THE VISIT OF FLORA TO THE VAMPYRE.—THE OFFER.—THE SOLEMN ASSEVERATION.
Admiral Bell had, of course, nothing particular to communicate to
Flora in the walk he induced her to take with him in the gardens of
Bannerworth Hall, but he could talk to her upon a subject which was
sure to be a welcome one, namely, of Charles Holland.
And not only could he talk to her of Charles, but he was willing to
talk of him in the style of enthusiastic commendation which assimilated
best with her own feelings. No one but the honest old admiral, who was
as violent in his likes and his dislikes as any one could possibly
be, could just then have conversed with Flora Bannerworth to her
satisfaction of Charles Holland.
He expressed no doubts whatever concerning Charles’s faith, and to
his mind, now that he had got that opinion firmly fixed in his mind,
everybody that held a contrary one he at once denounced as a fool or a
rogue.
“Never you mind, Miss Flora,” he said; “you will find, I dare say, that
all will come right eventually. D—n me! the only thing that provokes me
in the whole business is, that I should have been such an old fool as
for a moment to doubt Charles.”
“You should have known him better, sir.”
“I should, my dear, but I was taken by surprise, you see, and that was
wrong, too, for a man who has held a responsible command.”
“But the circumstances, dear sir, were of a nature to take every one by
surprise.”
“They were, they were. But now, candidly speaking, and I know I can
speak candidly to you; do you really think this Varney is the vampyre?”
“I do.”
“You do? Well, then, somebody must tackle him, that’s quite clear; we
can’t put up with his fancies always.”
“What can be done?”
“Ah, that I don’t know, but something must be done, you know. He wants
this place; Heaven only knows why or wherefore he has taken such a
fancy to it; but he has done so, that is quite clear. If it had a good
sea view, I should not be so much surprised; but there’s nothing of the
sort, so it’s no way at all better than any other shore-going stupid
sort of house, that you can see nothing but land from.”
“Oh, if my brother would but make some compromise with him to restore
Charles to us and take the house, we might yet be happy.”
“D—n it! then you still think that he has a hand in spiriting away
Charles?”
“Who else could do so?”
“I’ll be hanged if I know. I do feel tolerably sure, and I have good
deal of reliance upon your opinion, my dear; I say, I do feel tolerably
sure; but, if I was d—d sure, now, I’d soon have it out of him.”
“For my sake, Admiral Bell, I wish now to extract one promise from you.”
“Say your say, my dear, and I’ll promise you.”
“You will not then expose yourself to the danger of any personal
conflict with that most dreadful man, whose powers of mischief we do
not know, and therefore cannot well meet or appreciate.”
“Whew! is that what you mean?”
“Yes; you will, I am sure, promise me so much.”
“Why, my dear, you see the case is this. In affairs of fighting, the
less ladies interfere the better.”
“Nay, why so?”
“Because—because, you see, a lady has no reputation for courage to keep
up. Indeed, it’s rather the other way, for we dislike a bold woman as
much as we hold in contempt a cowardly man.”
“But if you grant to us females that in consequence of our affections,
we are not courageous, you must likewise grant how much we are doomed
to suffer from the dangers of those whom we esteem.”
“You would be the last person in the world to esteem a coward.”
“Certainly. But there is more true courage often in not fighting than
in entering into a contest.”
“You are right enough there, my dear.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, I should not oppose your carrying out
the dictates of your honour, but now, let me entreat you not to meet
this dreadful man, if man he can be called, when you know not how
unfair the contest may be.”
“Unfair?”
“Yes. May he not have some means of preventing you from injuring him,
and of overcoming you, which no mortal possesses?”
“He may.”
“Then the supposition of such a case ought to be sufficient ground for
at once inducing you to abandon all idea of meeting with him.”
“My dear, I’ll consider of this matter.”
“Do so.”
“There is another thing, however, which now you will permit me to ask
of you as a favour.”
“It is granted ere it is spoken.”
“Very good. Now you must not be offended with what I am going to say,
because, however it may touch that very proper pride which you, and
such as you, are always sure to possess, you are fortunately at all
times able to call sufficient judgment to your aid to enable you to see
what is really offensive and what is not.”
“You alarm me by such a preface.”
“Do I? then here goes at once. Your brother Henry, poor fellow, has
enough to do, has he not, to make all ends meet.”
A flush of excitement came over Flora’s cheek as the old admiral thus
bluntly broached a subject of which she already knew the bitterness to
such a spirit as her brother’s.
“You are silent,” continued the old man; “by that I guess I am not
wrong in my I supposition; indeed it is hardly a supposition at all,
for Master Charles told me as much, and no doubt he had it from a
correct quarter.”
“I cannot deny it, sir.”
“Then don’t. It ain’t worth denying, my dear. Poverty is no crime, but,
like being born a Frenchman, it’s a d——d misfortune.”
Flora could scarcely refuse a smile, as the nationality of the old
admiral peeped out even in the midst of his most liberal and best
feelings.
“Well,” he continued, “I don’t intend that he shall have so much
trouble as he has had. The enemies of his king and his country shall
free him from his embarrassments.”
“The enemies?”
“Yes; who else?”
“You speak in riddles, sir.”
“Do I? Then I’ll soon make the riddles plain. When I went to sea I was
worth nothing—as poor as a ship’s cat after the crew had been paid off
for a month. Well, I began fighting away as hard and fast as I could,
and the more I fought, and the more hard knocks I gave and took, the
more money I got.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes; prize after prize we hauled into port, and at last the French
vessels wouldn’t come out of their harbours.”
“What did you do then?”
“What did we do then? Why what was the most natural thing in the whole
world for us to do, we did.”
“I cannot guess.”
“Well, I am surprised at that. Try again.”
“Oh, yes; I can guess now. How could I have been so dull? You went and
took them out.”
“To be sure we did—to be sure we did, my dear; that’s how we managed
them. And, do you see, at the end of the war I found myself with lots
of prize money, all wrung from old England’s enemies, and I intend that
some of it shall find it’s way to your brother’s pocket; and you see
that will bear out just what I said, that the enemies of his king and
his country shall free him from his difficulties—don’t you see?”
“I see your noble generosity, admiral.”
“Noble fiddlestick! Now I have mentioned this matter to you, my dear,
and I don’t so much mind talking to you about such matters as I should
to your brother, I want you to do me the favour of managing it all for
me.”
“How, sir?”
“Why, just this way. You must find out how much money will free your
brother just now from a parcel of botherations that beset him, and
then I will give it to you, and you can hand it to him, you see, so I
need not say anything about it; and if he speaks to me on the subject
at all, I can put him down at once by saying, ‘avast there, it’s no
business of mine.’”
“And can you, dear admiral, imagine that I could conceal the generous
source from where so much assistance came?”
“Of course; it will come from you. I take a fancy to make you a present
of a sum of money; you do with it what you please—it’s yours, and I
have no right and no inclination to ask you what use you put it to.”
Tears gushed from the eyes of Flora as she tried to utter some word,
but could not. The admiral swore rather fearfully, and pretended to
wonder much what on earth she could be crying for. At length, after the
first gush of feeling was over, she said,—
“I cannot accept of so much generosity, sir—I dare not.”
“Dare not!”
“No; I should think meanly of myself were I to take advantage of the
boundless munificence of your nature.”
“Take advantage! I should like to see anybody take advantage of me,
that’s all.”
“I ought not to take the money of you. I will speak to my brother, and
well I know how much he will appreciate the noble, generous offer, my
dear sir.”
“Well, settle it your own way, only remember I have a right to do what
I like with my own money.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Very good. Then as that is undoubted, whatever I lend to him, mind I
give to you, so it’s as broad as it’s long, as the Dutchman said, when
he looked at the new ship that was built for him, and you may as well
take it yourself you see, and make no more fuss about it.”
“I will consider,” said Flora, with much emotion—“between this time and
the same hour to-morrow I will consider, sir, and if you can find any
words more expressive of heartfelt gratitude than others, pray imagine
that I have used them with reference to my own feelings towards you for
such an unexampled offer of friendship.”
“Oh, bother—stuff.”
The admiral now at once changed the subject, and began to talk of
Charles—a most grateful theme to Flora, as may well be supposed. He
related to her many little particulars connected with him which all
tended to place his character in a most amiable light, and as her ears
drank in the words of commendation of him she loved, what sweeter
music could there be to her than the voice of that old weather-beaten
rough-spoken man.
“The idea,” he added, to a warm eulogium he had uttered concerning
Charles—“the idea that he could write those letters my dear, is quite
absurd.”
“It is, indeed. Oh, that we could know what had become of him!”
“We shall know. I don’t think but what he’s alive. Something seems to
assure me that we shall some of these days look upon his face again.”
“I am rejoiced to hear you say so.”
“We will stir heaven and earth to find him. If he were killed, do you
see, there would have been some traces of him now at hand; besides, he
would have been left lying where the rascals attacked him.”
Flora shuddered.
“But don’t you fret yourself. You may depend that the sweet little
cherub that sits up aloft has looked after him.”
“I will hope so.”
“And now, my dear, Master Henry will soon be home, I am thinking, and
as he has quite enough disagreeables on his own mind to be able to
spare a few of them, you will take the earliest opportunity, I am sure,
of acquainting him with the little matter we have been talking about,
and let me know what he says.”
“I will—I will.”
“That’s right. Now, go in doors, for there’s a cold air blowing here,
and you are a delicate plant rather just now—go in and make yourself
comfortable and easy. The worst storm must blow over at last.”