Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  “Not even thin, me Lord darlin’” she said with a cheery smile. “An’ I’m thinkin’ it’s thankin’ me — you an’ yer lovely wife too — ’ll be before ye’re well out of sight of this place. Faix it’s a nice sort iy ould gooseberry I’d be, sittin’ in the carriage wid me arrums foulded, wid me darlin’ Lord sittin’ in front dhrivin’ like a show-flure in a shute iy leather. An’ his bride beside him, wid her arrums round him bekase both his own is busy wid the little wheel; an’ her wondhrin’, wid tears in her beautiful grey eyes, why he doesn’t kiss her what she’s pinin’ fur. Augh! no! Not me, this time! I was a bride meself — wanst. An’ I know betther nor me young Lady does now, what is what on the weddin’ day afther the words is said. Though she’ll pick up, so she will. She’s not the soort that’ll be long larnin’! Musha...” Her further revelations and prophesyings were cut short by Athlyne’s kissing her and saying “Good-bye!”

  If the journey up North had been Fairyland, the journey southward was heaven for both the young people. Athlyne felt all the triumph of a conqueror. If he had sung out loud, as he would like to have done, his song would have been a war-song rather than a love-song. There was the elan of the conqueror about him; the stress of love-longing and love-pining were behind him. The battle was won, and his conqueror’s booty was beside him, well content to be in his train. Still even conqueror’s love has its duties as well as its right, and he was more tender than ever to Joy. She, sitting beside him in all the radiancy of her new found wifehood, felt that their hearts were beating together; and that their thoughts swayed in unison. When her eyes would be lifted from the lean, strong, brown hands gripping the steering wheel — for in the rush of departure he had other things to think of than putting on the gloves which were squeezed behind him in his seat — and would look up into his face she would feel a sort of electric shock as his eyes, leaving for a moment their steering duty, would flash into hers with a look of love which made her quiver. But presently when his yielding to affection had been tested, and even her curiosity had been satisfied, she ceased such sudden looks. She realised his idea of the gravity of the situation when she saw, as his eyes returned to their necessary task, the hard look become fixed on his eagle face — the look which to one engaged in his task means safety to those under his care. She was all sympathy with him now. She was content that his will should prevail; that his duty should be the duty of both; that her service was to help him. And the first moment she realised this, she sighed happily as she sank back in her seat, her lover-rapture merged in wife-content. She had compensation for the foregoing in the exercise of her own pride. From her present standpoint all that came within the scope of her senses was supremely beautiful. The mountains grey and mysterious in their higher and further peaks; the dark woods running flamelike up into the glory of the mountain colouring; the scent of the new-mown hay, drifted across the track by the bracing winds sweeping over the hills; the glimmering sapphire of the water as they swept by lake or river, or caught flashes of the distant Forth through long green valleys. They went fast; Athlyne’s wild excitement — the echo of the battle-phrenzy that had won him distinction on the field — found some relief in speed. He had thrown open the throttle of his powerful engine and swept along at such a speed that the whole landscape seemed to fly by the rushing car, giving only momentary glimpses of even the most far-flung beauty. He did not fear police traps now. He did not fear anything! Even the car seemed to have yielded itself like a living thing to the spell of the situation. Its wheels purred softly as it swept along, and the speed made a wind which seemed to roar in the ears of the two who were one.

  Joy felt that she had a right to be content. This journey was of her own choosing entirely. The manner of it had been this: when the party had been arranged for starting her father had said to Athlyne:

  “When you get to Ambleside, as I suppose you will do before us, will you give orders to have everything ready for our party. You can do this before you drive over to Bowness. You can come over to dinner if you like. I suppose you and Joy will want to see something of each other — all you can indeed, before the wedding comes off. That can be as soon as you like after you have got the license.” To this he had replied:

  “I should like to — and shall-do anything I can, sir, to meet your wishes. But I cannot promise to do anything now, on quite my own initiative. You see our dear girl has to be consulted; and I need not tell you that her wishes must prevail — so far as I am concerned!”

  “Quite right, my boy! Quite right!” said the old man. Then we shall leave the orders to her. Here, Joy!” she came over, and her father put his suggestion to her. She hesitated gravely, and paused before she spoke; she evidently intended that there should be no mistake as to her deliberate intention:

  “No! Daddy, that won’t do; I’m going with my husband!” She took his arm and clung to him lovingly, her finger tips biting sweedy into his flesh. “But, Daddy dear, we’ll come over to-morrow and lunch or breakfast with you, if we may. Call it early lunch or late breakfast. We shall be over about noon. Remember we have to come from Bowness!”

  Athlyne seemed to float in air as he heard her. There was something so sweedy — so truly wifely, in her words and attitude that it won to his heart and set him in a state of rapture.

  The late breakfast at Ambleside next day, though ostensibly a mere family breakfast, was hardly to be classed in that category. It was in reality regarded by all the family at present resident in that town as a wedding breakfast. They had one and all dressed themselves for the occasion. Not in complete marriage costume, which would have looked a little overdone, but in a modified form which sufficiently expressed in the mind of each the prevailing spirit of rejoicing. A few seconds before noon the “toot toot” of Athlyne’s powerful hooter was heard some distance off. All rushed to the windows to see the great red car swing round the corner. The chauffeur was driving; the bride and groom sat in the tonneau. As Athlyne was not driving he wore an ordinary morning dress — a well-cut suit of light grey which set out well his tall, lithe powerful figure. Joy was wrapped in a huge motor coat of soft grey, with her head shrouded in a veil of the same colour. In the hall they both took off their wraps, Athlyne helping his wife with the utmost tenderness. When they came into the room they made a grey pair, for with the exception of Athlyne’s brown eyes and hair and a scarlet neck tie, and Joy’s dark hair and a flash of the same scarlet as her husband’s on her breast, they were grey — all grey. It would seem as if the whole colour-scheme of the couple had been built round Joy’s eyes. She certainly looked lovely; there was a brilliant colour in her cheeks, and between her scarlet lips her teeth, when she smiled, flashed like pearls. She was in a state of buoyancy, seeming rather to float about than to move like a being on feet. She was all sweetness and affection, and flitted from one to another, leaving a wake of beaming happiness behind her.

  Athlyne too was manifestly happy; but in quieter fashion, as is the way of a man. He was not overt or demonstrative in his attention to Joy; but his eyes followed her perpetually, and his ears seemed to hear every whisper regarding her, Her eyes too, kept turning to him wherever she might be or to whom speaking. Judy at first stood beaming at the pair with a look of proprietary interest; but after a while she began to be a trifle nettled by the husband’s absorption in her niece. This feeling culminated when as Joy tripped slightly on the edge of the hearth-rug her husband started towards her with a swift movement and with that quick intake of breath which manifests alarmed concern. Judy’s impulsiveness found its expression in a semi-humorous, semi-sarcastic remark:

  “Why Athlyne you seem to look on the girl as if she was brittle! You weren’t like that yesterday when you flashed her away from us at sixty miles an hour!” For a moment there was silence and all eyes were fixed on Joy who looked embarrassed and turn rosy-red. Athlyne to relieve her drew their attention on himself:

  “No, my dear Judy — I’m not ever going to call you anything else you know. She wasn’t my wife th
en!”

  “Wasn’t she!” came the answer tardy spoken. “She was just as much your wife then. She had been married to you only twice! And the first marriage was good enough for anything. I know that is so, for my sheriff says so! — Oh...” The ejaculation was due to the shame of sudden recognition of her confession. She blushed furiously; the Sheriff, looking radiantly happy, stepped over to her, took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.

  “I think my dear,” he said slowly and quietly, “that constitutes a marriage — if you will have it so?” She looked at him shyly and said quietly:

  “If you like to count it a step on the way — like Joy’s first marriage, do so — dear! Then if you like we can make it real when Joy becomes a wife — in the Church!”

  Everyone in the room was so interested in this little episode that two of them only noticed a queer note of dissent or expostulation, coming in the shape of a sort of modified grunt from the two matrons of the party. Said Athlyne, still mindful of his intent to protect Joy:

  “All right. Judy. I’ll remember: ‘my sheriff,’ if there’s any more chaffing. It seems that he’ll be ‘britde’ before long!” Judy flashed one keen happy glance at him as she whispered close in his ear:

  “Don’t be ungenerous!” For reply he whispered back:

  “Forgive me — dear. I did not intend to he nasty. I’m too happy for anything of that sort!”

  As breakfast wore on and the familiarity of domestic life followed constraint, matters of the future came on the tapis. When Mrs. Ogilvie asked the young couple if they had yet settled when the marriage — the church marriage — was to come off, Joy looked down demurely at the table cloth as her husband answered:

  “I go up to town early in the morning to get the License. It is all in hand and there will be no hitch and no delay. I had a wire this morning from my solicitor about it; and also one from the Archbishop congratulating me. I shall be home by the ten ten train on Thursday and we can have the wedding late that afternoon, if you will have the church and the parson ready.”

  “But, my dear boy, isn’t that rather sudden?”

  “Not sudden enough for me! But really, so far as I am concerned, I shall wait as long as Joy wishes. Now that we are married already, I fancy it doesn’t much matter. Only that anything which could possibly bind me closer to Joy will always be a happiness to me, I don’t care whether we have a third marriage at all.” Mrs. Ogilvie caught her daughter’s eye and answered at once:

  “So be it then! Thursday afternoon at six. I suppose there can be no objection as to canonical hours?” The Sheriff answered:

  “I can tell you that. The License of the Archbishop goes through and beyond all canonical hours and all places — in South Britain of course. Armed with that instrument you can celebrate the marriage when and where you will.” Joy and Athlyne were by this time holding hands and whispering.

  “Of course Joy will stay with us till then — Athlyne.” Mrs. Ogilvie spoke the last word with a pause; it was the first time she had used his name.

  “Not ‘of course.’” he answered. “She is the head of her house now and must be free to do as she please. But I am sure she will like to come to you.” Joy made a protesting “moue” at him as she said:

  “Of course I’d like to be with Mother and Daddy, and Judy — if I — if I am not to be with you — Oh, darling! you’re hurting me. You’re so frightfully strong!”

  Breakfast being over, the party broke up and moved about the room. Joy was sitting on the sofa with her Mother when Mrs. O’Brien came sidling up by the wall. When she got close she curtsied and said:

  “Won’t ye tell me now, me Lady, if I’m to be the wan to nurse yer child-her?”

  “Oh dear! But Mrs. O’Brien, I said only yesterday that I’d tell you that some other time. You are previous! — Didn’t you hear that I am to be married on Thursday. Later on...”

  “No time like the prisint, me Lady. It was yistherday ye shpoke; an to-day’s to-day. Mayn’t I nurse yer ch...

  “Tell her, dear — ” her Mother had begun, when Judy joined the group.

  “What’s all this about? Whose children are you talking of?” began the merry spinster. But her sister cut her short “Never you mind, Judy! You just go and sit down and try and get accustomed to silence so as to be ready to keep your Sheriff out of an asylum.” Athlyne, too, with ears preternaturally sharp on Joy’s account, had heard something of the conversation. Looking over at his wife, he saw her face divinely rosy, and with a troubled, hunted look in her eyes. He too instantly waded into the fray.

  “I say, let her alone you all! I hope they’re not teasing you darling?” Joy, fearing that something unpleasant might be said, on one side or the other, made haste to reassure him.

  Then she closed his mouth in the very best way that a young wife can do — the way that seems to take his feet from earth and to raise him to heaven.

  THE END

  THE LADY OF THE SHROUD

  This gothic novel was first published in 1909 and is noted for its mysterious opening. Adrift off the coast of the fictional Blue Mountains, a small coffin appears containing a white-shrouded woman. She rises from the sea, seeking refuge in the Castle of Vissarion in the middle of the night. The rich young Rupert Leger lets the mysterious beauty in, much to his puzzlement.

  The first edition

  CONTENTS

  FROM “THE JOURNAL OF OCCULTISM” MID-JANUARY, 1907.

  BOOK I: THE WILL OF ROGER MELTON

  The Reading of the Will of Roger Melton and all that Followed

  ERNEST ROGER HALBARD MELTON’S RECORD — Continued.

  ERNEST ROGER HALBARD MELTON’S RECORD.

  THE RECORD — Continued.

  BOOK II: VISSARION

  BOOK III: THE COMING OF THE LADY

  Rupert Sent Leger’s Journal.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  BOOK IV: UNDER THE FLAGSTAFF

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  BOOK V: A RITUAL AT MIDNIGHT

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  BOOK VI: THE PURSUIT IN THE FOREST

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL. — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  FROM RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  FROM THE SCRIPT OF THE VOIVODE, PETER VISSARION,

  BOOK VII: THE EMPIRE OF THE AIR

  FROM THE REPORT OF CRISTOFEROS, WAR-SCRIBE TO THE NATIONAL COUNCIL.

  FROM RUPERT’S JOURNAL.

  FROM THE REPORT OF CRISTOFEROS, SCRIBE OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL OF THE LAND OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.

  THE SAME (LATER IN THE SAME DAY).

  FROM RUPERT’S JOURNAL.

  JANET MACKELPIE’S NOTES.

  JANET MACKELPIE’S NOTES.

  THE SAME (LATER).

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL.

  TEUTA SENT LEGER’S DIARY.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  BOOK VIII: THE FLASHING OF THE HANDJAR

  PRIVATE MEMORANDUM OF THE MEETING OF VARIOUS MEMBERS OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL, HELD AT THE STATE HOUSE OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS AT PLAZAC ON MONDAY, AUGUST 26, 1907.

  THE SAME — Continued.

  RECORD OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL OF THE LAND OF THE BL
UE MOUNTAINS, HELD AT PLAZAC ON MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 9TH, 1907, TO CONSIDER THE ADOPTION OF A NEW CONSTITUTION, AND TO GIVE PERMANENT EFFECT TO THE SAME IF, AND WHEN, DECIDED UPON.

  THE SAME — Continued.

  FROM “The London Messenger.”

  FROM “The London Messenger.”

  BOOK IX: BALKA

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued (Longe Intervallo).

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  THE VOIVODIN JANET MACKELPIE’S NOTES.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  RUPERT’S JOURNAL — Continued.

  JANET MACKELPIE’S NOTES.

  THE FEDERATION BALKA.

  FROM “THE JOURNAL OF OCCULTISM” MID-JANUARY, 1907.

  A strange story comes from the Adriatic. It appears that on the night of the 9th, as the Italia Steamship Company’s vessel “Victorine” was passing a little before midnight the point known as “the Spear of Ivan,” on the coast of the Blue Mountains, the attention of the Captain, then on the bridge, was called by the look-out man to a tiny floating light close inshore. It is the custom of some South-going ships to run close to the Spear of Ivan in fine weather, as the water is deep, and there is no settled current; also there are no outlying rocks. Indeed, some years ago the local steamers had become accustomed to hug the shore here so closely that an intimation was sent from Lloyd’s that any mischance under the circumstances would not be included in ordinary sea risks. Captain Mirolani is one of those who insist on a wholesome distance from the promontory being kept; but on his attention having been called to the circumstance reported, he thought it well to investigate it, as it might be some case of personal distress. Accordingly, he had the engines slowed down, and edged cautiously in towards shore. He was joined on the bridge by two of his officers, Signori Falamano and Destilia, and by one passenger on board, Mr. Peter Caulfield, whose reports of Spiritual Phenomena in remote places are well known to the readers of “The Journal of Occultism.” The following account of the strange occurrence written by him, and attested by the signatures of Captain Mirolani and the other gentleman named, has been sent to us.