CHAPTER CCI.
[Chapter 218]
THE YOUNG GIRL IN THE VILLAGE, AND THE AWFUL VISIT.
It is now necessary that we draw the reader's attention to a humbler
place of residence than the Grange, with its spacious chambers and lordly
halls.
Situated not very far from the church, and almost close to the
churchyard, upon which its little garden abutted, was a cottage, the picture
of rural neatness and beauty. In the winter it was beautiful and picturesque,
but in the summer time, when its porch was overrun with the woodbine and the
sweet clematis, it was one of the sweetest of abodes that content and
happiness could ever live in.
This cottage was inhabited by an old woman and her only child, a young
girl of sixteen, beautiful as a rose, and as guileless as an angel. They
contrived to live upon a small annuity that the mother had from a family in
whose service she spent the best years of her life, and who, with a generosity
that would be well to be abundantly and extensively imitated, would not see
their old dependant want.
These two innocent and blameless persons had retired to rest at nine
o'clock, their usual hour, and had slept the calm sleep of contentment until
about half-past one, when the mother was awakened by a loud and piercing
shriek from her daughter's chamber.
To spring from her humble couch was the work of a moment.
"Anna, Anna! my child, Anna!" she shrieked.
As she did so, she rushed across the small stair landing which separated
the two, and the only two upper rooms of the cottage, and was about to enter
her daughter's room, when the door of it was opened from within, and the old
dame's heart died within her, as she saw a figure upon the threshold, attired
in the vestments of the grave, and opposing her entrance.
Was it a dream, or did she really see such a sight?
Aghast and trembling the mother stood, unable for a moment or two to
speak, and as she fell fainting upon the landing, she thought that something
passed her, but she could not be quite sure, as it was at the instant her
faculties were flitting from her.
How long she lay in that seeming death she knew not, and when she
recovered, it was some few minutes before recollection came back to her, and
she really remembered what had so completely overpowered her.
But when her reason did resume its sway, and she recollected that it was
some danger to Anna, which had first alarmed her, she called her loudly by her
name.
"Anna, Anna, speak to me."
"Mother, mother," replied the young girl. "Oh, come to me."
These words suppplied strength to the old woman, and rising she made her
way immediately into the chamber of her daughter, whom she found in an agony
of fear; a light was procured, and then Anna flung herself upon her mother's
neck, and wept abundantly.
"Oh, mother, tell me, convince me that it was only a dream."
"What, my child? oh what?"
The girl trembled so much that it was only by the utmost persuasion that
the following account was got from her, of the cause of her fright.
She said that she had gone to sleep as usual within a very few minutes
after going to bed, that she enjoyed a calm, and uninterrupted slumber, the
duration of which she had no means whatever of guessing, but she was partially
awakened by a noise at the window of her room.
She instantly rose and stood looking at the window, on which a sort of
shadow seemed to pass without, which alarmed her exceedingly.
Still as it did not come gain, and as she certainly had not been fully
awake when she sprung from her bed, she had thought it quite possible that all
might be a dream, and had forborne from making any alarm upon the subject.
After some hesitation she had persuaded herself to go to bed again, and
when there, although she sometimes started awake fancying she heard something,
she at length yielded to sleep, and again slept, soundly for a time, until a
new circumstance awakened her.
She thought she felt something touching her about the neck, and after
opening her eyes, the moonlight, which at that moment happened to be very
bright, disclosed to her a white figure standing by the side of her bed, the
face of which figure was leaning over her, and within a very few inches of her
own.
Terror at first deprived her of all power of speech or motion, but as the
figure did not move, she at length gave utterance to her fears in that shriek
which had come from her lips, and so much alarmed the mother.
This was all the young girl could say, with the exception that the figure
when she shrieked appeared to glide away, but where to she had no means of
telling, for some clouds at that moment came again over the face of the moon.
The mother was much affected and terrified, and at first she thought of
calling up her neighbours, but at length as the night was considerably
advanced, and the intruder gone, they agreed to let the matter rest till
morning, and the mother retired to her room again.
How long it was before the shriek form her daughter's room came again she
did not know, but come again it did.
Yes, again came the dreadful shriek. It was —it could be no delusion
now —and the mother once more sprung from her couch to rush to the rescue of
her child.
Confused and bewildered, she darted onward to the chamber, but the door
was fast, nor could all her exertions suffice to open it.
"Anna, Anna!" she shouted, "speak to me. One word only, my child, my
child."
All was still. The trembling mother placed her ear to the door, and she
heard a strange sucking sound, as if an animal was drinking with labour and
difficulty. Her head seemed to be on fire, and her senses were upon the point
of leaving her, but she did manage to reach her own room. She flew to the
little casement —she dashed it open.
"Help! help! help! —for the love of God, help!"
There was no reply.
Again she raised her voice in shrieking wild accents.
"Help! —murder! —help!"
"What is it?" shouted a man's voice. It was one who was going some
distance to take in his fishing nets.
"Oh! thank God, some human being hears me. Come in, come in."
"How am I to get in?"
"Stay a moment, and I will come down and open the cottage door for you.
For the love of mercy do not go away."
Trembling and terrified to a dreadful excess, the old woman went down
stairs and let the man into the cottage, when they both proceeded up to the
chamber of the daughter.
"What do you suppose is the matter?" asked the fisherman.
"Oh! I know not—I know not; but twice to-night—twice has this
dreadful alarm happened. Do not leave us—oh, do not."
"I don't want;' but I should hardly think thieves would find it worth
their while to come here at all for wht they would get. You must have
been dreaming."
"Oh, that I could think so!"
Anna's chamber was reached; and there, to the horror of the mother, she
was found lying perfectly insensible on her bed, with a quantity of blood
smeared about her neck.
"Why, it's a murder!" cried the fisherman; and firmly impressed with such
a belief, he ran out of the house to spread an alarm.
The window of the chamber was wide open, and from that the mother now
cried aloud for help; so that between her and the fisherman, such a
disturbance was made all over the neighbourhood, that they were soon likely to
have more assistance than could be useful.
The people living the nearest were soon roused, and they roused others,
while the distracted woman, who believed Anna was dead, called for justice and
for vengeance.
The alarm spread from house to house —from cottage to hall —and, in
the course of half-an-hour, most of the inhabitants of the village had risen
to hear the old dame's account of the horrible proceeding that had taken place
that night in the cottage.
Exaggeration was out of the question. The fact itself was more than
sufficient to induce the greatest amount of horror in the minds of all who
heard it, and there was one, and only one, whose information enabled him to
give a name to the apparition that had assaulted Anna. That one was the
schoolmaster of the place, and he, after hearing the story, said, —
"If one could persuade oneself at all of the existence of such horrors,
one would suppose that a vampire had visited the cottage."
This was a theme that was likely to be popular. The schoolmaster
foolishly gave way to the vanity, and explained what a vampire was —or was
supposed and said to be; and soon the whole place was in a state of the most
indescribable alarm upon the subject.
As yet the horrible news had not reached the Grange, but it was destined
soon to do so; and better would it have been that any one had at once plunged
a dagger in the heart of poor Sir George Crofton than that there should be
thought to be such a horrible confirmation of his worst fears.
To be sure, his daughter was not named, but he received the news with a
scream of anguish, and fell insensible into the arms of his son.
All was confusion. The servants ran hither and thither, not knowing what
to do, and it was not until Mr. Bevan arrived that something like order was
restored. He as a privileged friend assumed for the nonce a kind of
dictatorship at the Grange, and gave orders, which were cheerfully and
promptly obeyed. Then he desired a strictly private interview with Sir
George.
It was, or course, granted to him; but the old baronet begged that
Charles and Edwin might now know all. It was Emma alone from whom he wished
to keep the awful truth.
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