CHAPTER CLXXXVII.
[Chapter 204]
THE SICK CHAMBER AT THE GRANGE. —THE NIGHT.
"Is he dead? Is he dead? cried Sir George.
"We don't know, sir," replied one of the fishermen; "some of us think he
is, and some of us think he is not."
"What is to be done?"
"Have him taken at once to the Grange, father," said Charles, "and let us
get medical assistance; who knows but the affair may turn out in reality very
different from what it first appeared. He may be only stunned by a fall."
"I hope to Heaven it may be so. Can you, among you, my men, make
anything like a litter to carry him on?"
This was soon done. Some of the loose seats from some boats close at
hand, and a rough cloak or two, made a capital couch for the dead or wounded
man, as the case might be. They lifted him carefully into it, and then four
of them lifted the rude but easy and appropriate conveyance, and carried him
towards the hall.
"How could this have happened?" said Sir George.
"Perhaps I may be able to throw some light upon it," said Varney. "As I
came here to your hospitable house, a horse without a rider, but caparisoned
for one, passed me furiously."
"That must have been his horse then," said Charles. "You may depend,
father, he was riding on to see Clara before the hour appointed for their
marriage, and has met with this accident. Come, there is some consolation in
that. A fall from his horse is not likely to kill him."
"Where is Edwin?"
"Oh, he went off at once for Dr. North, and no doubt he will get to the
Grange about as soon as we shall."
"That was right—that was right. I really have been taken so much by
surprise that I hardly know what I am about. It was very right of Edwin."
Nothing of any importance now passed in the way of conversation, nor did
any incident worth recording take place until the melancholy little procession
reached the Grange, and by the advice of Varney, the young bridegroom was
carried direct to a bed-chamber before he was removed from the litter on which
he had been carried.
The operation was scarcely performed, and he laid upon a bed, when Dr.
North came, having mounted his horse upon hearing the information from Edwin
that he was wanted in a case of such great emergency at the Grange, and ridden
hard all the way.
He was at once introduced to his patient, and upon a cursory examination,
he said, —
"This is a concussion of the brain, but don't let that alarm you. It may
be very slight, although it certainly has an awkward sound, and a little rest
and blood-letting may put him all to rights."
This was to some extent cheering, and the doctor at once proceeded to
bleed his patient. As the ruddy stream fell into a crystal goblet, the young
man gradually opened his eyes, and looked round him with a bewildered glare.
"Darken the room," said Dr. North; "he is right enough, but he must be
kept quiet for a day or two at all events."
"What has happened?" said the wounded man.
"Nothing particular," replied Dr. North, "nothing particular. You have
had a fall from your horse."
"Clara!"
"Ah, I know, and now listen to me. If you remain quiet and don't speak,
you will see Clara soon; but if you are wilful and disobey orders, you will
bring on a brain fever and you wont see her at all in this world; so now
you can judge for yourself."
"You are rather harsh," said Sir George.
"Pardon me sir, I am not. There is nothing like making a patient
thoroughly understand his own position; and I give this young gentleman credit
for sufficient wisdom to enable him to profit by what I say to him."
Mr. Ringwood nodded.
"There, you see, all's right; now he will go to sleep, and as all will
depend upon the state in which he awakens, I will, if you please wait here,
unless I should be urgently sent for from home, for I have left word where I
am."
"Pardon me, doctor, for finding any fault with you."
"Don't mention it; what I said did sound harsh."
Sir George went now at once to the room where his daughter Clara had been
taken to, for the purpose of informing her of the hopeful state of affairs.
He found her just recovered from her swoon, so that recollection had not yet
sufficiently returned to give her all the agony of thinking that the news so
heedlessly and so suddenly communicated by the servant might be true in its
full intensity.
"My dear, you must not distress yourself," said Sir George. "Ringwood
was riding over here, it seems, to see you, and his horse, getting restive,
has thrown him; Dr. North says, there is nothing particular the matter, and
that after a little rest he will recover."
Clara tried to speak, but she could not —she burst into tears.
"Ah!" said the old nurse, who was attending her, and who had been in
her family many years, "ah, poor dear, she will be all right now. I was just
wishing that she would have a good cry; it does any one a world of good, it
does."
"What an agitating night and day this has been, to be sure," said Sir
George. "First the terror of losing both my boys, then their return with the
dead man, who, so oddly comes to life again; Then this dreadful accident to
Ringwood; upon my word the incidents of a whole year have been crammed into a
few hours. I only hope this is the last of it."
"And I shall see him again, father," sobbed Clara.
"Of course you will."
"You—you have sent him home very carefully?"
"Home? no. He is here under this roof and here he shall stay till he
recovers, poor lad. Oh dear no, I never thought of sending him home, but I
must send some one, by-the-by, with the news of what has happened. This is
well thought of."
The knowledge that her lover, and her affianced husband was doing well,
and that he was under the same roof with her, gave Clara the most unalloyed
satisfaction, and she recovered rapidly her good and healthful looks. It was
duly explained to her, that she must not go near Ringwood to disturb him, as
rest was so very essential to his recovery; so she did not attempt it. The
whole household was commanded to be unusally quiet, and never had the Grange
before presented such a collection of creeping domestics, for they went up and
down stairs like so many cats.
Clara did not omit to thank Mr. Smith for the assistance he had rendered
them in this evil emergency, and Dr. North stood with the family in the dining
room waiting, perhaps with greater anxiety than he chose to express, the
awaking of his patient.
A servant was left in the adjoining chamber to that occupied by Ringwood,
who was told to bring to the dining-room the first intimation that the wounded
man was living.
About two hours elapsed when the servant came in with an air of affright.
Dr. North sprang to his feet in a moment.
"What is it, is he awake?"
"Not exactly awake, sir, but he is speaking in his sleep, and it's all
about a—a-—"
"A what?"
"A vampyre."
"Stuff."
"Well, sir, he's a having some horrid dream, I can tell you, sir, and he
said, 'Keep off the vampyre; save her, oh, save her from the vampyre!'"
"How singular!" said Varney, "what an absurd belief that is! A vampyre!
what on earth could have put such a thing in his head, I wonder?"
"I will go to him," said Dr. North, "if he should be very much disturbed,
perhaps I shall think it preferable to awake him; but I can inform you all
that such dreams show that there is much excitement going on in the brain.["]
"Then you do not consider the symptom favourable, doctor?"
"Certainly not; quite the reverse of favourable."
Dr. North rose, and as Varney offered very politely to accompany him, he
made no sort of objection, and they proceeded to the chamber of the
bridegroom.
During the time that the doctor had been in the society of Varney, he had
been much pleased with him, for he found that he possessed a vast store of
knowledge upon almost any subject that could be touched upon, besides no small
amount of skill and theoretical information upon medical matters, so he let
him come with him, when perhaps he would have objected to any one else.
Varney the vampyre could fascinate when he liked.
When they reached the chamber the young man was quiet, but in a few
minutes he began to toss about his head, and mutter in his sleep, —
"The vampyre, the dreadful vampyre. Oh, save her! Help, help, help!"
"This won't do," said the doctor."
He went to the toilette table, and procuring a large towel he soaked it
well in cold water, and then wrapped it round the head of Ringwood, and so
carefully too as not to arouse him. The effect was almost instantaneous. The
vexed sleeper relapsed into a much easier attitute, the breathing was more
regular, and the distressing fancies that had tortured his fevered brain were
chased away.
"A simple plan," said Varney.
"Yes, but a most efficacious one."
—