Vampires vs. Werewolves Boxed-Set. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
other, shook the firmament. Flora trembled.
"Charles," she said, "this is the voice of Heaven. We must part—we must part for ever. I cannot be yours."
"Flora, this is madness. Think again, dear Flora. Misfortunes for a time will hover over the best and most fortunate of us; but, like the clouds that now obscure the sweet sunshine, will pass away, and leave no trace behind them. The sunshine of joy will shine on you again."
There was a small break in the clouds, like a window looking into Heaven. From it streamed one beam of sunlight, so bright, so dazzling, and so beautiful, that it was a sight of wonder to look upon. It fell upon the face of Flora; it warmed her cheek; it lent lustre to her pale lips and tearful eyes; it illumined that little summer-house as if it had been the shrine of some saint.
"Behold!" cried Charles, "where is your omen now?"
"God of Heaven!'" cried Flora; and she stretched out her arms.
"The clouds that hover over your spirit now," said Charles, "shall pass away. Accept this beam of sunlight as a promise from God."
"I will—I will. It is going."
"It has done its office."
The clouds closed over the small orifice, and all was gloom again as before.
"Flora," said Charles, "you will not ask me now to leave you?"
She allowed him to clasp her to his heart. It was beating for her, and for her only.
"You will let me, Flora, love you still?"
Her voice, as she answered him, was like the murmur of some distant melody the ears can scarcely translate to the heart.
"Charles we will live, love, and die together."
And now there was a wrapt stillness in that summer-house for many minutes—a trance of joy. They did not speak, but now and then she would look into his face with an old familiar smile, and the joy of his heart was near to bursting in tears from his eyes.
A shriek burst from Flora's lips—a shriek so wild and shrill that it awakened echoes far and near. Charles staggered back a step, as if shot, and then in such agonised accents as he was long indeed in banishing the remembrance of, she cried—
"The vampyre! the vampyre!"
CHAPTER XVII.
THE EXPLANATION.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE ADMIRAL AT THE HOUSE.—A SCENE OF CONFUSION, AND SOME OF ITS RESULTS.
So sudden and so utterly unexpected a cry of alarm from Flora, at such a time might well have the effect of astounding the nerves of any one, and no wonder that Charles was for a few seconds absolutely petrified and almost unable to think.
Mechanically, then, he turned his eyes towards the door of the summer-house, and there he saw a tall, thin man, rather elegantly dressed, whose countenance certainly, in its wonderful resemblance to the portrait on the panel, might well appal any one.
The stranger stood in the irresolute attitude on the threshold of the summer-house of one who did not wish to intrude, but who found it as awkward, if not more so now, to retreat than to advance.
Before Charles Holland could summon any words to his aid, or think of freeing himself from the clinging grasp of Flora, which was wound around him, the stranger made a very low and courtly bow, after which he said, in winning accents—
"I very much fear that I am an intruder here. Allow me to offer my warmest apologies, and to assure you, sir, and you, madam, that I had no idea any one was in the arbour. You perceive the rain is falling smartly, and I made towards here, seeing it was likely to shelter me from the shower."
These words were spoken in such a plausible and courtly tone of voice, that they might well have become any drawing-room in the kingdom.
Flora kept her eyes fixed upon him during the utterance of these words; and as she convulsively clutched the arm of Charles, she kept on whispering—
"The vampyre! the vampyre!"
"I much fear," added the stranger, in the same bland tones, "that I have been the cause of some alarm to the young lady!"
"Release me," whispered Charles to Flora. "Release me; I will follow him at once."
"No, no—do not leave me—do not leave me. The vampyre—the dreadful vampyre!"
"But, Flora—"
"Hush—hush—hush! It speaks again."
"Perhaps I ought to account for my appearance in the garden at all," added the insinuating stranger. "The fact is, I came on a visit—"
Flora shuddered.
"To Mr. Henry Bannerworth," continued the stranger; "and finding the garden-gate open, I came in without troubling the servants, which I much regret, as I can perceive I have alarmed and annoyed the lady. Madam, pray accept of my apologies."
"In the name of God, who are you?" said Charles.
"My name is Varney."
"Oh, yes. You are the Sir Francis Varney, residing close by, who bears so fearful a resemblance to—"
"Pray go on, sir. I am all attention."
"To a portrait here."
"Indeed! Now I reflect a moment, Mr. Henry Bannerworth did incidentally mention something of the sort. It's a most singular coincidence."
The sound of approaching footsteps was now plainly heard, and in a few moments Henry and George, along with Mr. Marchdale, reached the spot. Their appearance showed that they had made haste, and Henry at once exclaimed—
"We heard, or fancied we heard, a cry of alarm."
"You did hear it," said Charles Holland. "Do you know this gentleman?"
"It is Sir Francis Varney."
"Indeed!"
Varney bowed to the new comers, and was altogether as much at his ease as everybody else seemed quite the contrary. Even Charles Holland found the difficulty of going up to such a well-bred, gentlemanly man, and saying, "Sir, we believe you to be a vampyre"—to be almost, if not insurmountable.
"I cannot do it," he thought, "but I will watch him."
"Take me away," whispered Flora. "'Tis he—'tis he. Oh, take me away, Charles."
"Hush, Flora, hush. You are in some error; the accidental resemblance should not make us be rude to this gentleman."
"The vampyre!—it is the vampyre!"
"Are you sure, Flora?"
"Do I know your features—my own—my brother's? Do not ask me to doubt—I cannot. I am quite sure. Take me from his hideous presence, Charles."
"The young lady, I fear, is very much indisposed," remarked Sir Francis Varney, in a sympathetic tone of voice. "If she will accept of my arm, I shall esteem it a great honour."
"No—no—no!—God! no," cried Flora.
"Madam, I will not press you."
He bowed, and Charles led Flora from the summer-house towards the hall.
"Flora," he said, "I am bewildered—I know not what to think. That man most certainly has been fashioned after the portrait which is on the panel in the room you formerly occupied; or it has been painted from him."
"He is my midnight visitor!" exclaimed Flora. "He