The Macabre Megapack. Lafcadio Hearn
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know all. Aid me now!”
“Oh, that I could!” faltered Edgar.
“Mistake me not,” said the wounded man, gloomily; “I know that my hours are numbered; my life is ebbing fast. I ask of you no leechcraft, for I fear not death! But swear to me, Edgar—by your own life, which you owe to me—by all that is dear to you on earth—by your soul’s salvation—”
“What must I swear?” interrupted the young man.
“Swear,” was the answer, “not to reveal to any mortal—to man or woman—aught that thou hast known me, or aught thou shalt know—before the first hour of the first day of the coming month! Swear it!”
“Strange!” muttered Edgar, while a cold thrill pervaded his whole frame. But the hands of the dying man grasped both of his—the eyes, glassed with approaching death, were fastened on him—the hollow voice again spoke imploringly—“Swear!”
“Be it so!” answered the youth, and he repeated the words of the oath.
“Yet one more boon!” said Arthur, after a pause, while his strength was fast sinking. “Bear me to the summit of yonder rock, and place me so that the moonlight will shine upon my face.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Edgar, “what means this strange—thou art not—surely—”
“Hold!” cried Arthur, his eyes flashing suddenly, though the next moment a dimness came over them. Feebly raising his hand he pointed towards the rock.
Trembling, the young man lifted the expiring Baron, and bore him to the spot pointed out. But once spoke he after being placed there—“Remember the oath!” Then a quick convulsion passed over his features—he breathed gaspingly—and the next instant lay cold and motionless at the feet of his companion.
Filled with emotion he could neither control nor account for, Edgar hastened from the spot, and with all speed out of the wood. The moon rose higher, pouring a light more vivid, like a mantle of snow, upon the stark rock where lay the corpse. It seemed as if her silvery beams were concentrated upon the still form and upturned face. As the orb rose to her meridian, life returned by slow degrees to the upheaving breast. Arthur opened his eyes, and rose to his feet in full strength once more.
“Ha-ha!” he shouted in wild exultation—while in the darkness beneath his feet gleamed unearthly phantom faces—“who will slay the dead?”
* * * *
When Edgar arrived at the castle, pale, breathless, and exhausted, he heard news little calculated to revive his spirits. A messenger had announced the return of his fair cousins’ affianced husband from abroad; and bore his greeting, which he intended to offer in person. Sir Aubrey himself, with looks of pleasure, announced this intelligence to him, and talked of the preparations he intended making for the reception of his son-in-law. But if this information, and the scene he had witnessed so lately, caused the young man a sleepless night, how was it next day with him, when the old Castellan, who had lodged in the small village two miles distant, brought to him the startling news he had learned there! The daughter of Baron Leslie, a rich noble who lived in an adjoining district, had fled from her home with a strange man, and had been found murdered in the wood. Her father, with his neighbors and servants, who discovered the hapless girl, found also the murderer, sitting by the body, from which, horrible to relate, he had just sucked the blood! He was a Vampyre! The bereaved father himself struck down the foe, while the others bore away the corpse of his victim.
“Then he was killed,” said Edgar faintly.
“Ah, sir!” cried the Castellan, “though slain one hour, he will walk abroad the next, ever intent on his foul deeds. No! the only hope is that he may fail to do the will of the witches who hold him in their service! Then his power on earth will be at an end.”
It would be vain to attempt a description of the effect of such rumors as these upon the sensitive mind of Edgar—associated, as they were, with what he himself had seen. His gloom and despondency were observed by his kinsman, who attributed them, unfortunately, to a different cause.
* * * *
Three weeks passed before another messenger announced that Lord Ruthven would be on the succeeding day at the castle. He came accordingly. Sir Aubrey himself received him with a warm welcome, and introduced him to his young kinsman. The first look Edgar cast upon him was like a death pang, curdling the blood in his heart. Lord Ruthven and Arthur were the same persons!
In the midst of his anguish and horror Edgar perceived that Malvine, at first sight of her lover, shuddered and shrank back, with the same instinctive aversion that had been shown by the ill-fated Nazarena. But she regained her self-possession by an effort, and spoke cordially to the man she had consented to receive as her husband.
The most fearful apprehensions that had reached the soul of Edgar fell short of the reality! Following Ruthven to the windows, to which he had turned at a pause in the conversation, Edgar whispered in his ear—
“Traitor! —Accursed! What dost thou here! Begone—”
The young lord turned, and gazed on him with looks of surprise.
“I know thee well!” said the agitated youth. “Begone, or—”
“What meaneth this?” asked Sir Aubrey, coming forward.
“This young man,” answered Lord Ruthven, with a smile, “seems to mistake me for someone whose company pleases him not.”
“Edgar!” repeated the Baron in displeasure, “is it thus thy word is kept?”
“Oh, you know not,” cried the young man in agony, “you know not whom you have received—”
“Thine oath!” hissed a voice close in his ear.
Ruthven’s lips moved not. Edgar cast a fearful glance around him, groaned aloud, and covering his face with his hands, rushed from the hall.
“Pardon the discourtesy of my kinsman,” said the Baron to Lord Ruthven. “It is but too easy to see the cause of his wild behavior. He cherishes a passion for my daughter, which, till now he has seemed to combat successfully. But he shall not be permitted to disturb our happiness. If he lacks firmness to control his feelings, he shall leave the castle till your marriage is concluded.”
Ruthven bowed with a smile of assent; and they proceeded to discourse of other matters. They were interrupted by the blast of a trumpet without; and after a few moments, a messenger from the capital was announced.
He brought the sovereign’s commands to the young lord—that he should immediately repair to his presence, as he wished to entrust him with dispatches to the monarch of England. Especial haste was enjoined.
Lord Ruthven hastily glanced at the credentials of the messenger, and handed them to the Baron.
“You will perceive, my lord,” he said, “that I cannot decline so imperative a duty as that of obedience to the king’s command. I am especially disturbed thereby, and must grieve sincerely, unless”—and his countenance brightened—“you consent that the marriage shall take place tonight. All minor matters are already settled between us; why should not the coming day find your daughter the bride of Ruthven?”
“There is no reason, in good truth,” answered Aubrey.
“You pardon the boldness of my petition?” cried the noble. “Win the consent of the beauteous Malvine, and I will presently ride to my castle—give the necessary orders for the journey on the morrow—and return at nightfall to claim my bride!”
The Baron made no opposition to this arrangement; and his will was law to his fair daughter. His word was pledged for both. Ruthven took leave for the brief period of his intended absence, after entreating his friend to present on his part a brilliant ring to his betrothed.
Lord Ruthven passed hastily through the great gallery, on his way to the court of the castle, where his horse stood already saddled. A wild-looking figure, with pale and haggard face, stood in