CHAPTER CCII.
[Chapter 219]
THE AWFUL SUPPOSITION —A RESOLUTION.
It was with some reluctance that the clergyman spoke.
"Sir," he said to the old baronet, "and you, my young gentleman, I am
afraid—very much afraid, that I am doing anything but right in countenancing
a supposition so utterly at variance with all my own notions and feelings; but
my abhorrence of a secret impels me to speak.
"Say on, sir—say on," cried Sir George. "Perhaps we are better
prepared to hear what you have to tell, than you imagine."
After this Mr. Bevan had less reluctance to speak, he said, —
"I was aware, although you all were not, that Mr. Ringwood intended to
keep watch last night in the church, in order to test the truth of what had
been told by Will Stephens, the sexton. I did all I could to persuade him
from making the attempt, but when I found that nothing else would satisfy him,
I thought it prudent to give him the means of carrying out what had become
such a fixed intention with him, that to oppose it was to do far more mischief
than to grant it all the aid I had in my power to do."
Sir George gave a nod of assent.
"He went there," continued Mr. Bevan, "with a private key of my own, and
took his place in the church."
"I wish, sir, you had been with him," said Edwin.
"Yes," added Charles. "If you, with your cool, calm, unbiassed judgment
had been there, we should have been much better able to come to a correct
conclusion about what occurred; for that something did occur, or was supposed
by Ringwood to do so, we can well guess."
"I wish, indeed, I had been there," said Mr. Bevan, "but he begged so
earnestly to be allowed to go alone, that I had not the heart ot refuse him."
"And what happened, sir?"
"I will tell you. I gave him a key which admitted him to the church, by
the small private entrance, at which I usually go in myself; in fact, it was
my own private key, for I at times visit the church, and wish to do so, when I
am not expected by those who have the ordinary charge of it."
"We have heard as much."
"No doubt. Well, then, I say I gave him that key, but it was my sympathy
with his evident distress rather than my judgment which consented to do so,
and I had hardly done it, when I began to busy myself with conjectures, and
to deeply regret that I had yielded to him so easily. 'What if he, in his
excited and grief-stricken state of mind, should come to some serious
mischief?' I said to myself, 'should not I be very much to blame? Would not
all prudent persons say that I did very wrong to send a man in such a
condition of mind into a church at midnight, alone?'"
"Your motives and your known character, sir, would protect you," said
Charles.
"I hope so," continued Mr. Bevan. "I think it would from all other
charges, but imprudence; and if any great mischance had befallen Ringwood, I
should not so readily have forgiven myself, as others might have been induced
to forgive me."
"I understand that feeling," said Sir George.
"Well, then, with such sensations tugging at my heart, no wonder I could
not rest, and so at a little after twelve, I rose, and hastily dressing
myself, I left my house as noiselessly as possible, and made my way towards
the church. The moon's light was at that time obscured, but every spot was so
familiar to me, that I was able to go with speed, and I soon reached the
venerable building. I walked round it, until I came to the door, the key of
which I had given to Mr. Ringwood; it was open, but the moment I crossed the
threshold, I stumbled on his insensible form."
"Go on! go on! He had seen something terrible," gasped Sir George; "I am
nerved, I think, for the very worst; I pray you, sir, go on, and tell me all."
"I will, Sir George, because I feel convinced it is my duty to conceal
nothing in this transaction, and because I think you had better more calmly
and dispassionately, and without exaggeration, hear from me all that is to be
told."
"That is a good reason, sir," said Edwin. "We should, of course, hear
all from other sources, and probably, with all the aids that a feeling for the
marvellous could append to it."
"That is my impression. When, then, I stumbled over a person lying just
within the little private door of the church, I had no immediate means of
knowing who it was; I tell you it was Ringwood, because I afterwards
discovered as much. I had the means of getting a light; when I did so, I
found Ringwood lying in a swoon, while at the same time, I could not but
notice a large bruise upon his forehead.
"Of course, my first duty was to look after him, instead of troubling
myself about his assailant, and having placed him in as convenient a posture
as I could, I hurried home again, and roused up my servants. With their
assistance I got him to my house, and placed him in bed."
"And did you search the church, sir?"
"I did. I went back and searched it thoroughly, but found nothing at all
suspicious. Everything was in its right place, and I could not account for
the affair at all, because of the wound that Ringwood had. I was most anxious
to hear from him that he had had a fall."
"But—but," said Sir George, falteringly, "he told a different story."
"He did."
"A story which you will not keep from us."
"I do not feel myself justified, as I have said, in keeping it from you.
this is it."
The clergyman then related to the family of the Croftons what is already
known to the reader concerning the adventures of Ringwood in the old church,
and which that morning, upon his recovery, Ringwood had told to him most
circumstantially.
We need scarcely say that this recital was listened to with the most
agonized feelings. Poor Sir George appeared to be most completely overcome
by it. He trembled excessively, and could not command himself sufficiently to
speak.
The two brothers looked at each other in dismay.
"Now, I pray you all to consider this matter more calmly," said Mr.
Bevan, "than you seem inclined to do."
"Calmly," gasped Sir George, "calmly."
"Yes—what evidence have we after all that the whole affair is anything
more than a dream of Mr. Ringwood's?"
"Does he doubt it?"
"No—I am bound to tell you that he does not; but we may well do so for
all that. He is the last person who is likely to give in to the opinion that
it is a mere vision, so strangely impressed as it is upon his imagination.
Recollect always that he went to the church prepared to see something."
"Oh, if we could but think it unreal," said Sir George, glancing at his
sons, as if to gather their opinions of the matter from their countenances.
"I will cling to such a thought," said Charles, "until I am convinced
otherwise through the medium of my own senses."
"And I," said Edwin.
"You are right," added Mr. Bevan, "I never in the whole course of my
experience heard of anything of which people should be so slow of believing
in, as this most uncomfortable affair. You now know all, and it is for
yourselves, of course, to make whatever determination you think fit. If I
might advise, it would be that you all take a short tour, perhaps on the
continent for a time."
"Mr. Bevan," said Sir George, in a kindly tone, "I am greatly obliged to
you. The suggestion I know springs from the very best and friendly motives;
but it carries with it a strong presumption that you really do think there is
something in all this affair which it would be as well to have settled in my
absence."
The clergyman could not deny but that some such feeling was at the bottom
of his advice; but still he would not admit that he was at all convinced of
the reality of what was presumed to have happened, and a short pause in the
conversation ensued, after which Sir George spoke with a solemn air of
determination, saying to his sons, as well as to his friend and pastor, Mr.
Bevan,
"When I tell you that I have made a determination from which nothing but
the hand of heaven visiting me with death shall move me, I hope no one here
will try to dissuade me from carrying it out."
After such an exordium it was a difficult thing to say anything to him,
so he continued, —
"My child was dear—very dear to me in life, and I have no superstitious
fears concerning one who held such a place in my affections. I am resolved
that to-night I will watch her poor remains, and at once convince myself of a
horror that may drive me mad or take a mountain of grief and apprehension off
my heart."
"Father," cried Charles, "you will allow me to accompany you."
"And me," added Edwin.
"My sons, you are both deeply interested in this matter—you would be
miserable while I was gone if you were not with me. Moreover, I will not
trust my own imagination entirely—we will all three go, and then we cannot
be deceived. This is my most solemn resolution."
"I have only one thing to say regarding it," said Mr. Bevan, "that is, to
prefer an earnest request that you will allow me to be one of the party—you
shall sit in a pew of the church, that shall command a view of the whole
building."
"Accompany us, Mr. Bevan, if you will," said Sir George, "but I sit in no
pew."
"No pew?"
"No. But my child's coffin, in the vault where repose the remains of
more than one of my race who had been dear to me in life, will I take my
place."
There was an earnest resolved solemnity about Sir George's manner, which
showed that he was not to be turned from his purpose, and Mr. Bevan
accordingly did not attempt to do so. He had done what he scarcely expected,
that is, got a consent to accompany him to the night vigil, and at all events
let what would happen, he as a more disinterested party than the others, would
be able, probably to interfere and prevent any disastrous circumstances from
arising.
"Say nothing of what has been determined on to any one," said Sir George,
"keep it a profound secret, sir, and this night will put an end to the agony
of doubt."
"Depend upon me. Will you come to my house at eleven o'clock, or shall I
come here?"
"We will come to you; it is in the way."
Thus then the affair was settled, so far satisfactorily, that there was
to be a watch actually now in the vault, so that there could be no delusion,
no trick prctised. —What will be the result will be shown very
shortly; in the meantime we cannot but tremble at what that attached and
nearly heart-broken father may have still to go through.
The excitement too in the village was immense; for the story of the
vampyre's attack upon the young girl was fresh in everybody's mouth, and it
lost nothing of its real horrors by the frequency with which it was repeated,
and the terror-stricken manner in which it was dilated upon.
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