The narrative which Lady Alice had selected was entitled thus: —
"In the Province of Normandy, in the year of grace 1405, there lived a young gentleman of Styrian descent, possessing estates in Hungary, but a still more opulent fortune in France. His park abutted on that of the Chevalier de St. Aubrache, who was a man also young, of ancient lineage, proud to excess, and though wealthy, by no means so wealthy as his Styrian neighbour.
"This disparity in riches excited the wrath of the jealous nobleman, who having once admitted the passions of envy and hatred to his heart, omitted no opportunity to injure him.
"The Chevalier de St. Aubrache, in fact, succeeded so well – "
Just at this point in the tale, Beatrix, with her flowers, not expecting to find Guy Strangways still in attendance, entered the room.
"You need not go; come in, dear – you've brought me some flowers – come in, I say; thank you, Beatrix, dear – they are very pretty, and very sweet too. Here is Mr. Strangways – sit by me, dear – reading a curious old tale of witchcraft. Tell her the beginning, pray."
So Strangways told the story over again in his best way, and then proceeded to read as follows: —
"The Chevalier de St. Aubrache, in fact, succeeded so well, that on a point of law, aided by a corrupt judge in the Parliament of Rouen, he took from him a considerable portion of his estate, and subsequently so managed matters without committing himself, that he lost his life unfairly in a duel, which the Chevalier secretly contrived.
"Now there was in the household of the gentleman so made away with, a certain Hungarian, older than he, a grave and politic man, and reputed to have studied the art of magic deeply. By this man was the corpse of the deceased gentleman duly coffined, had away to Styria, and, it is said, there buried according to certain conditions, with which the Hungarian magician, who had vowed a terrible revenge, was well acquainted.
"In the meantime the Chevalier de St. Aubrache had espoused a very beautiful demoiselle of the noble family of D'Ayenterre, by whom he had one daughter, so beautiful that she was the subject of universal admiration, which increased in the heart of her proud father that affection which it was only natural that he should cherish for her.
"It was about the time of Candlemas, a full score of years after the death of his master, that the Hungarian magician returned to Normandy, accompanied by a young gentleman, very pale indeed, but otherwise so exactly like the gentleman now so long dead, that no one who had been familiar with his features could avoid being struck, and indeed, affrighted with the likeness.
"The Chevalier de St. Aubrache was at first filled with horror, like the rest; but well knowing that the young man whom he, the stranger, so resembled, had been actually killed as aforesaid, in combat, and having never heard of vampires, which are among the most malignant and awful of the manifestations of the Evil One, and not recognising at all the Hungarian magician, who had been careful to disguise himself effectually; and, above all, relying on letters from the King of Hungary, with which, under a feigned name, as well as with others from the Archbishop of Toledo in Spain, he had come provided, he received him into his house; when the grave magician, who resembled a doctor of a university, and the fair-seeming vampire, being established in the house of their enemy, began to practise, by stealth, their infernal arts."
The old lady saw that in the reader's countenance, as he read this odd story, which riveted her gaze. Perhaps conscious of her steady and uncomfortable stare, as well as of a real parallel, he grew obviously disconcerted, and at last, as it seemed, even agitated as he proceeded.
"Young man, for Heaven's sake, will you tell me who you are?" said Lady Alice, her dark old eyes fixed fearfully on his face, as she rose unconsciously from her chair.
The young man, very pale, turned a despairing and almost savage look from her to Beatrix, and back to her again.
"You are not a Strangways," she continued.
He looked steadily at her, as if he were going to speak, then dropped his glance suddenly and remained silent.
"I say, I know your name is not Strangways," said the old lady, in increasing agitation.
"I can tell you nothing about myself," said he again, fixing his great dark eyes, that looked almost wild in his pallid face, full upon her, with a strange expression of anguish.
"In the Almighty's name, are you Guy Deverell?" she screamed, lifting up her thin hands between him and her in her terror.
The young man returned her gaze oddly, with, she fancied, a look of baffled horror in his face. It seemed to her like an evil spirit detected.
He recovered, however, for a few seconds, something of his usual manner. Instead of speaking, he bowed twice very low, and, on the point of leaving the room, he suddenly arrested his departure, turning about with a stamp on the floor; and walking back to her, he said, very gently —
"Yes, yes, why should I deny it? My name is Guy Deverell."
And was gone.
CHAPTER V
Farewell
"Oh! grandmamma, what is it?" said Beatrix, clasping her thin wrist.
The old lady, stooping over the chair on which she leaned, stared darkly after the vanished image, trembling very much.
"What is Deverell – why should the name be so dreadful – is there anything – oh! grandmamma, is there anything very bad?"
"I don't know – I am confused – did you ever see such a face? My gracious Heaven!" muttered Lady Alice.
"Oh! grandmamma, darling, tell me what it is, I implore of you."
"Yes, dear, everything; another time. I can't now. I might do a mischief. I might prevent – you must promise me, darling, to tell no one. You must not say his name is Deverell. You say nothing about it. That dreadful, dreadful story!"
The folio was lying with crumpled leaves, back upward, on the floor, where it had fallen.
"There is something plainly fearful in it. You think so, grandmamma; something discovered; something going to happen. Send after him, grandmamma; call him back. If it is anything you can prevent, I'll ring."
"Don't touch the bell," cried granny, sharply, clutching at her hand, "don't do it. See, Beatrix, you promise me you say nothing to anyone of what you've witnessed —promise. I'll tell you all I know when I'm better. He'll come again. I wish he'd come again. I'm sure he will, though I hardly think I could bear to see him. I don't know what to think."
The old lady threw herself back in her chair, not affectedly at all, but looking so awfully haggard and agitated that Beatrix was frightened.
"Call nobody, there's a darling; just open the window; I shall be better."
And she heaved some of those long and heavy sighs which relieve hysterical oppression; and, after a long silence, she said —
"It is a long time since I have felt so ill, Beatrix. Remember this, darling, my papers are in the black cabinet in my bed-room at home – I mean Wardlock. There is not a great deal. My jointure stops, you know; but whatever little there is, is for you, darling."
"You're not to talk of it, granny, darling, you'll be quite well in a minute; the air is doing you good. May I give you a little wine? – Well, a little water?"
"Thanks, dear; I am better. Remember what I told you, and particularly your promise to mention what you heard to no one. I mean the – the – strange scene with that young man. I think I will take a glass of wine. I'll tell you all when I'm better – when Monsieur Varbarriere comes back. It is important for a time, especially having heard what I have, that I should wait a little."
Granny sipped a little sherry slowly, and the tint of life, such as visits the cheek of the aged, returned to hers, and she was better.
"I'd