Vampires vs. Werewolves – Ultimate Collection. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
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Mr. Marchdale turned very pale, and trembled slightly, but he did not speak.
"On, on," cried Henry; "for God's sake, let us hasten on."
As he spoke, he cleared the gate at a bound, and at a terrific pace he made towards the house, passing over beds, and plantations, and flowers heedlessly, so that he went the most direct way to it.
Before, however, it was possible for any human speed to accomplish even half of the distance, the report of the other shot came upon his ears, and he even fancied he heard the bullet whistle past his head in tolerably close proximity. This supposition gave him a clue to the direction at all events from whence the shots proceeded, otherwise he knew not from which window they were fired, because it had not occurred to him, previous to leaving home, to inquire in which room Flora and his mother were likely to be seated waiting his return.
He was right as regarded the bullet. It was that winged messenger of death which had passed his head in such very dangerous proximity, and consequently he made with tolerable accuracy towards the open window from whence the shots had been fired.
The night was not near so dark as it had been, although even yet it was very far from being a light one, and he was soon enabled to see that there was a room, the window of which was wide open, and lights burning on the table within. He made towards it in a moment, and entered it. To his astonishment, the first objects he beheld were Flora and a stranger, who was now supporting her in his arms. To grapple him by the throat was the work of a moment, but the stranger cried aloud in a voice which sounded familiar to Harry—
"Good God, are you all mad?"
Henry relaxed his hold, and looked in his face.
"Gracious heavens, it is Mr. Holland!" he said.
"Yes; did you not know me?"
Henry was bewildered. He staggered to a seat, and, in doing so, he saw his mother, stretched apparently lifeless upon the floor. To raise her was the work of a moment, and then Marchdale and George, who had followed him as fast as they could, appeared at the open window.
Such a strange scene as that small room now exhibited had never been equalled in Bannerworth Hall. There was young Mr. Holland, of whom mention has already been made, as the affianced lover of Flora, supporting her fainting form. There was Henry doing equal service to his mother; and on the floor lay the two pistols, and one of the candles which had been upset in the confusion; while the terrified attitudes of George and Mr. Marchdale at the window completed the strange-looking picture.
"What is this—oh! what has happened?" cried George.
"I know not—I know not," said Henry. "Some one summon the servants; I am nearly mad."
Mr. Marchdale at once rung the bell, for George looked so faint and ill as to be incapable of doing so; and he rung it so loudly and so effectually, that the two servants who had been employed suddenly upon the others leaving came with much speed to know what was the matter.
"See to your mistress," said Henry. "She is dead, or has fainted. For God's sake, let who can give me some account of what has caused all this confusion here."
"Are you aware, Henry," said Marchdale, "that a stranger is present in the room?"
He pointed to Mr. Holland as he spoke, who, before Henry could reply, said—
"Sir, I may be a stranger to you, as you are to me, and yet no stranger to those whose home this is."
"No, no," said Henry, "you are no stranger to us, Mr. Holland, but are thrice welcome—none can be more welcome. Mr. Marchdale, this is Mr. Holland, of whom you have heard me speak."
"I am proud to know you, sir," said Marchdale.
"Sir, I thank you," replied Holland, coldly.
It will so happen; but, at first sight, it appeared as if those two persons had some sort of antagonistic feeling towards each other, which threatened to prevent effectually their ever becoming intimate friends.
The appeal of Henry to the servants to know if they could tell him what had occurred was answered in the negative. All they knew was that they had heard two shots fired, and that, since then, they had remained where they were, in a great fright, until the bell was rung violently. This was no news at all and, therefore, the only chance was, to wait patiently for the recovery of the mother, or of Flora, from one or the other of whom surely some information could be at once then procured.
Mrs. Bannerworth was removed to her own room, and so would Flora have been; but Mr. Holland, who was supporting her in his arms, said—
"I think the air from the open window is recovering her, and it is likely to do so. Oh, do not now take her from me, after so long an absence. Flora, Flora, look up; do you not know me? You have not yet given me one look of acknowledgment. Flora, dear Flora!"
The sound of his voice seemed to act as the most potent of charms in restoring her to consciousness; it broke through the death-like trance in which she lay, and, opening her beautiful eyes, she fixed them upon his face, saying—
"Yes, yes; it is Charles—it is Charles."
She burst into a hysterical flood of tears, and clung to him like some terrified child to its only friend in the whole wide world.
"Oh, my dear friends," cried Charles Holland, "do not deceive me; has Flora been ill?"
"We have all been ill," said George.
"All ill?"
"Ay, and nearly mad," exclaimed Harry.
Holland looked from one to the other in surprise, as well he might, nor was that surprise at all lessened when Flora made an effort to extricate herself from his embrace, as she exclaimed—
"You must leave me—you must leave me, Charles, for ever! Oh! never, never look upon my face again!"
"I—I am bewildered," said Charles.
"Leave me, now," continued Flora; "think me unworthy; think what you will, Charles, but I cannot, I dare not, now be yours."
"Is this a dream?"
"Oh, would it were. Charles, if we had never met, you would be happier—I could not be more wretched."
"Flora, Flora, do you say these words of so great cruelty to try my love?"
"No, as Heaven is my judge, I do not."
"Gracious Heaven, then, what do they mean?"
Flora shuddered, and Henry, coming up to her, took her hand in his tenderly, as he said—
"Has it been again?"
"It has."
"You shot it?"
"I fired full upon it, Henry, but it fled."
"It did—fly?"
"It did, Henry, but it will come again—it will be sure to come again."
"You—you hit it with the bullet?" interposed Mr. Marchdale. "Perhaps you killed it?"
"I think I must have hit it, unless I am mad."
Charles Holland looked from one to the other with such a look of intense surprise, that George remarked it, and said at once to him—
"Mr. Holland, a full explanation is due to you, and you shall have it."
"You seem the only rational person here," said Charles. "Pray what is it that everybody calls 'it?'"
"Hush—hush!" said Henry; "you shall hear soon, but not at present."
"Hear me, Charles," said Flora. "From this moment mind, I do release you from every vow, from every promise made to me of constancy and love; and if you are wise, Charles, and will be advised, you will now this moment leave this house never to return to it."
"No," said Charles—"no; by Heaven