 CHAPTER 139 Mrs. Meredith has a conversation with Mr. Twistle. The Announcement and the Invitation. When the servant answered the knock, Mr. Twistle learned to his severe disappointment that Mrs. Meredith was from home, and he was about to turn from the door after leaving his name when the girl said that her mistress had left a message, the purport of which was that if he, Mr. Twistle, was to call, she would feel obliged by his awaiting her return, as her absence would be but short, and the subject upon which she wished to see him was one of particular importance. Mr. Twistle was shown into the parlor much about the same as usual, but he himself was somewhat of a different state. He himself was considerably disgusted with his share of the business, but, as we have before stated, he was resolved never to give in, nor he was resolved to carry it on to the end. It must come to a wind-up, somehow or other, and at some time or other, but at the same time, as I have taken so much interest in that I am resolved to see it out, I won't lose all I have lost for nothing. It shall be with me a neck or nothing affair. And however aggravating it may be, you will have a greater chance in the long run of coming off victorious. Several minutes passed away, and still Mrs. Meredith came not. At length the attorney began to grow somewhat impatient, and he looked around the apartment, as if to find some object to pass away the time until her arrival. On a table in the center of the room lay several books, and he opened one or two of them for the purpose of ascertaining the nature of the contents. The title of one of them attracted his attention. It consisted of a collection of tales of the supernatural, and he opened it upon a legend called The Dead Not Dead. It possessed considerable interest, and Twistle was soon lost in its details. It ran as follows. The moon with her train of glittering satellites following with silent grandeur in her wake is sailing in lustrous glory through the heavens, and shedding such a flood of light over the face of nature that the mountains and trees look as if some mighty hand had tinted them with silver. Our scene is a rocky pass amidst the stupendous epinines, one of the wildest and yet most beautiful of that romantic region. At the foot of a tree and on a spot on which the rays of the moon fall with all their power sits a young man who is evidently watching over what appears to be a dead body that lies prostrate at his feet. His head is resting on his hand, and he is regarding the form before him with mingled fear and determination. Hark! He speaks! What are his words? For full an hour have the rays of yonder luminary poured their radiance upon the ghastly features of my dead master, and yet there is no visible effect. Surely he must have been laboring under some fearful delusion of mind, and the dreadful compact of which he has spoken had existence but in his imagination. I certainly had some little faith in the existence of those scourges to mankind, vampires, but now I am inclined to think my faith will be terribly shaken. In God's name I hope it may. The moon rose higher and higher until, as she reached her zenith, everything was so bathed in her gentle light that scarcely a shadow was thrown around, saved by the tall pines that were scattered here and there upon the face of the rocks. Only there was a movement in the form of the dead man, a spasmodic jerk of the whole muscles of the frame, as if a galvanic battery had been applied to it, and then the eyes slowly opened, though at first there was but little or no expression in them. The young man started to his feet with an exclamation of horror, and stood glaring upon the form with fixed and protruding eyes, his limbs trembling, and every feature distorted with mental agony. Holy Mother of God! he murmured in a low tone. He moves, he moves! The terrible compact is too true. At this moment, though there was not the slightest appearance of a cloud in the whole heavens, mutterings of thunder were heard, and the lightning was seen playing around the treetops with a pale and sickly glare. The young man, so intensely was his attention fixed upon the corpse at the foot of the tree, did not notice this phenomena, and he was at length horrified at beholding a ball of blue fire dart from the air, and glied into the ground immediately at the head of him whom he had named as his master. Then there was a loud explosion and a glare of light so broad and strong that the watcher of the dead was obliged to veil his eyes with his hands, and he could scarcely tell for some moments whether he was deprived of his sight or not. When he opened his eyes again it was with a start of surprise, for before him, with his arms folded on his breast, and regarding him with a calm and untroubled countenance, stood his master, while the moonlight streamed out upon the landscape, and as great a silence as when he lay in death upon the ground, rained around. Oh, senor! he at length stammered in broken tones. My vigil has been one of the most terrible. Silence, spalatro, said the resuscitated one in a deep and hollow voice. Silence! Not a word now or henceforth must pass your lips respecting what you have seen tonight. Breathe but a syllable of what I am to a human being, and not on earth shall hide you from my vengeance. Spalatro bowed before his master in obedience, while his frame gave a shudder of horror as he regarded the deathly appearance that still lingered in the senor's features. Spalatro resumed the senor after a slight pause. You have rendered me great and faithful servants, and your reward has been proportionate. But there is yet another service which I would seek at your hands. The Lady Oriana, for the possession of whom the senor Farkati and I have fought, and for whose sake I received the wound which deprived me for a time of life, is at Florence, and at present ignorant of the mishap that befell me. The senor Farkati and yourself are the only persons who are aware of it. He will carry to Florence the news of my death, and on my reappearance before the Lady Oriana, what tale can I invent to satisfy her? No, no, he must not reach Florence. He must never look upon the Lady Oriana again. You, Spalatro, wear a panyard, you have a peril for hand, and you know well where to strike. Rid me of this hated rival, and wealth shall be yours. Spalatro stood rooted to the spot while the senor spoke, and an expression of mingled horror and disgust crossed his countenance as the latter proceeded. When the senor had concluded, he stepped a pace or two back, and in a tone full of indignation said, Senor Waldeburg, I am no assassin. My panyard is yet guiltless of shedding human blood. I saw you receive what was thought to be a mortal wound, an honorable combat with the senor Farkati, and in these arms I beheld you sink in death. You had extorted from me a promise that after a certain lapse of time I would convey your body to this vast solitude, and lay it where the moonbeams should fall upon it. For that, then, life should once more revisit you. All this I have done, and faithfully, I feared to fail in my promise, for I knew the penalty you would pay if you failed to fulfill the conditions of your compact. But senor, I am now no longer bound to you. You have commenced a fresh existence which you would baptize with blood. You have passed the portals of death, and I will no longer serve you. I will seek another service and another master, who will require less at my hands, though his pay may be lighter. Farewell, senor, and better thoughts to you. Spalatro turned upon his heel as he spoke, and with a hasty wave of his hand was leaving the spot, when the senor drew a pistol from a belt that was fastened round his waist, and exclaiming, he knows too much respecting me to be suffered to live, fired at full at the head of the young man. The latter uttered a yell of agony which echoed loudly amid the awful silence, and fell lifeless on the earth. When the smoke from the pistol had cleared away, that lonely spot was deserted saved by the body of Spalatro, whose blood, streaming upon the ground, reflected the moon beams with a dull red glare. When the morning sun broke over the mountaintops, its rays fell upon the form of the still insensible Spalatro. It was but seldom that any footsteps, save those of the wolf or the goat, left their impress on those rocks, and it was almost a miracle that the body of the unfortunate man was not left a prey to the former. About an hour after daybreak the bells of a string of mules were heard in the distance, accompanied by the cheerful song of the mule tear. A short time suffice to bring the cavalcade to the spot, where lay the body of Spalatro, and the mule tear with a cry of alarm brought his train to a stop. Seeing that life still remained, the humane mountaineer raised him from the ground, placed him across one of the mules, and then hastened forward to the next inn, which, however, was at some miles distance. On arriving there he found that the only apartment was occupied by a senior in his daughter, who, however, when the condition of the wounded man was made known to them, instantly relinquished it to him, and after seeing his wounds looked to, ascertained that no mortal result was to be feared, and giving orders that he should want for no attention that money could procure, they pursued their journey. It was many weeks before Spalatro recovered, and when he did regain his strength he learned with a feeling of deep gratitude, that the lady who had been so instrumental in his recovery was no other than the senora Oriana. In an instant a vow was upon his lips, that he would save her from the power of the fearful monster whose only mission now on earth seemed but to destroy the most beautiful of nature's creation. With this purpose fixed in his mind, he one morning bid adieu to the residents of the little inn, and set off on his self-imposed errand. Some days after the scene we have described as occurring on that lonely mountain pass, a report reached Florence, where the senora Oriana was then staying with her father, that the senora Fricati had met his death at the hands of a bravo, that his body had been discovered stabbed in innumerable places. The grief of Oriana was intense, for she held the senora in great estimation, and she would have had but little hesitation in bestowing upon him her hand if her father's consent could but have been gained to the union. Senora Vivaldi however had been captivated by the great wealth, personal appearance, and captivating manners of the senora Waldeburg, and he had fixed his mind upon him becoming the husband of his daughter. Weeks passed away, and the memory of the murdered Fricati was gradually fading from the mind of Oriana. The respectful yet warm attention of Waldeburg won upon a young and innocent heart that had always felt a slight esteem for him. And as she knew that her father's happiness in a great measure depended upon her consent to the union, it was at length given with a freedom that brought joy to the old man's heart. It was arranged that the ceremony should take place at a chateau belonging to Waldeburg in the neighborhood of Lucca, whether it was resolved at once to proceed, and for this purpose Senora Vivaldi and his daughter, accompanied by Waldeburg, left Florence for that city. As they were passing through the gates, a monk, with his cowl drawing carefully over his face, stepped hastily up to the carriage window and, thrusting a letter into the hands of Oriana, as hastily disappeared. With some surprise she opened it and read it, and then a paleness overspread her countenance, and she sank back in her seat, almost insensible. Her father snatched the paper from her trembling hand and hastily glancing over its contents, with a look of anger handed it to the Senora Waldeburg. See, Senora, what some meddling fool envious of your happiness has done to alarm my daughter's fears. Does he deem us so grossly superstitious as to believe in such children's tales? The Senora took the paper which he found to run thus. Senora, a grateful heart warns you, wed not the murderer of Fercati, wed not him who, once returned from death to life, seeks but your hand to provide a victim for the purpose of prolonging a hateful existence. If you despise this warning, at any rate postpone the ceremony but for seven days from hence, and then his power of injuring you will have departed from him. Do you know the writer, Senora? asked Vivaldi. It is evidently the handwriting of a servant of mine whom I dismissed for insolence some few weeks since returned Waldeburg, a shade of vexation evidently passing across his brow, and he now takes this means of endeavouring to obtain his revenge, but I will take means of having him punished. They now endeavour to soothe the agitation of Oriana, but the incident seemed to have taken a firm hold upon her imagination, and in spite of all their efforts she found it impossible to shake off the effect it had upon her. The chateau, the place of their destination, was at length reached. Preparations were instantly commenced for the celebration of the marriage, which was to take place by the Senora Waldeburg's expressed desire on the sixth day from that on which they had left Florence. As the day drew near, the spirits of Oriana grew gradually depressed, and a slight feeling of dread seemed to steal over her whenever she found herself in the presence of her lover. Her father questioned her as to its cause, and then she confessed that the mysterious warning she had received preyed deeply on her mind. It might be a superstitious weakness, but she could not repress it, and she requested her father, however reluctant he might be, to consent to put it off for at least another day. The entreaties of his daughter, though he laughed at her fears, prevailed upon the old man. And he gave his consent to her request. But when he mentioned the alteration in time to Waldeburg, the countenance of the latter underwent a complete change to the hue of death. No prayer, however, could prevail upon the old man to recall his consent to his daughter's wish, and the Senor departed evidently in a state of the greatest despair. That night the Senora Oriana was missing from her chamber, and though the strictest search was made for her, not the least trace of her presence could be found. The grief of the father and the lover knew no bounds, and there seemed to be no hope of consolation for them. It is the night of the sixth day, that day against which Oriana had been so mysteriously warned, in a large vault far beneath the chateau, and lighted by innumerable torches that threw a red and smoky glare around, stood the beautiful Oriana and the Senor Waldeburg. The former was pale as marble, and an expression of the most intense despair was upon her countenance. The Senor resolved that she should become his wife before the expiration of the six days, had torn her from her chamber, and immured her in that fearful place, with the hope of forcing her to become his bride. But Oriana revolted at such usage, and feeling more convinced than ever that the warning she had received had its foundation in truth had resisted alike his persuasions and his threats. The hour of midnight was fast approaching, and before an altar that stood at one end of the vault was an old and venerable priest with an open book in his hand. Waldeburg drew Oriana towards him, and forced her to kneel at the foot of the altar. She entreated, she supplicated, she appealed to the priest. His only answer was a solemn shake of the head, and then he proceeded to read the marriage ceremony. Waldeburg took her hand, but she suddenly flung it from her and uttered the most piercing screams that echoed fearfully amidst those cavernous places. Still the priest read on, and despite her emotion and her agony of terror, Waldeburg regarded her with a cold and determined gaze. Faster, faster, he muttered to the priest, or all will be lost, and he glanced anxiously around the vault. At the moment striking fearfully on the silence came the sound of the turret clock telling the hour of midnight. On the first stroke the most fearful sounds the human ear ever listened to filled the place. Strange indefinite shadows flitted around, filling the air with a rushing sound as if of mighty wings. The altar changed to a heap of human bones, the priest to a ghastly skeleton. Then came darkness, terrible and distinct, and Oriana swooned upon the damp floor. When she recovered she found the day had broken, and the sunlight was streaming upon her face, while her father and the young man whom she had seen wounded at the end in the mountains, or stooping over her in alarm. The inhabitants of the chateau had been alarmed in the dead of the night by a terrific storm which had thrown into ruins a part of the castle, and a vast chasm had been made in the foundations, disclosing the vaults, the existence of which had been, until then, unknown. Beneath the rich vestiments of Waldeburg and lying in a heap on the ground were the remains of a human skeleton, all that was now left of the guilty being who had thus paid the penalty for failing in complying with the conditions of the fearful compact into which he had entered with the unholy powers of darkness. It was many months before the mind of Oriana recovered its strength, and when it did she entered a convent of Ursuline nuns, and endeavored to forget, in the consolations of religion, the fearful trial she had undergone. Twistle laid down the book which he had been reading and fell into a strange kind of musing in which the vampire Waldeburg and the East India Colonel were strangely mixed up together. From his reverie he was awakened by a rap at the street door, and then, in a few minutes afterwards, Mrs. Meredith entered the room exclaiming, "'Well, Mr. Twistle, you always come in luck's way.' "'Indeed,' said Mr. Twistle, involuntarily thinking of what he had that morning undergone, and as well as what he went through a day or two before, and for the life of him he saw not what might be called luck, unless it was that species known as ill-luck.' "'Yes, Mr. Twistle, you are. You've just come in time to hear the news.' "'What news, ma'am? What news? If you'll be pleased to enlighten me upon that subject, I shall be better able to understand what you allude to. Why, you see, the Colonel has been so pressing that my daughter has been induced to name the day. Yes, Mr. Twistle, she has named the day, not a distant day, either. He begged and entreated you don't know how hard, which, at least, shows how much he meant it.' "'Well, truly it is news, Mrs. Meredith,' said the attorney. "'But, at the same time, it is just what I expected, though not just at this juncture. The fact is, there is but little can be said against Colonel Deverell. But, at the same time, there will be but little said for him. I am by no means sure that there will be any property found. If he were a man of money, he would not hesitate to lay his circumstances open.' "'He is too proud for that. Well, it may be all very well to attribute it to that cause. However, that may be. There can be no doubt you have a right to do as you please, and I bow to your decision. But still, I do so, having expressed my opinion to the contrary, being very suspicious of him. But, as I said before, you are entitled to do what you please in the affair. I have no right to do more. My daughter and I have been considering the matter over and over again, and we have come to the conclusion that it should take place, and she is consented that it should take place in about ten days' time when we shall expect to have your company, Mr. Twistle. I am obliged to you, and assure you my opinions upon this matter are not at all personal. I will meet the Colonel, and I will be present with you all on that happy occasion with much pleasure, and I hope it will be a fortunate and happy marriage. I hope so too, said Mrs. Meredith, and I have every reason to believe so. That is good, said the Attorney. And now Mr. Twistle, said Mrs. Meredith. What did you do this morning at the South Seahouse? I could not send to you as early as I could have wished, as I did not know he was going till the coach was ordered, and he went away almost immediately. I then sent Mary to you. I don't know at what time she came to you, but at all events she was not back here until late. She must have got to my place in good time if she only started after the Colonel had left this house, said the Attorney. I am very glad of that at all events, but what success did you have? Success, indeed, said Mr. Twistle with a shrug of mortification. I have only succeeded in getting myself into a very serious difficulty, and the Colonel has eluded me again. I can't understand it all. I don't know what to think, but I am sure of this, that I have been in a series of disasters ever since I undertook to follow him about, and I have discovered nothing concerning him. What has happened to you today, then? inquired Mrs. Meredith. Oh, as for that, what seems to be but natural in itself, and therefore, it may be said not to be connected with him. Indeed, though that were really the case, yet there is so much concurrent action, I cannot divest myself of the idea that it is a fatal affair as far as regards looking after him. Then don't do so any more, Mr. Twistle. I'll never give in, said Twistle. Well, but what need you trouble yourself more about the affair? I assure you we're all well satisfied that Colonel Deverell is Colonel Deverell, and that he had property, that being the case, I am sure you have nothing to trouble yourself about, or to blame yourself for. I am conscious of that, said the Attorney, rubbing his knee. I have done all I can, and I have given my advice. I hope I have done my part. Yes, you have, said Mrs. Meredith. I am quite satisfied, but what has happened to you? I will tell you, my dear Madam. I will tell you. I have been assaulted, knocked about, robbed, and my faculties all confused, and no use to me. I have lost my handkerchief, watch, and purse, and I have had my trousers ripped open, and I can't tell what besides. I am safe, however. Well, that is right at all events, but it is most annoying to me that you should be subject to these terrible accidents. I can't understand the meaning of it. I can't, said the Attorney. But why should you, more than anyone else, be subject to these misfortunes? I can't understand it at all, Mr. Twistle. Perhaps you'd do something or other unusual on such occasions, which had been the cause of such terrible trouble. Not that I am aware of, said Twistle. But the fact is I don't know of anything peculiar in my appearance or behavior that should cause this disaster. But I am sure of this, that there is nothing more singular about me than what there usually is, and why it should only attract notice on these occasions and no other, I cannot tell. Nor I. Well, I suppose it must have been that there was some other circumstance, independent alike of him and you, that had caused this disagreeable affair. Perhaps there might be. Well, now, Mr. Twistle, there's another affair I wish to speak to you about, or rather, it's a thing my daughter Margaret should speak to your daughter Elizabeth and Miss Martha about. You see, as they are not very often together, I thought it right to speak to you first. Yes, ma'am, go on, pray. Well, my Margaret is to be married in a few days. Now, we don't want relatives at all, and I was advising her to beg your permission to have the two young ladies whom I have named as bridesmaids, and who will be of essential service to my daughter. I have no doubt, but they will feel very much gratified with the proposal, and one could not have been better devised than this one to please them. Then will you invite them to come here and spend the evening with Margaret and yourself, Mr. Twistle, the first evening you find leisure and inclination? Well I have destroyed today so far as a business day by drinking brandy and water early, and I may as well finish it in an agreeable manner. That is very good. We shall expect you to tea this evening. You may, said Twistle, if you are not otherwise engaged. I may as well do all that is necessary so as to have as little to do by and by as possible. Has the Colonel come home? No, not yet. I did not expect him to come home so soon as this, but he will be back in a very short time now, I dare say. Then I will bid you good-bye, for it will be unnecessary to meet him in this plight. Indeed, he might think I paid him no respect to do so, and besides it will be better, altogether, that he should not see me so soon, lest he should have caught sight of me in the city, which indeed I think wholly impossible, for I had only had a distant glimpse of him. Then good-bye, sir, I shall see you and the young ladies, both my daughter and her friend Martha. Mr. Twistle arose and left the house to return to his own house and get his daughter prepared for the visit, and her friend also, while Mrs. Meredith and her daughter Margaret consulted together as to what would be the best method of doing honor to the occasion of the forthcoming marriage. You see, my dear, said Mrs. Meredith. We cannot very well invite our own friends, because they are such a greedy, rapacious set. They would sooner spoil a good chance for us than let us have it unmolested. They are by far too greedy. No, no, they must not come. They will think themselves injured if they cannot share the harvest. And all will be lost. To be sure, and moreover, we could not shake them off when we wanted, in which we must do very soon, for the Colonel will never abide them. No, ma, I think not indeed. They are decidedly low people, who are gentile only of a Sunday. It will never do to have such people about us. Oh, dear, no. Here is the Colonel come back. See if that girl has got the water hot. He will like his tea early. I am quite sure he hasn't got it ready. What a provoking girl that is to be sure. She does nothing all day. I must get rid of her. Yes, but she is very ugly. That is one great recommendation in her favor, said Mrs. Meredith. One very great recommendation. It ensures domestic peace, to say the least of it. And there is not so many followers usually. Now, however, we must do the best until we have money. But here he is. At that moment the Colonel entered the house, and proceeded at once to the drawing-room, having first divested himself of his hat and cloak in the passage. Upstairs was a good fire in an easy chair, with ottomans for his feet, and a comfortable well-furnished apartment it was. Mrs. Meredith followed him up, and entered the room after him to inquire what he would like done next, and with her assistance he took his boots off and put on a pair of splendid slippers, and reposed with a groan of satisfaction on the chair. I think, Mrs. Meredith, he said, that the best thing I can have will be some tea. Where is Margaret? When she is at liberty I wish to see and speak to her. She will be here in a few moments, Colonel, said Mrs. Meredith. I will send her to you. No hurry for a few moments, said the Colonel. Something about the jewels I'll be sworn, said Mrs. Meredith to herself. I wonder what he has in that parcel. A present, I dare say. Mrs. Meredith sought Margaret, and related what the Colonel said with his desire to see her, and that young lady at once proceeded to the drawing-room. Oh, my dear Margaret, said Colonel Deverell. I see you are pleased to see I have returned. Your very eyes tell me so. Come here to me, dearest. Ah, my looks I am afraid say too much. Not at all, not at all, said the Colonel. I love to see them, especially when I know they are sincere. When they come from the heart, you know, I love to see innocent and heartfelt satisfaction beaming from such a face as yours. Oh, Colonel, you are really too complimentary. Not that I think you don't mean what you say, but your partiality is too great to allow you to judge as a stranger would. I do not desire to judge as a stranger would. It does not give me any satisfaction. To look upon you with the eyes of a lover is a privilege I most desire, and very soon with those of a husband. And then my happiness will be complete. How I long for the days and the hours to fly by. They cannot go too fast now. By and by they may pass as slowly as you please. That done, then I am quite content, because I shall pass them happily, rapturously. Ah, you are so kindhearted, so good that I can never repay you. Do not seek to do so. You will only make me the heavier in debt. Become there is a small parcel, with a few trinkets I have purchased. The jewels I spoke of are in hand, and they will be ready in time for our marriage. Nay, do not think about them. Do not disturb yourself, Colonel. I am quite content if I am dressed as befits the occasion, but I am really obliged to you for your present, whatever it may be. And I may as well tell you, I have thought. Indeed, I have said as much. I should like to have a couple of female friends to visit me on that occasion. Yes, my dear, you may depend upon it. I shall be the more happy when I know you are so too. But no matter, ask whom you please. As far as I am able, I will make them welcome and happy. I suppose, however, you are alluding to your bridesmaids. I am, said Margaret. I shall be most happy to see them, or any friend you may desire, added the Colonel. And will you have no one on the occasion, inquired Margaret? Won't you have somebody to keep you in countenance upon the occasion? No, said the Colonel. I shall not. I have no friends with whom I am intimate enough, that I know of, at this present moment. There may be people in London with whom I have been in India intimate with, but I do not know for certain. But time and accident will turn up old friends, and I have not the desire to seek them. But, if we must have someone, I do not know whether Mr. Twistle would not do quite as well, if he would come, and your mother had no objection. I am sure she would not. Mr. Twistle was an old friend of my father's, and consequently he would be no stranger at all to the family. Besides, it is his daughter, and her friend Martha, that I have invited upon this occasion. Have I done wrong? Not at all. It could not have happened better. I am sure they must be very worthy people, and anyone whom you please, or they know, that you feel disposed to invite, do so, with the confidence that whatever pleases you on the occasion, will please me. At that moment there was an alarming wrapping at the door, which caused them to pause a few moments. Then they continued their conversation until the servant announced to Miss Meredith that Miss Twistle, her papa and her friend Martha, were come. End of Chapter 139 of Varni the Vampire of Volume 3 Read by Richard Wallace Liberty, Missouri 14 February 2010 Happy Valentine's Day Chapter 140 of Varni the Vampire of Volume 3 I know how that is, said Margaret, before she left the drawing room. That was through my ma. I daresay she has invited them to take tea with her tonight. I should not at all wonder about that. I have not seen them for some time. They keep a great deal at home, and visit but little. They are playful, homely girls, but good-hearted, and that is why I prefer them to more fashionable friends, whose goodness of heart I cannot rely upon. They are insincere. You are very right, but you will, I hope. Let me see your friends. And unless you have family matters to speak of, perhaps you will take tea up here with me. I shall be all alone if you do not. So you see, I am speaking from selfish motives. But do not think I shall be at all hurt if you do not see fit to accept the invitation for them. I will accept it for them cheerfully, and shall be much surprised if they do not do so too, said Margaret, as she walked towards the door, and then left the apartment to proceed first to her own room, and there to examine her present before she sought the visitors to give them their invitation. The parcel contained some handsome laces and other matters, beautiful and expensive, such things as she could wear and excite the envy of others, which was, of all things, and usually is, of women in general, the most enchanting thing in all the world, and gives intense gratification. After admiring for a moment or two the beauties of the laces she could not help involuntarily exclaiming, this will be beautiful, so very becoming, and so much above anything else that can be brought by my bridesmaids. I shall be a queen amongst them. Indeed, they will but set me off to the utmost advantage. I shall be the glory of the occasion. Something secured her new acquisition from inquisitive eyes by locking it up in her drawers. She returned downstairs, and then entered the parlor, where, truly enough, as she had imagined, there was Mr. Twistle, Miss Twistle, and Miss Martha, all of whom were dressed out for the occasion. There was some truth in what Margaret had said to her mother, that the two intended bridesmaids were not likely to induce anyone to fall in love with them. They were oddities of the first water. Miss Twistle had light brown hair, bushy eyebrows, a straight masculine nose, a mouth that turned up on one side, and one of her eyes had a gentle inclination to gaze at her nose, while her complexion was increased by a vast quantity of sun freckles. Then, as for Miss Martha, she was another beauty of a similar class, hooked nose, with one eye paying undue attention to the auricular organ, while the other was somewhat injured by a blank appearance. Her hair was red, and she was pitted by the smallpox to a fearful extent. Such were the two friends who Miss Meredith had chosen for bridesmaids, with the laudable view of putting no temptation in the way of the Colonel, which Mrs. Meredith, her mother, most strenuously advised, as she had experience of the men. My dear Miss Twistle, and you, Martha! Ah, Margaret, God bless me, who could have imagined above all things what I have come about. What can you be thinking and doing? Here you have no friends to help you. I see you have done it all yourself. What can you think of people you have no mercy? I said, Martha, there is no doing anything while you are about. No one else has a chance, but you must tell us all about it. Yes, yes, I will tell you all about it, and more than that, you shall see the Colonel, if you please. That is what we should like above all things. Oh, it is a Colonel then, a rich Indian Colonel. Upon my word you will have to be presented at court next. Ha, ha, ha! You are joking me now? Well, never mind. I shall joke you some of these days. You may depend upon that. My turn will come next, and then I won't forget you. But seriously, there are more unlikely things may come to pass than that. Well, now, I dare say, who would have thought of that now? But then you are so lucky, you see. Only think what might have been the case if the Colonel had been a young man. Why, he might become as great a man as the Marquis of Granby. Why, you'd have been a Marchioness, then. Why, bless my heart, how things do come about. Well, you had better come up to the drawing-room, said Margaret, and see the Colonel, who is waiting tea for us all. Come, ma. Yes, my dear, I am ready. Mr. Twistle, will you come? If you please, said Mr. Twistle, if you please. We shall now soon have the pleasure of seeing an end to this affair, for, as it is to come off, why, when it is over, it will be all the better. Expectation is always a time of uncertainty and anxiety, at least to most people. So it is, Mr. Twistle, so it is, and I am not without my share of it, for in the first place human life is short, and circumstances may alter cases. So I am anxious to see it over, and offer no impediment in the way of the completion of the marriage. Certainly, you are quite right, having made up your mind to permit the marriage to take place, why, the sooner the better. They were all now introduced to the Colonel, who was very polite and courtly, which in some degree embarrassed the young ladies who were compelled to put on, as they expressed it, their best behavior, and so did not become quite so familiar. However, that did not spoil the harmony of the meeting, for the young ladies considered there was more respect paid to them, and the less they were able to appreciate the politeness with which they were treated, the more they believed themselves honored. They were well enough pleased, and the conversation turned upon various matters, while Mr. Twissell was uncommonly attentive to the Colonel. Indeed, he watched him most narrowly, every turn and every expression, as if he were resolved to ascertain, by constant surveillance, whether there was any foundation for his half-inspired doubts respecting him, and also as to whether it were possible that he could have had any hand in the disasters which he had on two several occasions suffered. But yet he could see nothing, nothing at all that gave him the slightest pretext for persisting in his suspicion. He appeared the same easy, careless individual who would not trouble himself to consider whether he was watched or not, or whether his actions were the subject of other people's thoughts, or whether they were unnoticed it mattered nothing to him. It is singular, he muttered to himself, very singular how it could all happen by accident, and only at moments when I was watching him. I can't tell, and yet the occurrences were of that character. To another they would seem wholly unconnected, and I am unable to connect them, saved by fancy. But he looks not a very old man, but rather like one who has the full use of his faculties. He is singularly pale to be sure, and yet at times he does not appear so old, nor does his arm and leg seem quite so bad at others. Perhaps it varies according to circumstance, whether the moon or unforeseen changes. He remained cogitating very quietly by himself. He was thoughtful and could by no means divest himself of the idea that there was something more than common about the colonel. He don't seem so blind with that eye as he might, he muttered. But there is no use calculating about an Indian. They have got such luxurious habits and fancies, that if he fancies one of his eyes as in any degree weak, he will wear a shade for its preservation. Well, he is entitled to do so, but he ain't so old as they imagine. And that will be no detriment to him or to them, so much the better unless they reckon upon the colonel's death, which would hardly be an object to them, seeing that it could bring them no more. Indeed, it would diminish their income. But he is a tall man now, and if he did not stoop so much would yet be a fine man. These thoughts passed through his mind time after time during the whole evening while the colonel himself was at times conversing in the most refined and courtly language, and doing much towards amusing them with anecdotes of the places he had seen and the battles he had fought. You would be surprised, he said, to hear that in India there are places so cold that they more resemble the polar regions than Central Asia, of which we only used to think of as being one of the hottest regions in the world, filled with wild animals and numerous serpents. Certainly we hear more of that than anything else, the yellow fever, the cholera, and all these kinds of things caused by exposure to heat. So they are, but it is only in the plains, and not on the high tablelands and mountains, where you gradually meet with more temperate climates, many of which equal northern Europe for solubility, and further up you come to frozen regions. Indeed, that is a phenomenon. Oh dear no, the altitude of the plain and the exposure make the sole difference. I remember once I was sent with some other regiments to chastise some of the hill tribes. Under whom was that? inquired the attorney. General Walker returned to Colonel. He was a very able general, and we performed some extraordinary marches under him, as well as some service. Oh indeed, said the attorney, what might have taken place. I will tell you an incident that did take place, and not relate more scenes of carnage that we passed through in the execution of our duty than shall be actually necessary. We had, on one occasion, to storm a city. On another, a fortified town. It was strong and well protected by nature and art. While we arrived there and the gates were closed against us, guns were brought to bear and men appeared on the walls. We expected, of course, a sharp time of it, and being only the advance guard, we halted for the main body to come up with us, and, after having summoned the garrison to surrender, we put posts and watchers for the night, not expecting to do anything upon that occasion. Nor did we expect the main body up with us till the middle of the next day. They having sent word on to me that they would not be up in consequence of some accident to some part of the train, which would have to be repaired. But a portion of the troops would advance a stage nearer to me in case of an accident upon which I could retire for support or send to them to come up as the exigencies of the moment should most require. But they did not anticipate any movement at all. Nor did we. The fact was, we had made a forced march of it, and had got over more ground than we had expected, and our main body did not think we should have been so near the scene of action as we were. However, a council of war was held amongst the officers, and it was resolved that we should attempt nothing without the assistance of our comrades, as the place was very strong, as I have before told you. Well, sir, half the night was over, and we lay fast asleep, having had a hard, very hard day's work of it, so hard that we could sleep sound on the bare earth. We were all suddenly awakened by a loud explosion which shook the very earth under us, and upon starting up and rushing out of our tents, we saw the earth and air illumined by the explosion of, as we afterwards learned, and guessed at the moment, one of the enemy's powder magazines. In another minute we found there were plenty of falling missiles with the debris of the magazine and the mangled corpses of the men who were near it. There was an instant order to muster the men. Everybody knew what was meant. They were already in a few moments. Indeed, we slept by our arms, fully accoutred, so it did not take long to be ready for action. We were ordered to form in divisions and bodies, and as there was ample breach made by the explosion there, I was ordered to mount the breach and enter the town for the purpose of assault. We did this. We marched down upon the breach after some difficulties, and were fairly in it, but had our commanding officer known any of the difficulties he would not have incurred the responsibility of ordering us to advance. For the ruins we had to scramble over were dreadful, and had there been light, we could every one have been picked off by the enemy. Darkness was our friend, and we got into the town with a comparatively trifling loss, and when our men got together they began to tell a tale, for their volleys were well directed upon the enemy who were drawn up in masses and whose fire directed ours. We were not completely exposed to their fire for the same objects that exposed our men as they were surmounted before reaching the enemy protected them from immense volleys of musketry. However we carried the point, and at that moment another explosion took place in some other part of the town, which illumined all around for a moment or two, and then came masses of bricks and stones and timber killing friend and foe. For a while we were staggered we did not know what to think of this affair. We knew not whether we had an enemy to fight or even where he was. We were completely at a standstill. But this did not last long. The defenders fled and left us, masters of the field. We remained under arms all that night till daylight. Glad were we indeed when daylight came. We were fatigued, so much so that our men could scarcely stand in the ranks. Then parties were sent out to look after the wounded, who had been left in all imaginable situations. It was at such a moment that I was discovered my leg was shattered by a musket bullet. And you laid bleeding all night? Yes, not exactly bleeding, for I had some sense left to me to bind a ligature over the wound to stop the effusion of blood, which would have killed me in a very short time. However, there was no necessity to lose my leg, but it has made me permanently lame. I see you are so, sir, said Twistle. But do you never feel it worse at some times than at others? Yes, I do. There are times when I do not know that I have received a hurt at all, but sometimes I suffer a little, and am a little more lame in consequence. It was fortunate, said Twistle. It was your leg, for it might have been your head, you know, and that would have been a death blow to your fortune. Yes, said the Colonel mildly. I might have been killed as you observed, but at the same time I should have done my duty, which in these cases is all we look to. I might have saved a better man who had a wife and family. I had none. Conversation now ran on the forthcoming event, and Mr. Twistle was invited by the Colonel, and the whole party were well satisfied with each other, and parted very good friends, with the promise of meeting again before the propitious morning which was to unite the fates of Margaret Meredith and Colonel Deverell. VARNEY THE VAMPIRE volume 3 A new character, Ms. Twistle's visitor, the invitations. Nothing could exceed the smoothness and easiness of the course of things in the wooing of Margaret Meredith. All things appeared so well-ordered. People were all of one mind, and it is needless to say that the young lady was elated. She was elated, and we might not be out of the way in saying she was elated over much, and knew not how to keep the exhibition of her joy within proper bounds. She could not help showing she was to be the lady of a Colonel. Mrs. Meredith, too, was well pleased. What could she do but feel proud at the change that was about to take place? She would go to watering places in the summer and remain in town during the winter. They would lead a very fashionable life. They would be of the elite, and all their acquaintances would be compelled to cut, or the most only speak to them when they were unseen by any others. It is astonishing how a change of circumstances produces a change in our habits and feelings, how it happens that those who were considered respectable acquaintances suddenly become the objects of our aversion, and we begin to devise all sorts of methods for evading recognition, or speak into them when we can avoid it. This arises merely from a change in one's circumstances, which causes us to look for something much beyond what we have been used to, but unfortunately it brings in gratitude often in the train of its consequence. My dear, said Mrs. Meredith to her daughter Margaret, we really cannot know the people at the corner house over the way who invited us to their parties. Oh, dear, no, we cannot think of it, but we must get rid of them in the best way we can. You see, they will not be quite the thing for us when we come to have our change of circumstances you may depend upon it. It will become necessary to weed one's acquaintance. Yes, that must be done, said Mrs. Meredith, and the sooner we set about it the better. For the more intimate we continue now, the more trouble will there be of getting rid of them afterwards. Certainly, we need not accept their invitation for tonight. Oh, dear, no, I have dismissed the whole affair from my mind, and there is no need even of thinking of it any more. I shall not even think of sending them an answer. The consequence will be they will be angry and expect we shall go and apologize, and when they find we don't, but that we try to get rid of them they will be baffled and the whole affair is settled. That is a very good plan, my dear. Then you know there are the Morgans. We must positively get rid of them. It will never do to have those young men hanging about. The Colonel would do something dreadful to say the least of it. Why, he would shoot them and perhaps have a separation. Who knows? But then I should be entitled to a maintenance. You would, my dear, but unfortunately you well know that you have no property, and that added to an early separation would put it in his power to offer you and compel your acceptance of a very small sum, which he may pay, as he pleases, weekly, monthly, or quarterly. I see ma, but we will run no risk of that kind of thing. Moreover, there would be those girls. They would be a nuisance hanging about the Colonel. No doubt, and the cause of unhappiness in the extreme. Better to leave all such people. You are a great deal better without them. Why I can tell you what, you will be at no loss of company or acquaintances. You will find they will be sure to spring up. Property is sure to enable you to choose those whom you will have and whom you will not. The reason is obvious enough. Moreover, like loves like, you know, and people with means soon find out people who have none. Yes, ma, and those who have plenty, besides a Colonel and a man of rank and standing, and everybody knows that a Colonel in the India service is a rich man, and that would bring us all into the best society. Only think of my going to Bath, Bristol, and Brighton in their seasons. Of course we couldn't keep company with people who can't afford to go to some fashionable place at least once in a year. Oh, dear no. Certainly not, my dear, but there is no need of our troubling ourselves about that matter. We shall go only when the Colonel goes, and we shan't be seen without him, and he'll be a constraint upon them, and therefore where they find themselves uncomfortable they will not come again. That will be a very good plan, for it will appear as their own faults, but at the same time I do not trust to that upon all occasions. It might fail, and then we should have to take some unpleasant steps to get rid of them, which is certainly easily done but unpleasant. Yes, yes certainly, replied the mother, and then suddenly as a knock and ring came upon the door, Margaret said, Dear me, who is that? I hope none of these people whom I have been speaking about, it will be a dreadful nuisance to all, especially when I am to be married in three days more. You needn't be seen, Margaret, I'll see them. Do maw, and I'll go upstairs, but let's hear who it is first. Who comes today? At that moment she heard the door open and her own name pronounced, and at once knew the speaker and said to her mother, O maw, to his Miss Twistle, my bridesmaid, what an infliction! But then I must see her. She has come, I suppose, to consult me about some new gown, or the way in which she and her friend will have their hair done up on the occasion. Nothing more important, I daresay. Very well, my dear, they had better come in. Send them in, pray, she added to the servant. O Miss Twistle, how glad we are to see you! Now really, said Miss Twistle, how kind you are, for I am sure you speak the truth. O Margaret, don't you feel all of a flutter? I don't, indeed. I am very comfortable. I hope you are all quite well. Don't put yourself out of the way on this occasion. You need not, I assure you. O, I have got my paw to give us new gowns and some lace, but I did not mean to tell you that. I and Martha had agreed that that should be a secret between us, that we should not say anything about it to anyone but surprise you on your wedding morning. Ah, you really have been at a great deal of trouble and expense about this affair, I am sure. You really must not think I wish you to do all this. I really don't know how to scold you enough, for I shall be dressed very plainly, indeed. Oh, but then you are the bride. We ain't, you know, and that makes the difference, besides which we have a visitor come up to London to see us. Indeed, some young gentleman, I suppose, whose heart you want to run away with, and so have another wedding and upon your own account this time, and perhaps you are helping Miss Martha to a husband. What is he, a physician or a divine? Neither. But I will tell you he is only an old man. An old man? What a sweetheart you have chosen to be sure. But I dare say you have your reason as well as other people. But have you known him long? No, we haven't done so. But the fact is, Pa and he have had some business together, and they are very much in each other's company. He is a man, however, of great rank, though a very odd man to talk to, I assure you, but a man of rank and property. Indeed, oh, tell me, what is he, a lord? Well, he is not much short of it, and he is higher than a great many lords I assure you. Why, he is no less than an admiral. Only I wasn't to say anything about it. Oh, will he be with you when my marriage takes place? Yes, he will, and I wanted to know, as he will be much with my father, and as a visitor shall we be intruding to bring him here to grace your wedding? Oh, yes, by all means, said Margaret, who thought the presence of an old man could in no way interfere with any of her schemes. Besides, a man of rank such as an admiral would greatly increase the noise of her marriage. Indeed, here was probably a new acquaintance with whom she could be intimate. Besides, it was some one of consequence on her side that the great man was to come, and would, she thought, add some luster to herself. Well, then, I would not ask him until I had seen you, because it might turn out you would be displeased, and as I have not done so, I cannot tell you whether he will come or not. He is a strange man, and I won't ask him until the night before. Very well, we shall be quite happy to see him. I dare say he will come if you tell him who is going to be married. Indeed, if he is likely to come I will invite a few friends to meet him, but I won't say anything to anybody about it. No, let it be a surprise to them all, and let nobody know whom they are going to meet. That will be delightful, certainly, very delightful. What a surprise it will be to them to be introduced to the Colonel this and admiral that. I declare I long for the day on account of the confusion that some persons will be in. I must now bid your good-bye, for I've got to call upon my dressmaker to give her some orders. Will you stop and take tea with us? Surely you won't run away. Oh, but I must, said Miss Twistle, and so said Miss Martha, and after much pressing and refusing they parted, and left Margaret filled by other thoughts than those she had so recently held. Ma, she said after a long pause. Do you know what I have been thinking of? No, my dear, I do not. Well, then, it is this, that after all we may as well make of it a figure of it for the last time, that we will have some friends who will figure upon that occasion and no other. What makes you think so, my dear Margaret? Why, you see, Ma, we are likely to have a distinguished visitor, and we may as well have as many as we can. Their number and dresses will look well, and as we shall leave town immediately I don't see that we shall be at any future time annoyed by their visits. Indeed, it will be retiring from their society after giving them a feast. Well, to be sure I never thought of that, said her mother. I never thought of it. What shall we do now? How can we provide for so many? Send an order to a pastry cook to provide breakfast for so many whether they come or not, and then we need trouble ourselves very little about giving them time. If we tell them about the day before they will have all in readiness for us. Well, well, and as for the expense it will be of no consequence. None, said Margaret. I shall be able to pay that and others if we owe any. But now comes the job of inviting visitors, and we must only invite those who will make up a show, dress well, and pass off on the occasion for fashionable people. Oh, as for that, there are many people who never had a penny in their lives to call their own, may be very fashionable-looking people, and pass for men of a thousand a year to say nothing of a lord looking like a workman, and the like, which is common enough. Then we'll settle it at that point, ma, and you had better superintend the invitations in the other affair, the breakfast, I mean. Very well, my dear, you know that I have no objection. I have seen such occasions before, and I well know what they ought to be. Therefore you may safely rely upon my judgment in such an affair as that, at least. And about the selection of friends, visitors, I mean. That you may also leave to me, said Mrs. Meredith, and depend upon it. I will not invite one party whom we shall have caused to say we are sorry they came, though you know every allowance would be made for them by the Colonel or Admiral if he come. By the way, I would not tell the Colonel a word about it, for sometimes the land service hates the sea service, and the latter often laugh at the former, so it will be safest to say nothing. No, ma, I won't. I didn't intend to do so. Thus both mother and daughter had suddenly changed their views of what was to take place on the day of the intended marriage. They were now resolved they would have as many of their old friends as they could get together upon the occasion, to cause the affair to go off with all the a-claw that it was possible. It would be the last ball of the season. That is, it would be the last she ever intended to give them, and that would be the last occasion upon which they would meet. Her respect for Miss Twistle was augmented by the knowledge that she had an Admiral for a friend or a visitor, it didn't matter which. Who could tell what might happen? Might Miss Twistle marry an Admiral, as ugly as she was, as well as she should a Colonel? But there were many reasons why she should. She too might have had some means of entangling his heart. Perhaps after all she only came there with him for the purpose of showing him off. At all events, said Margaret to herself, at all events he is one that we can keep on terms with, and it will look well to be acquainted with some person of rank. I am, at all events, well pleased. It has happened as it has. Mrs. Meredith, on the other hand, appeared to think her daughter's marriage with a Colonel ought to be celebrated by no common rejoicings, that indeed the marriage ought to go off with his much disturbance to the whole neighborhood as it was possible to make. This could not be better affected than in the manner we have referred to, namely inviting a number of persons to come and be present at the ceremony, and to take a late breakfast and to wish the bride joy to see her depart and then to lose sight of her as she hoped, forever. This purpose, Mrs. Meredith ably carried out, and she succeeded in inviting about two or three and twenty persons together, and any person who had a carriage and would come in it was sure of an invitation. That was a passport to the marriage feast. Well, she muttered to herself, as she reckoned up the number of persons whom she expected to be present upon the occasion. Well, I don't think I have omitted any one who ought to be present, nor have I invited any one who ought not to be here. I shall have a busy day of it, very busy day, but the result is everything. So long as the marriage takes place and we are really married to an East India Colonel, why we shall do, there can be no doubt of it. This was a consolatory reflection. There was but little else, indeed, that could be done. Little indeed. The cook had the orders for the entertainment the next day. They had but little to do in the household with that. Indeed, they had extra hands, lest there should be any need of them, as she would not have anything go wrong upon such an occasion for worlds. But there was one thing that gave her some satisfaction, and that was, Mr. Twistle had not been to them lately to give any doubtful counsels. Ever since she had announced her intention of permitting the marriage to take place, he had not been to express any doubts about the matter, but had been a mere spectator doing all that was necessary. He had forgotten all objection and never made one. He was perfectly quiescent, but would now and then look very hard at the Colonel, but that was all. He never discovered anything, and all was smooth and pleasant. End of Chapter 141 Chapter 142 of Farny 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 Floyd Wilde Farny the Vampire, Volume 3 Chapter 142 The Wedding Morning Disruption of Harmony and the New Acquaintance The Conclusion Accident, strange to say, had taken our old acquaintance Admiral Bell to the house of a lawyer there to transact some business as well as to lodge at his house. The fact was, the old admiral hearing that a brother officer was in trouble, one who had been shared with him the dangers of the sea and the fight. He came to town to see, himself, what could be done, and finding the affair beyond his comprehension, or at least beyond his power of personal interference, that, in fact, it required the aid of a third party, and that third person must, of necessity, be a lawyer. He determined to employ the man who happened to be conversant with the circumstances of the case. And this was no other than Mrs. Meredith's friend, Twizzle. However, the admiral's goodwill toward the race who followed the law, not being so great as his philanthropy, he determined to watch every stage of the proceedings and to permit nothing to be done without his knowledge, and to see that nothing was neglected. Hearing from Mr. Twizzle, the affair that was to take place, a sudden crotchet entered his head, that he should like to be present at the ceremony, and he broached it to Mr. Twizzle, who turned to his daughter to ascertain if it were at all possible. That young lady was desirous of shining among her acquaintances, as one who could introduce an admiral, and who did not like the idea of Margaret Meredith being so final lady as she now attempted to make herself appear. Indeed, she would have been willing to have assisted in raising her some species of mortification. She felt more than true pleasure in the disaster that would be the cause of such feelings. There was a very general dislike to Ms. Margaret Meredith, and the truth was she was much more than usually arrogant and proud, and took all imaginable methods of vexing and mortifying those around her. But there is little to be said about that. The consent was brought back to the attorney who felt somewhat elated at it, and communicated it to the admiral with some remarks upon the kindness and condescension of the persons who had done him so much honor. This, however, only had the effect of drawing from the admiral the word swab. And then he became silent and did not appear to be at all taken aback by the knowledge that an East India colonel was the bridegroom on the occasion, and one of a very large property and singular behavior. The evening before the marriage was a busy one. The young ladies had to arrange and rearrange all their finery, and the bride herself had the task of seeing how she became her bridal dress to do an infinity of other little matters, and to contemplate the change that was about to take place in so short a period, a few hours more and she would become a wife. The colonel himself did not, in the least, fall off in his ardor. He was particularly anxious it should, on no account, be delayed after the day fixed. A later day he appeared to have the utmost objection to. Indeed, he declared he would do anything if it came but a day or two earlier. However, this was considered impossible, and the young lady was permitted to have her way, though it was expressly stipulated that it should not be an hour after the appointed time, for he declared himself dying within patience to call her his own. Now Ma, said Margaret, as she sat talking to her mother the night before, now Ma, I hope you will not give any of these people countenance when I am gone, and throw off their acquaintance. You will be firm on this point for my sake. I will, my dear, said Mrs. Meredith. I will. Then when I come back I shall know more of the colonel's mind about where we shall live and how we shall live. He must let me have something handsome. I have no doubt but that he will. He does not appear to be a close-handed man, quite the reverse, and all things considered we shall be able to make a very agreeable living out of it. Why, yes, my dear, I cannot doubt it. He is no doubt a man of property and can well afford us enough and some some as pin money, indeed. He is too liberal now to be otherwise by and by. Perhaps he will keep on this house and pay for proper domestics, and keep a carriage. What a change it will be for us all, and how the neighborhood will stare. Yes, Ma, they will, but suppose we were to reside out of town. We should have our carriage driving into town, as a matter of course, and now and then sleep in town when we made up a party or went to the theater. Yes, my dear, what time shall you see the colonel in the morning? Not before I am ready to go. To church? Well, but you will have some breakfast with him. No, he will be in his own room, I dare say, till late. He will scarce present himself before the time has come to start. You know his habits. He does not get up very early, and I do not expect to see much alteration. At 11 o'clock we are to be at church, be breakfast at nine. You know, so we shall have time. Oh, he is sure to be down to breakfast. There can be no doubt about that, indeed. He must be called for the purpose. Of course, there must be some deviation from a regular rule upon extraordinary occasions like the present. Well, well, there may be, but have you given all the invitations you intended to give, and have you got answers to them so as to ensure their attendance? Oh yes, that is all safe and fixed. We shall have a good many here by half past eight in the morning, at the latest. But you must contrive to let me have money very soon, or to send me some up, as I am getting very short, for I have laid out a great deal of money lately, and much more than I could, under other circumstances, spare or afford. Of course, Ma, you will not lose anything by this. I shall take care of you, not a penny that you have laid out, but what shall be repaid, and with a handsome return. But do not think about this. It grows late, and I must to sleep. Do, my dear, and I will wake you in time in the morning. The morning came, and some of them were about early. Mrs. Meredith was up, and so was Margaret. She could not lie so late, as usual. She had done much, and yet she had much to do still. It was really astonishing to see what there was to do. No one would have believed it, and even Margaret became surprised. The morning was now fairly calm. The servants were about in the house, and the neighbors were up and about. She could hear her mother chiding and scolding. She could hear the sound of her voice, and she began to believe there was now no time to lose. The hour of nine was now gone. The knocker and the guests had been heard for the last half hour at the door, and she could hear the voices of the guests below, some of whom spoke audibly enough. Then they soon after descended to the breakfast room, which by the way was the drying room, as there was not enough room below. The Colonel at the same moment entered the room, and a vast number of congratulations were given and received from side to side with the utmost urbanity and goodwill. The Colonel for the first time had thrown on one side the green shade which he usually wore, but he looked remarkably pale, though he had still the looks of a hearty and healthy man. The paleness, which seemed to be constitutional, was very extraordinary. But that was explained by the Colonel saying that he had been so ever since he had the yellow fever, which had had that effect upon his complexion. There was much rejoicing of the occurrences that were now in progress. Everybody praised the vayans. Everything was of the best and first-rate quality, and there were many attendants, which made it so much the better, and the more comfortable, as everybody had an abundance of everything. Mrs. Meredith now shown in the greatest triumph. There was none so great in grand. She patronized everybody and appeared remarkably condescending, considering she was the mother of a daughter who was about to marry a retired East India service Colonel. There were few who did not understand fully the nature of the condescension of the lady herself. Besides, she was the presiding goddess of the feast. Among those who had been invited was the Miss Smith and Mr. Smith. This was the young lady who had been so terrified of the attack that had been made upon her the first night that Colonel Devereux lodged there, and on the night he was so terribly vexed and disturbed. Mrs. Meredith had invited them, because they were people of means, and Miss Smith could not now do any mischief, because the Colonel was pledged to Margaret too far to retract, and as there were several young females, why the more the better, because it would divert his attention. Miss Smith, however, came out of curiosity, and because it was a wedding party, which is the delight and admiration of all young females, and Miss Smith was no exception. Mr. Smith was civil and polite, and hid his internal dislike to the Colonel, which he felt and could not account for it. Neither did his daughter. She had a great aversion to him, but at the same time suppressed it. The Colonel was courtly and complimentary, and made civil speeches to such as spoke to him. Indeed, he never for a moment lost his self-possession. He stood in a less stooping posture than usual, and he was considered a tall and handsome man, a fine man. Mr. Twizzle, said the Colonel, I am happy to see you, especially gratified to see you. You will be witness of my happiness today. You will mark my progress in this affair, and learn what lesson it may teach. That is the way we should pass through life, Mr. Twizzle. Is it not? Gain knowledge by experience and become, in old age, a wise man. Why, yes, oh yes, said Twizzle, who felt there was something in the remark that touched him to the quick, and he winced under the smart, but he thought it might have been accidentally given, and the Colonel was quite ignorant of his disasters, and yet it was a very home thrust, without any previous introduction to it, that made it all the more uncomfortable, and he merely replied, I am happy to see you Colonel Devereaux, and to see you so happy, and the young lady, who I am sure deserves to be happy. In fact, I think you both deserve happiness. I am sure I wish you every imaginable joy, and it gives me great pleasure in seeing it. I am sure you do, sir, but you do not seem to eat and enjoy yourself. I am so occupied in witnessing the felicity of others that I had forgotten it. Moreover, I expect a friend to be present who happens to be late. He is quite a stranger to all present, and therefore I wish to countenance him as much as I could on that account. Then I will not press you now, perhaps you will do me the favor of introducing your friend to me when he comes, yourself, and I shall be most happy to receive him. Thank you, Colonel. You do me much honor. I will accept of your great kindness, and do myself the pleasure of presenting him to you, and to Miss Meredith, whom I hope to see soon changed in name. I hope the time will now be very short. What hour is it? Half past nine, said the attorney, consulting his watch. At eleven we must be at the church. Well, if we leave at half past ten, then we shall be there in ample time. I would it were over, and that we were on our journey. Ah, you are impatient, Colonel, said Margaret, as she came up to him. My dear angel, replied Deverell, bowing. How could I be otherwise when you are the object of my affections? It is not impatient to leave this good company. Quite the reverse. But it is because the change of scene, traveling, and change of error will do you much good. And is, I can see, quite necessary for you. I think it will do me no harm, said Margaret, but here comes Ma, who really looks tired. Well, my dear, I am a little fatigued, but you know, I shall have ample time to recover myself. I shall have nothing to disturb my repose. Indeed, Mrs. Meredith, said the Colonel, I am sure we must alter that. We must find some other kind of employment for you, and not suffer you remain hidden at home. You have catered so well for us this morning, that I am sure you are a most valuable acquisition to a household. With such a superintendence as yours, we should have everything in the utmost plenty, and at the proper moment. Ah, Colonel, you are flattering you are. We shall soon show that we are not flattering, I hope, said the Colonel. My dear Madame, you are the life and soul of the whole company. What should we have done without you? I hope all your friends are happy and comfortable. I do not know them well enough to pay them all that attention and respect they deserve. Exactly, Colonel, they all know that well enough. And you are fully alive to the honor you do them in being present in the midst of them. Who is that young lady who was looking here just now? inquired the Colonel. Who? The young lady with the elderly gentleman by her side? Yes, I should like to be introduced to her, said the Colonel. Oh, certainly, said Mrs. Meredith, vexed in her own heart that she had invited her and her father now, for she had no wish that any one present should be future acquaintances. But there was no help for it. She must introduce them, and accordingly she went up, with the best grace she could put on, to them both, to request they would be introduced to the Colonel, who desired the honor of their acquaintance. There was no hesitation, of course, and they at once advanced to meet him, and were introduced to the Colonel, as Miss and Mr. Smith. I am most happy to see you, sir, said the Colonel, and the young lady here is your daughter, I can see, by the family likeness she bears to you. Miss Smith, however, could not repress a convulsive shudder, as she looked upon the Colonel. It might have been his complexion, or it might have been that his features brought some terrible recollections to her mind, but she could not, for a moment or so, speak. The young lady is ill, said the Colonel, who noticed the emotion. What is the matter, Clara, my dear, said Mr. Smith? What's the matter? You are ill. No, no, said Miss Smith. It was a sudden, sudden dizziness that came across me. I dare say, I shall be better by and by. I am sorry it should have come upon me now. Ah, my dear young lady, said Colonel Devereux, drawing up to his full height, and looking gravely, but speaking with the utmost courtesy. You have nothing to regret respecting the occasion. The illness itself is a matter of regret to us all. I am sure, however, let us hope it will be but temporary, and that you will be able to wish me joy and my beautiful bride. You see, Colonel Devereux, ever since the night she was disturbed by the strange attack of what she believes to have been a vampire, or something that had the form of a man and a taste for blood, she has been affected thus. Dear me, said the Colonel, what a shocking thing, a very shocking affair. I think perhaps the young lady is subject to illness, and he touched his forehead as much as to intimate an insinuation that the young lady might be somewhat affected in her intellects. No, sir, quite the reverse, said the father. I myself saw a tall, gaunt figure gliding away, which felled me in an instant, and I lay half a minute stunned. God bless me, said the Colonel. This affair is quite romantic. If a German writer had such material by him, what would he not make of it? There had been a loud knocking at the door, and someone announced. But nobody took any notice of it. Colonel Devereux did not hear it, but stood talking to Mr. Smith, while Admiral Bell was introduced by Mr. Twizzle, who led him towards the group, explaining what had happened. By God, said the Admiral, do you see how they are crowding about the poor girl? Why they'd extinguish a fire, if there was one. Why don't you give young woman air? If you don't stand on one side, I'll put the whole broadside into you, as I would into a Frenchman. The singular address produced an immediate sensation, and many moved away. Colonel Devereux, said Mr. Twizzle, allow me to introduce my friend Admiral Bell to you. Admiral Bell, this is Colonel Devereux. Eh? Oh, eh? These later exclamations were uttered in consequence of the extreme surprise depicted on the countenance of both parties. Admiral Bell's surprise was nothing out of the way, but that of Colonel Devereux was a matter of consternation to many of them. He stepped back a pace or two, and his lips parted, as though he would speak, but he could not. He panted. His eye glared, and his nostrils dilated. Shatter my main mast, upset the caboose, turn my stake cabin into a cockpit, and the quarter deck to a gambling booth to the whole ship's company. What's all this about, exclaimed Mrs. Meredith? Oh, that odious man. Who is he? What is? Why, ma'am, I'm old Admiral Bell, very well known for having beaten the French and the terror of all vampires. Why, look at the swab. But you ain't going to get off this time. What is the matter, dear Colonel? said Margaret. You are ill. Speak. What is the matter? Ah, said the Admiral. Let him speak, and he'll tell you he's no Colonel, and his name ain't Devereux. Or, if it be, it ain't his only name. He is Varney, the vampire. A vampire, said Mrs. Smith, starting up with a shriek. A vampire? Good heavens. I was not mistaken then. That must be the man. And she sink back into her father's arms. What? Has he been at any of his tricks again? exclaimed the Admiral. And he made a stride towards him. But Varney, for it was he, avoided him by stepping aside, and placing some other person between himself and the Admiral. And then he said, What this madman will say you will not listen to. You, madman? Well, I'm hanged. Call me a man, said the Admiral. I wish I had my sword by my side, and I would teach you how a madman can fight. But you are not going. I have something to say to you first. If he's going to marry that young lady, all I can say is, she will be food for him. She'll never live till tomorrow. Her blood will make his pale face ready. Varney stood no longer. But seeing many around him who appeared to have an inclination to stop his passage, he suddenly made to the door, which he secured for a moment on the outside, and then in another he was clear of the house. This was no sooner done than all present who were staring at each other and mute amazement and unable to account for what had happened, looked at the newcomer, the Admiral, who immediately began to relate enough of Varney that made it apparent to all present that he was not what he had represented himself to be. Amid the commiserations of their friends and their jeers, Mrs. Meredith sold all her furniture, and with her daughter retired to some little place where they opened a small shop to eke out a living by such means. They were unable even to pay many debts they had contracted on account of this marriage, and they were, moreover, ashamed to be seen by their former acquaintance. The sun had long deserted the horizon, and the good city of Winchester had been buried in darkness many hours, while the moon, though high in her course, was obscured by the hazy clouds that drifted from the southwest. The gusty winds whistled round the walls of the Cathedral Church, producing an unpleasant sensation with a foreboding of a coming storm. The inhabitants of the quiet orderly town were steeped in repose, and a stranger who might by chance have wandered at such an untoward hour abroad would not have found one single ray from any window, save perhaps at one or two hotels, which merely keep open till the London Mail pass through, lest any passengers should make their stay at Winchester. Save at these places all were opposing peaceably in their beds, and the Tower of the Cathedral frowned majestically upon the tombstones below, and upon the surrounding buildings, which appeared to peep upon the limits of the graveyard, while the fir trees that were yet standing bent beneath the blast as it swept across the low walls by which the Cathedral on one side is bounded. But the solitary churchyard was not without its occupants, living or dead, for its sanctity is invaded by the presence of three men who emerged from the narrow streets and courts situated between it and the cross, and then crossing beneath the shade of some object, they stood beneath the low wall which surrounded the churchyard. They paused for several moments, and gazed around them in every direction, and up at the houses that were nearest to them, but there was no sign of light or anything stirring in any of the houses adjacent. I think all is right tonight, said one of the men to his companions. I, right enough, there will be nobody near us tonight. No, replied a third, and if the signs of the weather are good for anything, why, we shall have a rough night, and though that is unpleasant, yet it makes interruptions less likely and success more certain. You are right, Josh. We shall have a good job this time. There, then, that will do until we are safe. It's no use talking here. If the old watchman comes around, we may have to book it, and then we may not have a chance. Ha, ha, ha! As for the old watchman, he is not the fool you take him to be, if you imagine him at all likely to disturb himself on such a night as this. He'll sleep in his box till he wakes, and finds it is fine. Well, be that as it may, said the other impatiently. It is all right now. Yes, all right. Then just help me over, and I'll get down on the other side, while one of you can get up on the wall and hand the tools down to me. Can't you throw them over? I could, but it is not worthwhile to make any noise, even though we felt sure that it will not be heard. There have been most strange things done in our time, you know, and there is no telling what may happen. Ah, the dead may come to life, Josh. So they might, and a pig might fly, but as they say, it is a very unlikely bird. Well, then, up with you. As he spoke, one of the men gave one of his companions a lift up, and with this aid he got on the wall, and then quietly slipping down into the burial ground, he awaited his companions, one of whom immediately mounted the wall in the same manner, and who received a bag, which he handed down to his comrade, who was in the graveyard belonging to the cathedral. Well, is all right? he said. Yes, all right. Don't stay up there like a cat on a wall. Come down, or you may by chance be seen. The other two men immediately came over the wall, and they all three collected round a monument that stood up, and here a short consultation took place. Now, how shall we proceed? We must get into the vault somehow, or other, if we dig our way in, which I think is much the most easily done. What, undermine the building? Scarcely so much as that. Well, but we can get into the body of the cathedral, and then into the vaults that way. There is a door. Yes, there is a door, but it is so close to the verger's door that you are sure to awake him. I have opened more than one door in my time, and yet I never awoke anybody in doing so. He must sleep wonderfully light. I, so he may, but in this case the door is so strong that there is no chance of breaking it open without great inconvenience and noise. There is no room to work in, and moreover the verger keeps a little cur always sleeping on the mat close to his door, so that no one can approach without his giving alarm. What a brute! Yes, but there is a means of entering besides that. Where, and how? In the back of the cathedral there is a large marble slab, on which is carved some letters that I never could make out, but I am told it says that somebody lies buried underneath that stone, but I know immediately below are the vaults. Well, but the marble you speak of would weigh fourteen or fifteen hundred weight, which would be no joke. No, by Jove, said his companion, we had better by far dig our way in, since we shall have so much difficulty in getting in, we can soon dig out, soil enough, to let us get down into the vaults. Well, we had better set to work at once, lest we lose all chance. If we have a long job, we had better set to work early, as well as stop here, for if we are surprised, we shall have to run. And the yard will be watched ever afterwards, as sure as we shall have a storm presently. So we shall work away, Josh, where are the tools? Here they are, said the man, throwing the bag down and opening in, and then he pulled out some tools, consisting of pickaxe and shovels, and a crowbar or two, and several other little materials, which were useful upon such occasions. Well, now, where shall we commence? Just at the side here, we are safe to get in somewhere where the wall is weakest, for I believe the vaults are all walled in. They must be to have a secure foundation for such a weight as there must be about it, and to my mind, we have got a decent job. It's very much like a fortress, and if it was easy to get in this way, we should hear of such things being done much oftener than they are, that is my opinion. And a very good opinion it is, too, until another is heard. But it is no use being faint-hearted. The harder the job, the harder we ought to set at it, that's all. But there are some few things not thought of by others, you know, and it is sometimes the hardest thing in the world to think of the most simple. There's some truth in that. The men, having found the spot they most desired, they set about digging and picking it up in good earnest. But it was difficult work, and the soil about the cathedral was very hard, owing to the quantity of rubbish that had been driven or trodden into the earth for centuries, either through accident or design, to harden and secure the permanency of the work around. There were many heavy and large stones, as well as small broken stones, also flint and no small quantity, that every now and then resisted the blows of the pick. Well, I'm thinking we have all three worked half an hour, and have not got a foot deep yet. We have not got much deeper, certainly. Do you think we shall get in tonight? Tonight or never, said the third man. You are right, comrade. Shoulder your picks, and then we shall see what way we can make in another half hour. Who can tell? We may come to a softer soil below. This is only the filling up. The men again set to work heartily, but they seemed to have no success. They could not make anything of it. It appeared to resist all their efforts, and the sparks often flew from the blows they made with their tools. The perspiration ran down their faces, and as they paused to wipe their foreheads, they gazed upwards at the clouds. It was heavy, and the wind was blowing fresh, and now and then a heavy spot of rain. By St. Peter, said one of them, I expect we shall have a storm presently. I already feel the heavy drops that fall occasionally, and if one may judge by them of what we may expect, we shall have it heavily. So much the better we shall have less interruption. Well, I don't know what you call interruption, but this is a complete stopper. I can't make any impression with the pick. It is as hard as rock, and then come some of those old walls that are rather harder than granite. You may as well pick at a cartload of pig iron. As this was said, the clouds suddenly appeared to open, and such a deluge of rain descended that the earth seemed to smoke. The drops appeared to be continuous small spouts of water. A shower is too mild a word. It was a deluging, as if some water spout had burst. The men stood a moment or two, but it was useless to work. They could not do it, and they rushed to a part of the wall which sheltered them from the fury of the storm that was raging. Well, I never saw anything like this before. Nor I. Hark at the thunder. There is a flash. Who would have expected that at this season of the year? Not I. Nor anyone else. But it seems to me as if we were to be defeated tonight. I am sorry we made the attempt, since we are sure to find the yard watched after this, for they will see what we have been up to. Yes, it is vexing, but we cannot help this. It is quite impossible to do anything in such weather as this. I do not care about a wet jacket, but I cannot see and hardly breathe with so much falling water about me. Nor I, but yet I am loathed to give it up. Consider the jewelry and the money he had about him. It will pass handsomely. Well, it was a strange start of him at all events. I wonder how he came to be buried in such a manner. How was it? I don't know. All I know is that the thing was kept secret because it was considered that it would be a temptation to disturb any grave when it was known that he was buried in his clothes and jewelry and that his money was buried also with him. It was certainly a temptation I could not resist. Are you sure? Yes, I will tell you another time how I came to know all about it. Indeed, I saw him screwed down and the consequences I know that he has the money and the valuables about him. Then I am sure we had better get into the church itself. We can do more with your slab of marble than on the outside of the wall. And besides that, I do not think this rain will give over. The hole we have already made is fast filling up with water and we shall find it impossible to work. So we shall. What do you say to getting inside the cathedral? Agreed, my lads, as quickly as you like, for if we stay here much longer we shall certainly be drowned. I am wet through as it is. So am I, but never mind, my boys. Bright gold and jewels will warm your hearts and that will keep your outsides dry, or at least you will not feel it. I am sure that I should not if I can but get it. Aye, that is all I care about, but if you get foiled you may depend upon it you don't feel any better. You are rather worse and feel everything more. But what do you say to young Windo? That will do if we can reach it, that is my only difficulty. That is one that is easily overcome, said his companion, for I know where the ladder is, and that is just over our heads. All you have to do is put the point of the crowbar under the staple to which the chain is fastened that secures it, and then you have the means at once of entering. But if we get in and are detected how shall we get out again? Are we not three to one? If the old verger should come, I think we could make a dead body of him in a very short while, and I cannot tell where you will be if you can't get the better of the old man. Well, say no more about it, up with the ladder, and we will get in and chance it. Such a night is this. It would be strange indeed if anybody heard us, but as there is much to be got why we can't grumble at the risk. The three men set to work about wrenching the staple out to which was attached the chain which secured the ladder. That was soon affected, and the ladder placed against one of the lowermost windows, and then one of the men went up, and forcing the window open, said, after he had looked in, all right, come up, we have got to the right place. They all three came up one after another, when the first up crept in at the open aperture, and by means of ornamental work and a monument that there projected from the wall in a manner that enabled them to descend with ease, and in a few moments more the whole three stood in the old cathedral of Winchester. At that moment the bell tolled heavily the hour of twelve, the sound was solemn, and it made a deep impression upon the robbers. What a dismal hollow sound that has to be sure, said one. Yay, it sounded like tolling. Pshaw, said one of them, it is no matter if it be tolling, it is not for us, nor for the man we come to visit, so no more old women's fears. If you don't like stopping in this place you had better set to work and be quick when we shall have no further need of staying. Of what use is it for you to stare and gape about with white faces and swelled eyeballs like so many cats? Be men, be active, and use your arms. Well, where are we to use them? What are we to do? You brought us here, and yet you do not tell us what we are to do. You know all about this matter, and you cannot or do not point out where we are to commence. Here, then, on the very stone you are standing, set to work to raise this, and then we shall soon find our way into the vaults below, and we shall then satisfy ourselves for our trouble, and be well paid too, I hope. I hope so too, Josh, for to tell you the truth, I don't ever recollect so uncomfortable a job as that which I am in tonight. Well, you ain't got paid at all, I warn't. I haven't got paid at all yet, but we waste time. Lend me a pick. I don't see how I am to get a tool in here. The chinks are all so small that you can hardly put in the blade of a penknife. There is a hole somewhere near the head. There is a small piece of black marble. Yes, here it is. Well, chip that out, and then you may insert a crowbar or a pick beneath the stone. When you will find that it will lift up, and then by main strength, lift it back, and we may go down. These instructions were followed out. The black marble was discovered and then knocked out, when a large crevice was discovered, into which a powerful crowbar was immediately thrust, and then by one united effort they contrived to lift the marble slab up out of its place, though not above a foot, which required a great effort when it is considered that it was embedded in cement. Well, we shall be able to get it up now, I think. Don't be too sure, for we have not got it far. It is enormously heavy, and the lever has done all as yet. Well, then, are you all ready? A long pull, you know, comrades, and a strong pull does the business. Now, then, all together. Heave-ho! whispered another, and they all three made a prodigious effort. It was not only a strong pull, but a very long pull, for the stone was so heavy it came slowly and unwillingly upwards, and it was nearly three minutes before the enormous mass stood upright in the aisle. Well, I didn't think it would have been done. That's the hardest job that ever I had a hand in, and don't desire to have such another. But yet, hard as it is, it is easier than what we had to do outside. Yes, much, and you will soon find it so. Lend a hand to clear away the rubbish that lies here. There's a trap-door underneath that leads into the vaults. It belonged to the monks of old, of whom it is said it served either for the same purpose of burial, or for a cellar of wine. Well, well, there are some things better than wine, I throw, in the cellar. Now, if we can find the coffin. There has been no other burial in the vaults since he was buried, so we shall not have much trouble. But what are we to do with the stone? If we let it down again, we shall do some mischief. We must turn it corner by corner until we get it against the pillars, and there leave it. For if we let it down, it will go down like the report of a gun, and smash all that comes in the way. That was agreed to, and it was not long before they propped the heavy mass of stone against one of the pillars, and then returned to the place where it had been raised, and began to clear away the rubbish. When a trap-door was plainly observable, and after much labor and force, they contrived to open the door, where there appeared a dark aperture, into which they could not look without some misgivings, for nothing could be seen. Well, who's to go down? This was a question that no one liked to answer, and certainly no one would volunteer to go below. It was too dark to be inviting, and the men looked at one another as well as they could, for it was total darkness, or nearly so in the isle. And below it was so utterly dark that it was impossible to make out anything. What is to be done now? Have you got the lantern? I have, and matches, but did not think we ought to use them before lest we attract attention. However, we will have a light now, and should anybody look down, they will think there is a general meeting among the dead. So saying, he lit the lantern, which threw a light into the vault, and rendered visible a flight of steps that ran up to the opening, but which were invisible in the darkness that had rained in the place. Now then, jump down and see where the last coffin is placed. It is easily known from all the others, for I don't think there has been a burial here for many months. The Old Cathedral is not often disturbed for the reception of the dead, and only when some rich man dies and fancies he may lie more comfortable here. Aye, rich men can afford to be buried in a good suit of clothes and money in their pocket to bribe St. Peter to open the gate. Well said, Peter has the keys. Yes, and here we have the coffin. Have we? Is this it? Yes, don't you see that it has all the signs of newness about it? There is hardly any dust collected upon it. Here we shall find our treasure. The coffin is a strong one, and will, I think, take some trouble to break open. Indeed, we shall be choked with the horrible stench which we have below. I can't stand it another minute. I shall be sick. Aye, and I too. Here, then, I have the lantern. Lay hold of the coffin and bring it upstairs. We can carry it amongst us. Aye, anything but remain here. That I cannot do. Be quick, for Cun found me, but such a mass of putrid flesh as there must be here is horribly sickly. I would sooner be hanged and pass an hour here. I'm not so afraid of death as all that. I could manage to live through a night. You might, but you would soon find out the ill effects and die of some fever or other, and that is what we shall have if we remain here much longer. The three men then shifted the coffin from its place, and then onto their shoulders, one at either end and one under the center. The coffin was heavy, very heavy, and the men were tottering under their burden. They were strong men, but hardly equal to the task of carrying so dead a weight, but yet they never shrank from it, but with slow and unsteady steps they gradually neared the stairs that led upwards. They paused. If it was a task before, it was worse now. What more exertion could they make? Do you think the steps will hold us, said one? I'm sure I cannot say, and perhaps not. I think they are rotten, or partially so. What do you say? How shall we get the body up? There is a rope, is there not? Yes. That will do then. I will get that. By its means we may hoist the coffin up to the stone pavement above. I'm almost sick. And I, too. This place is enough to breed a pestilence in a town. The smell in the vaults was certainly very strong and very pernicious. The fetid odor that rose from the vaults was especially disagreeable. The smell that comes from the accumulated and putrefying remains of human bodies is of all odors the most noisome and, to our tastes, the worst. Right glad were the men who had propped the coffin up against the ladder to get up into the aisle above, to breathe a less impure atmosphere. They gasped again, and one of them climbed up the monument to get to the open window at which they had entered, to inhale some of the pure moistened air, and then, after a few inspirations, he returned at the call of his comrades to aid them. The rope was procured and secured around the coffin. And one man remained below to guide it, while the two others remained above to haul up the rope, which would bring the body, coffin and all, to the top. Well, Josh, how goes the storm? It is blowing over, I think. It does not rain, and it is breaking. I shouldn't wonder if we don't have moonlight after all, and if we should, we shall have trouble to get away unperceived. You forget what hour it is. Hark! There are the chimes. The four quarters now chimed from the great clock, and sounded solemnly and mournfully in the dead of the night. The iron tongue struck one, and the last sounds of the clock died away before any of the men moved or spoke. Well, we have been here an hour and nearly two hours since our first commencement. It's nearly time, I'm thinking. Yes, said the man below. Heave Ho called out the leader of the gang in a low voice. The two men at the top hauled at the rope, while he below pushed the coffin up with all his strength, and after a time they succeeded in causing it to rise about a foot, or something less, at each haul, and as it got higher, the man below could better apply his strength to it, and at length it came up to the top. Here, however, they experienced another difficulty. It was hard to pull up so high as to enable them to throw its weight on the pavement, and the rope was almost useless as a means of pulling it up higher, and the only one who had it in his power effectively to apply his strength was the man below. However, after a while, to their great relief, the coffin lay fairly upon the stone pavement. A good job done! So say I, Josh, and such another would completely finish me for the night. I might lie down and defend myself, lie down and defy the world. How about the coffin? There is no time to rest. I have a small flask of rum in my pocket, which we will discuss as soon as we have broken open the coffin, which I expect is the last hard job we shall have. And a hard job it would have been had I not come provided with a screwdriver, one that is used by undertakers in such work. Set to work. Good luck to you. I am quite dry and quite tired, too, and the sooner this is over the better. There, the screws come out easily enough, though they are long and hold firm. Yes, they go deep, but they have a wide worm that carries them down or brings them up so quickly. In a few minutes more the whole of the screws were drawn, and the lid of the coffin was thrown on one side, and the corpse was at once discovered to them. It lay calm and quiet, but yet it was terrible to look at. The living man had been tall, remarkably tall, as well as remarkable looking. He was dressed as if for walking. It was strange the corpse was appared as if were in life, and this perhaps caused the extreme paleness, even extreme for a corpse, to be so apparent that they spoke not, but gazed in silence upon it. Until at length one of them said, Put out the light. We have the moon's rays. At least there is enough to enable us to see what we want, and the light is dangerous. The light was put out, and the subdued light of the moon rendered all apparent enough to the robbers. The storm had lulled and altogether ceased, while they had been busy in the vaults, and getting up the body, and now it was a perfect calm. The moon, though obscured at the moment, promised to shed her rays upon the earth, and as it was at the full and the clouds clearing off, the probability was that the town would become as light as day. There he is, said one of the men. Yes, and about as ugly a chap as ever I saw. He is no beauty, but he's been a fine man. If you mean tall, I daresay you are right, but he's not as fine as I take it. He's not quite full enough about the chest and shoulders. He's got some fine rings and a gold watch and chain. Well, there is a good ten or fifteen pounds each, and if his pockets are well lined, why, he will afford us a tolerable good booty. Yes, we must not complain. Shall we replace all? It is not possible to do so either in time to enable us to escape, or to do it so as to escape detection. Besides, there would be no use in it. See how bright the moon is getting. We shall have as much to do as we shall get through to escape being seen. I am sure we shall run a great risk. I think so too. Well, then commence proceedings. Ha! The moonbeams had fallen upon the corpse just as he was speaking, and he thought he observed a motion in the body. What is the matter, Josh? Didn't you think he moved? Dead! Dead moved! Buried moved? Eh? Why? Oh, it's all fancy. You'll see me believe it presently, I do declare. Well, a man dead and buried, I suppose, a week. No. I think so. Well, it does not matter much how long he has been buried, but he can't move unless you move him. Damn! As he spoke, he started to his feet, and his hair began to straighten, and his limbs quiver, and yet he appeared to think he might be mistaken. For he endeavored to speak to his companions. Pointing to the corpse, he contrived to say, I—I—I take the j—j—jules. He—he moves! Eh? Well, I told you I thought so, but you said no, and only laughed at me for doing so. But stand on one side, and let the moonlight come down upon him. We can tell better than if he really does move. Though notwithstanding all I saw, and inclined to believe it is quite an impossibility, but the more light we have, the better we shall be able to tell how the mistake arose. I—I thought I saw his eyes move. As he spoke, he moved on one side, as he had been standing between the corpse and the moon's rays, and for the most part intercepted them. But the moment that he did move away and the rays came full upon the corpse, a shivering motion appeared to pervade it, to the intense horror of the robbers, who could not believe what they saw, but believed they were mistaken, though they were too much terrified to speak or even move. They stood gazing upon the body with bursting eyes and gaping mouth, as if they had suddenly become spellbound by the wand of some magician. Presently the corpse opened his eyes and glared full at them. Oh, such glistening, led-like orbs that froze the very current of their blood. They knew not what to think, but when the body turned on one side, towards the moon's rays, all doubt vanished, and the spell was broken. The devil, bite! exclaimed Josh. Not another word was uttered by either of the other two, but they sprang like emancipated madmen up the slippery sides of the monument and out at the windows, as easily as a fly can run up a wall. It did not occupy more than a few seconds to enable them to clear the place. Half a minute had not elapsed before they stood shivering by the beautiful old cross at Winchester. The corpse in the cathedral, which mysteriously became animated when exposed to the moonlight, turned towards the moon's rays, and gazed upon the flying and terrified robbers, who had just exhumed him. No word passed his lips, and he looked around him for some time in silence upon the scene before him. The moon came in at the tall windows of the cathedral, throwing long streams of silvery light upon the stone flooring, and upon some of the monuments that were erected by the pillars or columns that rise to the roof. All was silent, all was still, no movement was discernible, saving the form that now sat up and leaned on his elbow in his coffin, and he but turned his head slowly from side to side, as though he were meditating upon the lovely and solemn beauty of the place. At length he arose, but he appeared to move with extreme difficulty, and once or twice he placed his hand in the region of the heart, as if he felt something there that pained him and taught it about, but seemed to recover himself a little after a time, and muttered to himself in low but distinct tones. I must have been another victim. I am weak. The vital action is languid, and my veins are empty. I must satisfy the instinct of my nature, and another victim must restore me to life and the world for a season. He looked up towards the window, gave one look around him and on the coffin, while a shutter passed through him, and then gazing on himself and feeling for his valuables, he slowly clambered up the monument, and carefully got through the window, and thence into the open air, and he finally disappeared from Winchester Churchyard. End of Chapter 143 of Varni the Vampire, Volume 3. Read by Richard Wallace, Liberty, Missouri, 29 April, 2010