"The effect of my wife's death was a very great shock to me, and such a
one I could not forget--one I shall ever remember, and one that at least
made a lasting impression upon me." *       *       *       *       *

"Strange, but true, I never entered a gambling-house; it was my horror
and my aversion. And yet I could obtain no employment. I took my
daughter and placed her at a boarding-school, and tried hard to obtain
bread by labour; but, do what would, none could be had; if my soul
depended upon it, I could find none. I cared not what it was--anything
that was honest. "I was reduced low--very low; gaunt starvation showed itself in my
cheeks; but I wandered about to find employment; none could be found,
and the world seemed to have conspired together to throw me back to the
gaming-table. "But this I would not. At last employment was offered; but what was it? The situation of common hangman was offered me. The employment was
disgusting and horrible; but, at the same time, it was all I could get,
and that was a sufficient inducement for me to accept of it. I was,
therefore, the common executioner; and in that employment for some time
earned a living. It was terrible; but necessity compelled me to accept
the only thing I could obtain. You now know the reason why I became what
I have told you." CHAPTER LXXIII. THE VISIT OF THE VAMPIRE.--THE GENERAL MEETING. [Illustration]

The mysterious friend of Mr. Chillingworth finished his narrative, and
then the doctor said to him,--

"And that, then, is the real cause why you, a man evidently far above
the position of life which is usually that of those who occupy the
dreadful post of executioner, came to accept of it." --"The real reason,
sir. I considered, too, that in holding such a humiliating situation
that I was justly served for the barbarity of which I had been guilty;
for what can be a greater act of cruelty than to squander, as I did, in
the pursuit of mad excitement, those means which should have rendered my
home happy, and conduced to the welfare of those who were dependant upon
me?" "I do not mean to say that your self-reproaches are unjust altogether,
but--What noise is that? do you hear anything?" --

"Yes--yes." "What do you take it to be?" --"It seemed like the footsteps of a number
of persons, and it evidently approaches nearer and nearer. I know not
what to think." "Shall I tell you?" said a deep-toned voice, and some one, through the
orifice in the back of the summer-house, which, it will be recollected,
sustained some damage at the time that Varney escaped from it, laid a
hand upon Mr. Chillingworth's shoulder. "God bless me!" exclaimed the
doctor; "who's that?" and he sprang from his seat with the greatest
perturbation in the world. "Varney, the vampyre!" added the voice, and then both the doctor and his
companion recognised it, and saw the strange, haggard features, that now
they knew so well, confronting them. There was a pause of surprise, for
a moment or two, on the part of the doctor, and then he said, "Sir
Francis Varney, what brings you here? I conjure you to tell me, in the
name of common justice and common feeling, what brings you to this house
so frequently? You have dispossessed the family, whose property it is,
of it, and you have caused great confusion and dismay over a whole
county. I implore you now, not in the language of menace or as an enemy,
but as the advocate of the oppressed, and one who desires to see justice
done to all, to tell me what it is you require." "There is no time now for explanation," said Varney, "if explanations
were my full and free intent. You wished to know what noise was that you
heard?" "I did; can you inform me?" --"I can. The wild and lawless mob which you
and your friends first induced to interfere in affairs far beyond their
or your control, are now flushed with the desire of riot and of plunder. The noise you hear is that of their advancing footsteps; they come to
destroy Bannerworth Hall." "Can that be possible? The Bannerworth family are the sufferers from all
that has happened, and not the inflictors of suffering." --"Ay, be it so;
but he who once raises a mob has raised an evil spirit, which, in the
majority of cases, it requires a far more potent spell than he is master
of to quell again." "It is so. That is a melancholy truth; but you address me, Sir Francis
Varney, as if I led on the mob, when in reality I have done all that lay
in my power, from the very first moment of their rising on account of
this affair, which, in the first instance, was your work, to prevent
them from proceeding to acts of violence." --"It may be so; but if you
have now any regard for your own safety you will quit this place. It
will too soon become the scene of a bloody contention. A large party of
dragoons are even now by another route coming towards it, and it will be
their duty to resist the aggressions of the mob; then should the rioters
persevere, you can guess the result." --"I can, indeed." "Retire then while you may, and against the bad deeds of Sir Francis
Varney at all events place some of his good ones, that he may not seem
wholly without one redeeming trait." --"I am not accustomed," said the
doctor, "to paint the devil blacker than he really is; but yet the cruel
persecutions that the Bannerworth family have endured call aloud for
justice. You still, with a perseverance which shows you regardless of
what others suffer so that you compass your own ends, hover round a spot
which you have rendered desolate." "Hark, sir; do you not hear the tramp of horses' feet?" --"I do." The noise made by the feet of the insurgents was now almost drowned in
the louder and more rapid tramp of the horses' feet of the advancing
dragoons, and, in a few moments more, Sir Francis Varney waved his arm,
exclaiming,--

"They are here. Will you not consult your safety by flight?" --"No," said
Mr. Chillingworth's companion; "we prefer remaining here at the risk
even of whatever danger may accrue to us." "Fools, would you die in a chance _melee_ between an infuriated populace
and soldiery?" --"Do not leave," whispered the ex-hangman to Mr.
Chillingworth; "do not leave, I pray you. He only wants to have the Hall
to himself." There could be no doubt now of the immediate appearance of the cavalry,
and, before Sir Francis Varney could utter another word, a couple of the
foremost of the soldiers cleared the garden fence at a part where it was
low, and alighted not many feet from the summer-house in which this
short colloquy was taking place. Sir Francis Varney uttered a bitter
oath, and immediately disappeared in the gloom. "What shall we do?" said the hangman.--"You can do what you like, but I
shall avow my presence to the military, and claim to be on their side in
the approaching contest, if it should come to one, which I sincerely
hope it will not." The military detachment consisted of about twenty-five dragoons, who now
were all in the gardens.