VARNEY, THE VAMPYRE; OR, THE FEAST OF BLOOD. CHAPTER CCVIII. [sic] [Chapter 225] THE SOLITARY MAN. -- VARNEY'S DESPAIR. There lay the dead, alone, in that awful grave, dabbled in blood, and the victim of the horrible experiment that had been instituted to lay a vampire. The rain still fell heavily. On, surely, pitying Heaven sent those drops to wash out the remembrance of such a deed. The grave slowly began to be a pool of water; it rose up the sides of the coffin, and in a few minutes, more nothing of the ghastly and the terrible contents of that grave could have been seen. Before that took place, a man of tall stature and solemn gait stepped up and stood upon the brink of the little excavation. For a time he was as still as that sad occupant of the little space of earth that served her for a resting place, but at length in a tone of deep anguish he spoke, -- "And has it come to this?" he said, "is this my work? Oh, horror! horror unspeakable. In this some hideous dream or a reality of tragedy, so far transcending all I looked for, that if I had tears I should shed them now; but I have none. A hundred years ago that fount was dry. I thought that I had steeled my heart against all gentle impulses; that I had crushed-- aye, completely crushed dove-eyed pity in my heart, but it is not so, and still sufficient of my once human feelings clings to me to make me grieve for thee, Clara Crofton, thou victim!" We need not tell our readers now, that it was no other than Varney the Vampyre himself from whom these words came. After thus, then, giving such fervent utterance to the sad feeling that had overcome him, he stood for a time silent, and then glancing around him as well as he could by the dim light, he found the spades, by the aid of which the grave had been dug, and which the men had in their great fight [sic] left behind them. Seizing one, he commenced, with an energy and perseverance that was well adapted to accomplish the object, to fill up the grave. "You shall now rest in peace," he said. In the course of about ten minutes the grave was levelled completely, so that there were no signs or indications of any one having been there interred. The rain was still falling, and notwithstanding that circumstance, he continued at his work, until he had stamped down the earth to a perfect level; and then, even, as if he was still further anxious to thoroughly destroy any indication of the deed that had been done, he took the loose earth that was superfluous, and scattered it about. "This done," he said, "surely you will now know peace." He cast down the spade with which he had been working, and lingered for a few brief moments. Suddenly he started, for he heard, or thought he heard, an approaching footstep. His first impulse appeared to be to fly, but that he soon corrected, and folding his arms solemnly across his breast, he waited for the man that was now evidently making speed towards that spot. In a few moments more he saw the dusky outline of the figure, and then Mr. Bevan, the clergyman, stood before him. Mr. Bevan did not at the moment recognize in the form before him the man who had been the guest of Sir George Crofton, and from whom it was supposed had sprung all he mischief and horror that hsad fallen upon the family, at the Grange. "Who are you?" he cried; "can you give me information of an outrage that has been committed hereabouts." "Many," said Varney. "Ah! I know the voice. Are you not he who was rescued from the sea by the two sons of Sir George Crofton." "Well." "Now I know you, and I am glad to have met with you." "You will try to kill me?" "No, no-- peace is my profession." "Ah! you are the priest of this place. Well, sir, what would you with me?" "I would implore you to tell me if it be really true that-- that--" Mr. Bevan paused, for he disliked to show that the fear that it might be true there were such creatures as vampyres, had taken so strong a hold of him. "Proceed," said Varney. "I will. Are you then a vampyre?" "A strange question for one living man to put to another! Are you?" "You are inclined to trifle with me. But I implore you to answer me. I am perhaps the only man in all this neighbourhood to whom you can give an answer in the affirmative with safety." "And why so?" "Because I question not the decrees of Heaven. If it seems fit to the great Ruler of Heaven and of earth that there should be ever such horrible creatures as vampyres, ought I his creature to question it?" "You ought not-- you ought not. I have heard much from priests, but from your lips I hear sound reason. I am a vampyre." Mr. Bevan shrunk back, and shook for a moment, as he said in a low faltering tone, -- "For how long-- have you--" "You would know how long I have endured such a state of existence. I will tell you that I have a keen remembrance of being hunted through the streets of London in the reign of Henry the Fourth." "Henry the Fourth?" "Yes, I have seen all the celebrities of this and many other lands from that period. More than once have I endeavoured to cast off this horrible existence, but it is my destiny to remain in it. I was picked up by the brothers Crofton after one of my attempts to court death. They have been repaid." "Horribly!" "I cannot help it-- I am what I am." There was a strange and mournful solemnity about the tones of Varney that went to the heart of Mr. Bevan, and after a few moments pause, he said, -- "You greatly, very greatly awake my interest. Do not leave me. Ask yourself if there is anything that I can do to alleviate your destiny. Have you tried prayer?" "Prayer?" "Yes. Oh! there is great virtue in prayer." "I pray? What for should I pray but for that death which whenever it seems to be in my grasp has them flitted from me in mockery, leaving me still a stranded wretch upon the shores of this world. Perhaps you have at times fancied you have suffered some great amount of mental agony. Perhaps you have stood by the bed-side of dying creatures, and heard them howl their hopelessness of Heaven's mercy, but you cannot know-- you cannot imagine-- what I have suffered." As he spoke, he turned away, but Mr. Bevan followed him, saying, -- "Remain-- remain, I implore you," "Remain-- and wherefore?" "I will be your friend-- it is my duty to be such; remain, and you shall if you wish it, have an asylum in my house. If you will not pray yourself, to Heaven, I will pray for you, and in time to come you will have some hope. Oh, believe me, earnest prayer is not in vain." "My friend!" "Yes, your friend; I am, I ought to be the friend of all who are unhappy." "And is there really one human being who does not turn from me in horror and disgust? Oh, sir, you jest." "No-- on my soul, that which I say I mean. Come with me now, and you shall if you please, remain in secret in my house-- no one shall know you are with me-- from the moment that you cross the threshold you shall hope for happier days." The vampyre paused, and it was evident that he was deeply affected by what Mr. Bevan said to him, for his whole frame shook. -+- Next Time: The Strange Guest. -- The Little Chapel. -- Varney's Narrative. +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | This Varney the Vampyre e-text was entered by members of the | | Science Fiction Round Table #1 (SFRT1) on the Genie online | | service. | | The Varney Project, a reincarnation of this "penny dreadful" bit | | of fiction, was begun in November of 1993 by James Macdonald and | | should take about four years for re-serialization. | | These chapters are being posted once a week to the Round Table | | Bulletin Board and are also being placed in the Round Table File | | Library. | | For further information concerning Varney e-texts, please send | | email to: | | h.liu@juno.com | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ ============================================================================== The Varney Project Chapter 225 Ver 1.00 04/18/1998 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ General notes on this chapter Source: H.Liu entry from the Arno edition, 1970, text is reprint of 1847 edition Drop capital: No Figures in source: 0 Page numbers in source: 844-845 Sections: 1 Approximate number of characters: Number of paragraphs: Comments: Chapter appears mis-numbered as CCVIII. The horrible deed had been done to the body of Clara Crofton but now the scene was deserted. The rain fell steadily and began to fill up the grave. But the a tall, solemn man appears and stands before the makeshift grave. We soon realize this must be Varney and despite his earlier vows to cast off any vestiges of kind emotion, he grieves for Clara Crofton, the vampyre, who was, as we now know, a creation of his. After a time, Varney seizes up the tools and fills the grave, taking time to obliterate all trace of it and it's sad, but fearful occupant. Varney then detects another person approaching, and he starts to flee, but then he decides to merely wait. The approaching party is none other than Mr. Bevan, the clergyman of the area. At first Mr. Bevan does not recognize Varney who he met as a houseguest of Sir George Crofton. But after exchanging some challenging words, Mr. Bevan recognizes the voice. Mr. Bevan, who we know to be one to seek the truth, then asks Varney if he is, indeed, a vampyre. At first Varney gives evasive answers, but Mr. Bevan is persistent and convinces Varney that he is the one person that can be told the truth in safety. Varney then tells him that he is a vampyre, and that he has been such since the reign of Henry the Fourth. The clergyman is astonished, but also fascinated. He then makes the extraordinary act of asking Varney to seek asylum in his house. Mr. Bevan promises to keep his presence a secret. Varney, having never been confronted with this attitude, is taken aback. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Modification History Version Date Who What changes made -------- -------- ------------- ---------------------------------- 1.00 04/18/1998 H.Liu Initial gold version, rough proof read. ==================================End of File=================================