The Chain of Destiny by Bram Stoker (read full novel TXT) 📖

that

it was enacted, seemed half comedy and half tragedy, and to remember

that it was played in this practical nineteenth century, in secret,

within earshot of a room full of people, and only hidden from them

by a curtain, I felt myself blushing, half from excitement, half

from shame, when I thought of it. But then my thoughts turned to

the way in which Miss Fothering had acceded to my request, strange

as it was; and as I thought of her my blundering shame changed to

a deeper glow of hope. I remembered Mrs. Trevor’s prediction—“from

what I know of human nature I think that she will like you”—and as

I did so I felt how dear to me Miss Fothering was already becoming.

But my joy was turned to anger on thinking what she might be called

on to endure; and the thought of her suffering pain or fright caused

me greater distress than any suffered myself. Again my thoughts

flew back to the time of my own fright and my dream, with all the

subsequent revelations concerning it, rushed across my mind. I

felt again the feeling of extreme terror—as if something was about

to happen—as if the tragedy was approaching its climax. Naturally

I thought of the time of night and so I looked at my watch. It

was within a few minutes of one o’clock. I remembered that the

clock had struck twelve after Mr. Trevor had come home on the night

of my dream. There was a large clock at Scarp which tolled the

hours so loudly that for a long way round the estate the country

people all regulated their affairs by it. The next few minutes

passed so slowly that each moment seemed an age.

 

I was standing, with my watch in my hand, counting the moments

when suddenly a light came into the room that made the candle on

the table appear quite dim, and my shadow was reflected on the wall

by some brilliant light which streamed in through the window. My

heart for an instant ceased to beat, and then the blood rushed so

violently to my temples that my eyes grew dim and my brain began to

reel. However, I shortly became more composed, and then went to the

window expecting to see my dream again repeated.

 

The light was there as formerly, but there were no figures of

children, or witches, or fiends. The moon had just risen, and I

could see its reflection upon the far end of the lake. I turned my

head in trembling expectation to the ground below where I had seen

the children and the hags, but saw merely the dark yew trees and

tall crested pampass tufts gently moving in the night wind. The

light caught the edges of the flowers of the grass, and made them

most conspicuous.

 

As I looked a sudden thought flashed like a flame of fire

through my brain. I saw in one second of time all the folly of

my wild fancies. The moonlight and its reflection on the water

shining into the room was the light of my dream, or phantasm as

I now understood it to be. Those three tufts of pampass grass

clumped together were in turn the fair young children and the

withered leaves and the dark foliage of the yew beside them gave

substance to the semblance of the fiend. For the rest, the empty

bed and the face of the picture, my half recollection of the

name of Fothering, and the long-forgotten legend of the curse.

Oh, fool! fool that I had been! How I had been the victim of

circumstances, and of my own wild imagination! Then came the

bitter reflection of the agony of mind which Miss Fothering might

be compelled to suffer. Might not the recital of my dream, and

my strange request regarding the token, combined with the natural

causes of night and scene, produce the very effect which I so

dreaded? It was only at that bitter, bitter moment that I realised

how foolish I had been. But what was my anguish of mind to hers?

For an instant I conceived the idea of rousing Mrs. Trevor and

telling her all the facts of the case so that she might go to Miss

Fothering and tell her not to be alarmed. But I had no time to act

upon my thought. As I was hastening to the door the clock struck

one and a moment later I heard from the room below me a sharp

scream—a cry of surprise rather than fear. Miss Fothering had no

doubt been awakened by the striking of the clock, and had seen

outside the window the very figures which I had described to her.

 

I rushed madly down the stairs and arrived at the door of her

bedroom, which was directly under the one which I now occupied.

As I was about to rush in I was instinctively restrained from so

doing by the thoughts of propriety; and so for a few moments I

stood silent, trembling, with my hand upon the door-handle.

 

Within I heard a voice—her voice—exclaiming, in tones of

stupefied surprise—

 

“Has it come then? Am I alone?” She then continued joyously,

“No, I am not alone. His token! Oh, thank God for that. Thank

God for that.”

 

Through my heart at her words came a rush of wild delight. I

felt my bosom swell and the tears of gladness spring to my eyes.

In that moment I knew that I had strength and courage to face

the world, alone, for her sake. But before my hopes had well time

to manifest themselves they were destroyed, for again the voice

came wailing from the room of blank despair that made me cold

from head to foot.

 

“Ah-h-h! still there? Oh! God, preserve my reason. Oh! for

some human thing near me.” Then her voice changed slightly to

a tone of entreaty: “You will not leave me alone? Your token.

Remember your token. Help me. Help me now.” Then her voice

became more wild, and rose to an inarticulate, wailing scream

of horror.

 

As I heard that agonised cry, I realised the idea that it

was madness to delay—that I had hesitated too long already—I

must cast aside the shackles of conventionality if I wished to

repair my fatal error. Nothing could save her from some serious

injury—perhaps madness—perhaps death; save a shock which would

break the spell which was over her from fear and her excited

imagination. I flung open the door and rushed in, shouting

loudly:

 

“Courage, courage. You are not alone. I am here. Remember

the token.”

 

She grasped the handkerchief instinctively, but she hardly

comprehended my words, and did not seem to heed my presence. She

was sitting up in bed, her face being distorted with terror, and

was gazing out upon the scene. I heard from without the hooting

of an owl as it flew across the border of the lake. She heard it

also, and screamed—

 

“The laugh, too! Oh, there is no hope. Even he will not dare to

go amongst them.”

 

Then she gave vent to a scream, so wild, so appalling that, as

I heard it, I trembled, and the hair on the back of my head bristled

up. Throughout the house I could hear screams of affright,and the

ringing of bells, and the banging of doors, and the rush of hurried

feet; but the poor sufferer comprehended not these sounds; she still

continued gazing out of the window awaiting the consummation of the

dream.

 

I saw that the time for action and self-sacrifice was come.

There was but one way now to repair my fatal error. To burst

through the window and try by the shock to wake her from her

trance of fear.

 

I said no word but rushed across the room and hurled myself,

back foremost, against the massive plate glass. As I turned I saw

Mrs. Trevor rushing into the room, her face wild with excitement.

She was calling out—

 

“Diana, Diana, what is it?”

 

The glass crashed and shivered into a thousand pieces, and I

could feel its sharp edges cutting me like so many knives. But I

heeded not the pain, for above the rushing of feet and crashing

of glass and the shouting both within and without the room I

heard her voice ring forth in a joyous, fervent cry, “Saved. He

has dared,” as she sank down in the arms of Mrs. Trevor, who had

thrown herself upon the bed.

 

Then I felt a mighty shock, and all the universe seemed filled

with sparks of fire that whirled around me with lightning speed,

till I seemed to be in the centre of a world of flame, and then

came in my ears the rushing of a mighty wind, swelling ever louder,

and then came a blackness over all things and a deadness of sound

as if all the earth had passed away, and I remembered no more.

 

IV. Afterwards

 

When I next became conscious I was lying in bed in a dark room. I

wondered what this was for, and tried to look around me, but could

hardly stir my head. I attempted to speak, but my voice was without

power—it was like a whisper from another world. The effort to speak

made me feel faint, and again I felt a darkness gathering round me.

***

I became gradually conscious of something cool on my forehead. I

wondered what it was. All sorts of things I conjectured, but could

not fix my mind on any of them. I lay thus for some time, and at

length opened my eyes and saw my mother bending over me—it was her

hand which was so deliciously cool on my brow. I felt amazed

somehow. I expected to see her; and yet I was surprised, for I

had not seen her for a long time—a long, long time. I knew that

she was dead—could I be dead, too? I looked at her again more

carefully, and as I looked, the old features died away, but the

expression remained the same. And then the dear, well-known face

of Mrs. Trevor grew slowly before me. She smiled as she saw the

look of recognition in my eyes, and, bending down, kissed me very

tenderly. As she drew back her head something warm fell on my face.

I wondered what this could be, and after thinking for a long time,

to do which I closed my eyes, I came to the conclusion that it was

a tear. After some more thinking I opened my eyes to see why she

was crying; but she was gone, and I could see that although the

window-blinds were pulled up the room was almost dark. I felt

much more awake and much stronger than I had been before, and

tried to call Mrs. Trevor. A woman got up from a chair behind the

bed-curtains and went to the door, said something, and came back

and settled my pillows.

 

“Where is Mrs. Trevor?” I asked, feebly. “She was here just now.”

 

The woman smiled at me cheerfully, and answered:

 

“She will be here in a moment. Dear heart! but she will be glad

to see you so strong and sensible.”

 

After a few minutes she came into the room, and, bending over

me, asked me how I felt. I said that I was all right—and then a

thought struck me, so I asked,

 

“What was the matter with me?”

 

I was told that I had been ill, very ill, but that I was now

much better. Something, I know not what, suddenly recalled to my

memory all the scene of the bedroom, and the fright which my

folly had caused, and I grew quite dizzy