Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

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Sir Francis, finding himself betrayed, immediately came out of the
closet, just as two or three were advancing to open it, and dealt so
hard a blow on the head of the first that came near him that he fell
without a groan, and a second shared the same fate; and then Sir Francis
found himself grappled with, but with a violent effort he relieved
himself and rushed up stairs.

"Oh! murder--the wampyre! what shall I do--fire--fire!"

These exclamations were uttered in consequence of Varney in his haste to
get up stairs, having inadvertently stepped into the girl's lap with one
foot, while he kicked her in the chin with the other, besides scratching
her nose till it bled.

"After him--stick to him," shouted the mob, but the girl kicked and
sprawled so much they were impeded, till, regardless of her cries, they
ran over her and pursued Varney, who was much distressed with the
exertions he had made.

After about a minute's race he turned upon the head of the stair, not so
much with the hope of defending it as of taking some breathing time: but
seeing his enemies so close, he drew his sword, and stood panting, but
prepared.

"Never mind his toasting-fork," said one bulky fellow, and, as he spoke,
he rushed on, but the point of the weapon entered his heart and he fell
dead.

There was a dreadful execration uttered by those who came up after him,
and there was a momentary pause, for none liked to rush on to the bloody
sword of Sir Francis Varney, who stood so willing and so capable of
using it with the most deadly effect. They paused, as well they might,
and this pause was the most welcome thing next to life to the
unfortunate fugitive, for he was dreadfully distressed and bleeding.

"On to him boys! He can hardly stand. See how he pants. On to him, I
say--push him hard."

"He pushes hard, I tell you," said another. "I felt the point of his
sword, as it came through Giles's back.".

"I'll try my luck, then," said another, and he rushed up; but he was met
by the sword of Sir Francis, who pierced it through his side, and he
fell back with a groan.

Sir Francis, fearful of stopping any longer to defend that point,
appeared desirous of making good his retreat with some little advantage,
and he rushed up stairs before they had recovered from the momentary
consternation into which they had been thrown by the sudden disaster
they had received.

[Illustration]

But they were quickly after him, and before he, wearied as he was, could
gain the roof, they were up the ladder after him.

The first man who came through the trap was again set upon by Varney,
who made a desperate thrust at him, and it took effect; but the sword
snapped by the handle.

With an execration, Sir Francis threw the hilt at the head of the next
man he saw; then rushing, with headlong speed, he distanced his pursuers
for some house tops.

But the row of houses ended at the one he was then at, and he could go
no further. What was to be done? The height was by far too great to be
jumped; death was certain. A hideous heap of crushed and mangled bones
would be the extent of what would remain of him, and then, perhaps, life
not extinct for some hours afterwards.

He turned round; he saw them coming hallooing over the house tops, like
a pack of hounds. Sir Francis struck his hands together, and groaned. He
looked round, and perceived some ivy peeping over the coping-stone. A
thought struck him, and he instantly ran to the spot and leaned over.

"Saved--saved!" he exclaimed.

Then, placing his hand over, he felt for the ivy; then he got over, and
hung by the coping-stone, in a perilous position, till he found a spot
on which he could rest his foot, and then he grasped the ivy as low down
as he could, and thus he lowered himself a short way, till he came to
where the ivy was stronger and more secure to the wall, as the upper
part was very dangerous with his weight attached to it.

The mob came on, very sure of having Sir Francis Varney in their power,
and they did not hurry on so violently, as their position was dangerous
at that hour of the night.

"Easy, boys, easy," was the cry. "The bird is our own; he can't get
away, that's very certain."

They, however, came on, and took no time about it hardly; but what was
their amazement and rage at finding he had disappeared.

"Where is he?" was the universal inquiry, and "I don't know," an almost
universal answer.

There was a long pause, while they searched around; but they saw no
vestige of the object of their search.

"There's no trap door open," remarked one; "and I don't think he could
have got in at any one."

"Perhaps, finding he could not get away, he has taken the desperate
expedient of jumping over, and committing suicide, and so escape the
doom he ought to be subjected to."

"Probably he has; but then we can run a stake through him and burn him
all the same."

They now approached the extreme verge of the houses, and looked over the
sides, but they could see nothing. The moon was up, and there was light
enough to have seen him if he had fallen to the earth, and they were
quite sure that he could not have got up after such a fall as he must
have received.

"We are beaten after all, neighbours."

"I am not so sure of that," was the reply. "He may now be hidden about,
for he was too far spent to be able to go far; he could not do that, I
am sure."

"I think not either."

"Might he not have escaped by means of that ivy, yonder?" said one of
the men, pointing to the plant, as it climbed over the coping-stones of
the wall.

"Yes; it may be possible," said one; "and yet it is very dangerous, if
not certain destruction to get over."

"Oh, yes; there is no possibility of escape that way. Why, it wouldn't
bear a cat, for there are no nails driven into the wall at this height."

"Never mind," said another, "we may as well leave no stone unturned, as
the saying is, but at once set about looking out for him."

The individual who spoke now leant over the coping stone, for some
moments, in silence. He could see nothing, but yet he continued to gaze
for some moments.

"Do you see him?" inquired one.

"No," was the answer.

"Ay, ay, I thought as much," was the reply. "He might as well have got
hold of a corner of the moon, which, I believe, is more likely--a great
deal more likely."

"Hold still a moment," said the man, who was looking over the edge of
the house.

"What's the matter now? A gnat flew into your eye?"

"No; but I see him--by Jove, I see him!"

"See who--see who?"

"Varney, the vampyre!" shouted the man. "I see him about half-way down
clinging, like a fly, to the wall. Odd zounds! I never saw the like
afore!"

"Hurrah! after him then, boys!"

"Not the same way, if you please. Go yourself, and welcome; but I won't
go that way."

"Just as you please," said the man; "but what's good for the goose is
good for the gander is an old saying, and so is Jack as good as his
master."

"So it may be; but cuss me if you ain't a fool if you attempt that!"

The man made no reply, but did as Varney had done before, got over the
coping stone, and then laid hold of the ivy; but, whether his weight was
heavier than Varney's, or whether it was that the latter had loosened
the hold of the ivy or not, but he had no sooner left go of the coping
stone than the ivy gave way, and he was precipitated from the height of
about fifty feet to the earth--a dreadful fall!

There was a pause--no one spoke. The man lay motionless and dead--he had
dislocated his neck!

The fall had not, however, been without its effect upon Varney, for the
man's heels struck him so forcibly on his head as he fell, that he was
stunned, and let go his hold, and he, too, fell to the earth, but not
many feet.

He soon recovered himself, and was staggering away, when he was assailed
by those above with groans, and curses of all kinds, and then by stones,
and tiles, and whatever the mob could lay their hands upon.

Some of these struck him, and he was cut about in various places, so
that he could hardly stand.

The hoots and shouts of the mob above had now attracted those below to
the spot where Sir Francis Varney was trying to escape, but he had not
gone far before the loud yells of those behind him told him that he was
again pursued.

Half dead, and almost wholly spent, unarmed, and defenceless, he scarce
knew what to do; whether to fly, or to turn round and die as a refuge
from the greater evil of endeavouring to prolong a struggle which seemed
hopeless. Instinct, however, urged him on, at all risks, and though he
could not go very far, or fast, yet on he went, with the crowd after
him.

"Down with the vampyre!--seize him--hold him--burn him! he must be down
presently, he can't stand!"

This gave them new hopes, and rendered Varney's fate almost certain.
They renewed their exertions to overtake him, while he exerted himself
anew, and with surprising agility, considering how he had been employed
for more than two hours.

There were some trees and hedges now that opposed the progress of both
parties. The height of Sir Francis Varney gave him a great advantage,
and, had he been fresh, he might have shown it to advantage in vaulting
over the hedges and ditches, which he jumped when obliged, and walked
through when he could.

Every now and then, the party in pursuit, who had been behind him some
distance, now they gained on him; however, they kept, every now and
then, losing sight of him among the trees and shrubs, and he made direct
for a small wood, hoping that when there, he should to be able to
conceal himself for some time, so as to throw his pursuers off the
track.

They were well aware of this, for they increased their speed, and one or
two swifter of foot than the others, got a-head of them and cried out
aloud as they ran,--

"Keep up! keep up! he's making for the wood."

"He can't stop there long; there are too many of us to beat that cover
without finding our game. Push, lads, he's our own now, as sure as we
know he's on a-head."

They did push on, and came in full sight as they saw Sir Francis enter
the wood, with what speed he could make; but he was almost spent. This
was a cheering sight to them, and they were pretty certain he would not
leave the wood in the state he was then--he must seek concealment.

However, they were mistaken, for Sir Francis Varney, as soon as he got
into the wood, plunged into the thickest of it, and then paused to gain
breath.

"So far safe," he muttered; "but I have had a narrow escape; they are
not yet done, though, and it will not be safe here long. I must away,
and seek shelter and safety elsewhere, if I can;--curses on the hounds
that run yelping over the fields!"

He heard the shouts of his pursuers, and prepared to quit the wood when
he thought the first had entered it.

"They will remain here some time in beating about," he muttered; "that
is the only chance I have had since the pursuit; curse them! I say
again. I may now get free; this delay must save my life, but nothing
else will."

He moved away, and, at a slow and lazy pace, left the wood, and then
made his way across some fields, towards some cottages, that lay on the
left.

The moon yet shone on the fields; he could hear the shouts of the mob,
as various parties went through the wood from one covert to another, and
yet unable to find him.

Then came a great shout upon his ears, as though they had found out he
had left the wood. This caused him to redouble his speed, and, fearful
lest he should be seen in the moonlight, he leaped over the first fence
that he came to, with almost the last effort he could make, and then
staggered in at an open door--through a passage--into a front parlour,
and there fell, faint, and utterly spent and speechless, at the feet of
Flora Bannerworth.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

THE RECEPTION OF THE VAMPYRE BY FLORA.--VARNEY SUBDUED.

[Illustration]

We must say that the irruption into the house of the Bannerworths by Sir
Francis Varney, was certainly unpremeditated by him, for he knew not
into whose house he had thus suddenly rushed for refuge from the
numerous foes who were pursuing him with such vengeful ire. It was a
strange and singular incident, and one well calculated to cause the mind
to pause before it passed it by, and consider the means to an end which
are sometimes as wide of the mark, as it is in nature possible to be.

But truth is stronger than fiction by far, and the end of it was, that,
pressed on all sides by danger, bleeding, faint, and exhausted, he
rushed into the first house he came to, and thus placed himself in the
very house of those whom he had brought to such a state of misfortune.

Flora Bannerworth was seated at some embroidery, to pass away an hour or
so, and thus get over the tedium of time; she was not thinking, either,
upon the unhappy past; some trifling object or other engaged her
attention. But what was her anguish when she saw a man staggering into
the room bleeding, and bearing the marks of a bloody contest, and
sinking at her feet.

Her astonishment was far greater yet, when she recognised that man to be
Sir Francis Varney.

"Save me!--save me! Miss Bannerworth, save me!--only you can save me
from the ruthless multitude which follows, crying aloud for my blood."

As he spoke, he sank down speechless. Flora was so much amazed, not to
say terrified, that she knew not what to do. She saw Sir Francis a
suppliant at her feet, a fugitive from his enemies, who would show him
no mercy--she saw all this at a moment's glance; and yet she had not
recovered her speech and presence of mind enough to enable her to make
any reply to him.

"Save me! Miss Flora Bannerworth, save me!" he again said, raising
himself on his hands. "I am beset, hunted like a wild beast--they seek
my life--they have pursued me from one spot to another, and I have
unwittingly intruded upon you. You will save me: I am sure your kindness
and goodness of heart will never permit me to be turned out among such a
crew of blood-thirsty butchers as those who pursue me are."

"Rise, Sir Francis Varney," said Flora, after a moment's hesitation; "in
such an extremity as that which you are in, it would be inhuman indeed
to thrust you out among your enemies."

"Oh! it would," said Varney. "I had thought, until now, I could have
faced such a mob, until I was in this extremity; and then, disarmed and
thrown down, bruised, beaten, and incapable of stemming such a torrent,
I fled from one place to another, till hunted from each, and then
instinct alone urged me to greater exertion than before, and here I
am--this is now my last and only hope."

"Rise, Sir Francis."

"You will not let me be torn out and slaughtered like an ox. I am sure
you will not."

"Sir Francis, we are incapable of such conduct; you have sought refuge
here, and shall find it as far as we are able to afford it to you."

"And your brother--and--"

"Yes--yes--all who are here will do the same; but here they come to
speak for themselves."

As she spoke, Mrs. Bannerworth entered, also Charles Holland, who both
started on seeing the vampyre present, Sir Francis Varney, who was too
weak to rise without assistance.

"Sir Francis Varney," said Flora, speaking to them as they entered, "has
sought refuge here; his life is in peril, and he has no other hope left;
you will, I am sure, do what can be done for him."

"Mr. Holland," said Sir Francis, "I am, as you may see by my condition,
a fugitive, and have been beaten almost to death; instinct alone urged
me on to save my life, and I, unknowingly, came in here."

"Rise, Sir Francis," said Charles Holland; "I am not one who would feel
any pleasure in seeing you become the victim of any brutal mob. I am
sure there are none amongst us who would willingly do so. You have
trusted to those who will not betray you."

"Thank you," said Sir Francis, faintly. "I thank you; your conduct is
noble, and Miss Bannerworth's especially so."

"Are you much hurt, Sir Francis?" inquired Charles.

"I am much hurt, but not seriously or dangerously; but I am weak and
exhausted."

"Let me assist you to rise," said Charles Holland.

"Thank you," said Sir Francis, as he accepted of the assistance, and
when he stood up, he found how incapable he really was, for a child
might have grappled with him.

"I have been sore beset, Mrs. Bannerworth," he said, endeavouring to bow
to that lady; "and I have suffered much ill-usage. I am not in such a
plight as I could wish to be seen in by ladies; but my reasons for
coming will be an excuse for my appearance in such disorder."

"We will not say anything about that," said Charles Holland; "under the
circumstances, it could not be otherwise."

"It could not," said Sir Francis, as he took the chair Miss Flora
Bannerworth placed for him.

"I will not ask you for any explanation as to how this came about; but
you need some restorative and rest."

"I think I suffer more from exhaustion than anything else. The bruises I
have, of course, are not dangerous."

"Can you step aside a few moments?" said Mrs. Bannerworth. "I will show
you where you can remove some of those stains, and make yourself more
comfortable."

"Thank you, madam--thank you. It will be most welcome to me, I assure
you."

Sir Francis rose up, and, with the aid of Charles Holland, he walked to
the next room, where he washed himself, and arranged his dress as well
at it would admit of its being done.

"Mr. Holland," he said, "I cannot tell you how grateful I feel for this.
I have been hunted from the house where you saw me. From what source
they learned my abode--my place of concealment--I know not; but they
found me out."

"I need hardly say, Sir Francis, that it could not have occurred through
me," said Charles Holland.

"My young friend," said Sir Francis, "I am quite sure you were not; and,
moreover, I never, for one moment, suspected you. No, no; some
accidental circumstance alone has been the cause. I have been very
cautious--I may say extremely so--but at the same time, living, as I
have, surrounded by enemies on all sides, it is not to be wondered at
that I should be seen by some one, and thus traced to my lair, whither
they followed me at their leisure."

"They have been but too troublesome in this matter. When they become a
little reasonable, it will be a great miracle; for, when their passions
and fears are excited, there is no end to the extremes they will
perpetrate."

"It is so," said Varney, "as the history of these last few days amply
testifies to me. I could never have credited the extent to which popular
excitement could be carried, and the results it was likely to produce."

"It is an engine of very difficult control," pursued Charles Holland;
"but what will raise it will not allay it, but add fuel to the fire that
burns so fiercely already."

"True enough," said Sir Francis.

"If you have done, will you again step this way?"

Sir Francis Varney followed Charles Holland into the sitting-room, and
sat down with them, and before him was spread a light supper, with some
good wine.

"Eat, Sir Francis," said Mrs. Bannerworth. "Such a state as that in
which you are, must, of necessity, produce great exhaustion, and you
must require food and drink."

Sir Francis bowed as well as he was able, and even then, sore and
bruised as he was, fugitive as he had been, he could not forget his
courtesy; but it was not without an effort. His equanimity was, however,
much disturbed, by finding himself in the midst of the Bannerworths.

"I owe you a relation," he said, "of what occurred to drive me from my
place of concealment."

"We should like to hear it, if you are not too far fatigued to relate
it," said Charles.

"I will. I was sitting at the top of that house in which I sought to
hide myself, when I heard sounds come that were of a very suspicious
nature; but did not believe that it could happen that they had
discovered my lurking-place; far from it; though, of late, I had been
habitually cautious and suspicious, yet I thought I was safe, till I
heard the noise of a multitude coming towards me. I could not be
mistaken in it, for the sounds are so peculiar that they are like
nothing else. I heard them coming.

"I moved not; and when they surrounded the house as far as was
practicable, they gave an immense shout, and made the welkin ring with
the sound."

"I heard a confused noise at a distance," remarked Flora; "but I had no
idea that anything serious was contemplated. I imagined it was some
festival among some trade, or portion of the townspeople, who were
shouting from joy."

"Oh, dear no," said Sir Francis; "but I am not surprised at the mistake,
because there are such occurrences occasionally; but whenever the mob
gained any advantage upon me they shouted, and when I was able to oppose
them with effect, they groaned at me most horribly."

"The deuce," said Charles; "the sound, suppose, serves to express their
feelings, and to encourage each other."

"Something of the sort, I dare say," said Varney: "but at length, after
defending the house with all the desperation that despair imparted to
me, I was compelled to fly from floor to floor, until I had reached the
roof; there they followed me, and I was compelled again to fly. House
after house they followed me to, until I could go no farther," said
Varney.

"How did you escape?"

"Fortunately I saw some ivy growing and creeping over the coping-stones,
and by grasping that I got over the side, and so let myself down by
degrees, as well as I was able."

"Good heavens! what a dreadful situation," exclaimed Flora; "it is
really horrible!"

"I could not do it again, under, I think, any circumstances."

"Not the same?" said Mrs. Bannerworth.

"I really doubt if I could," said Varney. "The truth is, the excitement
of the moment was great, and I at that moment thought of nothing but
getting away.

"The same circumstances, the same fear of death, could hardly be
produced in me again, and I am unable to account for the phenomenon on
this occasion."

"Your escape was very narrow indeed," said Flora; "it makes me shudder
to think of the dangers you have gone through; it is really terrible to
think of it."

"You," said Sir Francis, "are young and susceptible, and generous in
your disposition, You can feel for me, and do; but how little I could
have expected it, it is impossible to say; but your sympathy sinks into
my mind and causes such emotions as never can be erased from my soul.

"But to proceed. You may guess how dreadful was my position, by the fact
that the first man who attempted to get over tore the ivy away and fell,
striking me in his fall; he was killed, and I thrown down and stunned. I
then made for the wood, closely pursued and got into it; then I baffled
them: they searched the wood, and I went through it. I then ran across
the country to these houses here; I got over the fence, and in at the
back door."

"Did they see you come?" inquired Charles Holland.

"I cannot say, but I think that they did not; I heard them give a loud
shout more than once when on this side of the wood."

"You did? How far from here were you when you heard the shouts?"
inquired Mrs. Bannerworth.

"I was close here; and, as I jumped over the fence, I heard them shout
again; but I think they cannot see so far; the night was moonlight, to
be sure, but that is all; the shadow of the hedge, and the distance
together, would make it, if not impossible, at least very improbable."

"That is very likely," said Mrs. Bannerworth.

"In that case," said Charles Holland, "you are safe here; for none will
suspect your being concealed here."

"It is the last place I should myself have thought of," said Varney;
"and I may say the last place I would knowingly have come to; but had I
before known enough of you, I should have been well assured of your
generosity, and have freely come to claim your aid and shelter, which
accident has so strangely brought me to be a candidate for, and which you
have so kindly awarded me."

"The night is wearing away," said Flora, "and Sir Francis is doubtless
fatigued to an excess; sleep, I dare say, will be most welcome to him."

"It will indeed, Miss Bannerworth," said Varney; "but I can do that
under any circumstances; do not let me put you to any inconvenience; a
chair, and at any hour, will serve me for sleep."

"We cannot do for you what we would wish," said Flora, looking at her
mother; "but something better than that, at all events, we can and will
provide for you."

"I know not how to thank you," said Sir Francis Varney; "I assure you,
of late I have not been luxuriously lodged, and the less trouble I give
you the greater I shall esteem the favour."

The hour was late, and Sir Francis Varney, before another half hour had
elapsed, was consigned to his own reflections, in a small but neat room,
there to repose his bruised and battered carcass, and court the
refreshing influence of sleep.

His reflections were, for nearly an hour, of the most contradictory
character; some one passion was trying to overcome the other; but he
seemed quite subdued.

"I could not have expected this," he muttered; "Flora Bannerworth has
the soul of a heroine. I deserved not such a reception from them; and
yet, in my hour of utmost need, they have received me like a favoured
friend; and yet all their misfortunes have taken their origin from me; I
am the cause of all."