THE NIGHT ALARM.—THE VAMPYRE’S ATTACK UPON THE BRIDE.
The particulars concerning the bringing in of the body that had been
picked up at sea by the brothers Edwin and Charles Crofton, were to be
learnt from many mouths so soon as the sexton evinced a disposition to
know them, and in a very short time, and as the daylight was making
the fainter and more spiritual light of the moon fade away, he again
reached his own abode, where he had left a guest of whom the reader
knows much, but of whom Will Stephens knew but little.
He found the self-christened Mr. Smith waiting for him rather
impatiently.
“Well,” he cried, “your news? your news?”
“May be told, sir, in a few words,” replied the sexton, and then he
made his new friend acquainted with the whole story, just as he had
heard it of the fishermen on the coast.
Mr. Smith, or as we may as well call him at once the vampyre, hesitated
for a few moments as if he had not exactly and accurately made up his
mind what to do, and then he said,—
“You will go to the Grange-house and tell the story that I have before
informed you I would have told. Be sure that you expatiate upon my
gentility and respectability, for I want to be upon good terms with the
Crofton family.”
“Well, but sir, I’m a tenant of Sir George Crofton’s and so you see—”
“What,” said the vampyre, his eyes flashing with indignation as he
spoke “dare you dispute my positive commands?”
“No, sir, I—I only——”
“Peace caitiff, and know that I hold thy life in my hands for your
attempted robbery of me.”
The sexton trembled. That was indeed the weak point now of all his
defences against whatever commands might be put upon him by his master,
as we may now call the vampyre, although after all it was but the usual
dominion of a strong mind over a weak one, for there was not so much
in reality for the sexton to be afraid of as his own guilty conscience
dictated to him.
It were easy enough for the vampyre to charge him with robbery, but not
at all so easy for him to prove such a charge, and at the same time to
substantiate, as by some inquisitive counsel he might be called upon to
do, his own position in society.
But it is most true
“Conscience doth make cowards of us all.”
And feeling that his intention regarding the rings of the supposed
drowned man had been of a dishonest character, he could not summon
courage sufficient to defy him now.
“I will go,” he said, “I am going.”
“’Tis well.”
In far from the pleasantest train of thought the sexton went to the
Grange, and asked to see Mr. Charles Crofton, and to him he related the
version of the resuscitating of the supposed drowned man. It was heard
with, as might be expected, the most profound astonishment, and the
sexton soon found himself confronted with the whole assembled family,
and force to repeat the wonderful facts over again.
It seemed, as indeed it might well do, a something quite beyond belief.
“Why, Edwin,” said Charles, “he must have been in the water far beyond
the length of time that it mostly takes to drown any one, before we saw
him.”
“I think so too.”
“It must be so, for this reason, that he was a considerable distance
from land, and there was no vessel near enough for him to have come
from.”
“Hold!” said Sir George Crofton, “my dear boys, you are forgetting the
most important fact of all.”
“Are we, father?”
“Yes, and that is that the gentleman is alive. You cannot get over
that, you know, and as I have often heard that whatever is is natural,
why there’s no use in disputing any more about it; and besides how do
we know but that he was in some boat which was swamped a few minutes
before you saw him.”
“That is a most rational supposition,” said Edwin.
“And that we can say nothing against,” added Charles; “what is to be
done father?”
“Why, do not let us do good by inches, we know that this is the only
decent house within a considerable distance for a gentleman to remain
in, if he have the habits of comfort about him. So Master Stephens, if
you will go and give our compliments to the stranger, and ask him to
come here, I shall be much obliged to you.”
“I will, Sir George.”
“And you can tell him that we are plain folks, but assure him of a
hearty welcome.”
Will Stephens made his bow and exit.
“Well,” said Edwin, “it’s very odd, although of course, it must be all
right, and I am the last person who would wish to make anything out of
a common-place event, but to all appearances dead he was when we took
him into the boat, and I never before heard of a spontaneous recovery
like this from such a state.”
“Then you have added to your stock of experience,” said his father,
laughing, “and I must own, for my own part, that I am rather curious to
see this person, who was a curiosity in appearance, according to your
accounts when he was dead or supposed to be dead.”
“He was so,” remarked Charles, “for I am certain you might travel the
world over without meeting a more singular looking man than he was;
in the first place, he looked particularly tall, but that might have
arisen from the fact that we only saw him in a horizontal position,
and then there was a something about the expression of his face which
was perfectly indescribable, and yet at the same time filled you with
feelings of curiosity and dread.”
The sisters heard this account of the mysterious stranger with feelings
of great interest.
“Why,” said Emma, “we have all of us often complained of being dull
here, but such an animal as this will be quite an acquisition.”
“And just as Clara is going, too, what a pity,” laughed Edwin.
“I shall endeavour to survive the horrid disappointment,” said Clara,
for she was to be married on that day, to one who had been the chosen
companion of her heart for many a day, and was to leave the home of her
childhood to proceed far away to his house in Wales, where she was to
be the light of joy to another admiring and loving circle.
“Ah, well, I pity you,” said Emma.
“Then you had better at once,” remarked Clara, “forbid the occasional
visits here of a certain young officer who, I’m afraid, has some
audacious intentions.”
[Illustration: The young officer courting Emma, on horseback.]
The ready colour flushed to the cheek of the younger sister, who had
scarcely expected such a retort, although she had fairly provoked it.
“Come, girls,” said the father, “we will have no more lance breaking
between you about your lovers.”
“Certainly not, father,” said Clara, “but then, you know, unless Emma
is made to see that she is vulnerable, she will go on tormenting me.”
“In other words, Emma,” said Edwin, “you see that people who live in
glass houses should not throw stones—a most useful maxim.”
“I don’t care for any of you,” said Emma, half crying, as she ran out
of the room.
Clara followed her, for there was really the very best understanding
and the kindest feeling between the two young girls, although
occasionally a smart repartee would be uttered upon some such occasion
as the present, but all that was soon forgotten.
The sexton who was getting each moment more and more uneasy about the
share he had in the affair of the resuscitated man of the bone-house,
went back to the cottage, and there informed the self-named Mr. Smith
of the success of his mission to the Grange-house.
“You think they will welcome me,” said the vampyre.
“I am sure of it, sir. They are the frankest, freest family I ever
knew, and they would not have asked you to go to the Grange if they did
not mean to use you well.”
“And there are two daughters?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And young and fair, you tell me.”
“They are two as handsome girls as you will find in this part of the
country, sir. They have always been much admired. One of them, as I
before mentioned, is going to be married and taken away, but the other
stays at home.”
“’Tis well, now you will not fail to remember the awkward situation in
which you are. Keep the ring which you took from my finger, and with
it keep your own counsel, for any babbling upon your part will most
assuredly lead to your destruction.”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“And although that destruction might not be immediate, you would lead
a life of trembling terror until your doom was accomplished, and that
doom should be a dreadful one in its manner. Now farewell! farewell!
and remember me.”
“I shall never forget you the longest day I have got to live,” said the
sexton, with a shudder, as he saw the tall, angular, gaunt-looking form
of his most mysterious new acquaintance leave his cottage, and make his
way towards the Grange.