 Chapter 6 of Werny the Vampire This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Liz Black Werny the Vampire Volume 1 by Thomas Prescott-Prest Chapter 6 A Glance at the Beneworth Family The Probable Consequences of the Mysterious Apparitions Appearance Having thus far, we hope, interested our readers in the fortunes of a family which had become subject to so dreadful a visitation, we trust that a few words concerning them and the peculiar circumstances in which they are now placed will not prove altogether out of place or unacceptable. The Beneworth Family, then, were well known in the part of the country where they resided. Perhaps, if we were to say they were better known by name than they were lied on account of that name, we should be near the truth. For it had, unfortunately, happened that for a very considerable time past, the head of the family had been the very worst specimen of it that could be procured. While the unit branches were frequently amiable and most intelligent in such a mind manner as were calculated to inspire good will in all we knew them, he who held the family property and resided in the house now occupied by Flora and her brothers was a very so-so sort of character. These state of things, by some strange fatality, had gone on for nearly a hundred years and the consequence was what might have been fairly expected, namely that what with their vices and what with their extravagances. The successive adds of the Beneworth Family had succeeded in so far diminishing the family property that, when it came into the hands of Harry Beneworth, it was of little value, on account of the numerous encumbrances with which it was settled. The father of Harry had not been a very brilliant exception to the general rule as regarded the head of the family. If he were not quite so bad as many of his ancestors, that gratifying circumstance was to be accounted for by the supposition that he was not quite so bold, and that the changes in habits, manners, and laws which had taken place in a hundred years made it not so easy for even a land appropriator to play the petty tyrant. He had, to get rid of those animal spirits which had prompted many of his predecessors to downright crimes, had recursed to the gaming table, and, after raising whatever psalms he could upon the property which remained, it naturally, and as might have been fully expected, lost them all. He was found lying there in the garden of the house one day, and by his side was his pocket-book, on one lay for which it was the impression of the family, he had endeavored to write something previous to his disease, for he held the pencil firmly in his grasp. The probability was that he had felt himself getting ill, and, being the zealous of making some communication to his family which presidively upon his mind, he had attempted to do so, but was stopped by the too rapid a plot of the hand of death. For some days previous to his disease, his conduct had been extremely mysterious. He had announced an intention of living in England forever, of selling the house and grounds, for whatever they would fetch over and above the psalms for which they were mortgaged, and so clearing himself of all encumbrances. He had, but a few hours before he was found lying there, made the following singular speech to Henry, Do not regret, Henry, that the whole house which had been in our family salon is about to be parted with. Be assured that, if it is but for the first time in my life, have good and substantial reasons now for what I am about to do. We shall be able to go to some other country, and there live like princes of the land. Where the means worth come from to live like a prince, unless Mr. Barnard worked as some of the German princes in his eye, no one he knew but himself, and his sudden death buried with him that most important secret. There were some words written on the leaf of his pocketbook, but they were off by far too indistinct and ambiguous and natural to lead to anything. There were days, the money is... And then there was a long scroll or the pencil which seemed to have been occasioned by sudden disease. Of course nothing could be made of these words, except in the way of a contradiction, as the family lawyer said, for if he had written, the money is not, it would have been somewhere remarkably near the truth. However, with all his vices, he was regretting by his children, which is rather to remember him in his best aspect than to dwell upon his faults. For the first time then, within the memory of a man, the head of the family of the Bannerworth was a gentleman in every sense of the word, brave, generous, highly educated, and full of many excellent and noble qualities, for such was Henry, whom we have introduced to our readers under such distressing circumstances. And now, people said, that the family property haven't been all dissipated and lost, there would take place a change, and that the Bannerworth would have to take some course of honourable interest for a livelihood, and that then there would be as much respected as they had before been detested and dislighted. Indeed, the position which Henry held was now a most precarious one, for one of the amazingly clever acts of his father had been to encumber the property with overwhelming claims, so that when Henry administered to the estate, it was dotty almost by Saturny if it were at all desirable to do so. An attachment, however, to the hold-outs of his family had induced the young man to hold possession of it as long as he could, despite any adverse circumstance which might eventually be connected with it. Some weeks, however, only after the disease of his father and when he fairly held possession, a sudden and the most unexpected offer came to him from a solicitor in London, of whom he knew nothing to purchase the house and grounds for a client of his were instructed him so to do, but whom he did not mention. The offer made was a liberal one and beyond the value of the place. The lawyer who had conducted areas of affairs for him since his father's disease had visited him by all means to take it. But after a consultation with his mother and sister and George, they all resolved to hold by their own house as long as they could and consequently refused the offer. He was then asked to let the place and today his own price for the occupation of it, but that he would not do, so the negotiation went off altogether, leaving only in the minds of the family much surprise at the exceeding eagerness of someone whom they knew not to get possession of the place on any terms. There was another circumstance perhaps which materially aided in producing a strong feeling on the minds of the better worth with regard to the remaining where they were. That circumstance occurred to us. A relation of the family was now dead, and with whom had died all his means, had been in the habit for the last half dozen years of his life of sending a hundred pounds to Harry for the express purpose of enabling him and his brother Jor and his sister Flora to take a little continental or home tour in the autumn of the year. A more acceptable present or for a more delightful purpose to young people could not be found, and with the quiet, prudent habits of all three of them, they contrived to go far and to see much for the sum which was to ansomely place it at their disposal. In one of those discussions, when among the mountains of Italy, an adventure occurred which placed the life of Flora in imminent hazard. They were riding along a narrow mountain path, and Erosa's leaping, she fell over the ledge of a precipice. In an instant, a young man, a stranger to the whole party, who was travelling in the vicinity, rushed to the spot, and by his knowledge and exceptions, the effect convinced her preservation was affected. He turned her to lie quiet, he encouraged her to hope for immediate secure, and then, with much personal exertion, and that immense risk to himself, he reached the ledge of rock on which she lay, and then he supported her until the brothers had gone to a neighbouring house which, by the way, was too good English miles off and got assistance. There, come on, while they were gone, a terrific storm, and Flora felt that, but for him, was with her, she must have been hurled from the rock, and perished in nebis below, which was almost deep for observation. Suffice it to say that she was rescued, and he, who had, by his intrepidity, done so much towards seeing being her, was loaded with the most sincere and air-filled acknowledgments by the brothers as well as by herself. He frankly told them that his name was Holland, that he was travelling for amusement and destruction, and was by profession an artist. He travelled with them for some time, and he was not at all bewandered at, under the circumstances, that an attachment of the tenderest nature she was springing up between him and the beautiful girl, who felt that she owe it to him her life. Mutual glances of affection were exchanged between them, at least was arranged that, when he returned to England, he should come at once as an honoured guest to the house of the family of the Bannerworth. All this was settled satisfactorily with the full knowledge and equations of the two brothers, who had taken a strange attachment to the young Charles Holland, who was indeed, in every way, likely to propitiate the good opinion of all who knew him. Henry explained to him exactly how they were situated, and told him that when he came he would find a welcome from all, except possibly his father, whose wayward temper he could not out of the fall. Young Holland stated that he was compelled to be away from a time of two years from certain family arrangements he had entered into, and that then he would return and look to me, flora and change it as it should be. It happened that this was the last of the continental excursions of the Bannerworths for, before an early year rolled around, the generous relative where the supply then with the means of making such delightful trips was no more, and likewise the debt of the father had occurred in the manner we have related, so that there was no chance as had been anticipated and hoped for by flora of meeting Charles Holland on the continent again before his two years of absence from England should be expired. Such, however, being the state of things, flora felt reluctant to give up the house, but it would be sure to come to look for her, and her happiness was too dear to Henry to induce him to make any sacrifice of it to expediency. Therefore was it that Bannerworth all, as it was sometimes called, was retained and fully intended to be retained at all events until after Charles Holland had made his appearance in this advice for it was by the young people considered one of the family thickened with regard to what was advisable to be done. With one exception, this was the state of affairs of the whole, and that exception related to Mr. March Day. It was a distant relation of Mrs. Bannerworth, and early life had been sincerely and tenderly attached to her. She, however, with the want of steady reflection of a young girl as she then was, and as is generally the case among several admirers, she is in the very worst. That is, the man who had treated her with the most indifference and who paid her the least attention was, of course, thought of the most off, and she gave her hand to him. That man was Mr. Bannerworth, but future experience had made her truly awake to her firmer error, and, but for the love she bore her children, who were certainly all that her mothers had could wish she would often have deeply regretted the infatuation which had induced her to bestow her hand in the quarters she had done so. About a month after the disease of Mr. Bannerworth, there came one to the whole who desired to see the widow. That one was Mr. March Day. It might have been some slight tenderness towards him which had never left her, or it might be the pleasure merely of seeing one whom she had known intimately in early life, but, be that as it may, she certainly gave him a kindly welcome. And the, after consenting to remain for some time as a visitor at the whole, won the esteem of the whole family by his frank demeanor and cultivated intellect. He had travelled much, and seen much, and yet turned to good account all he had seen, that not only was Mr. March Day a man of sterling sound sense, but it was a most entertaining companion. His intimate knowledge of many things concerning which they knew little or nothing, his accurate modes of thought, and a quiet, gentlemanly demeanor, such as his rarely to be met with, convened to make him esteem by the Bannerworths. He had a small independence of his own, and being completely alone in the world for yet neither wife nor child, March Day owned that he felt a pleasure in residing with the Bannerworths. Of course he could not, in decent terms, so far offend them as to offer to pay for his subsistence, but it took good care that they should really be in a loses by having him as a neem-mate, a matter which he could easily arrange by a little presence of one kind and another, all of which he meant it should be such as were not only ornamental, but actually spare this kind entertainers some positive expense which otherwise they must have gone to. Whether or not this amiable piece of maneuvering was seen through by the Bannerworths, it is not our purpose to inquire. If it was seen through, it could not lower him in their esteem, for it was probably just what they themselves would have felt a pleasure in doing under similar circumstances. And if they did not observe it, Mr. March Day would probably be all the better pleased. Such then may be considered by our readers as a brief outline of the state of affairs among the Bannerworths, a state which was brilliant with changes and with changes were now likely to be rapid and conclusive. How far the feelings of the family towards the ancient hours of their race will be altered by the appearance at it of so fearful a visitor as a vampire, we will not stop to inquire in as much as such feelings will develop themselves as we proceed. That the visitation had produced a serious effect upon all the household was sufficiently evident, as well among the educated as among the ignorant. On the second morning, Henry received notice to quit his service from the three servants he had with difficulty contrived to keep at the whole. The reason why he received such notice he knew well enough, and therefore it did not trouble himself to argue about a superstition to which he felt now and self almost compelled to give way. For how could he say there was no such thing as a vampire when he had, with his own eyes, had the most abundant evidence of the terrible fact? He calmly paid the servants and allowed them to leave him at once without at all entering into the matter and, for the time being, some men were procured who, however, came evidently with fear and trembling and probably only took the place on account of not being able to procure any other. The comfort of the household was likely to be completely put an end to, and reasons now for leaving the whole appeared to be most rapidly accumulating. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Nancy Roberts Varni the Vampire Volume 1 by Thomas Prescott-Prest Chapter 7 The Visit to the Vault of the Bannerworths and Its Unpleasant Results The Mystery Henry and his brother roused flora, and after agreeing together that it would be highly imprudent to say anything to her of the proceedings of the night, he commenced a conversation with her in encouraging and kindly accents. Well, flora, said Henry, you see that you have been quite undisturbed tonight. I have slept long, dear Henry. You have, unpleasantly, too, I hope. I have not had any dreams, and I feel much refreshed now and quite well again. Thank heaven, said George. If you will tell dear mother that I am awake, I will get up with her assistance. The brothers left the room, and they spoke to each other of it as a favorable sign that flora did not object to being left alone now, as she had done on the preceding morning. She is recovering fast now, George, said Henry. If we could now but persuade ourselves that all this alarm would pass away and that we should hear no more of it, we might return to our old and comparatively happy condition. Let us believe, Henry, that we shall. And yet, George, I shall not be satisfied in my mind until I have paid a visit. A visit? Where? To the family vault. Indeed, Henry, I thought you had abandoned that idea. I had. I have several times abandoned it, but it comes across my mind again and again. I much regret it. As yet, everything that has happened has tended to confirm a belief in this most horrible of all superstitions concerning vampires. It has. Now, my great object, George, is to endeavor to disturb such a state of thing by getting something, however slight, of a negative character for the mind to rest upon on the other side of the question. I comprehend you, Henry. You know that at present we are not only led to believe, almost irresistibly, that we have been visited by a vampire, but that that vampire is our ancestor whose portrait is on the panel of the wall of the chamber into which he contrived to make his way. True, most true. Then let us, by an examination of the family vault, George, put an end to one of the evidences. If we find, as most surely we shall, the coffin of the ancestor of ours who seems in dress and appearance so horribly mixed up in this affair, we shall be at rest on that head. But consider how many years have elapsed. Yes, a great number. What then do you suppose could remain of any corpse placed in a vault so long ago? Decomposition must, of course, have done its work, but still there must be a something to show that a corpse has so undergone the process common to all nature. Double the lapse of time surely could not obliterate all traces of that which had been. There is reason in that, Henry. Besides, the coffins are all of lead in some of stone so that they cannot have all gone. True, most true. If in the one which, from the inscription and date, we discover to be that of our ancestor whom we seek, we find the evident remains of a corpse, we shall be satisfied that he is rested in his tomb in peace. Brother, you seem bent on this adventure, said George. If you go, I will accompany you. I will not engage rashly in it, George. Before I finally decide, I will again consult with Mr. Marchdale. His opinion will weigh much with me. And in good time, here he comes across the garden, said George, as he looked from the window of the room in which they sat. It was Mr. Marchdale, and the brothers warmly welcomed him as he entered the apartment. You have been early afoot, said Henry. I have, he said. The fact is that although at your solicitation I went to bed, I could not sleep. And I went out once more to search about the spot where we had seen the—the—I don't know what to call it—or have a great dislike to naming it a vampire. There is not much in a name, said George. In this instance there is, said Marchdale. It is a name suggestive of horror. Made you any discovery, said Henry? None whatsoever. You saw no trace of anyone? Not the least. Well, Mr. Marchdale, George and I were talking over this projected visit to the family vault. Yes. And we agreed to suspend our judgments until we saw you and learned your opinion. Which I will tell you frankly, said Mr. Marchdale, because I know you desire it freely. Do so. It is, you should make the visit. Indeed. Yes. And for this reason. You have now, as you cannot help having, a disagreeable feeling that you may find that one coffin is untenanted. Now, if you do find it so, you scarcely make matters worse by an additional confirmation of what already amounts to a strong supposition, and one which is likely to grow stronger by time. True, most true. On the contrary, if you find indubitable proofs that your ancestor has slept soundly in the tomb, and gone the way of all flesh, you will find yourselves much calmer, and that an attack is made upon the train of events which at present all run one way. That is precisely the argument I was using to George, said Henry, a few moments since. Then let us go, said George, by all means. It is so decided then, said Henry. Let it be done with caution, replied Mr. Marchdale. If anyone can manage it, of course we can. Why should it not be done secretly, and at night? Of course we lose nothing by making a night visit to a vault into which daylight, I presume, cannot penetrate. Certainly not. Then let it be at night. But we shall surely require the concurrence of some of the church authorities. Nay, I do not see that, interposed Mr. Marchdale. It is to the vault actually vested in and belonging to yourself you wish to visit, and therefore you have a right to visit it in any manner or at any time that may be most suitable to yourself. But detection in a clandestine visit might produce unpleasant consequences. The church is old, said George, and we could easily find means of getting into it. There is only one objection that I see just now, and that is that we leave Flora unprotected. We do indeed, said Henry. I did not think of that. It must be put to herself, as a matter for her own consideration, said Mr. Marchdale, if she will consider herself sufficiently safe with the company and protection of your mother only. It would be a pity if we were not all three present at the examination of the coffin, remarked Henry. It would indeed. There is ample evidence, said Mr. Marchdale, but we must not give Flora a night of sleeplessness and uneasiness on that account, and the more particularly we cannot well explain to her where we are going, or upon what errand. Certainly not. Let us talk to her then about it, said Henry. I confess I am much bent upon the plan, and feign would not forego it. Neither should I like other than that we three should go together. If you determine then upon it, said Marchdale, we will go to-night, and from your acquaintance with the place, doubtless you will be able to decide what tools are necessary. There is a trap-door at the bottom of the pew, said Henry. It is not only secure down, but it is locked likewise, and I have the key in my possession. Indeed. Yes. Immediately beneath is a short flight of stone steps which conduct it once into the vault. Is it large? No, about the size of a moderate chamber, with no intricacies about it. There can be no difficulties then. None whatever, unless we meet with actual personal interruption, which I am inclined to think is very far from likely. All we shall require will be a screwdriver, with which to remove the screws, and then something with which to wrench open the coffin. Those we can easily provide, along with lights, remarked Mr. Marchdale. I hope to heaven that this visit to the tomb will have the effect of easing your minds, and enable you to make a successful stand against the streaming torrent of evidence that has poured in upon us regarding this most fearful of apparitions. I do indeed hope so, added Henry, and now I will go at once to Flora, and endeavor to convince her she is safe without us to-night. By the by. I think, said Marchdale, that if we can induce Mr. Chillingworth to come with us, it will be a great point gained in the investigation. He would, said Henry, be able to come to an accurate decision with respect to the remains, if any, in the coffin, which we could not. Then have him by all means, said George. He did not seem averse last night to go on such an adventure. I will ask him when he makes his visit this morning upon Flora, and should he not feel disposed to join us, I am quite sure he will keep the secret of our visit. All this being arranged, Henry proceeded to Flora, and told her that he and George and Mr. Marchdale wished to go out for a couple of hours in the evening after dark, if she felt sufficiently well to feel a sense of security without them. Flora changed colour, and slightly trembled, and then, as if ashamed of her fears, she said, Go, go. I will not detain you. Surely no harm can come to me in the presence of my mother. We shall not be gone longer than the time I mentioned to you, said Henry. Oh, I shall be quite content. Besides, am I to be kept thus in fear all my life? Surely, surely not. I ought too to learn to defend myself. Henry caught at the idea, as he said, If firearms were left to you, do you think you would have the courage to use them? I do, Henry. Then you shall have them, and let me beg of you to shoot anyone without the least hesitation who shall come into your chamber. I will, Henry. If ever human being was justified in the use of deadly weapons, I am now. Heaven protect me from a repetition of the visit to which I have now been once subjected. Rather, oh, much rather, would I die a hundred deaths than suffer what I have suffered. Do not allow it, dear Flora, to press too heavily upon your mind and dwelling upon it in conversation. I still entertain a sanguine expectation that something may arise to afford a far less dreadful explanation of what has occurred than what you have put upon it. Be of good cheer, Flora. We shall go one hour after sunset and return in about two hours from the time at which we leave here. You may be assured. Notwithstanding this ready and courageous acquiescence of Flora in the arrangement, Henry was not without his apprehension that when the night should come again, her fears would return with it. But he spoke to Mr. Chillingworth upon the subject, and got that gentleman's ready consent to accompany them. He promised to meet them at the church porch exactly at nine o'clock, and matters were all arranged, and Henry waited with much eagerness and anxiety now for the coming night, which he hoped would dissipate one of the fearful deductions which his imagination had drawn from recent circumstances. He gave to Flora a pair of pistols of his own, upon which he knew he could depend, and he took good care to load them well, so that there could be no likelihood whatever of their missing fire at a critical moment. Now, Flora, he said, I have seen you use firearms when you were much younger than you are now, and therefore I need give you no instructions. If any intruder does come and you do fire, be sure you take good aim and shoot low. I will, Henry. I will. And you will be back in two hours? Most assuredly I will. The day wore on, evening came, and then deepened into night. It turned out to be a cloudy night, and therefore the moon's brilliance was nothing near equal to what it had been on the preceding night. Still, however, it had sufficient power over the vapors that frequently covered it for many minutes together to produce a considerable light effect upon the face of nature, and the night was consequently very far indeed from what might be called a dark one. George, Henry, and Marchdale met in one of the lower rooms of the house, previous to starting upon their expedition, and after satisfying themselves that they had with them all the tools that were necessary, inclusive of the same small but well-tempered iron crow bar with which Marchdale had, on the night of the visit of the vampire, forced open the door of Flora's chamber, they left the hall, and proceeded at a rapid pace toward the church. And Flora does not seem much alarmed, said Marchdale, at being left alone. No, replied Henry, she has made up her mind with a strong natural courage which I knew was in her disposition to resist as much as possible the depressing effect of the awful visitation she has endured. It would have driven some really mad. It would indeed, and her own reason, tottered on its throne, but thank heaven she has recovered. And I fervently hope that through her life, added Marchdale, she may never have another such trial. We will not for a moment believe that such a thing can occur twice. She is one among a thousand. Most young girls would never at all have recovered the fearful shock to the nerves. Not only has she recovered, said Henry, but a spirit which I am rejoiced to see because it is one which will uphold her of resistance now possesses her. Yes, she actually, I forgot to tell you before, but she actually asked me for arms to resist any second visitation. You much surprise me. Yes, I was surprised, as well as pleased myself. I would have left her one of my pistols had I been aware of her having made such a request. Do you know if she can use firearms? Oh, yes, well. What a pity. I have both of them with me. Oh, she is provided. Provided? Yes, I found some pistols which I used to take with me on the continent, and she has them both well-loaded so that if the vampire makes his appearance he is likely to meet with rather a warm reception. Good God! Was it not dangerous? Not at all, I think. Well, you know best, certainly, of course. I hope the vampire may come, and that we may have the pleasure when we return of finding him dead. By the by, I... I... bless me, I have forgot to get the materials for lights which I pledged myself to do. How unfortunate. Walk on slowly while I run back and get them. Oh, we are too far. Hello! cried a man at this moment, some distance in front of them. It is Mr. Chillingworth, said Henry. Hello! cried the worthy doctor again. Is that you, my friend, Henry Bennerworth? It is, cried Henry. Mr. Chillingworth now came up to them and said, I was before my time, so rather than wait at the church porch, which would have exposed me to observation, perhaps, I thought it better to walk on and chance meeting with you. You guessed we should come this way? Yes, and so it turns out, really. It is unquestionably your most direct route to the church. I think I will go back, said Mr. Marchdale. Back exclaimed the doctor. What for? I forgot the means of getting lights. We have candles, but no means of lighting them. Make yourselves easy on that score, said Mr. Chillingworth. I am never without some chemical matches of my own manufacture, so that as you have the candles, that can be no bar to our going on at once. That is fortunate, said Henry. Very, added Marchdale, for it seems a mile's hard walking for me, or at least half a mile from the hall. Let us now push on. They did push on, all four walking at a brisk pace. The church, although it belonged to the village, was not in it. On the contrary, it was situated at the end of a long lane, which was a mile nearly from the village, in the direction of the hall. Therefore, in going to it from the hall, that amount of distance was saved, although it was always called and considered the village church. It stood alone, with the exception of a gleeb-house and two cottages, that were occupied by persons who held situations about the sacred edifice, and who were supposed, being on the spot, to keep watch and ward over it. It was an ancient building of the early English style of architecture, or rather Norman, with one of those antique square short towers built of flint stones firmly embedded in cement, which, from time, had acquired almost the consistency of stone itself. There were numerous arched windows, partaking something of the more florid Gothic style, although scarcely ornamental enough to be called such. The edifice stood in the center of a graveyard, which extended over a space of about half an acre, and altogether it was one of the prettiest and most rural old churches within many miles of the spot. Many a lover of the antique and of the picturesque, for it was both, went out of his way while traveling in the neighborhood to look at it, and it had an extensive and well-deserved reputation as a fine specimen of its class and style of building. In Kent, to the present day, are some fine specimens of the old Roman style of church building, and, although they are as rapidly pulled down as the abuse of modern architects and the cupidity of speculators, and the vanity of clergymen can possibly encourage, in order to erect flimsy, Italianized structures in their stead, yet sufficient of them remain dotted over England to interest the traveler. At Willsden there is a church of this description, which will well repay a visit. This then was the kind of building into which it was the intention of our four friends to penetrate, not on an unholy or an unjustifiable errand, but on one which, proceeding from good and proper motives, it was highly desirable to conduct in as secret a manner as possible. The moon was more densely covered by clouds than it had yet been that evening when they reached the little wicket gate, which led into the courtyard, through which was a regularly used thoroughfare. We have a favorable night, remarked Henry, for we are not so likely to be disturbed. And now the question is, how are we to get in, said Mr. Chillingworth as he paused and glanced up at the ancient building. The doors, said George, would effectually resist us. How can it be done, then? The only way I can think of, said Henry, is to get out one of the small diamond-shaped panes of glass from one of the low windows, and then we can, one of us, put in our hands and undo the fastening, which is very simple, when the window opens like a door and it is but a step into the church. A good way, said Marchdale, we will lose no time. They walked round the church till they came to a very low window indeed, near to an angle of the wall, where a huge abutment struck far out into the burial ground. Will you do it, Henry? said George. Yes, I have often noticed the fastnings. Just give me a slight hoist up and all will be right. George did so, and Henry with his knife easily bent back some of the leadwork, which held in one of the panes of glass, and then got it out whole. He handed it down to George, saying, Take this, George, we can easily replace it when we leave, so that there can be no signs left of anyone having been here at all. George took the piece of thick, dim-colored glass, and, in another moment, Henry had succeeded in opening the window, and the mode of ingress to the old church was fair and easy before them all, had there been ever so many. Wonders, said Marchdale, that a place so inefficiently protected has never been robbed. No wonder at all, remarked Mr. Schillingworth, there's nothing to take that I am aware of that would repay anybody the trouble of taking. Indeed, not an article. The pulpit, to be sure, is covered with faded velvet, but beyond that, and an old box in which I believe nothing is left but some books, I think there is no temptation. And that, Heaven knows, is little enough then. Come on, said Henry, be careful, there's nothing beneath the window, and the depth is about two feet. Thus guided, they all got fairly into the sacred edifice, and then Henry closed the window and fastened it on the inside, as he said. We have nothing to do now but set to work opening away to the vault, and I trust that Heaven will pardon me for thus desecrating the tomb of my ancestors from a consideration of the object I have in view by so doing. It does seem wrong thus to tamper with the secrets of the tomb, remarked Mr. Marchdale. The secrets of a fiddle-stick, said the doctor, what secrets has the tomb, I wonder? Well, but, my dear sir. Nay, my dear sir, it is high time that death, which is then the inevitable fate of us all, should be regarded with more philosophic eyes than it is. There are no secrets in the tomb, but such as may well be endeavored to be kept secret. What do you mean? There is one which very probably we shall find unpleasantly revealed. Which is that? That not over-pleasant odor of decomposed animal remains. Beyond that I know of nothing of a secret nature that the tomb can show us. Ah, your profession hardens you to such matters. And a very good thing that it does, or else if all men were to look upon a dead body as something almost too dreadful to look upon, and by far too horrible to touch, surgery would lose its value, and crime in many instances of the most obnoxious character would go unpunished. If we have a light here, said Henry, we shall run the greatest chance in the world of being seen, but the church has many windows. Do not have one then by any means, said Mr. Chillingworth. A match held down low in the pew may enable us to open the vault. That will be the only plan. Henry led them to the pew which belonged to his family, and in the floor of which was the trapped door. When was it last opened? Inquired Marchdale. When my father died, said Henry, some ten months ago now I should thank. The screws then have had ample time to fix themselves with fresh rust. Here's one of my chemical matches, said Mr. Chillingworth, as he suddenly irradiated the pew with a clear and beautiful flame that lasted about a minute. The heads of the screws were easily discernible, and the short time that the light lasted had enabled Henry to turn the key he had brought with him in the lock. I think that without a light now, he said, I can turn the screws well. Can you? Yes, there are but four. Try it then. Henry did so, and from the screws having very large heads and being made purposely for the convenience of removal when required with deep indentations to receive the screwdriver, he found no difficulty in feeling for the proper places and extracting the screws without any more light than was afforded to him from the general whitish aspect of the heavens. Now, Mr. Chillingworth, he said, another of your matches, if you please. I have all the screws so loose that I can pick them up with my fingers. Here, said the doctor. In another moment the pew was as light as day, and Henry succeeded in taking out the few screws which he placed in his pocket for their greater security, since, of course, the intention was to replace everything exactly as it was found in order that not the least surmise should arise in the mind of any person that the vault had been opened and visited for any purpose whatever, secretly or otherwise. Let us descend, said Henry. There is no further obstacle, my friends. Let us descend. If anyone remarked George in a whisper as they slowly descended the stairs which conducted into the vault, if anyone had told me that I should be descending into a vault for the purpose of ascertaining if a dead body which had been nearly a century there was removed or not and had become a vampire, I should have denounced the idea as one of the most absurd that ever entered the brain of a human being. We are the very slaves of circumstance, said Marchdale, and we never know what we may do or what we may not. What appears to us so improbable as to border even upon the impossible at one time is, at another, the only course of action which appears visibly open to us to attempt to pursue. They had now reached the vault, the floor of which was composed of flat red tiles laid in tolerable order the one beside the other. As Henry had stated, the vault was by no means of large extent. Indeed, several of the apartments for the living at the hall were much larger than was the one destined for the dead. The atmosphere was damp and noisome, but not by any means so bad as might have been expected considering the number of months which had elapsed since last the vault was open to receive one of its ghastly and still visitants. Now for one of your lights, Mr. Chillingworth. You say you have the candle, I think, Marchdale, although you forgot the matches. I have. Here they are. Marchdale took from his pocket a parcel which contained several wax candles, and when it was opened a smaller packet fell to the ground. Why, these are instantaneous matches, said Mr. Chillingworth, as he lifted the small packet up. They are, and what a fruitless journey I should have had back to the hall, said Marchdale, if you had not been so well provided as you are with the means of getting a light. These matches, which I thought I had not with me, have been in the hurry of our departure enclosed as you see with the candles. Truly I should have hunted for them at home in vain. Mr. Chillingworth lit the wax candle which was now handed to him by Marchdale, and in another moment the vault from one end of it to the other was quite discernible. End of Chapter 7. Recorded by Nancy Roberts. Syracuse, New York. Chapter 8 of Varni the Vampire. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jonathan Horneblo. Varni the Vampire, Volume 1, by Thomas Prescott Prest. Chapter 8. The Coffin. The Absence of the Dead. The Mysterious Circumstance. And The Consternation of George. They were all silent for a few moments as they looked around them with natural feelings of curiosity. Two of that party had, of course, never been in that vault at all, and the brothers, although they had descended into it upon the occasion, nearly a year before of their father being placed in it, still looked upon it with almost as curious eyes as they who now had their first sight of it. If a man be at all of a thoughtful or imaginative cast of mind, some curious sensations are sure to come over him upon standing in such a place where he knows around him lie in the calmness of death those in whose veins have flowed kindred blood to him, who bore the same name, and who preceded him in the brief drama of his existence, influencing his destiny and his position in life probably largely by their actions, compounded of their virtues and their vices. Henry Bannerworth and his brother George were just the kind of persons to feel strongly such sensations. Both were reflective, imaginative, educated young men, and, as the light from the wax candle flashed upon their eyes, it was evident how deeply they felt the situation in which they were placed. Mr. Chillingworth and Marchdale were silent. They both knew what was passing in the minds of the brothers, and they had too much delicacy to interrupt a train of thought, which, although from having no affinity with the dead who lay around, they could not share in, and yet they respected. Henry, at length, with a sudden start, seemed to recover himself from his reverie. This is a time for action, George, he said, and not for a romantic thought. Let us proceed. Yes, yes, said George, and he advanced a step towards the centre of the vault. Can you find out amongst all these coffins? For there seem to be nearly twenty, said Mr. Chillingworth. Which is the one we seek? I think we may, replied Henry. Some of the earlier coffins of our race, I know, were made of marble and others metal, both of which materials I expect would withstand the encroaches of time for a hundred years at least. Let us examine, said George. There were shelves or niches built into the walls all round, on which the coffins were placed, so that there could not be much difficulty in a minute examination of them all, the one after the other. When, however, they came to look, they found that Decay's offensive fingers had been more busy than they could have imagined, and that whatever they touched of the earlier coffins crumbled into dust before their very fingers. In some cases the inscriptions were quite illegible, and in others the plates that had borne them had fallen to the floor of the vault, so that it was impossible to say which coffin they had belonged. Of course, the more recent and fresh-looking coffins they did not examine, because they could not have anything to do with the objects of that melancholy visit. We shall arrive at no conclusion, said George. All seems to have rotted away amongst those coffins where we might expect to find one belonging to Marma Duke Bannerworth, our ancestor. Here is a coffin plate, said Marchdale, taking one from the floor. He handed it to Mr. Chillingworth, who, upon an inspection of it, close to the light, exclaimed, It must have belonged to the coffin you seek. What says it? Ye mortal remains of Marma Duke Bannerworth, Yeoman, God rest his soul. AD 1640. It is the plate belonging to his coffin, said Henry, and now our search is fruitless. It is so indeed, exclaimed George, for how can we tell to which of the coffins that have lost the plates this one really belongs? I should not be so hopeless, said Marchdale. I have, from time to time, in the pursuit of antiquarian law, which I was once fond of, entered many vaults, and I have always observed that an inner coffin of metal was sound and good, while the outer one of wood had rotted away and yielded at once to the touch of the first hand that was laid upon it. But admitting that to be the case, said Henry, how does that assist us in the identification of the coffin? I have always, in my experience, found the name and rank of the deceased engraved upon the lid of the inner coffin, as well as being set forth in a much more perishable manner on the plate which was once secured to the outer one. He is right, said Mr. Shellingworth. I wonder why we never thought of that. If your ancestor was buried in a leadened coffin, there will definitely be no difficulty in finding which it is. Henry seized the light, and, proceeding to one of the coffins, which seemed to be a massive decay, he pulled away some of the rotted woodwork, and then suddenly exclaimed, You are quite right. Here is a firm, strong leadened coffin within, which, although quite black, does not appear to have otherwise suffered. What is the inscription on that? Asked George. With difficulty the name on the lid was deciphered, but it was found not to be the coffin of him whom they sought. We could make short work of this, said Marchdale, by only examining those leadened coffins which have lost the plates from their outer cases. They do not appear to be many in such a state. He then, with another light, which he lighted from the one that Henry now carried, commenced actively assisting in the search, which was carried on silently for more than ten minutes. Suddenly, Mr. Marchdale cried in a tone of excitement, I have found it! It is here! They all immediately surrounded the spot where he was, and then he pointed to the lid of the coffin, which he had been rubbing with his handkerchief in order to make the inscription more legible, and said, See? It is here! By the combined light of the candles they saw the words Marmaduke Bannerworth, Yeoman, 1640. Yes, there can be no mistake here, said Henry. This is the coffin, and it shall be opened. I have the iron crowbar here, said Marchdale. You're just an old friend of mine, and I am accustomed to the use of it. Shall I open the coffin? Do so, do so, said Henry. They stood around in silence, while Mr. Marchdale, with much care, proceeded to open the coffin, which seemed of great thickness and was of solid lead. It was probably the partial rotting of the metal, in consequence of the damps of that place, which made it easier to open the coffin than it otherwise would have been. But certainly it was the top that came away remarkably easy. Indeed, so easily did it come off, that another supposition might have been hazarded, namely that it had never been effectively fastened. The few moments that elapsed were ones of very great suspense to everyone there present, and it would indeed be quite safe to assert that all the world was for the time forgotten in the absorbing interest which appertained to the affair which was in progress. The candles were now both held by Mr. Chillingworth, and they were so held as to cast a full and clear light upon the coffin. Now the lid slid off, and Henry eagerly gazed into the interior. There lay something certainly there, and an audible, thank God, escaped his lips. The body is there, exclaimed George. All right, said Marchdale. Here it is. There is something, and what else can it be? Hold the lights, said Mr. Chillingworth. Hold the lights, some of you. Let us be quite certain. George took the lights, and Mr. Chillingworth, without any hesitation, dipped his hands at once into the coffin and took up some fragments of rags which were there. They were so rotten that they fell to pieces in this grasp, like so many pieces of tinder. There was a death-like pause for a few moments, and then Mr. Chillingworth said in a low voice, There is not the least vestige of a dead body here. Henry gave a deep groan as he said, Mr. Chillingworth, can you take it upon yourself to say that no corpse has undergone the process of decomposition in this coffin? To answer your question exactly, as probably in your hurry you have worded it, said Mr. Chillingworth, I cannot take it upon myself to say any such thing. But this I can say, namely, that in this coffin there are no animal remains, and it is quite impossible that any corpse enclosed here could, in any lapse of time, have so utterly and entirely disappeared. I am answered, said Henry. Good God! exclaimed George, and has this but added another damning proof to those we have already on our minds of one of the most dreadful superstitions that ever the mind of man conceived? It would seem so, said Marchdale sadly. Oh, that I were dead! This is terrible! God of heaven! Why are these things? Oh, if I were but dead, and so spared the torture of supposing such things possible. Think again, Mr. Chillingworth. I pray you think again, cried Marchdale. If I were to think for the remainder of my existence, he replied, I could come to no other conclusion. It is not a matter of opinion, it is a matter of fact. You are positive, then, said Henry, that the dead body of Marmaduke Bannerworth has not rested here. I am positive. Look for yourselves. The lead is but slightly discoloured. It looks tolerably clean and fresh. There is not a vestige of putrification. No bones, no dust even. They did all look for themselves, and the most casual glance was sufficient to satisfy the most sceptical. All is over, said Henry. Let us now leave this place, and all I can now ask of you, my friends, to lock this dreadful secret deep in your own hearts. It shall never pass my lips, said Marchdale. Nor mine, you may depend, said the doctor. I was much in hopes that this night's work would have had the effect of dissipating instead of adding to the gloomy fancies that now possess you. Good heavens, cried George. Can you call them fancies, Mr. Chillingworth? I do indeed. Have you yet a doubt? My young friend, I told you from the first that I would not believe in your vampire, and I tell you now that if one was to come by and lay hold of me by the throat, as long as I could at all gasp for breath, I would tell him he was a damned impostor. This is carrying incredulity to the verge of obstancy. Far beyond it, if you please. You will not be convinced, said Marchdale. I most decidedly, on this point, will not. Then you are one who would doubt a miracle, if you sought with your own eyes. I would, because I do not believe in miracles. I should endeavour to find some rational and some scientific means of accounting for the phenomenon, and that's the very reason why we have no miracles nowadays, between you and I, and no prophets and saints, and all that sort of thing. I would rather avoid such observations in such a place as this, said Marchdale. Nay, do not be the moral coward! cried Mr. Chillingworth. To make your opinions or the expression of them dependent upon any certain locality. I know not what to think, said Henry. I am bewildered quite. Let us now come away. Mr. Marchdale replaced the lid of the coffin, and then the little party moved towards the staircase. Henry turned before he ascended and glanced back into the vault. Oh! he said. If I could but think there had been some mistake, some error of judgment on which my mind could rest for hope. I deeply regret, said Marchdale, that I so strenuously advised this expedition. I did hope that from it would have resulted much good. And you have every reason so to hope, said Chillingworth. I advised it likewise, and I tell you that its result perfectly astonishes me, and I will not allow myself to embrace at once all the conclusions to which it would seem to leave me. I am satisfied, said Henry. I know you both advised me for the best. The curse of heaven seems now to have fallen upon me and my house. Oh! nonsense! said Chillingworth. Alas! I know not. Then you may depend that heaven would never act so oddly. In the first place, heaven don't curse anybody, and in the second, it is too just to inflict pain where pain is not amply deserved. They ascended the gloomy staircase of the vault. The countenances of both George and Henry were very much saddened, and it was quite evident that their thoughts were by far too busy to enable them to enter into any conversation. They did not, and particularly George seemed to hear all that was said to them. Their intellects seemed almost stunned by the unexpected circumstance of the disappearance of the body of their ancestor. All along they had, although almost unknown to themselves, felt a sort of conviction that they must find some remains of Marma Duke Bannerworth, which would render the supposition, even in the most superstition lines, that he was the vampire, a thing totally and physically impossible. But now the whole question assumed a far more bewildering shape. The body was not in its coffin. It had not there quietly slept the long sleep of death common to humanity. Where was it then? What had become of it? Where? How? And under what circumstances had it been removed? Had it itself burst the bands that held it and hideously stalked forth under the world again to make one of its seeming inhabitants, and kept up for a hundred years a dreadful existence by such adventures as it had consummated at the Hall, where, in the course of ordinary human life, it had once lived? All these are questions which irresistibly pressed themselves upon the consideration of Henry and his brother. They were awful questions. And yet take any sober, sane, thinking, educated man, and show him all that they had just seen, subject him to all that they had just been subjected, and say if human reason and all the arguments that the subtlest brain could back it with would be able to hold out against such a vast accumulation of horrible evidences and say, I don't believe it. Mr. Chillingworth's was the only plan. He would not argue the question. He said at once, I will not believe this thing. Upon this point, I will yield to no evidence whatsoever. That was the only way of disposing of such a question. But there are not many who could so dispose of it and not one so much interested in it as were the brothers Bannerworth, who could at all hope to get into such a state of mind. The boards were laid carefully down again and the screws replaced. Henry found himself unequal to the task, so it was done by Marchdale, who took pains to replace everything in the same state in which they had found it, even to laying the matting at the bottom of the pew. They extinguished the light and, with heavy hearts, walked towards the window to leave the sacred edifice by the same means they had entered it. Shall we replace the pain of glass? said Marchdale. Oh, it matters not, it matters not, said Henry listlessly. Nothing matters now. I care not what becomes of me. I am getting weary of a life which now must be one of misery and dread. You must not allow yourself to fall into such a state of mind as this, said the doctor, patient of mine very quickly. I cannot help it. Well, but be a man. If there are serious evils affecting you, fight out against them the best way you can. I cannot. Come now, listen to me. We need not, I think, trouble ourselves about the pain of glass, so come along. He took the arm of Henry and walked on with him a little in front of the others. Henry, he said, the best way you may depend of meeting evils, be they great or small, is to get up an obstinate feeling of defiance against them. Now, when anything occurs which is uncomfortable for me, I endeavour to convince myself, and I have no great difficulty in doing so, that I am a decidedly injured man. Indeed. Yes, I get very angry, and that gets up a kind of obstinacy which makes me not have feel so much mental misery and emotion if I were to succumb to the evil and commence whining over it as many people do under the precepts of being resigned. But this family affliction of mine transcends anything that anybody else ever endured. I don't know that, but it is a view of the subject which, if I were you, would only make me more obstinate. What can I do? In the first place, I would say to myself, there may or there may not be supernatural beings who, from some physical derangement of the ordinary nature of things, make themselves obnoxious to living people. If there are, damn them! There may be vampires, and if there are, I defy them. Let the imagination paint its very worse terrors. Let fear do what it will, and what it can in peopling the mind with horrors. Shrink from nothing, and even then I would defy them all. Is that not like defying heaven? Most certainly not. For in all we say, and all we do, we act from the impulses of that mind which is given to us by heaven itself. If heaven creates an intellect and a mind of a certain order, heaven will not quarrel that it does the work which it was adapted to do. I know these are your opinions. I have heard you mention them before. They are the opinions of every rational person, Henry Bannerworth, because they will stand of reason, and what I urge upon you is not to allow yourself to be mentally prostrated, even if a vampire had paid a visit to your house. Defy him, I say! Fight him! Self-preservation is a great law of nature, implanted in all our hearts. Do you summon it to your aid? I will endeavour to think as you would have me. I thought more than once of summoning religion to my aid. Well, that is religion, indeed. I consider so, and the most rational religion of all. All that we read about religion does not seem expressly to agree with it. You may consider as an allegory. But, Mr. Chillingworth, I cannot and will not renounce the sublime truths of Scripture. They may be incomprehensible, they may be inconsistent, and some of them may look ridiculous. But still they are sacred and sublime, and I will not renounce them, nor my reason may not accord with them, because they are the laws of heaven. No wonder this powerful argument silenced Mr. Chillingworth, who was one of those characters in society who hold most dreadful opinions, and who would destroy religious beliefs and all the different sects of the world if they could, and endeavour to introduce instead some horrible system of human reason and profound philosophy. But, how soon the religious man silences his opponent, and let it not be supposed that, because his opponent says no more upon the subject, he does so because he is disgusted with the stupidity of the other. No, it is because he is completely beaten, and has nothing more to say. The distance now between the church and the hall was nearly traversed, and Mr. Chillingworth, who was a very good man, notwithstanding his disbelief in certain things of course paved the way for him to hell, took a kind leave of Mr. Marchdale and the brothers, promising to call on the following morning and see Flora. Henry and George then, in earnest conversation with Marchdale, proceeded homewards. It was evident that the scene in the vault had made a deep and saddening impression on them, and one which was not likely easily to be eradicated. CHAPTER IX. The Occurrences of the Night at the Hall The Second Appearance of the Vampire and the Pistol Shot Despite the free and full consent which Flora had given to her brothers to entrust her solely to the care of her mother and her own courage at the hall, she felt greater fear creep over her after they were gone than she chose to acknowledge. A sort of presentiment appeared to come over her that some evil was about to occur, and more than once she caught herself almost in the act of saying, I wish they had not gone. Mrs. Bannerworth too could not be supposed to be entirely destitute of uncomfortable feelings when she came to consider how poor a guard she was over her beautiful child, and how much terror might even deprive of the little power she had should the dreadful visitor again make his appearance. But it is but for two hours, thought Flora, and two hours will soon pass away. There was too another feeling which gave her some degree of confidence, although it arose from a bad source which showed powerfully how much her mind was dwelling on the particulars of the horrible belief in the class of supernatural beings, one of whom she believed had visited her. That consideration was this. The two hours of absence from the hall of its male inhabitants would be from nine o'clock until eleven, and those were not the two hours during which she felt that she would be most timid on account of the vampire. It was after midnight before, she thought, when it came, and perhaps it may not be able to come earlier, it may not have the power until that time to make its hideous visits, and therefore I will believe myself safe. She had made up her mind not to go to bed until the return of her brothers, and she and her mother sat in a small room that was used as a breakfast room, and which had a lattice window that opened onto the lawn. This window had, on the inside, strong, oaken shutters, which had been fastened as securely as their construction would admit of sometime before the departure of the brothers and Mr. Marchdale on that melancholy expedition, the object of which, if it had been known to her, would have added so much to the terrors of poor Flora. It was not even guessed at, however remotely, so that she had not the additional affliction of thinking that while she was sitting there, a prey to all sorts of imaginative terrors, they were perhaps gathering fresh evidence, as indeed they were, of the dreadful reality of the appearance which, but for the collateral circumstances attendant upon its coming and its going, she would feign have persuaded herself was but the vision of a dream. It was before nine that the brothers started, but in her own mind Flora gave them to eleven, and when she heard ten o'clock sound from a clock which stood in the hall, she felt pleased to think that in another hour they would surely be at home. She said to her mother, you look more like yourself now. Do I, mother? Yes, you are well again. Ah, if I could forget, time, dear Flora, will enable you to do so, and all the rest of what made you so unwell will pass away. You will soon forget it all. I will hope to do so. Be assured that, some day or another, something will occur, as Henry says, to explain all that has happened, in some way consistent with reason and nature of things, my dear Flora. Oh, I will cling to such a belief. I will get, Henry, upon whose judgment I know I can rely, to tell me so, and each time that I hear such words from his lips I will contrive to dismiss some portion of the terror which now I cannot but confess clings to my heart. Flora laid her hand upon her mother's arm, and in a low, anxious tone of voice said, Listen, mother. Mrs. Bannerworth turned pale as she said, Listen to what, dear? Within these last ten minutes, said Flora, I have thought three or four times that I heard a slight noise without. Nay, mother, do not tremble. It may be only fancy. Flora herself trembled, and was of a death-like paleness. Once or twice she passed her hand across her brow, and altogether she presented a picture of much mental suffering. They now conversed in anxious whispers, and almost all they said consisted in anxious wishes and Mr. Marchdale. You will be happier and more assured, my dear, with some company, said Mrs. Bannerworth. Shall I ring for the servants, and let them remain in the room with us until they who are our best safeguards next to heaven return? Hush, hush, hush, mother. What do you hear? I thought I heard a faint sound. I heard nothing, dear. Listen again, mother. Surely I could not be deceived so often. I have now at least six times my mind was outside by the windows. No, no, my darling, do not think. Your imagination is active and in a state of excitement. It is, and yet, believe me, it deceives you. I hope to heaven it does. There was a pause of some minute's duration, and then Mrs. Bannerworth again urged slightly the calling of some of the servants, for she thought that their presence might have the effect of giving a different direction to her child's life, and she said, No, mother, no. Not yet, not yet. Perhaps I am deceived. Mrs. Bannerworth, upon this, sat down, but no sooner had she done so than she heartily regretted she had not wrung the bell. For, before another word could be spoken, there came too perceptibly upon their ears for there to be any mistake at all about it, a strange scratching noise upon the window outside. A faint cry came from Flora's lips as she exclaimed in a voice of great agony, Oh, God! Oh, God, it has come again! Mrs. Bannerworth became faint and unable to move or speak at all. She could only sit like one paralyzed and unable to do more than listen to and see what was going on. The scratching noise continued for a few seconds and then altogether ceased. Perhaps under ordinary circumstances such a sound outside the window would have scarcely afforded food for comment at all, or if it had it would have been attributed to some natural effect, or to the exertions of some bird or animal to obtain admittance to the house. But there had occurred now enough in that family to make any little sound of wonderful importance, and these things which before would have passed completely unheeded at all events without creating much alarm were now invested with a fearful interest. When the scratching noise ceased Flora spoke in a low anxious whisper as she said, Mother, you heard it? Mrs. Bannerworth tried to speak, but she could not, and then suddenly, with a loud clash, the bar which on the inside appeared to fasten the shutter strongly fell as if by some invisible agency, and the shutters now, but for the intervention of the window, could be easily pushed open from without. Mrs. Bannerworth covered her face with her hands, and after rocking to and fro for a moment she fell off her chair, having fainted with the excess of terror that came over her. For about the space of time in which a fast speaker could count twelve, Flora thought her reason was leaving her, but it did not. She found herself recovering, and there she sat, with her eyes fixed upon the window, looking more like some exquisitely chiseled statue of despair than a being of flesh and blood, expecting each moment to have its eyes blasted by some horrible appearance, such as might be supposed to drive her to madness. And now, again, came the strange knocking or scratching against the pain of glass of the window. This continued for some minutes, during which it appeared likewise to Flora that some confusion was going on at another part of the house, for she fancied she heard voices and the banging of doors. It seemed to her as if she must have sat looking at the shutters of that window a long time before she saw them shake, and then one wide, hinst portion of them slowly opened. Once again horror appeared to be on the point of producing madness in her brain, and then as before a feeling of calmness rapidly ensued. She was able to see plainly that something was by the window, but what it was she could not plainly discern in consequence of the light she had in the room. A few moments, however, suffice to settle that mystery, for the window was opened and a figure stood before her. One glance, one terrified glance in which her whole soul was concentrated, suffice to show her who and what the figure was. There was a tall gaunt form. There was the faded ancient apparel, the lustrous metallic-looking eyes, its half-opened mouth, exhibiting tusk-like teeth. It was, yes it was, the vampire. It stood for a moment gazing at her, and then in the hideous way it had attempted before to speak. It apparently endeavored to utter some words which it could not make articulate to human ears. The pistols lay before Flora. Mechanically she raised and pointed it at the figure. It advanced a step and then she pulled the trigger. A stunning report followed. There was a loud cry of pain and the vampire fled. The smoke and confusion that was incidental to the spot prevented her from seeing if the figure walked or ran away. She thought she heard a crashing sound among the plants outside the window as if it had fallen, but she did not feel quite sure. It was no effort of any reflection, but a purely mechanical movement that made her raise the other pistol and discharged that likewise in the direction the vampire had taken. Then, casting the weapon away, she rose and made a frantic rush from the room. She opened the door and was dashing out when she found herself caught in the circling arms of someone who either had been there waiting or who had just at that moment got there. The thought that it was the vampire who by some mysterious means had got there and was about to make her his prey now overcame her curiosity and she sunk into a state of utter insensibility on the moment. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Varni the Vampire This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Varni the Vampire Volume 1 by Thomas Prescott Prest. Chapter 10 The Return from the Vault The Alarm and the Search Around the Hall It so happened that George and Henry Bannerworth, along with Mr. Marchdale, had just reached the gate which conducted into the garden of the mansion when they were all alarmed by the report of a pistol. Amid the stillness of the night, it came upon them with so sudden a shock that they involuntarily paused, and there came from the lips of each an expression that George can that be flora firing at any intruder? It must be, cried Henry. She has in her possession the only weapons in the house. Mr. Marchdale turned very pale and trembled slightly, but he did not speak. Go on, cried Henry, for God's sake let us hasten on. As he spoke he cleared the gate at a bound and at a terrific pace he made towards it. Before, however, it was possible for any human speed to accomplish even half of the distance, the report of the other shot came upon his ears, and he even fancied he heard the bullet whistle past his head in tolerable close proximity. This supposition gave him a clue to the direction at all events from once the shots proceeded. Otherwise he knew not from which window they were fired, and his mother were likely to be seated waiting his return. He was right as regarded the bullet. It was that winged messenger of death which had passed his head in such very dangerous proximity and consequently he made with tolerable accuracy towards the open window from once the shots had been fired. The night was not near as dark as it had been, although even yet it was open and lights burning on the table within. He made towards it in a moment and entered it. To his astonishment the first objects he beheld were Flora and a stranger who was now supporting her in his arms. To grapple him by the throat was the work of a moment, but the stranger cried aloud in a voice that which sounded familiar to Henry. Good yes. Did you not know me? Henry was bewildered. He staggered to a seat and in doing so he saw his mother stretched apparently lifeless upon the floor. To raise her was the work of a moment and then Marchdale and George who had followed him as fast as they could appeared at the open window. Such a strange scene as that small room supporting her faint form. There was Henry doing equal service to his mother and on the floor lay the two pistols and one of the candles which had been upset in the confusion while the terrified attitudes of George and Mr. Marchdale at the window completed the strange looking picture. What is this? Oh, what has happened? cried George. I know not. I know not. Said Henry. Someone summoned the servants. He said that the two servants who had been employed suddenly upon the others leaving came with much speed to know what was the matter. Seize your mistress. Said Henry. She is dead or has fainted. For God's sake let who can give me some account of what has caused all this confusion here. Are you aware, Henry? Said Marchdale, that a stranger is present in the room? He pointed at Mr. Marchdale. Mr. Marchdale, this is Mr. Holland, of whom you have heard me speak. I am proud to know you, sir. Said Mr. Marchdale. Sir, I thank you, replied Holland coldly. It will so happen, but at first side it appeared as if those two persons had some kind of antagonist image. Those two persons had some kind of antagonistic feeling towards each other, which threatened to prevent effectually their ever-becoming intimate friends. The appeal of Henry to the servants to know if they could tell him what had occurred was answered in the negative. All they knew was that they had heard two shots fired and that since then they had remained where they were or of Flora, from one or the other of whom surely some information could be at once then procured. Mrs. Bannerworth was removed to her own room and so would Flora have been, but Mr. Holland, who was supporting her in his arms, said, I think the air from the open window is recovering her and it is likely to do so. Oh, do not now take her from me after so long an absence. Flora, Flora, look up. Dear Flora. The sound of his voice seemed to act as the most potent of charms in restoring her to consciousness. It broke through the death-like trance in which she lay and opening her beautiful eyes she fixed them upon his face saying, Yes, yes, it is Charles, it is Charles. She burst into a hysterical flood of tears and clung to him like some terrified child to its only friend in the whole wide world. Oh, my dear friends, cried Charles has Flora been ill? We have all been ill, said George. All ill? I and nearly mad, exclaimed Henry. Holland looked from one to the other in surprise. As well he might. Nor was that surprise at all lessened when Flora made an effort to extricate herself from his embrace. As she exclaimed, You must leave me. You must leave me, Charles, forever. Oh, never, never look upon my face again. I am bewildered, said Charles. Leave me now, continued Flora. Think me unworthy. Think what you will, Charles. But I cannot. I dare not now be yours. Is this a dream? Oh, would it were? Charles, if we had never met, you would be happier. I could not be more wretched. Flora, Flora, do you say these words of so great a cruelty to try my love? No, as heaven is my judge, I do not. Gracious heaven, then, what do they mean? Flora shuddered and Henry, coming up to her, in his tenderly, as he said, has it been again? It has. You shot it? I fired full upon it, Henry, but it fled. It did fly? It did, Henry, but it will come again. It will surely come again. You—you hit it with the bullet? Interposed Mr. Marchdale. Perhaps you killed it. I think I must have hit it, unless I am mad. Charles Holland looked from one to the other with such a look of intense surprise that George had hit him. Mr. Holland, a full explanation is due to you, and you shall have it. You seem to be the only rational person here, said Charles. Pray what is it that everybody calls it? Hush! Hush! said Henry. You will soon hear, but not at present. Hear me, Charles, said Flora, from this moment mind I do release you from every vow, from every promise made to me of constancy and love, and if you are wise, Charles, and will be advised, you will now return to the house never to return to it. No, said Charles. No! By heaven I love you, Flora. I have come to say again, all that in another climb I said with joy to you. When I forget you, let what trouble may oppress you, may God forget me, and my own right hand forget to do me honest service. Oh, no more! No more! sobbed Flora. Yes, much more, if you will tell me of words which will love, my faith, and my constancy. Be prudent, said Henry, say no more. Nay, upon such a theme I could speak forever. You may cast me off, Flora, but until you tell me you love another I am yours till the death, and then with a sanguine hope at my heart that we shall meet again, never dearest to part. Flora sobbed bitterly. Oh, she said, this is the unkindest blow of all. That said Henry, she means not you. Oh, no, no, she cried. Farewell, Charles, dear Charles. Oh, say that word again, he explained with animation. It is the first time such music has met my ears. It must be the last. Oh, no, oh, no. For your own sake I shall be able now, Charles, to show you that I really loved you. Not by casting me from you? Yes, even so. That will be trans wildly, as she added, in an excited voice, the curse of destiny is upon me. I am singled out as one lost and accursed. Oh, horror, horror, wood that I were dead. Charles staggered back a pace or two until he came to a table, at which he clutched for support. He turned very pale as he said in a faint voice. Is she mad or am I? Tell them that I am mad, Henry, cried Flora. Do not make his lonely thoughts terrible with more than that. Tell him I am mad. Come with me, whispered Henry to Holland. I pray you come with me at once and you shall know all. I will. George, stay with Flora for a time. Come, come, Mr. Holland, you ought and you shall know all. Then you can come to a judgment for yourself. This way, sir, you cannot, in the wildest freak of your imagination, guess what I bewildered by the events of the last hour of his existence as was now Charles Holland and truly he might well be so. He had arrived in England and made what speed he could to the house of a family whom he admired for their intelligence, their high culture and in one member of which his whole thoughts of domestic happiness in this world were centered and he found nothing but confusion, well might he ask if he or they were mad? And now, as after a long lingering look of affection upon the pale suffering form of Flora, he followed Henry from the room, his thoughts were busy in fancying a thousand vague and wild imaginations with respect to the communication which was promised to be made to him. But as Henry had truly said to him, not in the wildest freak of his sweetness and horror of that which he had to tell him, and consequently he found himself closeted with Henry in a small private room, removed from the domestic part of the hall to the full as in bewildered a state as he had been from the first. End of chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Varney the Vampire This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana Varney the Vampire Volume 1 by Thomas Prescott Pressed Chapter 11 The Communication to the Lover The Hearts Despair Consternation is sympathetic and anyone who had looked upon the features of Charles Holland now that he was seated with Henry Banner Worth an expectation of a communication which his fears told him was to blast all the dearest and most finely cherished hopes forever would scarcely have recognized him the same young man who one short hour before had knocked so loudly and so full of joyful hope and expectation at the door of the hall. But so it was he knew Henry Banner cheek. He knew Florida too well to imagine for one moment that Caprice had dictated to him fearful words of dismissal she had uttered to him. Happier would it at that time have been to Charles Holland had she acted capriciously toward him and convinced him that his true hearts devotion had been truly to resist the blow a feeling of honest and proper indignation and having his feelings trifled with would no doubt have sustained him but alas the case seemed to be widely different true she implored him to think of her no more no longer to cherish in his breast the fond dream of affection which had been its guess so long but the manner in which she did so that she was making a noble sacrifice of her own feelings for him from some cause which was involved in the profound mystery but now he was to hear all Henry had promised to tell him and he looked into his pale but handsomely intellectual face he half dreaded the disclosure he yet panted to hear tell me all Henry tell me all he said upon the words that come from your lips why I will have no reservation with you said Henry sadly you ought to know all and you shall prepare yourself for the strangest revelation you have ever heard indeed I one which in hearing you may well doubt and one which I hope you will never find opportunity of verifying you speak in riddles and yet speak truly Charles you heard this floor desired you to think of her no more I did I did she was right she is a noble hearted girl for uttering those words a dreadful incident in our family has occurred which might well induce you to pause before uniting your fate with that of any member of it impossible nothing can possibly subdue the feelings of affection I entertained for Flora she is worthy of such amid all changes all mutations of fortune she shall be mine do not suppose that any change of fortune has produced the scene you were witness to then what else I will tell you Holland in all your travels and in all your reading did you ever come across anything about vampires about what cried Charles drawing his chair forward a little about what you may well doubt the evidence of your own ears Charles Holland and wish me to repeat what I said I say do you know anything about vampires Charles Holland look curiously in Henry's face and the latter immediately added I can guess what is passing in your mind at present and I do not wonder at it you think I must be mad well really Henry your extraordinary question I knew it were I you I should hesitate to believe the tale but the fact is we have every reason to believe that one member of our own family is one of those horrible preter natural beings called vampires good God Henry can you allow your judgment for a moment to stoop to such a superstition that's what I have asked myself a hundred times but Charles Holland the judgment the feelings natural and acquired must succumb to actual ocular demonstration listen to me and do not interrupt me you shall know all and you shall know it circumstantially Henry then related to the astonished Charles Holland all that had occurred from the first alarm of flora up to that period when he Holland caught her in his arms as she was about to leave the room and now I cannot tell what opinion you may come to as regards these most singular events you will recollect that here is the unbiased evidence of four or five people to the facts and beyond that the servants who have seen something of the horrible visitor you bewilder me utterly said Charles Holland as we are all bewildered but gracious heaven it cannot be it is no no there must be yet some dreadful mistake can you start any supposition by which we can otherwise explain any of the phenomena I have described to you if you can for heaven's sake do so and you will find no one who will cling to it with more tenacity than I any other species or kind of supernatural appearance might admit of argument to my perception is too wildly improbable too much at variance with all we see and know of the operation of nature it is so all that we have told ourselves repeatedly and yet it is all human reason at once struck down by the few brief words of we have seen it I would doubt my eyesight one might but many cannot be laboring under the same delusion my friend I pray you do not make me shudder at the supposition that such a dreadful thing as this is possible I am believe me Charles most unwilling to oppress anyone with the knowledge of these evils but you will clearly understand that you may with perfect honor now consider yourself free from all engagements you have entered into with flora no no I have a no yes Charles reflect upon the consequences now of a union with such a family oh Henry Bannerworth you can suppose me so dead to all good feeling so utterly lost to honorable impulses as to eject from my heart her who has possession of it entirely on such a ground as this you would be justified coldly justified imprudence I might be there are thousand circumstances in which a man could be justified in a particular course of action and that course yet may be neither honorable nor just I love flora and were she tormented by the whole of the supernatural world I should still love her nay it becomes then a higher and a nobler duty on my part to stand between her and those evils if possible Charles Charles said Henry I cannot of course refuse you I need of praise and admiration for your generosity of feeling but remember if we are compelled despite all our feelings and all our predilections to the contrary to give in to a belief in the existence of vampires why may we not at once receive as the truth all that is recorded of them to what do you allude to this that one who has been visited by a vampire and whose blood has formed a horrible repast for such a being becomes after death one of the dreadful race and visits others in the same way now this must be insanity cried Charles it bears the aspect of it indeed said Henry oh that you could by some mean satisfy yourself that I mad there may be insanity in this family thought Charles with such an exquisite added Henry mournfully already the blighting influence of the dreadful tale is upon you Charles oh let me add my advice to floors and treaties she loves you and we all esteem you fly then from us and leave us to encounter our miseries alone fly from us Charles Holland and take with you our best wishes for happiness which you cannot know here never cried Charles I will not play the coward and fly from one whom I love on such grounds I devote my life to her Henry could not speak for emotion for several minutes and when at length in a faltering voice he could under some words he said God of heaven what happiness is married by these horrible events what have we all done to be the victims of such a dreadful act of vengeance Henry do not talk in that way Charles rather let us spend all our energies to overcoming the evil then spend any time in useless lamentations I cannot even yet give in to belief in the existence of such a being as you say visited flora but the evidences look here Henry until I am convinced that some things have happened which it is totally impossible could happen by any human means whatever I will not ascribe them to natural influences but what human means Charles could produce what I have narrated to you I do not know just at present but I will give the subject the most attentive consideration will you accommodate me here for a time you know that you are welcome here as if the house were your own and all that it contains I believe so most truly you have no objection I presume to my conversing with flora upon the strange subject certainly not of course you will be careful to say nothing which can add to her fears I shall be most guarded believe me you say that your brother George Mr. Chilling's worth yourself and this Mr. Marchdale have all been cognizant of the circumstances yes yes with the whole of them you permit me to whole free communication upon the subject most certainly I will do so then keep up good heart Henry and this affair which looks so full of terror at first sight may yet be divested of some of its hideous aspect I am rejoiced if anything can rejoice me now said Henry to see you view the subject with so much philosophy why said Charles you made a remark of your own which enabled me viewing the matter in its very worst and most hideous aspect to gather hope what was that you said properly and naturally enough that if we ever felt that there was such a weight of evidence in favor of a belief in the existence of vampires that we are compelled to succumb to it we might as well receive all the popular feelings and superstitious concerning them likewise I did where is the mind to pause when once we open it to the reception of such things well then if that be the case we will watch the vampire and catch it catch it yes surely it can be caught as I understand this species of being is not like an apparition that must be composed of thin air and utterly impalpable to the human touch but it consists of a revivified corpse yes yes then it is tangible and destructible by heaven if I ever catch a glimpse of any such thing it shall drag me to its home be that where it may or I will make it prisoner oh Charles you know not the feeling of horror that will come across you when you do you have no idea of how the warm blood will seem to curdle in your veins and how you will be paralyzed in every limb did you feel so? I did I will endeavor to make my head against such feelings the love of floor shall enable me to vanquish them thank you it will come again tomorrow I can have no thought one way or the other it may we must arrange among us all Henry some plan of watching which without completely frustrating our health and strength will always provide that someone shall be up all night and on the alert it must be done floor ought to sleep with the consciousness now that she has ever at hand some intrepid and well-armed protector who is not only himself prepared to defend her but who can in a moment give an alarm to us all in case of an excessity requiring it it would be a dreadful capture to make to seize a vampire said Henry not at all it would be a very desirable one being a corpse revivified it is capable of complete destruction so as to render it no longer a scourge to anyone Charles Charles are you jesting with me or do you really give any credence to the story my dear friend I always make it a rule to take things at their worst and then I cannot be disappointed I am content to reason upon this matter as if the fact of the existence of a vampire were thoroughly established and then to think upon what is best to be done about it you were right if it should turn out that there is an error in the fact well and good we are all the better off if otherwise we are prepared and armed at all points let it be so then it strikes me Charles that you will be the coolest and the calmest among us on all the emergency but the hour now waxes late I will get them to prepare a chamber for you and at least tonight after what has occurred already I should think we can be under no apprehension probably not but Henry if you would allow me to sleep where the portrait hangs of him whom you supposed to be the vampire I should prefer it prefer it yes I am not one who courts danger for danger's sake but I would rather occupy that room to see if the vampire who perhaps has a partiality for it will pay me a visit as you please Charles you can have the apartment it is in the same state as when occupied by flora nothing has been I believe removed from it you will let me then while I remain here call it my room assuredly this arrangement was accordingly made to the surprise of all the household not one of whom would indeed have slept or attempted to sleep there for any amount of reward but Charles Holland had his own reasons for preferring that chamber and he was conducted to it in the course of a half an hour by Henry who looked around it for the shutter as he bade his young friend good night end of chapter 11 of Varney the Vampire reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis