it the oars. The brothers were silent now for a few moments, for they were each looking at the weather. At length Edwin spoke, saying, We shall have the moon up, and that may make a change. Very likely, very likely, there is not, I think, quite so much sea as there was. Suppose we try the oars again. The other assented and the two young men exerted themselves very much to decrease their distance from the Suffolk coast pulling away right manfully. But it was quite evident to them that they did no good, and that they had just as well dropped westward as they had been doing by keeping the sail set and steering as near as possible to the wind. Why, if this goes on, Charles, where shall we get to by the morning? To Northumberland, perhaps? Or further? Well, if we go far enough, what say you to attempting the vexataque stio of the Northwest it cannot just, it's a sad thing this, more sad a good deal for those who are at home than for us. Tomorrow is Clara's wedding day and what a damper it will be upon all to suppose that we have perished at sea. They will never suppose that we would do anything so ridiculous. Why, at the worst, you know, we could go before the wind and run on to Holland. Yes, if no storm arises or such a gale as might found were our boat, there, there is the moon. Yes, and she will soon be overtaken by yawn-bank of clouds that seem to be scutting after her in the blue heavens. Ha, a sail by Jove! Where, where? Not, I think, above four miles there to the east by our little compass which it is a good thousand mercies we have with us. Look, you may see her sails against that light cloud there. I see her, think you will see us? There is every chance for her swell of canvas will be all the other way. Fire your fouling-piece and the sound may reach her. The wind is good for carrying it. Charles took a fouling-piece from the bottom of the boat. The brothers had merely gone out at sunset or a little before it to shoot gulls and he tried to discharge the piece, but several seas that they had shipped while they were thinking of other things and keeping the gun dry had for the time being most effectively prevented it from being discharged. Ah, said Edwin as he heard the click of the lock that hope is lost. It is indeed, and to my thinking the ship is distancing us rapidly. You see our mast and sail will at even this distance lie so low on the horizon that they will hardly see us unless they are sweeping the sky with a night-glass. And that is not likely. Certainly not, so we have nothing for it but to hold on our way. I am getting hungry if you are not. I certainly am not getting hungry and have not famished these last two hours, but I suppose we may hold out against the fiend hunger some hours yet. What are you looking at so earnestly, A? I hardly know. You hardly know. Let me see. Why, why, what is it? There seems to be something now and that much darker than the waves tidying on their tops. There, do you not see it? There it is again, there. Yes, yes. A dead body. Indeed, ah, it drifts towards us. There is some current hereabouts for you see it comes to us against the wind. Don't deceive yourself, brother. It is we who are going with the wind towards it. And now you can see there is no doubt about what it is. Some poor fellow who has been drowned. Get out the boat hook. Get it out. Why, you would not take in such a cargo, Edwin. God forbid, but I feel some curiosity about who and what sort of a personage it is. Here we have him. What a length he is to be sure. The body was nearly alongside the boat and one of the brothers detained it with a boat hook while they both looked earnestly at it. It was the body of a man remarkably well-dressed and had no appearance of having been under the water long. The features, as far as they could see them, were calm and composed. The hands were clenched and some costly-looking rings glittered on the fingers through the salt spray that foamed and curled around the insensible form. Charles said, Edwin, what we shall do. Edwin shook his head. I, I don't like. Like what? I don't like to cast it adrift again and not take it ashore where it can rest in an honest man's groan if he be one. Fancy it being one of us. Would it not be a consolation to those who love us to know that we rested in peace among our ancestors, in preference for rotting in the sea tossed and mangled by every storm that blows? I do not like to cast the body adrift again. It's a ghastly passenger. It is, but that ghastliness is only an idea, and we should remember that we ourselves stop, brother, stop. Do not fancy that I oppose your wish to convey this body to the shore and place it in some sanctified spot. What I expressed concerning it was merely the natural feeling of nothing more. Then you are willing? I am. The two brothers now, without further doubts or remarks upon the subject, got the body into the boat and laid it carefully down. Then Edwin folded and tied a handkerchief over the face. For as he truly enough said, there is no occasion to have to encounter that dead face each moment that one turns one's eyes in that direction. Then at all done all that humanity can dictate to us. To this Charles agreed, and it was remarked by them both as a strange thing that from the moment of their taking in the dead body to the boat the wind dropped and finally there was almost a calm after which there came a soft gentle air from the southeast which enabled them with scarcely any exertion on their own parts to make great progress toward their own home. From which they found they had not driven so far northward as they had at first thought. The brothers looked at each other and it was Edwin who broke the silence and put into words what they both thought by saying, Charles there is something more in this whole affair than what lies just upon its surface. Yes it seems as if we were driven out to see by some special providence to do this piece of work and that having done it the winds and the waves obeyed the hand of their mighty master and allowed our return. It does seem so said the other. End of Chapter 197 Chapter 198 of Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Julie Bynum Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott-Prest Chapter 198 A Family Seen The Sisters, The Horrible Alarm In the course of two hours more the young men were so close and sure that they could see the lights flashing along the coast and they even fancied they could catch a glimpse of human forms moving along with torches. And if such were the case they doubted not but that these people were sent to serve as a guide to them should they with their little bark be hovering near the shore. Look, Edwin said Charles, we are expected are we not? Yes, yes. I am certain that those lights are meant as guides for us. They may spare themselves the trouble for do you not see that the clouds are wearing away and that in a few minutes more we shall have the undimmed luster of a full moon looking down upon us. It will be so. The boat had now got so far within a large natural inlet of the ocean that but very little wind caught the wrapping sail so that the brothers bent manfully to their oars and got the boat through the water at a rapid rate. Oh, how very different their sensations were now to what they had been when they were beating about at the mercy of the winds and waves. But a few short hours since and when it certainly was but an even chance with death whether they would ever see their home again. If a gale had sprung up, accompanied by anything in the shape of a very heavy sea, they must have been lost. Soon they saw that their boat was described and at a particular portion of the coast there stood a complete cluster of men with torches inviting them there to land and they knew that such a landing place was upon their father's property and that in a few minutes they would be safe on shore. Neither of them spoke but reflection was busy in the hearts of both. There was a loud and thoroughly English shout as the raided upon the sandy beach and Edwin and Charles jumped on shore. They were in another moment pressed in their father's arms. Why, why boys, he said, what a fright you have given us all. There's Clara and Emma have been forced. I say forced for nothing but force would do it, to go home. And the whole country has been in an uproar. You were blown out to sea, I suppose? Yes, father, but we have not been in any danger. Not in any danger was such a cockle shell of a boat fairly out into the German ocean. But we will say no more about it, lads, not another word. Come home at once and make all hearts glad at the old Grange house. There's something in the boat, cried one of the men who held a light. Good God, yes, exclaimed Charles. We had forgotten, said Edwin. We met with a little adventure at sea and picked up a dead body. A dead body? Yes, father, we could not find our hearts to let it be, so we brought it on shore that it might have the rights of a Christian burial in the village churchyard. Somebody who loved the man may yet thank us for it and feel a consolation to know that such had been done. You are right, boys, you are right, said the father. You have done in that matter just as I would wish you. I will give orders for the body to be taken to the dead house by Will Stevens, and tomorrow it shall be decently interred. This being settled, the father, accompanied by his two sons, who were not a little pleased to be safe upon Terraferma again, walked together up a sloping pathway which led to the Grange house, as it was called. The joy that the return of the brothers caused in the family are readers may well imagine. The sisters Clara and Emma wept abundantly, and the mother who had let her fears go further than anyone else was deeply affected. But it is time that we should inform the reader who these people were, whom we have introduced upon the scene of our eventful history. Sir George Crofton, for such was the name of the father of Edwin and Charles, was a wealthy warm-hearted country gentleman, and constantly resided upon his own estate all the year round, being a good landlord to his tenetry, and a good father to his four children, who have already been to some extent presented to the reader. The mother was a kind-hearted, but rather weak woman, with an evangelical bias, that at times was rather annoying to the family. This, however, was perhaps the good lady's only fault, for with that one exception she was fond of her children to excess notwithstanding, as Sir George sometimes justinly said he barely believed she in her art considered they were all on the high road to a nameless abode. The night was so far advanced when the young men got home, that of course not much was said or done, and among other things that were put off until the following morning was the story of the finding of the body. There is no occasion, whispered Sir George, to say anything to your mother about it, certainly not father, at least not till tomorrow, for if you do I shall not get a wink of sleep for her reflections on the subject. The two young men knew very well that this was no exaggeration, and that their mother would, like any divine, eagerly sees the opportunity of what is any occasion by indulging in a long discourse upon the most dismal of all subjects that the mind of any human being can conceive, namely the probability of everybody going to eternal perdition unless they believe in a particular set of doctrines that to her seem orthodox. The consequence of this was that the dead body was quietly taken out of the boat by men who did not possess the most refined feelings in the world, and carried to the bone house. It seems a decent sort of chap said one, as he looked at the very respectable habillaments of the corpse. Ah, look at the gold rings! Yes, you may look able, but eyes on, hands off. Why? Why, you gawk, do you think, as young Master Charles and Edwin don't know of them? And more besides, who would touch dead man's gold off of his fingers? Is it unlucky? Horrid! Then I'll have not to do with them. The body was placed on the ground for there was no coffin of any sort to put it in, and the door was shut upon it in the dead house, and then the party who had brought it there thought it a part of their duty to wake up Will Stevens the sexton, and to tell him there was such a thing as a dead body placed in his custody as it were, by being put into the dead house, which was not above a hundred yards from the cottage occupied by Will. They hammered away rather furiously and perhaps not a little alarmed upon the occasion. In a few moments a casement was opened and out popped ahead. Helloa, you ragamuffins! What do you mean by hammering away at an honest man's door at this rate, eh? Am I to have any sleep? Ragamuffin yourself cried one, there's a dead body of a drowned man in the bone house. All you have got to do is look after it, and there's a lot of gold rings on its fingers with diamonds in them . You may make the most of it now that you know of it. A dead man who is he? Ah, that's more than we can tell. Good night, a rather good morning, old crusty. Stop, stop, tell me! The men only laughed, for they had no desire to protract a conversation with the sexton, and he called in vain after them to give him some further information upon the subject of this rather mysterious information. A drowned man he pondered to a drowned man, and with fingers loaded with gems and brought to the bone house. Oh, foe, foe, it's a hoax. That's what it is, and I won't believe it. It's done to get me up in the cold, that's all, and then there will be some trick played upon me safe, and I shall be only laughed at for my pains. Full of this idea, the sexton turned into his bed again, and hoped that by speedily going to sleep he should get the laugh of his tormentors, instead of they as well as lose the shivering that had come on him through standing at the open window exposed to the night air so indifferently clad. End of Chapter 198 Chapter 199 of Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Julie Bynum. Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott Prest Chapter 199 The sexton's avarice, the dead and the living, the ring It was all very well for the sexton to wish and to try to get to sleep, but actually to succeed in procuring nature's sweet oblivion was quite another matter. In vain he tossed and turned about. There was no rest for him of any kind or description, dreamless or dreamful, and still he could keep repeating to himself. A dead body with golden diamond rings in the bone house. These were the magic words which like a spell that he was compelled by some malign influence continually to repeat, kept Will Stevens awake until at last he seemed to lose entirely his first perception of the fact that he might be only hoaxed, and all his imagination became concentrated on the idea of how came the dead body in the bone house and how was it that golden diamond rings were left on its fingers in such a place. These were mental ruminations, the result of which was transparent from the first. For that result in the natural order of things was sure to be that the passion of curiosity would get the better of all other considerations, and he, Will Stevens, would rise to ascertain if such were really the state of things. It ain't far off morning now, he reasoned with himself, so I may as well get up at once as lie here tossing and tumbling about, and certainly unable to get another wink of sleep, and besides after all, I may be wrong in thinking this is a hoax. There may really be such a dead body as those fellows mentioned in the bone house, and if there be, I ought certainly to go and look after it. We easily reason ourselves into what is our pleasure, and so while these cogatory remarks were uttered by the sexton, he rose. He found that if he drew back the blind from before his window the moon which was now sailing through a nearly cloudless sky would give him amply sufficient light to enable him to go through the process of dressing, so he at once began that operation. Yes, he said, I ought to go, it's my positive duty to do so, after getting the information I have, and if the information be untrue, let it recoil on the heads of those who invented the falsehood. I shall go, that's settled. What a sweet moonlight! It was a sweet moonlight, indeed. The floods of soft silvery light fell with an uncommon radiance upon all objects, and the minutest thing could have been seen upon the ground with the same clearness and distinctness as at midday. The only difference was that a soft, preternatural looking atmosphere seemed to be around everything, and a kind of marble-like look was imparted to all objects far and near on which those soft silvery rays rested in beauty and sublimity. The sexton was full dressed, and although the moonlight guided him well, he thought that he might in the bone house require another mode of illumination, and he lighted and took with him a small lantern which had a darkening shade to it. Thus prepared he walked at a rapid pace from his own house towards the small shed-like building which served as a receptacle for the unowned dead, and for such human remains as were from time to time cast ashore by the waves, or flung up from new graves by the spade and the matic. Familiar as he was and had been for many a year with that bone house, and often in contact with the dead, he yet on this occasion felt as if a strange fear was creeping over him, and then a door of his heart and the fiery feel that was in his brain were circumstances quite novel to him. Well, this is odd, he said, and I suppose it is what they call being nervous. I can't make it out to be anything else, I'm sure. Thus reasoning with himself upon his own unwanted timidity, he reached the bone house. The door of the dilapidated building which was known by that name was only secured by a latch, for it was not considered that the room was sufficiently interesting for any one's cupidity to be excited by it. The sexton paused a moment before he lifted the latch and glanced around him. Even then he half expected to hear a loud laugh expressive of the triumph of those who had combined to play him the trick if it were one of getting him out of bed on a bootless errand. But all was still around him, still as the very grave itself, and muttering then it is true there is no trick. He hastily opened the door and went into the bone house. All was darkness save one broad beam of moonlight that came in at the doorway. But the sexton closed the entrance and applied to his lantern for a light. He slid the darkening piece of metal from before the magnifying glass, and then a rather sickly ray of light fell for a moment upon the corpse that lay then upon its back. A ray only sufficiently strong and sufficiently enduring to enable the sexton to make quite sure that there was a body before him, and then his lantern went out. Con found the lantern he said, I ought to have looked to it before I started instead of lighting it on the mere hazard of its going uncomfortably. What's to be done? Ah, I have it, I remember. What the sexton remembered was that on the same wall in which the door was situated there was a large square covered by a kind of shutter of wood. The withdrawal of a bolt from which would cause it to fall in a moment on its hinges. The sexton knew the place well, and drawing back on the somewhat rusty bolt, down went the shutter, and a broad flood of moonlight fell at once upon the corpse. Ah, said Will Stevens, there it is sure enough. What a long, odd-looking fellow to be sure, and what a face, how thin and care-worn looking. I do very much wonder now who he really is. As he continued to gaze upon the dead body his eyes wandered to the hands, and then sure enough he saw the bright, glittering gems the men had spoken of in which the salt water had not been able to tarnish into dimness, perceiving that the setting was gold and the stones real. Ahem, said Stevens softly, they will not bury the corpse with those rings on his fingers. While he must have half a dozen on at least, they will be somebody's perquisite, of course, and that somebody won't be me, the idea of leaving such property unprotected in a bone house. Will Stevens remained now silent for a short time, moving his head about in different directions, so that he caught the bright colors of the jewels that adorn the dead man's hands, and then he spoke again. What's more easy, said he, than for some of the very fellows who brought him here, to slip back quietly and take away every one of those rings. After this much he went to the door of the bone house and listened, but all was perfectly still and then his cogitations assumed another shape. Who saw me come from my house, he said. Nobody. Who will see me go back to it? Nobody. Then what is to hinder me from taking the rings and letting the blame lie on someone else's shoulders I should like to know? Nothing will be easier than to say in the morning that owing to the strange and insolent manner in which the information was given me of the arrival of the dead body in the bone house, I did not believe it and therefore did not rise, and so, so, I think I may as well, eh? He thought he heard something like a faint sigh, and the teeth chattered in his head, and he shook in every limb as he bent all his energies to the task of listening if there were really any one in or at hand playing the spy upon him. All was as before profoundly still, and with a long breath of relief he cast off his terror. What a fool I am to be sure, he said. It was but the wind after all, no doubt, making its way through some one of the numerous chinks and crevices in the shed. It did sound like a sigh from some human lips, but it wasn't. The propriety of making short work of the affair, if he wished to do it at all, now came forcibly to the mine of the sexton and arming himself with all the courage he could just then summon to his aid he advanced close to the corpse. Kneeling on one knee he took up one of the hands from which he wished to take the rings, and when he saw them closer he felt convinced that they did not belie their appearance, but were in reality what they seemed to be, jewels of rarity and price. The hand was cold and clammy and damp to the touch, and the knuckles were swollen so that there was great difficulty in getting the ring home, and the sexton was full five minutes getting one of them off. When he had done so he wiped the perspiration of fear and excitement from his brow as he muttered. That's always the case with your drowned folks. They are so swelled when they first come out of the water, and so I shall have quite a job, I suppose. The sexton's cupidity was, however, now sufficiently awakened to make him persevere, despite any such obstacles in what he was about, and accordingly on both knees he clasped the wrist of the dead man in one hand, and with the other stroved coax off by twisting the hoop of gold round and round a ring that had one diamond, apparently of great value set in it, and which the robber of the dead thought was a prize worth some trouble in the obtaining. In an instant the dead hand clasped him tight. End of chapter 199 Chapter 200 of Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Julie Bynum Varney the Vampire, Volume 3 by Thomas Prescott-Prest Chapter 200 The Recovery The Sexton's Fright The Compact What pen shall describe the abject fright of Master Will Stevens the Sexton as the cold, clammy fingers of the supposed corpse closed upon his hand? The blood seemed to curdle at his very heart. A film spread itself before his eyes. He tried to scream, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and he could utter no sound. In good truth he was within an ace of fainting, and it was rather a wonder that he did not go clean off. Power to withdraw his hand from the horrible dump he had not. And there he knelt, shivering and shaking, and with his mouth wide open and the hair literally bristling upon his head. How long he and the dead man remained in this way together in silence he knew not. But he was aroused from the state of almost frenzy in which he was by a deep sepulchral voice, the voice of the apparently dead. What has happened it said? What has happened? Is this the world which was to come? Mercy helps, stammered the sextant. I am a poor man. I don't want your rings, good Mr. Ghost. Oh, oh, oh, have mercy upon me. I implore you. The only reply was a frightful groan. The perspiration rolled down the sextant's face. Oh, don't, oh, pray don't hold me so tight. Now said the dead man, I know all. The die is cast. My fate has again spoken. Steel shall not slay me. The bullet shall kill me not. Fire shall not burn me. And water will not drown while yon bright satellite sails on twixt earth and heaven. Yes, yes, sir. Theffy-at has gone forth, and I am wretched, oh heaven, so unutterably wretched. Perhaps, good Mr. Ghost, you will let me go now? Here's your ring. I don't want to keep it. Here's the only one I took off your worshipful fingers, good Mr. Ghost. A very thin, filmy sort of cloud had been going over the moon's disk, but now had passed completely away, and such a flood of unchecked, untempered brilliancy poured in at the open window, if it might be so called of the dead house that it was bright radiant with the silvery beams. The drowned man rose with a wild howling cry of rage, and springing at the throat of the sexton bore him down to the earth in an instant, and placed his knee upon his chest. Villain, he groaned out between clenched teeth, you shall die although you have made me live. There shall be one victim to the fell destroyer. The sexton thought his hour corpse wretched what devil prompted you to do this most damnable deed. Speak, speak I say, who are you? What deed gassed the sexton? The deed of restoring me to life, of dragging me from the ocean and forcing me to live again. I, oh dear, speak, go on. I didn't do anything of the sort. The truth is I only came to to, to what? To borrow a ring of you, that's all, and the greatest calamity that has ever happened to me is your coming to life. How came I here? That I can't tell your worship. I am the sexton of this place. It's called Colburn, and is in Suffolk, and they picked your worship up at sea and brought you here. That's all I know about it, as I hope for mercy. It can't do you any good to kill a poor fellow like me. Now, but some ugly, no, I mean him some fellow supposed only to be drowned. Do you tell me the truth? As I live, and I hope your worship will let me live, I do. And here's the ring I came to borrow of you, sir, as a proof. Of what? Of, of, of, I hardly know what to say to you, sir. If you are not the great enemy to me that I had thought you, you are a mere thief. You came to steal what I had upon my fingers. Is that not the truth? I, I rather think it is, sir. You may say that you're wretched life if you like. If you promise me that you will keep all that has happened a secret, except so much of it as I shall empower you to reveal, I will spare you. But if after having so promised you break faith with me and let your tongue wag further than I wish it, you will not live 24 hours afterwards, be assured, for I will find you out and twist your head from your shoulders. Anything, sir, I will promise anything. I will swear if you like. I heed no oaths. Consideration for your own safety will keep you silent. Rise. He took his knee off the chest of the sexton and his hand off his throat and then will Stevens tremblingly rose to his feet. The idea did cross him for a moment of measuring his strength with the resuscitated man, but when he beheld the tall bony gaunt figure before him, he saw that he had not the shadow of a chance in a personal struggle. Moreover, he had a lively remembrance of a most vice-like pressure upon his throat, which seemed to say that the ugly stranger was by no means in an exhausted state. Upon the whole then, the sexton was glad to have escaped so well. You have only to say, sir, what you would have me do, he said. Answer me first. Have you always lived here? Is this your native place? Oh, no, sir, I came from London, but then it's years ago. Very well. You must say that you will remember me in London as a gentleman of good repute, and you must add that you came to the Bone House here and found me reviving, and that you took measures to complete my recovery. Yes, sir, and here is your ring. Keep it as a memento of this affair. Many thanks, sir. Will it please you tell me your name and condition? John Smith, a foreign merchant, and now tell me, minutely, how I was rescued from the ocean, or did the waves themselves give up their dead? The sexton, who was now assured in his own mind that it was no ghost he was speaking to, entered as far as he knew into the story of the finding of the body and bringing it to the Bone House, but as that information was not great he volunteered if Mr. Smith gave him all the particulars. To this the other consented, and they both left the Bone House together. On the short bit of road the sexton began to think that his companion must be some madman, forever in a non when the moon was brightest he saw him lift up both his arms to it as if he were worshiping it, and at those times too he heard him mutter some words in a language that he did not comprehend. At length the singular being spoke aside as if quite forgetful of the presence of another, henceforth begone remorse, begone despair. The great sea has rejected me, and not again will I seek destruction. I will live, and I will live to be the bane and curse of the beautiful. Sir, said the sexton, here is my house, sir. If you will step in I will soon dish you up a little something in the way of refreshment. You see, sir, I live alone. That is to say an old woman who keeps her and waits upon me goes away at night and comes again in the morning. But as it is not her time yet I will get you anything you like to eat or to drink. I never eat nor drink. Not eat nor drink? Never, sir? Never. I shall cost you nothing to entertain me. I want some rest, and while I am taking it do you go and get me such information as you can regarding me. Make no time alive, but go at once, and return with what expedition you may and remember that your fate is in my hands. I will, sir. The sexton was quite terrified enough to do what he was bitten, and perhaps the consciousness that the strange and mysterious man whom he had for a guest might accuse him of the projected robbery of the jewelry he had about his person influenced him more than the rather obscure threat of personal vengeance by the promise but the matter take it for all and all was anything but an agreeable one for Master Will Stevens, and most heartily did he wish he had remained in his bed and left the stranger to recover if was to recover by himself. Will did not attribute that recovery to the moonlight he had himself let in. End of Chapter 200 Chapter 201 of Varney the Vampire, Vol. 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Julie Bynum Varney the Vampire, Vol. 3 By Thomas Prescott-Prest Chapter 201 The Night Alarm The Vampire's Attack upon the Bride The particulars concerning the bringing of the body that had been picked up at sea by the brothers Edwin and Charles Crofton were to be learnt from many mouths so soon as the sexton evinced a disposition to know them and in a very short time, and as the daylight was making the fainter and more spiritual light of the moon fade away he again reached his own abode where he had left a guest of whom the reader knows much, but of whom Will Stevens knew but little. He found the self-christened Mr. Smith waiting for him rather impatiently. Well, he cried, your news, your news! Maybe told, sir, in a few words replied the sexton, and then he made his new friend acquainted with the whole story, just as he had heard it of the fishermen on the coast. Mr. Smith, or as we may well call him at once the Vampire, hesitated for a few moments as if he had not exactly and accurately made up his mind what to do, and then he said, you will go to the Grange House and tell the story that I have before informed you I would have told. Be sure that you expiate upon my gentility and respectability, for I want to be upon good terms with the Crofton family. Well, but, sir, I am a tenet of Sir George Crofton's, and so you see, what, said the Vampire, his eyes flashing with indignation as he spoke, dare you dispute my positive commands? No, sir, I only peace, Catef, and know that I hold thy life in my hands for your attempted robbery of me. The sexton was called. That was indeed the weak point now of all his defenses against whatever commands might be put upon him by his master as we may now call the Vampire, although after all it was but the usual dominion of a strong mind over a weak one, for there was not so much in reality for the sexton to be afraid of is his own guilty conscience dictated to him. It were easy enough for the Vampire to charge him with robbery, but not at all so easy for him to at the same time to substantiate as by some inquisitive counsel he might be called upon to do his own position in society. But it is most true. Conscience stuth make cowards of us all, and feeling that his intention regarding the rings of the supposed drowned man had been of a dishonest character, he could not some encourage sufficient to defy him now. I will go, he said, I am going. Tis well. In far from the pleasantest train of thought the sexton went to the Grange and asked to see Mr. Charles Crofton, and to him he related the version of the resuscitating of the supposed drowned man. It was heard with, as might be expected, the most profound astonishment, and the sexton soon found himself confronted with the whole assembled family and forced to repeat the wonderful facts over again. It seemed, as indeed it might well do, a something quite beyond brief. Why, Edwin, said Charles, he must have been in the water far beyond the length of time that it mostly takes to drown any one before we saw him. I think so, too. It must be so, for this reason, that he was a considerable distance from land, and there was no vessel near enough for him to have come from. Hold, said Sir George Crofton, my dear boys, you are forgetting the most important fact of all. Are we father? Yes, and that is that the gentleman is alive. You cannot get over that, you know, and as I have often heard, that whatever is is natural, why there is no disputing any more about it. And besides, how do we know but that he was in some boat which was swamped a few minutes before you saw him? That is a most rational supposition, said Edwin. And that we can say nothing against, added Charles. What is to be done, father? Why do not let us do good by inches? We know that this is the only house within a considerable distance for a gentleman to remain in. If he have the habits of comfort about him. So, Master Stephen, if you will go and give our compliments to the stranger, and ask him to come here, I shall be much obliged to you. I will, Sir George. And you can tell him that we are plain folks, but assure him of a hearty welcome. Will, Stevens made his bow and exit? Well, said Edwin, it is very odd, although, of course, it must be great, and I am the last person who would wish to make anything out of a commonplace event. But to all appearances dead he was when we took him into the boat, and I never before heard of a spontaneous recovery like this from such a state. Then you have added to your stock of experience, said his father, laughing, and I must own for my own part that I am rather curious to see this person who was a curiosity in appearance according to your accounts when he was dead or supposed to be lost for I am certain you might travel the world over without meeting a more singular looking man than he was. In the first place he looked particularly tall, but that might have arisen from the fact that we only saw him in a horizontal position. And then there was something about the expression of his face which was perfectly indescribable, and yet at the same time filled you with feelings of curiosity and dread. The sisters heard this account of the mysterious stranger with feelings twice at Emma. We have all of us often complained of being dull here, but such an animal as this will be quite an acquisition. And just as Clara is going to, what a pity laughed Edwin. I shall endeavor to survive the horrid disappointment, said Clara, for she was to be married on that day to one who had been the chosen companion of her heart for many a day and was to leave the home of her childhood to proceed far away to his house in Wales, where she was to be married to another admiring and loving circle. Ah, well, I pity you, said Emma. Then you had better at once, remarked Clara, forbid the occasional visits here of a certain young officer who, I'm afraid, has some audacious intentions. The reddy color flushed to the cheek of the younger sister who had scarcely expected such a retort, although she had fairly provoked it. Come, girl, said the father, we will have no more lance breaking news. Certainly not, father, said Clara, but then you know, unless Emma is made to see that she is vulnerable, she will go on tormenting me. In other words, Emma, said Edwin, you see that people who live in glass houses should not throw stones a most useful maxim. I don't care for any of you, said Emma, half crying as she ran out of the room. Clara followed her, for there was really the very best understanding although occasionally a smart repartee would be uttered upon some such occasion as the present, but all that was soon forgotten. The sexton who was getting each moment more and more uneasy about the share he had in the affair of the resuscitated man of the bone house went back to the cottage and there informed the self named Mr. Smith of the success of his mission to the Grange house. You think they will welcome me, said the vampire? I am sure of it, sir. My family I ever knew, and they would not have asked you to go to the Grange if they did not mean to use you well. And there are two daughters? Yes, sir. And young and fair, you tell me. They are two as handsome girls as you will find in this part of the country, sir. They have always been much admired. One of them, as I before mentioned, is going to be married and taken away, but the other stays at home. Tis well. Not you will not fail to remember the awkward situation in which you are. Keep the ring which you took from my finger, and with it keep your own counsel, for any babbling upon your part will most assuredly lead to your destruction. Yes, sir, I know. And although that destruction might not be immediate, you would lead a life of trembling terror until your doom was accomplished, and that doom should be a dreadful one in its manner. Now fare well, fare well and remember me. I shall never forget you the longest day I have got to live, said the sexton with the shutter, as he saw the tall, angular, gaunt-looking form of his most mysterious new acquaintance leave his cottage and make his way toward the Grange. End of Chapter 201 Chapter 202 of Varni the Vampire, Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Donald Finch Varni the Vampire, Volume 3 By Thomas Prescott Prest Chapter 202 The Defile in the Rocks The Horseman and the Accident The Grange house was visible from the cottage of the sexton, and so the vampire had declined the offer of Will Stevens to be his guide. As it happened, though, it would have been better regarded his reaching the Grange quickly that he should have taken the sexton with him. For the cliffs that were close at hand concealed to the eye many deep gullies and frightful precipices that had be coasted round before anyone could reach the Grange house by that route. If he could have gone directly onward, about half a miles walking would have suffice to enable him to reach the place. But before he had proceeded a quarter of that distance, he came upon a deep ravine or splitting in the cliff, too wide to jump across, and with all the appearances of extending inland a considerable distance without narrowing. I had indeed better have brought a guide with me, muttered Varney. He then paused for a few moments as if he was debating with himself whether or not he should return back and get the sexton. The mental hesitation did not last long, and the custom as he was to trust to his own sagacity and his own resources more than to other people, he walked along by the side of the fisher in the cliff, looking to himself. Were all the guides in the country here, they could but do as I am doing, namely walk on until the ravine closes. With this idea he pursued it, but to his mortification he found that it widened instead of presenting the least symptoms of closing, and suddenly it opened to his eyes to a width of about 50 feet and he paused again, irresolute. How am I to proceed, he said, this is a perplexity. He advanced close to the brink and looked down, the depth was very considerable, and at the bottom there was evidently a road made of sand and chalk, which wound down somewhere from the interior of the country to the sea-beach. As he looked he heard the rapid sound of a horse's feet. In another moment they dashed down the road towards the sea, a horse bearing on his back a man, who was exerting himself in every possible way to stop the maddened, headlong career of the animal, but it would not stop. With starting eyes and dilated nostrils and with its flanks covered with foam, the frightened steed which had evidently come some distance in that state rushed on, but the broken nature of the ground made it almost impossible that it should make such great speed than as it had been making, at least with any degree of safety. This was what occurred to the thoughts of Arnie, and it was sufficiently proved to be a correct idea, by the horse stumbling the next moment the rider heavily upon the sand and broken rock that was strewn around. The steed now disencumbered with its load, recovered itself in a moment and with a snort of rage and probably of pain likewise, dashed and disappeared from sight. Round the abrupt corner of the ravine to the left hand of the beach, so be it, said the vampire calmly. Another being is snatched away from the muster role of the living, one who perhaps would gladly have preserved his existence while I, I remain and cannot let me do what I will to accomplish such a purpose, shake off the cumbersome load of life that will cling to me. Suddenly quite a whirlwind of passion seemed to come on him, and standing on the brink of the ravine with his arms extended he cried, since death has denied me, I will henceforth shake off all human sympathies. Since I am compelled to be that which I am, I will not be that and likewise suffer all the pangs of doing deeds at which a better nature that was within me revolted. No, I will from this time be the bane of all that is good and great and beautiful. If I am forced to wander upon the earth, a thing to be abhorred and accursed among men, I will perform my mission to the very letter as well as the spirit and henceforth I do all regrets, I do all feeling all memory of goodness, of charity to human nature, for I will be a dread in a desolation. Since blood is to be my only sustenance, and since death is denied to me, I will have abundance of it. I will revel in it, and no spark of human pity shall find a home in this once wracked and tortured bosom. Fate, I thee defy! He continued for some few moments after uttering this speech in the same attitude in which he had spoken the words. Then suffering his hands slowly to fall, again he looked cold and passionless as he had been before. But his determination was made. By looking carefully about him, he saw that there was a kind of footpath down the side of a ravine, which an active person might descend by, although probably not altogether without some risk, but the least false step might precipitate him to the bottom. The vampire however had no such fears. He seemed to feel that he possessed a charmed life, and that he might adventure to do what others might well shrink from. This feeling begot a confidence which was almost certain to be his protection, even if it had been only founded upon imagination, for it fortified his nerves. And when he began the descent down the side of the ravine, it was without the smallest terror. He found however that when he was fairly on the path, it was a better and a wider one that he had at first supposed it to be. In the course of five minutes, he had got completely down to the narrow road on which, apparently dead, lay the wounded man, for he was only grievously hurt by his fall, although he was quite insensible. The vampire strode up to him. Uh, he said, young in what the world would call handsome. Ha! Ha! Heaven takes but little care sometimes of its handy work. After a few moments' contemplation of the still form that lay at his feet, he knelt on one knee by its side and placed his hand upon the region of the heart, after roughly tearing open the vest of the stranger. He lives. He lives. Well, shall I crush the fluttering spirit that now is hovering to its life and death, or shall I let it linger while it may within its earthly prison? Let it stay. The worst turn that anyone can do but another in this world is surely to preserve existence after once the pang of what would be all the agony of death is past. The vampire rose and was moving away up the ravine when a sudden thought seemed to strike him and he turned back again. Gold, he said, is always useful to me. And I think with my new thoughts and feelings it will now be more so than ever. This insensible man may have some about him. Again he knelt by the side of the young man and soon noticed himself of a tolerably well stocked purse that he found upon him. Round his neck, too, by a thin chain of gold on a small portrait of a young and beautiful girl, upon which Barney gazed intently. She is fair, he said, very fair. She would make a fit victim for me. I will take this portrait. It might stand me in some stead should I encounter the original. He placed the portrait in his pocket in the act of rising when he heard the sound of a footstep. Ah, someone comes. It will be no part of my plan to have been seen by the body. He darted forth down the narrow gorge or ravine and was soon sufficiently hidden from the sight of those who were advancing. They proved to be some fishermen going to spread their nets upon the beach which just below the spot where the seemingly fatal accident had taken place was as level and composed of the finest sound. Of course it was impossible to avoid seeing the body that lay in their path and Barney had no need to be fearful that he would be seen when an object of so much greater and more absorbing interest lay in their direct and unavoidable path. He heard from the sudden exclamations that fell from them that they had seen the body and upon advancing a step or two he found that they were collected round it in a dense throng for there were about a dozen men to his well said Barney it matters not to me if he be living or dead. I can doubtless find my way to the Grange House by this path along the shore I will pursue it at all events and see whether it will lead me. He did so and after going about half a mile he found another ravine which upon entering and ascending for a time let him quite close to one of the entrances of the Grange House as it was called and which was so anxious to reach. End of chapter 202 Recording by Donald Finch dafinch.com