THE MADMAN.—THE VAMPYRE.
“What does this mean?” cried Sir George Crofton, excitedly.
“Hush!” said Mr. Bevan, “I pray you be calm, sir. If you are to make
any discovery that will give you peace of mind, rest assured it will
not be made by violence.”
“You do not answer my question.”
“I cannot answer it. Remember that I know no more than you do, and
that, like yourselves, I am an adventurer here in search of the truth.”
Sir George said no more upon that head, but with clasped hands and
downcast eyes he stood in silence, while his two sons, armed with the
crowbars that Mr. Bevan had provided for the occasion, proceeded to
lift up the marble slab that covered the vault where lay their sister’s
remains.
The work was not one of great difficulty, for the slab was not very
large, and as it was not cemented down, it yield at once to the
powerful leverage that was brought to play against it, and in a few
minutes it was placed aside, and the yawning abyss appeared before them.
“Oh! sir,” said Mr. Bevan, “even now at this late hour, and when the
proceedings have commenced, I pray you to pause.”
“Pause!” cried Sir George, passionately, “pause for what?”
“Disturb not the dead, and let them rest in peace. Absolve your mind
from the dangerous and perhaps fatal fancies that possess it, and let
us say a prayer, and close again this entrance to the tomb.”
The sons hesitated, and they probably would have taken the clergyman’s
advice, but Sir George was firm.
“No, sir,” he said, “already have I suffered much in coming thus far; I
will not retreat until I have effected all my purpose. I swear it, by
Heaven, whose temple we now are in. You would not, Mr. Bevan, have me
break such an oath.”
“I would not; but I regret you made it. Since, however, it must be so,
and this rash adventure is determined upon, follow me; I will lead
you the way into these calm regions, where you can sleep, I trust, in
peace.”
Sir George Crofton made a step forward, as if he would have arrested
Mr. Bevan’s progress and lead the way himself, but already the
clergyman had descended several steps, so he had nothing to do but to
follow him.
This they all did, Sir George going immediately after him, and his
two sons, with pale anxious-looking faces, as if they had a suspicion
that the adventure would end in something terrific, came last and
they glanced nervously and suspiciously about them; but they said not
a word; nor if they had spoken, it would have been to express great
apprehension, and that was what they were ashamed to do.
Mr. Bevan carried the light, and when he felt that he was at the bottom
of the stone steps, by finding that he was treading upon the sawdust
that was strewn on the floor of the vault, he turned and held the lamp
up at arm’s length, so that his companions might see their way down
the steps.
In another minute they all stood on the floor of the vault.
The light burnt with rather a faint and sickly glare, for so rapidly
were noxious gases evolved in that receptacle for the dead, that
notwithstanding it had been so frequently opened as it had been lately,
they had again accumulated.
In a few moments, however, this was partially remedied by the air from
the church above, and the light burnt more brilliantly—indeed, quite
sufficiently so to enable them to look around them in the vault.
Sir George Crofton’s feelings at that moment must have been of the most
painful and harrowing description. He had lived long enough to be a
witness of the death and the obsequies of many members of his family
whom he had loved fondly, and there he stood in that chamber of death,
surrounded by all the remains of those beings, the memory of whose
appearance and voices came now freshly upon his mind.
Mr. Bevan could well guess the nature of the sad thoughts that
transpired in the breast of the baronet, and the sons having by
accident cast their eyes upon the coffin that contained the remains
of their mother, regarded it in silence, while memory was busy, too,
within them in conjuring up her image.
“And it has come to this,” said Sir George, solemnly.
“We must all come to this,” interposed Mr. Bevan; “this is indeed
a place for solemn and holy thoughts—for self-examination, for
self-condemnation.”
“But there is peace here.”
“There is—the peace that shall be eternal.”
“Hark! hark!” said Charles; “what is that?”
“The wind,” said Mr. Bevan; “nothing but the wind howling round and
through the old belfry—you will remember that it is a boisterous night.”
“Turn, turn, father.”
Sir George turned and looked at Charles, who pointed in silence to the
coffin which contained the corpse of his mother. The light gleamed upon
the plate on which was engraved her name. Sir George’s features moved
convulsively as he read it, and he turned aside to hide a sudden gush
of emotion that came over him.
After a few minutes, he touched Mr. Bevan on the arm, and said in a
whisper,—
“Where did they place my child?”
The clergyman pointed to the narrow shelf on which was the coffin of
Clara Crofton, and then Sir George, making a great effort to overcome
his feelings, said,—
“Mr. Bevan, our worthy minister and friend, and you, likewise, my boys,
hear me. You can guess to some extent, but not wholly—that can only be
known by God—the agony that a sight of the poor remains of her who has
gone from me in all the pride of her youth and beauty, must be to me;
yet now that I am here I consider it to be my duty to look once again
upon the face of my child—my—my lost Clara.”
“Oh! father, father,” said Edwin, “forego this purpose.”
“You will spare us this,” cried Charles.
“Repent you, sir,” said Mr. Bevan, “of the wish. Let her rest in peace.
The dead are sanctified.”
“The dead are sanctified,—but I am her father.”
“Nay, Sir George, let me implore you.”
“Implore me to what, sir? Not to look upon the face of my own child?
Peace—peace. It is no profanation for one who loved her as I loved her
to look upon her once again. Urge me no more.”
“This is in vain,” said Charles.
“You are right—it is in vain.”
A shriek burst from the lips of Edwin at this moment, and flinging his
arms around his father, he held him back. Mr. Bevan, too, gave a cry of
terror, and Charles stood with his hands clasped, as if turned to stone.
Their eyes were all bent upon Clara’s coffin.
The lid moved, and a strange sound was heard from within that
receptacle for the dead—the clock of the old church struck twelve—the
coffin lid moved again, and then sliding on one side, it eventually
fell upon the floor of the vault.
The four spectators of this scene were struck speechless for the time
with terror. Then they stood gazing at the coffin as if they were so
many statues.
And now the light which Mr. Bevan still for a miracle held in his
trembling grasp, shone on a mass of white clothing within the coffin,
and in another moment that white clothing was observed to be in motion.
Slowly the dead form that was there rose up, and they all saw the pale
and ghastly face. A streak of blood was issuing from the mouth, and the
eyes were open.
Sir George Crofton lifted up both his hands, and struck his head, and
then he burst into a wild frightful laugh. It was the laugh of insanity.
Mr. Bevan dropped the light, and all was darkness.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Sir George Crofton. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
and the horrible laugh was taken up by many an echo in the old church,
and responded to with strange and most unearthly reverberations. “Ha,
ha, ha, ha!” Oh what a dreadful sound that was coming at such a time
from the lips of the father.
“Fly Edwin—oh, fly,” cried Charles.
Edwin screamed twice, for he was full of horror, and then he fell on
the floor of the vault in a state of insensibility.
Charles had just sense left him to spring towards the steps, and make
a frantic effort to reach the church; in his hurry he fell twice, but
each time rising again with a shout of despair, he resumed his efforts,
and all the while the horrible laugh of his maniac father sounded in
his ears, a sound which he felt that he should never forget.
By a great effort he did reach the aisle of the church, and when there,
he called aloud.
“Mr. Bevan, Mr. Bevan, help—oh help! For the love of God speak. Help,
help, Mr. Bevan, where are you, speak, I implore you? Am I too going
mad? Oh yes, I shall—I must. What mortal intellect can stand such a
scene as this. Help, help—oh, help!”
The church was suddenly lit up by a flash of light, and turning in the
direction from whence it proceeded, Charles saw Mr. Bevan approaching
with a light, which he had procured from the chancel, and it would
appear that immediately upon dropping in his horror the light in the
vault, he had ran up the stairs with the intent of getting another.
“Who calls me? Who calls me?” he cried.
“I—I,” said Charles. “Oh God, what a dreadful night is this.”
The clergyman was trembling violently, and was very pale, but he made
his way up to Charles, from whose brow the perspiration was falling in
heavy drops, and then again they heard the mad Sir George laughing in
the vault.
“Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!”
“Oh God, is not that horrible?” said Charles.
“Most horrible,” responded Mr. Bevan.
Bang—bang—bang! at this moment came a violent knocking at the church
door, and then several voices were heard without shouting.
“The vampyre—the vampyre—the vampyre.”
“What is that? What is that?” said Charles.
“Nay, I know not,” replied Mr. Bevan, “I am nearly distracted already.
Where is your brother? Did he not escape from the vault? Where is he?
Oh, that horrible laugh. Good God! that knocking too at the church
door. What can be the meaning of it? Heaven in its mercy guide us now
what to do.”
The reader will understand the meaning of the knocking, although those
bewildered persons who heard it in the church did not. The fact is,
that the party from the alehouse headed by the valiant blacksmith, and
heated by their too liberal potations had just arrived at the church,
and were clamouring for admission.
They had seen through one of the old pointed windows, the reflection
of the light which Mr. Bevan carried, and that it was that convinced
them some one was there who might if he would pay attention to the
uproarious summons.
The knocking lasted with terrible effect, for the old door of the
sacred edifice shook again, it seemed as if certainly it could not
resist the making of such an attack.
Mr. Bevan was confounded. A horrible suspicion came across him, of what
was meant by those violent demands for admission, and he shook with
brutal trepidation as he conjectured what might be the effect of the
proceedings of a lawless mob.
“Now Heaven help us,” he said, “for we shall soon I fear be powerless.”
“Good God! what mean you?” said Charles.
“I scarcely know how to explain to you all my fears. The are too
dreadful to think of, but while that knocking continues, what can I
think?”
“I understand! they call for my sister.”
“Oh call her not now by that name. Remember, and remember with a
shudder what she now is.”