"CHAPTER I\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n\n(_Kept in shorthand._)\n\n\n_3 May. Bistritz._--Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at\nVienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an\nhour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I\ngot of it from the train and the little I could walk through the\nstreets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived\nlate and would start as near the correct time as possible. The\nimpression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the\nEast; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is\nhere of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish\nrule.\n\nWe left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh.\nHere I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or\nrather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was\nvery good but thirsty. (_Mem._, get recipe for Mina.) I asked the\nwaiter, and he said it was called \"paprika hendl,\" and that, as it was a\nnational dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the\nCarpathians. I found my smattering of German very useful here; indeed, I\ndon't know how I should be able to get on without it.\n\nHaving had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the\nBritish Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library\nregarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the\ncountry could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a\nnobleman of that country. I find that the district he named is in the\nextreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states,\nTransylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian\nmountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe. I was\nnot able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the\nCastle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare\nwith our own Ordnance Survey maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post\ntown named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter\nhere some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my\ntravels with Mina.\n\nIn the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities:\nSaxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the\ndescendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the\nEast and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be descended\nfrom Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered\nthe country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it. I\nread that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the\nhorseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of\nimaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (_Mem._, I\nmust ask the Count all about them.)\n\nI did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had\nall sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my\nwindow, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been\nthe paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was\nstill thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous\nknocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then.\nI had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour\nwhich they said was \"mamaliga,\" and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a\nvery excellent dish, which they call \"impletata.\" (_Mem._, get recipe\nfor this also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little\nbefore eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to\nthe station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour\nbefore we began to move. It seems to me that the further east you go the\nmore unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?\n\nAll day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of\nbeauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the\ntop of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by\nrivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side\nof them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, and\nrunning strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear. At every\nstation there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts\nof attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those I\nsaw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets and round hats\nand home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque. The women\nlooked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were very clumsy\nabout the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other,\nand most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of something\nfluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there\nwere petticoats under them. The strangest figures we saw were the\nSlovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy\nhats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous\nheavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass\nnails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and\nhad long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very\npicturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would be\nset down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They are,\nhowever, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in natural\nself-assertion.\n\nIt was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a\nvery interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier--for the\nBorgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina--it has had a very stormy\nexistence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series\nof great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate\noccasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent\na siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war\nproper being assisted by famine and disease.\n\nCount Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I\nfound, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of\ncourse I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I was\nevidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a\ncheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress--white\nundergarment with long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff\nfitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed and\nsaid, \"The Herr Englishman?\" \"Yes,\" I said, \"Jonathan Harker.\" She\nsmiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves,\nwho had followed her to the door. He went, but immediately returned with\na letter:--\n\n     \"My Friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting\n     you. Sleep well to-night. At three to-morrow the diligence will\n     start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo\n     Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust\n     that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you\n     will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.\n\n\"Your friend,\n\n\"DRACULA.\"\n\n\n_4 May._--I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count,\ndirecting him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on\nmaking inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and\npretended that he could not understand my German. This could not be\ntrue, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he\nanswered my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the old\nlady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of\nway. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and that\nwas all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could\ntell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves,\nand, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak\nfurther. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask\nany one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means\ncomforting.\n\nJust before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a\nvery hysterical way:\n\n\"Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?\" She was in such an excited\nstate that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and\nmixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I\nwas just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her\nthat I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business,\nshe asked again:\n\n\"Do you know what day it is?\" I answered that it was the fourth of May.\nShe shook her head as she said again:\n\n\"Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?\" On\nmy saying that I did not understand, she went on:\n\n\"It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that to-night, when\nthe clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have\nfull sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?\"\nShe was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but\nwithout effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me not\nto go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very\nridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was business\nto be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it. I therefore\ntried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked\nher, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go. She then rose and\ndried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me. I\ndid not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been\ntaught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it\nseemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a\nstate of mind. She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the\nrosary round my neck, and said, \"For your mother's sake,\" and went out\nof the room. I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting\nfor the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still\nround my neck. Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly\ntraditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I\nam not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book should\never reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the\ncoach!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_5 May. The Castle._--The grey of the morning has passed, and the sun is\nhigh over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or\nhills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are\nmixed. I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake,\nnaturally I write till sleep comes. There are many odd things to put\ndown, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I\nleft Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly. I dined on what they\ncalled \"robber steak\"--bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red\npepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simple\nstyle of the London cat's meat! The wine was Golden Mediasch, which\nproduces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not\ndisagreeable. I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.\n\nWhen I got on the coach the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him\ntalking with the landlady. They were evidently talking of me, for every\nnow and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sitting\non the bench outside the door--which they call by a name meaning\n\"word-bearer\"--came and listened, and then looked at me, most of them\npityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for\nthere were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglot\ndictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were not\ncheering to me, for amongst them were \"Ordog\"--Satan, \"pokol\"--hell,\n\"stregoica\"--witch, \"vrolok\" and \"vlkoslak\"--both of which mean the same\nthing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is\neither were-wolf or vampire. (_Mem._, I must ask the Count about these\nsuperstitions)\n\nWhen we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time\nswelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and\npointed two fingers towards me. With some difficulty I got a\nfellow-passenger to tell me what they meant; he would not answer at\nfirst, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it was a\ncharm or guard against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me,\njust starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man; but every one\nseemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I\ncould not but be touched. I shall never forget the last glimpse which I\nhad of the inn-yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing\nthemselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background of\nrich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the\ncentre of the yard. Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered\nthe whole front of the box-seat--\"gotza\" they call them--cracked his big\nwhip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on\nour journey.\n\nI soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of the\nscene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or rather\nlanguages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might not have\nbeen able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green sloping\nland full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned\nwith clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the\nroad. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom--apple,\nplum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I could see the green grass under\nthe trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these\ngreen hills of what they call here the \"Mittel Land\" ran the road,\nlosing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the\nstraggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the\nhillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged, but still we\nseemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand then\nwhat the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing no\ntime in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summertime\nexcellent, but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter\nsnows. In this respect it is different from the general run of roads in\nthe Carpathians, for it is an old tradition that they are not to be kept\nin too good order. Of old the Hospadars would not repair them, lest the\nTurk should think that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops,\nand so hasten the war which was always really at loading point.\n\nBeyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes\nof forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right\nand left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full upon\nthem and bringing out all the glorious colours of this beautiful range,\ndeep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown where\ngrass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged rock and\npointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the distance, where\nthe snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the\nmountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again\nthe white gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm as\nwe swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered\npeak of a mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, to\nbe right before us:--\n\n\"Look! Isten szek!\"--\"God's seat!\"--and he crossed himself reverently.\n\nAs we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind\nus, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This was\nemphasised by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the\nsunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and there\nwe passed Cszeks and Slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I noticed\nthat goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many crosses,\nand as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves. Here and there\nwas a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did not even\nturn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender of\ndevotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world. There were\nmany things new to me: for instance, hay-ricks in the trees, and here\nand there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white stems\nshining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves. Now and\nagain we passed a leiter-wagon--the ordinary peasant's cart--with its\nlong, snake-like vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the\nroad. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of home-coming\npeasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with their\ncoloured, sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their long\nstaves, with axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get very cold,\nand the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the\ngloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys which\nran deep between the spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the\nPass, the dark firs stood out here and there against the background of\nlate-lying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods\nthat seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of\ngreyness, which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a\npeculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and\ngrim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset\nthrew into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the\nCarpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the\nhills were so steep that, despite our driver's haste, the horses could\nonly go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home,\nbut the driver would not hear of it. \"No, no,\" he said; \"you must not\nwalk here; the dogs are too fierce\"; and then he added, with what he\nevidently meant for grim pleasantry--for he looked round to catch the\napproving smile of the rest--\"and you may have enough of such matters\nbefore you go to sleep.\" The only stop he would make was a moment's\npause to light his lamps.\n\nWhen it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the\npassengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as\nthough urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully\nwith his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on\nto further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of\npatch of grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in the\nhills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater; the crazy coach\nrocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a\nstormy sea. I had to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared\nto fly along. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each\nside and to frown down upon us; we were entering on the Borgo Pass. One\nby one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed\nupon me with an earnestness which would take no denial; these were\ncertainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good\nfaith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture of\nfear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at\nBistritz--the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye.\nThen, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on each side the\npassengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into the\ndarkness. It was evident that something very exciting was either\nhappening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no one would\ngive me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on for\nsome little time; and at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on\nthe eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the\nair the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the\nmountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got\ninto the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyance\nwhich was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the\nglare of lamps through the blackness; but all was dark. The only light\nwas the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our\nhard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the sandy\nroad lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle.\nThe passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock\nmy own disappointment. I was already thinking what I had best do, when\nthe driver, looking at his watch, said to the others something which I\ncould hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone; I\nthought it was \"An hour less than the time.\" Then turning to me, he said\nin German worse than my own:--\n\n\"There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He will\nnow come on to Bukovina, and return to-morrow or the next day; better\nthe next day.\" Whilst he was speaking the horses began to neigh and\nsnort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then,\namongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing\nof themselves, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtook\nus, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of our\nlamps, as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and\nsplendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown\nbeard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I\ncould only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red\nin the lamplight, as he turned to us. He said to the driver:--\n\n\"You are early to-night, my friend.\" The man stammered in reply:--\n\n\"The English Herr was in a hurry,\" to which the stranger replied:--\n\n\"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot\ndeceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.\" As he\nspoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with\nvery red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my\ncompanions whispered to another the line from Burger's \"Lenore\":--\n\n    \"Denn die Todten reiten schnell\"--\n    (\"For the dead travel fast.\")\n\nThe strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a\ngleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same time\nputting out his two fingers and crossing himself. \"Give me the Herr's\nluggage,\" said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my bags were\nhanded out and put in the calèche. Then I descended from the side of the\ncoach, as the calèche was close alongside, the driver helping me with a\nhand which caught my arm in a grip of steel; his strength must have been\nprodigious. Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we\nswept into the darkness of the Pass. As I looked back I saw the steam\nfrom the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and projected\nagainst it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves. Then\nthe driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept\non their way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I felt a\nstrange chill, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was thrown\nover my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in\nexcellent German:--\n\n\"The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take all\ncare of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the\ncountry) underneath the seat, if you should require it.\" I did not take\nany, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. I felt a\nlittle strangely, and not a little frightened. I think had there been\nany alternative I should have taken it, instead of prosecuting that\nunknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace straight along,\nthen we made a complete turn and went along another straight road. It\nseemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same ground\nagain; and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this was\nso. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but\nI really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any\nprotest would have had no effect in case there had been an intention to\ndelay. By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was\npassing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was\nwithin a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I\nsuppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my\nrecent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.\n\nThen a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road--a\nlong, agonised wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by\nanother dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind which\nnow sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed\nto come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp\nit through the gloom of the night. At the first howl the horses began to\nstrain and rear, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they\nquieted down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway from\nsudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each\nside of us began a louder and a sharper howling--that of wolves--which\naffected both the horses and myself in the same way--for I was minded to\njump from the calèche and run, whilst they reared again and plunged\nmadly, so that the driver had to use all his great strength to keep them\nfrom bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed to\nthe sound, and the horses so far became quiet that the driver was able\nto descend and to stand before them. He petted and soothed them, and\nwhispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers\ndoing, and with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became\nquite manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver again\ntook his seat, and shaking his reins, started off at a great pace. This\ntime, after going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down a\nnarrow roadway which ran sharply to the right.\n\nSoon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over the\nroadway till we passed as through a tunnel; and again great frowning\nrocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in shelter, we\ncould hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the\nrocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along.\nIt grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall,\nso that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The\nkeen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew\nfainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer\nand nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. I\ngrew dreadfully afraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver,\nhowever, was not in the least disturbed; he kept turning his head to\nleft and right, but I could not see anything through the darkness.\n\nSuddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue flame. The\ndriver saw it at the same moment; he at once checked the horses, and,\njumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not know\nwhat to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer; but while\nI wondered the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took\nhis seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleep\nand kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be repeated\nendlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare.\nOnce the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness\naround us I could watch the driver's motions. He went rapidly to where\nthe blue flame arose--it must have been very faint, for it did not seem\nto illumine the place around it at all--and gathering a few stones,\nformed them into some device. Once there appeared a strange optical\neffect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it,\nfor I could see its ghostly flicker all the same. This startled me, but\nas the effect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me\nstraining through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue\nflames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the howling of the\nwolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle.\n\nAt last there came a time when the driver went further afield than he\nhad yet gone, and during his absence, the horses began to tremble worse\nthan ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could not see any cause\nfor it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether; but just\nthen the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the\njagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light I saw\naround us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues,\nwith long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more\nterrible in the grim silence which held them than even when they howled.\nFor myself, I felt a sort of paralysis of fear. It is only when a man\nfeels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand\ntheir true import.\n\nAll at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had\nsome peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared, and\nlooked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful to see;\nbut the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side; and they\nhad perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, for\nit seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the\nring and to aid his approach. I shouted and beat the side of the\ncalèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as\nto give him a chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I know\nnot, but I heard his voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and\nlooking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he swept his\nlong arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves\nfell back and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across\nthe face of the moon, so that we were again in darkness.\n\nWhen I could see again the driver was climbing into the calèche, and the\nwolves had disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a\ndreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The time\nseemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost complete\ndarkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept on\nascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in the main\nalways ascending. Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that the\ndriver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a\nvast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light,\nand whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit\nsky.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL--_continued_\n\n\n_5 May._--I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully\nawake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In\nthe gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark\nways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than\nit really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.\n\nWhen the calèche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand\nto assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious\nstrength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have\ncrushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took out my traps, and placed\nthem on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and\nstudded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of\nmassive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was\nmassively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and\nweather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the\nreins; the horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down one\nof the dark openings.\n\nI stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell\nor knocker there was no sign; through these frowning walls and dark\nwindow openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. The\ntime I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon\nme. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people?\nWhat sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a\ncustomary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to\nexplain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's\nclerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor--for just before leaving\nLondon I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a\nfull-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if\nI were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I\nexpected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with\nthe dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt\nin the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the\npinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake\nand among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to\nwait the coming of the morning.\n\nJust as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching\nbehind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming\nlight. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of\nmassive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise\nof long disuse, and the great door swung back.\n\nWithin, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white\nmoustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck\nof colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver\nlamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind,\nthrowing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the\nopen door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly\ngesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:--\n\n\"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!\" He made no\nmotion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his\ngesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that\nI had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and\nholding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince,\nan effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as\nice--more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said:--\n\n\"Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the\nhappiness you bring!\" The strength of the handshake was so much akin to\nthat which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that\nfor a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was\nspeaking; so to make sure, I said interrogatively:--\n\n\"Count Dracula?\" He bowed in a courtly way as he replied:--\n\n\"I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in;\nthe night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.\" As he was\nspeaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out,\ntook my luggage; he had carried it in before I could forestall him. I\nprotested but he insisted:--\n\n\"Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not\navailable. Let me see to your comfort myself.\" He insisted on carrying\nmy traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and\nalong another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang\nheavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced\nto see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper,\nand on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished,\nflamed and flared.\n\nThe Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing\nthe room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit\nby a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing\nthrough this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a\nwelcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with\nanother log fire,--also added to but lately, for the top logs were\nfresh--which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself\nleft my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the\ndoor:--\n\n\"You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your\ntoilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come\ninto the other room, where you will find your supper prepared.\"\n\nThe light and warmth and the Count's courteous welcome seemed to have\ndissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state,\nI discovered that I was half famished with hunger; so making a hasty\ntoilet, I went into the other room.\n\nI found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the\ngreat fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of\nhis hand to the table, and said:--\n\n\"I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse\nme that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.\"\n\nI handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me.\nHe opened it and read it gravely; then, with a charming smile, he handed\nit to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of\npleasure.\n\n\"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant\nsufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to\ncome; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in\nwhom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy\nand talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is\ndiscreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall\nbe ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take\nyour instructions in all matters.\"\n\nThe Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I\nfell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese\nand a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, was\nmy supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many\nquestions as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had\nexperienced.\n\nBy this time I had finished my supper, and by my host's desire had drawn\nup a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me,\nat the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an\nopportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked\nphysiognomy.\n\nHis face was a strong--a very strong--aquiline, with high bridge of the\nthin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and\nhair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His\neyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy\nhair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I\ncould see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather\ncruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over\nthe lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a\nman of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops\nextremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm\nthough thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.\n\nHitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees\nin the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing\nthem now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather\ncoarse--broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in\nthe centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp\npoint. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not\nrepress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a\nhorrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could\nnot conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with a\ngrim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his\nprotuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the\nfireplace. We were both silent for a while; and as I looked towards the\nwindow I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a\nstrange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from\ndown below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes\ngleamed, and he said:--\n\n\"Listen to them--the children of the night. What music they make!\"\nSeeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he\nadded:--\n\n\"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the\nhunter.\" Then he rose and said:--\n\n\"But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow you\nshall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon;\nso sleep well and dream well!\" With a courteous bow, he opened for me\nhimself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom....\n\nI am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things,\nwhich I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the\nsake of those dear to me!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_7 May._--It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the\nlast twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my\nown accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had\nsupped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the\npot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which\nwas written:--\n\n\"I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.--D.\" I set to and\nenjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I\nmight let the servants know I had finished; but I could not find one.\nThere are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the\nextraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table service\nis of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value.\nThe curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of\nmy bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have\nbeen of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old,\nthough in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court,\nbut there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of\nthe rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my\ntable, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before I\ncould either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant\nanywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves.\nSome time after I had finished my meal--I do not know whether to call it\nbreakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o'clock when I had\nit--I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about\nthe castle until I had asked the Count's permission. There was\nabsolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing\nmaterials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of\nlibrary. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked.\n\nIn the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English\nbooks, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and\nnewspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines\nand newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books\nwere of the most varied kind--history, geography, politics, political\neconomy, botany, geology, law--all relating to England and English life\nand customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the\nLondon Directory, the \"Red\" and \"Blue\" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the\nArmy and Navy Lists, and--it somehow gladdened my heart to see it--the\nLaw List.\n\nWhilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count\nentered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good\nnight's rest. Then he went on:--\n\n\"I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that\nwill interest you. These companions\"--and he laid his hand on some of\nthe books--\"have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever\nsince I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours\nof pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England; and to\nknow her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of\nyour mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of\nhumanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes\nit what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books.\nTo you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.\"\n\n\"But, Count,\" I said, \"you know and speak English thoroughly!\" He bowed\ngravely.\n\n\"I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I\nfear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know\nthe grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" I said, \"you speak excellently.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" he answered. \"Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your\nLondon, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not\nenough for me. Here I am noble; I am _boyar_; the common people know me,\nand I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men\nknow him not--and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am\nlike the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or pause in his\nspeaking if he hear my words, 'Ha, ha! a stranger!' I have been so long\nmaster that I would be master still--or at least that none other should\nbe master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter\nHawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You\nshall, I trust, rest here with me awhile, so that by our talking I may\nlearn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I make\nerror, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be\naway so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many\nimportant affairs in hand.\"\n\nOf course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might\ncome into that room when I chose. He answered: \"Yes, certainly,\" and\nadded:--\n\n\"You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are\nlocked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that\nall things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with\nmy knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.\" I said I was sure of\nthis, and then he went on:--\n\n\"We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are\nnot your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from\nwhat you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of\nwhat strange things there may be.\"\n\nThis led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he wanted to\ntalk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him many questions regarding\nthings that had already happened to me or come within my notice.\nSometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by\npretending not to understand; but generally he answered all I asked most\nfrankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked\nhim of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as, for\ninstance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue\nflames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a\ncertain night of the year--last night, in fact, when all evil spirits\nare supposed to have unchecked sway--a blue flame is seen over any place\nwhere treasure has been concealed. \"That treasure has been hidden,\" he\nwent on, \"in the region through which you came last night, there can be\nbut little doubt; for it was the ground fought over for centuries by the\nWallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil\nin all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men,\npatriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when the\nAustrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out\nto meet them--men and women, the aged and the children too--and waited\ntheir coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep\ndestruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader\nwas triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been\nsheltered in the friendly soil.\"\n\n\"But how,\" said I, \"can it have remained so long undiscovered, when\nthere is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?\"\nThe Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long,\nsharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered:--\n\n\"Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only\nappear on one night; and on that night no man of this land will, if he\ncan help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he\nwould not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who\nmarked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight\neven for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to\nfind these places again?\"\n\n\"There you are right,\" I said. \"I know no more than the dead where even\nto look for them.\" Then we drifted into other matters.\n\n\"Come,\" he said at last, \"tell me of London and of the house which you\nhave procured for me.\" With an apology for my remissness, I went into my\nown room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in\norder I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as I\npassed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamp\nlit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also lit\nin the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa,\nreading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw's Guide. When I\ncame in he cleared the books and papers from the table; and with him I\nwent into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in\neverything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its\nsurroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the\nsubject of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much\nmore than I did. When I remarked this, he answered:--\n\n\"Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there\nI shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan--nay, pardon me, I\nfall into my country's habit of putting your patronymic first--my friend\nJonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be\nin Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my\nother friend, Peter Hawkins. So!\"\n\nWe went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at\nPurfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the\nnecessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to\nMr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a\nplace. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I\ninscribe here:--\n\n\"At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as seemed to\nbe required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place\nwas for sale. It is surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure,\nbuilt of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of\nyears. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with\nrust.\n\n\"The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old _Quatre\nFace_, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of\nthe compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by\nthe solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which\nmake it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or\nsmall lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and\nflows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all\nperiods back, I should say, to mediæval times, for one part is of stone\nimmensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with\niron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or\nchurch. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading\nto it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views of it from\nvarious points. The house has been added to, but in a very straggling\nway, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must\nbe very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very\nlarge house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic\nasylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.\"\n\nWhen I had finished, he said:--\n\n\"I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to\nlive in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a\nday; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice\nalso that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love\nnot to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not\ngaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and\nsparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young;\nand my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not\nattuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the\nshadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken\nbattlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would\nbe alone with my thoughts when I may.\" Somehow his words and his look\ndid not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his\nsmile look malignant and saturnine.\n\nPresently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my papers\ntogether. He was some little time away, and I began to look at some of\nthe books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened naturally at\nEngland, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I found in\ncertain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed\nthat one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new\nestate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the\nYorkshire coast.\n\nIt was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. \"Aha!\" he\nsaid; \"still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; I\nam informed that your supper is ready.\" He took my arm, and we went into\nthe next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. The\nCount again excused himself, as he had dined out on his being away from\nhome. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate.\nAfter supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed with\nme, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject, hour\nafter hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not\nsay anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host's wishes in\nevery way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified\nme; but I could not help experiencing that chill which comes over one at\nthe coming of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide.\nThey say that people who are near death die generally at the change to\nthe dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, and\ntied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere\ncan well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming up\nwith preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air; Count\nDracula, jumping to his feet, said:--\n\n\"Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so\nlong. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of\nEngland less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by\nus,\" and, with a courtly bow, he quickly left me.\n\nI went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little to\nnotice; my window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was the\nwarm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and have\nwritten of this day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_8 May._--I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too\ndiffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for\nthere is something so strange about this place and all in it that I\ncannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had\nnever come. It may be that this strange night-existence is telling on\nme; but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I\ncould bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with,\nand he!--I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. Let\nme be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me to bear up, and\nimagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say\nat once how I stand--or seem to.\n\nI only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I could\nnot sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window,\nand was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder,\nand heard the Count's voice saying to me, \"Good-morning.\" I started, for\nit amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass\ncovered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly,\nbut did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the Count's\nsalutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken.\nThis time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I\ncould see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in\nthe mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed; but there was no\nsign of a man in it, except myself. This was startling, and, coming on\nthe top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that vague\nfeeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near; but at\nthe instant I saw that the cut had bled a little, and the blood was\ntrickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half\nround to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his\neyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at\nmy throat. I drew away, and his hand touched the string of beads which\nheld the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for the fury passed\nso quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there.\n\n\"Take care,\" he said, \"take care how you cut yourself. It is more\ndangerous than you think in this country.\" Then seizing the shaving\nglass, he went on: \"And this is the wretched thing that has done the\nmischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!\" and\nopening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung\nout the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones\nof the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very\nannoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or\nthe bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.\n\nWhen I went into the dining-room, breakfast was prepared; but I could\nnot find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that\nas yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very\npeculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I\nwent out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South. The\nview was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity\nof seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A\nstone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without\ntouching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree\ntops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and\nthere are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through\nthe forests.\n\nBut I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I\nexplored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and\nbolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there\nan available exit.\n\nThe castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL--_continued_\n\n\nWhen I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me.\nI rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out of\nevery window I could find; but after a little the conviction of my\nhelplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back after a\nfew hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much\nas a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me\nthat I was helpless I sat down quietly--as quietly as I have ever done\nanything in my life--and began to think over what was best to be done. I\nam thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of\none thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to\nthe Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done it\nhimself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive\nme if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only\nplan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes\nopen. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears,\nor else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need, and\nshall need, all my brains to get through.\n\nI had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door below\nshut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come at once into\nthe library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making\nthe bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along\nthought--that there were no servants in the house. When later I saw him\nthrough the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the\ndining-room, I was assured of it; for if he does himself all these\nmenial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them.\nThis gave me a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, it\nmust have been the Count himself who was the driver of the coach that\nbrought me here. This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does it\nmean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his\nhand in silence. How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the\ncoach had some terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the\ncrucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless\nthat good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is a\ncomfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing\nwhich I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous\nshould in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there\nis something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium,\na tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some\ntime, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my\nmind about it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about Count\nDracula, as it may help me to understand. To-night he may talk of\nhimself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful,\nhowever, not to awake his suspicion.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Midnight._--I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a few\nquestions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the subject\nwonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially of\nbattles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This he\nafterwards explained by saying that to a _boyar_ the pride of his house\nand name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that their\nfate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always said \"we,\"\nand spoke almost in the plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could put\ndown all he said exactly as he said it, for to me it was most\nfascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of the country. He\ngrew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room pulling his great\nwhite moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands as\nthough he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said which I\nshall put down as nearly as I can; for it tells in its way the story of\nhis race:--\n\n\"We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood\nof many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here,\nin the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from\nIceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their\nBerserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay,\nand of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the\nwere-wolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found\nthe Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame,\ntill the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those\nold witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the\ndesert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as\nAttila, whose blood is in these veins?\" He held up his arms. \"Is it a\nwonder that we were a conquering race; that we were proud; that when the\nMagyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his\nthousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when\nArpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us\nhere when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas was completed\nthere? And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were\nclaimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries\nwas trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land; ay, and more\nthan that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say,\n'water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.' Who more gladly than we\nthroughout the Four Nations received the 'bloody sword,' or at its\nwarlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was\nredeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the\nflags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent? Who\nwas it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat\nthe Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that\nhis own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the\nTurk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula,\nindeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again and\nagain brought his forces over the great river into Turkey-land; who,\nwhen he was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had\nto come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being\nslaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! They\nsaid that he thought only of himself. Bah! what good are peasants\nwithout a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and heart to\nconduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohács, we threw off the\nHungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for\nour spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, the\nSzekelys--and the Dracula as their heart's blood, their brains, and\ntheir swords--can boast a record that mushroom growths like the\nHapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over.\nBlood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace; and\nthe glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.\"\n\nIt was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (_Mem._, this\ndiary seems horribly like the beginning of the \"Arabian Nights,\" for\neverything has to break off at cockcrow--or like the ghost of Hamlet's\nfather.)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_12 May._--Let me begin with facts--bare, meagre facts, verified by\nbooks and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must not\nconfuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own\nobservation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came from\nhis room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and on the\ndoing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily over\nbooks, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over some of the\nmatters I had been examined in at Lincoln's Inn. There was a certain\nmethod in the Count's inquiries, so I shall try to put them down in\nsequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me.\n\nFirst, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or more. I\ntold him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not be\nwise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only\none could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate\nagainst his interest. He seemed thoroughly to understand, and went on to\nask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one man to\nattend, say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in case\nlocal help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking\nsolicitor. I asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not by any\nchance mislead him, so he said:--\n\n\"I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from under\nthe shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which is far from\nLondon, buys for me through your good self my place at London. Good! Now\nhere let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange that I have\nsought the services of one so far off from London instead of some one\nresident there, that my motive was that no local interest might be\nserved save my wish only; and as one of London residence might, perhaps,\nhave some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield to\nseek my agent, whose labours should be only to my interest. Now, suppose\nI, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or\nDurham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with more\nease be done by consigning to one in these ports?\" I answered that\ncertainly it would be most easy, but that we solicitors had a system of\nagency one for the other, so that local work could be done locally on\ninstruction from any solicitor, so that the client, simply placing\nhimself in the hands of one man, could have his wishes carried out by\nhim without further trouble.\n\n\"But,\" said he, \"I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I replied; and \"such is often done by men of business, who\ndo not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person.\"\n\n\"Good!\" he said, and then went on to ask about the means of making\nconsignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of\ndifficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be guarded\nagainst. I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability,\nand he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a\nwonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or\nforesee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not\nevidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were\nwonderful. When he had satisfied himself on these points of which he had\nspoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the books\navailable, he suddenly stood up and said:--\n\n\"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter\nHawkins, or to any other?\" It was with some bitterness in my heart that\nI answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of\nsending letters to anybody.\n\n\"Then write now, my young friend,\" he said, laying a heavy hand on my\nshoulder: \"write to our friend and to any other; and say, if it will\nplease you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now.\"\n\n\"Do you wish me to stay so long?\" I asked, for my heart grew cold at the\nthought.\n\n\"I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master,\nemployer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf,\nit was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not\nstinted. Is it not so?\"\n\nWhat could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins's interest, not\nmine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count\nDracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing\nwhich made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I\ncould have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his\nmastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but\nin his own smooth, resistless way:--\n\n\"I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things\nother than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your\nfriends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting\nhome to them. Is it not so?\" As he spoke he handed me three sheets of\nnote-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign\npost, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile,\nwith the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood\nas well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for\nhe would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes\nnow, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for\nto her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he\ndid see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a\nbook whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote them to\nsome books on his table. Then he took up my two and placed them with his\nown, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door\nhad closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which\nwere face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, for\nunder the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way\nI could.\n\nOne of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The\nCrescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to\nCoutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth,\nbankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just\nabout to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I sank back in my\nseat, having just had time to replace the letters as they had been and\nto resume my book before the Count, holding still another letter in his\nhand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and stamped\nthem carefully, and then turning to me, said:--\n\n\"I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private this\nevening. You will, I hope, find all things as you wish.\" At the door he\nturned, and after a moment's pause said:--\n\n\"Let me advise you, my dear young friend--nay, let me warn you with all\nseriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any\nchance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has\nmany memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be\nwarned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then\nhaste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be\nsafe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then\"--He finished his\nspeech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were\nwashing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to whether any\ndream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom\nand mystery which seemed closing around me.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--I endorse the last words written, but this time there is no\ndoubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where he is\nnot. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed--I imagine that\nmy rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain.\n\nWhen he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not hearing any\nsound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where I could look out\ntowards the South. There was some sense of freedom in the vast expanse,\ninaccessible though it was to me, as compared with the narrow darkness\nof the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I was indeed in\nprison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air, though it were of\nthe night. I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me.\nIt is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all\nsorts of horrible imaginings. God knows that there is ground for my\nterrible fear in this accursed place! I looked out over the beautiful\nexpanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as\nday. In the soft light the distant hills became melted, and the shadows\nin the valleys and gorges of velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed\nto cheer me; there was peace and comfort in every breath I drew. As I\nleaned from the window my eye was caught by something moving a storey\nbelow me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, from the order of\nthe rooms, that the windows of the Count's own room would look out. The\nwindow at which I stood was tall and deep, stone-mullioned, and though\nweatherworn, was still complete; but it was evidently many a day since\nthe case had been there. I drew back behind the stonework, and looked\ncarefully out.\n\nWhat I saw was the Count's head coming out from the window. I did not\nsee the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of his\nback and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had had\nso many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested and\nsomewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will interest\nand amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed to\nrepulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the\nwindow and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss,\n_face down_ with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. At\nfirst I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the\nmoonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept looking, and it could\nbe no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the\nstones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thus\nusing every projection and inequality move downwards with considerable\nspeed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.\n\nWhat manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the\nsemblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering\nme; I am in fear--in awful fear--and there is no escape for me; I am\nencompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_15 May._--Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.\nHe moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet down, and a good\ndeal to the left. He vanished into some hole or window. When his head\nhad disappeared, I leaned out to try and see more, but without\navail--the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of sight. I\nknew he had left the castle now, and thought to use the opportunity to\nexplore more than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to the room, and\ntaking a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all locked, as I had\nexpected, and the locks were comparatively new; but I went down the\nstone stairs to the hall where I had entered originally. I found I could\npull back the bolts easily enough and unhook the great chains; but the\ndoor was locked, and the key was gone! That key must be in the Count's\nroom; I must watch should his door be unlocked, so that I may get it and\nescape. I went on to make a thorough examination of the various stairs\nand passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One or two\nsmall rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see in\nthem except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten. At last,\nhowever, I found one door at the top of the stairway which, though it\nseemed to be locked, gave a little under pressure. I tried it harder,\nand found that it was not really locked, but that the resistance came\nfrom the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and the heavy door\nrested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which I might not have\nagain, so I exerted myself, and with many efforts forced it back so that\nI could enter. I was now in a wing of the castle further to the right\nthan the rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I could\nsee that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the castle, the\nwindows of the end room looking out both west and south. On the latter\nside, as well as to the former, there was a great precipice. The castle\nwas built on the corner of a great rock, so that on three sides it was\nquite impregnable, and great windows were placed here where sling, or\nbow, or culverin could not reach, and consequently light and comfort,\nimpossible to a position which had to be guarded, were secured. To the\nwest was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great jagged\nmountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded with\nmountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and crevices and\ncrannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion of the castle\noccupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the furniture had more air of\ncomfort than any I had seen. The windows were curtainless, and the\nyellow moonlight, flooding in through the diamond panes, enabled one to\nsee even colours, whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over\nall and disguised in some measure the ravages of time and the moth. My\nlamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was\nglad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the place\nwhich chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, it was better\nthan living alone in the rooms which I had come to hate from the\npresence of the Count, and after trying a little to school my nerves, I\nfound a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak\ntable where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much\nthought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my\ndiary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is\nnineteenth century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my\nsenses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own\nwhich mere \"modernity\" cannot kill.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later: the Morning of 16 May._--God preserve my sanity, for to this I\nam reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past.\nWhilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may not\ngo mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely it\nis maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this\nhateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I\ncan look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his\npurpose. Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way\nlies madness indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which\nhave puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant\nwhen he made Hamlet say:--\n\n    \"My tablets! quick, my tablets!\n    'Tis meet that I put it down,\" etc.,\n\nfor now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock\nhad come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose.\nThe habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.\n\nThe Count's mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it frightens\nme more now when I think of it, for in future he has a fearful hold upon\nme. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!\n\nWhen I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book and\npen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came into my mind,\nbut I took a pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was upon me,\nand with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider. The soft\nmoonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of freedom\nwhich refreshed me. I determined not to return to-night to the\ngloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat\nand sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for\ntheir menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great\ncouch out of its place near the corner, so that as I lay, I could look\nat the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of and uncaring for\nthe dust, composed myself for sleep. I suppose I must have fallen\nasleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that followed was startlingly\nreal--so real that now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the\nmorning, I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.\n\nI was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way since I\ncame into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight,\nmy own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation of\ndust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by\ntheir dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming\nwhen I saw them, for, though the moonlight was behind them, they threw\nno shadow on the floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some\ntime, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline\nnoses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes that seemed to be\nalmost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other was\nfair, as fair as can be, with great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes\nlike pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it\nin connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the\nmoment how or where. All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like\npearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something\nabout them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some\ndeadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would\nkiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some\nday it should meet Mina's eyes and cause her pain; but it is the truth.\nThey whispered together, and then they all three laughed--such a\nsilvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have\ncome through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable,\ntingling sweetness of water-glasses when played on by a cunning hand.\nThe fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her\non. One said:--\n\n\"Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to\nbegin.\" The other added:--\n\n\"He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.\" I lay quiet,\nlooking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation.\nThe fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement\nof her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent\nthe same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter\nunderlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.\n\nI was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under\nthe lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply\ngloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling\nand repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips\nlike an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining\non the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp\nteeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of\nmy mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then she\npaused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked\nher teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the\nskin of my throat began to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand that\nis to tickle it approaches nearer--nearer. I could feel the soft,\nshivering touch of the lips on the super-sensitive skin of my throat,\nand the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there.\nI closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited--waited with beating\nheart.\n\nBut at that instant, another sensation swept through me as quick as\nlightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of his\nbeing as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily I\nsaw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and with\ngiant's power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the\nwhite teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red with\npassion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to\nthe demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light\nin them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them. His\nface was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard like drawn wires;\nthe thick eyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like a heaving bar\nof white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman\nfrom him, and then motioned to the others, as though he were beating\nthem back; it was the same imperious gesture that I had seen used to the\nwolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in a whisper seemed to\ncut through the air and then ring round the room he said:--\n\n\"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when\nI had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware\nhow you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me.\" The fair girl,\nwith a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:--\n\n\"You yourself never loved; you never love!\" On this the other women\njoined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the\nroom that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasure\nof fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively,\nand said in a soft whisper:--\n\n\"Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it\nnot so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him you shall\nkiss him at your will. Now go! go! I must awaken him, for there is work\nto be done.\"\n\n\"Are we to have nothing to-night?\" said one of them, with a low laugh,\nas she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the floor, and which\nmoved as though there were some living thing within it. For answer he\nnodded his head. One of the women jumped forward and opened it. If my\nears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a\nhalf-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast with\nhorror; but as I looked they disappeared, and with them the dreadful\nbag. There was no door near them, and they could not have passed me\nwithout my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into the rays of the\nmoonlight and pass out through the window, for I could see outside the\ndim, shadowy forms for a moment before they entirely faded away.\n\nThen the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL--_continued_\n\n\nI awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must\nhave carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but\ncould not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were\ncertain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by\nin a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am\nrigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and\nmany such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have been\nevidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause or\nanother, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one\nthing I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and undressed\nme, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I\nam sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would not\nhave brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round this\nroom, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of\nsanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who\nwere--who _are_--waiting to suck my blood.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_18 May._--I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for\nI _must_ know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the\nstairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the\njamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt\nof the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside.\nI fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_19 May._--I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in\nthe suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work here\nwas nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days,\nanother that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the\nletter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at\nBistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state\nof things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I\nam so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite his\nsuspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and\nthat I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to\nprolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a\nchance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath\nwhich was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained\nto me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would\nensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so much\nimpressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would\nbe held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my\nprolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new\nsuspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his views, and asked\nhim what dates I should put on the letters. He calculated a minute, and\nthen said:--\n\n\"The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June\n29.\"\n\nI know now the span of my life. God help me!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_28 May._--There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to\nsend word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are\nencamped in the courtyard. These Szgany are gipsies; I have notes of\nthem in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though\nallied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands\nof them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law.\nThey attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or _boyar_, and\ncall themselves by his name. They are fearless and without religion,\nsave superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of the Romany\ntongue.\n\nI shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have them\nposted. I have already spoken them through my window to begin\nacquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and many\nsigns, which, however, I could not understand any more than I could\ntheir spoken language....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply ask Mr.\nHawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my situation,\nbut without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock and\nfrighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the\nletters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or the\nextent of my knowledge....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have given the letters; I threw them through the bars of my window\nwith a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. The\nman who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put them\nin his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, and began to\nread. As the Count did not come in, I have written here....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest\nvoice as he opened two letters:--\n\n\"The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence they\ncome, I shall, of course, take care. See!\"--he must have looked at\nit--\"one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other\"--here\nhe caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and\nthe dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly--\"the\nother is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is\nnot signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us.\" And he calmly held letter\nand envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed. Then he\nwent on:--\n\n\"The letter to Hawkins--that I shall, of course, send on, since it is\nyours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that\nunknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?\" He held\nout the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a clean\nenvelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When\nhe went out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute later\nI went over and tried it, and the door was locked.\n\nWhen, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his\ncoming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was very\ncourteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been\nsleeping, he said:--\n\n\"So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I\nmay not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many labours\nto me; but you will sleep, I pray.\" I passed to my room and went to bed,\nand, strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_31 May._--This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself\nwith some paper and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, so\nthat I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a\nsurprise, again a shock!\n\nEvery scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda,\nrelating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that\nmight be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and pondered\nawhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of my\nportmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes.\n\nThe suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and\nrug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some new\nscheme of villainy....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_17 June._--This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed\ncudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of whips and pounding\nand scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard.\nWith joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two great\nleiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of\neach pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty\nsheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I\nran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them through the\nmain hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a\nshock: my door was fastened on the outside.\n\nThen I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me\nstupidly and pointed, but just then the \"hetman\" of the Szgany came out,\nand seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which they\nlaughed. Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised\nentreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away.\nThe leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick\nrope; these were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks\nhandled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. When\nthey were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner of the\nyard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and spitting on\nit for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head. Shortly afterwards, I\nheard the cracking of their whips die away in the distance.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_24 June, before morning._--Last night the Count left me early, and\nlocked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the\nwinding stair, and looked out of the window, which opened south. I\nthought I would watch for the Count, for there is something going on.\nThe Szgany are quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of\nsome kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away muffled sound\nas of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of some\nruthless villainy.\n\nI had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw\nsomething coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched\ncarefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to\nfind that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst\ntravelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I\nhad seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest,\nand in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that he will\nallow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave\nevidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own\nletters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local\npeople be attributed to me.\n\nIt makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut up\nhere, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law which\nis even a criminal's right and consolation.\n\nI thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long time sat\ndoggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were some\nquaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were\nlike the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in\nclusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense of\nsoothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the\nembrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more\nfully the aërial gambolling.\n\nSomething made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far\nbelow in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to\nring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to\nthe sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to\nawake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling,\nand my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I\nwas becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the\nmoonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom\nbeyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom\nshapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my\nsenses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were\nbecoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the\nthree ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhat\nsafer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and where the lamp\nwas burning brightly.\n\nWhen a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in the\nCount's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed; and then\nthere was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With a\nbeating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, and\ncould do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.\n\nAs I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without--the agonised cry of a\nwoman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out between\nthe bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her\nhands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning\nagainst a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window she\nthrew herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:--\n\n\"Monster, give me my child!\"\n\nShe threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the same\nwords in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her\nbreast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant\nemotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I could not see\nher, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door.\n\nSomewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of the\nCount calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be\nanswered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many minutes\nhad passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated,\nthrough the wide entrance into the courtyard.\n\nThere was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but\nshort. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.\n\nI could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and\nshe was better dead.\n\nWhat shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful\nthing of night and gloom and fear?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_25 June, morning._--No man knows till he has suffered from the night\nhow sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the\nsun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great\ngateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me\nas if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as\nif it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must\ntake action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Last\nnight one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of that fatal\nseries which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the\nearth.\n\nLet me not think of it. Action!\n\nIt has always been at night-time that I have been molested or\nthreatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen the\nCount in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, that\nhe may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his room!\nBut there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me.\n\nYes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone\nwhy may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his\nwindow. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The\nchances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk\nit. At the worst it can only be death; and a man's death is not a\ncalf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me\nin my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and\nsecond father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Same day, later._--I have made the effort, and God, helping me, have\ncome safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order. I\nwent whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the south\nside, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runs\naround the building on this side. The stones are big and roughly cut,\nand the mortar has by process of time been washed away between them. I\ntook off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down\nonce, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would\nnot overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I knew pretty\nwell the direction and distance of the Count's window, and made for it\nas well as I could, having regard to the opportunities available. I did\nnot feel dizzy--I suppose I was too excited--and the time seemed\nridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window-sill and\ntrying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, when\nI bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then I looked\naround for the Count, but, with surprise and gladness, made a discovery.\nThe room was empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, which\nseemed to have never been used; the furniture was something the same\nstyle as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked\nfor the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it\nanywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in one\ncorner--gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, and\nHungarian, and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as\nthough it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was\nless than three hundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments,\nsome jewelled, but all of them old and stained.\n\nAt one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since I\ncould not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which\nwas the main object of my search, I must make further examination, or\nall my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stone\npassage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended,\nminding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, being only lit\nby loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark,\ntunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, the\nodour of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage the smell\ngrew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which stood\najar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which had evidently\nbeen used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were\nsteps leading to vaults, but the ground had recently been dug over, and\nthe earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been\nbrought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I made search for\nany further outlet, but there was none. Then I went over every inch of\nthe ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into the\nvaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a dread to\nmy very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragments\nof old coffins and piles of dust; in the third, however, I made a\ndiscovery.\n\nThere, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on a\npile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep, I\ncould not say which--for the eyes were open and stony, but without the\nglassiness of death--and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all\ntheir pallor; the lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of\nmovement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him,\nand tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain\nthere long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few hours.\nBy the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there.\nI thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw\nthe dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate,\nthough unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and\nleaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the castle\nwall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried\nto think....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 June._--To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has\ntaken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave the\ncastle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the wall,\nlizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might\ndestroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's hand would\nhave any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared\nto see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there\ntill I fell asleep.\n\nI was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can\nlook as he said:--\n\n\"To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful\nEngland, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never\nmeet. Your letter home has been despatched; to-morrow I shall not be\nhere, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the\nSzgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some\nSlovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall\nbear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to\nBistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle\nDracula.\" I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity.\nSincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in\nconnection with such a monster, so asked him point-blank:--\n\n\"Why may I not go to-night?\"\n\n\"Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission.\"\n\n\"But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.\" He smiled,\nsuch a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick\nbehind his smoothness. He said:--\n\n\"And your baggage?\"\n\n\"I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.\"\n\nThe Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub my\neyes, it seemed so real:--\n\n\"You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is\nthat which rules our _boyars_: 'Welcome the coming; speed the parting\nguest.' Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait\nin my house against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that\nyou so suddenly desire it. Come!\" With a stately gravity, he, with the\nlamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he\nstopped.\n\n\"Hark!\"\n\nClose at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as if the\nsound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the music of a great\norchestra seems to leap under the bâton of the conductor. After a pause\nof a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the door, drew back\nthe ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw it\nopen.\n\nTo my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked. Suspiciously, I\nlooked all round, but could see no key of any kind.\n\nAs the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without grew louder\nand angrier; their red jaws, with champing teeth, and their blunt-clawed\nfeet as they leaped, came in through the opening door. I knew then that\nto struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With such\nallies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But still the door\ncontinued slowly to open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap.\nSuddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my\ndoom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There\nwas a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and\nas a last chance I cried out:--\n\n\"Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!\" and covered my face with my\nhands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With one sweep of his\npowerful arm, the Count threw the door shut, and the great bolts clanged\nand echoed through the hall as they shot back into their places.\n\nIn silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two I went\nto my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand\nto me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that\nJudas in hell might be proud of.\n\nWhen I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I heard a\nwhispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened. Unless my ears\ndeceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:--\n\n\"Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have\npatience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!\" There was a low,\nsweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw open the door, and saw\nwithout the three terrible women licking their lips. As I appeared they\nall joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away.\n\nI came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then so near\nthe end? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I am\ndear!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_30 June, morning._--These may be the last words I ever write in this\ndiary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself\non my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me\nready.\n\nAt last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the morning\nhad come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I felt that I was safe.\nWith a glad heart, I opened my door and ran down to the hall. I had seen\nthat the door was unlocked, and now escape was before me. With hands\nthat trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew back the\nmassive bolts.\n\nBut the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and pulled, at\nthe door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled in its\ncasement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I left the\nCount.\n\nThen a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I\ndetermined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's\nroom. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of\nevils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled\ndown the wall, as before, into the Count's room. It was empty, but that\nwas as I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap of gold\nremained. I went through the door in the corner and down the winding\nstair and along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now well\nenough where to find the monster I sought.\n\nThe great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the lid\nwas laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in their\nplaces to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the key, so\nI raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and then I saw\nsomething which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count,\nbut looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair\nand moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller,\nand the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than\never, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the\ncorners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep,\nburning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches\nunderneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were\nsimply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his\nrepletion. I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in\nme revolted at the contact; but I had to search, or I was lost. The\ncoming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those\nhorrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of the\nkey. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile\non the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I\nwas helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come\nhe might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and\ncreate a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the\nhelpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me\nto rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand,\nbut I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the\ncases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the\nhateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full\nupon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to\nparalyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face,\nmerely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my\nhand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade\ncaught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid\nthing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face,\nblood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have held its\nown in the nethermost hell.\n\nI thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain seemed\non fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over me. As I\nwaited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry voices coming\ncloser, and through their song the rolling of heavy wheels and the\ncracking of whips; the Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had\nspoken were coming. With a last look around and at the box which\ncontained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count's\nroom, determined to rush out at the moment the door should be opened.\nWith strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of the\nkey in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door. There must\nhave been some other means of entry, or some one had a key for one of\nthe locked doors. Then there came the sound of many feet tramping and\ndying away in some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to\nrun down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance;\nbut at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the\ndoor to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from\nthe lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it was\nhopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing\nround me more closely.\n\nAs I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping feet\nand the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes,\nwith their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering; it is the\nbox being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again\nalong the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them.\n\nThe door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the key\nin the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another door opens and\nshuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.\n\nHark! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy wheels,\nthe crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as they pass into the\ndistance.\n\nI am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman,\nand there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit!\n\nI shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle wall\nfarther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold with\nme, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this dreadful place.\n\nAnd then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest train! away\nfrom this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and his\nchildren still walk with earthly feet!\n\nAt least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the\nprecipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep--as a man.\nGood-bye, all! Mina!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n_Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra._\n\n\n\"_9 May._\n\n\"My dearest Lucy,--\n\n\"Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmed\nwith work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is sometimes trying.\nI am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together\nfreely and build our castles in the air. I have been working very hard\nlately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan's studies, and I have\nbeen practising shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall\nbe able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I\ncan take down what he wants to say in this way and write it out for\nhim on the typewriter, at which also I am practising very hard. He\nand I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping a\nstenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I\nshall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of those\ntwo-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but a\nsort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined. I do not\nsuppose there will be much of interest to other people; but it is not\nintended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there is in it\nanything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book. I shall try\nto do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writing\ndescriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with\na little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears\nsaid during a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little\nplans when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan\nfrom Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I\nam longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see strange\ncountries. I wonder if we--I mean Jonathan and I--shall ever see them\ntogether. There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Good-bye.\n\n\"Your loving\n\n\"MINA.\n\n\"Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me anything for\na long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome,\ncurly-haired man???\"\n\n\n_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray_.\n\n\"_17, Chatham Street_,\n\n\"_Wednesday_.\n\n\"My dearest Mina,--\n\n\"I must say you tax me _very_ unfairly with being a bad correspondent. I\nwrote to you _twice_ since we parted, and your last letter was only your\n_second_. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothing\nto interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good deal\nto picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the\ntall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the\nlast Pop. Some one has evidently been telling tales. That was Mr.\nHolmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very well\ntogether; they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some\ntime ago a man that would just _do for you_, if you were not already\nengaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent _parti_, being handsome, well\noff, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! He\nis only nine-and-twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under\nhis own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to\nsee us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men\nI ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I\ncan fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has\na curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to\nread one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter\nmyself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do\nyou ever try to read your own face? _I do_, and I can tell you it is not\na bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you\nhave never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological\nstudy, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient\ninterest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a\nbore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day.\nThere, it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other\nsince we were _children_; we have slept together and eaten together, and\nlaughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I would like\nto speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him. I am blushing\nas I write, for although I _think_ he loves me, he has not told me so in\nwords. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, that\ndoes me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire\nundressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel.\nI do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop,\nor I should tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I _do_ so\nwant to tell you all. Let me hear from you _at once_, and tell me all\nthat you think about it. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your\nprayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.\n\n\"LUCY.\n\n\"P.S.--I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.\n\n\"L.\"\n\n_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray_.\n\n\"_24 May_.\n\n\"My dearest Mina,--\n\n\"Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It was so\nnice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.\n\n\"My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.\nHere am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a\nproposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day I have had three.\nJust fancy! THREE proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel sorry,\nreally and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so\nhappy that I don't know what to do with myself. And three proposals!\nBut, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the girls, or they would be\ngetting all sorts of extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injured\nand slighted if in their very first day at home they did not get six at\nleast. Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and\nare going to settle down soon soberly into old married women, can\ndespise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must keep\nit a secret, dear, from _every one_, except, of course, Jonathan. You\nwill tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell\nArthur. A woman ought to tell her husband everything--don't you think\nso, dear?--and I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to\nbe quite as fair as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not always\nquite as fair as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came just\nbefore lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum\nman, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cool\noutwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently been schooling\nhimself as to all sorts of little things, and remembered them; but he\nalmost managed to sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally do\nwhen they are cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept\nplaying with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to\nme, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,\nthough he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me to\nhelp and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I\ndid not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a brute\nand would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if\nI could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled,\nand then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one\nelse. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my\nconfidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart was\nfree a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to\ntell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then he\nstood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my\nhands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I ever\nwanted a friend I must count him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can't\nhelp crying: and you must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being\nproposed to is all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn't at\nall a happy thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you know\nloves you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted, and to\nknow that, no matter what he may say at the moment, you are passing\nquite out of his life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel so\nmiserable, though I am so happy.\n\n\"_Evening._\n\n\"Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I left\noff, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear, number Two\ncame after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an American from Texas, and\nhe looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that he\nhas been to so many places and has had such adventures. I sympathise\nwith poor Desdemona when she had such a dangerous stream poured in her\near, even by a black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards that\nwe think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know now\nwhat I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I\ndon't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never\ntold any, and yet---- My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincey P.\nMorris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl\nalone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to _make_ a chance, and I\nhelping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you\nbeforehand that Mr. Morris doesn't always speak slang--that is to say,\nhe never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really well\neducated and has exquisite manners--but he found out that it amused me\nto hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was present, and there\nwas no one to be shocked, he said such funny things. I am afraid, my\ndear, he has to invent it all, for it fits exactly into whatever else he\nhas to say. But this is a way slang has. I do not know myself if I shall\never speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never\nheard him use any as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked\nas happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was\nvery nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly:--\n\n\"'Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the fixin's of your\nlittle shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that is you\nwill go join them seven young women with the lamps when you quit. Won't\nyou just hitch up alongside of me and let us go down the long road\ntogether, driving in double harness?'\n\n\"Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem\nhalf so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, as\nlightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that I\nwasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in\na light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so\non so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. He\nreally did look serious when he was saying it, and I couldn't help\nfeeling a bit serious too--I know, Mina, you will think me a horrid\nflirt--though I couldn't help feeling a sort of exultation that he was\nnumber two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say a word he\nbegan pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very\nheart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall\nnever again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest,\nbecause he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face\nwhich checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of\nmanly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free:--\n\n\"'Lucy, you are an honest-hearted girl, I know. I should not be here\nspeaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean grit, right\nthrough to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like one good fellow\nto another, is there any one else that you care for? And if there is\nI'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again, but will be, if you will\nlet me, a very faithful friend.'\n\n\"My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little worthy\nof them? Here was I almost making fun of this great-hearted, true\ngentleman. I burst into tears--I am afraid, my dear, you will think\nthis a very sloppy letter in more ways than one--and I really felt very\nbadly. Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want\nher, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say\nit. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to look into\nMr. Morris's brave eyes, and I told him out straight:--\n\n\"'Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he\neven loves me.' I was right to speak to him so frankly, for quite a\nlight came into his face, and he put out both his hands and took mine--I\nthink I put them into his--and said in a hearty way:--\n\n\"'That's my brave girl. It's better worth being late for a chance of\nwinning you than being in time for any other girl in the world. Don't\ncry, my dear. If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack; and I take it\nstanding up. If that other fellow doesn't know his happiness, well, he'd\nbetter look for it soon, or he'll have to deal with me. Little girl,\nyour honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that's rarer than a\nlover; it's more unselfish anyhow. My dear, I'm going to have a pretty\nlonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss?\nIt'll be something to keep off the darkness now and then. You can, you\nknow, if you like, for that other good fellow--he must be a good fellow,\nmy dear, and a fine fellow, or you could not love him--hasn't spoken\nyet.' That quite won me, Mina, for it _was_ brave and sweet of him, and\nnoble, too, to a rival--wasn't it?--and he so sad; so I leant over and\nkissed him. He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down\ninto my face--I am afraid I was blushing very much--he said:--\n\n\"'Little girl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if these\nthings don't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet\nhonesty to me, and good-bye.' He wrung my hand, and taking up his hat,\nwent straight out of the room without looking back, without a tear or a\nquiver or a pause; and I am crying like a baby. Oh, why must a man like\nthat be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who would\nworship the very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free--only\nI don't want to be free. My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I\ncannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I\ndon't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.\n\n\"Ever your loving\n\n\"LUCY.\n\n\"P.S.--Oh, about number Three--I needn't tell you of number Three, need\nI? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from his\ncoming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was\nkissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to\ndeserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not\nungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a\nlover, such a husband, and such a friend.\n\n\"Good-bye.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n(Kept in phonograph)\n\n_25 May._--Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so\ndiary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty\nfeeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth\nthe doing.... As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was\nwork, I went down amongst the patients. I picked out one who has\nafforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I am\ndetermined to understand him as well as I can. To-day I seemed to get\nnearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.\n\nI questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to making\nmyself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my manner of doing\nit there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keep\nhim to the point of his madness--a thing which I avoid with the patients\nas I would the mouth of hell.\n\n(_Mem._, under what circumstances would I _not_ avoid the pit of hell?)\n_Omnia Romæ venalia sunt._ Hell has its price! _verb. sap._ If there be\nanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwards\n_accurately_, so I had better commence to do so, therefore--\n\nR. M. Renfield, ætat 59.--Sanguine temperament; great physical strength;\nmorbidly excitable; periods of gloom, ending in some fixed idea which I\ncannot make out. I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and the\ndisturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish; a possibly\ndangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution\nis as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of\non this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is\nbalanced with the centrifugal; when duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed\npoint, the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series of\naccidents can balance it.\n\n\n_Letter, Quincey P. Morris to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._\n\n\"_25 May._\n\n\"My dear Art,--\n\n\"We've told yarns by the camp-fire in the prairies; and dressed one\nanother's wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas; and drunk\nhealths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be told, and\nother wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk. Won't you let\nthis be at my camp-fire to-morrow night? I have no hesitation in asking\nyou, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a certain dinner-party, and\nthat you are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at the\nKorea, Jack Seward. He's coming, too, and we both want to mingle our\nweeps over the wine-cup, and to drink a health with all our hearts to\nthe happiest man in all the wide world, who has won the noblest heart\nthat God has made and the best worth winning. We promise you a hearty\nwelcome, and a loving greeting, and a health as true as your own right\nhand. We shall both swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep to\na certain pair of eyes. Come!\n\n\"Yours, as ever and always,\n\n\"QUINCEY P. MORRIS.\"\n\n\n_Telegram from Arthur Holmwood to Quincey P. Morris._\n\n\"_26 May._\n\n\"Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both your ears\ntingle.\n\n\"ART.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_24 July. Whitby._--Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter and\nlovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent in\nwhich they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river, the\nEsk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near the\nharbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which the\nview seems somehow further away than it really is. The valley is\nbeautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on the high land\non either side you look right across it, unless you are near enough to\nsee down. The houses of the old town--the side away from us--are all\nred-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other anyhow, like the\npictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is the ruin of Whitby\nAbbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene of part of\n\"Marmion,\" where the girl was built up in the wall. It is a most noble\nruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits; there is\na legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it and\nthe town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big\ngraveyard, all full of tombstones. This is to my mind the nicest spot in\nWhitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of the\nharbour and all up the bay to where the headland called Kettleness\nstretches out into the sea. It descends so steeply over the harbour that\npart of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have been\ndestroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches\nout over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside\nthem, through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day long\nlooking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come and\nsit here very often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing now, with my\nbook on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old men who are\nsitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but sit up here and\ntalk.\n\nThe harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite wall\nstretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it, in\nthe middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs along outside\nof it. On the near side, the sea-wall makes an elbow crooked inversely,\nand its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is a\nnarrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens.\n\nIt is nice at high water; but when the tide is out it shoals away to\nnothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between\nbanks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on this\nside there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge of\nwhich runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of\nit is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a\nmournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is\nlost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this; he\nis coming this way....\n\nHe is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is all\ngnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is\nnearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing\nfleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical\nperson, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady\nat the abbey he said very brusquely:--\n\n\"I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all wore out.\nMind, I don't say that they never was, but I do say that they wasn't in\nmy time. They be all very well for comers and trippers, an' the like,\nbut not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks from York and\nLeeds that be always eatin' cured herrin's an' drinkin' tea an' lookin'\nout to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel' who'd be\nbothered tellin' lies to them--even the newspapers, which is full of\nfool-talk.\" I thought he would be a good person to learn interesting\nthings from, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something about\nthe whale-fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to begin\nwhen the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and said:--\n\n\"I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand-daughter doesn't like\nto be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to\ncrammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of 'em; an', miss, I lack\nbelly-timber sairly by the clock.\"\n\nHe hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could, down\nthe steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead from\nthe town up to the church, there are hundreds of them--I do not know how\nmany--and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is so gentle that\na horse could easily walk up and down them. I think they must originally\nhave had something to do with the abbey. I shall go home too. Lucy went\nout visiting with her mother, and as they were only duty calls, I did\nnot go. They will be home by this.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_1 August._--I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a most\ninteresting talk with my old friend and the two others who always come\nand join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I should think\nmust have been in his time a most dictatorial person. He will not admit\nanything, and downfaces everybody. If he can't out-argue them he bullies\nthem, and then takes their silence for agreement with his views. Lucy\nwas looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock; she has got a\nbeautiful colour since she has been here. I noticed that the old men did\nnot lose any time in coming up and sitting near her when we sat down.\nShe is so sweet with old people; I think they all fell in love with her\non the spot. Even my old man succumbed and did not contradict her, but\ngave me double share instead. I got him on the subject of the legends,\nand he went off at once into a sort of sermon. I must try to remember it\nand put it down:--\n\n\"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that's what it be, an'\nnowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' barguests an' bogles\nan' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy women\na-belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs\nan' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome beuk-bodies an'\nrailway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks to do\nsomethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful to think\no' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies on paper\nan' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin' them on the\ntombstones. Look here all around you in what airt ye will; all them\nsteans, holdin' up their heads as well as they can out of their pride,\nis acant--simply tumblin' down with the weight o' the lies wrote on\nthem, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory' wrote on all of\nthem, an' yet in nigh half of them there bean't no bodies at all; an'\nthe memories of them bean't cared a pinch of snuff about, much less\nsacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or another! My\ngog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment when they\ncome tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all jouped together an' tryin' to\ndrag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was; some of them\ntrimmlin' and ditherin', with their hands that dozzened an' slippy from\nlyin' in the sea that they can't even keep their grup o' them.\"\n\nI could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way in\nwhich he looked round for the approval of his cronies that he was\n\"showing off,\" so I put in a word to keep him going:--\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Swales, you can't be serious. Surely these tombstones are not\nall wrong?\"\n\n\"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they make\nout the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowl be\nlike the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be only lies. Now\nlook you here; you come here a stranger, an' you see this kirk-garth.\" I\nnodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite\nunderstand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the church.\nHe went on: \"And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that be\nhapped here, snod an' snog?\" I assented again. \"Then that be just where\nthe lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these lay-beds that be toom as\nold Dun's 'bacca-box on Friday night.\" He nudged one of his companions,\nand they all laughed. \"And my gog! how could they be otherwise? Look at\nthat one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank: read it!\" I went over and\nread:--\n\n\"Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coast of\nAndres, April, 1854, æt. 30.\" When I came back Mr. Swales went on:--\n\n\"Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the coast\nof Andres! an' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could name ye a\ndozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above\"--he pointed\nnorthwards--\"or where the currents may have drifted them. There be the\nsteans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print of\nthe lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey--I knew his father, lost in\nthe _Lively_ off Greenland in '20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the\nsame seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a year\nlater; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned\nin the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do ye think that all these men will have\nto make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums\naboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' an'\njostlin' one another that way that it 'ud be like a fight up on the ice\nin the old days, when we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an'\ntryin' to tie up our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis.\" This was\nevidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and his\ncronies joined in with gusto.\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"surely you are not quite correct, for you start on the\nassumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have to\ntake their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you think\nthat will be really necessary?\"\n\n\"Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss!\"\n\n\"To please their relatives, I suppose.\"\n\n\"To please their relatives, you suppose!\" This he said with intense\nscorn. \"How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is wrote\nover them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?\" He\npointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, on\nwhich the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. \"Read the\nlies on that thruff-stean,\" he said. The letters were upside down to me\nfrom where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so she leant over\nand read:--\n\n\"Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of a\nglorious resurrection, on July, 29, 1873, falling from the rocks at\nKettleness. This tomb was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly\nbeloved son. 'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.'\nReally, Mr. Swales, I don't see anything very funny in that!\" She spoke\nher comment very gravely and somewhat severely.\n\n\"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't gawm the\nsorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was\nacrewk'd--a regular lamiter he was--an' he hated her so that he\ncommitted suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she put on\nhis life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket that\nthey had for scarin' the crows with. 'Twarn't for crows then, for it\nbrought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he fell off the\nrocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've often heard him\nsay masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his mother was so pious\nthat she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he didn't want to addle where\nshe was. Now isn't that stean at any rate\"--he hammered it with his\nstick as he spoke--\"a pack of lies? and won't it make Gabriel keckle\nwhen Geordie comes pantin' up the grees with the tombstean balanced on\nhis hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!\"\n\nI did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as she\nsaid, rising up:--\n\n\"Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, and I cannot\nleave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of a\nsuicide.\"\n\n\"That won't harm ye, my pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie gladsome to\nhave so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt ye. Why, I've\nsat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it hasn't done me\nno harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye, or that doesn' lie\nthere either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see the\ntombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field.\nThere's the clock, an' I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!\" And off\nhe hobbled.\n\nLucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that we\ntook hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur and\ntheir coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for I\nhaven't heard from Jonathan for a whole month.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_The same day._ I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no\nletter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.\nThe clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over the\ntown, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly;\nthey run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. To my\nleft the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house next\nthe abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behind\nme, and there is a clatter of a donkey's hoofs up the paved road below.\nThe band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further\nalong the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street.\nNeither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see them\nboth. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish he\nwere here.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_5 June._--The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I get to\nunderstand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed;\nselfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the\nobject of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own,\nbut what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is a love of\nanimals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that I\nsometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd\nsorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such a\nquantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, he\ndid not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in\nsimple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: \"May I have\nthree days? I shall clear them away.\" Of course, I said that would do. I\nmust watch him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_18 June._--He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got several\nvery big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, and\nthe number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he\nhas used half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his\nroom.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_1 July._--His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his\nflies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked\nvery sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, at all\nevents. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the same time\nas before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, for when a\nhorrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room,\nhe caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger\nand thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his\nmouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it\nwas very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life, and\ngave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must\nwatch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deep problem\nin his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he is always\njotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with masses of\nfigures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the\ntotals added in batches again, as though he were \"focussing\" some\naccount, as the auditors put it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_8 July._--There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary idea in\nmy mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then, oh,\nunconscious cerebration! you will have to give the wall to your\nconscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so that I\nmight notice if there were any change. Things remain as they were except\nthat he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one. He has\nmanaged to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. His means\nof taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished. Those that\ndo remain, however, are well fed, for he still brings in the flies by\ntempting them with his food.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_19 July._--We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of\nsparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I came\nin he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour--a very,\nvery great favour; and as he spoke he fawned on me like a dog. I asked\nhim what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice and\nbearing:--\n\n\"A kitten, a nice little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with,\nand teach, and feed--and feed--and feed!\" I was not unprepared for this\nrequest, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size and\nvivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrows\nshould be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders; so\nI said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have a\ncat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he answered:--\n\n\"Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should\nrefuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?\" I shook\nmy head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, but\nthat I would see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning of\ndanger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meant\nkilling. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test him\nwith his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall know\nmore.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_10 p. m._--I have visited him again and found him sitting in a corner\nbrooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees before me and\nimplored me to let him have a cat; that his salvation depended upon it.\nI was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it, whereupon\nhe went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his fingers, in the corner\nwhere I had found him. I shall see him in the morning early.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_20 July._--Visited Renfield very early, before the attendant went his\nrounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his sugar,\nwhich he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning his\nfly-catching again; and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace. I\nlooked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him where they\nwere. He replied, without turning round, that they had all flown away.\nThere were a few feathers about the room and on his pillow a drop of\nblood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report to me if\nthere were anything odd about him during the day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_11 a. m._--The attendant has just been to me to say that Renfield has\nbeen very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of feathers. \"My belief is,\ndoctor,\" he said, \"that he has eaten his birds, and that he just took\nand ate them raw!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_11 p. m._--I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough to make\neven him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to look at it. The thought\nthat has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, and the theory\nproved. My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to\ninvent a new classification for him, and call him a zoöphagous\n(life-eating) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as many lives as he\ncan, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. He\ngave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and then\nwanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his later\nsteps? It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It\nmight be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered at\nvivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! Why not advance science\nin its most difficult and vital aspect--the knowledge of the brain? Had\nI even the secret of one such mind--did I hold the key to the fancy of\neven one lunatic--I might advance my own branch of science to a pitch\ncompared with which Burdon-Sanderson's physiology or Ferrier's\nbrain-knowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficient\ncause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted; a good\ncause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an\nexceptional brain, congenitally?\n\nHow well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within their own scope. I\nwonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only one. He has\nclosed the account most accurately, and to-day begun a new record. How\nmany of us begin a new record with each day of our lives?\n\nTo me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope,\nand that truly I began a new record. So it will be until the Great\nRecorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance to\nprofit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I be\nangry with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must only wait on\nhopeless and work. Work! work!\n\nIf I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there--a\ngood, unselfish cause to make me work--that would be indeed happiness.\n\n\n_Mina Murray's Journal._\n\n_26 July._--I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here; it\nis like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time. And\nthere is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes it\ndifferent from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I\nhad not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned; but\nyesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from\nhim. I had written asking him if he had heard, and he said the enclosed\nhad just been received. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula,\nand says that he is just starting for home. That is not like Jonathan;\nI do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too, Lucy,\nalthough she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of walking in\nher sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and we have decided\nthat I am to lock the door of our room every night. Mrs. Westenra has\ngot an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and\nalong the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over\nwith a despairing cry that echoes all over the place. Poor dear, she is\nnaturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me that her husband, Lucy's\nfather, had the same habit; that he would get up in the night and dress\nhimself and go out, if he were not stopped. Lucy is to be married in the\nautumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how her house is\nto be arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan\nand I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try to\nmake both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood--he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only\nson of Lord Godalming--is coming up here very shortly--as soon as he can\nleave town, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy is\ncounting the moments till he comes. She wants to take him up to the seat\non the churchyard cliff and show him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it\nis the waiting which disturbs her; she will be all right when he\narrives.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_27 July._--No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about him,\nthough why I should I do not know; but I do wish that he would write, if\nit were only a single line. Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I\nam awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so\nhot that she cannot get cold; but still the anxiety and the perpetually\nbeing wakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and\nwakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy's health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has been\nsuddenly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken seriously\nill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, but it does not touch\nher looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely\nrose-pink. She has lost that anæmic look which she had. I pray it will\nall last.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_3 August._--Another week gone, and no news from Jonathan, not even to\nMr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is not ill. He\nsurely would have written. I look at that last letter of his, but\nsomehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet it is\nhis writing. There is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked much in\nher sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration about her\nwhich I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be watching\nme. She tries the door, and finding it locked, goes about the room\nsearching for the key.\n\n_6 August._--Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting\ndreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should\nfeel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last\nletter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable\nthan ever, but is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and\nthe fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it and\nlearn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write is\nhidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is grey--except\nthe green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock;\ngrey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the\ngrey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey fingers. The sea\nis tumbling in over the shallows and the sandy flats with a roar,\nmuffled in the sea-mists drifting inland. The horizon is lost in a grey\nmist. All is vastness; the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and\nthere is a \"brool\" over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom.\nDark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half shrouded in\nthe mist, and seem \"men like trees walking.\" The fishing-boats are\nracing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep into\nthe harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is\nmaking straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that\nhe wants to talk....\n\nI have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he sat\ndown beside me, he said in a very gentle way:--\n\n\"I want to say something to you, miss.\" I could see he was not at ease,\nso I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak\nfully; so he said, leaving his hand in mine:--\n\n\"I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked\nthings I've been sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past;\nbut I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone. We\naud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don't\naltogether like to think of it, and we don't want to feel scart of it;\nan' that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my\nown heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a\nbit; only I don't want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at\nhand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to\nexpect; and I'm so nigh it that the Aud Man is already whettin' his\nscythe. Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin' about it all at\nonce; the chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of\nDeath will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my\ndeary!\"--for he saw that I was crying--\"if he should come this very\nnight I'd not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a\nwaitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that\nwe can rightly depend on. But I'm content, for it's comin' to me, my\ndeary, and comin' quick. It may be comin' while we be lookin' and\nwonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out over the sea that's bringin' with\nit loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! look!\" he\ncried suddenly. \"There's something in that wind and in the hoast beyont\nthat sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It's in the\nair; I feel it comin'. Lord, make me answer cheerful when my call\ncomes!\" He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth\nmoved as though he were praying. After a few minutes' silence, he got\nup, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled\noff. It all touched me, and upset me very much.\n\nI was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under his\narm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time\nkept looking at a strange ship.\n\n\"I can't make her out,\" he said; \"she's a Russian, by the look of her;\nbut she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her mind\na bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to\nrun up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is\nsteered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel;\nchanges about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before\nthis time to-morrow.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nCUTTING FROM \"THE DAILYGRAPH,\" 8 AUGUST\n\n\n(_Pasted in Mina Murray's Journal._)\n\nFrom a Correspondent.\n\n_Whitby_.\n\nOne of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been\nexperienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had\nbeen somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of\nAugust. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great\nbody of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods,\nRobin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in\nthe neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers _Emma_ and _Scarborough_ made\ntrips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of\n\"tripping\" both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the\nafternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff\nchurchyard, and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of\nsea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of\n\"mares'-tails\" high in the sky to the north-west. The wind was then\nblowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical\nlanguage is ranked \"No. 2: light breeze.\" The coastguard on duty at once\nmade report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has\nkept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic\nmanner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very\nbeautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds, that\nthere was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old\nchurchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black\nmass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its\ndownward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour--flame,\npurple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with here and\nthere masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all\nsorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The\nexperience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the\nsketches of the \"Prelude to the Great Storm\" will grace the R. A. and R.\nI. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind then and\nthere that his \"cobble\" or his \"mule,\" as they term the different\nclasses of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed.\nThe wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there\nwas a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on\nthe approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature. There\nwere but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers,\nwhich usually \"hug\" the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but\nfew fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign\nschooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. The\nfoolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme for\ncomment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal\nher to reduce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut down she\nwas seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating\nswell of the sea,\n\n    \"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.\"\n\nShortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite\noppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep\ninland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the\nband on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord in the\ngreat harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came a\nstrange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to\ncarry a strange, faint, hollow booming.\n\nThen without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at the\ntime, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize,\nthe whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in\ngrowing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till in a very few minutes\nthe lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster.\nWhite-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the\nshelving cliffs; others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept\nthe lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier\nof Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such\nforce that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet,\nor clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary\nto clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers, or else the\nfatalities of the night would have been increased manifold. To add to\nthe difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came\ndrifting inland--white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion,\nso dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of\nimagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were\ntouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many\na one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mist\ncleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the\nlightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals\nof thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock\nof the footsteps of the storm.\n\nSome of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of\nabsorbing interest--the sea, running mountains high, threw skywards with\neach wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to\nsnatch at and whirl away into space; here and there a fishing-boat, with\na rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast; now and again\nthe white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the East\nCliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been\ntried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in\nthe pauses of the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea.\nOnce or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing-boat,\nwith gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance\nof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the\npiers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of\njoy from the mass of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemed\nto cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush.\n\nBefore long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner\nwith all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed\nearlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east,\nand there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they\nrealized the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her and the\nport lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from time\nto time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter,\nit would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the\nharbour. It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so\ngreat that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost\nvisible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such\nspeed that, in the words of one old salt, \"she must fetch up somewhere,\nif it was only in hell.\" Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than\nany hitherto--a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things\nlike a grey pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing,\nfor the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the\nbooming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder\nthan before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour\nmouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited\nbreathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnant\nof the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, _mirabile dictu_, between\nthe piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed,\nswept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and\ngained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a\nshudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a\ncorpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each\nmotion of the ship. No other form could be seen on deck at all. A great\nawe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had\nfound the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However,\nall took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. The\nschooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on\nthat accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many\nstorms into the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the East\nCliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.\n\nThere was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up on\nthe sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the\n\"top-hammer\" came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant\nthe shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as\nif shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow\non the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard\nhangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat\ntombstones--\"thruff-steans\" or \"through-stones,\" as they call them in\nthe Whitby vernacular--actually project over where the sustaining cliff\nhas fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed\nintensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.\n\nIt so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, as\nall those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or were\nout on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on the eastern\nside of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was the\nfirst to climb on board. The men working the searchlight, after scouring\nthe entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned the\nlight on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and\nwhen he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled at\nonce as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general\ncuriosity, and quite a number of people began to run. It is a good way\nround from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your\ncorrespondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd.\nWhen I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd,\nwhom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By the\ncourtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted\nto climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman\nwhilst actually lashed to the wheel.\n\nIt was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, for\nnot often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastened\nby his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between\nthe inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it\nwas fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by\nthe binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but\nthe flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of\nthe wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he\nwas tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of the\nstate of things, and a doctor--Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot\nPlace--who came immediately after me, declared, after making\nexamination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days. In his\npocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll of\npaper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. The coastguard said\nthe man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his\nteeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some\ncomplications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards cannot\nclaim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on a\nderelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young\nlaw student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already\ncompletely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the\nstatutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of\ndelegated possession, is held in a _dead hand_. It is needless to say\nthat the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where\nhe held his honourable watch and ward till death--a steadfastness as\nnoble as that of the young Casabianca--and placed in the mortuary to\nawait inquest.\n\nAlready the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating;\ncrowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is beginning to redden over\nthe Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next issue, further\ndetails of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into\nharbour in the storm.\n\n_Whitby_\n\n_9 August._--The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in the\nstorm last night is almost more startling than the thing itself. It\nturns out that the schooner is a Russian from Varna, and is called the\n_Demeter_. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only a\nsmall amount of cargo--a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.\nThis cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of\n7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and formally took\npossession of the goods consigned to him. The Russian consul, too,\nacting for the charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, and\npaid all harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day except\nthe strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade have been\nmost exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with\nexisting regulations. As the matter is to be a \"nine days' wonder,\" they\nare evidently determined that there shall be no cause of after\ncomplaint. A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which\nlanded when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of the\nS. P. C. A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriend the\nanimal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be found;\nit seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that it\nwas frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is still\nhiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on such a\npossibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for it\nis evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred\nmastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found\ndead in the roadway opposite to its master's yard. It had been fighting,\nand manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away,\nand its belly was slit open as if with a savage claw.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have been\npermitted to look over the log-book of the _Demeter_, which was in order\nup to within three days, but contained nothing of special interest\nexcept as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest, however, is\nwith regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was to-day produced\nat the inquest; and a more strange narrative than the two between them\nunfold it has not been my lot to come across. As there is no motive for\nconcealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly send you a\nrescript, simply omitting technical details of seamanship and\nsupercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been seized with\nsome kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that\nthis had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course my\nstatement must be taken _cum grano_, since I am writing from the\ndictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated for\nme, time being short.\n\n                         LOG OF THE \"DEMETER.\"\n\n\n_Varna to Whitby._\n\n_Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep\naccurate note henceforth till we land._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth.\nAt noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands ... two mates,\ncook, and myself (captain).\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs\nofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat of\nguarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, but\nquick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something.\nSeemed scared, but would not speak out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, who\nsailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong; they only\ntold him there was _something_, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper\nwith one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but\nall was quiet.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky, was\nmissing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells last\nnight; was relieved by Abramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more\ndowncast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but\nwould not say more than there was _something_ aboard. Mate getting very\nimpatient with them; feared some trouble ahead.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in\nan awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange man\naboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering\nbehind the deck-house, as there was a rain-storm, when he saw a tall,\nthin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companion-way,\nand go along the deck forward, and disappear. He followed cautiously,\nbut when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed.\nHe was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may\nspread. To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully from\nstem to stern.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLater in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as they\nevidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from\nstem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to yield to such\nfoolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would engage to keep\nthem out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, while the\nrest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we left\nno corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there\nwere no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when\nsearch over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but\nsaid nothing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_22 July_.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with\nsails--no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread.\nMate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in bad\nweather. Passed Gibralter and out through Straits. All well.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_24 July_.--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short,\nand entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last\nnight another man lost--disappeared. Like the first, he came off his\nwatch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear; sent a round\nrobin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate\nangry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do\nsome violence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_28 July_.--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom,\nand the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardly\nknow how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second mate\nvolunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours' sleep.\nWind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is\nsteadier.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 July_.--Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew too\ntired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one\nexcept steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search,\nbut no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate\nand I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_30 July_.--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine,\nall sails set. Retired worn out; slept soundly; awaked by mate telling\nme that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and\ntwo hands left to work ship.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_1 August_.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when in\nthe English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere.\nNot having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower,\nas could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible\ndoom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature\nseems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear,\nworking stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are\nRussian, he Roumanian.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_2 August, midnight_.--Woke up from few minutes' sleep by hearing a cry,\nseemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and\nran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on\nwatch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits\nof Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as\nhe heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and\nonly God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and God\nseems to have deserted us.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_3 August_.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, and\nwhen I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran\nbefore it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the\nmate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He\nlooked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given\nway. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my\near, as though fearing the very air might hear: \"_It_ is here; I know\nit, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin,\nand ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind\nIt, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the\nair.\" And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into\nspace. Then he went on: \"But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the\nhold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and\nsee. You work the helm.\" And, with a warning look and his finger on his\nlip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could\nnot leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool-chest\nand a lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark,\nraving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those\nbig boxes: they are invoiced as \"clay,\" and to pull them about is as\nharmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and\nwrite these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears.\nThen, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cut\ndown sails and lie by, and signal for help....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate\nwould come out calmer--for I heard him knocking away at something in the\nhold, and work is good for him--there came up the hatchway a sudden,\nstartled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he\ncame as if shot from a gun--a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and\nhis face convulsed with fear. \"Save me! save me!\" he cried, and then\nlooked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in\na steady voice he said: \"You had better come too, captain, before it is\ntoo late. _He_ is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me\nfrom Him, and it is all that is left!\" Before I could say a word, or\nmove forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately\nthrew himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was\nthis madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has\nfollowed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these\nhorrors when I get to port? _When_ I get to port! Will that ever be?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_4 August._--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there is\nsunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go\nbelow, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and in\nthe dimness of the night I saw It--Him! God forgive me, but the mate was\nright to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man; to die like a\nsailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not\nleave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie\nmy hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with\nthem I shall tie that which He--It!--dare not touch; and then, come good\nwind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am\ngrowing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the\nface again, I may not have time to act.... If we are wrecked, mayhap\nthis bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand; if not,\n... well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. God\nand the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying\nto do his duty....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOf course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to adduce;\nand whether or not the man himself committed the murders there is now\nnone to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the captain is\nsimply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already it is\narranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Esk\nfor a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey\nsteps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners\nof more than a hundred boats have already given in their names as\nwishing to follow him to the grave.\n\nNo trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there is much\nmourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he would, I\nbelieve, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see the funeral; and so\nwill end this one more \"mystery of the sea.\"\n\n\n_Mina Murray's Journal._\n\n_8 August._--Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could not\nsleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the\nchimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to be\nlike a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got up\ntwice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and\nmanaged to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It\nis a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is\nthwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any,\ndisappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of her\nlife.\n\nEarly in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to see\nif anything had happened in the night. There were very few people about,\nand though the sun was bright, and the air clear and fresh, the big,\ngrim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves because the foam that\ntopped them was like snow, forced themselves in through the narrow mouth\nof the harbour--like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow I\nfelt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But,\noh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfully\nanxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_10 August._--The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day was most\ntouching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffin\nwas carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to the\nchurchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst\nthe cortège of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down\nagain. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way.\nThe poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat so that we stood on\nit when the time came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemed much upset.\nShe was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that\nher dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing:\nshe will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if\nthere be, she does not understand it herself. There is an additional\ncause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on our\nseat, his neck being broken. He had evidently, as the doctor said,\nfallen back in the seat in some sort of fright, for there was a look of\nfear and horror on his face that the men said made them shudder. Poor\ndear old man! Perhaps he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is so\nsweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other\npeople do. Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did\nnot much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the men\nwho came up here often to look for the boats was followed by his dog.\nThe dog is always with him. They are both quiet persons, and I never saw\nthe man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would\nnot come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few\nyards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then\nharshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make a\nnoise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs\nbristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally\nthe man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and then\ntook it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it on\nthe tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched the\nstone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It did\nnot try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and was\nin such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect,\nto comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to\ntouch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly\nfear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the world\nwithout trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The\nwhole agglomeration of things--the ship steered into port by a dead\nman; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; the\ntouching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror--will all\nafford material for her dreams.\n\nI think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, so I\nshall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood's Bay and\nback. She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-walking then.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_Same day, 11 o'clock p. m._--Oh, but I am tired! If it were not that I\nhad made my diary a duty I should not open it to-night. We had a lovely\nwalk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits, owing, I think, to some\ndear cows who came nosing towards us in a field close to the lighthouse,\nand frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot everything\nexcept, of course, personal fear, and it seemed to wipe the slate clean\nand give us a fresh start. We had a capital \"severe tea\" at Robin Hood's\nBay in a sweet little old-fashioned inn, with a bow-window right over\nthe seaweed-covered rocks of the strand. I believe we should have\nshocked the \"New Woman\" with our appetites. Men are more tolerant, bless\nthem! Then we walked home with some, or rather many, stoppages to rest,\nand with our hearts full of a constant dread of wild bulls. Lucy was\nreally tired, and we intended to creep off to bed as soon as we could.\nThe young curate came in, however, and Mrs. Westenra asked him to stay\nfor supper. Lucy and I had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; I\nknow it was a hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that\nsome day the bishops must get together and see about breeding up a new\nclass of curates, who don't take supper, no matter how they may be\npressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Lucy is asleep and\nbreathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and\nlooks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her seeing her\nonly in the drawing-room, I wonder what he would say if he saw her now.\nSome of the \"New Women\" writers will some day start an idea that men and\nwomen should be allowed to see each other asleep before proposing or\naccepting. But I suppose the New Woman won't condescend in future to\naccept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will make\nof it, too! There's some consolation in that. I am so happy to-night,\nbecause dear Lucy seems better. I really believe she has turned the\ncorner, and that we are over her troubles with dreaming. I should be\nquite happy if I only knew if Jonathan.... God bless and keep him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_11 August, 3 a. m._--Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write.\nI am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an\nagonising experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary....\nSuddenly I became broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear\nupon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark,\nso I could not see Lucy's bed; I stole across and felt for her. The bed\nwas empty. I lit a match and found that she was not in the room. The\ndoor was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her\nmother, who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some\nclothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the room it\nstruck me that the clothes she wore might give me some clue to her\ndreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house; dress, outside.\nDressing-gown and dress were both in their places. \"Thank God,\" I said\nto myself, \"she cannot be far, as she is only in her nightdress.\" I ran\ndownstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in\nall the other open rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fear\nchilling my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It\nwas not wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The people\nof the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared that\nLucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to think of what\nmight happen; a vague, overmastering fear obscured all details. I took a\nbig, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I was in the\nCrescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I ran along the North\nTerrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. At\nthe edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour to\nthe East Cliff, in the hope or fear--I don't know which--of seeing Lucy\nin our favourite seat. There was a bright full moon, with heavy black,\ndriving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of\nlight and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see\nnothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary's Church and all\naround it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey\ncoming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as\na sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became gradually\nvisible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for\nthere, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a\nhalf-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was too\nquick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almost\nimmediately; but it seemed to me as though something dark stood behind\nthe seat where the white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was,\nwhether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch another\nglance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the\nfish-market to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East\nCliff. The town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I see; I rejoiced\nthat it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy's condition. The\ntime and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath\ncame laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must have\ngone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with\nlead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty. When I got almost\nto the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now\nclose enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow. There\nwas undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the\nhalf-reclining white figure. I called in fright, \"Lucy! Lucy!\" and\nsomething raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white face\nand red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the\nentrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and\nthe seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in\nview again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly\nthat I could see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the back\nof the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living\nthing about.\n\nWhen I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Her lips\nwere parted, and she was breathing--not softly as usual with her, but in\nlong, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs full at every\nbreath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the\ncollar of her nightdress close around her throat. Whilst she did so\nthere came a little shudder through her, as though she felt the cold. I\nflung the warm shawl over her, and drew the edges tight round her neck,\nfor I dreaded lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air,\nunclad as she was. I feared to wake her all at once, so, in order to\nhave my hands free that I might help her, I fastened the shawl at her\nthroat with a big safety-pin; but I must have been clumsy in my anxiety\nand pinched or pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathing\nbecame quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moaned. When I\nhad her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on her feet and then began\nvery gently to wake her. At first she did not respond; but gradually she\nbecame more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing\noccasionally. At last, as time was passing fast, and, for many other\nreasons, I wished to get her home at once, I shook her more forcibly,\ntill finally she opened her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised\nto see me, as, of course, she did not realise all at once where she was.\nLucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her body must\nhave been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat appalled at waking\nunclad in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. She\ntrembled a little, and clung to me; when I told her to come at once with\nme home she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we\npassed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me wince. She\nstopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes; but I would not.\nHowever, when we got to the pathway outside the churchyard, where there\nwas a puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with\nmud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as we went home, no\none, in case we should meet any one, should notice my bare feet.\n\nFortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soul. Once we saw\na man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front of\nus; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such as\nthere are here, steep little closes, or \"wynds,\" as they call them in\nScotland. My heart beat so loud all the time that sometimes I thought I\nshould faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only for her\nhealth, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputation\nin case the story should get wind. When we got in, and had washed our\nfeet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into\nbed. Before falling asleep she asked--even implored--me not to say a\nword to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure. I\nhesitated at first to promise; but on thinking of the state of her\nmother's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret her,\nand thinking, too, of how such a story might become distorted--nay,\ninfallibly would--in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do\nso. I hope I did right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied to\nmy wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleeping\nsoundly; the reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Same day, noon._--All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her and seemed\nnot to have even changed her side. The adventure of the night does not\nseem to have harmed her; on the contrary, it has benefited her, for she\nlooks better this morning than she has done for weeks. I was sorry to\nnotice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it might\nhave been serious, for the skin of her throat was pierced. I must have\npinched up a piece of loose skin and have transfixed it, for there are\ntwo little red points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress\nwas a drop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, she\nlaughed and petted me, and said she did not even feel it. Fortunately it\ncannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Same day, night._--We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and the\nsun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to Mulgrave\nWoods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I walking by the\ncliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a little sad myself, for\nI could not but feel how _absolutely_ happy it would have been had\nJonathan been with me. But there! I must only be patient. In the evening\nwe strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard some good music by Spohr\nand Mackenzie, and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than she\nhas been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door\nand secure the key the same as before, though I do not expect any\ntrouble to-night.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_12 August._--My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night I\nwas wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in her sleep, to\nbe a little impatient at finding the door shut, and went back to bed\nunder a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard the birds\nchirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and, I was glad to see,\nwas even better than on the previous morning. All her old gaiety of\nmanner seemed to have come back, and she came and snuggled in beside me\nand told me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I was about\nJonathan, and then she tried to comfort me. Well, she succeeded\nsomewhat, for, though sympathy can't alter facts, it can help to make\nthem more bearable.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_13 August._--Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my wrist as\nbefore. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting up in bed,\nstill asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly, and pulling\naside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and the soft\neffect of the light over the sea and sky--merged together in one great,\nsilent mystery--was beautiful beyond words. Between me and the moonlight\nflitted a great bat, coming and going in great whirling circles. Once or\ntwice it came quite close, but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me,\nand flitted away across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back\nfrom the window Lucy had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully.\nShe did not stir again all night.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_14 August._--On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seems\nto have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard to\nget her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea or\ndinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming home for\ndinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and\nstopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun, low\ndown in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness; the red light was\nthrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe\neverything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and\nsuddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself:--\n\n\"His red eyes again! They are just the same.\" It was such an odd\nexpression, coming _apropos_ of nothing, that it quite startled me. I\nslewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare\nat her, and saw that she was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd look on\nher face that I could not quite make out; so I said nothing, but\nfollowed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat,\nwhereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was a little startled myself,\nfor it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes like\nburning flames; but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red\nsunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary's Church behind our\nseat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the\nrefraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I\ncalled Lucy's attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herself\nwith a start, but she looked sad all the same; it may have been that she\nwas thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to it; so I\nsaid nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went\nearly to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll myself;\nI walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet\nsadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home--it was then\nbright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the\nCrescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen--I threw a glance\nup at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I thought that\nperhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief and\nwaved it. She did not notice or make any movement whatever. Just then,\nthe moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the light fell\non the window. There distinctly was Lucy with her head lying up against\nthe side of the window-sill and her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, and\nby her, seated on the window-sill, was something that looked like a\ngood-sized bird. I was afraid she might get a chill, so I ran upstairs,\nbut as I came into the room she was moving back to her bed, fast\nasleep, and breathing heavily; she was holding her hand to her throat,\nas though to protect it from cold.\n\nI did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly; I have taken care that the\ndoor is locked and the window securely fastened.\n\nShe looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than is her wont, and\nthere is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like. I\nfear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it\nis.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_15 August._--Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired, and\nslept on after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at breakfast.\nArthur's father is better, and wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucy\nis full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad and sorry at once. Later on\nin the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to lose Lucy as her\nvery own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon to have some one to\nprotect her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She confided to me that she has got\nher death-warrant. She has not told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy;\nher doctor told her that within a few months, at most, she must die, for\nher heart is weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock would be\nalmost sure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair of\nthe dreadful night of Lucy's sleep-walking.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_17 August._--No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart to\nwrite. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our happiness.\nNo news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker, whilst her\nmother's hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy's\nfading away as she is doing. She eats well and sleeps well, and enjoys\nthe fresh air; but all the time the roses in her cheeks are fading, and\nshe gets weaker and more languid day by day; at night I hear her gasping\nas if for air. I keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at\nnight, but she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open\nwindow. Last night I found her leaning out when I woke up, and when I\ntried to wake her I could not; she was in a faint. When I managed to\nrestore her she was as weak as water, and cried silently between long,\npainful struggles for breath. When I asked her how she came to be at the\nwindow she shook her head and turned away. I trust her feeling ill may\nnot be from that unlucky prick of the safety-pin. I looked at her throat\njust now as she lay asleep, and the tiny wounds seem not to have healed.\nThey are still open, and, if anything, larger than before, and the\nedges of them are faintly white. They are like little white dots with\nred centres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist on the\ndoctor seeing about them.\n\n\n_Letter, Samuel F. Billington & Son, Solicitors, Whitby, to Messrs.\nCarter, Paterson & Co., London._\n\n\"_17 August._\n\n\"Dear Sirs,--\n\n\"Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great Northern\nRailway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near Purfleet, immediately\non receipt at goods station King's Cross. The house is at present empty,\nbut enclosed please find keys, all of which are labelled.\n\n\"You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form the\nconsignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of the house\nand marked 'A' on rough diagram enclosed. Your agent will easily\nrecognise the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion. The\ngoods leave by the train at 9:30 to-night, and will be due at King's\nCross at 4:30 to-morrow afternoon. As our client wishes the delivery\nmade as soon as possible, we shall be obliged by your having teams ready\nat King's Cross at the time named and forthwith conveying the goods to\ndestination. In order to obviate any delays possible through any routine\nrequirements as to payment in your departments, we enclose cheque\nherewith for ten pounds (£10), receipt of which please acknowledge.\nShould the charge be less than this amount, you can return balance; if\ngreater, we shall at once send cheque for difference on hearing from\nyou. You are to leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of the\nhouse, where the proprietor may get them on his entering the house by\nmeans of his duplicate key.\n\n\"Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business courtesy in\npressing you in all ways to use the utmost expedition.\n\n_\"We are, dear Sirs,\n\n\"Faithfully yours,\n\n\"SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON.\"_\n\n\n_Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, to Messrs. Billington &\nSon, Whitby._\n\n\"_21 August._\n\n\"Dear Sirs,--\n\n\"We beg to acknowledge £10 received and to return cheque £1 17s. 9d,\namount of overplus, as shown in receipted account herewith. Goods are\ndelivered in exact accordance with instructions, and keys left in parcel\nin main hall, as directed.\n\n\"We are, dear Sirs,\n\n\"Yours respectfully.\n\n\"_Pro_ CARTER, PATERSON & CO.\"\n\n\n_Mina Murray's Journal._\n\n_18 August._--I am happy to-day, and write sitting on the seat in the\nchurchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well all\nnight, and did not disturb me once. The roses seem coming back already\nto her cheeks, though she is still sadly pale and wan-looking. If she\nwere in any way anæmic I could understand it, but she is not. She is in\ngay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticence\nseems to have passed from her, and she has just reminded me, as if I\nneeded any reminding, of _that_ night, and that it was here, on this\nvery seat, I found her asleep. As she told me she tapped playfully with\nthe heel of her boot on the stone slab and said:--\n\n\"My poor little feet didn't make much noise then! I daresay poor old Mr.\nSwales would have told me that it was because I didn't want to wake up\nGeordie.\" As she was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if she\nhad dreamed at all that night. Before she answered, that sweet, puckered\nlook came into her forehead, which Arthur--I call him Arthur from her\nhabit--says he loves; and, indeed, I don't wonder that he does. Then she\nwent on in a half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to\nherself:--\n\n\"I didn't quite dream; but it all seemed to be real. I only wanted to be\nhere in this spot--I don't know why, for I was afraid of something--I\ndon't know what. I remember, though I suppose I was asleep, passing\nthrough the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by, and\nI leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling--the\nwhole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all howling at once--as\nI went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory of something long and\ndark with red eyes, just as we saw in the sunset, and something very\nsweet and very bitter all around me at once; and then I seemed sinking\ninto deep green water, and there was a singing in my ears, as I have\nheard there is to drowning men; and then everything seemed passing away\nfrom me; my soul seemed to go out from my body and float about the air.\nI seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under me,\nand then there was a sort of agonising feeling, as if I were in an\nearthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw you do\nit before I felt you.\"\n\nThen she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I\nlistened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought it\nbetter not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to other\nsubjects, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got home the\nfresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really more\nrosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a very\nhappy evening together.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_19 August._--Joy, joy, joy! although not all joy. At last, news of\nJonathan. The dear fellow has been ill; that is why he did not write. I\nam not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. Mr. Hawkins sent\nme on the letter, and wrote himself, oh, so kindly. I am to leave in the\nmorning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if necessary,\nand to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it would not be a bad thing if\nwe were to be married out there. I have cried over the good Sister's\nletter till I can feel it wet against my bosom, where it lies. It is of\nJonathan, and must be next my heart, for he is _in_ my heart. My journey\nis all mapped out, and my luggage ready. I am only taking one change of\ndress; Lucy will bring my trunk to London and keep it till I send for\nit, for it may be that ... I must write no more; I must keep it to say\nto Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has seen and touched must\ncomfort me till we meet.\n\n\n_Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary,\nBuda-Pesth, to Miss Wilhelmina Murray._\n\n\"_12 August._\n\n\"Dear Madam,--\n\n\"I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strong\nenough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St. Joseph\nand Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six weeks,\nsuffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love,\nand to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Hawkins,\nExeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is sorry for his\ndelay, and that all of his work is completed. He will require some few\nweeks' rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. He\nwishes me to say that he has not sufficient money with him, and that he\nwould like to pay for his staying here, so that others who need shall\nnot be wanting for help.\n\n\"Believe me,\n\n\"Yours, with sympathy and all blessings,\n\n\"SISTER AGATHA.\n\n\"P. S.--My patient being asleep, I open this to let you know something\nmore. He has told me all about you, and that you are shortly to be his\nwife. All blessings to you both! He has had some fearful shock--so says\nour doctor--and in his delirium his ravings have been dreadful; of\nwolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and demons; and I fear to say of\nwhat. Be careful with him always that there may be nothing to excite him\nof this kind for a long time to come; the traces of such an illness as\nhis do not lightly die away. We should have written long ago, but we\nknew nothing of his friends, and there was on him nothing that any one\ncould understand. He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard\nwas told by the station-master there that he rushed into the station\nshouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour that\nhe was English, they gave him a ticket for the furthest station on the\nway thither that the train reached.\n\n\"Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all hearts by his\nsweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on well, and I have no\ndoubt will in a few weeks be all himself. But be careful of him for\nsafety's sake. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, many,\nmany, happy years for you both.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_19 August._--Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night. About\neight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does when\nsetting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and knowing my interest\nin him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the\nattendant and at times servile; but to-night, the man tells me, he was\nquite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with him at all. All he\nwould say was:--\n\n     \"I don't want to talk to you: you don't count now; the Master is at\n     hand.\"\n\nThe attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which has\nseized him. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong man with\nhomicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous. The\ncombination is a dreadful one. At nine o'clock I visited him myself. His\nattitude to me was the same as that to the attendant; in his sublime\nself-feeling the difference between myself and attendant seemed to him\nas nothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think that\nhe himself is God. These infinitesimal distinctions between man and man\nare too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves\naway! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall; but the God created\nfrom human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh,\nif men only knew!\n\nFor half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in greater and\ngreater degree. I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept strict\nobservation all the same. All at once that shifty look came into his\neyes which we always see when a madman has seized an idea, and with it\nthe shifty movement of the head and back which asylum attendants come to\nknow so well. He became quite quiet, and went and sat on the edge of his\nbed resignedly, and looked into space with lack-lustre eyes. I thought I\nwould find out if his apathy were real or only assumed, and tried to\nlead him to talk of his pets, a theme which had never failed to excite\nhis attention. At first he made no reply, but at length said testily:--\n\n\"Bother them all! I don't care a pin about them.\"\n\n\"What?\" I said. \"You don't mean to tell me you don't care about\nspiders?\" (Spiders at present are his hobby and the note-book is filling\nup with columns of small figures.) To this he answered enigmatically:--\n\n\"The bride-maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming of the bride;\nbut when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyes\nthat are filled.\"\n\nHe would not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on his bed\nall the time I remained with him.\n\nI am weary to-night and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucy, and\nhow different things might have been. If I don't sleep at once, chloral,\nthe modern Morpheus--C_{2}HCl_{3}O. H_{2}O! I must be careful not to let\nit grow into a habit. No, I shall take none to-night! I have thought of\nLucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need be,\nto-night shall be sleepless....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Glad I made the resolution; gladder that I kept to it. I had\nlain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice, when the\nnight-watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say that Renfield\nhad escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once; my patient is\ntoo dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas of his might\nwork out dangerously with strangers. The attendant was waiting for me.\nHe said he had seen him not ten minutes before, seemingly asleep in his\nbed, when he had looked through the observation-trap in the door. His\nattention was called by the sound of the window being wrenched out. He\nran back and saw his feet disappear through the window, and had at once\nsent up for me. He was only in his night-gear, and cannot be far off.\nThe attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where he should\ngo than to follow him, as he might lose sight of him whilst getting out\nof the building by the door. He is a bulky man, and couldn't get through\nthe window. I am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet foremost,\nand, as we were only a few feet above ground, landed unhurt. The\nattendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and had taken a\nstraight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As I got through the belt\nof trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which separates our\ngrounds from those of the deserted house.\n\nI ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men\nimmediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in case our friend\nmight be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the wall,\ndropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield's figure just\ndisappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him. On the\nfar side of the house I found him pressed close against the old\nironbound oak door of the chapel. He was talking, apparently to some\none, but I was afraid to go near enough to hear what he was saying, lest\nI might frighten him, and he should run off. Chasing an errant swarm of\nbees is nothing to following a naked lunatic, when the fit of escaping\nis upon him! After a few minutes, however, I could see that he did not\ntake note of anything around him, and so ventured to draw nearer to\nhim--the more so as my men had now crossed the wall and were closing him\nin. I heard him say:--\n\n\"I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, and You will\nreward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped You long and afar\noff. Now that You are near, I await Your commands, and You will not pass\nme by, will You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good things?\"\n\nHe _is_ a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves and fishes\neven when he believes he is in a Real Presence. His manias make a\nstartling combination. When we closed in on him he fought like a tiger.\nHe is immensely strong, for he was more like a wild beast than a man. I\nnever saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before; and I hope I\nshall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his strength and\nhis danger in good time. With strength and determination like his, he\nmight have done wild work before he was caged. He is safe now at any\nrate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get free from the strait-waistcoat\nthat keeps him restrained, and he's chained to the wall in the padded\nroom. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are\nmore deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement.\n\nJust now he spoke coherent words for the first time:--\n\n\"I shall be patient, Master. It is coming--coming--coming!\"\n\nSo I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to sleep, but this\ndiary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep to-night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\n_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._\n\n\"_Buda-Pesth, 24 August._\n\n\"My dearest Lucy,--\n\n\"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we\nparted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hull\nall right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I\nfeel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I\nknew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some\nnursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one,\noh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out\nof his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his\nface has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not\nremember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At\nleast, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had some\nterrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to try\nto recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse,\ntells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I\nwanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself,\nand say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the\nsecrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear\nthem, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the\nnext day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject again,\nand after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved\nabout, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about\nanything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be,\nhave no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes\nto you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can\ntreat of.' I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my\npoor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of\n_my_ being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I\nfelt a thrill of joy through me when I _knew_ that no other woman was a\ncause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his\nface while he sleeps. He is waking!...\n\n\"When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get something\nfrom the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought all his things.\nI saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him to\nlet me look at it--for I knew then that I might find some clue to his\ntrouble--but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sent\nme over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment.\nThen he called me back, and when I came he had his hand over the\nnote-book, and he said to me very solemnly:--\n\n\"'Wilhelmina'--I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has\nnever called me by that name since he asked me to marry him--'you know,\ndear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no\nsecret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to\nthink of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it\nwas all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain\nfever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to\nknow it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.' For, my\ndear, we had decided to be married as soon as the formalities are\ncomplete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is\nthe book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me\nknow; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to\nthe bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell\nback exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. I\nhave asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this\nafternoon, and am waiting her reply....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English mission\nchurch has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soon\nafter as Jonathan awakes....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, very\nhappy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and he\nsat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his 'I will' firmly\nand strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even those\nwords seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, I\nshall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities\nI have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the\nchaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucy, it\nis the first time I have written the words 'my husband'--left me alone\nwith my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it\nup in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon\nwhich was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax,\nand for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it\nto my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would\nbe an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each\nother; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake\nor for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh,\nLucy, it was the first time he took _his wife's_ hand, and said that it\nwas the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go\nthrough all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to\nhave said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I\nshall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the\nyear.\n\n\"Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was the\nhappiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give him\nexcept myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my love\nand duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me,\nand drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemn\npledge between us....\n\n\"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only because\nit is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear to\nme. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came from\nthe schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now,\nand with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so that\nin your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear,\nplease Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day of\nsunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must\nnot wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be\n_always_ as happy as I am _now_. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this at\nonce, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan\nis waking--I must attend to my husband!\n\n\"Your ever-loving\n\n\"MINA HARKER.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker._\n\n\"_Whitby, 30 August._\n\n\"My dearest Mina,--\n\n\"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your own\nhome with your husband. I wish you could be coming home soon enough to\nstay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan; it has\nquite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of\nlife, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given\nup walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for a\nweek, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am getting\nfat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have such\nwalks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing\ntogether; and I love him more than ever. He _tells_ me that he loves me\nmore, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn't love me\nmore than he did then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me.\nSo no more just at present from your loving\n\n\"LUCY.\n\n\"P. S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear. \"P. P.\nS.--We are to be married on 28 September.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_20 August._--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has\nnow so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion.\nFor the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then one\nnight, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to\nhimself: \"Now I can wait; now I can wait.\" The attendant came to tell\nme, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in the\nstrait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gone\nfrom his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading--I might\nalmost say, \"cringing\"--softness. I was satisfied with his present\ncondition, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesitated,\nbut finally carried out my wishes without protest. It was a strange\nthing that the patient had humour enough to see their distrust, for,\ncoming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while looking\nfurtively at them:--\n\n\"They think I could hurt you! Fancy _me_ hurting _you_! The fools!\"\n\nIt was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociated\neven in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same I\ndo not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in\ncommon with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or has\nhe to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needful\nto him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not speak. Even the\noffer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him. He will\nonly say: \"I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to think of now,\nand I can wait; I can wait.\"\n\nAfter a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quiet\nuntil just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at\nlength violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhausted\nhim so that he swooned into a sort of coma.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n... Three nights has the same thing happened--violent all day then quiet\nfrom moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the cause. It\nwould almost seem as if there was some influence which came and went.\nHappy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against mad ones. He\nescaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape with it. We\nshall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow in case they\nare required....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_23 August._--\"The unexpected always happens.\" How well Disraeli knew\nlife. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all our\nsubtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved one\nthing; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall in\nfuture be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have given\norders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded room,\nwhen once he is quiet, until an hour before sunrise. The poor soul's\nbody will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark!\nThe unexpected again! I am called; the patient has once more escaped.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the\nattendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past him\nand flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow.\nAgain he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found him\nin the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw me\nhe became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in time, he\nwould have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a strange thing\nhappened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grew\ncalm. I looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caught\nthe patient's eye and followed it, but could trace nothing as it looked\ninto the moonlit sky except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and\nghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel and flit about, but this one\nseemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or had\nsome intention of its own. The patient grew calmer every instant, and\npresently said:--\n\n\"You needn't tie me; I shall go quietly!\" Without trouble we came back\nto the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and shall\nnot forget this night....\n\n\n_Lucy Westenra's Diary_\n\n_Hillingham, 24 August._--I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things\ndown. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it will\nbe. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night I\nseemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is the\nchange of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me,\nfor I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear, and I feel so\nweak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grieved\nwhen he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder\nif I could sleep in mother's room to-night. I shall make an excuse and\ntry.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_25 August._--Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my\nproposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to\nworry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when the\nclock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been falling\nasleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but I\ndid not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I must then have\nfallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them. This\nmorning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat pains\nme. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don't seem ever to\nget air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I\nknow he will be miserable to see me so.\n\n\n_Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward._\n\n\"_Albemarle Hotel, 31 August._\n\n\"My dear Jack,--\n\n\"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she has no special\ndisease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every day. I have\nasked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask her mother, for to\ndisturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter in her present state of\nhealth would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom is\nspoken--disease of the heart--though poor Lucy does not know it yet. I\nam sure that there is something preying on my dear girl's mind. I am\nalmost distracted when I think of her; to look at her gives me a pang. I\ntold her I should ask you to see her, and though she demurred at\nfirst--I know why, old fellow--she finally consented. It will be a\npainful task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for _her_ sake, and\nI must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at\nHillingham to-morrow, two o'clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion in\nMrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of being\nalone with you. I shall come in for tea, and we can go away together; I\nam filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as I\ncan after you have seen her. Do not fail!\n\n\"ARTHUR.\"\n\n\n_Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward._\n\n\"_1 September._\n\n\"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fully\nby to-night's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.\"\n\n\n_Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood._\n\n\"_2 September._\n\n\"My dear old fellow,--\n\n\"With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you know at once\nthat in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or any malady\nthat I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means satisfied with\nher appearance; she is woefully different from what she was when I saw\nher last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have full\nopportunity of examination such as I should wish; our very friendship\nmakes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom can\nbridge over. I had better tell you exactly what happened, leaving you to\ndraw, in a measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I have\ndone and propose doing.\n\n\"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was present,\nand in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying all she knew\nto mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious. I have no\ndoubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is.\nWe lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful, we\ngot, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real cheerfulness\namongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy was left with\nme. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained,\nfor the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door was closed,\nhowever, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down into a chair\nwith a great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that her\nhigh spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction to\nmake a diagnosis. She said to me very sweetly:--\n\n\"'I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I reminded her\nthat a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were grievously\nanxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and settled that\nmatter in a word. 'Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for\nmyself, but all for him!' So I am quite free.\n\n\"I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could not see\nthe usual anæmic signs, and by a chance I was actually able to test the\nquality of her blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cord\ngave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken glass. It was a\nslight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secured\na few drops of the blood and have analysed them. The qualitative\nanalysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows, I should infer, in\nitself a vigorous state of health. In other physical matters I was quite\nsatisfied that there is no need for anxiety; but as there must be a\ncause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion that it must be something\nmental. She complains of difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at\ntimes, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but\nregarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child she\nused to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back,\nand that once she walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, where\nMiss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has not\nreturned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of; I\nhave written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of\nAmsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the\nworld. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all things\nwere to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and your\nrelations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience to\nyour wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do anything I can for\nher. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal\nreason, so, no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his\nwishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is because he knows\nwhat he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopher\nand a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day;\nand he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron\nnerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution,\nself-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the\nkindliest and truest heart that beats--these form his equipment for the\nnoble work that he is doing for mankind--work both in theory and\npractice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy. I\ntell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence in\nhim. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenra\nto-morrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may not\nalarm her mother by too early a repetition of my call.\n\n\"Yours always,\n\n\"JOHN SEWARD.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc., to Dr.\nSeward._\n\n\"_2 September._\n\n\"My good Friend,--\n\n\"When I have received your letter I am already coming to you. By good\nfortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who have\ntrusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who have\ntrusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holds\ndear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so\nswiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our other\nfriend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants my\naids and you call for them than all his great fortune could do. But it\nis pleasure added to do for him, your friend; it is to you that I come.\nHave then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel, so that I may be near\nto hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young lady not too\nlate on to-morrow, for it is likely that I may have to return here that\nnight. But if need be I shall come again in three days, and stay longer\nif it must. Till then good-bye, my friend John.\n\n \"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._\n\n\"_3 September._\n\n\"My dear Art,--\n\n\"Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to Hillingham, and\nfound that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was lunching out, so that\nwe were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very careful examination of\nthe patient. He is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for of\ncourse I was not present all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned,\nbut says he must think. When I told him of our friendship and how you\ntrust to me in the matter, he said: 'You must tell him all you think.\nTell him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am not\njesting. This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.' I asked\nwhat he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when we had\ncome back to town, and he was having a cup of tea before starting on his\nreturn to Amsterdam. He would not give me any further clue. You must not\nbe angry with me, Art, because his very reticence means that all his\nbrains are working for her good. He will speak plainly enough when the\ntime comes, be sure. So I told him I would simply write an account of\nour visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special article for\n_The Daily Telegraph_. He seemed not to notice, but remarked that the\nsmuts in London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was a\nstudent here. I am to get his report to-morrow if he can possibly make\nit. In any case I am to have a letter.\n\n\"Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I first\nsaw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something of the\nghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal. She was\nvery sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to make him\nfeel at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was making a hard\nstruggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quick\nlook under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to chat of\nall things except ourselves and diseases and with such an infinite\ngeniality that I could see poor Lucy's pretense of animation merge into\nreality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the conversation\ngently round to his visit, and suavely said:--\n\n\"'My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you are so\nmuch beloved. That is much, my dear, ever were there that which I do not\nsee. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that you were of a\nghastly pale. To them I say: \"Pouf!\"' And he snapped his fingers at me\nand went on: 'But you and I shall show them how wrong they are. How can\nhe'--and he pointed at me with the same look and gesture as that with\nwhich once he pointed me out to his class, on, or rather after, a\nparticular occasion which he never fails to remind me of--'know anything\nof a young ladies? He has his madams to play with, and to bring them\nback to happiness, and to those that love them. It is much to do, and,\noh, but there are rewards, in that we can bestow such happiness. But the\nyoung ladies! He has no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tell\nthemselves to the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many\nsorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send him away to\nsmoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you and I have little talk all\nto ourselves.' I took the hint, and strolled about, and presently the\nprofessor came to the window and called me in. He looked grave, but\nsaid: 'I have made careful examination, but there is no functional\ncause. With you I agree that there has been much blood lost; it has\nbeen, but is not. But the conditions of her are in no way anæmic. I have\nasked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question,\nthat so I may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will say.\nAnd yet there is cause; there is always cause for everything. I must go\nback home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day; and if\nthere be cause I shall come again. The disease--for not to be all well\nis a disease--interest me, and the sweet young dear, she interest me\ntoo. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.'\n\n\"As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were alone.\nAnd so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern watch. I trust\nyour poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible thing to you, my\ndear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two people who\nare both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your father, and\nyou are right to stick to it; but, if need be, I shall send you word to\ncome at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious unless you hear from\nme.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_4 September._--Zoöphagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.\nHe had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time. Just\nbefore the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The attendant knew\nthe symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came at a\nrun, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became so\nviolent that it took all their strength to hold him. In about five\nminutes, however, he began to get more and more quiet, and finally sank\ninto a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained up to now. The\nattendant tells me that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were really\nappalling; I found my hands full when I got in, attending to some of the\nother patients who were frightened by him. Indeed, I can quite\nunderstand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I was\nsome distance away. It is now after the dinner-hour of the asylum, and\nas yet my patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen,\nwoe-begone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than to show\nsomething directly. I cannot quite understand it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in on\nhim, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be. He\nwas catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his capture\nby making nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges of\npadding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad\nconduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to\nhis own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well to\nhumour him: so he is back in his room with the window open. He has the\nsugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite a\nharvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them into a\nbox, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his room to find\na spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, for any\nclue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me; but he would not\nrise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort of\nfar-away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me:--\n\n\"All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I do\nit for myself!\" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he said:\n\"Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little more\nsugar? I think it would be good for me.\"\n\n\"And the flies?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore I like\nit.\" And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen do\nnot argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a man\nas, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Midnight._--Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra,\nwhom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at our\nown gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him yelling. As\nhis room is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than in\nthe morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky\nbeauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows\nand all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul\nwater, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone\nbuilding, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart\nto endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was going down, and from\nhis window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less and less\nfrenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, an\ninert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectual\nrecuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood up\nquite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not to\nhold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straight\nover to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took his\nfly-box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box; then he shut\nthe window, and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised\nme, so I asked him: \"Are you not going to keep flies any more?\"\n\n\"No,\" said he; \"I am sick of all that rubbish!\" He certainly is a\nwonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of his\nmind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be a clue\nafter all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at high noon\nand at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the sun at\nperiods which affects certain natures--as at times the moon does others?\nWe shall see.\n\n\n_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._\n\n\"_4 September._--Patient still better to-day.\"\n\n\n_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._\n\n\"_5 September._--Patient greatly improved. Good appetite; sleeps\nnaturally; good spirits; colour coming back.\"\n\n\n_Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam._\n\n\"_6 September._--Terrible change for the worse. Come at once; do not\nlose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\n_Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._\n\n\"_6 September._\n\n\"My dear Art,--\n\n\"My news to-day is not so good. Lucy this morning had gone back a bit.\nThere is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it; Mrs.\nWestenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucy, and has consulted me\nprofessionally about her. I took advantage of the opportunity, and told\nher that my old master, Van Helsing, the great specialist, was coming to\nstay with me, and that I would put her in his charge conjointly with\nmyself; so now we can come and go without alarming her unduly, for a\nshock to her would mean sudden death, and this, in Lucy's weak\ncondition, might be disastrous to her. We are hedged in with\ndifficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shall\ncome through them all right. If any need I shall write, so that, if you\ndo not hear from me, take it for granted that I am simply waiting for\nnews. In haste\n\nYours ever,\n\n\"JOHN SEWARD.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_7 September._--The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at\nLiverpool Street was:--\n\n\"Have you said anything to our young friend the lover of her?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my telegram. I\nwrote him a letter simply telling him that you were coming, as Miss\nWestenra was not so well, and that I should let him know if need be.\"\n\n\"Right, my friend,\" he said, \"quite right! Better he not know as yet;\nperhaps he shall never know. I pray so; but if it be needed, then he\nshall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution you. You deal\nwith the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the other; and inasmuch\nas you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God's madmen,\ntoo--the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen what you do nor why\nyou do it; you tell them not what you think. So you shall keep knowledge\nin its place, where it may rest--where it may gather its kind around it\nand breed. You and I shall keep as yet what we know here, and here.\" He\ntouched me on the heart and on the forehead, and then touched himself\nthe same way. \"I have for myself thoughts at the present. Later I shall\nunfold to you.\"\n\n\"Why not now?\" I asked. \"It may do some good; we may arrive at some\ndecision.\" He stopped and looked at me, and said:--\n\n\"My friend John, when the corn is grown, even before it has\nripened--while the milk of its mother-earth is in him, and the sunshine\nhas not yet begun to paint him with his gold, the husbandman he pull the\near and rub him between his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff,\nand say to you: 'Look! he's good corn; he will make good crop when the\ntime comes.'\" I did not see the application, and told him so. For reply\nhe reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully, as\nhe used long ago to do at lectures, and said: \"The good husbandman tell\nyou so then because he knows, but not till then. But you do not find the\ngood husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow; that is for\nthe children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it as of\nthe work of their life. See you now, friend John? I have sown my corn,\nand Nature has her work to do in making it sprout; if he sprout at all,\nthere's some promise; and I wait till the ear begins to swell.\" He broke\noff, for he evidently saw that I understood. Then he went on, and very\ngravely:--\n\n\"You were always a careful student, and your case-book was ever more\nfull than the rest. You were only student then; now you are master, and\nI trust that good habit have not fail. Remember, my friend, that\nknowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker.\nEven if you have not kept the good practise, let me tell you that this\ncase of our dear miss is one that may be--mind, I say _may be_--of such\ninterest to us and others that all the rest may not make him kick the\nbeam, as your peoples say. Take then good note of it. Nothing is too\nsmall. I counsel you, put down in record even your doubts and surmises.\nHereafter it may be of interest to you to see how true you guess. We\nlearn from failure, not from success!\"\n\nWhen I described Lucy's symptoms--the same as before, but infinitely\nmore marked--he looked very grave, but said nothing. He took with him a\nbag in which were many instruments and drugs, \"the ghastly paraphernalia\nof our beneficial trade,\" as he once called, in one of his lectures, the\nequipment of a professor of the healing craft. When we were shown in,\nMrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed, but not nearly so much as I\nexpected to find her. Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained\nthat even death has some antidote to its own terrors. Here, in a case\nwhere any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from some\ncause or other, the things not personal--even the terrible change in her\ndaughter to whom she is so attached--do not seem to reach her. It is\nsomething like the way Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an\nenvelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that\nwhich it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered\nselfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice\nof egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes than we have\nknowledge of.\n\nI used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and laid down\na rule that she should not be present with Lucy or think of her illness\nmore than was absolutely required. She assented readily, so readily that\nI saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van Helsing and I were\nshown up to Lucy's room. If I was shocked when I saw her yesterday, I\nwas horrified when I saw her to-day. She was ghastly, chalkily pale; the\nred seemed to have gone even from her lips and gums, and the bones of\nher face stood out prominently; her breathing was painful to see or\nhear. Van Helsing's face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows converged\ntill they almost touched over his nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did not\nseem to have strength to speak, so for a while we were all silent. Then\nVan Helsing beckoned to me, and we went gently out of the room. The\ninstant we had closed the door he stepped quickly along the passage to\nthe next door, which was open. Then he pulled me quickly in with him and\nclosed the door. \"My God!\" he said; \"this is dreadful. There is no time\nto be lost. She will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart's\naction as it should be. There must be transfusion of blood at once. Is\nit you or me?\"\n\n\"I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me.\"\n\n\"Then get ready at once. I will bring up my bag. I am prepared.\"\n\nI went downstairs with him, and as we were going there was a knock at\nthe hall-door. When we reached the hall the maid had just opened the\ndoor, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to me, saying in\nan eager whisper:--\n\n\"Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your letter, and\nhave been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran down here to see for\nmyself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you,\nsir, for coming.\" When first the Professor's eye had lit upon him he had\nbeen angry at his interruption at such a time; but now, as he took in\nhis stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood which\nseemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said to\nhim gravely as he held out his hand:--\n\n\"Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss. She is\nbad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that.\" For he\nsuddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. \"You are to\nhelp her. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is your\nbest help.\"\n\n\"What can I do?\" asked Arthur hoarsely. \"Tell me, and I shall do it. My\nlife is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for\nher.\" The Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from old\nknowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer:--\n\n\"My young sir, I do not ask so much as that--not the last!\"\n\n\"What shall I do?\" There was fire in his eyes, and his open nostril\nquivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him on the shoulder. \"Come!\"\nhe said. \"You are a man, and it is a man we want. You are better than\nme, better than my friend John.\" Arthur looked bewildered, and the\nProfessor went on by explaining in a kindly way:--\n\n\"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must have\nor die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to perform\nwhat we call transfusion of blood--to transfer from full veins of one to\nthe empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he is\nthe more young and strong than me\"--here Arthur took my hand and wrung\nit hard in silence--\"but, now you are here, you are more good than us,\nold or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not\nso calm and our blood not so bright than yours!\" Arthur turned to him\nand said:--\n\n\"If you only knew how gladly I would die for her you would\nunderstand----\"\n\nHe stopped, with a sort of choke in his voice.\n\n\"Good boy!\" said Van Helsing. \"In the not-so-far-off you will be happy\nthat you have done all for her you love. Come now and be silent. You\nshall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must go; and you\nmust leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame; you know how it is with\nher! There must be no shock; any knowledge of this would be one. Come!\"\n\nWe all went up to Lucy's room. Arthur by direction remained outside.\nLucy turned her head and looked at us, but said nothing. She was not\nasleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort. Her eyes spoke\nto us; that was all. Van Helsing took some things from his bag and laid\nthem on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and\ncoming over to the bed, said cheerily:--\n\n\"Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like a good\nchild. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. Yes.\" She had made\nthe effort with success.\n\nIt astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact, marked\nthe extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep began to\nflicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic began to manifest\nits potency; and she fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor was\nsatisfied he called Arthur into the room, and bade him strip off his\ncoat. Then he added: \"You may take that one little kiss whiles I bring\nover the table. Friend John, help to me!\" So neither of us looked whilst\nhe bent over her.\n\nVan Helsing turning to me, said:\n\n\"He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not\ndefibrinate it.\"\n\nThen with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed the\noperation. As the transfusion went on something like life seemed to come\nback to poor Lucy's cheeks, and through Arthur's growing pallor the joy\nof his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I began to grow\nanxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur, strong man as he\nwas. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain Lucy's system must\nhave undergone that what weakened Arthur only partially restored her.\nBut the Professor's face was set, and he stood watch in hand and with\nhis eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Arthur. I could hear my own\nheart beat. Presently he said in a soft voice: \"Do not stir an instant.\nIt is enough. You attend him; I will look to her.\" When all was over I\ncould see how much Arthur was weakened. I dressed the wound and took his\narm to bring him away, when Van Helsing spoke without turning round--the\nman seems to have eyes in the back of his head:--\n\n\"The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which he shall have\npresently.\" And as he had now finished his operation, he adjusted the\npillow to the patient's head. As he did so the narrow black velvet band\nwhich she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with an old\ndiamond buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little up,\nand showed a red mark on her throat. Arthur did not notice it, but I\ncould hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing's\nways of betraying emotion. He said nothing at the moment, but turned to\nme, saying: \"Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the port\nwine, and let him lie down a while. He must then go home and rest, sleep\nmuch and eat much, that he may be recruited of what he has so given to\nhis love. He must not stay here. Hold! a moment. I may take it, sir,\nthat you are anxious of result. Then bring it with you that in all ways\nthe operation is successful. You have saved her life this time, and you\ncan go home and rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tell\nher all when she is well; she shall love you none the less for what you\nhave done. Good-bye.\"\n\nWhen Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy was sleeping gently,\nbut her breathing was stronger; I could see the counterpane move as her\nbreast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking at her intently.\nThe velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor in a\nwhisper:--\n\n\"What do you make of that mark on her throat?\"\n\n\"What do you make of it?\"\n\n\"I have not examined it yet,\" I answered, and then and there proceeded\nto loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein there were two\npunctures, not large, but not wholesome-looking. There was no sign of\ndisease, but the edges were white and worn-looking, as if by some\ntrituration. It at once occurred to me that this wound, or whatever it\nwas, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood; but I abandoned\nthe idea as soon as formed, for such a thing could not be. The whole bed\nwould have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the girl must\nhave lost to leave such a pallor as she had before the transfusion.\n\n\"Well?\" said Van Helsing.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"I can make nothing of it.\" The Professor stood up. \"I\nmust go back to Amsterdam to-night,\" he said. \"There are books and\nthings there which I want. You must remain here all the night, and you\nmust not let your sight pass from her.\"\n\n\"Shall I have a nurse?\" I asked.\n\n\"We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night; see that\nshe is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not sleep all\nthe night. Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall be back as soon as\npossible. And then we may begin.\"\n\n\"May begin?\" I said. \"What on earth do you mean?\"\n\n\"We shall see!\" he answered, as he hurried out. He came back a moment\nlater and put his head inside the door and said with warning finger held\nup:--\n\n\"Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and harm befall, you\nshall not sleep easy hereafter!\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary--continued._\n\n_8 September._--I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate worked itself\noff towards dusk, and she waked naturally; she looked a different being\nfrom what she had been before the operation. Her spirits even were good,\nand she was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of the\nabsolute prostration which she had undergone. When I told Mrs. Westenra\nthat Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit up with her she\nalmost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her daughter's renewed\nstrength and excellent spirits. I was firm, however, and made\npreparations for my long vigil. When her maid had prepared her for the\nnight I came in, having in the meantime had supper, and took a seat by\nthe bedside. She did not in any way make objection, but looked at me\ngratefully whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she seemed\nsinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself together\nand shook it off. This was repeated several times, with greater effort\nand with shorter pauses as the time moved on. It was apparent that she\ndid not want to sleep, so I tackled the subject at once:--\n\n\"You do not want to go to sleep?\"\n\n\"No; I am afraid.\"\n\n\"Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave for.\"\n\n\"Ah, not if you were like me--if sleep was to you a presage of horror!\"\n\n\"A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?\"\n\n\"I don't know; oh, I don't know. And that is what is so terrible. All\nthis weakness comes to me in sleep; until I dread the very thought.\"\n\n\"But, my dear girl, you may sleep to-night. I am here watching you, and\nI can promise that nothing will happen.\"\n\n\"Ah, I can trust you!\" I seized the opportunity, and said: \"I promise\nyou that if I see any evidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once.\"\n\n\"You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to me. Then I will\nsleep!\" And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief, and sank\nback, asleep.\n\nAll night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but slept on and on\nin a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. Her lips were\nslightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity of a\npendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident that no bad\ndreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.\n\nIn the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and took\nmyself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a short\nwire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent result\nof the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears, took me all\nday to clear off; it was dark when I was able to inquire about my\nzoöphagous patient. The report was good; he had been quite quiet for the\npast day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing at Amsterdam whilst\nI was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at Hillingham to-night, as\nit might be well to be at hand, and stating that he was leaving by the\nnight mail and would join me early in the morning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_9 September_.--I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to\nHillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my\nbrain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral\nexhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook hands\nwith me she looked sharply in my face and said:--\n\n\"No sitting up to-night for you. You are worn out. I am quite well\nagain; indeed, I am; and if there is to be any sitting up, it is I who\nwill sit up with you.\" I would not argue the point, but went and had my\nsupper. Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I\nmade an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than\nexcellent port. Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room next\nher own, where a cozy fire was burning. \"Now,\" she said, \"you must stay\nhere. I shall leave this door open and my door too. You can lie on the\nsofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you doctors to go to\nbed whilst there is a patient above the horizon. If I want anything I\nshall call out, and you can come to me at once.\" I could not but\nacquiesce, for I was \"dog-tired,\" and could not have sat up had I tried.\nSo, on her renewing her promise to call me if she should want anything,\nI lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything.\n\n\n_Lucy Westenra's Diary._\n\n_9 September._--I feel so happy to-night. I have been so miserably weak,\nthat to be able to think and move about is like feeling sunshine after\na long spell of east wind out of a steel sky. Somehow Arthur feels very,\nvery close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me. I suppose\nit is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner\neyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give Love\nrein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills. I know\nwhere my thoughts are. If Arthur only knew! My dear, my dear, your ears\nmust tingle as you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest of\nlast night! How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching me.\nAnd to-night I shall not fear to sleep, since he is close at hand and\nwithin call. Thank everybody for being so good to me! Thank God!\nGood-night, Arthur.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_10 September._--I was conscious of the Professor's hand on my head, and\nstarted awake all in a second. That is one of the things that we learn\nin an asylum, at any rate.\n\n\"And how is our patient?\"\n\n\"Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me,\" I answered.\n\n\"Come, let us see,\" he said. And together we went into the room.\n\nThe blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, whilst Van\nHelsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the bed.\n\nAs I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the room, I\nheard the Professor's low hiss of inspiration, and knowing its rarity, a\ndeadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over he moved back, and\nhis exclamation of horror, \"Gott in Himmel!\" needed no enforcement from\nhis agonised face. He raised his hand and pointed to the bed, and his\niron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees begin to tremble.\n\nThere on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, more horribly\nwhite and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were white, and the gums\nseemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we sometimes see in a\ncorpse after a prolonged illness. Van Helsing raised his foot to stamp\nin anger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years of habit\nstood to him, and he put it down again softly. \"Quick!\" he said. \"Bring\nthe brandy.\" I flew to the dining-room, and returned with the decanter.\nHe wetted the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm and\nwrist and heart. He felt her heart, and after a few moments of agonising\nsuspense said:--\n\n\"It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our work is\nundone; we must begin again. There is no young Arthur here now; I have\nto call on you yourself this time, friend John.\" As he spoke, he was\ndipping into his bag and producing the instruments for transfusion; I\nhad taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt-sleeve. There was no\npossibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of one; and so,\nwithout a moment's delay, we began the operation. After a time--it did\nnot seem a short time either, for the draining away of one's blood, no\nmatter how willingly it be given, is a terrible feeling--Van Helsing\nheld up a warning finger. \"Do not stir,\" he said, \"but I fear that with\ngrowing strength she may wake; and that would make danger, oh, so much\ndanger. But I shall precaution take. I shall give hypodermic injection\nof morphia.\" He proceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out his\nintent. The effect on Lucy was not bad, for the faint seemed to merge\nsubtly into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal pride\nthat I could see a faint tinge of colour steal back into the pallid\ncheeks and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is to\nfeel his own life-blood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves.\n\nThe Professor watched me critically. \"That will do,\" he said. \"Already?\"\nI remonstrated. \"You took a great deal more from Art.\" To which he\nsmiled a sad sort of smile as he replied:--\n\n\"He is her lover, her _fiancé_. You have work, much work, to do for her\nand for others; and the present will suffice.\"\n\nWhen we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, whilst I applied\ndigital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, whilst I waited his\nleisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick. By-and-by\nhe bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine for\nmyself. As I was leaving the room, he came after me, and half\nwhispered:--\n\n\"Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should turn up\nunexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once frighten him and\nenjealous him, too. There must be none. So!\"\n\nWhen I came back he looked at me carefully, and then said:--\n\n\"You are not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie on your sofa, and\nrest awhile; then have much breakfast, and come here to me.\"\n\nI followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise they were. I\nhad done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my strength. I\nfelt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of the amazement at\nwhat had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa, however, wondering over\nand over again how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement, and how\nshe could have been drained of so much blood with no sign anywhere to\nshow for it. I think I must have continued my wonder in my dreams, for,\nsleeping and waking, my thoughts always came back to the little\npunctures in her throat and the ragged, exhausted appearance of their\nedges--tiny though they were.\n\nLucy slept well into the day, and when she woke she was fairly well and\nstrong, though not nearly so much so as the day before. When Van Helsing\nhad seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me in charge, with strict\ninjunctions that I was not to leave her for a moment. I could hear his\nvoice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest telegraph office.\n\nLucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that anything\nhad happened. I tried to keep her amused and interested. When her mother\ncame up to see her, she did not seem to notice any change whatever, but\nsaid to me gratefully:--\n\n\"We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, but you really\nmust now take care not to overwork yourself. You are looking pale\nyourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a bit; that you\ndo!\" As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only momentarily,\nfor her poor wasted veins could not stand for long such an unwonted\ndrain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as she turned\nimploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my finger on my\nlips; with a sigh, she sank back amid her pillows.\n\nVan Helsing returned in a couple of hours, and presently said to me:\n\"Now you go home, and eat much and drink enough. Make yourself strong. I\nstay here to-night, and I shall sit up with little miss myself. You and\nI must watch the case, and we must have none other to know. I have grave\nreasons. No, do not ask them; think what you will. Do not fear to think\neven the most not-probable. Good-night.\"\n\nIn the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if they or either of\nthem might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They implored me to let them; and\nwhen I said it was Dr. Van Helsing's wish that either he or I should sit\nup, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with the \"foreign\ngentleman.\" I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it is because\nI am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on Lucy's account, that\ntheir devotion was manifested; for over and over again have I seen\nsimilar instances of woman's kindness. I got back here in time for a\nlate dinner; went my rounds--all well; and set this down whilst waiting\nfor sleep. It is coming.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_11 September._--This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. Found Van\nHelsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better. Shortly after I had\narrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor. He opened it\nwith much impressment--assumed, of course--and showed a great bundle of\nwhite flowers.\n\n\"These are for you, Miss Lucy,\" he said.\n\n\"For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are medicines.\" Here\nLucy made a wry face. \"Nay, but they are not to take in a decoction or\nin nauseous form, so you need not snub that so charming nose, or I shall\npoint out to my friend Arthur what woes he may have to endure in seeing\nso much beauty that he so loves so much distort. Aha, my pretty miss,\nthat bring the so nice nose all straight again. This is medicinal, but\nyou do not know how. I put him in your window, I make pretty wreath, and\nhang him round your neck, so that you sleep well. Oh yes! they, like the\nlotus flower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like the waters\nof Lethe, and of that fountain of youth that the Conquistadores sought\nfor in the Floridas, and find him all too late.\"\n\nWhilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the flowers and smelling\nthem. Now she threw them down, saying, with half-laughter, and\nhalf-disgust:--\n\n\"Oh, Professor, I believe you are only putting up a joke on me. Why,\nthese flowers are only common garlic.\"\n\nTo my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and said with all his sternness, his\niron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting:--\n\n\"No trifling with me! I never jest! There is grim purpose in all I do;\nand I warn you that you do not thwart me. Take care, for the sake of\nothers if not for your own.\" Then seeing poor Lucy scared, as she might\nwell be, he went on more gently: \"Oh, little miss, my dear, do not fear\nme. I only do for your good; but there is much virtue to you in those so\ncommon flowers. See, I place them myself in your room. I make myself the\nwreath that you are to wear. But hush! no telling to others that make so\ninquisitive questions. We must obey, and silence is a part of obedience;\nand obedience is to bring you strong and well into loving arms that wait\nfor you. Now sit still awhile. Come with me, friend John, and you shall\nhelp me deck the room with my garlic, which is all the way from Haarlem,\nwhere my friend Vanderpool raise herb in his glass-houses all the year.\nI had to telegraph yesterday, or they would not have been here.\"\n\nWe went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The Professor's\nactions were certainly odd and not to be found in any pharmacopoeia\nthat I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows and latched them\nsecurely; next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them all over\nthe sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air that might get\nin would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp he rubbed\nall over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at each side, and round\nthe fireplace in the same way. It all seemed grotesque to me, and\npresently I said:--\n\n\"Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, but\nthis certainly puzzles me. It is well we have no sceptic here, or he\nwould say that you were working some spell to keep out an evil spirit.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I am!\" he answered quietly as he began to make the wreath which\nLucy was to wear round her neck.\n\nWe then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and when she\nwas in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of garlic round her\nneck. The last words he said to her were:--\n\n\"Take care you do not disturb it; and even if the room feel close, do\nnot to-night open the window or the door.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said Lucy, \"and thank you both a thousand times for all\nyour kindness to me! Oh, what have I done to be blessed with such\nfriends?\"\n\nAs we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"To-night I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want--two nights of travel,\nmuch reading in the day between, and much anxiety on the day to follow,\nand a night to sit up, without to wink. To-morrow in the morning early\nyou call for me, and we come together to see our pretty miss, so much\nmore strong for my 'spell' which I have work. Ho! ho!\"\n\nHe seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nights\nbefore and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It must\nhave been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but\nI felt it all the more, like unshed tears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n_Lucy Westenra's Diary._\n\n\n_12 September._--How good they all are to me. I quite love that dear Dr.\nVan Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about these flowers. He\npositively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must have been\nright, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dread\nbeing alone to-night, and I can go to sleep without fear. I shall not\nmind any flapping outside the window. Oh, the terrible struggle that I\nhave had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness,\nor the pain of the fear of sleep, with such unknown horrors as it has\nfor me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no\ndreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings\nnothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am to-night, hoping for sleep,\nand lying like Ophelia in the play, with \"virgin crants and maiden\nstrewments.\" I never liked garlic before, but to-night it is delightful!\nThere is peace in its smell; I feel sleep coming already. Good-night,\neverybody.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_13 September._--Called at the Berkeley and found Van Helsing, as usual,\nup to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel was waiting. The\nProfessor took his bag, which he always brings with him now.\n\nLet all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at Hillingham at\neight o'clock. It was a lovely morning; the bright sunshine and all the\nfresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the completion of nature's\nannual work. The leaves were turning to all kinds of beautiful colours,\nbut had not yet begun to drop from the trees. When we entered we met\nMrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room. She is always an early\nriser. She greeted us warmly and said:--\n\n\"You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is still\nasleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go in, lest I\nshould disturb her.\" The Professor smiled, and looked quite jubilant. He\nrubbed his hands together, and said:--\n\n\"Aha! I thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working,\" to\nwhich she answered:--\n\n\"You must not take all the credit to yourself, doctor. Lucy's state this\nmorning is due in part to me.\"\n\n\"How you do mean, ma'am?\" asked the Professor.\n\n\"Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went into\nher room. She was sleeping soundly--so soundly that even my coming did\nnot wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There were a lot of those\nhorrible, strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and she had actually\na bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the heavy odour would be\ntoo much for the dear child in her weak state, so I took them all away\nand opened a bit of the window to let in a little fresh air. You will be\npleased with her, I am sure.\"\n\nShe moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted early. As\nshe had spoken, I watched the Professor's face, and saw it turn ashen\ngrey. He had been able to retain his self-command whilst the poor lady\nwas present, for he knew her state and how mischievous a shock would be;\nhe actually smiled on her as he held open the door for her to pass into\nher room. But the instant she had disappeared he pulled me, suddenly and\nforcibly, into the dining-room and closed the door.\n\nThen, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down. He\nraised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and then beat\nhis palms together in a helpless way; finally he sat down on a chair,\nand putting his hands before his face, began to sob, with loud, dry sobs\nthat seemed to come from the very racking of his heart. Then he raised\nhis arms again, as though appealing to the whole universe. \"God! God!\nGod!\" he said. \"What have we done, what has this poor thing done, that\nwe are so sore beset? Is there fate amongst us still, sent down from the\npagan world of old, that such things must be, and in such way? This poor\nmother, all unknowing, and all for the best as she think, does such\nthing as lose her daughter body and soul; and we must not tell her, we\nmust not even warn her, or she die, and then both die. Oh, how we are\nbeset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!\" Suddenly he\njumped to his feet. \"Come,\" he said, \"come, we must see and act. Devils\nor no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him\nall the same.\" He went to the hall-door for his bag; and together we\nwent up to Lucy's room.\n\nOnce again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the bed.\nThis time he did not start as he looked on the poor face with the same\nawful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern sadness and\ninfinite pity.\n\n\"As I expected,\" he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his which\nmeant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and then\nbegan to set out on the little table the instruments for yet another\noperation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognised the\nnecessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a\nwarning hand. \"No!\" he said. \"To-day you must operate. I shall provide.\nYou are weakened already.\" As he spoke he took off his coat and rolled\nup his shirt-sleeve.\n\nAgain the operation; again the narcotic; again some return of colour to\nthe ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep. This time I\nwatched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested.\n\nPresently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she must\nnot remove anything from Lucy's room without consulting him; that the\nflowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of their odour\nwas a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the care of the case\nhimself, saying that he would watch this night and the next and would\nsend me word when to come.\n\nAfter another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright and\nseemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.\n\nWhat does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit of life\namongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own brain.\n\n\n_Lucy Westenra's Diary._\n\n_17 September._--Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong\nagain that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through some\nlong nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and\nfeel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dim\nhalf-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darkness\nin which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distress\nmore poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to\nlife as a diver coming up through a great press of water. Since,\nhowever, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming seems\nto have passed away; the noises that used to frighten me out of my\nwits--the flapping against the windows, the distant voices which seemed\nso close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and\ncommanded me to do I know not what--have all ceased. I go to bed now\nwithout any fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have grown\nquite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day from\nHaarlem. To-night Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for a\nday in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left\nalone. Thank God for mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our\nfriends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for\nlast night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I found\nhim asleep twice when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again,\nalthough the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against\nthe window-panes.\n\n\n_\"The Pall Mall Gazette,\" 18 September._\n\n                           THE ESCAPED WOLF.\n\n         PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER.\n\n         _Interview with the Keeper in the Zoölogical Gardens._\n\nAfter many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and perpetually using\nthe words \"Pall Mall Gazette\" as a sort of talisman, I managed to find\nthe keeper of the section of the Zoölogical Gardens in which the wolf\ndepartment is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the cottages in\nthe enclosure behind the elephant-house, and was just sitting down to\nhis tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk,\nelderly, and without children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their\nhospitality be of the average kind, their lives must be pretty\ncomfortable. The keeper would not enter on what he called \"business\"\nuntil the supper was over, and we were all satisfied. Then when the\ntable was cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said:--\n\n\"Now, sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You'll excoose me\nrefoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore meals. I gives the\nwolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea afore\nI begins to arsk them questions.\"\n\n\"How do you mean, ask them questions?\" I queried, wishful to get him\ninto a talkative humour.\n\n\"'Ittin' of them over the 'ead with a pole is one way; scratchin' of\ntheir hears is another, when gents as is flush wants a bit of a show-orf\nto their gals. I don't so much mind the fust--the 'ittin' with a pole\nafore I chucks in their dinner; but I waits till they've 'ad their\nsherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the\near-scratchin'. Mind you,\" he added philosophically, \"there's a deal of\nthe same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here's you a-comin' and\narskin' of me questions about my business, and I that grumpy-like that\nonly for your bloomin' 'arf-quid I'd 'a' seen you blowed fust 'fore I'd\nanswer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic-like if I'd like you to\narsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me questions. Without offence\ndid I tell yer to go to 'ell?\"\n\n\"You did.\"\n\n\"An' when you said you'd report me for usin' of obscene language that\nwas 'ittin' me over the 'ead; but the 'arf-quid made that all right. I\nweren't a-goin' to fight, so I waited for the food, and did with my 'owl\nas the wolves, and lions, and tigers does. But, Lor' love yer 'art, now\nthat the old 'ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me, an' rinsed\nme out with her bloomin' old teapot, and I've lit hup, you may scratch\nmy ears for all you're worth, and won't git even a growl out of me.\nDrive along with your questions. I know what yer a-comin' at, that 'ere\nescaped wolf.\"\n\n\"Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me how it\nhappened; and when I know the facts I'll get you to say what you\nconsider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole affair will\nend.\"\n\n\"All right, guv'nor. This 'ere is about the 'ole story. That 'ere wolf\nwhat we called Bersicker was one of three grey ones that came from\nNorway to Jamrach's, which we bought off him four years ago. He was a\nnice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk of. I'm more\nsurprised at 'im for wantin' to get out nor any other animile in the\nplace. But, there, you can't trust wolves no more nor women.\"\n\n\"Don't you mind him, sir!\" broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery laugh. \"'E's\ngot mindin' the animiles so long that blest if he ain't like a old wolf\n'isself! But there ain't no 'arm in 'im.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, it was about two hours after feedin' yesterday when I first\nhear my disturbance. I was makin' up a litter in the monkey-house for a\nyoung puma which is ill; but when I heard the yelpin' and 'owlin' I kem\naway straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin' like a mad thing at the\nbars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn't much people about that\nday, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a 'ook\nnose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin' through it. He\nhad a 'ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him,\nfor it seemed as if it was 'im as they was hirritated at. He 'ad white\nkid gloves on 'is 'ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says:\n'Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.'\n\n\"'Maybe it's you,' says I, for I did not like the airs as he give\n'isself. He didn't git angry, as I 'oped he would, but he smiled a kind\nof insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp teeth. 'Oh no, they\nwouldn't like me,' 'e says.\n\n\"'Ow yes, they would,' says I, a-imitatin' of him. 'They always likes a\nbone or two to clean their teeth on about tea-time, which you 'as a\nbagful.'\n\n\"Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us a-talkin' they\nlay down, and when I went over to Bersicker he let me stroke his ears\nsame as ever. That there man kem over, and blessed but if he didn't put\nin his hand and stroke the old wolf's ears too!\n\n\"'Tyke care,' says I. 'Bersicker is quick.'\n\n\"'Never mind,' he says. 'I'm used to 'em!'\n\n\"'Are you in the business yourself?' I says, tyking off my 'at, for a\nman what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good friend to keepers.\n\n\"'No' says he, 'not exactly in the business, but I 'ave made pets of\nseveral.' And with that he lifts his 'at as perlite as a lord, and walks\naway. Old Bersicker kep' a-lookin' arter 'im till 'e was out of sight,\nand then went and lay down in a corner and wouldn't come hout the 'ole\nhevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon was hup, the wolves\nhere all began a-'owling. There warn't nothing for them to 'owl at.\nThere warn't no one near, except some one that was evidently a-callin' a\ndog somewheres out back of the gardings in the Park road. Once or twice\nI went out to see that all was right, and it was, and then the 'owling\nstopped. Just before twelve o'clock I just took a look round afore\nturnin' in, an', bust me, but when I kem opposite to old Bersicker's\ncage I see the rails broken and twisted about and the cage empty. And\nthat's all I know for certing.\"\n\n\"Did any one else see anything?\"\n\n\"One of our gard'ners was a-comin' 'ome about that time from a 'armony,\nwhen he sees a big grey dog comin' out through the garding 'edges. At\nleast, so he says, but I don't give much for it myself, for if he did 'e\nnever said a word about it to his missis when 'e got 'ome, and it was\nonly after the escape of the wolf was made known, and we had been up all\nnight-a-huntin' of the Park for Bersicker, that he remembered seein'\nanything. My own belief was that the 'armony 'ad got into his 'ead.\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape of the\nwolf?\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, \"I think I can;\nbut I don't know as 'ow you'd be satisfied with the theory.\"\n\n\"Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the animals from\nexperience, can't hazard a good guess at any rate, who is even to try?\"\n\n\"Well then, sir, I accounts for it this way; it seems to me that 'ere\nwolf escaped--simply because he wanted to get out.\"\n\nFrom the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the joke I\ncould see that it had done service before, and that the whole\nexplanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn't cope in badinage\nwith the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to his heart,\nso I said:--\n\n\"Now, Mr. Bilder, we'll consider that first half-sovereign worked off,\nand this brother of his is waiting to be claimed when you've told me\nwhat you think will happen.\"\n\n\"Right y'are, sir,\" he said briskly. \"Ye'll excoose me, I know, for\na-chaffin' of ye, but the old woman here winked at me, which was as much\nas telling me to go on.\"\n\n\"Well, I never!\" said the old lady.\n\n\"My opinion is this: that 'ere wolf is a-'idin' of, somewheres. The\ngard'ner wot didn't remember said he was a-gallopin' northward faster\nthan a horse could go; but I don't believe him, for, yer see, sir,\nwolves don't gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein' built that\nway. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay when they gets\nin packs and does be chivyin' somethin' that's more afeared than they is\nthey can make a devil of a noise and chop it up, whatever it is. But,\nLor' bless you, in real life a wolf is only a low creature, not half so\nclever or bold as a good dog; and not half a quarter so much fight in\n'im. This one ain't been used to fightin' or even to providin' for\nhisself, and more like he's somewhere round the Park a-'idin' an'\na-shiverin' of, and, if he thinks at all, wonderin' where he is to get\nhis breakfast from; or maybe he's got down some area and is in a\ncoal-cellar. My eye, won't some cook get a rum start when she sees his\ngreen eyes a-shining at her out of the dark! If he can't get food he's\nbound to look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher's\nshop in time. If he doesn't, and some nursemaid goes a-walkin' orf with\na soldier, leavin' of the hinfant in the perambulator--well, then I\nshouldn't be surprised if the census is one babby the less. That's\nall.\"\n\nI was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came bobbing up\nagainst the window, and Mr. Bilder's face doubled its natural length\nwith surprise.\n\n\"God bless me!\" he said. \"If there ain't old Bersicker come back by\n'isself!\"\n\nHe went to the door and opened it; a most unnecessary proceeding it\nseemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never looks so\nwell as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us; a\npersonal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.\n\nAfter all, however, there is nothing like custom, for neither Bilder nor\nhis wife thought any more of the wolf than I should of a dog. The animal\nitself was as peaceful and well-behaved as that father of all\npicture-wolves--Red Riding Hood's quondam friend, whilst moving her\nconfidence in masquerade.\n\nThe whole scene was an unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos. The\nwicked wolf that for half a day had paralysed London and set all the\nchildren in the town shivering in their shoes, was there in a sort of\npenitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpine\nprodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most tender\nsolicitude, and when he had finished with his penitent said:--\n\n\"There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some kind of trouble;\ndidn't I say it all along? Here's his head all cut and full of broken\nglass. 'E's been a-gettin' over some bloomin' wall or other. It's a\nshyme that people are allowed to top their walls with broken bottles.\nThis 'ere's what comes of it. Come along, Bersicker.\"\n\nHe took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a piece of meat that\nsatisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary conditions of the\nfatted calf, and went off to report.\n\nI came off, too, to report the only exclusive information that is given\nto-day regarding the strange escapade at the Zoo.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_17 September._--I was engaged after dinner in my study posting up my\nbooks, which, through press of other work and the many visits to Lucy,\nhad fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst open, and in\nrushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I was\nthunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accord\ninto the Superintendent's study is almost unknown. Without an instant's\npause he made straight at me. He had a dinner-knife in his hand, and,\nas I saw he was dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He was\ntoo quick and too strong for me, however; for before I could get my\nbalance he had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather severely.\nBefore he could strike again, however, I got in my right and he was\nsprawling on his back on the floor. My wrist bled freely, and quite a\nlittle pool trickled on to the carpet. I saw that my friend was not\nintent on further effort, and occupied myself binding up my wrist,\nkeeping a wary eye on the prostrate figure all the time. When the\nattendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him, his employment\npositively sickened me. He was lying on his belly on the floor licking\nup, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was\neasily secured, and, to my surprise, went with the attendants quite\nplacidly, simply repeating over and over again: \"The blood is the life!\nThe blood is the life!\"\n\nI cannot afford to lose blood just at present; I have lost too much of\nlate for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of Lucy's\nillness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over-excited and\nweary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summoned\nme, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I could not well do without\nit.\n\n\n_Telegram, Van Helsing, Antwerp, to Seward, Carfax._\n\n(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given; delivered late by\ntwenty-two hours.)\n\n\"_17 September._--Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night. If not\nwatching all the time frequently, visit and see that flowers are as\nplaced; very important; do not fail. Shall be with you as soon as\npossible after arrival.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_18 September._--Just off for train to London. The arrival of Van\nHelsing's telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I know\nby bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it is\npossible that all may be well, but what _may_ have happened? Surely\nthere is some horrible doom hanging over us that every possible accident\nshould thwart us in all we try to do. I shall take this cylinder with\nme, and then I can complete my entry on Lucy's phonograph.\n\n\n_Memorandum left by Lucy Westenra._\n\n_17 September. Night._--I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no\none may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exact\nrecord of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and\nhave barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the\ndoing.\n\nI went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed as Dr.\nVan Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.\n\nI was waked by the flapping at the window, which had begun after that\nsleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and which now I\nknow so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward was in\nthe next room--as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be--so that I might have\ncalled him. I tried to go to sleep, but could not. Then there came to me\nthe old fear of sleep, and I determined to keep awake. Perversely sleep\nwould try to come then when I did not want it; so, as I feared to be\nalone, I opened my door and called out: \"Is there anybody there?\" There\nwas no answer. I was afraid to wake mother, and so closed my door again.\nThen outside in the shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog's, but\nmore fierce and deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could\nsee nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its\nwings against the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined\nnot to go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in;\nseeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came in, and sat by me. She\nsaid to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont:--\n\n\"I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were all\nright.\"\n\nI feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come in\nand sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me; she did\nnot take off her dressing gown, for she said she would only stay a while\nand then go back to her own bed. As she lay there in my arms, and I in\nhers, the flapping and buffeting came to the window again. She was\nstartled and a little frightened, and cried out: \"What is that?\" I tried\nto pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet; but I could\nhear her poor dear heart still beating terribly. After a while there was\nthe low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a\ncrash at the window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor.\nThe window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in the\naperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey\nwolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting\nposture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her. Amongst\nother things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing\ninsisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a\nsecond or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange\nand horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over--as if struck\nwith lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for a\nmoment or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my\neyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole\nmyriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken\nwindow, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that\ntravellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to\nstir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother's poor body,\nwhich seemed to grow cold already--for her dear heart had ceased to\nbeat--weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while.\n\nThe time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered\nconsciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; the\ndogs all round the neighbourhood were howling; and in our shrubbery,\nseemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and\nstupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of the\nnightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to comfort\nme. The sounds seemed to have awakened the maids, too, for I could hear\ntheir bare feet pattering outside my door. I called to them, and they\ncame in, and when they saw what had happened, and what it was that lay\nover me on the bed, they screamed out. The wind rushed in through the\nbroken window, and the door slammed to. They lifted off the body of my\ndear mother, and laid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after I\nhad got up. They were all so frightened and nervous that I directed them\nto go to the dining-room and have each a glass of wine. The door flew\nopen for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then went\nin a body to the dining-room; and I laid what flowers I had on my dear\nmother's breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing\nhad told me, but I didn't like to remove them, and, besides, I would\nhave some of the servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that\nthe maids did not come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I went\nto the dining-room to look for them.\n\nMy heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay helpless\non the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on the table\nhalf full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious,\nand examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the\nsideboard, I found that the bottle which mother's doctor uses for\nher--oh! did use--was empty. What am I to do? what am I to do? I am back\nin the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for\nthe sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I\ndare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the\nbroken window.\n\nThe air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from\nthe window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do? God\nshield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast,\nwhere they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother\ngone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not\nsurvive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n\n\n_18 September._--I drove at once to Hillingham and arrived early.\nKeeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue alone. I knocked gently\nand rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to disturb Lucy or her\nmother, and hoped to only bring a servant to the door. After a while,\nfinding no response, I knocked and rang again; still no answer. I cursed\nthe laziness of the servants that they should lie abed at such an\nhour--for it was now ten o'clock--and so rang and knocked again, but\nmore impatiently, but still without response. Hitherto I had blamed only\nthe servants, but now a terrible fear began to assail me. Was this\ndesolation but another link in the chain of doom which seemed drawing\ntight around us? Was it indeed a house of death to which I had come, too\nlate? I knew that minutes, even seconds of delay, might mean hours of\ndanger to Lucy, if she had had again one of those frightful relapses;\nand I went round the house to try if I could find by chance an entry\nanywhere.\n\nI could find no means of ingress. Every window and door was fastened and\nlocked, and I returned baffled to the porch. As I did so, I heard the\nrapid pit-pat of a swiftly driven horse's feet. They stopped at the\ngate, and a few seconds later I met Van Helsing running up the avenue.\nWhen he saw me, he gasped out:--\n\n\"Then it was you, and just arrived. How is she? Are we too late? Did you\nnot get my telegram?\"\n\nI answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only got his\ntelegram early in the morning, and had not lost a minute in coming here,\nand that I could not make any one in the house hear me. He paused and\nraised his hat as he said solemnly:--\n\n\"Then I fear we are too late. God's will be done!\" With his usual\nrecuperative energy, he went on: \"Come. If there be no way open to get\nin, we must make one. Time is all in all to us now.\"\n\nWe went round to the back of the house, where there was a kitchen\nwindow. The Professor took a small surgical saw from his case, and\nhanding it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded the window. I\nattacked them at once and had very soon cut through three of them. Then\nwith a long, thin knife we pushed back the fastening of the sashes and\nopened the window. I helped the Professor in, and followed him. There\nwas no one in the kitchen or in the servants' rooms, which were close at\nhand. We tried all the rooms as we went along, and in the dining-room,\ndimly lit by rays of light through the shutters, found four\nservant-women lying on the floor. There was no need to think them dead,\nfor their stertorous breathing and the acrid smell of laudanum in the\nroom left no doubt as to their condition. Van Helsing and I looked at\neach other, and as we moved away he said: \"We can attend to them later.\"\nThen we ascended to Lucy's room. For an instant or two we paused at the\ndoor to listen, but there was no sound that we could hear. With white\nfaces and trembling hands, we opened the door gently, and entered the\nroom.\n\nHow shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two women, Lucy and her\nmother. The latter lay farthest in, and she was covered with a white\nsheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the draught through the\nbroken window, showing the drawn, white face, with a look of terror\nfixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white and still more\ndrawn. The flowers which had been round her neck we found upon her\nmother's bosom, and her throat was bare, showing the two little wounds\nwhich we had noticed before, but looking horribly white and mangled.\nWithout a word the Professor bent over the bed, his head almost touching\npoor Lucy's breast; then he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one who\nlistens, and leaping to his feet, he cried out to me:--\n\n\"It is not yet too late! Quick! quick! Bring the brandy!\"\n\nI flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell and taste\nit, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry which I found\non the table. The maids were still breathing, but more restlessly, and I\nfancied that the narcotic was wearing off. I did not stay to make sure,\nbut returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on another\noccasion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists and the palms of her\nhands. He said to me:--\n\n\"I can do this, all that can be at the present. You go wake those maids.\nFlick them in the face with a wet towel, and flick them hard. Make them\nget heat and fire and a warm bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold as\nthat beside her. She will need be heated before we can do anything\nmore.\"\n\nI went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three of the\nwomen. The fourth was only a young girl, and the drug had evidently\naffected her more strongly, so I lifted her on the sofa and let her\nsleep. The others were dazed at first, but as remembrance came back to\nthem they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner. I was stern with\nthem, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that one life\nwas bad enough to lose, and that if they delayed they would sacrifice\nMiss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying, they went about their way, half clad\nas they were, and prepared fire and water. Fortunately, the kitchen and\nboiler fires were still alive, and there was no lack of hot water. We\ngot a bath and carried Lucy out as she was and placed her in it. Whilst\nwe were busy chafing her limbs there was a knock at the hall door. One\nof the maids ran off, hurried on some more clothes, and opened it. Then\nshe returned and whispered to us that there was a gentleman who had come\nwith a message from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him that he\nmust wait, for we could see no one now. She went away with the message,\nand, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about him.\n\nI never saw in all my experience the Professor work in such deadly\nearnest. I knew--as he knew--that it was a stand-up fight with death,\nand in a pause told him so. He answered me in a way that I did not\nunderstand, but with the sternest look that his face could wear:--\n\n\"If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let her fade\naway into peace, for I see no light in life over her horizon.\" He went\non with his work with, if possible, renewed and more frenzied vigour.\n\nPresently we both began to be conscious that the heat was beginning to\nbe of some effect. Lucy's heart beat a trifle more audibly to the\nstethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible movement. Van Helsing's\nface almost beamed, and as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her in\na hot sheet to dry her he said to me:--\n\n\"The first gain is ours! Check to the King!\"\n\nWe took Lucy into another room, which had by now been prepared, and laid\nher in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down her throat. I noticed\nthat Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round her throat. She was\nstill unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than, we had\never seen her.\n\nVan Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay with her\nand not to take her eyes off her till we returned, and then beckoned me\nout of the room.\n\n\"We must consult as to what is to be done,\" he said as we descended the\nstairs. In the hall he opened the dining-room door, and we passed in, he\nclosing the door carefully behind him. The shutters had been opened, but\nthe blinds were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette of\ndeath which the British woman of the lower classes always rigidly\nobserves. The room was, therefore, dimly dark. It was, however, light\nenough for our purposes. Van Helsing's sternness was somewhat relieved\nby a look of perplexity. He was evidently torturing his mind about\nsomething, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke:--\n\n\"What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must have\nanother transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor girl's life\nwon't be worth an hour's purchase. You are exhausted already; I am\nexhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if they would have\ncourage to submit. What are we to do for some one who will open his\nveins for her?\"\n\n\"What's the matter with me, anyhow?\"\n\nThe voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones brought\nrelief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris. Van\nHelsing started angrily at the first sound, but his face softened and a\nglad look came into his eyes as I cried out: \"Quincey Morris!\" and\nrushed towards him with outstretched hands.\n\n\"What brought you here?\" I cried as our hands met.\n\n\"I guess Art is the cause.\"\n\nHe handed me a telegram:--\n\n\"Have not heard from Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious.\nCannot leave. Father still in same condition. Send me word how Lucy is.\nDo not delay.--HOLMWOOD.\"\n\n\"I think I came just in the nick of time. You know you have only to tell\nme what to do.\"\n\nVan Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking him straight in\nthe eyes as he said:--\n\n\"A brave man's blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in\ntrouble. You're a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work against\nus for all he's worth, but God sends us men when we want them.\"\n\nOnce again we went through that ghastly operation. I have not the heart\nto go through with the details. Lucy had got a terrible shock and it\ntold on her more than before, for though plenty of blood went into her\nveins, her body did not respond to the treatment as well as on the other\noccasions. Her struggle back into life was something frightful to see\nand hear. However, the action of both heart and lungs improved, and Van\nHelsing made a subcutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and with\ngood effect. Her faint became a profound slumber. The Professor watched\nwhilst I went downstairs with Quincey Morris, and sent one of the maids\nto pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting. I left Quincey lying down\nafter having a glass of wine, and told the cook to get ready a good\nbreakfast. Then a thought struck me, and I went back to the room where\nLucy now was. When I came softly in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or\ntwo of note-paper in his hand. He had evidently read it, and was\nthinking it over as he sat with his hand to his brow. There was a look\nof grim satisfaction in his face, as of one who has had a doubt solved.\nHe handed me the paper saying only: \"It dropped from Lucy's breast when\nwe carried her to the bath.\"\n\nWhen I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a pause\nasked him: \"In God's name, what does it all mean? Was she, or is she,\nmad; or what sort of horrible danger is it?\" I was so bewildered that I\ndid not know what to say more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took the\npaper, saying:--\n\n\"Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall know\nand understand it all in good time; but it will be later. And now what\nis it that you came to me to say?\" This brought me back to fact, and I\nwas all myself again.\n\n\"I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do not act\nproperly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that paper would have\nto be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no inquest, for if we\nhad it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I know, and you\nknow, and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs. Westenra\nhad disease of the heart, and we can certify that she died of it. Let us\nfill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself to the\nregistrar and go on to the undertaker.\"\n\n\"Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she be\nsad in the foes that beset her, is at least happy in the friends that\nlove her. One, two, three, all open their veins for her, besides one old\nman. Ah yes, I know, friend John; I am not blind! I love you all the\nmore for it! Now go.\"\n\nIn the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur telling him\nthat Mrs. Westenra was dead; that Lucy also had been ill, but was now\ngoing on better; and that Van Helsing and I were with her. I told him\nwhere I was going, and he hurried me out, but as I was going said:--\n\n\"When you come back, Jack, may I have two words with you all to\nourselves?\" I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty about\nthe registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come up in\nthe evening to measure for the coffin and to make arrangements.\n\nWhen I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him I would see him\nas soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her room. She was still\nsleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from his seat at her\nside. From his putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that he\nexpected her to wake before long and was afraid of forestalling nature.\nSo I went down to Quincey and took him into the breakfast-room, where\nthe blinds were not drawn down, and which was a little more cheerful, or\nrather less cheerless, than the other rooms. When we were alone, he said\nto me:--\n\n\"Jack Seward, I don't want to shove myself in anywhere where I've no\nright to be; but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girl\nand wanted to marry her; but, although that's all past and gone, I can't\nhelp feeling anxious about her all the same. What is it that's wrong\nwith her? The Dutchman--and a fine old fellow he is; I can see\nthat--said, that time you two came into the room, that you must have\n_another_ transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted.\nNow I know well that you medical men speak _in camera_, and that a man\nmust not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is\nno common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that\nso?\"\n\n\"That's so,\" I said, and he went on:--\n\n\"I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did\nto-day. Is not that so?\"\n\n\"That's so.\"\n\n\"And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at his\nown place he looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so quick\nsince I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass\nall in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had got at\nher in the night, and what with his gorge and the vein left open, there\nwasn't enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to put a\nbullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me without\nbetraying confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that so?\" As he spoke\nthe poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a torture of suspense\nregarding the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the terrible\nmystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His very\nheart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of him--and there was a\nroyal lot of it, too--to keep him from breaking down. I paused before\nanswering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the\nProfessor wished kept secret; but already he knew so much, and guessed\nso much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answered\nin the same phrase: \"That's so.\"\n\n\"And how long has this been going on?\"\n\n\"About ten days.\"\n\n\"Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor pretty creature\nthat we all love has had put into her veins within that time the blood\nof four strong men. Man alive, her whole body wouldn't hold it.\" Then,\ncoming close to me, he spoke in a fierce half-whisper: \"What took it\nout?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"That,\" I said, \"is the crux. Van Helsing is simply\nfrantic about it, and I am at my wits' end. I can't even hazard a guess.\nThere has been a series of little circumstances which have thrown out\nall our calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But these shall\nnot occur again. Here we stay until all be well--or ill.\" Quincey held\nout his hand. \"Count me in,\" he said. \"You and the Dutchman will tell me\nwhat to do, and I'll do it.\"\n\nWhen she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy's first movement was to feel\nin her breast, and, to my surprise, produced the paper which Van Helsing\nhad given me to read. The careful Professor had replaced it where it had\ncome from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her eye then lit on Van\nHelsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then she looked around the room,\nand seeing where she was, shuddered; she gave a loud cry, and put her\npoor thin hands before her pale face. We both understood what that\nmeant--that she had realised to the full her mother's death; so we tried\nwhat we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, but\nshe was very low in thought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for\na long time. We told her that either or both of us would now remain with\nher all the time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fell\ninto a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep she\ntook the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped\nover and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on\nwith the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her\nhands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering\nthe fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as\nif in thought, but he said nothing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_19 September._--All last night she slept fitfully, being always afraid\nto sleep, and something weaker when she woke from it. The Professor and\nI took it in turns to watch, and we never left her for a moment\nunattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew\nthat all night long he patrolled round and round the house.\n\nWhen the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor Lucy's\nstrength. She was hardly able to turn her head, and the little\nnourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good. At times she\nslept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, between\nsleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although more\nhaggard, and her breathing was softer; her open mouth showed the pale\ngums drawn back from the teeth, which thus looked positively longer and\nsharper than usual; when she woke the softness of her eyes evidently\nchanged the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dying\none. In the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him.\nQuincey went off to meet him at the station.\n\nWhen he arrived it was nearly six o'clock, and the sun was setting full\nand warm, and the red light streamed in through the window and gave more\ncolour to the pale cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was simply choking\nwith emotion, and none of us could speak. In the hours that had passed,\nthe fits of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for it, had\ngrown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation was possible\nwere shortened. Arthur's presence, however, seemed to act as a\nstimulant; she rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than she\nhad done since we arrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke as\ncheerily as he could, so that the best was made of everything.\n\nIt was now nearly one o'clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting with\nher. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am entering\nthis on Lucy's phonograph. Until six o'clock they are to try to rest. I\nfear that to-morrow will end our watching, for the shock has been too\ngreat; the poor child cannot rally. God help us all.\n\n\n_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._\n\n(Unopened by her.)\n\n\"_17 September._\n\n\"My dearest Lucy,--\n\n\"It seems _an age_ since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. You\nwill pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all my\nbudget of news. Well, I got my husband back all right; when we arrived\nat Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he had\nan attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his house, where there\nwere rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined together. After\ndinner Mr. Hawkins said:--\n\n\"'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every\nblessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with\nlove and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here\nwith me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in\nmy will I have left you everything.' I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and\nthe old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.\n\n\"So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both my\nbedroom and the drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedral\nclose, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellow\nstone of the cathedral and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and\ncawing and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of\nrooks--and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging things and\nhousekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day; for, now that\nJonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about the\nclients.\n\n\"How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could run up to town for a\nday or two to see you, dear, but I dare not go yet, with so much on my\nshoulders; and Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to\nput some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the\nlong illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a sudden\nway and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usual\nplacidity. However, thank God, these occasions grow less frequent as the\ndays go on, and they will in time pass away altogether, I trust. And now\nI have told you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married,\nand where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear,\nand is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all about it,\ndear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which interests\nyou which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send his\n'respectful duty,' but I do not think that is good enough from the\njunior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you\nlove me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses\nof the verb, I send you simply his 'love' instead. Good-bye, my dearest\nLucy, and all blessings on you.\n\n\"Yours,\n\n\"MINA HARKER.\"\n\n\n_Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I.,\netc., etc., to John Seward, M. D._\n\n\"_20 September._\n\n\"My dear Sir,--\n\n\"In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the conditions of\neverything left in my charge.... With regard to patient, Renfield, there\nis more to say. He has had another outbreak, which might have had a\ndreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended\nwith any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier's cart with two men\nmade a call at the empty house whose grounds abut on ours--the house to\nwhich, you will remember, the patient twice ran away. The men stopped at\nour gate to ask the porter their way, as they were strangers. I was\nmyself looking out of the study window, having a smoke after dinner, and\nsaw one of them come up to the house. As he passed the window of\nRenfield's room, the patient began to rate him from within, and called\nhim all the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who seemed a\ndecent fellow enough, contented himself by telling him to \"shut up for a\nfoul-mouthed beggar,\" whereon our man accused him of robbing him and\nwanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him if he were to\nswing for it. I opened the window and signed to the man not to notice,\nso he contented himself after looking the place over and making up his\nmind as to what kind of a place he had got to by saying: 'Lor' bless\nyer, sir, I wouldn't mind what was said to me in a bloomin' madhouse. I\npity ye and the guv'nor for havin' to live in the house with a wild\nbeast like that.' Then he asked his way civilly enough, and I told him\nwhere the gate of the empty house was; he went away, followed by threats\nand curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I could\nmake out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a\nwell-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had\never occurred. I found him, to my astonishment, quite composed and most\ngenial in his manner. I tried to get him to talk of the incident, but he\nblandly asked me questions as to what I meant, and led me to believe\nthat he was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to\nsay, however, only another instance of his cunning, for within half an\nhour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through the\nwindow of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the\nattendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent\non some mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same cart which\nhad passed before coming down the road, having on it some great wooden\nboxes. The men were wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the\nface, as if with violent exercise. Before I could get up to him the\npatient rushed at them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began to\nknock his head against the ground. If I had not seized him just at the\nmoment I believe he would have killed the man there and then. The other\nfellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt-end of his\nheavy whip. It was a terrible blow; but he did not seem to mind it, but\nseized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and\nfro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light weight, and the others\nwere both burly men. At first he was silent in his fighting; but as we\nbegan to master him, and the attendants were putting a strait-waistcoat\non him, he began to shout: 'I'll frustrate them! They shan't rob me!\nthey shan't murder me by inches! I'll fight for my Lord and Master!' and\nall sorts of similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable\ndifficulty that they got him back to the house and put him in the padded\nroom. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set\nit all right; and he is going on well.\n\n\"The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for\ndamages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Their\nthreats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology for\nthe defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it\nhad not been for the way their strength had been spent in carrying and\nraising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short work of\nhim. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinary\nstate of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature of\ntheir occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of their\nlabours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their\ndrift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, and\nwith each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore\nthat they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of\nmeeting so 'bloomin' good a bloke' as your correspondent. I took their\nnames and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are as\nfollows:--Jack Smollet, of Dudding's Rents, King George's Road, Great\nWalworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley's Row, Guide Court, Bethnal\nGreen. They are both in the employment of Harris & Sons, Moving and\nShipment Company, Orange Master's Yard, Soho.\n\n\"I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring here, and shall\nwire you at once if there is anything of importance.\n\n\"Believe me, dear Sir,\n\n\"Yours faithfully,\n\n\"PATRICK HENNESSEY.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra_.\n\n(Unopened by her.)\n\n\"_18 September._\n\n\"My dearest Lucy,--\n\n\"Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly.\nSome may not think it so sad for us, but we had both come to so love him\nthat it really seems as though we had lost a father. I never knew either\nfather or mother, so that the dear old man's death is a real blow to me.\nJonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he feels sorrow,\ndeep sorrow, for the dear, good man who has befriended him all his life,\nand now at the end has treated him like his own son and left him a\nfortune which to people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond the\ndream of avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account. He says the\namount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He\nbegins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and _my_ belief in _him_\nhelps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the grave\nshock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard\nthat a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his--a nature which\nenabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise from clerk to master\nin a few years--should be so injured that the very essence of its\nstrength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in\nthe midst of your own happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one,\nfor the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan\ntries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread coming\nup to London, as we must do the day after to-morrow; for poor Mr.\nHawkins left in his will that he was to be buried in the grave with his\nfather. As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will have to be chief\nmourner. I shall try to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a few\nminutes. Forgive me for troubling you. With all blessings,\n\n\"Your loving\n\n\"MINA HARKER.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_20 September._--Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry\nto-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world\nand all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard\nthis moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he has\nbeen flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late--Lucy's mother\nand Arthur's father, and now.... Let me get on with my work.\n\nI duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wanted Arthur to\ngo to rest also, but he refused at first. It was only when I told him\nthat we should want him to help us during the day, and that we must not\nall break down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he agreed\nto go. Van Helsing was very kind to him. \"Come, my child,\" he said;\n\"come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and much\nmental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of. You\nmust not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms.\nCome to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are two\nsofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will\nbe comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we\nsleep.\" Arthur went off with him, casting back a longing look on Lucy's\nface, which lay in her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She lay\nquite still, and I looked round the room to see that all was as it\nshould be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in this room,\nas in the other, his purpose of using the garlic; the whole of the\nwindow-sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy's neck, over the silk\nhandkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a rough chaplet of\nthe same odorous flowers. Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and\nher face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Her\nteeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they\nhad been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the\ncanine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest. I sat down by her,\nand presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort\nof dull flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly,\nand peeped out by the corner of the blind. There was a full moonlight,\nand I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled\nround--doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim--and every now\nand again struck the window with its wings. When I came back to my seat,\nI found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic\nflowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and sat\nwatching her.\n\nPresently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing had prescribed.\nShe took but a little, and that languidly. There did not seem to be with\nher now the unconscious struggle for life and strength that had hitherto\nso marked her illness. It struck me as curious that the moment she\nbecame conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It was\ncertainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the\nstertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she\nwaked she clutched them close. There was no possibility of making any\nmistake about this, for in the long hours that followed, she had many\nspells of sleeping and waking and repeated both actions many times.\n\nAt six o'clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then fallen\ninto a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw Lucy's face\nI could hear the sissing indraw of his breath, and he said to me in a\nsharp whisper: \"Draw up the blind; I want light!\" Then he bent down,\nand, with his face almost touching Lucy's, examined her carefully. He\nremoved the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief from her throat. As\nhe did so he started back, and I could hear his ejaculation, \"Mein\nGott!\" as it was smothered in his throat. I bent over and looked, too,\nand as I noticed some queer chill came over me.\n\nThe wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared.\n\nFor fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his face\nat its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:--\n\n\"She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark\nme, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and\nlet him come and see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him.\"\n\nI went to the dining-room and waked him. He was dazed for a moment, but\nwhen he saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges of the shutters\nhe thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured him that Lucy\nwas still asleep, but told him as gently as I could that both Van\nHelsing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his face with his\nhands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa, where he remained,\nperhaps a minute, with his head buried, praying, whilst his shoulders\nshook with grief. I took him by the hand and raised him up. \"Come,\" I\nsaid, \"my dear old fellow, summon all your fortitude: it will be best\nand easiest for her.\"\n\nWhen we came into Lucy's room I could see that Van Helsing had, with\nhis usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making\neverything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy's\nhair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we\ncame into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered\nsoftly:--\n\n\"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!\" He was stooping to\nkiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. \"No,\" he whispered, \"not\nyet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more.\"\n\nSo Arthur took her hand and knelt beside her, and she looked her best,\nwith all the soft lines matching the angelic beauty of her eyes. Then\ngradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For a little bit her\nbreast heaved softly, and her breath came and went like a tired child's.\n\nAnd then insensibly there came the strange change which I had noticed in\nthe night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the mouth opened, and the pale\ngums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer and sharper than ever. In a\nsort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which\nwere now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice,\nsuch as I had never heard from her lips:--\n\n\"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!\" Arthur bent\neagerly over to kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me,\nhad been startled by her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by\nthe neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength which\nI never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled him almost\nacross the room.\n\n\"Not for your life!\" he said; \"not for your living soul and hers!\" And\nhe stood between them like a lion at bay.\n\nArthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what to do\nor say; and before any impulse of violence could seize him he realised\nthe place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting.\n\nI kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm as\nof rage flit like a shadow over her face; the sharp teeth champed\ntogether. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily.\n\nVery shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and\nputting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great brown\none; drawing it to her, she kissed it. \"My true friend,\" she said, in a\nfaint voice, but with untellable pathos, \"My true friend, and his! Oh,\nguard him, and give me peace!\"\n\n\"I swear it!\" he said solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding up his\nhand, as one who registers an oath. Then he turned to Arthur, and said\nto him: \"Come, my child, take her hand in yours, and kiss her on the\nforehead, and only once.\"\n\nTheir eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted.\n\nLucy's eyes closed; and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, took\nArthur's arm, and drew him away.\n\nAnd then Lucy's breathing became stertorous again, and all at once it\nceased.\n\n\"It is all over,\" said Van Helsing. \"She is dead!\"\n\nI took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where he\nsat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way that\nnearly broke me down to see.\n\nI went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor Lucy, and\nhis face was sterner than ever. Some change had come over her body.\nDeath had given back part of her beauty, for her brow and cheeks had\nrecovered some of their flowing lines; even the lips had lost their\ndeadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the working\nof the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as little rude as\nmight be.\n\n    \"We thought her dying whilst she slept,\n        And sleeping when she died.\"\n\nI stood beside Van Helsing, and said:--\n\n\"Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!\"\n\nHe turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:--\n\n\"Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!\"\n\nWhen I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:--\n\n\"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY--_continued_.\n\n\nThe funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy and\nher mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly\nformalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were\nafflicted--or blessed--with something of his own obsequious suavity.\nEven the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to\nme, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out\nfrom the death-chamber:--\n\n\"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to\nattend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our\nestablishment!\"\n\nI noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible from\nthe disordered state of things in the household. There were no relatives\nat hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend at his\nfather's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should have been\nbidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon\nourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's\npapers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a\nforeigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and\nso might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:--\n\n\"I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But\nthis is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided the\ncoroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more--such\nas this.\"\n\nAs he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had been\nin Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.\n\n\"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs.\nWestenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watch\nhere in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and I myself\nsearch for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go into\nthe hands of strangers.\"\n\nI went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had found\nthe name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had written to\nhim. All the poor lady's papers were in order; explicit directions\nregarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the\nletter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room,\nsaying:--\n\n\"Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Have you got what you looked for?\" I asked, to which he replied:--\n\n\"I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I\nhave, all that there was--only some letters and a few memoranda, and a\ndiary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present say\nnothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with\nhis sanction, I shall use some.\"\n\nWhen we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:--\n\n\"And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you\nand I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, but\nfor the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!\"\n\nBefore turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had\ncertainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small\n_chapelle ardente_. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,\nand death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the\nwinding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and\nturned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the tall\nwax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy's\nloveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had passed,\ninstead of leaving traces of \"decay's effacing fingers,\" had but\nrestored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes\nthat I was looking at a corpse.\n\nThe Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, and\nthere was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: \"Remain till I\nreturn,\" and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic\nfrom the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, and\nplaced the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then he\ntook from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and\nplaced it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we\ncame away.\n\nI was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the\ndoor, he entered, and at once began to speak:--\n\n\"To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem\nknives.\"\n\n\"Must we make an autopsy?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell you\nnow, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out\nher heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with\nno tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that make\nthe rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John, that\nyou loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shall\noperate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but for\nArthur I must not; he will be free after his father's funeral to-morrow,\nand he will want to see her--to see _it_. Then, when she is coffined\nready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall\nunscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation: and then replace\nall, so that none know, save we alone.\"\n\n\"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor body\nwithout need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing\nto gain by it--no good to her, to us, to science, to human\nknowledge--why do it? Without such it is monstrous.\"\n\nFor answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite\ntenderness:--\n\n\"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the more\nbecause it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burden\nthat you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that you\nshall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasant\nthings. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet\ndid you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err--I am but\nman; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you\nsend for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay\nhorrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love--though she was\ndying--and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw\nhow she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so\nweak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not\nhear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!\n\n\"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for many\nyears trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things so\nstrange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend\nJohn. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is\nnot perhaps well. And if I work--as work I shall, no matter trust or no\ntrust--without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel,\noh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!\" He paused a\nmoment and went on solemnly: \"Friend John, there are strange and\nterrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to\na good end. Will you not have faith in me?\"\n\nI took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away,\nand watched him go into his room and close the door. As I stood without\nmoving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the passage--she had\nher back towards me, so did not see me--and go into the room where Lucy\nlay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so grateful\nto those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girl\nputting aside the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch\nalone by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay\nmight not be lonely till laid to eternal rest....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when Van\nHelsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside and\nsaid:--\n\n\"You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatly\nimpressed me.\n\n\"Because,\" he said sternly, \"it is too late--or too early. See!\" Here he\nheld up the little golden crucifix. \"This was stolen in the night.\"\n\n\"How, stolen,\" I asked in wonder, \"since you have it now?\"\n\n\"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from the\nwoman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surely\ncome, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thus\nunknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.\"\n\nHe went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a\nnew puzzle to grapple with.\n\nThe forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr.\nMarquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genial\nand very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all\ncares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for\nsome time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs\nin absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certain\nentailed property of Lucy's father's which now, in default of direct\nissue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate,\nreal and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had\ntold us so much he went on:--\n\n\"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and\npointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either\npenniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial\nalliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into\ncollision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out\nher wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We were\nright in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should\nhave proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.\nFrankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form of\ndisposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her\nwishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have come\ninto possession of the property, and, even had she only survived her\nmother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no\nwill--and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case--have been\ntreated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming,\nthough so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and the\ninheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just\nrights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure\nyou, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced.\"\n\nHe was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part--in which\nhe was officially interested--of so great a tragedy, was an\nobject-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.\n\nHe did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day and\nsee Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort to\nus, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostile\ncriticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o'clock, so\na little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in\nvery truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker,\ntrue to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and\nthere was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits at\nonce. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,\nexplaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would be\nless harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his _fiancée_\nquite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and\nexerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left them\nthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings\nas we could avoid were saved.\n\nPoor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwart\nmanhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of his\nmuch-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly\nattached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was a\nbitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he\nwas sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was some\nconstraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me to\nbring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as I\nfelt he would like to be quite alone with her, but he took my arm and\nled me in, saying huskily:--\n\n\"You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and there was\nno friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I don't know how to\nthank you for all you have done for her. I can't think yet....\"\n\nHere he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my shoulders and\nlaid his head on my breast, crying:--\n\n\"Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do! The whole of life seems gone from me\nall at once, and there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.\"\n\nI comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need much\nexpression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the\nshoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man's\nheart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said\nsoftly to him:--\n\n\"Come and look at her.\"\n\nTogether we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from her face.\nGod! how beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing her\nloveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for Arthur, he\nfell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At\nlast, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:--\n\n\"Jack, is she really dead?\"\n\nI assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest--for I felt\nthat such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment longer than\nI could help--that it often happened that after death faces became\nsoftened and even resolved into their youthful beauty; that this was\nespecially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged\nsuffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, after\nkneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly and\nlong, he turned aside. I told him that that must be good-bye, as the\ncoffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took her dead hand in his\nand kissed it, and bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away,\nfondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he came.\n\nI left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that he had said\ngood-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker's men\nto proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When he\ncame out of the room again I told him of Arthur's question, and he\nreplied:--\n\n\"I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment myself!\"\n\nWe all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying to make\nthe best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner-time; but\nwhen we had lit our cigars he said--\n\n\"Lord----\"; but Arthur interrupted him:--\n\n\"No, no, not that, for God's sake! not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir:\nI did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is so\nrecent.\"\n\nThe Professor answered very sweetly:--\n\n\"I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you\n'Mr.,' and I have grown to love you--yes, my dear boy, to love you--as\nArthur.\"\n\nArthur held out his hand, and took the old man's warmly.\n\n\"Call me what you will,\" he said. \"I hope I may always have the title of\na friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you for\nyour goodness to my poor dear.\" He paused a moment, and went on: \"I know\nthat she understood your goodness even better than I do; and if I was\nrude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so--you remember\"--the\nProfessor nodded--\"you must forgive me.\"\n\nHe answered with a grave kindness:--\n\n\"I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust such\nviolence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not--that you\ncannot--trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be\nmore times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot--and may\nnot--and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust\nshall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as\nthough the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me from\nfirst to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others and for her\ndear sake to whom I swore to protect.\"\n\n\"And, indeed, indeed, sir,\" said Arthur warmly, \"I shall in all ways\ntrust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are\nJack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like.\"\n\nThe Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though about to\nspeak, and finally said:--\n\n\"May I ask you something now?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?\"\n\n\"No, poor dear; I never thought of it.\"\n\n\"And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you will. I\nwant you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's papers and\nletters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which,\nbe sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took them\nbefore we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touch\nthem--no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep\nthem, if I may; even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep them\nsafe. No word shall be lost; and in the good time I shall give them back\nto you. It's a hard thing I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for\nLucy's sake?\"\n\nArthur spoke out heartily, like his old self:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I\nam doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you\nwith questions till the time comes.\"\n\nThe old Professor stood up as he said solemnly:--\n\n\"And you are right. There will be pain for us all; but it will not be\nall pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too--you most of\nall, my dear boy--will have to pass through the bitter water before we\nreach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our\nduty, and all will be well!\"\n\nI slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did not go to\nbed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house, and was\nnever out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn with\nthe wild garlic flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose,\na heavy, overpowering smell into the night.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_22 September._--In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping.\n\nIt seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much\nbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away and\nno news of him; and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, a\npartner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, and\nJonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some day he may ask me\nabout it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my shorthand--see what\nunexpected prosperity does for us--so it may be as well to freshen it up\nagain with an exercise anyhow....\n\nThe service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselves\nand the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter, his\nLondon agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, the\nPresident of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand in\nhand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us....\n\nWe came back to town quietly, taking a 'bus to Hyde Park Corner.\nJonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a while, so\nwe sat down; but there were very few people there, and it was\nsad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us think\nof the empty chair at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly.\nJonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old days\nbefore I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can't go on\nfor some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without the\npedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, and he\nwas my husband, and we didn't know anybody who saw us--and we didn't\ncare if they did--so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautiful\ngirl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's,\nwhen I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said\nunder his breath: \"My God!\" I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I\nfear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to him\nquickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.\n\nHe was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and\nhalf in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and\nblack moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty\ngirl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us,\nand so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it was\nhard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all\nthe whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's.\nJonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I\nfeared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked\nJonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that\nI knew as much about it as he did: \"Do you see who it is?\"\n\n\"No, dear,\" I said; \"I don't know him; who is it?\" His answer seemed to\nshock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it was\nto me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:--\n\n\"It is the man himself!\"\n\nThe poor dear was evidently terrified at something--very greatly\nterrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to\nsupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out of\nthe shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then drove\noff. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage\nmoved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a\nhansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself:--\n\n\"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be\nso! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!\" He was\ndistressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on the\nsubject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew him\naway quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little\nfurther, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It was\na hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place.\nAfter a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes closed, and he\nwent quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought it\nwas the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twenty\nminutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:--\n\n\"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude.\nCome, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere.\" He had evidently forgotten\nall about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that\nthis episode had reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing into\nforgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must\nnot ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehow\nlearn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I\nmust open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will,\nI know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--A sad home-coming in every way--the house empty of the dear\nsoul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slight\nrelapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever he\nmay be:--\n\n\"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, and\nthat Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day.\"\n\nOh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor\nLucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have\nlost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear our\ntroubles.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_22 September._--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has\ntaken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe\nin my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's death as any\nof us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America\ncan go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the world\nindeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his\njourney. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returns\nto-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements which can\nonly be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he says\nhe has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poor old\nfellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even his\niron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, putting\nsome terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we were\nstanding beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in\nthe operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins; I\ncould see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was\nsaying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married\nand that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of\nthe other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went\naway together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The\nmoment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of\nhysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted\nthat it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very\nterrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down\nthe blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried,\ntill he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman\ndoes. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the\ncircumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different in\nmanifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grew\ngrave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time.\nHis reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical and\nforceful and mysterious. He said:--\n\n\"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad,\nthough I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But\nno more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come\njust the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your\ndoor and say, 'May I come in?' is not the true laughter. No! he is a\nking, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no\ntime of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my\nheart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, though\nI am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my other\nsufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very\ngrave--laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her\ncoffin and say 'Thud! thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood\nfrom my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy--that dear boy, so of\nthe age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his\nhair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yet\nwhen he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my\nfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man--not even to you, friend\nJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son--yet even\nat such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear,\n'Here I am! here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of\nthe sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is\na strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and\ntroubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the\ntune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and\ntears that burn as they fall--all dance together to the music that he\nmake with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that\nhe is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn\ntight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and,\nlike the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain\nbecome too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the\nsunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with\nour labour, what it may be.\"\n\nI did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as I\ndid not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As he\nanswered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different\ntone:--\n\n\"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all--this so lovely lady garlanded with\nflowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she\nwere truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely\nchurchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the mother\nwho loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going 'Toll!\ntoll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the white\ngarments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time\ntheir eyes never on the page; and all of us with the bowed head. And all\nfor what? She is dead; so! Is it not?\"\n\n\"Well, for the life of me, Professor,\" I said, \"I can't see anything to\nlaugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle\nthan before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor\nArt and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking.\"\n\n\"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had\nmade her truly his bride?\"\n\n\"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.\"\n\n\"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then\nwhat about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist,\nand me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though\nno wits, all gone--even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife,\nam bigamist.\"\n\n\"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!\" I said; and I did\nnot feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laid\nhis hand on my arm, and said:--\n\n\"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others\nwhen it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust.\nIf you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh;\nif you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so\nnow, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him--for\nhe go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time--maybe you would\nperhaps pity me the most of all.\"\n\nI was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.\n\n\"Because I know!\"\n\nAnd now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness will\nsit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her\nkin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming\nLondon; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill,\nand where wild flowers grow of their own accord.\n\nSo I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever begin\nanother. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with\ndifferent people and different themes; for here at the end, where the\nromance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my\nlife-work, I say sadly and without hope,\n\n                        \"FINIS.\"\n\n\n_\"The Westminster Gazette,\" 25 September._\n\n                          A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.\n\n\nThe neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with a\nseries of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what\nwas known to the writers of headlines as \"The Kensington Horror,\" or\n\"The Stabbing Woman,\" or \"The Woman in Black.\" During the past two or\nthree days several cases have occurred of young children straying from\nhome or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In all\nthese cases the children were too young to give any properly\nintelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses\nis that they had been with a \"bloofer lady.\" It has always been late in\nthe evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions the\nchildren have not been found until early in the following morning. It is\ngenerally supposed in the neighbourhood that, as the first child missed\ngave as his reason for being away that a \"bloofer lady\" had asked him to\ncome for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as\noccasion served. This is the more natural as the favourite game of the\nlittle ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A\ncorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots pretending to\nbe the \"bloofer lady\" is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturists\nmight, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by comparing the\nreality and the picture. It is only in accordance with general\nprinciples of human nature that the \"bloofer lady\" should be the popular\nrôle at these _al fresco_ performances. Our correspondent naïvely says\nthat even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of\nthese grubby-faced little children pretend--and even imagine\nthemselves--to be.\n\nThere is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some of\nthe children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been\nslightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such as might be\nmade by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much importance\nindividually, would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them has\na system or method of its own. The police of the division have been\ninstructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying children, especially\nwhen very young, in and around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dog\nwhich may be about.\n\n\n               _\"The Westminster Gazette,\" 25 September._\n\n                            _Extra Special._\n\n                         THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR.\n\n                         ANOTHER CHILD INJURED.\n\n                         _The \"Bloofer Lady.\"_\n\nWe have just received intelligence that another child, missed last\nnight, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze bush at the\nShooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is, perhaps, less\nfrequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in the\nthroat as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and\nlooked quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the common\nstory to tell of being lured away by the \"bloofer lady.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_23 September_.--Jonathan is better after a bad night. I am so glad that\nhe has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the terrible\nthings; and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed down with the\nresponsibility of his new position. I knew he would be true to himself,\nand now how proud I am to see my Jonathan rising to the height of his\nadvancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come upon\nhim. He will be away all day till late, for he said he could not lunch\nat home. My household work is done, so I shall take his foreign journal,\nand lock myself up in my room and read it....\n\n\n_24 September_.--I hadn't the heart to write last night; that terrible\nrecord of Jonathan's upset me so. Poor dear! How he must have suffered,\nwhether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truth\nin it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all those\nterrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shall\nnever know, for I dare not open the subject to him.... And yet that man\nwe saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him.... Poor fellow! I\nsuppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind back on some\ntrain of thought.... He believes it all himself. I remember how on our\nwedding-day he said: \"Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back to\nthe bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane.\" There seems to be\nthrough it all some thread of continuity.... That fearful Count was\ncoming to London.... If it should be, and he came to London, with his\nteeming millions.... There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we must\nnot shrink from it.... I shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriter\nthis very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be ready for other\neyes if required. And if it be wanted; then, perhaps, if I am ready,\npoor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can speak for him and never let\nhim be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Jonathan quite gets\nover the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask him\nquestions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him.\n\n\n_Letter, Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._\n\n\"_24 September._\n\n(_Confidence_)\n\n\"Dear Madam,--\n\n\"I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I\nsent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's death. By the kindness of\nLord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I am\ndeeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I find\nsome letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how you\nlove her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is\nfor others' good that I ask--to redress great wrong, and to lift much\nand terrible troubles--that may be more great than you can know. May it\nbe that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and\nof Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private\nfor the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if\nyou tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your\npardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good\nyou are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be,\nenlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.\n\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Telegram, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._\n\n\"_25 September._--Come to-day by quarter-past ten train if you can catch\nit. Can see you any time you call.\n\n\"WILHELMINA HARKER.\"\n\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL.\n\n_25 September._--I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the time\ndraws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect that\nit will throw some light upon Jonathan's sad experience; and as he\nattended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all about\nher. That is the reason of his coming; it is concerning Lucy and her\nsleep-walking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the real\ntruth now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of my\nimagination and tinges everything with something of its own colour. Of\ncourse it is about Lucy. That habit came back to the poor dear, and that\nawful night on the cliff must have made her ill. I had almost forgotten\nin my own affairs how ill she was afterwards. She must have told him\nof her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that I knew all about\nit; and now he wants me to tell him what she knows, so that he may\nunderstand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Mrs.\nWestenra; I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it even\na negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope, too, Dr. Van\nHelsing will not blame me; I have had so much trouble and anxiety of\nlate that I feel I cannot bear more just at present.\n\nI suppose a cry does us all good at times--clears the air as other rain\ndoes. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that upset me, and\nthen Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a whole day\nand night, the first time we have been parted since our marriage. I do\nhope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and that nothing will\noccur to upset him. It is two o'clock, and the doctor will be here soon\nnow. I shall say nothing of Jonathan's journal unless he asks me. I am\nso glad I have type-written out my own journal, so that, in case he asks\nabout Lucy, I can hand it to him; it will save much questioning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how it\nall makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be all\npossible, or even a part of it? If I had not read Jonathan's journal\nfirst, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dear\nJonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all this may\nnot upset him again. I shall try to save him from it; but it may be even\na consolation and a help to him--terrible though it be and awful in its\nconsequences--to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain did\nnot deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt\nwhich haunts him; that when the doubt is removed, no matter\nwhich--waking or dreaming--may prove the truth, he will be more\nsatisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a\ngood man as well as a clever one if he is Arthur's friend and Dr.\nSeward's, and if they brought him all the way from Holland to look after\nLucy. I feel from having seen him that he _is_ good and kind and of a\nnoble nature. When he comes to-morrow I shall ask him about Jonathan;\nand then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a good\nend. I used to think I would like to practise interviewing; Jonathan's\nfriend on \"The Exeter News\" told him that memory was everything in such\nwork--that you must be able to put down exactly almost every word\nspoken, even if you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare\ninterview; I shall try to record it _verbatim_.\n\nIt was half-past two o'clock when the knock came. I took my courage _à\ndeux mains_ and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the door, and\nannounced \"Dr. Van Helsing.\"\n\nI rose and bowed, and he came towards me; a man of medium weight,\nstrongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and\na neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise\nof the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; the\nhead is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face,\nclean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile\nmouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive\nnostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and the\nmouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost\nstraight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart;\nsuch a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it,\nbut falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set\nwidely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man's moods. He\nsaid to me:--\n\n\"Mrs. Harker, is it not?\" I bowed assent.\n\n\"That was Miss Mina Murray?\" Again I assented.\n\n\"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear\nchild Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I said, \"you could have no better claim on me than that you were\na friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.\" And I held out my hand. He took\nit and said tenderly:--\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must be\ngood, but I had yet to learn----\" He finished his speech with a courtly\nbow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he at\nonce began:--\n\n\"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to begin\nto inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you were\nwith her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary--you need not look\nsurprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was in\nimitation of you--and in that diary she traces by inference certain\nthings to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. In\ngreat perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so much\nkindness to tell me all of it that you can remember.\"\n\n\"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always\nso with young ladies.\"\n\n\"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to you\nif you like.\"\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour.\" I\ncould not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit--I suppose it is\nsome of the taste of the original apple that remains still in our\nmouths--so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a grateful\nbow, and said:--\n\n\"May I read it?\"\n\n\"If you wish,\" I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and for\nan instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.\n\n\"Oh, you so clever woman!\" he said. \"I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a\nman of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things.\nAnd will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me?\nAlas! I know not the shorthand.\" By this time my little joke was over,\nand I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from my\nworkbasket and handed it to him.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" I said: \"I could not help it; but I had been thinking that\nit was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might not\nhave time to wait--not on my account, but because I know your time must\nbe precious--I have written it out on the typewriter for you.\"\n\nHe took it and his eyes glistened. \"You are so good,\" he said. \"And may\nI read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" I said, \"read it over whilst I order lunch; and then you\ncan ask me questions whilst we eat.\" He bowed and settled himself in a\nchair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers,\nwhilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be\ndisturbed. When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down\nthe room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and\ntook me by both hands.\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said, \"how can I say what I owe to you? This paper\nis as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so\nmuch light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that\nyou do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so\nclever woman. Madam\"--he said this very solemnly--\"if ever Abraham Van\nHelsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know.\nIt will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as a\nfriend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you\nand those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights;\nyou are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, and\nyour husband will be blessed in you.\"\n\n\"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and--and you do not know me.\"\n\n\"Not know you--I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men and\nwomen; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to\nhim and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary that you\nhave so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in every\nline. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your\nmarriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell\nall their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that\nangels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something of\nangels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for\nyou trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your\nhusband--tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, and\nis he strong and hearty?\" I saw here an opening to ask him about\nJonathan, so I said:--\n\n\"He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins's\ndeath.\" He interrupted:--\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters.\" I went\non:--\n\n\"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he\nhad a sort of shock.\"\n\n\"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind of\na shock was it?\"\n\n\"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something\nwhich led to his brain fever.\" And here the whole thing seemed to\noverwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which he\nexperienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that\nhas been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose I\nwas hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands to\nhim, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my hands\nand raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held my\nhand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:--\n\n\"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not\nhad much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to here by\nmy friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen such\nnobility that I feel more than ever--and it has grown with my advancing\nyears--the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come here\nfull of respect for you, and you have given me hope--hope, not in what I\nam seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life\nhappy--good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for\nthe children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some\nuse to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my\nstudy and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do _all_ for him\nthat I can--all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy\none. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious.\nHusband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he like not\nwhere he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eat\nand smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall not\nspeak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for I\nwant to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I\nwill ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me of\nhusband Jonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat\nnow; afterwards you shall tell me all.\"\n\nAfter lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:--\n\n\"And now tell me all about him.\" When it came to speaking to this great\nlearned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and\nJonathan a madman--that journal is all so strange--and I hesitated to go\non. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I\ntrusted him, so I said:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must not\nlaugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort of\nfever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that I\nhave even half believed some very strange things.\" He reassured me by\nhis manner as well as his words when he said:--\n\n\"Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which\nI am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think little\nof any one's belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keep\nan open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close\nit, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that\nmake one doubt if they be mad or sane.\"\n\n\"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off my\nmind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It is long,\nbut I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble and\nJonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all that\nhappened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself and\njudge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tell\nme what you think.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" he said as I gave him the papers; \"I shall in the morning,\nso soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may.\"\n\n\"Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunch\nwith us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34 train, which\nwill leave you at Paddington before eight.\" He was surprised at my\nknowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know that I have made\nup all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan in\ncase he is in a hurry.\n\nSo he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here\nthinking--thinking I don't know what.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._\n\n\"_25 September, 6 o'clock._\n\n\"Dear Madam Mina,--\n\n\"I have read your husband's so wonderful diary. You may sleep without\ndoubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is _true_! I will pledge my\nlife on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no\ndread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men,\nthat one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that\nroom--ay, and going a second time--is not one to be injured in\npermanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this I\nswear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much to\nask him of other things. I am blessed that to-day I come to see you, for\nI have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzle--dazzle more\nthan ever, and I must think.\n\n\"Yours the most faithful,\n\n\"ABRAHAM VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._\n\n\"_25 September, 6:30 p. m._\n\n\"My dear Dr. Van Helsing,--\n\n\"A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken a great weight\noff my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things there are in\nthe world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster, be really\nin London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had a\nwire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 to-night from\nLaunceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall have no fear\nto-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with us, please come\nto breakfast at eight o'clock, if this be not too early for you? You can\nget away, if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring\nyou to Paddington by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that,\nif I do not hear, you will come to breakfast.\n\n\"Believe me,\n\n\"Your faithful and grateful friend,\n\n\"MINA HARKER.\"\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_26 September._--I thought never to write in this diary again, but the\ntime has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, and\nwhen we had supped she told me of Van Helsing's visit, and of her having\ngiven him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has been\nabout me. She showed me in the doctor's letter that all I wrote down was\ntrue. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the doubt as to the\nreality of the whole thing that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and in\nthe dark, and distrustful. But, now that I _know_, I am not afraid, even\nof the Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in his design in getting\nto London, and it was he I saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing\nis the man to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything like what\nMina says. We sat late, and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and I\nshall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over....\n\nHe was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room where he\nwas, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and turned my\nface round to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny:--\n\n\"But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had a shock.\" It was\nso funny to hear my wife called \"Madam Mina\" by this kindly,\nstrong-faced old man. I smiled, and said:--\n\n\"I _was_ ill, I _have_ had a shock; but you have cured me already.\"\n\n\"And how?\"\n\n\"By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and then everything\ntook a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to trust, even the\nevidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust, I did not know\nwhat to do; and so had only to keep on working in what had hitherto been\nthe groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I mistrusted\nmyself. Doctor, you don't know what it is to doubt everything, even\nyourself. No, you don't; you couldn't with eyebrows like yours.\" He\nseemed pleased, and laughed as he said:--\n\n\"So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with\nso much pleasure coming to you to breakfast; and, oh, sir, you will\npardon praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife.\" I\nwould listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply nodded\nand stood silent.\n\n\"She is one of God's women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men and\nother women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its\nlight can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an\negoist--and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so sceptical and\nselfish. And you, sir--I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy,\nand some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days from the\nknowing of others; but I have seen your true self since last night. You\nwill give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all our\nlives.\"\n\nWe shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it made me quite\nchoky.\n\n\"And now,\" he said, \"may I ask you for some more help? I have a great\ntask to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help me here.\nCan you tell me what went before your going to Transylvania? Later on I\nmay ask more help, and of a different kind; but at first this will do.\"\n\n\"Look here, sir,\" I said, \"does what you have to do concern the Count?\"\n\n\"It does,\" he said solemnly.\n\n\"Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 10:30 train, you\nwill not have time to read them; but I shall get the bundle of papers.\nYou can take them with you and read them in the train.\"\n\nAfter breakfast I saw him to the station. When we were parting he\nsaid:--\n\n\"Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take Madam Mina\ntoo.\"\n\n\"We shall both come when you will,\" I said.\n\nI had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the previous\nnight, and while we were talking at the carriage window, waiting for the\ntrain to start, he was turning them over. His eyes suddenly seemed to\ncatch something in one of them, \"The Westminster Gazette\"--I knew it by\nthe colour--and he grew quite white. He read something intently,\ngroaning to himself: \"Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon! so soon!\" I do not\nthink he remembered me at the moment. Just then the whistle blew, and\nthe train moved off. This recalled him to himself, and he leaned out of\nthe window and waved his hand, calling out: \"Love to Madam Mina; I shall\nwrite so soon as ever I can.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_26 September._--Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a week\nsince I said \"Finis,\" and yet here I am starting fresh again, or rather\ngoing on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no cause to\nthink of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as\nhe ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business; and he had\njust started in the spider line also; so he had not been of any trouble\nto me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it I\ngather that he is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with\nhim, and that is much of a help, for he himself is a bubbling well of\ngood spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear that\nArthur is beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as to\nthem all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to my\nwork with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I might\nfairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becoming\ncicatrised. Everything is, however, now reopened; and what is to be the\nend God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows,\ntoo, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He\nwent to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he came\nback, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock,\nand thrust last night's \"Westminster Gazette\" into my hand.\n\n\"What do you think of that?\" he asked as he stood back and folded his\narms.\n\nI looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant; but he\ntook it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being decoyed\naway at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I reached a\npassage where it described small punctured wounds on their throats. An\nidea struck me, and I looked up. \"Well?\" he said.\n\n\"It is like poor Lucy's.\"\n\n\"And what do you make of it?\"\n\n\"Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injured\nher has injured them.\" I did not quite understand his answer:--\n\n\"That is true indirectly, but not directly.\"\n\n\"How do you mean, Professor?\" I asked. I was a little inclined to take\nhis seriousness lightly--for, after all, four days of rest and freedom\nfrom burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one's spirits--but\nwhen I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our\ndespair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.\n\n\"Tell me!\" I said. \"I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to\nthink, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to\nwhat poor Lucy died of; not after all the hints given, not only by\nevents, but by me?\"\n\n\"Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste of blood.\"\n\n\"And how the blood lost or waste?\" I shook my head. He stepped over and\nsat down beside me, and went on:--\n\n\"You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and your wit is bold;\nbut you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears\nhear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to\nyou. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand,\nand yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? But\nthere are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men's\neyes, because they know--or think they know--some things which other men\nhave told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to\nexplain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to\nexplain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs,\nwhich think themselves new; and which are yet but the old, which pretend\nto be young--like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do not\nbelieve in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor\nin astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in\nhypnotism----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said. \"Charcot has proved that pretty well.\" He smiled as he\nwent on: \"Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then you\nunderstand how it act, and can follow the mind of the great\nCharcot--alas that he is no more!--into the very soul of the patient\nthat he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you\nsimply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion\nbe a blank? No? Then tell me--for I am student of the brain--how you\naccept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my\nfriend, that there are things done to-day in electrical science which\nwould have been deemed unholy by the very men who discovered\nelectricity--who would themselves not so long before have been burned\nas wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it that\nMethuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred and\nsixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her poor\nveins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, we\ncould have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do\nyou know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the\nqualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me\nwhy, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived\nfor centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew,\ntill, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can\nyou tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that\ncome at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their\nveins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang\non the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant\nnuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that\nit is hot, flit down on them, and then--and then in the morning are\nfound dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?\"\n\n\"Good God, Professor!\" I said, starting up. \"Do you mean to tell me that\nLucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here in London\nin the nineteenth century?\" He waved his hand for silence, and went\non:--\n\n\"Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of\nmen; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; and\nwhy the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint?\nCan you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are\nsome few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men and\nwomen who cannot die? We all know--because science has vouched for the\nfact--that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of\nyears, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of\nthe world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die\nand have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the\ncorn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men\ncome and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian\nfakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?\" Here\nI interrupted him. I was getting bewildered; he so crowded on my mind\nhis list of nature's eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my\nimagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching me\nsome lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; but\nhe used then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of\nthought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet I\nwanted to follow him, so I said:--\n\n\"Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so\nthat I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going in\nmy mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one, follows an\nidea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a mist, jumping\nfrom one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without\nknowing where I am going.\"\n\n\"That is good image,\" he said. \"Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is\nthis: I want you to believe.\"\n\n\"To believe what?\"\n\n\"To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard once\nof an American who so defined faith: 'that faculty which enables us to\nbelieve things which we know to be untrue.' For one, I follow that man.\nHe meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of\ntruth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railway\ntruck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value\nhim; but all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth in\nthe universe.\"\n\n\"Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure the\nreceptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read\nyour lesson aright?\"\n\n\"Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now\nthat you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to\nunderstand. You think then that those so small holes in the children's\nthroats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\" He stood up and said solemnly:--\n\n\"Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! but alas! no. It is worse,\nfar, far worse.\"\n\n\"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?\" I cried.\n\nHe threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed his\nelbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke:--\n\n\"They were made by Miss Lucy!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY--_continued_.\n\n\nFor a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during her life\nstruck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to\nhim:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?\" He raised his head and looked at me, and\nsomehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. \"Would I were!\" he\nsaid. \"Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my\nfriend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell\nyou so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all\nmy life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted,\nnow so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from a\nfearful death? Ah no!\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said I. He went on:--\n\n\"My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you,\nfor I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do not\nexpect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstract\ntruth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have always\nbelieved the 'no' of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad a\nconcrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to prove\nit. Dare you come with me?\"\n\nThis staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byron\nexcepted from the category, jealousy.\n\n    \"And prove the very truth he most abhorred.\"\n\nHe saw my hesitation, and spoke:--\n\n\"The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from tussock\nto tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof will be relief;\nat worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread; yet\nvery dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come,\nI tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that child\nin the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the papers\nsay the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were\nin class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if he\nwill not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we\nwish to learn. And then----\"\n\n\"And then?\" He took a key from his pocket and held it up. \"And then we\nspend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is\nthe key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man to give to\nArthur.\" My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful\nordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what\nheart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon was\npassing....\n\nWe found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, and\naltogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its\nthroat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the\nsimilarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller,\nand the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what he\nattributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some\nanimal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to think\nthat it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern\nheights of London. \"Out of so many harmless ones,\" he said, \"there may\nbe some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some\nsailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even from\nthe Zoölogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred\nthere from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago\na wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a\nweek after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the\nHeath and in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare\ncame along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even\nthis poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he\nmight go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted\nto play with the 'bloofer lady.'\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Van Helsing, \"that when you are sending the child home\nyou will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies\nto stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another\nnight, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will\nnot let it away for some days?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is not\nhealed.\"\n\nOur visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, and\nthe sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it\nwas, he said:--\n\n\"There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek\nsomewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way.\"\n\nWe dined at \"Jack Straw's Castle\" along with a little crowd of\nbicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we\nstarted from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps\nmade the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual\nradius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he\nwent on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to\nlocality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at\nlast we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse\npolice going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall of\nthe churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty--for\nit was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us--we found\nthe Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door,\nand standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to\nprecede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the\ncourtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My\ncompanion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after\ncarefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring,\none. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he\nfumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle,\nproceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed\nwith fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some\ndays afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites\nturning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the\nbeetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured\nstone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished\nbrass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a\ncandle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been\nimagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life--animal life--was\nnot the only thing which could pass away.\n\nVan Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so\nthat he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm\ndropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he\nmade assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took\nout a turnscrew.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" I asked.\n\n\"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.\" Straightway he began\ntaking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the\ncasing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed\nto be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have\nstripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took\nhold of his hand to stop him. He only said: \"You shall see,\" and again\nfumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrew\nthrough the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he\nmade a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of\nthe saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We\ndoctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to\nsuch things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never\nstopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of\nthe lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the\nedge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the\ncoffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to\nlook.\n\nI drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.\n\nIt was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but\nVan Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground,\nand so emboldened to proceed in his task. \"Are you satisfied now, friend\nJohn?\" he asked.\n\nI felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as\nI answered him:--\n\n\"I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that only\nproves one thing.\"\n\n\"And what is that, friend John?\"\n\n\"That it is not there.\"\n\n\"That is good logic,\" he said, \"so far as it goes. But how do you--how\ncan you--account for it not being there?\"\n\n\"Perhaps a body-snatcher,\" I suggested. \"Some of the undertaker's people\nmay have stolen it.\" I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was\nthe only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. \"Ah\nwell!\" he said, \"we must have more proof. Come with me.\"\n\nHe put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed\nthem in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the\nbag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and\nlocked it. He handed me the key, saying: \"Will you keep it? You had\nbetter be assured.\" I laughed--it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am\nbound to say--as I motioned him to keep it. \"A key is nothing,\" I said;\n\"there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock\nof that kind.\" He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he\ntold me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at\nthe other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark\nfigure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my\nsight.\n\nIt was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant\nclock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and\nunnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand\nand with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly\nobservant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had\na dreary, miserable time.\n\nSuddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white\nstreak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard\nfarthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the\nProfessor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I\ntoo moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I\nstumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an\nearly cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered\njuniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim\nfigure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden\nby trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the\nrustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and\ncoming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When\nhe saw me he held it out to me, and said:--\n\n\"Are you satisfied now?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.\n\n\"Do you not see the child?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"We shall see,\" said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way\nout of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.\n\nWhen we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of\ntrees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was\nwithout a scratch or scar of any kind.\n\n\"Was I right?\" I asked triumphantly.\n\n\"We were just in time,\" said the Professor thankfully.\n\nWe had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consulted\nabout it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have to\ngive some account of our movements during the night; at least, we should\nhave had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child.\nSo finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we\nheard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find\nit; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out\nwell. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy\ntramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until\nhe saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation\nof astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a\ncab near the \"Spaniards,\" and drove to town.\n\nI cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours'\nsleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shall\ngo with him on another expedition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_27 September._--It was two o'clock before we found a suitable\nopportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed,\nand the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily\naway, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder-trees, we saw\nthe sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe till\nmorning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we should not\nwant more than an hour at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the\nreality of things, in which any effort of imagination seemed out of\nplace; and I realised distinctly the perils of the law which we were\nincurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless.\nOutrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead\nnearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to\nopen the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own\neyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however,\nand rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road,\nno matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again\ncourteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as\nlast night, but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine\nstreamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's coffin, and I followed.\nHe bent over and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock\nof surprise and dismay shot through me.\n\nThere lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before her\nfuneral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever; and I\ncould not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than\nbefore; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.\n\n\"Is this a juggle?\" I said to him.\n\n\"Are you convinced now?\" said the Professor in response, and as he spoke\nhe put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the\ndead lips and showed the white teeth.\n\n\"See,\" he went on, \"see, they are even sharper than before. With this\nand this\"--and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below\nit--\"the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend\nJohn?\" Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I _could_ not\naccept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with an attempt to\nargue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said:--\n\n\"She may have been placed here since last night.\"\n\n\"Indeed? That is so, and by whom?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Some one has done it.\"\n\n\"And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would not\nlook so.\" I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not\nseem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor\ntriumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raising\nthe eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and\nexamining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said:--\n\n\"Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here is\nsome dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampire\nwhen she was in a trance, sleep-walking--oh, you start; you do not know\nthat, friend John, but you shall know it all later--and in trance could\nhe best come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance she\nis Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually when\nthe Un-Dead sleep at home\"--as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of\nhis arm to designate what to a vampire was \"home\"--\"their face show what\nthey are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to\nthe nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so\nit make hard that I must kill her in her sleep.\" This turned my blood\ncold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's\ntheories; but if she were really dead, what was there of terror in the\nidea of killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in\nmy face, for he said almost joyously:--\n\n\"Ah, you believe now?\"\n\nI answered: \"Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to\naccept. How will you do this bloody work?\"\n\n\"I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shall\ndrive a stake through her body.\" It made me shudder to think of so\nmutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling\nwas not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to\nshudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing\ncalled it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective,\nor all objective?\n\nI waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood as\nif wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with a\nsnap, and said:--\n\n\"I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If I\ndid simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this moment, what is\nto be done; but there are other things to follow, and things that are\nthousand times more difficult in that them we do not know. This is\nsimple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time; and to act\nnow would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we may have to\nwant Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the\nwounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at\nthe hospital; if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and full\nto-day with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and more\nbeautiful in a whole week, after she die--if you know of this and know\nof the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard,\nand yet of your own senses you did not believe, how, then, can I expect\nArthur, who know none of those things, to believe? He doubted me when I\ntook him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me\nbecause in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say\ngood-bye as he ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken idea\nthis woman was buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we have\nkilled her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that\nhave killed her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet\nhe never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he will\nsometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint\nhis dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, he\nwill think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all,\nan Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since\nI know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he\nmust pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow,\nmust have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to\nhim; then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My mind is\nmade up. Let us go. You return home for to-night to your asylum, and see\nthat all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this\nchurchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to the\nBerkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too,\nand also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we\nshall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and\nthere dine, for I must be back here before the sun set.\"\n\nSo we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of the\nchurchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly.\n\n\n_Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley Hotel directed to\nJohn Seward, M. D._\n\n(Not delivered.)\n\n\"_27 September._\n\n\"Friend John,--\n\n\"I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in\nthat churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not\nleave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager.\nTherefore I shall fix some things she like not--garlic and a\ncrucifix--and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead,\nand will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out; they\nmay not prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead is\ndesperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may\nbe. I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after the sunrise,\nand if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss\nLucy or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there that\nshe is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find shelter.\nHe is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all\nalong he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and\nwe lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the\nstrength in his hand of twenty men; even we four who gave our strength\nto Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and\nI know not what. So if it be that he come thither on this night he shall\nfind me; but none other shall--until it be too late. But it may be that\nhe will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; his\nhunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the\nUn-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch.\n\n\"Therefore I write this in case.... Take the papers that are with this,\nthe diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find this\ngreat Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stake\nthrough it, so that the world may rest from him.\n\n\"If it be so, farewell.\n\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_28 September._--It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will do for\none. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's monstrous\nideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on\ncommon sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his\nmind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be _some_\nrational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible that\nthe Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that\nif he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to\nsome fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loath to think it, and indeed\nit would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van\nHelsing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some\nlight on the mystery.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 September, morning._.... Last night, at a little before ten o'clock,\nArthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room; he told us all that he\nwanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all\nour wills were centred in his. He began by saying that he hoped we would\nall come with him too, \"for,\" he said, \"there is a grave duty to be done\nthere. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?\" This query was\ndirectly addressed to Lord Godalming.\n\n\"I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble\naround my house of late that I could do without any more. I have been\ncurious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but the\nmore we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself\nthat I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" said Quincey Morris laconically.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the Professor, \"then you are nearer the beginning, both of\nyou, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can\neven get so far as to begin.\"\n\nIt was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame of\nmind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he said\nwith intense gravity:--\n\n\"I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I\nknow, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you will\nknow, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me\nin the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a\ntime--I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may\nbe--you shall not blame yourselves for anything.\"\n\n\"That's frank anyhow,\" broke in Quincey. \"I'll answer for the Professor.\nI don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and that's good\nenough for me.\"\n\n\"I thank you, sir,\" said Van Helsing proudly. \"I have done myself the\nhonour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear\nto me.\" He held out a hand, which Quincey took.\n\nThen Arthur spoke out:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as they\nsay in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentleman\nor my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise.\nIf you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either of\nthese two, then I give my consent at once; though for the life of me, I\ncannot understand what you are driving at.\"\n\n\"I accept your limitation,\" said Van Helsing, \"and all I ask of you is\nthat if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will first\nconsider it well and be satisfied that it does not violate your\nreservations.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" said Arthur; \"that is only fair. And now that the\n_pourparlers_ are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?\"\n\n\"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the churchyard at\nKingstead.\"\n\nArthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:--\n\n\"Where poor Lucy is buried?\" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on: \"And\nwhen there?\"\n\n\"To enter the tomb!\" Arthur stood up.\n\n\"Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon me,\nI see that you are in earnest.\" He sat down again, but I could see that\nhe sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was\nsilence until he asked again:--\n\n\"And when in the tomb?\"\n\n\"To open the coffin.\"\n\n\"This is too much!\" he said, angrily rising again. \"I am willing to be\npatient in all things that are reasonable; but in this--this desecration\nof the grave--of one who----\" He fairly choked with indignation. The\nProfessor looked pityingly at him.\n\n\"If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,\" he said, \"God knows I\nwould. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, and\nfor ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!\"\n\nArthur looked up with set white face and said:--\n\n\"Take care, sir, take care!\"\n\n\"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?\" said Van Helsing.\n\"And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go\non?\"\n\n\"That's fair enough,\" broke in Morris.\n\nAfter a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:--\n\n\"Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to\nher. But if she be not dead----\"\n\nArthur jumped to his feet.\n\n\"Good God!\" he cried. \"What do you mean? Has there been any mistake; has\nshe been buried alive?\" He groaned in anguish that not even hope could\nsoften.\n\n\"I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go no\nfurther than to say that she might be Un-Dead.\"\n\n\"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or what\nis it?\"\n\n\"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they\nmay solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But\nI have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?\"\n\n\"Heavens and earth, no!\" cried Arthur in a storm of passion. \"Not for\nthe wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr.\nVan Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you that you should\ntorture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want to\ncast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad that speak such things, or\nam I mad to listen to them? Don't dare to think more of such a\ndesecration; I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a\nduty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do\nit!\"\n\nVan Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated, and\nsaid, gravely and sternly:--\n\n\"My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty\nto you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask you\nnow is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if when\nlater I make the same request you do not be more eager for its\nfulfilment even than I am, then--then I shall do my duty, whatever it\nmay seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship's wishes I shall\nhold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where\nyou will.\" His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of\npity:--\n\n\"But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life of\nacts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring\nmy heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that if\nthe time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one look from\nyou will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man can\nto save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so\nmuch of labour and so much of sorrow? I have come here from my own land\nto do what I can of good; at the first to please my friend John, and\nthen to help a sweet young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her--I\nam ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness--I gave what you\ngave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, her\nlover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nights\nand days--before death, after death; and if my death can do her good\neven now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.\" He\nsaid this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected\nby it. He took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice:--\n\n\"Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at least I\nshall go with you and wait.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY--_continued_\n\n\nIt was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the\nchurchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional gleams\nof moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded across\nthe sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly\nin front as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I looked\nwell at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a place laden with so\nsorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore himself well. I took it\nthat the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant\nto his grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural\nhesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by\nentering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door.\nHe then lit a dark lantern and pointed to the coffin. Arthur stepped\nforward hesitatingly; Van Helsing said to me:--\n\n\"You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that\ncoffin?\"\n\n\"It was.\" The Professor turned to the rest saying:--\n\n\"You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me.\" He\ntook his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Arthur\nlooked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he stepped\nforward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or,\nat any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead,\nthe blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell away\nagain, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness; he was still silent.\nVan Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in and\nrecoiled.\n\nThe coffin was empty!\n\nFor several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken by\nQuincey Morris:--\n\n\"Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I wouldn't ask\nsuch a thing ordinarily--I wouldn't so dishonour you as to imply a\ndoubt; but this is a mystery that goes beyond any honour or dishonour.\nIs this your doing?\"\n\n\"I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not removed nor\ntouched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend Seward and\nI came here--with good purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, which\nwas then sealed up, and we found it, as now, empty. We then waited, and\nsaw something white come through the trees. The next day we came here in\nday-time, and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That night we were just in time. One more so small child was missing,\nand we find it, thank God, unharmed amongst the graves. Yesterday I came\nhere before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited here\nall the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most probable\nthat it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic,\nwhich the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last\nnight there was no exodus, so to-night before the sundown I took away my\ngarlic and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But\nbear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me\noutside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be.\nSo\"--here he shut the dark slide of his lantern--\"now to the outside.\"\nHe opened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking the\ndoor behind him.\n\nOh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of\nthat vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passing\ngleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing and\npassing--like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life; how sweet it was\nto breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay; how\nhumanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to\nhear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Each\nin his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, I\ncould see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the\nmystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to\nthrow aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing's conclusions. Quincey\nMorris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, and\naccepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has to\nstake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug of\ntobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a\ndefinite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like\nthin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white\nnapkin; next he took out a double-handful of some whitish stuff, like\ndough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into the\nmass between his hands. This he then took, and rolling it into thin\nstrips, began to lay them into the crevices between the door and its\nsetting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this, and being close,\nasked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near\nalso, as they too were curious. He answered:--\n\n\"I am closing the tomb, so that the Un-Dead may not enter.\"\n\n\"And is that stuff you have put there going to do it?\" asked Quincey.\n\"Great Scott! Is this a game?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"What is that which you are using?\" This time the question was by\nArthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered:--\n\n\"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence.\" It was an\nanswer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt individually\nthat in the presence of such earnest purpose as the Professor's, a\npurpose which could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it was\nimpossible to distrust. In respectful silence we took the places\nassigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the sight of any\none approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur. I had myself\nbeen apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror; and yet I,\nwho had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink\nwithin me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white; never did cypress, or\nyew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funereal gloom; never did tree\nor grass wave or rustle so ominously; never did bough creak so\nmysteriously; and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a\nwoeful presage through the night.\n\nThere was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and then from the\nProfessor a keen \"S-s-s-s!\" He pointed; and far down the avenue of yews\nwe saw a white figure advance--a dim white figure, which held something\ndark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a ray of\nmoonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in startling\nprominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of the grave.\nWe could not see the face, for it was bent down over what we saw to be a\nfair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a\nchild gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. We\nwere starting forward, but the Professor's warning hand, seen by us as\nhe stood behind a yew-tree, kept us back; and then as we looked the\nwhite figure moved forwards again. It was now near enough for us to see\nclearly, and the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold as ice,\nand I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognised the features of\nLucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how changed. The sweetness was\nturned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous\nwantonness. Van Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, we\nall advanced too; the four of us ranged in a line before the door of the\ntomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide; by the\nconcentrated light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips\nwere crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her\nchin and stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.\n\nWe shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that even\nVan Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and if I had\nnot seized his arm and held him up, he would have fallen.\n\nWhen Lucy--I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it bore her\nshape--saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a cat gives\nwhen taken unawares; then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy's eyes in form\nand colour; but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of\nthe pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant of my love\npassed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have\ndone it with savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholy\nlight, and the face became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God,\nhow it made me shudder to see it! With a careless motion, she flung to\nthe ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to now she had\nclutched strenuously to her breast, growling over it as a dog growls\nover a bone. The child gave a sharp cry, and lay there moaning. There\nwas a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur; when\nshe advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he fell\nback and hid his face in his hands.\n\nShe still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous grace,\nsaid:--\n\n\"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are\nhungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!\"\n\nThere was something diabolically sweet in her tones--something of the\ntingling of glass when struck--which rang through the brains even of us\nwho heard the words addressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed under\na spell; moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms. She\nwas leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held between\nthem his little golden crucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with a\nsuddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past him as if to enter\nthe tomb.\n\nWhen within a foot or two of the door, however, she stopped, as if\narrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her face was\nshown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now no\nquiver from Van Helsing's iron nerves. Never did I see such baffled\nmalice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by\nmortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throw\nout sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of\nthe flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the lovely,\nblood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks of\nthe Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death--if looks could\nkill--we saw it at that moment.\n\nAnd so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she remained\nbetween the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her means of\nentry. Van Helsing broke the silence by asking Arthur:--\n\n\"Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?\"\n\nArthur threw himself on his knees, and hid his face in his hands, as he\nanswered:--\n\n\"Do as you will, friend; do as you will. There can be no horror like\nthis ever any more;\" and he groaned in spirit. Quincey and I\nsimultaneously moved towards him, and took his arms. We could hear the\nclick of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down; coming close\nto the tomb, he began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred\nemblem which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrified\namazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporeal\nbody as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the interstice\nwhere scarce a knife-blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense of\nrelief when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of putty\nto the edges of the door.\n\nWhen this was done, he lifted the child and said:\n\n\"Come now, my friends; we can do no more till to-morrow. There is a\nfuneral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that. The\nfriends of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton lock\nthe gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do; but not like this of\nto-night. As for this little one, he is not much harm, and by to-morrow\nnight he shall be well. We shall leave him where the police will find\nhim, as on the other night; and then to home.\" Coming close to Arthur,\nhe said:--\n\n\"My friend Arthur, you have had a sore trial; but after, when you look\nback, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the bitter\nwaters, my child. By this time to-morrow you will, please God, have\npassed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not mourn\novermuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me.\"\n\nArthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each other\non the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired; so we all\nslept with more or less reality of sleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 September, night._--A little before twelve o'clock we three--Arthur,\nQuincey Morris, and myself--called for the Professor. It was odd to\nnotice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of\ncourse, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of\nus wore it by instinct. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, and\nstrolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that when the\ngravediggers had completed their task and the sexton under the belief\nthat every one had gone, had locked the gate, we had the place all to\nourselves. Van Helsing, instead of his little black bag, had with him a\nlong leather one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of\nfair weight.\n\nWhen we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out up\nthe road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed the\nProfessor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing it\nbehind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and also\ntwo wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their own\nends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to work\nby. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all looked--Arthur\ntrembling like an aspen--and saw that the body lay there in all its\ndeath-beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing but\nloathing for the foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her\nsoul. I could see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently\nhe said to Van Helsing:--\n\n\"Is this really Lucy's body, or only a demon in her shape?\"\n\n\"It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you all see her\nas she was, and is.\"\n\nShe seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth,\nthe bloodstained, voluptuous mouth--which it made one shudder to\nsee--the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like a\ndevilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with his usual\nmethodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and\nplacing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some\nplumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, when lit in\na corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with a blue\nflame; then his operating knives, which he placed to hand; and last a\nround wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches thick and about\nthree feet long. One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, and\nwas sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, such\nas in households is used in the coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. To\nme, a doctor's preparations for work of any kind are stimulating and\nbracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was\nto cause them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept their\ncourage, and remained silent and quiet.\n\nWhen all was ready, Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Before we do anything, let me tell you this; it is out of the lore and\nexperience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powers\nof the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the\ncurse of immortality; they cannot die, but must go on age after age\nadding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world; for all that\ndie from the preying of the Un-Dead becomes themselves Un-Dead, and prey\non their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening, like as the\nripples from a stone thrown in the water. Friend Arthur, if you had met\nthat kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die; or again, last night\nwhen you open your arms to her, you would in time, when you had died,\nhave become _nosferatu_, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and would\nall time make more of those Un-Deads that so have fill us with horror.\nThe career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those\nchildren whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if\nshe live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her\npower over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood with that\nso wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tiny\nwounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their plays\nunknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when\nthis now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor\nlady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by\nnight and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, she\nshall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will\nbe a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free.\nTo this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better\nright? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the\nnight when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it\nwas the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would\nherself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if there be\nsuch a one amongst us?\"\n\nWe all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the infinite\nkindness which suggested that his should be the hand which would restore\nLucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he stepped forward and\nsaid bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as\nsnow:--\n\n\"My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me\nwhat I am to do, and I shall not falter!\" Van Helsing laid a hand on his\nshoulder, and said:--\n\n\"Brave lad! A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be\ndriven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal--be not deceived in\nthat--but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more\nthan your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as though\nyou tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. Only\nthink that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we pray for\nyou all the time.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Arthur hoarsely. \"Tell me what I am to do.\"\n\n\"Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point over the\nheart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer for\nthe dead--I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others shall\nfollow--strike in God's name, that so all may be well with the dead that\nwe love and that the Un-Dead pass away.\"\n\nArthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on\naction his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened\nhis missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as well as we\ncould. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could\nsee its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his might.\n\nThe Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screech\ncame from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twisted\nin wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together till the\nlips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthur\nnever faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm\nrose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilst\nthe blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His\nface was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of it\ngave us courage so that our voices seemed to ring through the little\nvault.\n\nAnd then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the\nteeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. The\nterrible task was over.\n\nThe hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He reeled and would have fallen had\nwe not caught him. The great drops of sweat sprang from his forehead,\nand his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain\non him; and had he not been forced to his task by more than human\nconsiderations he could never have gone through with it. For a few\nminutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards the\ncoffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from one\nto the other of us. We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had\nbeen seated on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad,\nstrange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom of\nhorror that lay upon it.\n\nThere, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded\nand grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a\nprivilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in\nher life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that\nthere were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and\npain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth\nto what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay like\nsunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and\nsymbol of the calm that was to reign for ever.\n\nVan Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to\nhim:--\n\n\"And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?\"\n\nThe reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man's hand\nin his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:--\n\n\"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again,\nand me peace.\" He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying\nhis head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood\nunmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:--\n\n\"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as\nshe would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning\ndevil now--not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is\nthe devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!\"\n\nArthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out of the\ntomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake, leaving the point\nof it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth with\ngarlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid,\nand gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Professor locked\nthe door he gave the key to Arthur.\n\nOutside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and it\nseemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There was\ngladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselves\non one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy.\n\nBefore we moved away Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the most harrowing\nto ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find out the author\nof all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can\nfollow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and there is danger in\nit, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all\nof us--is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And do\nwe not promise to go on to the bitter end?\"\n\nEach in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then said the\nProfessor as we moved off:--\n\n\"Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven of\nthe clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that you\nknow not as yet; and I shall be ready to all our work show and our plans\nunfold. Friend John, you come with me home, for I have much to consult\nabout, and you can help me. To-night I leave for Amsterdam, but shall\nreturn to-morrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first I\nshall have much to say, so that you may know what is to do and to dread.\nThen our promise shall be made to each other anew; for there is a\nterrible task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare we\nmust not draw back.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY--_continued_\n\n\nWhen we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram\nwaiting for him:--\n\n     \"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news.--MINA\n     HARKER.\"\n\nThe Professor was delighted. \"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina,\" he said,\n\"pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go to your\nhouse, friend John. You must meet her at the station. Telegraph her _en\nroute_, so that she may be prepared.\"\n\nWhen the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea; over it he told me of\na diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a typewritten\ncopy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby. \"Take these,\" he\nsaid, \"and study them well. When I have returned you will be master of\nall the facts, and we can then better enter on our inquisition. Keep\nthem safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You will need all your\nfaith, even you who have had such an experience as that of to-day. What\nis here told,\" he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packet of\npapers as he spoke, \"may be the beginning of the end to you and me and\nmany another; or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the\nearth. Read all, I pray you, with the open mind; and if you can add in\nany way to the story here told do so, for it is all-important. You have\nkept diary of all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes! Then we\nshall go through all these together when we meet.\" He then made ready\nfor his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool Street. I\ntook my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes before\nthe train came in.\n\nThe crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to arrival\nplatforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss my\nguest, when a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to me, and,\nafter a quick glance, said: \"Dr. Seward, is it not?\"\n\n\"And you are Mrs. Harker!\" I answered at once; whereupon she held out\nher hand.\n\n\"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy; but----\" She stopped\nsuddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.\n\nThe blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for it\nwas a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which included a\ntypewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street, after I had\nsent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting-room and bedroom\nprepared at once for Mrs. Harker.\n\nIn due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was a\nlunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a shudder\nwhen we entered.\n\nShe told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, as\nshe had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my phonograph\ndiary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance of looking at\nthe papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they lie open before\nme. I must get her interested in something, so that I may have an\nopportunity of reading them. She does not know how precious time is, or\nwhat a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her. Here\nshe is!\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_29 September._--After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward's\nstudy. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him talking\nwith some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at\nthe door, and on his calling out, \"Come in,\" I entered.\n\nTo my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite alone,\nand on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from the\ndescription to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much\ninterested.\n\n\"I hope I did not keep you waiting,\" I said; \"but I stayed at the door\nas I heard you talking, and thought there was some one with you.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he replied with a smile, \"I was only entering my diary.\"\n\n\"Your diary?\" I asked him in surprise.\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered. \"I keep it in this.\" As he spoke he laid his hand on\nthe phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out:--\n\n\"Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in train\nfor speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.\n\n\"The fact is,\" he began awkwardly, \"I only keep my diary in it; and as\nit is entirely--almost entirely--about my cases, it may be awkward--that\nis, I mean----\" He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his\nembarrassment:--\n\n\"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died;\nfor all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very, very\ndear to me.\"\n\nTo my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face:--\n\n\"Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.\nAgain he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse.\nAt length he stammered out:--\n\n\"You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of the\ndiary.\" Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he said\nwith unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the naïveté\nof a child: \"That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian!\" I could\nnot but smile, at which he grimaced. \"I gave myself away that time!\" he\nsaid. \"But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months\npast, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particular\npart of it in case I wanted to look it up?\" By this time my mind was\nmade up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have\nsomething to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, and\nI said boldly:--\n\n\"Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my\ntypewriter.\" He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:--\n\n\"No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that terrible\nstory!\"\n\nThen it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought,\nand as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something or\nsome opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of typewriting on\nthe table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his thinking,\nfollowed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised my meaning.\n\n\"You do not know me,\" I said. \"When you have read those papers--my own\ndiary and my husband's also, which I have typed--you will know me\nbetter. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in\nthis cause; but, of course, you do not know me--yet; and I must not\nexpect you to trust me so far.\"\n\nHe is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right about\nhim. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged in\norder a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and\nsaid:--\n\n\"You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know you.\nBut I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you long\nago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May I make\nthe only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them--the\nfirst half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not horrify\nyou; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready. In the\nmeantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be better\nable to understand certain things.\" He carried the phonograph himself up\nto my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something\npleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true love\nepisode of which I know one side already....\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_29 September._--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan\nHarker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without\nthinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce\ndinner, so I said: \"She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour,\" and\nI went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary, when\nshe came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes were\nflushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have had\ncause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied me; and\nnow the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, went\nstraight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:--\n\n\"I greatly fear I have distressed you.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not distressed me,\" she replied, \"but I have been more touched\nthan I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but it is\ncruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart.\nIt was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No one must hear them\nspoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out the\nwords on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as\nI did.\"\n\n\"No one need ever know, shall ever know,\" I said in a low voice. She\nlaid her hand on mine and said very gravely:--\n\n\"Ah, but they must!\"\n\n\"Must! But why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear Lucy's\ndeath and all that led to it; because in the struggle which we have\nbefore us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have all\nthe knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the\ncylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to know;\nbut I can see that there are in your record many lights to this dark\nmystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain\npoint; and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7 September,\nhow poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought\nout. Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van\nHelsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he\nwill be here to-morrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us;\nworking together and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than\nif some of us were in the dark.\" She looked at me so appealingly, and at\nthe same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing,\nthat I gave in at once to her wishes. \"You shall,\" I said, \"do as you\nlike in the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible\nthings yet to learn of; but if you have so far travelled on the road to\npoor Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the\ndark. Nay, the end--the very end--may give you a gleam of peace. Come,\nthere is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us;\nwe have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learn\nthe rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask--if there be anything\nwhich you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were\npresent.\"\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_29 September._--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. He\nbrought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter. He\nplaced me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I\ncould touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in case\nI should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with his\nback to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. I\nput the forked metal to my ears and listened.\n\nWhen the terrible story of Lucy's death, and--and all that followed, was\ndone, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of a\nfainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a\nhorrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a\ncupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restored\nme. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through all\nthe multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear, dear Lucy\nwas at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne it without\nmaking a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious, and strange that if I\nhad not known Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I could not have\nbelieved. As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got out of my\ndifficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off my\ntypewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:--\n\n\"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing\nwhen he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when\nhe arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything,\nand I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every item\nput in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me that\nLord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell him\nwhen they come.\" He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I\nbegan to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder. I used\nmanifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done with\nall the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about\nhis work of going his round of the patients; when he had finished he\ncame back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely\nwhilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of\ngood men--even if there _are_ monsters in it. Before I left him I\nremembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor's\nperturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station at\nExeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the\nfiles of \"The Westminster Gazette\" and \"The Pall Mall Gazette,\" and took\nthem to my room. I remember how much \"The Dailygraph\" and \"The Whitby\nGazette,\" of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand the\nterrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look\nthrough the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new\nlight. I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_30 September._--Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got his\nwife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can\njudge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true--and\njudging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be--he is also a man\nof great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a\nremarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was\nprepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,\nbusiness-like gentleman who came here to-day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,\nand as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They\nare hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in\nchronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got\nthe letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the\ncarriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife's\ntypescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here it\nis....\n\n     Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be\n     the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues\n     from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters\n     relating to the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh,\n     if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy!\n     Stop; that way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again\n     collating his material. He says that by dinner-time they will be\n     able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the\n     meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of\n     index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet,\n     but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing\n     that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have\n     found the dates otherwise....\n\n     I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands\n     folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any\n     one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of\n     subjects, all of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own\n     accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my\n     knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite\n     confidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe that, had I\n     not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of\n     his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a\n     brief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All\n     those outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the\n     Count. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that\n     his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph?\n     Stay; he is himself zoöphagous, and in his wild ravings outside the\n     chapel door of the deserted house he always spoke of \"master.\" This\n     all seems confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came\n     away; my friend is just a little too sane at present to make it\n     safe to probe him too deep with questions. He might begin to think,\n     and then--! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of his; so\n     I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after him, and to\n     have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_29 September, in train to London._--When I received Mr. Billington's\ncourteous message that he would give me any information in his power I\nthought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, such\ninquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo\nof the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal\nwith it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and\nbrought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I must\nstay the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality:\ngive a guest everything, and leave him free to do as he likes. They all\nknew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had\nready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes.\nIt gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I had\nseen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.\nEverything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and\nwith precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which\nmight be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carried\nout. To use an Americanism, he had \"taken no chances,\" and the absolute\naccuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled, was simply the\nlogical result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it:\n\"Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes.\"\nAlso the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of both of\nthese I got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could\ngive me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs\nofficers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of the\nstrange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in local\ntradition; but no one could add to the simple description \"Fifty cases\nof common earth.\" I then saw the station-master, who kindly put me in\ncommunication with the men who had actually received the boxes. Their\ntally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add except that\nthe boxes were \"main and mortal heavy,\" and that shifting them was dry\nwork. One of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn't any\ngentleman \"such-like as yourself, squire,\" to show some sort of\nappreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in a rider\nthat the thirst then generated was such that even the time which had\nelapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took care\nbefore leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source of\nreproach.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_30 September._--The station-master was good enough to give me a line to\nhis old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so that when I\narrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of\nthe boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the proper\nofficials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original\ninvoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here\nlimited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was\ncompelled to deal with the result in an _ex post facto_ manner.\n\nFrom thence I went on to Carter Paterson's central office, where I met\nwith the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in their\nday-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King's Cross\noffice for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teaming\nwere waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending\nalso by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with the\ndelivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeing\nexactly; the carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of the\nwritten words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connected\nalmost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequent\nthirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity,\nthrough the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying, at a\nlater period, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked:--\n\n\"That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but it\nain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick in\nthe place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of yer bones;\nan' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave smelled ole\nJerusalem in it. But the ole chapel--that took the cike, that did! Me\nand my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough. Lor', I\nwouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark.\"\n\nHaving been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew what\nI know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.\n\nOf one thing I am now satisfied: that _all_ the boxes which arrived at\nWhitby from Varna in the _Demeter_ were safely deposited in the old\nchapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have\nsince been removed--as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.\n\nI shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax when\nRenfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a good\ndeal.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers\ninto order.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal_\n\n_30 September._--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.\nIt is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had:\nthat this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act\ndetrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a\nface as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,\nhowever, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never\nso full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good\nProfessor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under\nstrain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and\nhope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. I\nfeel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any\nthing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not\nhuman--not even beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's\ndeath, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in\none's heart.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we\nexpected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with\nhim, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it\nbrought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of\ncourse they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van\nHelsing, too, has been quite \"blowing my trumpet,\" as Mr. Morris\nexpressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all\nabout the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to\nsay or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so they\nhad to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over, and\ncame to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to post\nthem in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that\nthey had been at Lucy's death--her real death--and that I need not fear\nto betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I\ncould, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband\nand I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order.\nI gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming got\nhis and turned it over--it does make a pretty good pile--he said:--\n\n\"Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?\"\n\nI nodded, and he went on:--\n\n\"I don't quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good and\nkind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all\nI can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I have\nhad one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humble\nto the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy--\"\nHere he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear\nthe tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid\na hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the\nroom. I suppose there is something in woman's nature that makes a man\nfree to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or\nemotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when\nLord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and\ngave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I\nhope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it\nafterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I\n_know_ he never will--he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I\ncould see that his heart was breaking:--\n\n\"I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were to\nher. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not let\nme be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have\nhad, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can\nhelp in your affliction, won't you let me be of some little service--for\nLucy's sake?\"\n\nIn an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed\nto me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a\nvent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat\nhis palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat\ndown again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite\npity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his\nhead on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with\nemotion.\n\nWe women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above\nsmaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big\nsorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby\nthat some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he\nwere my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.\n\nAfter a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an\napology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for\ndays and nights past--weary days and sleepless nights--he had been\nunable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of\nsorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with\nwhom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was\nsurrounded, he could speak freely. \"I know now how I suffered,\" he said,\nas he dried his eyes, \"but I do not know even yet--and none other can\never know--how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shall\nknow better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful\nnow, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be\nlike a brother, will you not, for all our lives--for dear Lucy's sake?\"\n\n\"For dear Lucy's sake,\" I said as we clasped hands. \"Ay, and for your\nown sake,\" he added, \"for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever worth\nthe winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bring\nto you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you will not call\nin vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the\nsunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that you\nwill let me know.\" He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that\nI felt it would comfort him, so I said:--\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\nAs I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window.\nHe turned as he heard my footsteps. \"How is Art?\" he said. Then noticing\nmy red eyes, he went on: \"Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poor\nold fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is in\ntrouble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him.\"\n\nHe bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw the\nmanuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realise\nhow much I knew; so I said to him:--\n\n\"I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me\nbe your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You\nwill know, later on, why I speak.\" He saw that I was in earnest, and\nstooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed\nbut poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I\nbent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a\nmomentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:--\n\n\"Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so long\nas ever you live!\" Then he went into the study to his friend.\n\n\"Little girl!\"--the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he\nproved himself a friend!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n\n\n_30 September._--I got home at five o'clock, and found that Godalming\nand Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript\nof the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wife\nhad made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the\ncarriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave\nus a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I\nhave lived in it, this old house seemed like _home_. When we had\nfinished, Mrs. Harker said:--\n\n\"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr.\nRenfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary\ninterests me so much!\" She looked so appealing and so pretty that I\ncould not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so\nI took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a\nlady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: \"Why?\"\n\n\"She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it,\" I\nanswered. \"Oh, very well,\" he said; \"let her come in, by all means; but\njust wait a minute till I tidy up the place.\" His method of tidying was\npeculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes\nbefore I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was\njealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgusting\ntask, he said cheerfully: \"Let the lady come in,\" and sat down on the\nedge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so that\nhe could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought that he might\nhave some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been just\nbefore he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I\ncould seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She\ncame into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command\nthe respect of any lunatic--for easiness is one of the qualities mad\npeople most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and\nheld out her hand.\n\n\"Good-evening, Mr. Renfield,\" said she. \"You see, I know you, for Dr.\nSeward has told me of you.\" He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all\nover intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one\nof wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he\nsaid:--\n\n\"You're not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can't be,\nyou know, for she's dead.\" Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:--\n\n\"Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever\nsaw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.\"\n\n\"Then what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.\"\n\n\"Then don't stay.\"\n\n\"But why not?\" I thought that this style of conversation might not be\npleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:--\n\n\"How did you know I wanted to marry any one?\" His reply was simply\ncontemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs.\nHarker to me, instantly turning them back again:--\n\n\"What an asinine question!\"\n\n\"I don't see that at all, Mr. Renfield,\" said Mrs. Harker, at once\nchampioning me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as\nhe had shown contempt to me:--\n\n\"You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so\nloved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of\ninterest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his\nhousehold and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of\nthem hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and\neffects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I\ncannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates\nlean towards the errors of _non causa_ and _ignoratio elenchi_.\" I\npositively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet\nlunatic--the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met\nwith--talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished\ngentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which had touched\nsome chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any\nway due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or\npower.\n\nWe continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly\nquite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she\nbegan, to lead him to his favourite topic. I was again astonished, for\nhe addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of the\ncompletest sanity; he even took himself as an example when he mentioned\ncertain things.\n\n\"Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed,\nit was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being\nput under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and\nperpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no\nmatter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely prolong\nlife. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to\ntake human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I\ntried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by\nthe assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his\nblood--relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, 'For the blood is\nthe life.' Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has\nvulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn't that true,\ndoctor?\" I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to\neither think or say; it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat up\nhis spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, I\nsaw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs.\nHarker that it was time to leave. She came at once, after saying\npleasantly to Mr. Renfield: \"Good-bye, and I hope I may see you often,\nunder auspices pleasanter to yourself,\" to which, to my astonishment, he\nreplied:--\n\n\"Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again.\nMay He bless and keep you!\"\n\nWhen I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind\nme. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took\nill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been for\nmany a long day.\n\nVan Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a\nboy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying:--\n\n\"Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come\nhere to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have\nmuch to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And\nArthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!\"\n\nAs I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own\ndiary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's suggestion; at\nwhich the Professor interrupted me:--\n\n\"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain--a brain that a man\nshould have were he much gifted--and a woman's heart. The good God\nfashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good\ncombination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help\nto us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible\naffair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are\ndetermined--nay, are we not pledged?--to destroy this monster; but it is\nno part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her\nin so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer--both in\nwaking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And, besides,\nshe is young woman and not so long married; there may be other things to\nthink of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she\nmust consult with us; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this work, and\nwe go alone.\" I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we\nhad found in his absence: that the house which Dracula had bought was\nthe very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed\nto come on him. \"Oh that we had known it before!\" he said, \"for then we\nmight have reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, 'the milk\nthat is spilt cries not out afterwards,' as you say. We shall not think\nof that, but go on our way to the end.\" Then he fell into a silence that\nlasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for\ndinner he said to Mrs. Harker:--\n\n\"I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband have\nput up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment.\"\n\n\"Not up to this moment, Professor,\" she said impulsively, \"but up to\nthis morning.\"\n\n\"But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the\nlittle things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one who\nhas told is the worse for it.\"\n\nMrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she\nsaid:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It\nis my record of to-day. I too have seen the need of putting down at\npresent everything, however trivial; but there is little in this except\nwhat is personal. Must it go in?\" The Professor read it over gravely,\nand handed it back, saying:--\n\n\"It need not go in if you do not wish it; but I pray that it may. It can\nbut make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, more\nhonour you--as well as more esteem and love.\" She took it back with\nanother blush and a bright smile.\n\nAnd so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are complete\nand in order. The Professor took away one copy to study after dinner,\nand before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o'clock. The rest of us\nhave already read everything; so when we meet in the study we shall all\nbe informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this\nterrible and mysterious enemy.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_30 September._--When we met in Dr. Seward's study two hours after\ndinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed a sort of\nboard or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, to\nwhich Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit\nnext to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary; Jonathan sat\nnext to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr.\nMorris--Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the\ncentre. The Professor said:--\n\n\"I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts\nthat are in these papers.\" We all expressed assent, and he went on:--\n\n\"Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind of\nenemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to you\nsomething of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me.\nSo we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measure\naccording.\n\n\"There are such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that they\nexist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the\nteachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane\npeoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that\nthrough long years I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could not\nhave believe until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. 'See! see!\nI prove; I prove.' Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know--nay,\nhad I even guess at him--one so precious life had been spared to many of\nus who did love her. But that is gone; and we must so work, that other\npoor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The _nosferatu_ do not die\nlike the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being\nstronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is\namongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of\ncunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have\nstill the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the\ndivination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are\nfor him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in\ncallous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear\nat will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he\ncan, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the\nthunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and\nthe bat--the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become\nsmall; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to\nbegin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where; and having\nfound it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terrible\ntask that we undertake, and there may be consequence to make the brave\nshudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must surely win; and then\nwhere end we? Life is nothings; I heed him not. But to fail here, is not\nmere life or death. It is that we become as him; that we henceforward\nbecome foul things of the night like him--without heart or conscience,\npreying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us for\never are the gates of heaven shut; for who shall open them to us again?\nWe go on for all time abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God's\nsunshine; an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face\nto face with duty; and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say, no;\nbut then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his\nsong of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are\nyoung. Some have seen sorrow; but there are fair days yet in store. What\nsay you?\"\n\nWhilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so\nmuch, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I\nsaw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its touch--so\nstrong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man's hand can speak for\nitself; it does not even need a woman's love to hear its music.\n\nWhen the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I\nin his; there was no need for speaking between us.\n\n\"I answer for Mina and myself,\" he said.\n\n\"Count me in, Professor,\" said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.\n\n\"I am with you,\" said Lord Godalming, \"for Lucy's sake, if for no other\nreason.\"\n\nDr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying his\ngolden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took\nhis right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right with\nhis left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our\nsolemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even\noccur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing\nwent on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious work\nhad begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way,\nas any other transaction of life:--\n\n\"Well, you know what we have to contend against; but we, too, are not\nwithout strength. We have on our side power of combination--a power\ndenied to the vampire kind; we have sources of science; we are free to\nact and think; and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally.\nIn fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and we are\nfree to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and an end to\nachieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.\n\n\"Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are\nrestrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider the\nlimitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in particular.\n\n\"All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do not\nat the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and death--nay\nof more than either life or death. Yet must we be satisfied; in the\nfirst place because we have to be--no other means is at our control--and\nsecondly, because, after all, these things--tradition and\nsuperstition--are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for\nothers--though not, alas! for us--on them? A year ago which of us would\nhave received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific,\nsceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief\nthat we saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the\nvampire, and the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the\nmoment on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is known everywhere\nthat men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome; he flourish in Germany\nall over, in France, in India, even in the Chernosese; and in China, so\nfar from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples fear him at\nthis day. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the\ndevil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. So far, then, we\nhave all we may act upon; and let me tell you that very much of the\nbeliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappy\nexperience. The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of the\ntime; he can flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of the\nliving. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow\nyounger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though\nthey refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. But he\ncannot flourish without this diet; he eat not as others. Even friend\nJonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never!\nHe throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again\nJonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand--witness again\nJonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him\nfrom the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather\nfrom the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as\nbat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John\nsaw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at\nthe window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create--that noble\nship's captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance\nhe can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He\ncome on moonlight rays as elemental dust--as again Jonathan saw those\nsisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small--we ourselves saw\nMiss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the\ntomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything or\ninto anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up with\nfire--solder you call it. He can see in the dark--no small power this,\nin a world which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but hear me\nthrough. He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay; he is even\nmore prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his cell.\nHe cannot go where he lists; he who is not of nature has yet to obey\nsome of nature's laws--why we know not. He may not enter anywhere at the\nfirst, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come;\nthough afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as does\nthat of all evil things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain times\ncan he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is\nbound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset.\nThese things are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof by\ninference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he\nhave his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place\nunhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at\nWhitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come. It is\nsaid, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood\nof the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has no\npower, as the garlic that we know of; and as for things sacred, as this\nsymbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to\nthem he is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and\nsilent with respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you of,\nlest in our seeking we may need them. The branch of wild rose on his\ncoffin keep him that he move not from it; a sacred bullet fired into the\ncoffin kill him so that he be true dead; and as for the stake through\nhim, we know already of its peace; or the cut-off head that giveth rest.\nWe have seen it with our eyes.\n\n\"Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confine\nhim to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he is\nclever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to\nmake his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what he\nhas been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his\nname against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of\nTurkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time,\nand for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most\ncunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the 'land beyond the\nforest.' That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his\ngrave, and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says\nArminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who\nwere held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They\nlearned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake\nHermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the\nrecords are such words as 'stregoica'--witch, 'ordog,' and\n'pokol'--Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is\nspoken of as 'wampyr,' which we all understand too well. There have been\nfrom the loins of this very one great men and good women, and their\ngraves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it\nis not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in\nall good; in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest.\"\n\nWhilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window,\nand he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. There was a little\npause, and then the Professor went on:--\n\n\"And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must\nproceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan\nthat from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which\nwere delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes\nhave been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to\nascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall\nwhere we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If the\nlatter, we must trace----\"\n\nHere we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came\nthe sound of a pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with a\nbullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the\nfar wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked\nout. The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the\nwindow and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris's voice\nwithout:--\n\n\"Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about\nit.\" A minute later he came in and said:--\n\n\"It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs.\nHarker, most sincerely; I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But\nthe fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat\nand sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damned\nbrutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to\nhave a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have\nseen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.\"\n\n\"Did you hit it?\" asked Dr. Van Helsing.\n\n\"I don't know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood.\" Without\nsaying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume his\nstatement:--\n\n\"We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must\neither capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to\nspeak, sterilise the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it.\nThus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours of\nnoon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.\n\n\"And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well.\nYou are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, you\nno more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are men\nand are able to bear; but you must be our star and our hope, and we\nshall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as we\nare.\"\n\nAll the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to me\ngood that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their\nsafety--strength being the best safety--through care of me; but their\nminds were made up, and, though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow,\nI could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me.\n\nMr. Morris resumed the discussion:--\n\n\"As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right\nnow. Time is everything with him; and swift action on our part may save\nanother victim.\"\n\nI own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so\nclose, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I\nappeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leave\nme out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax,\nwith means to get into the house.\n\nManlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman can\nsleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretend\nto sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_1 October, 4 a. m._--Just as we were about to leave the house, an\nurgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would see\nhim at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to me.\nI told the messenger to say that I would attend to his wishes in the\nmorning; I was busy just at the moment. The attendant added:--\n\n\"He seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I don't\nknow but what, if you don't see him soon, he will have one of his\nviolent fits.\" I knew the man would not have said this without some\ncause, so I said: \"All right; I'll go now\"; and I asked the others to\nwait a few minutes for me, as I had to go and see my \"patient.\"\n\n\"Take me with you, friend John,\" said the Professor. \"His case in your\ndiary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on _our_\ncase. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind is\ndisturbed.\"\n\n\"May I come also?\" asked Lord Godalming.\n\n\"Me too?\" said Quincey Morris. \"May I come?\" said Harker. I nodded, and\nwe all went down the passage together.\n\nWe found him in a state of considerable excitement, but far more\nrational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen him. There was an\nunusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything I had ever\nmet with in a lunatic; and he took it for granted that his reasons would\nprevail with others entirely sane. We all four went into the room, but\nnone of the others at first said anything. His request was that I would\nat once release him from the asylum and send him home. This he backed up\nwith arguments regarding his complete recovery, and adduced his own\nexisting sanity. \"I appeal to your friends,\" he said, \"they will,\nperhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have\nnot introduced me.\" I was so much astonished, that the oddness of\nintroducing a madman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment; and,\nbesides, there was a certain dignity in the man's manner, so much of\nthe habit of equality, that I at once made the introduction: \"Lord\nGodalming; Professor Van Helsing; Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas; Mr.\nRenfield.\" He shook hands with each of them, saying in turn:--\n\n\"Lord Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your father at the\nWindham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no\nmore. He was a man loved and honoured by all who knew him; and in his\nyouth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much\npatronised on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your great\nstate. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have\nfar-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold\nalliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a\nvast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true\nplace as a political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure at\nmeeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of\nconventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionised therapeutics\nby his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain-matter,\nconventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him to\none of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by\nthe possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your respective\nplaces in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at\nleast the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties.\nAnd I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as\nwell as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to\nbe considered as under exceptional circumstances.\" He made this last\nappeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its own\ncharm.\n\nI think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was under the\nconviction, despite my knowledge of the man's character and history,\nthat his reason had been restored; and I felt under a strong impulse to\ntell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity, and would see about the\nnecessary formalities for his release in the morning. I thought it\nbetter to wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of old\nI knew the sudden changes to which this particular patient was liable.\nSo I contented myself with making a general statement that he appeared\nto be improving very rapidly; that I would have a longer chat with him\nin the morning, and would then see what I could do in the direction of\nmeeting his wishes. This did not at all satisfy him, for he said\nquickly:--\n\n\"But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire to\ngo at once--here--now--this very hour--this very moment, if I may. Time\npresses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of\nthe essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to put\nbefore so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so\nmomentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment.\" He looked at me keenly, and\nseeing the negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinised\nthem closely. Not meeting any sufficient response, he went on:--\n\n\"Is it possible that I have erred in my supposition?\"\n\n\"You have,\" I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, brutally.\nThere was a considerable pause, and then he said slowly:--\n\n\"Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let me ask for\nthis concession--boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore\nin such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others. I\nam not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, I\nassure you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and\nunselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty. Could you look,\nsir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the sentiments which\nanimate me. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and truest of\nyour friends.\" Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a growing\nconviction that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method was\nbut yet another form or phase of his madness, and so determined to let\nhim go on a little longer, knowing from experience that he would, like\nall lunatics, give himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at\nhim with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting\nwith the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tone\nwhich did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it\nafterwards--for it was as of one addressing an equal:--\n\n\"Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free\nto-night? I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me--a stranger,\nwithout prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind--Dr.\nSeward will give you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, the\nprivilege you seek.\" He shook his head sadly, and with a look of\npoignant regret on his face. The Professor went on:--\n\n\"Come, sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in the\nhighest degree, since you seek to impress us with your complete\nreasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt, since\nyou are not yet released from medical treatment for this very defect. If\nyou will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how can\nwe perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help\nus; and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish.\" He still shook\nhis head as he said:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and\nif I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not my\nown master in the matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am\nrefused, the responsibility does not rest with me.\" I thought it was now\ntime to end the scene, which was becoming too comically grave, so I went\ntowards the door, simply saying:--\n\n\"Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good-night.\"\n\nAs, however, I got near the door, a new change came over the patient. He\nmoved towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared that he was\nabout to make another homicidal attack. My fears, however, were\ngroundless, for he held up his two hands imploringly, and made his\npetition in a moving manner. As he saw that the very excess of his\nemotion was militating against him, by restoring us more to our old\nrelations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing,\nand saw my conviction reflected in his eyes; so I became a little more\nfixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to him that his\nefforts were unavailing. I had previously seen something of the same\nconstantly growing excitement in him when he had to make some request of\nwhich at the time he had thought much, such, for instance, as when he\nwanted a cat; and I was prepared to see the collapse into the same\nsullen acquiescence on this occasion. My expectation was not realised,\nfor, when he found that his appeal would not be successful, he got into\nquite a frantic condition. He threw himself on his knees, and held up\nhis hands, wringing them in plaintive supplication, and poured forth a\ntorrent of entreaty, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, and his\nwhole face and form expressive of the deepest emotion:--\n\n\"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me out\nof this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will;\nsend keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in a\nstrait-waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go\nout of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here. I am\nspeaking from the depths of my heart--of my very soul. You don't know\nwhom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell.\nBy all you hold sacred--by all you hold dear--by your love that is\nlost--by your hope that lives--for the sake of the Almighty, take me out\nof this and save my soul from guilt! Can't you hear me, man? Can't you\nunderstand? Will you never learn? Don't you know that I am sane and\nearnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting\nfor his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!\"\n\nI thought that the longer this went on the wilder he would get, and so\nwould bring on a fit; so I took him by the hand and raised him up.\n\n\"Come,\" I said sternly, \"no more of this; we have had quite enough\nalready. Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly.\"\n\nHe suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments. Then,\nwithout a word, he rose and moving over, sat down on the side of the\nbed. The collapse had come, as on former occasion, just as I had\nexpected.\n\nWhen I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in a\nquiet, well-bred voice:--\n\n\"You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later\non, that I did what I could to convince you to-night.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_1 October, 5 a. m._--I went with the party to the search with an easy\nmind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and well. I am\nso glad that she consented to hold back and let us men do the work.\nSomehow, it was a dread to me that she was in this fearful business at\nall; but now that her work is done, and that it is due to her energy and\nbrains and foresight that the whole story is put together in such a way\nthat every point tells, she may well feel that her part is finished, and\nthat she can henceforth leave the rest to us. We were, I think, all a\nlittle upset by the scene with Mr. Renfield. When we came away from his\nroom we were silent till we got back to the study. Then Mr. Morris said\nto Dr. Seward:--\n\n\"Say, Jack, if that man wasn't attempting a bluff, he is about the\nsanest lunatic I ever saw. I'm not sure, but I believe that he had some\nserious purpose, and if he had, it was pretty rough on him not to get a\nchance.\" Lord Godalming and I were silent, but Dr. Van Helsing added:--\n\n\"Friend John, you know more of lunatics than I do, and I'm glad of it,\nfor I fear that if it had been to me to decide I would before that last\nhysterical outburst have given him free. But we live and learn, and in\nour present task we must take no chance, as my friend Quincey would say.\nAll is best as they are.\" Dr. Seward seemed to answer them both in a\ndreamy kind of way:--\n\n\"I don't know but that I agree with you. If that man had been an\nordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him; but he\nseems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I am\nafraid of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can't forget how\nhe prayed with almost equal fervour for a cat, and then tried to tear my\nthroat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the Count 'lord and\nmaster,' and he may want to get out to help him in some diabolical way.\nThat horrid thing has the wolves and the rats and his own kind to help\nhim, so I suppose he isn't above trying to use a respectable lunatic. He\ncertainly did seem earnest, though. I only hope we have done what is\nbest. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we have in hand,\nhelp to unnerve a man.\" The Professor stepped over, and laying his hand\non his shoulder, said in his grave, kindly way:--\n\n\"Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad\nand terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to\nhope for, except the pity of the good God?\" Lord Godalming had slipped\naway for a few minutes, but now he returned. He held up a little silver\nwhistle, as he remarked:--\n\n\"That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an antidote on\ncall.\" Having passed the wall, we took our way to the house, taking care\nto keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the moonlight shone\nout. When we got to the porch the Professor opened his bag and took out\na lot of things, which he laid on the step, sorting them into four\nlittle groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke:--\n\n\"My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need arms of\nmany kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember that he has the\nstrength of twenty men, and that, though our necks or our windpipes are\nof the common kind--and therefore breakable or crushable--his are not\namenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a body of men more strong\nin all than him, can at certain times hold him; but they cannot hurt him\nas we can be hurt by him. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from his\ntouch. Keep this near your heart\"--as he spoke he lifted a little silver\ncrucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to him--\"put these\nflowers round your neck\"--here he handed to me a wreath of withered\ngarlic blossoms--\"for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this\nknife; and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you can\nfasten to your breast; and for all, and above all at the last, this,\nwhich we must not desecrate needless.\" This was a portion of Sacred\nWafer, which he put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the others\nwas similarly equipped. \"Now,\" he said, \"friend John, where are the\nskeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break house\nby the window, as before at Miss Lucy's.\"\n\nDr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical dexterity as a\nsurgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he got one to suit; after\na little play back and forward the bolt yielded, and, with a rusty\nclang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the rusty hinges creaked, and\nit slowly opened. It was startlingly like the image conveyed to me in\nDr. Seward's diary of the opening of Miss Westenra's tomb; I fancy that\nthe same idea seemed to strike the others, for with one accord they\nshrank back. The Professor was the first to move forward, and stepped\ninto the open door.\n\n\"_In manus tuas, Domine!_\" he said, crossing himself as he passed over\nthe threshold. We closed the door behind us, lest when we should have\nlit our lamps we should possibly attract attention from the road. The\nProfessor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not be able to open it\nfrom within should we be in a hurry making our exit. Then we all lit our\nlamps and proceeded on our search.\n\nThe light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd forms, as the\nrays crossed each other, or the opacity of our bodies threw great\nshadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling that there\nwas some one else amongst us. I suppose it was the recollection, so\npowerfully brought home to me by the grim surroundings, of that terrible\nexperience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common to us all,\nfor I noticed that the others kept looking over their shoulders at every\nsound and every new shadow, just as I felt myself doing.\n\nThe whole place was thick with dust. The floor was seemingly inches\ndeep, except where there were recent footsteps, in which on holding down\nmy lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust was cracked. The\nwalls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the corners were masses of\nspider's webs, whereon the dust had gathered till they looked like old\ntattered rags as the weight had torn them partly down. On a table in the\nhall was a great bunch of keys, with a time-yellowed label on each. They\nhad been used several times, for on the table were several similar rents\nin the blanket of dust, similar to that exposed when the Professor\nlifted them. He turned to me and said:--\n\n\"You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you know\nit at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?\" I had an\nidea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not been able to\nget admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few wrong turnings\nfound myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with iron bands.\n\"This is the spot,\" said the Professor as he turned his lamp on a small\nmap of the house, copied from the file of my original correspondence\nregarding the purchase. With a little trouble we found the key on the\nbunch and opened the door. We were prepared for some unpleasantness, for\nas we were opening the door a faint, malodorous air seemed to exhale\nthrough the gaps, but none of us ever expected such an odour as we\nencountered. None of the others had met the Count at all at close\nquarters, and when I had seen him he was either in the fasting stage of\nhis existence in his rooms or, when he was gloated with fresh blood, in\na ruined building open to the air; but here the place was small and\nclose, and the long disuse had made the air stagnant and foul. There was\nan earthy smell, as of some dry miasma, which came through the fouler\nair. But as to the odour itself, how shall I describe it? It was not\nalone that it was composed of all the ills of mortality and with the\npungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though corruption had\nbecome itself corrupt. Faugh! it sickens me to think of it. Every breath\nexhaled by that monster seemed to have clung to the place and\nintensified its loathsomeness.\n\nUnder ordinary circumstances such a stench would have brought our\nenterprise to an end; but this was no ordinary case, and the high and\nterrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a strength which rose\nabove merely physical considerations. After the involuntary shrinking\nconsequent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set about our\nwork as though that loathsome place were a garden of roses.\n\nWe made an accurate examination of the place, the Professor saying as we\nbegan:--\n\n\"The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left; we must then\nexamine every hole and corner and cranny and see if we cannot get some\nclue as to what has become of the rest.\" A glance was sufficient to show\nhow many remained, for the great earth chests were bulky, and there was\nno mistaking them.\n\nThere were only twenty-nine left out of the fifty! Once I got a fright,\nfor, seeing Lord Godalming suddenly turn and look out of the vaulted\ndoor into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and for an instant my\nheart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from the shadow, I seemed to\nsee the high lights of the Count's evil face, the ridge of the nose, the\nred eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for a moment, for,\nas Lord Godalming said, \"I thought I saw a face, but it was only the\nshadows,\" and resumed his inquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction,\nand stepped into the passage. There was no sign of any one; and as there\nwere no corners, no doors, no aperture of any kind, but only the solid\nwalls of the passage, there could be no hiding-place even for _him_. I\ntook it that fear had helped imagination, and said nothing.\n\nA few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from a corner, which\nhe was examining. We all followed his movements with our eyes, for\nundoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and we saw a whole mass\nof phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all instinctively drew\nback. The whole place was becoming alive with rats.\n\nFor a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming, who was\nseemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to the great\niron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from the outside,\nand which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew the\nhuge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silver\nwhistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answered\nfrom behind Dr. Seward's house by the yelping of dogs, and after about a\nminute three terriers came dashing round the corner of the house.\nUnconsciously we had all moved towards the door, and as we moved I\nnoticed that the dust had been much disturbed: the boxes which had been\ntaken out had been brought this way. But even in the minute that had\nelapsed the number of the rats had vastly increased. They seemed to\nswarm over the place all at once, till the lamplight, shining on their\nmoving dark bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the place look\nlike a bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but at the\nthreshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then, simultaneously lifting\ntheir noses, began to howl in most lugubrious fashion. The rats were\nmultiplying in thousands, and we moved out.\n\nLord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him in, placed him\non the floor. The instant his feet touched the ground he seemed to\nrecover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies. They fled before\nhim so fast that before he had shaken the life out of a score, the other\ndogs, who had by now been lifted in the same manner, had but small prey\nere the whole mass had vanished.\n\nWith their going it seemed as if some evil presence had departed, for\nthe dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they made sudden darts at\ntheir prostrate foes, and turned them over and over and tossed them in\nthe air with vicious shakes. We all seemed to find our spirits rise.\nWhether it was the purifying of the deadly atmosphere by the opening of\nthe chapel door, or the relief which we experienced by finding ourselves\nin the open I know not; but most certainly the shadow of dread seemed to\nslip from us like a robe, and the occasion of our coming lost something\nof its grim significance, though we did not slacken a whit in our\nresolution. We closed the outer door and barred and locked it, and\nbringing the dogs with us, began our search of the house. We found\nnothing throughout except dust in extraordinary proportions, and all\nuntouched save for my own footsteps when I had made my first visit.\nNever once did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even when\nwe returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had been\nrabbit-hunting in a summer wood.\n\nThe morning was quickening in the east when we emerged from the front.\nDr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the hall-door from the bunch, and\nlocked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key into his pocket\nwhen he had done.\n\n\"So far,\" he said, \"our night has been eminently successful. No harm has\ncome to us such as I feared might be and yet we have ascertained how\nmany boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice that this, our\nfirst--and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous--step has been\naccomplished without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam Mina or\ntroubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and sounds and\nsmells of horror which she might never forget. One lesson, too, we have\nlearned, if it be allowable to argue _a particulari_: that the brute\nbeasts which are to the Count's command are yet themselves not amenable\nto his spiritual power; for look, these rats that would come to his\ncall, just as from his castle top he summon the wolves to your going and\nto that poor mother's cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell\nfrom the so little dogs of my friend Arthur. We have other matters\nbefore us, other dangers, other fears; and that monster--he has not used\nhis power over the brute world for the only or the last time to-night.\nSo be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has given us opportunity\nto cry 'check' in some ways in this chess game, which we play for the\nstake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn is close at hand,\nand we have reason to be content with our first night's work. It may be\nordained that we have many nights and days to follow, if full of peril;\nbut we must go on, and from no danger shall we shrink.\"\n\nThe house was silent when we got back, save for some poor creature who\nwas screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning sound\nfrom Renfield's room. The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself,\nafter the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.\n\nI came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, breathing so\nsoftly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler than\nusual. I hope the meeting to-night has not upset her. I am truly\nthankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even of our\ndeliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear. I did not\nthink so at first, but I know better now. Therefore I am glad that it is\nsettled. There may be things which would frighten her to hear; and yet\nto conceal them from her might be worse than to tell her if once she\nsuspected that there was any concealment. Henceforth our work is to be a\nsealed book to her, till at least such time as we can tell her that all\nis finished, and the earth free from a monster of the nether world. I\ndaresay it will be difficult to begin to keep silence after such\nconfidence as ours; but I must be resolute, and to-morrow I shall keep\ndark over to-night's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that\nhas happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_1 October, later._--I suppose it was natural that we should have all\noverslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and the night had no\nrest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for though I slept\ntill the sun was high, I was awake before her, and had to call two or\nthree times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep that for a\nfew seconds she did not recognize me, but looked at me with a sort of\nblank terror, as one looks who has been waked out of a bad dream. She\ncomplained a little of being tired, and I let her rest till later in the\nday. We now know of twenty-one boxes having been removed, and if it be\nthat several were taken in any of these removals we may be able to trace\nthem all. Such will, of course, immensely simplify our labour, and the\nsooner the matter is attended to the better. I shall look up Thomas\nSnelling to-day.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_1 October._--It was towards noon when I was awakened by the Professor\nwalking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful than usual, and it\nis quite evident that last night's work has helped to take some of the\nbrooding weight off his mind. After going over the adventure of the\nnight he suddenly said:--\n\n\"Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit him\nthis morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if it may\nbe. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk philosophy,\nand reason so sound.\" I had some work to do which pressed, so I told him\nthat if he would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have to\nkeep him waiting; so I called an attendant and gave him the necessary\ninstructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned him against\ngetting any false impression from my patient. \"But,\" he answered, \"I\nwant him to talk of himself and of his delusion as to consuming live\nthings. He said to Madam Mina, as I see in your diary of yesterday, that\nhe had once had such a belief. Why do you smile, friend John?\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" I said, \"but the answer is here.\" I laid my hand on the\ntype-written matter. \"When our sane and learned lunatic made that very\nstatement of how he _used_ to consume life, his mouth was actually\nnauseous with the flies and spiders which he had eaten just before Mrs.\nHarker entered the room.\" Van Helsing smiled in turn. \"Good!\" he said.\n\"Your memory is true, friend John. I should have remembered. And yet it\nis this very obliquity of thought and memory which makes mental disease\nsuch a fascinating study. Perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of the\nfolly of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the most wise.\nWho knows?\" I went on with my work, and before long was through that in\nhand. It seemed that the time had been very short indeed, but there was\nVan Helsing back in the study. \"Do I interrupt?\" he asked politely as he\nstood at the door.\n\n\"Not at all,\" I answered. \"Come in. My work is finished, and I am free.\nI can go with you now, if you like.\n\n\"It is needless; I have seen him!\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I fear that he does not appraise me at much. Our interview was short.\nWhen I entered his room he was sitting on a stool in the centre, with\nhis elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture of sullen\ndiscontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and with such a\nmeasure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply whatever. \"Don't\nyou know me?\" I asked. His answer was not reassuring: \"I know you well\nenough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourself\nand your idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed\nDutchmen!\" Not a word more would he say, but sat in his implacable\nsullenness as indifferent to me as though I had not been in the room at\nall. Thus departed for this time my chance of much learning from this so\nclever lunatic; so I shall go, if I may, and cheer myself with a few\nhappy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it does\nrejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to be\nworried with our terrible things. Though we shall much miss her help, it\nis better so.\"\n\n\"I agree with you with all my heart,\" I answered earnestly, for I did\nnot want him to weaken in this matter. \"Mrs. Harker is better out of it.\nThings are quite bad enough for us, all men of the world, and who have\nbeen in many tight places in our time; but it is no place for a woman,\nand if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in time\ninfallibly have wrecked her.\"\n\nSo Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker; Quincey\nand Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth-boxes. I\nshall finish my round of work and we shall meet to-night.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_1 October._--It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am to-day;\nafter Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see him\nmanifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all. This\nmorning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though\nJonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he went\nout, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a word of\nwhat had happened in the visit to the Count's house. And yet he must\nhave known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose it\nmust have distressed him even more than it did me. They all agreed that\nit was best that I should not be drawn further into this awful work, and\nI acquiesced. But to think that he keeps anything from me! And now I am\ncrying like a silly fool, when I _know_ it comes from my husband's great\nlove and from the good, good wishes of those other strong men.\n\nThat has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all; and\nlest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept\nanything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has\nfeared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my\nheart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and\nlow-spirited to-day. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible\nexcitement.\n\nLast night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because they told\nme to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of devouring anxiety. I\nkept thinking over everything that has been ever since Jonathan came to\nsee me in London, and it all seems like a horrible tragedy, with fate\npressing on relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one does\nseems, no matter how right it may be, to bring on the very thing which\nis most to be deplored. If I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear\nLucy would be with us now. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard\ntill I came, and if she hadn't come there in the day-time with me she\nwouldn't have walked there in her sleep; and if she hadn't gone there at\nnight and asleep, that monster couldn't have destroyed her as he did.\nOh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder what\nhas come over me to-day. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew\nthat I had been crying twice in one morning--I, who never cried on my\nown account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear--the dear\nfellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I do\nfeel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is one of the lessons\nthat we poor women have to learn....\n\nI can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember hearing\nthe sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like praying\non a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which is somewhere\nunder this. And then there was silence over everything, silence so\nprofound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out of the window.\nAll was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by the moonlight\nseeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a thing seemed to be\nstirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or fate; so that a thin\nstreak of white mist, that crept with almost imperceptible slowness\nacross the grass towards the house, seemed to have a sentience and a\nvitality of its own. I think that the digression of my thoughts must\nhave done me good, for when I got back to bed I found a lethargy\ncreeping over me. I lay a while, but could not quite sleep, so I got out\nand looked out of the window again. The mist was spreading, and was now\nclose up to the house, so that I could see it lying thick against the\nwall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor man was\nmore loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a word he said,\nI could in some way recognise in his tones some passionate entreaty on\nhis part. Then there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that the\nattendants were dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept into\nbed, and pulled the clothes over my head, putting my fingers in my ears.\nI was not then a bit sleepy, at least so I thought; but I must have\nfallen asleep, for, except dreams, I do not remember anything until the\nmorning, when Jonathan woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a\nlittle time to realise where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was\nbending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical of\nthe way that waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in, dreams.\n\nI thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come back. I\nwas very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act; my feet, and my\nhands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could proceed at the\nusual pace. And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began to dawn\nupon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put back the\nclothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was dim\naround. The gaslight which I had left lit for Jonathan, but turned down,\ncame only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which had evidently\ngrown thicker and poured into the room. Then it occurred to me that I\nhad shut the window before I had come to bed. I would have got out to\nmake certain on the point, but some leaden lethargy seemed to chain my\nlimbs and even my will. I lay still and endured; that was all. I closed\nmy eyes, but could still see through my eyelids. (It is wonderful what\ntricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.) The\nmist grew thicker and thicker and I could see now how it came in, for I\ncould see it like smoke--or with the white energy of boiling\nwater--pouring in, not through the window, but through the joinings of\nthe door. It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as if it became\nconcentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the top\nof which I could see the light of the gas shining like a red eye. Things\nbegan to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy column was now\nwhirling in the room, and through it all came the scriptural words \"a\npillar of cloud by day and of fire by night.\" Was it indeed some such\nspiritual guidance that was coming to me in my sleep? But the pillar was\ncomposed of both the day and the night-guiding, for the fire was in the\nred eye, which at the thought got a new fascination for me; till, as I\nlooked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like\ntwo red eyes, such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering\nwhen, on the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's\nChurch. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan\nhad seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling mist\nin the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all became\nblack darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was to\nshow me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist. I must be\ncareful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's reason if there were\ntoo much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to prescribe\nsomething for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear to alarm\nthem. Such a dream at the present time would become woven into their\nfears for me. To-night I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If I do\nnot, I shall to-morrow night get them to give me a dose of chloral; that\ncannot hurt me for once, and it will give me a good night's sleep. Last\nnight tired me more than if I had not slept at all.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_2 October 10 p. m._--Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must have\nslept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed; but the\nsleep has not refreshed me, for to-day I feel terribly weak and\nspiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing.\nIn the afternoon Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he was\nvery gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and bade God bless\nme. Some way it affected me much; I am crying when I think of him. This\nis a new weakness, of which I must be careful. Jonathan would be\nmiserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the others were out till\ndinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did what I could to brighten\nthem up, and I suppose that the effort did me good, for I forgot how\ntired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, and all went off to smoke\ntogether, as they said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each other\nof what had occurred to each during the day; I could see from Jonathan's\nmanner that he had something important to communicate. I was not so\nsleepy as I should have been; so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to\ngive me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night\nbefore. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to\nme, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild.... I\nhave taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope\nI have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear\ncomes: that I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the\npower of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Good-night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_1 October, evening._--I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal\nGreen, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything. The\nvery prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him had\nproved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected debauch. I\nlearned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor soul, that he\nwas only the assistant to Smollet, who of the two mates was the\nresponsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. Joseph\nSmollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a\nsaucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable\ntype of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He remembered all\nabout the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog's-eared\nnotebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle about the\nseat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick,\nhalf-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes. There\nwere, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and left at\n197, Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which he\ndeposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to\nscatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were\nchosen as the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more\nfully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that\nhe could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now\nfixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern\nshore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to\nbe left out of his diabolical scheme--let alone the City itself and the\nvery heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west. I went back\nto Smollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes had\nbeen taken from Carfax.\n\nHe replied:--\n\n\"Well, guv'nor, you've treated me wery 'an'some\"--I had given him half a\nsovereign--\"an' I'll tell yer all I know. I heard a man by the name of\nBloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are an' 'Ounds, in Pincher's Alley,\nas 'ow he an' his mate 'ad 'ad a rare dusty job in a old 'ouse at\nPurfect. There ain't a-many such jobs as this 'ere, an' I'm thinkin'\nthat maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut.\" I asked if he could tell me\nwhere to find him. I told him that if he could get me the address it\nwould be worth another half-sovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest\nof his tea and stood up, saying that he was going to begin the search\nthen and there. At the door he stopped, and said:--\n\n\"Look 'ere, guv'nor, there ain't no sense in me a-keepin' you 'ere. I\nmay find Sam soon, or I mayn't; but anyhow he ain't like to be in a way\nto tell ye much to-night. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze.\nIf you can give me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on\nit, I'll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye to-night. But\nye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', or maybe ye won't ketch\n'im; for Sam gets off main early, never mind the booze the night afore.\"\n\nThis was all practical, so one of the children went off with a penny to\nbuy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change. When she\ncame back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it, and when Smollet had\nagain faithfully promised to post the address when found, I took my way\nto home. We're on the track anyhow. I am tired to-night, and want sleep.\nMina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale; her eyes look as\nthough she had been crying. Poor dear, I've no doubt it frets her to be\nkept in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and the\nothers. But it is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed and\nworried in such a way now than to have her nerve broken. The doctors\nwere quite right to insist on her being kept out of this dreadful\nbusiness. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of silence\nmust rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with her under any\ncircumstances. Indeed, it may not be a hard task, after all, for she\nherself has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of the\nCount or his doings ever since we told her of our decision.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_2 October, evening._--A long and trying and exciting day. By the first\npost I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper enclosed, on\nwhich was written with a carpenter's pencil in a sprawling hand:--\n\n\"Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4, Poters Cort, Bartel Street, Walworth. Arsk for\nthe depite.\"\n\nI got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She looked heavy\nand sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined not to wake her,\nbut that, when I should return from this new search, I would arrange for\nher going back to Exeter. I think she would be happier in our own home,\nwith her daily tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst us and\nin ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told him where I\nwas off to, promising to come back and tell the rest so soon as I should\nhave found out anything. I drove to Walworth and found, with some\ndifficulty, Potter's Court. Mr. Smollet's spelling misled me, as I asked\nfor Poter's Court instead of Potter's Court. However, when I had found\nthe court, I had no difficulty in discovering Corcoran's lodging-house.\nWhen I asked the man who came to the door for the \"depite,\" he shook his\nhead, and said: \"I dunno 'im. There ain't no such a person 'ere; I never\n'eard of 'im in all my bloomin' days. Don't believe there ain't nobody\nof that kind livin' ere or anywheres.\" I took out Smollet's letter, and\nas I read it it seemed to me that the lesson of the spelling of the name\nof the court might guide me. \"What are you?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'm the depity,\" he answered. I saw at once that I was on the right\ntrack; phonetic spelling had again misled me. A half-crown tip put the\ndeputy's knowledge at my disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, who\nhad slept off the remains of his beer on the previous night at\nCorcoran's, had left for his work at Poplar at five o'clock that\nmorning. He could not tell me where the place of work was situated, but\nhe had a vague idea that it was some kind of a \"new-fangled ware'us\";\nand with this slender clue I had to start for Poplar. It was twelve\no'clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a building, and this\nI got at a coffee-shop, where some workmen were having their dinner. One\nof these suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel Street a\nnew \"cold storage\" building; and as this suited the condition of a\n\"new-fangled ware'us,\" I at once drove to it. An interview with a surly\ngatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were appeased with the\ncoin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on my\nsuggesting that I was willing to pay his day's wages to his foreman for\nthe privilege of asking him a few questions on a private matter. He was\na smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had\npromised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me\nthat he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly,\nand had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes--\"main\nheavy ones\"--with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. I\nasked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to\nwhich he replied:--\n\n\"Well, guv'nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few doors from a\nbig white church or somethink of the kind, not long built. It was a\ndusty old 'ouse, too, though nothin' to the dustiness of the 'ouse we\ntooked the bloomin' boxes from.\"\n\n\"How did you get into the houses if they were both empty?\"\n\n\"There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin' in the 'ouse at\nPurfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curse\nme, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' him a old feller,\nwith a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn't throw\na shadder.\"\n\nHow this phrase thrilled through me!\n\n\"Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and\nme a-puffin' an' a-blowin' afore I could up-end mine anyhow--an' I'm no\nchicken, neither.\"\n\n\"How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?\" I asked.\n\n\"He was there too. He must 'a' started off and got there afore me, for\nwhen I rung of the bell he kem an' opened the door 'isself an' 'elped me\nto carry the boxes into the 'all.\"\n\n\"The whole nine?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yus; there was five in the first load an' four in the second. It was\nmain dry work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I got 'ome.\" I\ninterrupted him:--\n\n\"Were the boxes left in the hall?\"\n\n\"Yus; it was a big 'all, an' there was nothin' else in it.\" I made one\nmore attempt to further matters:--\n\n\"You didn't have any key?\"\n\n\"Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door 'isself\nan' shut it again when I druv off. I don't remember the last time--but\nthat was the beer.\"\n\n\"And you can't remember the number of the house?\"\n\n\"No, sir. But ye needn't have no difficulty about that. It's a 'igh 'un\nwith a stone front with a bow on it, an' 'igh steps up to the door. I\nknow them steps, 'avin' 'ad to carry the boxes up with three loafers\nwhat come round to earn a copper. The old gent give them shillin's, an'\nthey seein' they got so much, they wanted more; but 'e took one of them\nby the shoulder and was like to throw 'im down the steps, till the lot\nof them went away cussin'.\" I thought that with this description I could\nfind the house, so, having paid my friend for his information, I started\noff for Piccadilly. I had gained a new painful experience; the Count\ncould, it was evident, handle the earth-boxes himself. If so, time was\nprecious; for, now that he had achieved a certain amount of\ndistribution, he could, by choosing his own time, complete the task\nunobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I discharged my cab, and walked\nwestward; beyond the Junior Constitutional I came across the house\ndescribed, and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairs\narranged by Dracula. The house looked as though it had been long\nuntenanted. The windows were encrusted with dust, and the shutters were\nup. All the framework was black with time, and from the iron the paint\nhad mostly scaled away. It was evident that up to lately there had been\na large notice-board in front of the balcony; it had, however, been\nroughly torn away, the uprights which had supported it still remaining.\nBehind the rails of the balcony I saw there were some loose boards,\nwhose raw edges looked white. I would have given a good deal to have\nbeen able to see the notice-board intact, as it would, perhaps, have\ngiven some clue to the ownership of the house. I remembered my\nexperience of the investigation and purchase of Carfax, and I could not\nbut feel that if I could find the former owner there might be some means\ndiscovered of gaining access to the house.\n\nThere was at present nothing to be learned from the Piccadilly side, and\nnothing could be done; so I went round to the back to see if anything\ncould be gathered from this quarter. The mews were active, the\nPiccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked one or two of the\ngrooms and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me anything\nabout the empty house. One of them said that he heard it had lately been\ntaken, but he couldn't say from whom. He told me, however, that up to\nvery lately there had been a notice-board of \"For Sale\" up, and that\nperhaps Mitchell, Sons, & Candy, the house agents, could tell me\nsomething, as he thought he remembered seeing the name of that firm on\nthe board. I did not wish to seem too eager, or to let my informant know\nor guess too much, so, thanking him in the usual manner, I strolled\naway. It was now growing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so I\ndid not lose any time. Having learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, &\nCandy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office in\nSackville Street.\n\nThe gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, but\nuncommunicative in equal proportion. Having once told me that the\nPiccadilly house--which throughout our interview he called a\n\"mansion\"--was sold, he considered my business as concluded. When I\nasked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and\npaused a few seconds before replying:--\n\n\"It is sold, sir.\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" I said, with equal politeness, \"but I have a special reason\nfor wishing to know who purchased it.\"\n\nAgain he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still more. \"It is sold,\nsir,\" was again his laconic reply.\n\n\"Surely,\" I said, \"you do not mind letting me know so much.\"\n\n\"But I do mind,\" he answered. \"The affairs of their clients are\nabsolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy.\" This was\nmanifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no use arguing with\nhim. I thought I had best meet him on his own ground, so I said:--\n\n\"Your clients, sir, are happy in having so resolute a guardian of their\nconfidence. I am myself a professional man.\" Here I handed him my card.\n\"In this instance I am not prompted by curiosity; I act on the part of\nLord Godalming, who wishes to know something of the property which was,\nhe understood, lately for sale.\" These words put a different complexion\non affairs. He said:--\n\n\"I would like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and especially would\nI like to oblige his lordship. We once carried out a small matter of\nrenting some chambers for him when he was the Honourable Arthur\nHolmwood. If you will let me have his lordship's address I will consult\nthe House on the subject, and will, in any case, communicate with his\nlordship by to-night's post. It will be a pleasure if we can so far\ndeviate from our rules as to give the required information to his\nlordship.\"\n\nI wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so I thanked him,\ngave the address at Dr. Seward's and came away. It was now dark, and I\nwas tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the Aërated Bread Company\nand came down to Purfleet by the next train.\n\nI found all the others at home. Mina was looking tired and pale, but she\nmade a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful, it wrung my heart to\nthink that I had had to keep anything from her and so caused her\ninquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of her looking on at\nour conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our\nconfidence. It took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution of\nkeeping her out of our grim task. She seems somehow more reconciled; or\nelse the very subject seems to have become repugnant to her, for when\nany accidental allusion is made she actually shudders. I am glad we\nmade our resolution in time, as with such a feeling as this, our growing\nknowledge would be torture to her.\n\nI could not tell the others of the day's discovery till we were alone;\nso after dinner--followed by a little music to save appearances even\namongst ourselves--I took Mina to her room and left her to go to bed.\nThe dear girl was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung to me\nas though she would detain me; but there was much to be talked of and I\ncame away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has made no\ndifference between us.\n\nWhen I came down again I found the others all gathered round the fire in\nthe study. In the train I had written my diary so far, and simply read\nit off to them as the best means of letting them get abreast of my own\ninformation; when I had finished Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"This has been a great day's work, friend Jonathan. Doubtless we are on\nthe track of the missing boxes. If we find them all in that house, then\nour work is near the end. But if there be some missing, we must search\nuntil we find them. Then shall we make our final _coup_, and hunt the\nwretch to his real death.\" We all sat silent awhile and all at once Mr.\nMorris spoke:--\n\n\"Say! how are we going to get into that house?\"\n\n\"We got into the other,\" answered Lord Godalming quickly.\n\n\"But, Art, this is different. We broke house at Carfax, but we had night\nand a walled park to protect us. It will be a mighty different thing to\ncommit burglary in Piccadilly, either by day or night. I confess I don't\nsee how we are going to get in unless that agency duck can find us a key\nof some sort; perhaps we shall know when you get his letter in the\nmorning.\" Lord Godalming's brows contracted, and he stood up and walked\nabout the room. By-and-by he stopped and said, turning from one to\nanother of us:--\n\n\"Quincey's head is level. This burglary business is getting serious; we\ngot off once all right; but we have now a rare job on hand--unless we\ncan find the Count's key basket.\"\n\nAs nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be at\nleast advisable to wait till Lord Godalming should hear from Mitchell's,\nwe decided not to take any active step before breakfast time. For a good\nwhile we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in its various lights and\nbearings; I took the opportunity of bringing this diary right up to the\nmoment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed....\n\nJust a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her breathing is regular. Her\nforehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though she thinks even\nin her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look so haggard as she\ndid this morning. To-morrow will, I hope, mend all this; she will be\nherself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy!\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_1 October._--I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His moods change so\nrapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as they\nalways mean something more than his own well-being, they form a more\nthan interesting study. This morning, when I went to see him after his\nrepulse of Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man commanding destiny.\nHe was, in fact, commanding destiny--subjectively. He did not really\ncare for any of the things of mere earth; he was in the clouds and\nlooked down on all the weaknesses and wants of us poor mortals. I\nthought I would improve the occasion and learn something, so I asked\nhim:--\n\n\"What about the flies these times?\" He smiled on me in quite a superior\nsort of way--such a smile as would have become the face of Malvolio--as\nhe answered me:--\n\n\"The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature; its wings are typical\nof the aërial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients did well\nwhen they typified the soul as a butterfly!\"\n\nI thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I said\nquickly:--\n\n\"Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?\" His madness foiled his\nreason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as, shaking his head\nwith a decision which I had but seldom seen in him, he said:--\n\n\"Oh, no, oh no! I want no souls. Life is all I want.\" Here he brightened\nup; \"I am pretty indifferent about it at present. Life is all right; I\nhave all I want. You must get a new patient, doctor, if you wish to\nstudy zoöphagy!\"\n\nThis puzzled me a little, so I drew him on:--\n\n\"Then you command life; you are a god, I suppose?\" He smiled with an\nineffably benign superiority.\n\n\"Oh no! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the attributes of the\nDeity. I am not even concerned in His especially spiritual doings. If I\nmay state my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns things\npurely terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch occupied\nspiritually!\" This was a poser to me. I could not at the moment recall\nEnoch's appositeness; so I had to ask a simple question, though I felt\nthat by so doing I was lowering myself in the eyes of the lunatic:--\n\n\"And why with Enoch?\"\n\n\"Because he walked with God.\" I could not see the analogy, but did not\nlike to admit it; so I harked back to what he had denied:--\n\n\"So you don't care about life and you don't want souls. Why not?\" I put\nmy question quickly and somewhat sternly, on purpose to disconcert him.\nThe effort succeeded; for an instant he unconsciously relapsed into his\nold servile manner, bent low before me, and actually fawned upon me as\nhe replied:--\n\n\"I don't want any souls, indeed, indeed! I don't. I couldn't use them if\nI had them; they would be no manner of use to me. I couldn't eat them\nor----\" He suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over his\nface, like a wind-sweep on the surface of the water. \"And doctor, as to\nlife, what is it after all? When you've got all you require, and you\nknow that you will never want, that is all. I have friends--good\nfriends--like you, Dr. Seward\"; this was said with a leer of\ninexpressible cunning. \"I know that I shall never lack the means of\nlife!\"\n\nI think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw some\nantagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last refuge of such as\nhe--a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the present it\nwas useless to speak to him. He was sulky, and so I came away.\n\nLater in the day he sent for me. Ordinarily I would not have come\nwithout special reason, but just at present I am so interested in him\nthat I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to have anything\nto help to pass the time. Harker is out, following up clues; and so are\nLord Godalming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in my study poring over the\nrecord prepared by the Harkers; he seems to think that by accurate\nknowledge of all details he will light upon some clue. He does not wish\nto be disturbed in the work, without cause. I would have taken him with\nme to see the patient, only I thought that after his last repulse he\nmight not care to go again. There was also another reason: Renfield\nmight not speak so freely before a third person as when he and I were\nalone.\n\nI found him sitting out in the middle of the floor on his stool, a pose\nwhich is generally indicative of some mental energy on his part. When I\ncame in, he said at once, as though the question had been waiting on his\nlips:--\n\n\"What about souls?\" It was evident then that my surmise had been\ncorrect. Unconscious cerebration was doing its work, even with the\nlunatic. I determined to have the matter out. \"What about them\nyourself?\" I asked. He did not reply for a moment but looked all round\nhim, and up and down, as though he expected to find some inspiration for\nan answer.\n\n\"I don't want any souls!\" he said in a feeble, apologetic way. The\nmatter seemed preying on his mind, and so I determined to use it--to \"be\ncruel only to be kind.\" So I said:--\n\n\"You like life, and you want life?\"\n\n\"Oh yes! but that is all right; you needn't worry about that!\"\n\n\"But,\" I asked, \"how are we to get the life without getting the soul\nalso?\" This seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it up:--\n\n\"A nice time you'll have some time when you're flying out there, with\nthe souls of thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats buzzing\nand twittering and miauing all round you. You've got their lives, you\nknow, and you must put up with their souls!\" Something seemed to affect\nhis imagination, for he put his fingers to his ears and shut his eyes,\nscrewing them up tightly just as a small boy does when his face is being\nsoaped. There was something pathetic in it that touched me; it also gave\nme a lesson, for it seemed that before me was a child--only a child,\nthough the features were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white. It\nwas evident that he was undergoing some process of mental disturbance,\nand, knowing how his past moods had interpreted things seemingly foreign\nto himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as well as I could and\ngo with him. The first step was to restore confidence, so I asked him,\nspeaking pretty loud so that he would hear me through his closed ears:--\n\n\"Would you like some sugar to get your flies round again?\" He seemed to\nwake up all at once, and shook his head. With a laugh he replied:--\n\n\"Not much! flies are poor things, after all!\" After a pause he added,\n\"But I don't want their souls buzzing round me, all the same.\"\n\n\"Or spiders?\" I went on.\n\n\"Blow spiders! What's the use of spiders? There isn't anything in them\nto eat or\"--he stopped suddenly, as though reminded of a forbidden\ntopic.\n\n\"So, so!\" I thought to myself, \"this is the second time he has suddenly\nstopped at the word 'drink'; what does it mean?\" Renfield seemed himself\naware of having made a lapse, for he hurried on, as though to distract\nmy attention from it:--\n\n\"I don't take any stock at all in such matters. 'Rats and mice and such\nsmall deer,' as Shakespeare has it, 'chicken-feed of the larder' they\nmight be called. I'm past all that sort of nonsense. You might as well\nask a man to eat molecules with a pair of chop-sticks, as to try to\ninterest me about the lesser carnivora, when I know of what is before\nme.\"\n\n\"I see,\" I said. \"You want big things that you can make your teeth meet\nin? How would you like to breakfast on elephant?\"\n\n\"What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!\" He was getting too wide\nawake, so I thought I would press him hard. \"I wonder,\" I said\nreflectively, \"what an elephant's soul is like!\"\n\nThe effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from his\nhigh-horse and became a child again.\n\n\"I don't want an elephant's soul, or any soul at all!\" he said. For a\nfew moments he sat despondently. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, with\nhis eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral excitement. \"To\nhell with you and your souls!\" he shouted. \"Why do you plague me about\nsouls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me already,\nwithout thinking of souls!\" He looked so hostile that I thought he was\nin for another homicidal fit, so I blew my whistle. The instant,\nhowever, that I did so he became calm, and said apologetically:--\n\n\"Forgive me, Doctor; I forgot myself. You do not need any help. I am so\nworried in my mind that I am apt to be irritable. If you only knew the\nproblem I have to face, and that I am working out, you would pity, and\ntolerate, and pardon me. Pray do not put me in a strait-waistcoat. I\nwant to think and I cannot think freely when my body is confined. I am\nsure you will understand!\" He had evidently self-control; so when the\nattendants came I told them not to mind, and they withdrew. Renfield\nwatched them go; when the door was closed he said, with considerable\ndignity and sweetness:--\n\n\"Dr. Seward, you have been very considerate towards me. Believe me that\nI am very, very grateful to you!\" I thought it well to leave him in this\nmood, and so I came away. There is certainly something to ponder over in\nthis man's state. Several points seem to make what the American\ninterviewer calls \"a story,\" if one could only get them in proper order.\nHere they are:--\n\nWill not mention \"drinking.\"\n\nFears the thought of being burdened with the \"soul\" of anything.\n\nHas no dread of wanting \"life\" in the future.\n\nDespises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads being\nhaunted by their souls.\n\nLogically all these things point one way! he has assurance of some kind\nthat he will acquire some higher life. He dreads the consequence--the\nburden of a soul. Then it is a human life he looks to!\n\nAnd the assurance--?\n\nMerciful God! the Count has been to him, and there is some new scheme of\nterror afoot!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--I went after my round to Van Helsing and told him my\nsuspicion. He grew very grave; and, after thinking the matter over for a\nwhile asked me to take him to Renfield. I did so. As we came to the door\nwe heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as he used to do in the time\nwhich now seems so long ago. When we entered we saw with amazement that\nhe had spread out his sugar as of old; the flies, lethargic with the\nautumn, were beginning to buzz into the room. We tried to make him talk\nof the subject of our previous conversation, but he would not attend. He\nwent on with his singing, just as though we had not been present. He had\ngot a scrap of paper and was folding it into a note-book. We had to come\naway as ignorant as we went in.\n\nHis is a curious case indeed; we must watch him to-night.\n\n\n_Letter, Mitchell, Sons and Candy to Lord Godalming._\n\n_\"1 October._\n\n\"My Lord,\n\n\"We are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. We beg, with\nregard to the desire of your Lordship, expressed by Mr. Harker on your\nbehalf, to supply the following information concerning the sale and\npurchase of No. 347, Piccadilly. The original vendors are the executors\nof the late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser is a foreign\nnobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the purchase himself paying the\npurchase money in notes 'over the counter,' if your Lordship will pardon\nus using so vulgar an expression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever\nof him.\n\n\"We are, my Lord,\n\n\"Your Lordship's humble servants,\n\n\"MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_2 October._--I placed a man in the corridor last night, and told him to\nmake an accurate note of any sound he might hear from Renfield's room,\nand gave him instructions that if there should be anything strange he\nwas to call me. After dinner, when we had all gathered round the fire\nin the study--Mrs. Harker having gone to bed--we discussed the attempts\nand discoveries of the day. Harker was the only one who had any result,\nand we are in great hopes that his clue may be an important one.\n\nBefore going to bed I went round to the patient's room and looked in\nthrough the observation trap. He was sleeping soundly, and his heart\nrose and fell with regular respiration.\n\nThis morning the man on duty reported to me that a little after midnight\nhe was restless and kept saying his prayers somewhat loudly. I asked him\nif that was all; he replied that it was all he heard. There was\nsomething about his manner so suspicious that I asked him point blank if\nhe had been asleep. He denied sleep, but admitted to having \"dozed\" for\na while. It is too bad that men cannot be trusted unless they are\nwatched.\n\nTo-day Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey are\nlooking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be well to have\nhorses always in readiness, for when we get the information which we\nseek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilise all the imported\nearth between sunrise and sunset; we shall thus catch the Count at his\nweakest, and without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is off to the\nBritish Museum looking up some authorities on ancient medicine. The old\nphysicians took account of things which their followers do not accept,\nand the Professor is searching for witch and demon cures which may be\nuseful to us later.\n\nI sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in\nstrait-waistcoats.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--We have met again. We seem at last to be on the track, and our\nwork of to-morrow may be the beginning of the end. I wonder if\nRenfield's quiet has anything to do with this. His moods have so\nfollowed the doings of the Count, that the coming destruction of the\nmonster may be carried to him in some subtle way. If we could only get\nsome hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time of my argument\nwith him to-day and his resumption of fly-catching, it might afford us a\nvaluable clue. He is now seemingly quiet for a spell.... Is he?---- That\nwild yell seemed to come from his room....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe attendant came bursting into my room and told me that Renfield had\nsomehow met with some accident. He had heard him yell; and when he went\nto him found him lying on his face on the floor, all covered with blood.\nI must go at once....\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n\n\n_3 October._--Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as well\nas I can remember it, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that I\ncan recall must be forgotten; in all calmness I must proceed.\n\nWhen I came to Renfield's room I found him lying on the floor on his\nleft side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, it\nbecame at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries;\nthere seemed none of that unity of purpose between the parts of the body\nwhich marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see\nthat it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against the\nfloor--indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of blood\noriginated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me as\nwe turned him over:--\n\n\"I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg and\nthe whole side of his face are paralysed.\" How such a thing could have\nhappened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed quite\nbewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said:--\n\n\"I can't understand the two things. He could mark his face like that by\nbeating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at the\nEversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he\nmight have broke his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkward\nkink. But for the life of me I can't imagine how the two things\noccurred. If his back was broke, he couldn't beat his head; and if his\nface was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks of\nit.\" I said to him:--\n\n\"Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I want\nhim without an instant's delay.\" The man ran off, and within a few\nminutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared. When\nhe saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and\nthen turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eyes, for he\nsaid very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant:--\n\n\"Ah, a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and much\nattention. I shall stay with you myself; but I shall first dress myself.\nIf you will remain I shall in a few minutes join you.\"\n\nThe patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to see that\nhe had suffered some terrible injury. Van Helsing returned with\nextraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had\nevidently been thinking and had his mind made up; for, almost before he\nlooked at the patient, he whispered to me:--\n\n\"Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomes\nconscious, after the operation.\" So I said:--\n\n\"I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all that we can at\npresent. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van Helsing will operate.\nLet me know instantly if there be anything unusual anywhere.\"\n\nThe man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the patient.\nThe wounds of the face was superficial; the real injury was a depressed\nfracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor area. The\nProfessor thought a moment and said:--\n\n\"We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as far\nas can be; the rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of\nhis injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the\nbrain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be\ntoo late.\" As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I\nwent over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur and\nQuincey in pajamas and slippers: the former spoke:--\n\n\"I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident.\nSo I woke Quincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things\nare moving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us\nthese times. I've been thinking that to-morrow night will not see things\nas they have been. We'll have to look back--and forward a little more\nthan we have done. May we come in?\" I nodded, and held the door open\ntill they had entered; then I closed it again. When Quincey saw the\nattitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the\nfloor, he said softly:--\n\n\"My God! what has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!\" I told him\nbriefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness after\nthe operation--for a short time, at all events. He went at once and sat\ndown on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him; we all watched\nin patience.\n\n\"We shall wait,\" said Van Helsing, \"just long enough to fix the best\nspot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly remove\nthe blood clot; for it is evident that the hæmorrhage is increasing.\"\n\nThe minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I had a\nhorrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing's face I gathered\nthat he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreaded\nthe words that Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think;\nbut the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of men\nwho have heard the death-watch. The poor man's breathing came in\nuncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyes\nand speak; but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he\nwould relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sick\nbeds and death, this suspense grew, and grew upon me. I could almost\nhear the beating of my own heart; and the blood surging through my\ntemples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence finally became\nagonising. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw from\ntheir flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equal\ntorture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead\nsome dread bell would peal out powerfully when we should least expect\nit.\n\nAt last there came a time when it was evident that the patient was\nsinking fast; he might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor\nand caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as he\nspoke:--\n\n\"There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives; I have\nbeen thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake!\nWe shall operate just above the ear.\"\n\nWithout another word he made the operation. For a few moments the\nbreathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath so\nprolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest.\nSuddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare.\nThis was continued for a few moments; then it softened into a glad\nsurprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief. He moved\nconvulsively, and as he did so, said:--\n\n\"I'll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait-waistcoat. I\nhave had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot\nmove. What's wrong with my face? it feels all swollen, and it smarts\ndreadfully.\" He tried to turn his head; but even with the effort his\neyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then Van\nHelsing said in a quiet grave tone:--\n\n\"Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield.\" As he heard the voice his face\nbrightened, through its mutilation, and he said:--\n\n\"That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give me some\nwater, my lips are dry; and I shall try to tell you. I dreamed\"--he\nstopped and seemed fainting, I called quietly to Quincey--\"The\nbrandy--it is in my study--quick!\" He flew and returned with a glass,\nthe decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parched\nlips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, that his poor\ninjured brain had been working in the interval, for, when he was quite\nconscious, he looked at me piercingly with an agonised confusion which I\nshall never forget, and said:--\n\n\"I must not deceive myself; it was no dream, but all a grim reality.\"\nThen his eyes roved round the room; as they caught sight of the two\nfigures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on:--\n\n\"If I were not sure already, I would know from them.\" For an instant his\neyes closed--not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he were\nbringing all his faculties to bear; when he opened them he said,\nhurriedly, and with more energy than he had yet displayed:--\n\n\"Quick, Doctor, quick. I am dying! I feel that I have but a few minutes;\nand then I must go back to death--or worse! Wet my lips with brandy\nagain. I have something that I must say before I die; or before my poor\ncrushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you left\nme, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn't speak then, for I\nfelt my tongue was tied; but I was as sane then, except in that way, as\nI am now. I was in an agony of despair for a long time after you left\nme; it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain\nseemed to become cool again, and I realised where I was. I heard the\ndogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!\" As he spoke, Van\nHelsing's eyes never blinked, but his hand came out and met mine and\ngripped it hard. He did not, however, betray himself; he nodded slightly\nand said: \"Go on,\" in a low voice. Renfield proceeded:--\n\n\"He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before;\nbut he was solid then--not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a\nman's when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp white\nteeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt\nof trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't ask him to come in\nat first, though I knew he wanted to--just as he had wanted all along.\nThen he began promising me things--not in words but by doing them.\" He\nwas interrupted by a word from the Professor:--\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when the\nsun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their\nwings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on their\nbacks.\" Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously:--\n\n\"The _Acherontia Aitetropos of the Sphinges_--what you call the\n'Death's-head Moth'?\" The patient went on without stopping.\n\n\"Then he began to whisper: 'Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands,\nmillions of them, and every one a life; and dogs to eat them, and cats\ntoo. All lives! all red blood, with years of life in it; and not merely\nbuzzing flies!' I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do.\nThen the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. He\nbeckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He raised his\nhands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A dark mass\nspread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire; and\nthen He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there\nwere thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red--like His, only\nsmaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and I thought he\nseemed to be saying: 'All these lives will I give you, ay, and many more\nand greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worship\nme!' And then a red cloud, like the colour of blood, seemed to close\nover my eyes; and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening\nthe sash and saying to Him: 'Come in, Lord and Master!' The rats were\nall gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only\nopen an inch wide--just as the Moon herself has often come in through\nthe tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and\nsplendour.\"\n\nHis voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again, and\nhe continued; but it seemed as though his memory had gone on working in\nthe interval for his story was further advanced. I was about to call him\nback to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me: \"Let him go on. Do\nnot interrupt him; he cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at all\nif once he lost the thread of his thought.\" He proceeded:--\n\n\"All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send me anything, not\neven a blow-fly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with him.\nWhen he slid in through the window, though it was shut, and did not even\nknock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face looked\nout of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on as though he\nowned the whole place, and I was no one. He didn't even smell the same\nas he went by me. I couldn't hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs.\nHarker had come into the room.\"\n\nThe two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behind\nhim so that he could not see them, but where they could hear better.\nThey were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered; his face,\nhowever, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without\nnoticing:--\n\n\"When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn't the same;\nit was like tea after the teapot had been watered.\" Here we all moved,\nbut no one said a word; he went on:--\n\n\"I didn't know that she was here till she spoke; and she didn't look the\nsame. I don't care for the pale people; I like them with lots of blood\nin them, and hers had all seemed to have run out. I didn't think of it\nat the time; but when she went away I began to think, and it made me mad\nto know that He had been taking the life out of her.\" I could feel that\nthe rest quivered, as I did, but we remained otherwise still. \"So when\nHe came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I\ngrabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; and\nas I knew I was a madman--at times anyhow--I resolved to use my power.\nAy, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to struggle\nwith me. I held tight; and I thought I was going to win, for I didn't\nmean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned\ninto me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, and\nwhen I tried to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There\nwas a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the mist seemed\nto steal away under the door.\" His voice was becoming fainter and his\nbreath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively.\n\n\"We know the worst now,\" he said. \"He is here, and we know his purpose.\nIt may not be too late. Let us be armed--the same as we were the other\nnight, but lose no time; there is not an instant to spare.\" There was no\nneed to put our fear, nay our conviction, into words--we shared them in\ncommon. We all hurried and took from our rooms the same things that we\nhad when we entered the Count's house. The Professor had his ready, and\nas we met in the corridor he pointed to them significantly as he said:--\n\n\"They never leave me; and they shall not till this unhappy business is\nover. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with.\nAlas! alas! that that dear Madam Mina should suffer!\" He stopped; his\nvoice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in\nmy own heart.\n\nOutside the Harkers' door we paused. Art and Quincey held back, and the\nlatter said:--\n\n\"Should we disturb her?\"\n\n\"We must,\" said Van Helsing grimly. \"If the door be locked, I shall\nbreak it in.\"\n\n\"May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a lady's\nroom!\"\n\nVan Helsing said solemnly, \"You are always right; but this is life and\ndeath. All chambers are alike to the doctor; and even were they not they\nare all as one to me to-night. Friend John, when I turn the handle, if\nthe door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and shove; and you\ntoo, my friends. Now!\"\n\nHe turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threw\nourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we almost fell\nheadlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I saw\nacross him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I saw\nappalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck,\nand my heart seemed to stand still.\n\nThe moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room\nwas light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan\nHarker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor.\nKneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad\nfigure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black.\nHis face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised\nthe Count--in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left\nhand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms\nat full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck,\nforcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared\nwith blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man's bare breast which\nwas shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible\nresemblance to a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to\ncompel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count turned his\nface, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap\ninto it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion; the great nostrils\nof the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge; and the\nwhite sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth,\nchamped together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw\nhis victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned\nand sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet,\nand was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred\nWafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside\nthe tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we,\nlifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a\ngreat black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up\nunder Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, as we\nlooked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its bursting\nopen, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I moved\nforward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with\nit had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it\nseems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For a\nfew seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was\nghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared\nher lips and cheeks and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream of\nblood; her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her\npoor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the\nCount's terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail\nwhich made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an\nendless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently\nover her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant\ndespairingly, ran out of the room. Van Helsing whispered to me:--\n\n\"Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can\ndo nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers\nherself; I must wake him!\" He dipped the end of a towel in cold water\nand with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while\nholding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that was\nheart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of the\nwindow. There was much moonshine; and as I looked I could see Quincey\nMorris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a great\nyew-tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this; but at the\ninstant I heard Harker's quick exclamation as he woke to partial\nconsciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well\nbe, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, and\nthen full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and he\nstarted up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to\nhim with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him; instantly,\nhowever, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together, held\nher hands before her face, and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook.\n\n\"In God's name what does this mean?\" Harker cried out. \"Dr. Seward, Dr.\nVan Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear,\nwhat is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! has it come to\nthis!\" and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands wildly\ntogether. \"Good God help us! help her! oh, help her!\" With a quick\nmovement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his clothes,--all the\nman in him awake at the need for instant exertion. \"What has happened?\nTell me all about it!\" he cried without pausing. \"Dr. Van Helsing, you\nlove Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. It cannot have gone too\nfar yet. Guard her while I look for _him_!\" His wife, through her terror\nand horror and distress, saw some sure danger to him: instantly\nforgetting her own grief, she seized hold of him and cried out:--\n\n\"No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough\nto-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must stay\nwith me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!\" Her\nexpression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, she\npulled him down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely.\n\nVan Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up his\nlittle golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness:--\n\n\"Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is close to you no\nfoul thing can approach. You are safe for to-night; and we must be calm\nand take counsel together.\" She shuddered and was silent, holding down\nher head on her husband's breast. When she raised it, his white\nnight-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where\nthe thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The instant she\nsaw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking\nsobs:--\n\n\"Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it\nshould be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have\nmost cause to fear.\" To this he spoke out resolutely:--\n\n\"Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not\nhear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my\ndeserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour,\nif by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!\" He put out\nhis arms and folded her to his breast; and for a while she lay there\nsobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that blinked\ndamply above his quivering nostrils; his mouth was set as steel. After a\nwhile her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then he said to\nme, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nervous\npower to the utmost:--\n\n\"And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the broad\nfact; tell me all that has been.\" I told him exactly what had happened,\nand he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitched\nand his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had\nheld his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to\nthe open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to\nsee, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively over\nthe bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffled\nhair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked at the door.\nThey entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at me\nquestioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take advantage of\ntheir coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy husband\nand wife from each other and from themselves; so on nodding acquiescence\nto him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming\nanswered:--\n\n\"I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. I\nlooked in the study but, though he had been there, he had gone. He had,\nhowever----\" He stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure on\nthe bed. Van Helsing said gravely:--\n\n\"Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now\nis in knowing all. Tell freely!\" So Art went on:--\n\n\"He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few\nseconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been\nburned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; the\ncylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax\nhad helped the flames.\" Here I interrupted. \"Thank God there is the\nother copy in the safe!\" His face lit for a moment, but fell again as he\nwent on: \"I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I looked\ninto Renfield's room; but there was no trace there except----!\" Again he\npaused. \"Go on,\" said Harker hoarsely; so he bowed his head and\nmoistening his lips with his tongue, added: \"except that the poor fellow\nis dead.\" Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other of\nus she said solemnly:--\n\n\"God's will be done!\" I could not but feel that Art was keeping back\nsomething; but, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing.\nVan Helsing turned to Morris and asked:--\n\n\"And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?\"\n\n\"A little,\" he answered. \"It may be much eventually, but at present I\ncan't say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Count would\ngo when he left the house. I did not see him; but I saw a bat rise from\nRenfield's window, and flap westward. I expected to see him in some\nshape go back to Carfax; but he evidently sought some other lair. He\nwill not be back to-night; for the sky is reddening in the east, and the\ndawn is close. We must work to-morrow!\"\n\nHe said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of perhaps\na couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy that I could\nhear the sound of our hearts beating; then Van Helsing said, placing his\nhand very tenderly on Mrs. Harker's head:--\n\n\"And now, Madam Mina--poor, dear, dear Madam Mina--tell us exactly what\nhappened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained; but it is\nneed that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be done\nquick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that must\nend all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we may live and\nlearn.\"\n\nThe poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her nerves\nas she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head lower and\nlower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly, and held\nout one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and, after stooping and\nkissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that\nof her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly.\nAfter a pause in which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, she\nbegan:--\n\n\"I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but for a\nlong time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and myriads\nof horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind--all of them\nconnected with death, and vampires; with blood, and pain, and trouble.\"\nHer husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and said\nlovingly: \"Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help me\nthrough the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to me\nto tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much I\nneed your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work\nwith my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to\nsleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, for I remember no\nmore. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side when\nnext I remember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that I\nhad before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this; you will find\nit in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the same vague\nterror which had come to me before and the same sense of some presence.\nI turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it\nseemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I\ntried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I\nlooked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me: beside\nthe bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist--or rather as if the mist\nhad turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared--stood a\ntall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of\nthe others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light\nfell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white\nteeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the\nsunset on the windows of St. Mary's Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the\nred scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant\nmy heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was\nparalysed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper,\npointing as he spoke to Jonathan:--\n\n\"'Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out\nbefore your very eyes.' I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or\nsay anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder\nand, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did\nso, 'First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well\nbe quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have\nappeased my thirst!' I was bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did not\nwant to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that\nsuch is, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity\nme! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!\" Her husband groaned\nagain. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if\nhe were the injured one, and went on:--\n\n\"I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How long\nthis horrible thing lasted I know not; but it seemed that a long time\nmust have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I\nsaw it drip with the fresh blood!\" The remembrance seemed for a while to\noverpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down but for her\nhusband's sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself and\nwent on:--\n\n\"Then he spoke to me mockingly, 'And so you, like the others, would play\nyour brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and\nfrustrate me in my designs! You know now, and they know in part already,\nand will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They\nshould have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they\nplayed wits against me--against me who commanded nations, and intrigued\nfor them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were\nborn--I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now\nto me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful\nwine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my\nhelper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall\nminister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you\nhave done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my\ncall. When my brain says \"Come!\" to you, you shall cross land or sea to\ndo my bidding; and to that end this!' With that he pulled open his\nshirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When\nthe blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding\nthem tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to\nthe wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the---- Oh\nmy God! my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such a\nfate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my\ndays. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril;\nand in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!\" Then she began to rub her\nlips as though to cleanse them from pollution.\n\nAs she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken,\nand everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet;\nbut over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look\nwhich deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first\nred streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out\nagainst the whitening hair.\n\nWe have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the unhappy\npair till we can meet together and arrange about taking action.\n\nOf this I am sure: the sun rises to-day on no more miserable house in\nall the great round of its daily course.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_3 October._--As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary. It\nis now six o'clock, and we are to meet in the study in half an hour and\ntake something to eat; for Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward are agreed\nthat if we do not eat we cannot work our best. Our best will be, God\nknows, required to-day. I must keep writing at every chance, for I dare\nnot stop to think. All, big and little, must go down; perhaps at the end\nthe little things may teach us most. The teaching, big or little, could\nnot have landed Mina or me anywhere worse than we are to-day. However,\nwe must trust and hope. Poor Mina told me just now, with the tears\nrunning down her dear cheeks, that it is in trouble and trial that our\nfaith is tested--that we must keep on trusting; and that God will aid us\nup to the end. The end! oh my God! what end?... To work! To work!\n\nWhen Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward had come back from seeing poor\nRenfield, we went gravely into what was to be done. First, Dr. Seward\ntold us that when he and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to the room below\nthey had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a heap. His face was\nall bruised and crushed in, and the bones of the neck were broken.\n\nDr. Seward asked the attendant who was on duty in the passage if he had\nheard anything. He said that he had been sitting down--he confessed to\nhalf dozing--when he heard loud voices in the room, and then Renfield\nhad called out loudly several times, \"God! God! God!\" after that there\nwas a sound of falling, and when he entered the room he found him lying\non the floor, face down, just as the doctors had seen him. Van Helsing\nasked if he had heard \"voices\" or \"a voice,\" and he said he could not\nsay; that at first it had seemed to him as if there were two, but as\nthere was no one in the room it could have been only one. He could swear\nto it, if required, that the word \"God\" was spoken by the patient. Dr.\nSeward said to us, when we were alone, that he did not wish to go into\nthe matter; the question of an inquest had to be considered, and it\nwould never do to put forward the truth, as no one would believe it. As\nit was, he thought that on the attendant's evidence he could give a\ncertificate of death by misadventure in falling from bed. In case the\ncoroner should demand it, there would be a formal inquest, necessarily\nto the same result.\n\nWhen the question began to be discussed as to what should be our next\nstep, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be in full\nconfidence; that nothing of any sort--no matter how painful--should be\nkept from her. She herself agreed as to its wisdom, and it was pitiful\nto see her so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a depth of\ndespair. \"There must be no concealment,\" she said, \"Alas! we have had\ntoo much already. And besides there is nothing in all the world that can\ngive me more pain than I have already endured--than I suffer now!\nWhatever may happen, it must be of new hope or of new courage to me!\"\nVan Helsing was looking at her fixedly as she spoke, and said, suddenly\nbut quietly:--\n\n\"But dear Madam Mina, are you not afraid; not for yourself, but for\nothers from yourself, after what has happened?\" Her face grew set in its\nlines, but her eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr as she\nanswered:--\n\n\"Ah no! for my mind is made up!\"\n\n\"To what?\" he asked gently, whilst we were all very still; for each in\nour own way we had a sort of vague idea of what she meant. Her answer\ncame with direct simplicity, as though she were simply stating a fact:--\n\n\"Because if I find in myself--and I shall watch keenly for it--a sign of\nharm to any that I love, I shall die!\"\n\n\"You would not kill yourself?\" he asked, hoarsely.\n\n\"I would; if there were no friend who loved me, who would save me such a\npain, and so desperate an effort!\" She looked at him meaningly as she\nspoke. He was sitting down; but now he rose and came close to her and\nput his hand on her head as he said solemnly:\n\n\"My child, there is such an one if it were for your good. For myself I\ncould hold it in my account with God to find such an euthanasia for you,\neven at this moment if it were best. Nay, were it safe! But my\nchild----\" For a moment he seemed choked, and a great sob rose in his\nthroat; he gulped it down and went on:--\n\n\"There are here some who would stand between you and death. You must not\ndie. You must not die by any hand; but least of all by your own. Until\nthe other, who has fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must not\ndie; for if he is still with the quick Un-Dead, your death would make\nyou even as he is. No, you must live! You must struggle and strive to\nlive, though death would seem a boon unspeakable. You must fight Death\nhimself, though he come to you in pain or in joy; by the day, or the\nnight; in safety or in peril! On your living soul I charge you that you\ndo not die--nay, nor think of death--till this great evil be past.\" The\npoor dear grew white as death, and shock and shivered, as I have seen a\nquicksand shake and shiver at the incoming of the tide. We were all\nsilent; we could do nothing. At length she grew more calm and turning to\nhim said, sweetly, but oh! so sorrowfully, as she held out her hand:--\n\n\"I promise you, my dear friend, that if God will let me live, I shall\nstrive to do so; till, if it may be in His good time, this horror may\nhave passed away from me.\" She was so good and brave that we all felt\nthat our hearts were strengthened to work and endure for her, and we\nbegan to discuss what we were to do. I told her that she was to have all\nthe papers in the safe, and all the papers or diaries and phonographs we\nmight hereafter use; and was to keep the record as she had done before.\nShe was pleased with the prospect of anything to do--if \"pleased\" could\nbe used in connection with so grim an interest.\n\nAs usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of everyone else, and was\nprepared with an exact ordering of our work.\n\n\"It is perhaps well,\" he said, \"that at our meeting after our visit to\nCarfax we decided not to do anything with the earth-boxes that lay\nthere. Had we done so, the Count must have guessed our purpose, and\nwould doubtless have taken measures in advance to frustrate such an\neffort with regard to the others; but now he does not know our\nintentions. Nay, more, in all probability, he does not know that such a\npower exists to us as can sterilise his lairs, so that he cannot use\nthem as of old. We are now so much further advanced in our knowledge as\nto their disposition that, when we have examined the house in\nPiccadilly, we may track the very last of them. To-day, then, is ours;\nand in it rests our hope. The sun that rose on our sorrow this morning\nguards us in its course. Until it sets to-night, that monster must\nretain whatever form he now has. He is confined within the limitations\nof his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin air nor disappear\nthrough cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go through a doorway, he\nmust open the door like a mortal. And so we have this day to hunt out\nall his lairs and sterilise them. So we shall, if we have not yet catch\nhim and destroy him, drive him to bay in some place where the catching\nand the destroying shall be, in time, sure.\" Here I started up for I\ncould not contain myself at the thought that the minutes and seconds so\npreciously laden with Mina's life and happiness were flying from us,\nsince whilst we talked action was impossible. But Van Helsing held up\nhis hand warningly. \"Nay, friend Jonathan,\" he said, \"in this, the\nquickest way home is the longest way, so your proverb say. We shall all\nact and act with desperate quick, when the time has come. But think, in\nall probable the key of the situation is in that house in Piccadilly.\nThe Count may have many houses which he has bought. Of them he will have\ndeeds of purchase, keys and other things. He will have paper that he\nwrite on; he will have his book of cheques. There are many belongings\nthat he must have somewhere; why not in this place so central, so quiet,\nwhere he come and go by the front or the back at all hour, when in the\nvery vast of the traffic there is none to notice. We shall go there and\nsearch that house; and when we learn what it holds, then we do what our\nfriend Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt 'stop the earths' and so we\nrun down our old fox--so? is it not?\"\n\n\"Then let us come at once,\" I cried, \"we are wasting the precious,\nprecious time!\" The Professor did not move, but simply said:--\n\n\"And how are we to get into that house in Piccadilly?\"\n\n\"Any way!\" I cried. \"We shall break in if need be.\"\n\n\"And your police; where will they be, and what will they say?\"\n\nI was staggered; but I knew that if he wished to delay he had a good\nreason for it. So I said, as quietly as I could:--\n\n\"Don't wait more than need be; you know, I am sure, what torture I am\nin.\"\n\n\"Ah, my child, that I do; and indeed there is no wish of me to add to\nyour anguish. But just think, what can we do, until all the world be at\nmovement. Then will come our time. I have thought and thought, and it\nseems to me that the simplest way is the best of all. Now we wish to get\ninto the house, but we have no key; is it not so?\" I nodded.\n\n\"Now suppose that you were, in truth, the owner of that house, and could\nnot still get it; and think there was to you no conscience of the\nhousebreaker, what would you do?\"\n\n\"I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work to pick the\nlock for me.\"\n\n\"And your police, they would interfere, would they not?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! not if they knew the man was properly employed.\"\n\n\"Then,\" he looked at me as keenly as he spoke, \"all that is in doubt is\nthe conscience of the employer, and the belief of your policemen as to\nwhether or no that employer has a good conscience or a bad one. Your\npolice must indeed be zealous men and clever--oh, so clever!--in reading\nthe heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter. No, no, my\nfriend Jonathan, you go take the lock off a hundred empty house in this\nyour London, or of any city in the world; and if you do it as such\nthings are rightly done, and at the time such things are rightly done,\nno one will interfere. I have read of a gentleman who owned a so fine\nhouse in London, and when he went for months of summer to Switzerland\nand lock up his house, some burglar came and broke window at back and\ngot in. Then he went and made open the shutters in front and walk out\nand in through the door, before the very eyes of the police. Then he\nhave an auction in that house, and advertise it, and put up big notice;\nand when the day come he sell off by a great auctioneer all the goods of\nthat other man who own them. Then he go to a builder, and he sell him\nthat house, making an agreement that he pull it down and take all away\nwithin a certain time. And your police and other authority help him all\nthey can. And when that owner come back from his holiday in Switzerland\nhe find only an empty hole where his house had been. This was all done\n_en règle_; and in our work we shall be _en règle_ too. We shall not go\nso early that the policemen who have then little to think of, shall deem\nit strange; but we shall go after ten o'clock, when there are many\nabout, and such things would be done were we indeed owners of the\nhouse.\"\n\nI could not but see how right he was and the terrible despair of Mina's\nface became relaxed a thought; there was hope in such good counsel. Van\nHelsing went on:--\n\n\"When once within that house we may find more clues; at any rate some of\nus can remain there whilst the rest find the other places where there be\nmore earth-boxes--at Bermondsey and Mile End.\"\n\nLord Godalming stood up. \"I can be of some use here,\" he said. \"I shall\nwire to my people to have horses and carriages where they will be most\nconvenient.\"\n\n\"Look here, old fellow,\" said Morris, \"it is a capital idea to have all\nready in case we want to go horsebacking; but don't you think that one\nof your snappy carriages with its heraldic adornments in a byway of\nWalworth or Mile End would attract too much attention for our purposes?\nIt seems to me that we ought to take cabs when we go south or east; and\neven leave them somewhere near the neighbourhood we are going to.\"\n\n\"Friend Quincey is right!\" said the Professor. \"His head is what you\ncall in plane with the horizon. It is a difficult thing that we go to\ndo, and we do not want no peoples to watch us if so it may.\"\n\nMina took a growing interest in everything and I was rejoiced to see\nthat the exigency of affairs was helping her to forget for a time the\nterrible experience of the night. She was very, very pale--almost\nghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing her teeth in\nsomewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last, lest it should give\nher needless pain; but it made my blood run cold in my veins to think of\nwhat had occurred with poor Lucy when the Count had sucked her blood. As\nyet there was no sign of the teeth growing sharper; but the time as yet\nwas short, and there was time for fear.\n\nWhen we came to the discussion of the sequence of our efforts and of the\ndisposition of our forces, there were new sources of doubt. It was\nfinally agreed that before starting for Piccadilly we should destroy the\nCount's lair close at hand. In case he should find it out too soon, we\nshould thus be still ahead of him in our work of destruction; and his\npresence in his purely material shape, and at his weakest, might give us\nsome new clue.\n\nAs to the disposal of forces, it was suggested by the Professor that,\nafter our visit to Carfax, we should all enter the house in Piccadilly;\nthat the two doctors and I should remain there, whilst Lord Godalming\nand Quincey found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End and destroyed them.\nIt was possible, if not likely, the Professor urged, that the Count\nmight appear in Piccadilly during the day, and that if so we might be\nable to cope with him then and there. At any rate, we might be able to\nfollow him in force. To this plan I strenuously objected, and so far as\nmy going was concerned, for I said that I intended to stay and protect\nMina, I thought that my mind was made up on the subject; but Mina would\nnot listen to my objection. She said that there might be some law matter\nin which I could be useful; that amongst the Count's papers might be\nsome clue which I could understand out of my experience in Transylvania;\nand that, as it was, all the strength we could muster was required to\ncope with the Count's extraordinary power. I had to give in, for Mina's\nresolution was fixed; she said that it was the last hope for _her_ that\nwe should all work together. \"As for me,\" she said, \"I have no fear.\nThings have been as bad as they can be; and whatever may happen must\nhave in it some element of hope or comfort. Go, my husband! God can, if\nHe wishes it, guard me as well alone as with any one present.\" So I\nstarted up crying out: \"Then in God's name let us come at once, for we\nare losing time. The Count may come to Piccadilly earlier than we\nthink.\"\n\n\"Not so!\" said Van Helsing, holding up his hand.\n\n\"But why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Do you forget,\" he said, with actually a smile, \"that last night he\nbanqueted heavily, and will sleep late?\"\n\nDid I forget! shall I ever--can I ever! Can any of us ever forget that\nterrible scene! Mina struggled hard to keep her brave countenance; but\nthe pain overmastered her and she put her hands before her face, and\nshuddered whilst she moaned. Van Helsing had not intended to recall her\nfrightful experience. He had simply lost sight of her and her part in\nthe affair in his intellectual effort. When it struck him what he said,\nhe was horrified at his thoughtlessness and tried to comfort her. \"Oh,\nMadam Mina,\" he said, \"dear, dear Madam Mina, alas! that I of all who so\nreverence you should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid old\nlips of mine and this stupid old head do not deserve so; but you will\nforget it, will you not?\" He bent low beside her as he spoke; she took\nhis hand, and looking at him through her tears, said hoarsely:--\n\n\"No, I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember; and with it I\nhave so much in memory of you that is sweet, that I take it all\ntogether. Now, you must all be going soon. Breakfast is ready, and we\nmust all eat that we may be strong.\"\n\nBreakfast was a strange meal to us all. We tried to be cheerful and\nencourage each other, and Mina was the brightest and most cheerful of\nus. When it was over, Van Helsing stood up and said:--\n\n\"Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enterprise. Are we\nall armed, as we were on that night when first we visited our enemy's\nlair; armed against ghostly as well as carnal attack?\" We all assured\nhim. \"Then it is well. Now, Madam Mina, you are in any case _quite_ safe\nhere until the sunset; and before then we shall return--if---- We shall\nreturn! But before we go let me see you armed against personal attack. I\nhave myself, since you came down, prepared your chamber by the placing\nof things of which we know, so that He may not enter. Now let me guard\nyourself. On your forehead I touch this piece of Sacred Wafer in the\nname of the Father, the Son, and----\"\n\nThere was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to hear. As he\nhad placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had seared it--had burned\ninto the flesh as though it had been a piece of white-hot metal. My poor\ndarling's brain had told her the significance of the fact as quickly as\nher nerves received the pain of it; and the two so overwhelmed her that\nher overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful scream. But the\nwords to her thought came quickly; the echo of the scream had not ceased\nto ring on the air when there came the reaction, and she sank on her\nknees on the floor in an agony of abasement. Pulling her beautiful hair\nover her face, as the leper of old his mantle, she wailed out:--\n\n\"Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty shuns my polluted flesh! I must\nbear this mark of shame upon my forehead until the Judgment Day.\" They\nall paused. I had thrown myself beside her in an agony of helpless\ngrief, and putting my arms around held her tight. For a few minutes our\nsorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends around us turned away\ntheir eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van Helsing turned and said\ngravely; so gravely that I could not help feeling that he was in some\nway inspired, and was stating things outside himself:--\n\n\"It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God himself see fit,\nas He most surely shall, on the Judgment Day, to redress all wrongs of\nthe earth and of His children that He has placed thereon. And oh, Madam\nMina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you be there to see, when that\nred scar, the sign of God's knowledge of what has been, shall pass away,\nand leave your forehead as pure as the heart we know. For so surely as\nwe live, that scar shall pass away when God sees right to lift the\nburden that is hard upon us. Till then we bear our Cross, as His Son did\nin obedience to His Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments of\nHis good pleasure, and that we ascend to His bidding as that other\nthrough stripes and shame; through tears and blood; through doubts and\nfears, and all that makes the difference between God and man.\"\n\nThere was hope in his words, and comfort; and they made for resignation.\nMina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each took one of the old\nman's hands and bent over and kissed it. Then without a word we all\nknelt down together, and, all holding hands, swore to be true to each\nother. We men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the\nhead of her whom, each in his own way, we loved; and we prayed for help\nand guidance in the terrible task which lay before us.\n\nIt was then time to start. So I said farewell to Mina, a parting which\nneither of us shall forget to our dying day; and we set out.\n\nTo one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a\nvampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible\nland alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant\nmany; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so\nthe holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.\n\nWe entered Carfax without trouble and found all things the same as on\nthe first occasion. It was hard to believe that amongst so prosaic\nsurroundings of neglect and dust and decay there was any ground for such\nfear as already we knew. Had not our minds been made up, and had there\nnot been terrible memories to spur us on, we could hardly have proceeded\nwith our task. We found no papers, or any sign of use in the house; and\nin the old chapel the great boxes looked just as we had seen them last.\nDr. Van Helsing said to us solemnly as we stood before them:--\n\n\"And now, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We must sterilise this\nearth, so sacred of holy memories, that he has brought from a far\ndistant land for such fell use. He has chosen this earth because it has\nbeen holy. Thus we defeat him with his own weapon, for we make it more\nholy still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we sanctify it to\nGod.\" As he spoke he took from his bag a screwdriver and a wrench, and\nvery soon the top of one of the cases was thrown open. The earth smelled\nmusty and close; but we did not somehow seem to mind, for our attention\nwas concentrated on the Professor. Taking from his box a piece of the\nSacred Wafer he laid it reverently on the earth, and then shutting down\nthe lid began to screw it home, we aiding him as he worked.\n\nOne by one we treated in the same way each of the great boxes, and left\nthem as we had found them to all appearance; but in each was a portion\nof the Host.\n\nWhen we closed the door behind us, the Professor said solemnly:--\n\n\"So much is already done. If it may be that with all the others we can\nbe so successful, then the sunset of this evening may shine on Madam\nMina's forehead all white as ivory and with no stain!\"\n\nAs we passed across the lawn on our way to the station to catch our\ntrain we could see the front of the asylum. I looked eagerly, and in the\nwindow of my own room saw Mina. I waved my hand to her, and nodded to\ntell that our work there was successfully accomplished. She nodded in\nreply to show that she understood. The last I saw, she was waving her\nhand in farewell. It was with a heavy heart that we sought the station\nand just caught the train, which was steaming in as we reached the\nplatform.\n\nI have written this in the train.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Piccadilly, 12:30 o'clock._--Just before we reached Fenchurch Street\nLord Godalming said to me:--\n\n\"Quincey and I will find a locksmith. You had better not come with us in\ncase there should be any difficulty; for under the circumstances it\nwouldn't seem so bad for us to break into an empty house. But you are a\nsolicitor and the Incorporated Law Society might tell you that you\nshould have known better.\" I demurred as to my not sharing any danger\neven of odium, but he went on: \"Besides, it will attract less attention\nif there are not too many of us. My title will make it all right with\nthe locksmith, and with any policeman that may come along. You had\nbetter go with Jack and the Professor and stay in the Green Park,\nsomewhere in sight of the house; and when you see the door opened and\nthe smith has gone away, do you all come across. We shall be on the\nlookout for you, and shall let you in.\"\n\n\"The advice is good!\" said Van Helsing, so we said no more. Godalming\nand Morris hurried off in a cab, we following in another. At the corner\nof Arlington Street our contingent got out and strolled into the Green\nPark. My heart beat as I saw the house on which so much of our hope was\ncentred, looming up grim and silent in its deserted condition amongst\nits more lively and spruce-looking neighbours. We sat down on a bench\nwithin good view, and began to smoke cigars so as to attract as little\nattention as possible. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet as we\nwaited for the coming of the others.\n\nAt length we saw a four-wheeler drive up. Out of it, in leisurely\nfashion, got Lord Godalming and Morris; and down from the box descended\na thick-set working man with his rush-woven basket of tools. Morris paid\nthe cabman, who touched his hat and drove away. Together the two\nascended the steps, and Lord Godalming pointed out what he wanted done.\nThe workman took off his coat leisurely and hung it on one of the spikes\nof the rail, saying something to a policeman who just then sauntered\nalong. The policeman nodded acquiescence, and the man kneeling down\nplaced his bag beside him. After searching through it, he took out a\nselection of tools which he produced to lay beside him in orderly\nfashion. Then he stood up, looked into the keyhole, blew into it, and\nturning to his employers, made some remark. Lord Godalming smiled, and\nthe man lifted a good-sized bunch of keys; selecting one of them, he\nbegan to probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After fumbling\nabout for a bit he tried a second, and then a third. All at once the\ndoor opened under a slight push from him, and he and the two others\nentered the hall. We sat still; my own cigar burnt furiously, but Van\nHelsing's went cold altogether. We waited patiently as we saw the\nworkman come out and bring in his bag. Then he held the door partly\nopen, steadying it with his knees, whilst he fitted a key to the lock.\nThis he finally handed to Lord Godalming, who took out his purse and\ngave him something. The man touched his hat, took his bag, put on his\ncoat and departed; not a soul took the slightest notice of the whole\ntransaction.\n\nWhen the man had fairly gone, we three crossed the street and knocked at\nthe door. It was immediately opened by Quincey Morris, beside whom stood\nLord Godalming lighting a cigar.\n\n\"The place smells so vilely,\" said the latter as we came in. It did\nindeed smell vilely--like the old chapel at Carfax--and with our\nprevious experience it was plain to us that the Count had been using the\nplace pretty freely. We moved to explore the house, all keeping together\nin case of attack; for we knew we had a strong and wily enemy to deal\nwith, and as yet we did not know whether the Count might not be in the\nhouse. In the dining-room, which lay at the back of the hall, we found\neight boxes of earth. Eight boxes only out of the nine, which we sought!\nOur work was not over, and would never be until we should have found the\nmissing box. First we opened the shutters of the window which looked out\nacross a narrow stone-flagged yard at the blank face of a stable,\npointed to look like the front of a miniature house. There were no\nwindows in it, so we were not afraid of being over-looked. We did not\nlose any time in examining the chests. With the tools which we had\nbrought with us we opened them, one by one, and treated them as we had\ntreated those others in the old chapel. It was evident to us that the\nCount was not at present in the house, and we proceeded to search for\nany of his effects.\n\nAfter a cursory glance at the rest of the rooms, from basement to attic,\nwe came to the conclusion that the dining-room contained any effects\nwhich might belong to the Count; and so we proceeded to minutely examine\nthem. They lay in a sort of orderly disorder on the great dining-room\ntable. There were title deeds of the Piccadilly house in a great bundle;\ndeeds of the purchase of the houses at Mile End and Bermondsey;\nnote-paper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All were covered up in thin\nwrapping paper to keep them from the dust. There were also a clothes\nbrush, a brush and comb, and a jug and basin--the latter containing\ndirty water which was reddened as if with blood. Last of all was a\nlittle heap of keys of all sorts and sizes, probably those belonging to\nthe other houses. When we had examined this last find, Lord Godalming\nand Quincey Morris taking accurate notes of the various addresses of the\nhouses in the East and the South, took with them the keys in a great\nbunch, and set out to destroy the boxes in these places. The rest of us\nare, with what patience we can, waiting their return--or the coming of\nthe Count.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n\n\n_3 October._--The time seemed terrible long whilst we were waiting for\nthe coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The Professor tried to keep\nour minds active by using them all the time. I could see his beneficent\npurpose, by the side glances which he threw from time to time at Harker.\nThe poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to see.\nLast night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful\nface, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn,\nhaggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning\neyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in\nfact, he is like a living flame. This may yet be his salvation, for, if\nall go well, it will tide him over the despairing period; he will then,\nin a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life. Poor fellow, I\nthought my own trouble was bad enough, but his----! The Professor knows\nthis well enough, and is doing his best to keep his mind active. What he\nhas been saying was, under the circumstances, of absorbing interest. So\nwell as I can remember, here it is:--\n\n\"I have studied, over and over again since they came into my hands, all\nthe papers relating to this monster; and the more I have studied, the\ngreater seems the necessity to utterly stamp him out. All through there\nare signs of his advance; not only of his power, but of his knowledge of\nit. As I learned from the researches of my friend Arminus of Buda-Pesth,\nhe was in life a most wonderful man. Soldier, statesman, and\nalchemist--which latter was the highest development of the\nscience-knowledge of his time. He had a mighty brain, a learning beyond\ncompare, and a heart that knew no fear and no remorse. He dared even to\nattend the Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of his time\nthat he did not essay. Well, in him the brain powers survived the\nphysical death; though it would seem that memory was not all complete.\nIn some faculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child; but he is\ngrowing, and some things that were childish at the first are now of\nman's stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well; and if it had not\nbeen that we have crossed his path he would be yet--he may be yet if we\nfail--the father or furtherer of a new order of beings, whose road must\nlead through Death, not Life.\"\n\nHarker groaned and said, \"And this is all arrayed against my darling!\nBut how is he experimenting? The knowledge may help us to defeat him!\"\n\n\"He has all along, since his coming, been trying his power, slowly but\nsurely; that big child-brain of his is working. Well for us, it is, as\nyet, a child-brain; for had he dared, at the first, to attempt certain\nthings he would long ago have been beyond our power. However, he means\nto succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford to wait\nand to go slow. _Festina lente_ may well be his motto.\"\n\n\"I fail to understand,\" said Harker wearily. \"Oh, do be more plain to\nme! Perhaps grief and trouble are dulling my brain.\"\n\nThe Professor laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder as he spoke:--\n\n\"Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of late, this\nmonster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How he has been\nmaking use of the zoöphagous patient to effect his entry into friend\nJohn's home; for your Vampire, though in all afterwards he can come when\nand how he will, must at the first make entry only when asked thereto by\nan inmate. But these are not his most important experiments. Do we not\nsee how at the first all these so great boxes were moved by others. He\nknew not then but that must be so. But all the time that so great\nchild-brain of his was growing, and he began to consider whether he\nmight not himself move the box. So he began to help; and then, when he\nfound that this be all-right, he try to move them all alone. And so he\nprogress, and he scatter these graves of him; and none but he know where\nthey are hidden. He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So\nthat he only use them in the night, or at such time as he can change his\nform, they do him equal well; and none may know these are his\nhiding-place! But, my child, do not despair; this knowledge come to him\njust too late! Already all of his lairs but one be sterilise as for him;\nand before the sunset this shall be so. Then he have no place where he\ncan move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we might be sure. Is\nthere not more at stake for us than for him? Then why we not be even\nmore careful than him? By my clock it is one hour and already, if all be\nwell, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way to us. To-day is our\nday, and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See! there are\nfive of us when those absent ones return.\"\n\nWhilst he was speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall door, the\ndouble postman's knock of the telegraph boy. We all moved out to the\nhall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up his hand to us to\nkeep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The boy handed in a\ndespatch. The Professor closed the door again, and, after looking at the\ndirection, opened it and read aloud.\n\n\"Look out for D. He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and\nhastened towards the South. He seems to be going the round and may want\nto see you: Mina.\"\n\nThere was a pause, broken by Jonathan Harker's voice:--\n\n\"Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet!\" Van Helsing turned to him\nquickly and said:--\n\n\"God will act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoice\nas yet; for what we wish for at the moment may be our undoings.\"\n\n\"I care for nothing now,\" he answered hotly, \"except to wipe out this\nbrute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!\"\n\n\"Oh, hush, hush, my child!\" said Van Helsing. \"God does not purchase\nsouls in this wise; and the Devil, though he may purchase, does not keep\nfaith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your pain and your\ndevotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her pain would be\ndoubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of us, we are\nall devoted to this cause, and to-day shall see the end. The time is\ncoming for action; to-day this Vampire is limit to the powers of man,\nand till sunset he may not change. It will take him time to arrive\nhere--see, it is twenty minutes past one--and there are yet some times\nbefore he can hither come, be he never so quick. What we must hope for\nis that my Lord Arthur and Quincey arrive first.\"\n\nAbout half an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker's telegram, there\ncame a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. It was just an ordinary\nknock, such as is given hourly by thousands of gentlemen, but it made\nthe Professor's heart and mine beat loudly. We looked at each other, and\ntogether moved out into the hall; we each held ready to use our various\narmaments--the spiritual in the left hand, the mortal in the right. Van\nHelsing pulled back the latch, and, holding the door half open, stood\nback, having both hands ready for action. The gladness of our hearts\nmust have shown upon our faces when on the step, close to the door, we\nsaw Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris. They came quickly in and closed\nthe door behind them, the former saying, as they moved along the\nhall:--\n\n\"It is all right. We found both places; six boxes in each and we\ndestroyed them all!\"\n\n\"Destroyed?\" asked the Professor.\n\n\"For him!\" We were silent for a minute, and then Quincey said:--\n\n\"There's nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, he doesn't turn up\nby five o'clock, we must start off; for it won't do to leave Mrs. Harker\nalone after sunset.\"\n\n\"He will be here before long now,\" said Van Helsing, who had been\nconsulting his pocket-book. \"_Nota bene_, in Madam's telegram he went\nsouth from Carfax, that means he went to cross the river, and he could\nonly do so at slack of tide, which should be something before one\no'clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He is as yet only\nsuspicious; and he went from Carfax first to the place where he would\nsuspect interference least. You must have been at Bermondsey only a\nshort time before him. That he is not here already shows that he went to\nMile End next. This took him some time; for he would then have to be\ncarried over the river in some way. Believe me, my friends, we shall not\nhave long to wait now. We should have ready some plan of attack, so that\nwe may throw away no chance. Hush, there is no time now. Have all your\narms! Be ready!\" He held up a warning hand as he spoke, for we all could\nhear a key softly inserted in the lock of the hall door.\n\nI could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which a\ndominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting parties and\nadventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had always\nbeen the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I had been\naccustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to be\nrenewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the room, he at once\nlaid out our plan of attack, and, without speaking a word, with a\ngesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing, Harker, and I were\njust behind the door, so that when it was opened the Professor could\nguard it whilst we two stepped between the incomer and the door.\nGodalming behind and Quincey in front stood just out of sight ready to\nmove in front of the window. We waited in a suspense that made the\nseconds pass with nightmare slowness. The slow, careful steps came along\nthe hall; the Count was evidently prepared for some surprise--at least\nhe feared it.\n\nSuddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room, winning a way past\nus before any of us could raise a hand to stay him. There was something\nso panther-like in the movement--something so unhuman, that it seemed\nto sober us all from the shock of his coming. The first to act was\nHarker, who, with a quick movement, threw himself before the door\nleading into the room in the front of the house. As the Count saw us, a\nhorrible sort of snarl passed over his face, showing the eye-teeth long\nand pointed; but the evil smile as quickly passed into a cold stare of\nlion-like disdain. His expression again changed as, with a single\nimpulse, we all advanced upon him. It was a pity that we had not some\nbetter organised plan of attack, for even at the moment I wondered what\nwe were to do. I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons would\navail us anything. Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had\nready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The\nblow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count's\nleap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorne\nthrough his heart. As it was, the point just cut the cloth of his coat,\nmaking a wide gap whence a bundle of bank-notes and a stream of gold\nfell out. The expression of the Count's face was so hellish, that for a\nmoment I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife\naloft again for another stroke. Instinctively I moved forward with a\nprotective impulse, holding the Crucifix and Wafer in my left hand. I\nfelt a mighty power fly along my arm; and it was without surprise that I\nsaw the monster cower back before a similar movement made spontaneously\nby each one of us. It would be impossible to describe the expression of\nhate and baffled malignity--of anger and hellish rage--which came over\nthe Count's face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast\nof his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead showed on the\npallid skin like a palpitating wound. The next instant, with a sinuous\ndive he swept under Harker's arm, ere his blow could fall, and, grasping\na handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw\nhimself at the window. Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass,\nhe tumbled into the flagged area below. Through the sound of the\nshivering glass I could hear the \"ting\" of the gold, as some of the\nsovereigns fell on the flagging.\n\nWe ran over and saw him spring unhurt from the ground. He, rushing up\nthe steps, crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open the stable door.\nThere he turned and spoke to us:--\n\n\"You think to baffle me, you--with your pale faces all in a row, like\nsheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You think\nyou have left me without a place to rest; but I have more. My revenge is\njust begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side. Your\ngirls that you all love are mine already; and through them you and\nothers shall yet be mine--my creatures, to do my bidding and to be my\njackals when I want to feed. Bah!\" With a contemptuous sneer, he passed\nquickly through the door, and we heard the rusty bolt creak as he\nfastened it behind him. A door beyond opened and shut. The first of us\nto speak was the Professor, as, realising the difficulty of following\nhim through the stable, we moved toward the hall.\n\n\"We have learnt something--much! Notwithstanding his brave words, he\nfears us; he fear time, he fear want! For if not, why he hurry so? His\nvery tone betray him, or my ears deceive. Why take that money? You\nfollow quick. You are hunters of wild beast, and understand it so. For\nme, I make sure that nothing here may be of use to him, if so that he\nreturn.\" As he spoke he put the money remaining into his pocket; took\nthe title-deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and swept the\nremaining things into the open fireplace, where he set fire to them with\na match.\n\nGodalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker had\nlowered himself from the window to follow the Count. He had, however,\nbolted the stable door; and by the time they had forced it open there\nwas no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry at the back\nof the house; but the mews was deserted and no one had seen him depart.\n\nIt was now late in the afternoon, and sunset was not far off. We had to\nrecognise that our game was up; with heavy hearts we agreed with the\nProfessor when he said:--\n\n\"Let us go back to Madam Mina--poor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we can do\njust now is done; and we can there, at least, protect her. But we need\nnot despair. There is but one more earth-box, and we must try to find\nit; when that is done all may yet be well.\" I could see that he spoke as\nbravely as he could to comfort Harker. The poor fellow was quite broken\ndown; now and again he gave a low groan which he could not suppress--he\nwas thinking of his wife.\n\nWith sad hearts we came back to my house, where we found Mrs. Harker\nwaiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which did honour to her\nbravery and unselfishness. When she saw our faces, her own became as\npale as death: for a second or two her eyes were closed as if she were\nin secret prayer; and then she said cheerfully:--\n\n\"I can never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling!\" As she spoke,\nshe took her husband's grey head in her hands and kissed it--\"Lay your\npoor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear! God will protect\nus if He so will it in His good intent.\" The poor fellow groaned. There\nwas no place for words in his sublime misery.\n\nWe had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it cheered us\nall up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat of food to hungry\npeople--for none of us had eaten anything since breakfast--or the sense\nof companionship may have helped us; but anyhow we were all less\nmiserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without hope. True to\nour promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything which had passed; and\nalthough she grew snowy white at times when danger had seemed to\nthreaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion to her was\nmanifested, she listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to the\npart where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she clung to\nher husband's arm, and held it tight as though her clinging could\nprotect him from any harm that might come. She said nothing, however,\ntill the narration was all done, and matters had been brought right up\nto the present time. Then without letting go her husband's hand she\nstood up amongst us and spoke. Oh, that I could give any idea of the\nscene; of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the radiant beauty\nof her youth and animation, with the red scar on her forehead, of which\nshe was conscious, and which we saw with grinding of our\nteeth--remembering whence and how it came; her loving kindness against\nour grim hate; her tender faith against all our fears and doubting; and\nwe, knowing that so far as symbols went, she with all her goodness and\npurity and faith, was outcast from God.\n\n\"Jonathan,\" she said, and the word sounded like music on her lips it was\nso full of love and tenderness, \"Jonathan dear, and you all my true,\ntrue friends, I want you to bear something in mind through all this\ndreadful time. I know that you must fight--that you must destroy even as\nyou destroyed the false Lucy so that the true Lucy might live hereafter;\nbut it is not a work of hate. That poor soul who has wrought all this\nmisery is the saddest case of all. Just think what will be his joy when\nhe, too, is destroyed in his worser part that his better part may have\nspiritual immortality. You must be pitiful to him, too, though it may\nnot hold your hands from his destruction.\"\n\nAs she spoke I could see her husband's face darken and draw together, as\nthough the passion in him were shrivelling his being to its core.\nInstinctively the clasp on his wife's hand grew closer, till his\nknuckles looked white. She did not flinch from the pain which I knew she\nmust have suffered, but looked at him with eyes that were more appealing\nthan ever. As she stopped speaking he leaped to his feet, almost tearing\nhis hand from hers as he spoke:--\n\n\"May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that\nearthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond it I could send\nhis soul for ever and ever to burning hell I would do it!\"\n\n\"Oh, hush! oh, hush! in the name of the good God. Don't say such things,\nJonathan, my husband; or you will crush me with fear and horror. Just\nthink, my dear--I have been thinking all this long, long day of it--that\n... perhaps ... some day ... I, too, may need such pity; and that some\nother like you--and with equal cause for anger--may deny it to me! Oh,\nmy husband! my husband, indeed I would have spared you such a thought\nhad there been another way; but I pray that God may not have treasured\nyour wild words, except as the heart-broken wail of a very loving and\nsorely stricken man. Oh, God, let these poor white hairs go in evidence\nof what he has suffered, who all his life has done no wrong, and on whom\nso many sorrows have come.\"\n\nWe men were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and we wept\nopenly. She wept, too, to see that her sweeter counsels had prevailed.\nHer husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and putting his arms\nround her, hid his face in the folds of her dress. Van Helsing beckoned\nto us and we stole out of the room, leaving the two loving hearts alone\nwith their God.\n\nBefore they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any coming\nof the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest in peace.\nShe tried to school herself to the belief, and, manifestly for her\nhusband's sake, tried to seem content. It was a brave struggle; and was,\nI think and believe, not without its reward. Van Helsing had placed at\nhand a bell which either of them was to sound in case of any emergency.\nWhen they had retired, Quincey, Godalming, and I arranged that we should\nsit up, dividing the night between us, and watch over the safety of the\npoor stricken lady. The first watch falls to Quincey, so the rest of us\nshall be off to bed as soon as we can. Godalming has already turned in,\nfor his is the second watch. Now that my work is done I, too, shall go\nto bed.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_3-4 October, close to midnight._--I thought yesterday would never end.\nThere was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort of blind belief\nthat to wake would be to find things changed, and that any change must\nnow be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed what our next step\nwas to be, but we could arrive at no result. All we knew was that one\nearth-box remained, and that the Count alone knew where it was. If he\nchooses to lie hidden, he may baffle us for years; and in the\nmeantime!--the thought is too horrible, I dare not think of it even now.\nThis I know: that if ever there was a woman who was all perfection, that\none is my poor wronged darling. I love her a thousand times more for her\nsweet pity of last night, a pity that made my own hate of the monster\nseem despicable. Surely God will not permit the world to be the poorer\nby the loss of such a creature. This is hope to me. We are all drifting\nreefwards now, and faith is our only anchor. Thank God! Mina is\nsleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what her dreams might be\nlike, with such terrible memories to ground them in. She has not been so\ncalm, within my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there came\nover her face a repose which was like spring after the blasts of March.\nI thought at the time that it was the softness of the red sunset on her\nface, but somehow now I think it has a deeper meaning. I am not sleepy\nmyself, though I am weary--weary to death. However, I must try to sleep;\nfor there is to-morrow to think of, and there is no rest for me\nuntil....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--I must have fallen asleep, for I was awaked by Mina, who was\nsitting up in bed, with a startled look on her face. I could see easily,\nfor we did not leave the room in darkness; she had placed a warning hand\nover my mouth, and now she whispered in my ear:--\n\n\"Hush! there is someone in the corridor!\" I got up softly, and crossing\nthe room, gently opened the door.\n\nJust outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide awake. He\nraised a warning hand for silence as he whispered to me:--\n\n\"Hush! go back to bed; it is all right. One of us will be here all\nnight. We don't mean to take any chances!\"\n\nHis look and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back and told Mina.\nShe sighed and positively a shadow of a smile stole over her poor, pale\nface as she put her arms round me and said softly:--\n\n\"Oh, thank God for good brave men!\" With a sigh she sank back again to\nsleep. I write this now as I am not sleepy, though I must try again.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_4 October, morning._--Once again during the night I was wakened by\nMina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the grey of the coming\ndawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas flame was\nlike a speck rather than a disc of light. She said to me hurriedly:--\n\n\"Go, call the Professor. I want to see him at once.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and matured\nwithout my knowing it. He must hypnotise me before the dawn, and then I\nshall be able to speak. Go quick, dearest; the time is getting close.\" I\nwent to the door. Dr. Seward was resting on the mattress, and, seeing\nme, he sprang to his feet.\n\n\"Is anything wrong?\" he asked, in alarm.\n\n\"No,\" I replied; \"but Mina wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at once.\"\n\n\"I will go,\" he said, and hurried into the Professor's room.\n\nIn two or three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room in his\ndressing-gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming were with Dr. Seward at\nthe door asking questions. When the Professor saw Mina a smile--a\npositive smile ousted the anxiety of his face; he rubbed his hands as he\nsaid:--\n\n\"Oh, my dear Madam Mina, this is indeed a change. See! friend Jonathan,\nwe have got our dear Madam Mina, as of old, back to us to-day!\" Then\nturning to her, he said, cheerfully: \"And what am I do for you? For at\nthis hour you do not want me for nothings.\"\n\n\"I want you to hypnotise me!\" she said. \"Do it before the dawn, for I\nfeel that then I can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for the time is\nshort!\" Without a word he motioned her to sit up in bed.\n\nLooking fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in front of her,\nfrom over the top of her head downward, with each hand in turn. Mina\ngazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my own heart beat\nlike a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand. Gradually\nher eyes closed, and she sat, stock still; only by the gentle heaving of\nher bosom could one know that she was alive. The Professor made a few\nmore passes and then stopped, and I could see that his forehead was\ncovered with great beads of perspiration. Mina opened her eyes; but she\ndid not seem the same woman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, and\nher voice had a sad dreaminess which was new to me. Raising his hand to\nimpose silence, the Professor motioned to me to bring the others in.\nThey came on tip-toe, closing the door behind them, and stood at the\nfoot of the bed, looking on. Mina appeared not to see them. The\nstillness was broken by Van Helsing's voice speaking in a low level tone\nwhich would not break the current of her thoughts:--\n\n\"Where are you?\" The answer came in a neutral way:--\n\n\"I do not know. Sleep has no place it can call its own.\" For several\nminutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid, and the Professor stood\nstaring at her fixedly; the rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The room\nwas growing lighter; without taking his eyes from Mina's face, Dr. Van\nHelsing motioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the day seemed\njust upon us. A red streak shot up, and a rosy light seemed to diffuse\nitself through the room. On the instant the Professor spoke again:--\n\n\"Where are you now?\" The answer came dreamily, but with intention; it\nwere as though she were interpreting something. I have heard her use the\nsame tone when reading her shorthand notes.\n\n\"I do not know. It is all strange to me!\"\n\n\"What do you see?\"\n\n\"I can see nothing; it is all dark.\"\n\n\"What do you hear?\" I could detect the strain in the Professor's patient\nvoice.\n\n\"The lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves leap. I can\nhear them on the outside.\"\n\n\"Then you are on a ship?\" We all looked at each other, trying to glean\nsomething each from the other. We were afraid to think. The answer came\nquick:--\n\n\"Oh, yes!\"\n\n\"What else do you hear?\"\n\n\"The sound of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is the\ncreaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the check of the capstan\nfalls into the rachet.\"\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"I am still--oh, so still. It is like death!\" The voice faded away into\na deep breath as of one sleeping, and the open eyes closed again.\n\nBy this time the sun had risen, and we were all in the full light of\nday. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina's shoulders, and laid her\nhead down softly on her pillow. She lay like a sleeping child for a few\nmoments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder to see\nus all around her. \"Have I been talking in my sleep?\" was all she said.\nShe seemed, however, to know the situation without telling, though she\nwas eager to know what she had told. The Professor repeated the\nconversation, and she said:--\n\n\"Then there is not a moment to lose: it may not be yet too late!\" Mr.\nMorris and Lord Godalming started for the door but the Professor's calm\nvoice called them back:--\n\n\"Stay, my friends. That ship, wherever it was, was weighing anchor\nwhilst she spoke. There are many ships weighing anchor at the moment in\nyour so great Port of London. Which of them is it that you seek? God be\nthanked that we have once again a clue, though whither it may lead us we\nknow not. We have been blind somewhat; blind after the manner of men,\nsince when we can look back we see what we might have seen looking\nforward if we had been able to see what we might have seen! Alas, but\nthat sentence is a puddle; is it not? We can know now what was in the\nCount's mind, when he seize that money, though Jonathan's so fierce\nknife put him in the danger that even he dread. He meant escape. Hear\nme, ESCAPE! He saw that with but one earth-box left, and a pack of men\nfollowing like dogs after a fox, this London was no place for him. He\nhave take his last earth-box on board a ship, and he leave the land. He\nthink to escape, but no! we follow him. Tally Ho! as friend Arthur would\nsay when he put on his red frock! Our old fox is wily; oh! so wily, and\nwe must follow with wile. I, too, am wily and I think his mind in a\nlittle while. In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there are waters\nbetween us which he do not want to pass, and which he could not if he\nwould--unless the ship were to touch the land, and then only at full or\nslack tide. See, and the sun is just rose, and all day to sunset is to\nus. Let us take bath, and dress, and have breakfast which we all need,\nand which we can eat comfortably since he be not in the same land with\nus.\" Mina looked at him appealingly as she asked:--\n\n\"But why need we seek him further, when he is gone away from us?\" He\ntook her hand and patted it as he replied:--\n\n\"Ask me nothings as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all\nquestions.\" He would say no more, and we separated to dress.\n\nAfter breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at her gravely for\na minute and then said sorrowfully:--\n\n\"Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him\neven if we have to follow him to the jaws of Hell!\" She grew paler as\nshe asked faintly:--\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because,\" he answered solemnly, \"he can live for centuries, and you are\nbut mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded--since once he put that mark\nupon your throat.\"\n\nI was just in time to catch her as she fell forward in a faint.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nDR. SEWARD'S PHONOGRAPH DIARY, SPOKEN BY VAN HELSING\n\n\nThis to Jonathan Harker.\n\nYou are to stay with your dear Madam Mina. We shall go to make our\nsearch--if I can call it so, for it is not search but knowing, and we\nseek confirmation only. But do you stay and take care of her to-day.\nThis is your best and most holiest office. This day nothing can find him\nhere. Let me tell you that so you will know what we four know already,\nfor I have tell them. He, our enemy, have gone away; he have gone back\nto his Castle in Transylvania. I know it so well, as if a great hand of\nfire wrote it on the wall. He have prepare for this in some way, and\nthat last earth-box was ready to ship somewheres. For this he took the\nmoney; for this he hurry at the last, lest we catch him before the sun\ngo down. It was his last hope, save that he might hide in the tomb that\nhe think poor Miss Lucy, being as he thought like him, keep open to him.\nBut there was not of time. When that fail he make straight for his last\nresource--his last earth-work I might say did I wish _double entente_.\nHe is clever, oh, so clever! he know that his game here was finish; and\nso he decide he go back home. He find ship going by the route he came,\nand he go in it. We go off now to find what ship, and whither bound;\nwhen we have discover that, we come back and tell you all. Then we will\ncomfort you and poor dear Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be hope\nwhen you think it over: that all is not lost. This very creature that we\npursue, he take hundreds of years to get so far as London; and yet in\none day, when we know of the disposal of him we drive him out. He is\nfinite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do.\nBut we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong\ntogether. Take heart afresh, dear husband of Madam Mina. This battle is\nbut begun, and in the end we shall win--so sure as that God sits on high\nto watch over His children. Therefore be of much comfort till we return.\n\nVAN HELSING.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_4 October._--When I read to Mina, Van Helsing's message in the\nphonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably. Already the\ncertainty that the Count is out of the country has given her comfort;\nand comfort is strength to her. For my own part, now that his horrible\ndanger is not face to face with us, it seems almost impossible to\nbelieve in it. Even my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seem\nlike a long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp autumn air in the bright\nsunlight----\n\nAlas! how can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye fell on\nthe red scar on my poor darling's white forehead. Whilst that lasts,\nthere can be no disbelief. And afterwards the very memory of it will\nkeep faith crystal clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we have been\nover all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality\nseems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There is\nsomething of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting.\nMina says that perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It may\nbe! I shall try to think as she does. We have never spoken to each other\nyet of the future. It is better to wait till we see the Professor and\nthe others after their investigations.\n\nThe day is running by more quickly than I ever thought a day could run\nfor me again. It is now three o'clock.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_5 October, 5 p. m._--Our meeting for report. Present: Professor Van\nHelsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris, Jonathan\nHarker, Mina Harker.\n\nDr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day to\ndiscover on what boat and whither bound Count Dracula made his escape:--\n\n\"As I knew that he wanted to get back to Transylvania, I felt sure that\nhe must go by the Danube mouth; or by somewhere in the Black Sea, since\nby that way he come. It was a dreary blank that was before us. _Omne\nignotum pro magnifico_; and so with heavy hearts we start to find what\nships leave for the Black Sea last night. He was in sailing ship, since\nMadam Mina tell of sails being set. These not so important as to go in\nyour list of the shipping in the _Times_, and so we go, by suggestion of\nLord Godalming, to your Lloyd's, where are note of all ships that sail,\nhowever so small. There we find that only one Black-Sea-bound ship go\nout with the tide. She is the _Czarina Catherine_, and she sail from\nDoolittle's Wharf for Varna, and thence on to other parts and up the\nDanube. 'Soh!' said I, 'this is the ship whereon is the Count.' So off\nwe go to Doolittle's Wharf, and there we find a man in an office of wood\nso small that the man look bigger than the office. From him we inquire\nof the goings of the _Czarina Catherine_. He swear much, and he red face\nand loud of voice, but he good fellow all the same; and when Quincey\ngive him something from his pocket which crackle as he roll it up, and\nput it in a so small bag which he have hid deep in his clothing, he\nstill better fellow and humble servant to us. He come with us, and ask\nmany men who are rough and hot; these be better fellows too when they\nhave been no more thirsty. They say much of blood and bloom, and of\nothers which I comprehend not, though I guess what they mean; but\nnevertheless they tell us all things which we want to know.\n\n\"They make known to us among them, how last afternoon at about five\no'clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and pale, with high nose\nand teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That he be all in\nblack, except that he have a hat of straw which suit not him or the\ntime. That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry as to what ship\nsails for the Black Sea and for where. Some took him to the office and\nthen to the ship, where he will not go aboard but halt at shore end of\ngang-plank, and ask that the captain come to him. The captain come, when\ntold that he will be pay well; and though he swear much at the first he\nagree to term. Then the thin man go and some one tell him where horse\nand cart can be hired. He go there and soon he come again, himself\ndriving cart on which a great box; this he himself lift down, though it\ntake several to put it on truck for the ship. He give much talk to\ncaptain as to how and where his box is to be place; but the captain like\nit not and swear at him in many tongues, and tell him that if he like he\ncan come and see where it shall be. But he say 'no'; that he come not\nyet, for that he have much to do. Whereupon the captain tell him that he\nhad better be quick--with blood--for that his ship will leave the\nplace--of blood--before the turn of the tide--with blood. Then the thin\nman smile and say that of course he must go when he think fit; but he\nwill be surprise if he go quite so soon. The captain swear again,\npolyglot, and the thin man make him bow, and thank him, and say that he\nwill so far intrude on his kindness as to come aboard before the\nsailing. Final the captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues tell\nhim that he doesn't want no Frenchmen--with bloom upon them and also\nwith blood--in his ship--with blood on her also. And so, after asking\nwhere there might be close at hand a ship where he might purchase ship\nforms, he departed.\n\n\"No one knew where he went 'or bloomin' well cared,' as they said, for\nthey had something else to think of--well with blood again; for it soon\nbecame apparent to all that the _Czarina Catherine_ would not sail as\nwas expected. A thin mist began to creep up from the river, and it grew,\nand grew; till soon a dense fog enveloped the ship and all around her.\nThe captain swore polyglot--very polyglot--polyglot with bloom and\nblood; but he could do nothing. The water rose and rose; and he began to\nfear that he would lose the tide altogether. He was in no friendly mood,\nwhen just at full tide, the thin man came up the gang-plank again and\nasked to see where his box had been stowed. Then the captain replied\nthat he wished that he and his box--old and with much bloom and\nblood--were in hell. But the thin man did not be offend, and went down\nwith the mate and saw where it was place, and came up and stood awhile\non deck in fog. He must have come off by himself, for none notice him.\nIndeed they thought not of him; for soon the fog begin to melt away, and\nall was clear again. My friends of the thirst and the language that was\nof bloom and blood laughed, as they told how the captain's swears\nexceeded even his usual polyglot, and was more than ever full of\npicturesque, when on questioning other mariners who were on movement up\nand down on the river that hour, he found that few of them had seen any\nof fog at all, except where it lay round the wharf. However, the ship\nwent out on the ebb tide; and was doubtless by morning far down the\nriver mouth. She was by then, when they told us, well out to sea.\n\n\"And so, my dear Madam Mina, it is that we have to rest for a time, for\nour enemy is on the sea, with the fog at his command, on his way to the\nDanube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go she never so quick; and when\nwe start we go on land more quick, and we meet him there. Our best hope\nis to come on him when in the box between sunrise and sunset; for then\nhe can make no struggle, and we may deal with him as we should. There\nare days for us, in which we can make ready our plan. We know all about\nwhere he go; for we have seen the owner of the ship, who have shown us\ninvoices and all papers that can be. The box we seek is to be landed in\nVarna, and to be given to an agent, one Ristics who will there present\nhis credentials; and so our merchant friend will have done his part.\nWhen he ask if there be any wrong, for that so, he can telegraph and\nhave inquiry made at Varna, we say 'no'; for what is to be done is not\nfor police or of the customs. It must be done by us alone and in our own\nway.\"\n\nWhen Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I asked him if he were certain\nthat the Count had remained on board the ship. He replied: \"We have the\nbest proof of that: your own evidence, when in the hypnotic trance this\nmorning.\" I asked him again if it were really necessary that they should\npursue the Count, for oh! I dread Jonathan leaving me, and I know that\nhe would surely go if the others went. He answered in growing passion,\nat first quietly. As he went on, however, he grew more angry and more\nforceful, till in the end we could not but see wherein was at least some\nof that personal dominance which made him so long a master amongst\nmen:--\n\n\"Yes, it is necessary--necessary--necessary! For your sake in the first,\nand then for the sake of humanity. This monster has done much harm\nalready, in the narrow scope where he find himself, and in the short\ntime when as yet he was only as a body groping his so small measure in\ndarkness and not knowing. All this have I told these others; you, my\ndear Madam Mina, will learn it in the phonograph of my friend John, or\nin that of your husband. I have told them how the measure of leaving his\nown barren land--barren of peoples--and coming to a new land where life\nof man teems till they are like the multitude of standing corn, was the\nwork of centuries. Were another of the Un-Dead, like him, to try to do\nwhat he has done, perhaps not all the centuries of the world that have\nbeen, or that will be, could aid him. With this one, all the forces of\nnature that are occult and deep and strong must have worked together in\nsome wondrous way. The very place, where he have been alive, Un-Dead for\nall these centuries, is full of strangeness of the geologic and chemical\nworld. There are deep caverns and fissures that reach none know whither.\nThere have been volcanoes, some of whose openings still send out waters\nof strange properties, and gases that kill or make to vivify. Doubtless,\nthere is something magnetic or electric in some of these combinations of\noccult forces which work for physical life in strange way; and in\nhimself were from the first some great qualities. In a hard and warlike\ntime he was celebrate that he have more iron nerve, more subtle brain,\nmore braver heart, than any man. In him some vital principle have in\nstrange way found their utmost; and as his body keep strong and grow and\nthrive, so his brain grow too. All this without that diabolic aid which\nis surely to him; for it have to yield to the powers that come from,\nand are, symbolic of good. And now this is what he is to us. He have\ninfect you--oh, forgive me, my dear, that I must say such; but it is for\ngood of you that I speak. He infect you in such wise, that even if he do\nno more, you have only to live--to live in your own old, sweet way; and\nso in time, death, which is of man's common lot and with God's sanction,\nshall make you like to him. This must not be! We have sworn together\nthat it must not. Thus are we ministers of God's own wish: that the\nworld, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given over to monsters,\nwhose very existence would defame Him. He have allowed us to redeem one\nsoul already, and we go out as the old knights of the Cross to redeem\nmore. Like them we shall travel towards the sunrise; and like them, if\nwe fall, we fall in good cause.\" He paused and I said:--\n\n\"But will not the Count take his rebuff wisely? Since he has been driven\nfrom England, will he not avoid it, as a tiger does the village from\nwhich he has been hunted?\"\n\n\"Aha!\" he said, \"your simile of the tiger good, for me, and I shall\nadopt him. Your man-eater, as they of India call the tiger who has once\ntasted blood of the human, care no more for the other prey, but prowl\nunceasing till he get him. This that we hunt from our village is a\ntiger, too, a man-eater, and he never cease to prowl. Nay, in himself he\nis not one to retire and stay afar. In his life, his living life, he go\nover the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own ground; he be\nbeaten back, but did he stay? No! He come again, and again, and again.\nLook at his persistence and endurance. With the child-brain that was to\nhim he have long since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. What\ndoes he do? He find out the place of all the world most of promise for\nhim. Then he deliberately set himself down to prepare for the task. He\nfind in patience just how is his strength, and what are his powers. He\nstudy new tongues. He learn new social life; new environment of old\nways, the politic, the law, the finance, the science, the habit of a new\nland and a new people who have come to be since he was. His glimpse that\nhe have had, whet his appetite only and enkeen his desire. Nay, it help\nhim to grow as to his brain; for it all prove to him how right he was at\nthe first in his surmises. He have done this alone; all alone! from a\nruin tomb in a forgotten land. What more may he not do when the greater\nworld of thought is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we know\nhim; who can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off whole\npeoples. Oh, if such an one was to come from God, and not the Devil,\nwhat a force for good might he not be in this old world of ours. But we\nare pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in silence, and our\nefforts all in secret; for in this enlightened age, when men believe not\neven what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest\nstrength. It would be at once his sheath and his armour, and his weapons\nto destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril even our own souls\nfor the safety of one we love--for the good of mankind, and for the\nhonour and glory of God.\"\n\nAfter a general discussion it was determined that for to-night nothing\nbe definitely settled; that we should all sleep on the facts, and try to\nthink out the proper conclusions. To-morrow, at breakfast, we are to\nmeet again, and, after making our conclusions known to one another, we\nshall decide on some definite cause of action.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI feel a wonderful peace and rest to-night. It is as if some haunting\npresence were removed from me. Perhaps ...\n\nMy surmise was not finished, could not be; for I caught sight in the\nmirror of the red mark upon my forehead; and I knew that I was still\nunclean.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_5 October._--We all rose early, and I think that sleep did much for\neach and all of us. When we met at early breakfast there was more\ngeneral cheerfulness than any of us had ever expected to experience\nagain.\n\nIt is really wonderful how much resilience there is in human nature. Let\nany obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed in any way--even by\ndeath--and we fly back to first principles of hope and enjoyment. More\nthan once as we sat around the table, my eyes opened in wonder whether\nthe whole of the past days had not been a dream. It was only when I\ncaught sight of the red blotch on Mrs. Harker's forehead that I was\nbrought back to reality. Even now, when I am gravely revolving the\nmatter, it is almost impossible to realise that the cause of all our\ntrouble is still existent. Even Mrs. Harker seems to lose sight of her\ntrouble for whole spells; it is only now and again, when something\nrecalls it to her mind, that she thinks of her terrible scar. We are to\nmeet here in my study in half an hour and decide on our course of\naction. I see only one immediate difficulty, I know it by instinct\nrather than reason: we shall all have to speak frankly; and yet I fear\nthat in some mysterious way poor Mrs. Harker's tongue is tied. I _know_\nthat she forms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I can\nguess how brilliant and how true they must be; but she will not, or\ncannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing, and\nhe and I are to talk it over when we are alone. I suppose it is some of\nthat horrid poison which has got into her veins beginning to work. The\nCount had his own purposes when he gave her what Van Helsing called \"the\nVampire's baptism of blood.\" Well, there may be a poison that distils\nitself out of good things; in an age when the existence of ptomaines is\na mystery we should not wonder at anything! One thing I know: that if my\ninstinct be true regarding poor Mrs. Harker's silences, then there is a\nterrible difficulty--an unknown danger--in the work before us. The same\npower that compels her silence may compel her speech. I dare not think\nfurther; for so I should in my thoughts dishonour a noble woman!\n\nVan Helsing is coming to my study a little before the others. I shall\ntry to open the subject with him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--When the Professor came in, we talked over the state of\nthings. I could see that he had something on his mind which he wanted to\nsay, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject. After beating\nabout the bush a little, he said suddenly:--\n\n\"Friend John, there is something that you and I must talk of alone, just\nat the first at any rate. Later, we may have to take the others into our\nconfidence\"; then he stopped, so I waited; he went on:--\n\n\"Madam Mina, our poor, dear Madam Mina is changing.\" A cold shiver ran\nthrough me to find my worst fears thus endorsed. Van Helsing\ncontinued:--\n\n\"With the sad experience of Miss Lucy, we must this time be warned\nbefore things go too far. Our task is now in reality more difficult than\never, and this new trouble makes every hour of the direst importance. I\ncan see the characteristics of the vampire coming in her face. It is now\nbut very, very slight; but it is to be seen if we have eyes to notice\nwithout to prejudge. Her teeth are some sharper, and at times her eyes\nare more hard. But these are not all, there is to her the silence now\noften; as so it was with Miss Lucy. She did not speak, even when she\nwrote that which she wished to be known later. Now my fear is this. If\nit be that she can, by our hypnotic trance, tell what the Count see and\nhear, is it not more true that he who have hypnotise her first, and who\nhave drink of her very blood and make her drink of his, should, if he\nwill, compel her mind to disclose to him that which she know?\" I nodded\nacquiescence; he went on:--\n\n\"Then, what we must do is to prevent this; we must keep her ignorant of\nour intent, and so she cannot tell what she know not. This is a painful\ntask! Oh, so painful that it heart-break me to think of; but it must be.\nWhen to-day we meet, I must tell her that for reason which we will not\nto speak she must not more be of our council, but be simply guarded by\nus.\" He wiped his forehead, which had broken out in profuse perspiration\nat the thought of the pain which he might have to inflict upon the poor\nsoul already so tortured. I knew that it would be some sort of comfort\nto him if I told him that I also had come to the same conclusion; for at\nany rate it would take away the pain of doubt. I told him, and the\neffect was as I expected.\n\nIt is now close to the time of our general gathering. Van Helsing has\ngone away to prepare for the meeting, and his painful part of it. I\nreally believe his purpose is to be able to pray alone.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--At the very outset of our meeting a great personal relief was\nexperienced by both Van Helsing and myself. Mrs. Harker had sent a\nmessage by her husband to say that she would not join us at present, as\nshe thought it better that we should be free to discuss our movements\nwithout her presence to embarrass us. The Professor and I looked at each\nother for an instant, and somehow we both seemed relieved. For my own\npart, I thought that if Mrs. Harker realised the danger herself, it was\nmuch pain as well as much danger averted. Under the circumstances we\nagreed, by a questioning look and answer, with finger on lip, to\npreserve silence in our suspicions, until we should have been able to\nconfer alone again. We went at once into our Plan of Campaign. Van\nHelsing roughly put the facts before us first:--\n\n\"The _Czarina Catherine_ left the Thames yesterday morning. It will take\nher at the quickest speed she has ever made at least three weeks to\nreach Varna; but we can travel overland to the same place in three days.\nNow, if we allow for two days less for the ship's voyage, owing to such\nweather influences as we know that the Count can bring to bear; and if\nwe allow a whole day and night for any delays which may occur to us,\nthen we have a margin of nearly two weeks. Thus, in order to be quite\nsafe, we must leave here on 17th at latest. Then we shall at any rate\nbe in Varna a day before the ship arrives, and able to make such\npreparations as may be necessary. Of course we shall all go armed--armed\nagainst evil things, spiritual as well as physical.\" Here Quincey Morris\nadded:--\n\n\"I understand that the Count comes from a wolf country, and it may be\nthat he shall get there before us. I propose that we add Winchesters to\nour armament. I have a kind of belief in a Winchester when there is any\ntrouble of that sort around. Do you remember, Art, when we had the pack\nafter us at Tobolsk? What wouldn't we have given then for a repeater\napiece!\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Van Helsing, \"Winchesters it shall be. Quincey's head is\nlevel at all times, but most so when there is to hunt, metaphor be more\ndishonour to science than wolves be of danger to man. In the meantime we\ncan do nothing here; and as I think that Varna is not familiar to any of\nus, why not go there more soon? It is as long to wait here as there.\nTo-night and to-morrow we can get ready, and then, if all be well, we\nfour can set out on our journey.\"\n\n\"We four?\" said Harker interrogatively, looking from one to another of\nus.\n\n\"Of course!\" answered the Professor quickly, \"you must remain to take\ncare of your so sweet wife!\" Harker was silent for awhile and then said\nin a hollow voice:--\n\n\"Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want to consult with\nMina.\" I thought that now was the time for Van Helsing to warn him not\nto disclose our plans to her; but he took no notice. I looked at him\nsignificantly and coughed. For answer he put his finger on his lips and\nturned away.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_5 October, afternoon._--For some time after our meeting this morning I\ncould not think. The new phases of things leave my mind in a state of\nwonder which allows no room for active thought. Mina's determination not\nto take any part in the discussion set me thinking; and as I could not\nargue the matter with her, I could only guess. I am as far as ever from\na solution now. The way the others received it, too, puzzled me; the\nlast time we talked of the subject we agreed that there was to be no\nmore concealment of anything amongst us. Mina is sleeping now, calmly\nand sweetly like a little child. Her lips are curved and her face beams\nwith happiness. Thank God, there are such moments still for her.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina's happy sleep, and\ncame as near to being happy myself as I suppose I shall ever be. As the\nevening drew on, and the earth took its shadows from the sun sinking\nlower, the silence of the room grew more and more solemn to me. All at\nonce Mina opened her eyes, and looking at me tenderly, said:--\n\n\"Jonathan, I want you to promise me something on your word of honour. A\npromise made to me, but made holily in God's hearing, and not to be\nbroken though I should go down on my knees and implore you with bitter\ntears. Quick, you must make it to me at once.\"\n\n\"Mina,\" I said, \"a promise like that, I cannot make at once. I may have\nno right to make it.\"\n\n\"But, dear one,\" she said, with such spiritual intensity that her eyes\nwere like pole stars, \"it is I who wish it; and it is not for myself.\nYou can ask Dr. Van Helsing if I am not right; if he disagrees you may\ndo as you will. Nay, more, if you all agree, later, you are absolved\nfrom the promise.\"\n\n\"I promise!\" I said, and for a moment she looked supremely happy; though\nto me all happiness for her was denied by the red scar on her forehead.\nShe said:--\n\n\"Promise me that you will not tell me anything of the plans formed for\nthe campaign against the Count. Not by word, or inference, or\nimplication; not at any time whilst this remains to me!\" and she\nsolemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that she was in earnest, and said\nsolemnly:--\n\n\"I promise!\" and as I said it I felt that from that instant a door had\nbeen shut between us.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later, midnight._--Mina has been bright and cheerful all the evening.\nSo much so that all the rest seemed to take courage, as if infected\nsomewhat with her gaiety; as a result even I myself felt as if the pall\nof gloom which weighs us down were somewhat lifted. We all retired\nearly. Mina is now sleeping like a little child; it is a wonderful thing\nthat her faculty of sleep remains to her in the midst of her terrible\ntrouble. Thank God for it, for then at least she can forget her care.\nPerhaps her example may affect me as her gaiety did to-night. I shall\ntry it. Oh! for a dreamless sleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_6 October, morning._--Another surprise. Mina woke me early, about the\nsame time as yesterday, and asked me to bring Dr. Van Helsing. I thought\nthat it was another occasion for hypnotism, and without question went\nfor the Professor. He had evidently expected some such call, for I found\nhim dressed in his room. His door was ajar, so that he could hear the\nopening of the door of our room. He came at once; as he passed into the\nroom, he asked Mina if the others might come, too.\n\n\"No,\" she said quite simply, \"it will not be necessary. You can tell\nthem just as well. I must go with you on your journey.\"\n\nDr. Van Helsing was as startled as I was. After a moment's pause he\nasked:--\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"You must take me with you. I am safer with you, and you shall be safer,\ntoo.\"\n\n\"But why, dear Madam Mina? You know that your safety is our solemnest\nduty. We go into danger, to which you are, or may be, more liable than\nany of us from--from circumstances--things that have been.\" He paused,\nembarrassed.\n\nAs she replied, she raised her finger and pointed to her forehead:--\n\n\"I know. That is why I must go. I can tell you now, whilst the sun is\ncoming up; I may not be able again. I know that when the Count wills me\nI must go. I know that if he tells me to come in secret, I must come by\nwile; by any device to hoodwink--even Jonathan.\" God saw the look that\nshe turned on me as she spoke, and if there be indeed a Recording Angel\nthat look is noted to her everlasting honour. I could only clasp her\nhand. I could not speak; my emotion was too great for even the relief of\ntears. She went on:--\n\n\"You men are brave and strong. You are strong in your numbers, for you\ncan defy that which would break down the human endurance of one who had\nto guard alone. Besides, I may be of service, since you can hypnotise me\nand so learn that which even I myself do not know.\" Dr. Van Helsing said\nvery gravely:--\n\n\"Madam Mina, you are, as always, most wise. You shall with us come; and\ntogether we shall do that which we go forth to achieve.\" When he had\nspoken, Mina's long spell of silence made me look at her. She had fallen\nback on her pillow asleep; she did not even wake when I had pulled up\nthe blind and let in the sunlight which flooded the room. Van Helsing\nmotioned to me to come with him quietly. We went to his room, and within\na minute Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris were with us also.\nHe told them what Mina had said, and went on:--\n\n\"In the morning we shall leave for Varna. We have now to deal with a\nnew factor: Madam Mina. Oh, but her soul is true. It is to her an agony\nto tell us so much as she has done; but it is most right, and we are\nwarned in time. There must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must be\nready to act the instant when that ship arrives.\"\n\n\"What shall we do exactly?\" asked Mr. Morris laconically. The Professor\npaused before replying:--\n\n\"We shall at the first board that ship; then, when we have identified\nthe box, we shall place a branch of the wild rose on it. This we shall\nfasten, for when it is there none can emerge; so at least says the\nsuperstition. And to superstition must we trust at the first; it was\nman's faith in the early, and it have its root in faith still. Then,\nwhen we get the opportunity that we seek, when none are near to see, we\nshall open the box, and--and all will be well.\"\n\n\"I shall not wait for any opportunity,\" said Morris. \"When I see the box\nI shall open it and destroy the monster, though there were a thousand\nmen looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the next moment!\" I\ngrasped his hand instinctively and found it as firm as a piece of steel.\nI think he understood my look; I hope he did.\n\n\"Good boy,\" said Dr. Van Helsing. \"Brave boy. Quincey is all man. God\nbless him for it. My child, believe me none of us shall lag behind or\npause from any fear. I do but say what we may do--what we must do. But,\nindeed, indeed we cannot say what we shall do. There are so many things\nwhich may happen, and their ways and their ends are so various that\nuntil the moment we may not say. We shall all be armed, in all ways; and\nwhen the time for the end has come, our effort shall not be lack. Now\nlet us to-day put all our affairs in order. Let all things which touch\non others dear to us, and who on us depend, be complete; for none of us\ncan tell what, or when, or how, the end may be. As for me, my own\naffairs are regulate; and as I have nothing else to do, I shall go make\narrangements for the travel. I shall have all tickets and so forth for\nour journey.\"\n\nThere was nothing further to be said, and we parted. I shall now settle\nup all my affairs of earth, and be ready for whatever may come....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--It is all done; my will is made, and all complete. Mina if she\nsurvive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, then the others who\nhave been so good to us shall have remainder.\n\nIt is now drawing towards the sunset; Mina's uneasiness calls my\nattention to it. I am sure that there is something on her mind which the\ntime of exact sunset will reveal. These occasions are becoming harrowing\ntimes for us all, for each sunrise and sunset opens up some new\ndanger--some new pain, which, however, may in God's will be means to a\ngood end. I write all these things in the diary since my darling must\nnot hear them now; but if it may be that she can see them again, they\nshall be ready.\n\nShe is calling to me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n\n\n_11 October, Evening._--Jonathan Harker has asked me to note this, as he\nsays he is hardly equal to the task, and he wants an exact record kept.\n\nI think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see Mrs.\nHarker a little before the time of sunset. We have of late come to\nunderstand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of peculiar freedom;\nwhen her old self can be manifest without any controlling force subduing\nor restraining her, or inciting her to action. This mood or condition\nbegins some half hour or more before actual sunrise or sunset, and lasts\ntill either the sun is high, or whilst the clouds are still aglow with\nthe rays streaming above the horizon. At first there is a sort of\nnegative condition, as if some tie were loosened, and then the absolute\nfreedom quickly follows; when, however, the freedom ceases the\nchange-back or relapse comes quickly, preceded only by a spell of\nwarning silence.\n\nTo-night, when we met, she was somewhat constrained, and bore all the\nsigns of an internal struggle. I put it down myself to her making a\nviolent effort at the earliest instant she could do so. A very few\nminutes, however, gave her complete control of herself; then, motioning\nher husband to sit beside her on the sofa where she was half reclining,\nshe made the rest of us bring chairs up close. Taking her husband's hand\nin hers began:--\n\n\"We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know,\ndear; I know that you will always be with me to the end.\" This was to\nher husband whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon hers. \"In\nthe morning we go out upon our task, and God alone knows what may be in\nstore for any of us. You are going to be so good to me as to take me\nwith you. I know that all that brave earnest men can do for a poor weak\nwoman, whose soul perhaps is lost--no, no, not yet, but is at any rate\nat stake--you will do. But you must remember that I am not as you are.\nThere is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may destroy me; which\nmust destroy me, unless some relief comes to us. Oh, my friends, you\nknow as well as I do, that my soul is at stake; and though I know there\nis one way out for me, you must not and I must not take it!\" She looked\nappealingly to us all in turn, beginning and ending with her husband.\n\n\"What is that way?\" asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. \"What is that\nway, which we must not--may not--take?\"\n\n\"That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of another, before\nthe greater evil is entirely wrought. I know, and you know, that were I\nonce dead you could and would set free my immortal spirit, even as you\ndid my poor Lucy's. Were death, or the fear of death, the only thing\nthat stood in the way I would not shrink to die here, now, amidst the\nfriends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot believe that to die\nin such a case, when there is hope before us and a bitter task to be\ndone, is God's will. Therefore, I, on my part, give up here the\ncertainty of eternal rest, and go out into the dark where may be the\nblackest things that the world or the nether world holds!\" We were all\nsilent, for we knew instinctively that this was only a prelude. The\nfaces of the others were set and Harker's grew ashen grey; perhaps he\nguessed better than any of us what was coming. She continued:--\n\n\"This is what I can give into the hotch-pot.\" I could not but note the\nquaint legal phrase which she used in such a place, and with all\nseriousness. \"What will each of you give? Your lives I know,\" she went\non quickly, \"that is easy for brave men. Your lives are God's, and you\ncan give them back to Him; but what will you give to me?\" She looked\nagain questioningly, but this time avoided her husband's face. Quincey\nseemed to understand; he nodded, and her face lit up. \"Then I shall tell\nyou plainly what I want, for there must be no doubtful matter in this\nconnection between us now. You must promise me, one and all--even you,\nmy beloved husband--that, should the time come, you will kill me.\"\n\n\"What is that time?\" The voice was Quincey's, but it was low and\nstrained.\n\n\"When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is better that\nI die that I may live. When I am thus dead in the flesh, then you will,\nwithout a moment's delay, drive a stake through me and cut off my head;\nor do whatever else may be wanting to give me rest!\"\n\nQuincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt down before her\nand taking her hand in his said solemnly:--\n\n\"I'm only a rough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a man should to\nwin such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred and\ndear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from the duty\nthat you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall make all\ncertain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that the time has\ncome!\"\n\n\"My true friend!\" was all she could say amid her fast-falling tears, as,\nbending over, she kissed his hand.\n\n\"I swear the same, my dear Madam Mina!\" said Van Helsing.\n\n\"And I!\" said Lord Godalming, each of them in turn kneeling to her to\ntake the oath. I followed, myself. Then her husband turned to her\nwan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of\nhis hair, and asked:--\n\n\"And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?\"\n\n\"You too, my dearest,\" she said, with infinite yearning of pity in her\nvoice and eyes. \"You must not shrink. You are nearest and dearest and\nall the world to me; our souls are knit into one, for all life and all\ntime. Think, dear, that there have been times when brave men have killed\ntheir wives and their womenkind, to keep them from falling into the\nhands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more because\nthose that they loved implored them to slay them. It is men's duty\ntowards those whom they love, in such times of sore trial! And oh, my\ndear, if it is to be that I must meet death at any hand, let it be at\nthe hand of him that loves me best. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not\nforgotten your mercy in poor Lucy's case to him who loved\"--she stopped\nwith a flying blush, and changed her phrase--\"to him who had best right\nto give her peace. If that time shall come again, I look to you to make\nit a happy memory of my husband's life that it was his loving hand which\nset me free from the awful thrall upon me.\"\n\n\"Again I swear!\" came the Professor's resonant voice. Mrs. Harker\nsmiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of relief she leaned back and\nsaid:--\n\n\"And now one word of warning, a warning which you must never forget:\nthis time, if it ever come, may come quickly and unexpectedly, and in\nsuch case you must lose no time in using your opportunity. At such a\ntime I myself might be--nay! if the time ever comes, _shall be_--leagued\nwith your enemy against you.\"\n\n\"One more request;\" she became very solemn as she said this, \"it is not\nvital and necessary like the other, but I want you to do one thing for\nme, if you will.\" We all acquiesced, but no one spoke; there was no need\nto speak:--\n\n\"I want you to read the Burial Service.\" She was interrupted by a deep\ngroan from her husband; taking his hand in hers, she held it over her\nheart, and continued: \"You must read it over me some day. Whatever may\nbe the issue of all this fearful state of things, it will be a sweet\nthought to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will I hope read it, for\nthen it will be in your voice in my memory for ever--come what may!\"\n\n\"But oh, my dear one,\" he pleaded, \"death is afar off from you.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" she said, holding up a warning hand. \"I am deeper in death at\nthis moment than if the weight of an earthly grave lay heavy upon me!\"\n\n\"Oh, my wife, must I read it?\" he said, before he began.\n\n\"It would comfort me, my husband!\" was all she said; and he began to\nread when she had got the book ready.\n\n\"How can I--how could any one--tell of that strange scene, its\nsolemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its horror; and, withal, its\nsweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty of bitter\ntruth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted to the heart\nhad he seen that little group of loving and devoted friends kneeling\nround that stricken and sorrowing lady; or heard the tender passion of\nher husband's voice, as in tones so broken with emotion that often he\nhad to pause, he read the simple and beautiful service from the Burial\nof the Dead. I--I cannot go on--words--and--v-voice--f-fail m-me!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShe was right in her instinct. Strange as it all was, bizarre as it may\nhereafter seem even to us who felt its potent influence at the time, it\ncomforted us much; and the silence, which showed Mrs. Harker's coming\nrelapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem so full of despair to any\nof us as we had dreaded.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_15 October, Varna._--We left Charing Cross on the morning of the 12th,\ngot to Paris the same night, and took the places secured for us in the\nOrient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here at about five\no'clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram had\narrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel--\"the\nOdessus.\" The journey may have had incidents; I was, however, too eager\nto get on, to care for them. Until the _Czarina Catherine_ comes into\nport there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world.\nThank God! Mina is well, and looks to be getting stronger; her colour is\ncoming back. She sleeps a great deal; throughout the journey she slept\nnearly all the time. Before sunrise and sunset, however, she is very\nwakeful and alert; and it has become a habit for Van Helsing to\nhypnotise her at such times. At first, some effort was needed, and he\nhad to make many passes; but now, she seems to yield at once, as if by\nhabit, and scarcely any action is needed. He seems to have power at\nthese particular moments to simply will, and her thoughts obey him. He\nalways asks her what she can see and hear. She answers to the first:--\n\n\"Nothing; all is dark.\" And to the second:--\n\n\"I can hear the waves lapping against the ship, and the water rushing\nby. Canvas and cordage strain and masts and yards creak. The wind is\nhigh--I can hear it in the shrouds, and the bow throws back the foam.\"\nIt is evident that the _Czarina Catherine_ is still at sea, hastening on\nher way to Varna. Lord Godalming has just returned. He had four\ntelegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same effect:\nthat the _Czarina Catherine_ had not been reported to Lloyd's from\nanywhere. He had arranged before leaving London that his agent should\nsend him every day a telegram saying if the ship had been reported. He\nwas to have a message even if she were not reported, so that he might be\nsure that there was a watch being kept at the other end of the wire.\n\nWe had dinner and went to bed early. To-morrow we are to see the\nVice-Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about getting on board the ship\nas soon as she arrives. Van Helsing says that our chance will be to get\non the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Count, even if he takes the\nform of a bat, cannot cross the running water of his own volition, and\nso cannot leave the ship. As he dare not change to man's form without\nsuspicion--which he evidently wishes to avoid--he must remain in the\nbox. If, then, we can come on board after sunrise, he is at our mercy;\nfor we can open the box and make sure of him, as we did of poor Lucy,\nbefore he wakes. What mercy he shall get from us will not count for\nmuch. We think that we shall not have much trouble with officials or the\nseamen. Thank God! this is the country where bribery can do anything,\nand we are well supplied with money. We have only to make sure that the\nship cannot come into port between sunset and sunrise without our being\nwarned, and we shall be safe. Judge Moneybag will settle this case, I\nthink!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_16 October._--Mina's report still the same: lapping waves and rushing\nwater, darkness and favouring winds. We are evidently in good time, and\nwhen we hear of the _Czarina Catherine_ we shall be ready. As she must\npass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some report.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_17 October._--Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to welcome\nthe Count on his return from his tour. Godalming told the shippers that\nhe fancied that the box sent aboard might contain something stolen from\na friend of his, and got a half consent that he might open it at his own\nrisk. The owner gave him a paper telling the Captain to give him every\nfacility in doing whatever he chose on board the ship, and also a\nsimilar authorisation to his agent at Varna. We have seen the agent, who\nwas much impressed with Godalming's kindly manner to him, and we are all\nsatisfied that whatever he can do to aid our wishes will be done. We\nhave already arranged what to do in case we get the box open. If the\nCount is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off his head at once and\ndrive a stake through his heart. Morris and Godalming and I shall\nprevent interference, even if we have to use the arms which we shall\nhave ready. The Professor says that if we can so treat the Count's body,\nit will soon after fall into dust. In such case there would be no\nevidence against us, in case any suspicion of murder were aroused. But\neven if it were not, we should stand or fall by our act, and perhaps\nsome day this very script may be evidence to come between some of us and\na rope. For myself, I should take the chance only too thankfully if it\nwere to come. We mean to leave no stone unturned to carry out our\nintent. We have arranged with certain officials that the instant the\n_Czarina Catherine_ is seen, we are to be informed by a special\nmessenger.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_24 October._--A whole week of waiting. Daily telegrams to Godalming,\nbut only the same story: \"Not yet reported.\" Mina's morning and evening\nhypnotic answer is unvaried: lapping waves, rushing water, and creaking\nmasts.\n\n_Telegram, October 24th._\n\n_Rufus Smith, Lloyd's, London, to Lord Godalming, care of H. B. M.\nVice-Consul, Varna._\n\n\"_Czarina Catherine_ reported this morning from Dardanelles.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_25 October._--How I miss my phonograph! To write diary with a pen is\nirksome to me; but Van Helsing says I must. We were all wild with\nexcitement yesterday when Godalming got his telegram from Lloyd's. I\nknow now what men feel in battle when the call to action is heard. Mrs.\nHarker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of emotion. After\nall, it is not strange that she did not; for we took special care not to\nlet her know anything about it, and we all tried not to show any\nexcitement when we were in her presence. In old days she would, I am\nsure, have noticed, no matter how we might have tried to conceal it; but\nin this way she is greatly changed during the past three weeks. The\nlethargy grows upon her, and though she seems strong and well, and is\ngetting back some of her colour, Van Helsing and I are not satisfied. We\ntalk of her often; we have not, however, said a word to the others. It\nwould break poor Harker's heart--certainly his nerve--if he knew that we\nhad even a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, he tells me,\nher teeth very carefully, whilst she is in the hypnotic condition, for\nhe says that so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is no active\ndanger of a change in her. If this change should come, it would be\nnecessary to take steps!... We both know what those steps would have to\nbe, though we do not mention our thoughts to each other. We should\nneither of us shrink from the task--awful though it be to contemplate.\n\"Euthanasia\" is an excellent and a comforting word! I am grateful to\nwhoever invented it.\n\nIt is only about 24 hours' sail from the Dardanelles to here, at the\nrate the _Czarina Catherine_ has come from London. She should therefore\narrive some time in the morning; but as she cannot possibly get in\nbefore then, we are all about to retire early. We shall get up at one\no'clock, so as to be ready.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_25 October, Noon_.--No news yet of the ship's arrival. Mrs. Harker's\nhypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so it is possible\nthat we may get news at any moment. We men are all in a fever of\nexcitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are cold as ice, and\nan hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife\nwhich he now always carries with him. It will be a bad lookout for the\nCount if the edge of that \"Kukri\" ever touches his throat, driven by\nthat stern, ice-cold hand!\n\nVan Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Mrs. Harker to-day. About\nnoon she got into a sort of lethargy which we did not like; although we\nkept silence to the others, we were neither of us happy about it. She\nhad been restless all the morning, so that we were at first glad to know\nthat she was sleeping. When, however, her husband mentioned casually\nthat she was sleeping so soundly that he could not wake her, we went to\nher room to see for ourselves. She was breathing naturally and looked so\nwell and peaceful that we agreed that the sleep was better for her than\nanything else. Poor girl, she has so much to forget that it is no wonder\nthat sleep, if it brings oblivion to her, does her good.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Our opinion was justified, for when after a refreshing sleep\nof some hours she woke up, she seemed brighter and better than she had\nbeen for days. At sunset she made the usual hypnotic report. Wherever he\nmay be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying to his destination. To\nhis doom, I trust!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_26 October._--Another day and no tidings of the _Czarina Catherine_.\nShe ought to be here by now. That she is still journeying _somewhere_ is\napparent, for Mrs. Harker's hypnotic report at sunrise was still the\nsame. It is possible that the vessel may be lying by, at times, for fog;\nsome of the steamers which came in last evening reported patches of fog\nboth to north and south of the port. We must continue our watching, as\nthe ship may now be signalled any moment.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_27 October, Noon._--Most strange; no news yet of the ship we wait for.\nMrs. Harker reported last night and this morning as usual: \"lapping\nwaves and rushing water,\" though she added that \"the waves were very\nfaint.\" The telegrams from London have been the same: \"no further\nreport.\" Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told me just now that he\nfears the Count is escaping us. He added significantly:--\n\n\"I did not like that lethargy of Madam Mina's. Souls and memories can do\nstrange things during trance.\" I was about to ask him more, but Harker\njust then came in, and he held up a warning hand. We must try to-night\nat sunset to make her speak more fully when in her hypnotic state.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     _28 October._--Telegram. _Rufus Smith, London, to Lord Godalming,\n     care H. B. M. Vice Consul, Varna._\n\n     \"_Czarina Catherine_ reported entering Galatz at one o'clock\n     to-day.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_28 October._--When the telegram came announcing the arrival in Galatz I\ndo not think it was such a shock to any of us as might have been\nexpected. True, we did not know whence, or how, or when, the bolt would\ncome; but I think we all expected that something strange would happen.\nThe delay of arrival at Varna made us individually satisfied that things\nwould not be just as we had expected; we only waited to learn where the\nchange would occur. None the less, however, was it a surprise. I suppose\nthat nature works on such a hopeful basis that we believe against\nourselves that things will be as they ought to be, not as we should know\nthat they will be. Transcendentalism is a beacon to the angels, even if\nit be a will-o'-the-wisp to man. It was an odd experience and we all\ntook it differently. Van Helsing raised his hand over his head for a\nmoment, as though in remonstrance with the Almighty; but he said not a\nword, and in a few seconds stood up with his face sternly set. Lord\nGodalming grew very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was myself half\nstunned and looked in wonder at one after another. Quincey Morris\ntightened his belt with that quick movement which I knew so well; in our\nold wandering days it meant \"action.\" Mrs. Harker grew ghastly white, so\nthat the scar on her forehead seemed to burn, but she folded her hands\nmeekly and looked up in prayer. Harker smiled--actually smiled--the\ndark, bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his\naction belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of\nthe great Kukri knife and rested there. \"When does the next train start\nfor Galatz?\" said Van Helsing to us generally.\n\n\"At 6:30 to-morrow morning!\" We all started, for the answer came from\nMrs. Harker.\n\n\"How on earth do you know?\" said Art.\n\n\"You forget--or perhaps you do not know, though Jonathan does and so\ndoes Dr. Van Helsing--that I am the train fiend. At home in Exeter I\nalways used to make up the time-tables, so as to be helpful to my\nhusband. I found it so useful sometimes, that I always make a study of\nthe time-tables now. I knew that if anything were to take us to Castle\nDracula we should go by Galatz, or at any rate through Bucharest, so I\nlearned the times very carefully. Unhappily there are not many to learn,\nas the only train to-morrow leaves as I say.\"\n\n\"Wonderful woman!\" murmured the Professor.\n\n\"Can't we get a special?\" asked Lord Godalming. Van Helsing shook his\nhead: \"I fear not. This land is very different from yours or mine; even\nif we did have a special, it would probably not arrive as soon as our\nregular train. Moreover, we have something to prepare. We must think.\nNow let us organize. You, friend Arthur, go to the train and get the\ntickets and arrange that all be ready for us to go in the morning. Do\nyou, friend Jonathan, go to the agent of the ship and get from him\nletters to the agent in Galatz, with authority to make search the ship\njust as it was here. Morris Quincey, you see the Vice-Consul, and get\nhis aid with his fellow in Galatz and all he can do to make our way\nsmooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. John will stay\nwith Madam Mina and me, and we shall consult. For so if time be long you\nmay be delayed; and it will not matter when the sun set, since I am here\nwith Madam to make report.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Mrs. Harker brightly, and more like her old self than she\nhad been for many a long day, \"shall try to be of use in all ways, and\nshall think and write for you as I used to do. Something is shifting\nfrom me in some strange way, and I feel freer than I have been of late!\"\nThe three younger men looked happier at the moment as they seemed to\nrealise the significance of her words; but Van Helsing and I, turning to\neach other, met each a grave and troubled glance. We said nothing at the\ntime, however.\n\nWhen the three men had gone out to their tasks Van Helsing asked Mrs.\nHarker to look up the copy of the diaries and find him the part of\nHarker's journal at the Castle. She went away to get it; when the door\nwas shut upon her he said to me:--\n\n\"We mean the same! speak out!\"\n\n\"There is some change. It is a hope that makes me sick, for it may\ndeceive us.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Do you know why I asked her to get the manuscript?\"\n\n\"No!\" said I, \"unless it was to get an opportunity of seeing me alone.\"\n\n\"You are in part right, friend John, but only in part. I want to tell\nyou something. And oh, my friend, I am taking a great--a terrible--risk;\nbut I believe it is right. In the moment when Madam Mina said those\nwords that arrest both our understanding, an inspiration came to me. In\nthe trance of three days ago the Count sent her his spirit to read her\nmind; or more like he took her to see him in his earth-box in the ship\nwith water rushing, just as it go free at rise and set of sun. He learn\nthen that we are here; for she have more to tell in her open life with\neyes to see and ears to hear than he, shut, as he is, in his coffin-box.\nNow he make his most effort to escape us. At present he want her not.\n\n\"He is sure with his so great knowledge that she will come at his call;\nbut he cut her off--take her, as he can do, out of his own power, that\nso she come not to him. Ah! there I have hope that our man-brains that\nhave been of man so long and that have not lost the grace of God, will\ncome higher than his child-brain that lie in his tomb for centuries,\nthat grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish and\ntherefore small. Here comes Madam Mina; not a word to her of her trance!\nShe know it not; and it would overwhelm her and make despair just when\nwe want all her hope, all her courage; when most we want all her great\nbrain which is trained like man's brain, but is of sweet woman and have\na special power which the Count give her, and which he may not take away\naltogether--though he think not so. Hush! let me speak, and you shall\nlearn. Oh, John, my friend, we are in awful straits. I fear, as I never\nfeared before. We can only trust the good God. Silence! here she comes!\"\n\nI thought that the Professor was going to break down and have hysterics,\njust as he had when Lucy died, but with a great effort he controlled\nhimself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs. Harker tripped into\nthe room, bright and happy-looking and, in the doing of work, seemingly\nforgetful of her misery. As she came in, she handed a number of sheets\nof typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over them gravely, his face\nbrightening up as he read. Then holding the pages between his finger and\nthumb he said:--\n\n\"Friend John, to you with so much of experience already--and you, too,\ndear Madam Mina, that are young--here is a lesson: do not fear ever to\nthink. A half-thought has been buzzing often in my brain, but I fear to\nlet him loose his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back to\nwhere that half-thought come from and I find that he be no half-thought\nat all; that be a whole thought, though so young that he is not yet\nstrong to use his little wings. Nay, like the \"Ugly Duck\" of my friend\nHans Andersen, he be no duck-thought at all, but a big swan-thought that\nsail nobly on big wings, when the time come for him to try them. See I\nread here what Jonathan have written:--\n\n\"That other of his race who, in a later age, again and again, brought\nhis forces over The Great River into Turkey Land; who, when he was\nbeaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had to come\nalone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered,\nsince he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph.\"\n\n\"What does this tell us? Not much? no! The Count's child-thought see\nnothing; therefore he speak so free. Your man-thought see nothing; my\nman-thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there comes another word\nfrom some one who speak without thought because she, too, know not what\nit mean--what it _might_ mean. Just as there are elements which rest,\nyet when in nature's course they move on their way and they touch--then\npouf! and there comes a flash of light, heaven wide, that blind and kill\nand destroy some; but that show up all earth below for leagues and\nleagues. Is it not so? Well, I shall explain. To begin, have you ever\nstudy the philosophy of crime? 'Yes' and 'No.' You, John, yes; for it is\na study of insanity. You, no, Madam Mina; for crime touch you not--not\nbut once. Still, your mind works true, and argues not _a particulari ad\nuniversale_. There is this peculiarity in criminals. It is so constant,\nin all countries and at all times, that even police, who know not much\nfrom philosophy, come to know it empirically, that _it is_. That is to\nbe empiric. The criminal always work at one crime--that is the true\ncriminal who seems predestinate to crime, and who will of none other.\nThis criminal has not full man-brain. He is clever and cunning and\nresourceful; but he be not of man-stature as to brain. He be of\nchild-brain in much. Now this criminal of ours is predestinate to crime\nalso; he, too, have child-brain, and it is of the child to do what he\nhave done. The little bird, the little fish, the little animal learn not\nby principle, but empirically; and when he learn to do, then there is to\nhim the ground to start from to do more. '_Dos pou sto_,' said\nArchimedes. 'Give me a fulcrum, and I shall move the world!' To do once,\nis the fulcrum whereby child-brain become man-brain; and until he have\nthe purpose to do more, he continue to do the same again every time,\njust as he have done before! Oh, my dear, I see that your eyes are\nopened, and that to you the lightning flash show all the leagues,\" for\nMrs. Harker began to clap her hands and her eyes sparkled. He went on:--\n\n\"Now you shall speak. Tell us two dry men of science what you see with\nthose so bright eyes.\" He took her hand and held it whilst she spoke.\nHis finger and thumb closed on her pulse, as I thought instinctively and\nunconsciously, as she spoke:--\n\n\"The Count is a criminal and of criminal type. Nordau and Lombroso would\nso classify him, and _quâ_ criminal he is of imperfectly formed mind.\nThus, in a difficulty he has to seek resource in habit. His past is a\nclue, and the one page of it that we know--and that from his own\nlips--tells that once before, when in what Mr. Morris would call a\n'tight place,' he went back to his own country from the land he had\ntried to invade, and thence, without losing purpose, prepared himself\nfor a new effort. He came again better equipped for his work; and won.\nSo he came to London to invade a new land. He was beaten, and when all\nhope of success was lost, and his existence in danger, he fled back over\nthe sea to his home; just as formerly he had fled back over the Danube\nfrom Turkey Land.\"\n\n\"Good, good! oh, you so clever lady!\" said Van Helsing,\nenthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later he\nsaid to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sick-room\nconsultation:--\n\n\"Seventy-two only; and in all this excitement. I have hope.\" Turning to\nher again, he said with keen expectation:--\n\n\"But go on. Go on! there is more to tell if you will. Be not afraid;\nJohn and I know. I do in any case, and shall tell you if you are right.\nSpeak, without fear!\"\n\n\"I will try to; but you will forgive me if I seem egotistical.\"\n\n\"Nay! fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that we think.\"\n\n\"Then, as he is criminal he is selfish; and as his intellect is small\nand his action is based on selfishness, he confines himself to one\npurpose. That purpose is remorseless. As he fled back over the Danube,\nleaving his forces to be cut to pieces, so now he is intent on being\nsafe, careless of all. So his own selfishness frees my soul somewhat\nfrom the terrible power which he acquired over me on that dreadful\nnight. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for His great mercy! My soul\nis freer than it has been since that awful hour; and all that haunts me\nis a fear lest in some trance or dream he may have used my knowledge for\nhis ends.\" The Professor stood up:--\n\n\"He has so used your mind; and by it he has left us here in Varna,\nwhilst the ship that carried him rushed through enveloping fog up to\nGalatz, where, doubtless, he had made preparation for escaping from us.\nBut his child-mind only saw so far; and it may be that, as ever is in\nGod's Providence, the very thing that the evil-doer most reckoned on for\nhis selfish good, turns out to be his chiefest harm. The hunter is taken\nin his own snare, as the great Psalmist says. For now that he think he\nis free from every trace of us all, and that he has escaped us with so\nmany hours to him, then his selfish child-brain will whisper him to\nsleep. He think, too, that as he cut himself off from knowing your mind,\nthere can be no knowledge of him to you; there is where he fail! That\nterrible baptism of blood which he give you makes you free to go to him\nin spirit, as you have as yet done in your times of freedom, when the\nsun rise and set. At such times you go by my volition and not by his;\nand this power to good of you and others, as you have won from your\nsuffering at his hands. This is now all the more precious that he know\nit not, and to guard himself have even cut himself off from his\nknowledge of our where. We, however, are not selfish, and we believe\nthat God is with us through all this blackness, and these many dark\nhours. We shall follow him; and we shall not flinch; even if we peril\nourselves that we become like him. Friend John, this has been a great\nhour; and it have done much to advance us on our way. You must be scribe\nand write him all down, so that when the others return from their work\nyou can give it to them; then they shall know as we do.\"\n\nAnd so I have written it whilst we wait their return, and Mrs. Harker\nhas written with her typewriter all since she brought the MS. to us.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n\n\n_29 October._--This is written in the train from Varna to Galatz. Last\nnight we all assembled a little before the time of sunset. Each of us\nhad done his work as well as he could; so far as thought, and endeavour,\nand opportunity go, we are prepared for the whole of our journey, and\nfor our work when we get to Galatz. When the usual time came round Mrs.\nHarker prepared herself for her hypnotic effort; and after a longer and\nmore serious effort on the part of Van Helsing than has been usually\nnecessary, she sank into the trance. Usually she speaks on a hint; but\nthis time the Professor had to ask her questions, and to ask them pretty\nresolutely, before we could learn anything; at last her answer came:--\n\n\"I can see nothing; we are still; there are no waves lapping, but only a\nsteady swirl of water softly running against the hawser. I can hear\nmen's voices calling, near and far, and the roll and creak of oars in\nthe rowlocks. A gun is fired somewhere; the echo of it seems far away.\nThere is tramping of feet overhead, and ropes and chains are dragged\nalong. What is this? There is a gleam of light; I can feel the air\nblowing upon me.\"\n\nHere she stopped. She had risen, as if impulsively, from where she lay\non the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms upwards, as if lifting a\nweight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with understanding.\nQuincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at her intently, whilst\nHarker's hand instinctively closed round the hilt of his Kukri. There\nwas a long pause. We all knew that the time when she could speak was\npassing; but we felt that it was useless to say anything. Suddenly she\nsat up, and, as she opened her eyes, said sweetly:--\n\n\"Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so tired!\" We\ncould only make her happy, and so acquiesced. She bustled off to get\ntea; when she had gone Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"You see, my friends. _He_ is close to land: he has left his\nearth-chest. But he has yet to get on shore. In the night he may lie\nhidden somewhere; but if he be not carried on shore, or if the ship do\nnot touch it, he cannot achieve the land. In such case he can, if it be\nin the night, change his form and can jump or fly on shore, as he did\nat Whitby. But if the day come before he get on shore, then, unless he\nbe carried he cannot escape. And if he be carried, then the customs men\nmay discover what the box contain. Thus, in fine, if he escape not on\nshore to-night, or before dawn, there will be the whole day lost to him.\nWe may then arrive in time; for if he escape not at night we shall come\non him in daytime, boxed up and at our mercy; for he dare not be his\ntrue self, awake and visible, lest he be discovered.\"\n\nThere was no more to be said, so we waited in patience until the dawn;\nat which time we might learn more from Mrs. Harker.\n\nEarly this morning we listened, with breathless anxiety, for her\nresponse in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even longer in coming\nthan before; and when it came the time remaining until full sunrise was\nso short that we began to despair. Van Helsing seemed to throw his whole\nsoul into the effort; at last, in obedience to his will she made\nreply:--\n\n\"All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and some creaking as\nof wood on wood.\" She paused, and the red sun shot up. We must wait till\nto-night.\n\nAnd so it is that we are travelling towards Galatz in an agony of\nexpectation. We are due to arrive between two and three in the morning;\nbut already, at Bucharest, we are three hours late, so we cannot\npossibly get in till well after sun-up. Thus we shall have two more\nhypnotic messages from Mrs. Harker; either or both may possibly throw\nmore light on what is happening.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Sunset has come and gone. Fortunately it came at a time when\nthere was no distraction; for had it occurred whilst we were at a\nstation, we might not have secured the necessary calm and isolation.\nMrs. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less readily than\nthis morning. I am in fear that her power of reading the Count's\nsensations may die away, just when we want it most. It seems to me that\nher imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she has been in the trance\nhitherto she has confined herself to the simplest of facts. If this goes\non it may ultimately mislead us. If I thought that the Count's power\nover her would die away equally with her power of knowledge it would be\na happy thought; but I am afraid that it may not be so. When she did\nspeak, her words were enigmatical:--\n\n\"Something is going out; I can feel it pass me like a cold wind. I can\nhear, far off, confused sounds--as of men talking in strange tongues,\nfierce-falling water, and the howling of wolves.\" She stopped and a\nshudder ran through her, increasing in intensity for a few seconds,\ntill, at the end, she shook as though in a palsy. She said no more, even\nin answer to the Professor's imperative questioning. When she woke from\nthe trance, she was cold, and exhausted, and languid; but her mind was\nall alert. She could not remember anything, but asked what she had said;\nwhen she was told, she pondered over it deeply for a long time and in\nsilence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_30 October, 7 a. m._--We are near Galatz now, and I may not have time\nto write later. Sunrise this morning was anxiously looked for by us all.\nKnowing of the increasing difficulty of procuring the hypnotic trance,\nVan Helsing began his passes earlier than usual. They produced no\neffect, however, until the regular time, when she yielded with a still\ngreater difficulty, only a minute before the sun rose. The Professor\nlost no time in his questioning; her answer came with equal quickness:--\n\n\"All is dark. I hear water swirling by, level with my ears, and the\ncreaking of wood on wood. Cattle low far off. There is another sound, a\nqueer one like----\" She stopped and grew white, and whiter still.\n\n\"Go on; go on! Speak, I command you!\" said Van Helsing in an agonised\nvoice. At the same time there was despair in his eyes, for the risen sun\nwas reddening even Mrs. Harker's pale face. She opened her eyes, and we\nall started as she said, sweetly and seemingly with the utmost\nunconcern:--\n\n\"Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what you know I can't? I don't remember\nanything.\" Then, seeing the look of amazement on our faces, she said,\nturning from one to the other with a troubled look:--\n\n\"What have I said? What have I done? I know nothing, only that I was\nlying here, half asleep, and heard you say go on! speak, I command you!'\nIt seemed so funny to hear you order me about, as if I were a bad\nchild!\"\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said, sadly, \"it is proof, if proof be needed, of\nhow I love and honour you, when a word for your good, spoken more\nearnest than ever, can seem so strange because it is to order her whom I\nam proud to obey!\"\n\nThe whistles are sounding; we are nearing Galatz. We are on fire with\nanxiety and eagerness.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_30 October._--Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had been\nordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best be spared, since\nhe does not speak any foreign language. The forces were distributed\nmuch as they had been at Varna, except that Lord Godalming went to the\nVice-Consul, as his rank might serve as an immediate guarantee of some\nsort to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Jonathan and the two\ndoctors went to the shipping agent to learn particulars of the arrival\nof the _Czarina Catherine_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Lord Godalming has returned. The Consul is away, and the\nVice-Consul sick; so the routine work has been attended to by a clerk.\nHe was very obliging, and offered to do anything in his power.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_30 October._--At nine o'clock Dr. Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, and I called\non Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the agents of the London firm of\nHapgood. They had received a wire from London, in answer to Lord\nGodalming's telegraphed request, asking us to show them any civility in\ntheir power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took us at once\non board the _Czarina Catherine_, which lay at anchor out in the river\nharbour. There we saw the Captain, Donelson by name, who told us of his\nvoyage. He said that in all his life he had never had so favourable a\nrun.\n\n\"Man!\" he said, \"but it made us afeard, for we expeckit that we should\nhave to pay for it wi' some rare piece o' ill luck, so as to keep up the\naverage. It's no canny to run frae London to the Black Sea wi' a wind\nahint ye, as though the Deil himself were blawin' on yer sail for his\nain purpose. An' a' the time we could no speer a thing. Gin we were nigh\na ship, or a port, or a headland, a fog fell on us and travelled wi' us,\ntill when after it had lifted and we looked out, the deil a thing could\nwe see. We ran by Gibraltar wi'oot bein' able to signal; an' till we\ncame to the Dardanelles and had to wait to get our permit to pass, we\nnever were within hail o' aught. At first I inclined to slack off sail\nand beat about till the fog was lifted; but whiles, I thocht that if the\nDeil was minded to get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do it\nwhether we would or no. If we had a quick voyage it would be no to our\nmiscredit wi' the owners, or no hurt to our traffic; an' the Old Mon who\nhad served his ain purpose wad be decently grateful to us for no\nhinderin' him.\" This mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition\nand commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said:--\n\n\"Mine friend, that Devil is more clever than he is thought by some; and\nhe know when he meet his match!\" The skipper was not displeased with the\ncompliment, and went on:--\n\n\"When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to grumble; some o' them,\nthe Roumanians, came and asked me to heave overboard a big box which had\nbeen put on board by a queer lookin' old man just before we had started\nfrae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put out their twa\nfingers when they saw him, to guard against the evil eye. Man! but the\nsupersteetion of foreigners is pairfectly rideeculous! I sent them aboot\ntheir business pretty quick; but as just after a fog closed in on us I\nfelt a wee bit as they did anent something, though I wouldn't say it was\nagin the big box. Well, on we went, and as the fog didn't let up for\nfive days I joost let the wind carry us; for if the Deil wanted to get\nsomewheres--well, he would fetch it up a'reet. An' if he didn't, well,\nwe'd keep a sharp lookout anyhow. Sure eneuch, we had a fair way and\ndeep water all the time; and two days ago, when the mornin' sun came\nthrough the fog, we found ourselves just in the river opposite Galatz.\nThe Roumanians were wild, and wanted me right or wrong to take out the\nbox and fling it in the river. I had to argy wi' them aboot it wi' a\nhandspike; an' when the last o' them rose off the deck wi' his head in\nhis hand, I had convinced them that, evil eye or no evil eye, the\nproperty and the trust of my owners were better in my hands than in the\nriver Danube. They had, mind ye, taken the box on the deck ready to\nfling in, and as it was marked Galatz _via_ Varna, I thocht I'd let it\nlie till we discharged in the port an' get rid o't althegither. We\ndidn't do much clearin' that day, an' had to remain the nicht at anchor;\nbut in the mornin', braw an' airly, an hour before sun-up, a man came\naboard wi' an order, written to him from England, to receive a box\nmarked for one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was one ready to\nhis hand. He had his papers a' reet, an' glad I was to be rid o' the\ndam' thing, for I was beginnin' masel' to feel uneasy at it. If the Deil\ndid have any luggage aboord the ship, I'm thinkin' it was nane ither\nthan that same!\"\n\n\"What was the name of the man who took it?\" asked Dr. Van Helsing with\nrestrained eagerness.\n\n\"I'll be tellin' ye quick!\" he answered, and, stepping down to his\ncabin, produced a receipt signed \"Immanuel Hildesheim.\" Burgen-strasse\n16 was the address. We found out that this was all the Captain knew; so\nwith thanks we came away.\n\nWe found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the Adelphi\nTheatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His arguments were\npointed with specie--we doing the punctuation--and with a little\nbargaining he told us what he knew. This turned out to be simple but\nimportant. He had received a letter from Mr. de Ville of London, telling\nhim to receive, if possible before sunrise so as to avoid customs, a box\nwhich would arrive at Galatz in the _Czarina Catherine_. This he was to\ngive in charge to a certain Petrof Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovaks\nwho traded down the river to the port. He had been paid for his work by\nan English bank note, which had been duly cashed for gold at the Danube\nInternational Bank. When Skinsky had come to him, he had taken him to\nthe ship and handed over the box, so as to save porterage. That was all\nhe knew.\n\nWe then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find him. One of his\nneighbours, who did not seem to bear him any affection, said that he had\ngone away two days before, no one knew whither. This was corroborated by\nhis landlord, who had received by messenger the key of the house\ntogether with the rent due, in English money. This had been between ten\nand eleven o'clock last night. We were at a standstill again.\n\nWhilst we were talking one came running and breathlessly gasped out that\nthe body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall of the churchyard of\nSt. Peter, and that the throat had been torn open as if by some wild\nanimal. Those we had been speaking with ran off to see the horror, the\nwomen crying out \"This is the work of a Slovak!\" We hurried away lest we\nshould have been in some way drawn into the affair, and so detained.\n\nAs we came home we could arrive at no definite conclusion. We were all\nconvinced that the box was on its way, by water, to somewhere; but where\nthat might be we would have to discover. With heavy hearts we came home\nto the hotel to Mina.\n\nWhen we met together, the first thing was to consult as to taking Mina\nagain into our confidence. Things are getting desperate, and it is at\nleast a chance, though a hazardous one. As a preliminary step, I was\nreleased from my promise to her.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_30 October, evening._--They were so tired and worn out and dispirited\nthat there was nothing to be done till they had some rest; so I asked\nthem all to lie down for half an hour whilst I should enter everything\nup to the moment. I feel so grateful to the man who invented the\n\"Traveller's\" typewriter, and to Mr. Morris for getting this one for\nme. I should have felt quite; astray doing the work if I had to write\nwith a pen....\n\nIt is all done; poor dear, dear Jonathan, what he must have suffered,\nwhat must he be suffering now. He lies on the sofa hardly seeming to\nbreathe, and his whole body appears in collapse. His brows are knit; his\nface is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe he is thinking, and I can\nsee his face all wrinkled up with the concentration of his thoughts. Oh!\nif I could only help at all.... I shall do what I can.\n\nI have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and he has got me all the papers that I\nhave not yet seen.... Whilst they are resting, I shall go over all\ncarefully, and perhaps I may arrive at some conclusion. I shall try to\nfollow the Professor's example, and think without prejudice on the facts\nbefore me....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI do believe that under God's providence I have made a discovery. I\nshall get the maps and look over them....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is ready, so\nI shall get our party together and read it. They can judge it; it is\nwell to be accurate, and every minute is precious.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Memorandum._\n\n(Entered in her Journal.)\n\n_Ground of inquiry._--Count Dracula's problem is to get back to his own\nplace.\n\n(_a_) He must be _brought back_ by some one. This is evident; for had he\npower to move himself as he wished he could go either as man, or wolf,\nor bat, or in some other way. He evidently fears discovery or\ninterference, in the state of helplessness in which he must be--confined\nas he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden box.\n\n(_b_) _How is he to be taken?_--Here a process of exclusions may help\nus. By road, by rail, by water?\n\n1. _By Road._--There are endless difficulties, especially in leaving the\ncity.\n\n(_x_) There are people; and people are curious, and investigate. A hint,\na surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the box, would destroy him.\n\n(_y_) There are, or there may be, customs and octroi officers to pass.\n\n(_z_) His pursuers might follow. This is his highest fear; and in order\nto prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so far as he can, even\nhis victim--me!\n\n2. _By Rail._--There is no one in charge of the box. It would have to\ntake its chance of being delayed; and delay would be fatal, with enemies\non the track. True, he might escape at night; but what would he be, if\nleft in a strange place with no refuge that he could fly to? This is not\nwhat he intends; and he does not mean to risk it.\n\n3. _By Water._--Here is the safest way, in one respect, but with most\ndanger in another. On the water he is powerless except at night; even\nthen he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his wolves. But were\nhe wrecked, the living water would engulf him, helpless; and he would\nindeed be lost. He could have the vessel drive to land; but if it were\nunfriendly land, wherein he was not free to move, his position would\nstill be desperate.\n\nWe know from the record that he was on the water; so what we have to do\nis to ascertain _what_ water.\n\nThe first thing is to realise exactly what he has done as yet; we may,\nthen, get a light on what his later task is to be.\n\n_Firstly._--We must differentiate between what he did in London as part\nof his general plan of action, when he was pressed for moments and had\nto arrange as best he could.\n\n_Secondly_ we must see, as well as we can surmise it from the facts we\nknow of, what he has done here.\n\nAs to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and sent\ninvoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain his means of\nexit from England; his immediate and sole purpose then was to escape.\nThe proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent to Immanuel\nHildesheim to clear and take away the box _before sunrise_. There is\nalso the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only guess at; but\nthere must have been some letter or message, since Skinsky came to\nHildesheim.\n\nThat, so far, his plans were successful we know. The _Czarina Catherine_\nmade a phenomenally quick journey--so much so that Captain Donelson's\nsuspicions were aroused; but his superstition united with his canniness\nplayed the Count's game for him, and he ran with his favouring wind\nthrough fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at Galatz. That the\nCount's arrangements were well made, has been proved. Hildesheim cleared\nthe box, took it off, and gave it to Skinsky. Skinsky took it--and here\nwe lose the trail. We only know that the box is somewhere on the water,\nmoving along. The customs and the octroi, if there be any, have been\navoided.\n\nNow we come to what the Count must have done after his arrival--_on\nland_, at Galatz.\n\nThe box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the Count could\nappear in his own form. Here, we ask why Skinsky was chosen at all to\naid in the work? In my husband's diary, Skinsky is mentioned as dealing\nwith the Slovaks who trade down the river to the port; and the man's\nremark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the general\nfeeling against his class. The Count wanted isolation.\n\nMy surmise is, this: that in London the Count decided to get back to his\ncastle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was brought from\nthe castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered their cargo to Slovaks\nwho took the boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped for London.\nThus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could arrange this\nservice. When the box was on land, before sunrise or after sunset, he\ncame out from his box, met Skinsky and instructed him what to do as to\narranging the carriage of the box up some river. When this was done, and\nhe knew that all was in train, he blotted out his traces, as he thought,\nby murdering his agent.\n\nI have examined the map and find that the river most suitable for the\nSlovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the Sereth. I read in\nthe typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and water swirling\nlevel with my ears and the creaking of wood. The Count in his box, then,\nwas on a river in an open boat--propelled probably either by oars or\npoles, for the banks are near and it is working against stream. There\nwould be no such sound if floating down stream.\n\nOf course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, but we may\npossibly investigate further. Now of these two, the Pruth is the more\neasily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by the Bistritza\nwhich runs up round the Borgo Pass. The loop it makes is manifestly as\nclose to Dracula's castle as can be got by water.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal--continued._\n\nWhen I had done reading, Jonathan took me in his arms and kissed me. The\nothers kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes have been where\nwe were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and this time we\nmay succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless; and if we can come on\nhim by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has a start, but he\nis powerless to hasten, as he may not leave his box lest those who carry\nhim may suspect; for them to suspect would be to prompt them to throw\nhim in the stream where he perish. This he knows, and will not. Now men,\nto our Council of War; for, here and now, we must plan what each and all\nshall do.\"\n\n\"I shall get a steam launch and follow him,\" said Lord Godalming.\n\n\"And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance he land,\" said Mr.\nMorris.\n\n\"Good!\" said the Professor, \"both good. But neither must go alone. There\nmust be force to overcome force if need be; the Slovak is strong and\nrough, and he carries rude arms.\" All the men smiled, for amongst them\nthey carried a small arsenal. Said Mr. Morris:--\n\n\"I have brought some Winchesters; they are pretty handy in a crowd, and\nthere may be wolves. The Count, if you remember, took some other\nprecautions; he made some requisitions on others that Mrs. Harker could\nnot quite hear or understand. We must be ready at all points.\" Dr.\nSeward said:--\n\n\"I think I had better go with Quincey. We have been accustomed to hunt\ntogether, and we two, well armed, will be a match for whatever may come\nalong. You must not be alone, Art. It may be necessary to fight the\nSlovaks, and a chance thrust--for I don't suppose these fellows carry\nguns--would undo all our plans. There must be no chances, this time; we\nshall, not rest until the Count's head and body have been separated, and\nwe are sure that he cannot re-incarnate.\" He looked at Jonathan as he\nspoke, and Jonathan looked at me. I could see that the poor dear was\ntorn about in his mind. Of course he wanted to be with me; but then the\nboat service would, most likely, be the one which would destroy the ...\nthe ... the ... Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?) He was\nsilent awhile, and during his silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke:--\n\n\"Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First, because you\nare young and brave and can fight, and all energies may be needed at the\nlast; and again that it is your right to destroy him--that--which has\nwrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for Madam Mina; she\nwill be my care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not so quick to run as\nonce; and I am not used to ride so long or to pursue as need be, or to\nfight with lethal weapons. But I can be of other service; I can fight in\nother way. And I can die, if need be, as well as younger men. Now let\nme say that what I would is this: while you, my Lord Godalming and\nfriend Jonathan go in your so swift little steamboat up the river, and\nwhilst John and Quincey guard the bank where perchance he might be\nlanded, I will take Madam Mina right into the heart of the enemy's\ncountry. Whilst the old fox is tied in his box, floating on the running\nstream whence he cannot escape to land--where he dares not raise the lid\nof his coffin-box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave him to\nperish--we shall go in the track where Jonathan went,--from Bistritz\nover the Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, Madam\nMina's hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall find our way--all\ndark and unknown otherwise--after the first sunrise when we are near\nthat fateful place. There is much to be done, and other places to be\nmade sanctify, so that that nest of vipers be obliterated.\" Here\nJonathan interrupted him hotly:--\n\n\"Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you would bring Mina,\nin her sad case and tainted as she is with that devil's illness, right\ninto the jaws of his death-trap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven or\nHell!\" He became almost speechless for a minute, and then went on:--\n\n\"Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellish\ninfamy--with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and every\nspeck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo?\nHave you felt the Vampire's lips upon your throat?\" Here he turned to\nme, and as his eyes lit on my forehead he threw up his arms with a cry:\n\"Oh, my God, what have we done to have this terror upon us!\" and he sank\ndown on the sofa in a collapse of misery. The Professor's voice, as he\nspoke in clear, sweet tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmed\nus all:--\n\n\"Oh, my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina from that awful\nplace that I would go. God forbid that I should take her into that\nplace. There is work--wild work--to be done there, that her eyes may not\nsee. We men here, all save Jonathan, have seen with their own eyes what\nis to be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we are in\nterrible straits. If the Count escape us this time--and he is strong and\nsubtle and cunning--he may choose to sleep him for a century, and then\nin time our dear one\"--he took my hand--\"would come to him to keep him\ncompany, and would be as those others that you, Jonathan, saw. You have\ntold us of their gloating lips; you heard their ribald laugh as they\nclutched the moving bag that the Count threw to them. You shudder; and\nwell may it be. Forgive me that I make you so much pain, but it is\nnecessary. My friend, is it not a dire need for the which I am giving,\npossibly my life? If it were that any one went into that place to stay,\nit is I who would have to go to keep them company.\"\n\n\"Do as you will,\" said Jonathan, with a sob that shook him all over, \"we\nare in the hands of God!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Oh, it did me good to see the way that these brave men worked.\nHow can women help loving men when they are so earnest, and so true, and\nso brave! And, too, it made me think of the wonderful power of money!\nWhat can it not do when it is properly applied; and what might it do\nwhen basely used. I felt so thankful that Lord Godalming is rich, and\nthat both he and Mr. Morris, who also has plenty of money, are willing\nto spend it so freely. For if they did not, our little expedition could\nnot start, either so promptly or so well equipped, as it will within\nanother hour. It is not three hours since it was arranged what part each\nof us was to do; and now Lord Godalming and Jonathan have a lovely steam\nlaunch, with steam up ready to start at a moment's notice. Dr. Seward\nand Mr. Morris have half a dozen good horses, well appointed. We have\nall the maps and appliances of various kinds that can be had. Professor\nVan Helsing and I are to leave by the 11:40 train to-night for Veresti,\nwhere we are to get a carriage to drive to the Borgo Pass. We are\nbringing a good deal of ready money, as we are to buy a carriage and\nhorses. We shall drive ourselves, for we have no one whom we can trust\nin the matter. The Professor knows something of a great many languages,\nso we shall get on all right. We have all got arms, even for me a\nlarge-bore revolver; Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed like\nthe rest. Alas! I cannot carry one arm that the rest do; the scar on my\nforehead forbids that. Dear Dr. Van Helsing comforts me by telling me\nthat I am fully armed as there may be wolves; the weather is getting\ncolder every hour, and there are snow-flurries which come and go as\nwarnings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--It took all my courage to say good-bye to my darling. We may\nnever meet again. Courage, Mina! the Professor is looking at you keenly;\nhis look is a warning. There must be no tears now--unless it may be that\nGod will let them fall in gladness.\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_October 30. Night._--I am writing this in the light from the furnace\ndoor of the steam launch: Lord Godalming is firing up. He is an\nexperienced hand at the work, as he has had for years a launch of his\nown on the Thames, and another on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding our\nplans, we finally decided that Mina's guess was correct, and that if any\nwaterway was chosen for the Count's escape back to his Castle, the\nSereth and then the Bistritza at its junction, would be the one. We took\nit, that somewhere about the 47th degree, north latitude, would be the\nplace chosen for the crossing the country between the river and the\nCarpathians. We have no fear in running at good speed up the river at\nnight; there is plenty of water, and the banks are wide enough apart to\nmake steaming, even in the dark, easy enough. Lord Godalming tells me to\nsleep for a while, as it is enough for the present for one to be on\nwatch. But I cannot sleep--how can I with the terrible danger hanging\nover my darling, and her going out into that awful place.... My only\ncomfort is that we are in the hands of God. Only for that faith it would\nbe easier to die than to live, and so be quit of all the trouble. Mr.\nMorris and Dr. Seward were off on their long ride before we started;\nthey are to keep up the right bank, far enough off to get on higher\nlands where they can see a good stretch of river and avoid the following\nof its curves. They have, for the first stages, two men to ride and lead\ntheir spare horses--four in all, so as not to excite curiosity. When\nthey dismiss the men, which shall be shortly, they shall themselves look\nafter the horses. It may be necessary for us to join forces; if so they\ncan mount our whole party. One of the saddles has a movable horn, and\ncan be easily adapted for Mina, if required.\n\nIt is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along through\nthe darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise up and strike\nus; with all the mysterious voices of the night around us, it all comes\nhome. We seem to be drifting into unknown places and unknown ways; into\na whole world of dark and dreadful things. Godalming is shutting the\nfurnace door....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_31 October._--Still hurrying along. The day has come, and Godalming is\nsleeping. I am on watch. The morning is bitterly cold; the furnace heat\nis grateful, though we have heavy fur coats. As yet we have passed only\na few open boats, but none of them had on board any box or package of\nanything like the size of the one we seek. The men were scared every\ntime we turned our electric lamp on them, and fell on their knees and\nprayed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_1 November, evening._--No news all day; we have found nothing of the\nkind we seek. We have now passed into the Bistritza; and if we are wrong\nin our surmise our chance is gone. We have over-hauled every boat, big\nand little. Early this morning, one crew took us for a Government boat,\nand treated us accordingly. We saw in this a way of smoothing matters,\nso at Fundu, where the Bistritza runs into the Sereth, we got a\nRoumanian flag which we now fly conspicuously. With every boat which we\nhave over-hauled since then this trick has succeeded; we have had every\ndeference shown to us, and not once any objection to whatever we chose\nto ask or do. Some of the Slovaks tell us that a big boat passed them,\ngoing at more than usual speed as she had a double crew on board. This\nwas before they came to Fundu, so they could not tell us whether the\nboat turned into the Bistritza or continued on up the Sereth. At Fundu\nwe could not hear of any such boat, so she must have passed there in the\nnight. I am feeling very sleepy; the cold is perhaps beginning to tell\nupon me, and nature must have rest some time. Godalming insists that he\nshall keep the first watch. God bless him for all his goodness to poor\ndear Mina and me.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_2 November, morning._--It is broad daylight. That good fellow would not\nwake me. He says it would have been a sin to, for I slept peacefully and\nwas forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish to me to have slept\nso long, and let him watch all night; but he was quite right. I am a new\nman this morning; and, as I sit here and watch him sleeping, I can do\nall that is necessary both as to minding the engine, steering, and\nkeeping watch. I can feel that my strength and energy are coming back to\nme. I wonder where Mina is now, and Van Helsing. They should have got to\nVeresti about noon on Wednesday. It would take them some time to get the\ncarriage and horses; so if they had started and travelled hard, they\nwould be about now at the Borgo Pass. God guide and help them! I am\nafraid to think what may happen. If we could only go faster! but we\ncannot; the engines are throbbing and doing their utmost. I wonder how\nDr. Seward and Mr. Morris are getting on. There seem to be endless\nstreams running down the mountains into this river, but as none of them\nare very large--at present, at all events, though they are terrible\ndoubtless in winter and when the snow melts--the horsemen may not have\nmet much obstruction. I hope that before we get to Strasba we may see\nthem; for if by that time we have not overtaken the Count, it may be\nnecessary to take counsel together what to do next.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_2 November._--Three days on the road. No news, and no time to write it\nif there had been, for every moment is precious. We have had only the\nrest needful for the horses; but we are both bearing it wonderfully.\nThose adventurous days of ours are turning up useful. We must push on;\nwe shall never feel happy till we get the launch in sight again.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_3 November._--We heard at Fundu that the launch had gone up the\nBistritza. I wish it wasn't so cold. There are signs of snow coming; and\nif it falls heavy it will stop us. In such case we must get a sledge and\ngo on, Russian fashion.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_4 November._--To-day we heard of the launch having been detained by an\naccident when trying to force a way up the rapids. The Slovak boats get\nup all right, by aid of a rope and steering with knowledge. Some went up\nonly a few hours before. Godalming is an amateur fitter himself, and\nevidently it was he who put the launch in trim again. Finally, they got\nup the rapids all right, with local help, and are off on the chase\nafresh. I fear that the boat is not any better for the accident; the\npeasantry tell us that after she got upon smooth water again, she kept\nstopping every now and again so long as she was in sight. We must push\non harder than ever; our help may be wanted soon.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_31 October._--Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor tells me that\nthis morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotise me at all, and that all I\ncould say was: \"dark and quiet.\" He is off now buying a carriage and\nhorses. He says that he will later on try to buy additional horses, so\nthat we may be able to change them on the way. We have something more\nthan 70 miles before us. The country is lovely, and most interesting; if\nonly we were under different conditions, how delightful it would be to\nsee it all. If Jonathan and I were driving through it alone what a\npleasure it would be. To stop and see people, and learn something of\ntheir life, and to fill our minds and memories with all the colour and\npicturesqueness of the whole wild, beautiful country and the quaint\npeople! But, alas!--\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has got the carriage and\nhorses; we are to have some dinner, and to start in an hour. The\nlandlady is putting us up a huge basket of provisions; it seems enough\nfor a company of soldiers. The Professor encourages her, and whispers to\nme that it may be a week before we can get any good food again. He has\nbeen shopping too, and has sent home such a wonderful lot of fur coats\nand wraps, and all sorts of warm things. There will not be any chance of\nour being cold.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe shall soon be off. I am afraid to think what may happen to us. We are\ntruly in the hands of God. He alone knows what may be, and I pray Him,\nwith all the strength of my sad and humble soul, that He will watch over\nmy beloved husband; that whatever may happen, Jonathan may know that I\nloved him and honoured him more than I can say, and that my latest and\ntruest thought will be always for him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n\n\n_1 November._--All day long we have travelled, and at a good speed. The\nhorses seem to know that they are being kindly treated, for they go\nwillingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had so many\nchanges and find the same thing so constantly that we are encouraged to\nthink that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van Helsing is laconic;\nhe tells the farmers that he is hurrying to Bistritz, and pays them well\nto make the exchange of horses. We get hot soup, or coffee, or tea; and\noff we go. It is a lovely country; full of beauties of all imaginable\nkinds, and the people are brave, and strong, and simple, and seem full\nof nice qualities. They are _very, very_ superstitious. In the first\nhouse where we stopped, when the woman who served us saw the scar on my\nforehead, she crossed herself and put out two fingers towards me, to\nkeep off the evil eye. I believe they went to the trouble of putting an\nextra amount of garlic into our food; and I can't abide garlic. Ever\nsince then I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so have\nescaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have no\ndriver with us to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal; but I daresay\nthat fear of the evil eye will follow hard behind us all the way. The\nProfessor seems tireless; all day he would not take any rest, though he\nmade me sleep for a long spell. At sunset time he hypnotised me, and he\nsays that I answered as usual \"darkness, lapping water and creaking\nwood\"; so our enemy is still on the river. I am afraid to think of\nJonathan, but somehow I have now no fear for him, or for myself. I write\nthis whilst we wait in a farmhouse for the horses to be got ready. Dr.\nVan Helsing is sleeping, Poor dear, he looks very tired and old and\ngrey, but his mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror's; even in his sleep\nhe is instinct with resolution. When we have well started I must make\nhim rest whilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have days before us,\nand we must not break down when most of all his strength will be\nneeded.... All is ready; we are off shortly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_2 November, morning._--I was successful, and we took turns driving all\nnight; now the day is on us, bright though cold. There is a strange\nheaviness in the air--I say heaviness for want of a better word; I mean\nthat it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only our warm furs keep\nus comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotised me; he says I answered\n\"darkness, creaking wood and roaring water,\" so the river is changing as\nthey ascend. I do hope that my darling will not run any chance of\ndanger--more than need be; but we are in God's hands.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_2 November, night._--All day long driving. The country gets wilder as\nwe go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which at Veresti seemed\nso far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather round us\nand tower in front. We both seem in good spirits; I think we make an\neffort each to cheer the other; in the doing so we cheer ourselves. Dr.\nVan Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the Borgo Pass. The\nhouses are very few here now, and the Professor says that the last horse\nwe got will have to go on with us, as we may not be able to change. He\ngot two in addition to the two we changed, so that now we have a rude\nfour-in-hand. The dear horses are patient and good, and they give us no\ntrouble. We are not worried with other travellers, and so even I can\ndrive. We shall get to the Pass in daylight; we do not want to arrive\nbefore. So we take it easy, and have each a long rest in turn. Oh, what\nwill to-morrow bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poor\ndarling suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, and\nthat He will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both,\nand who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in His\nsight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and shall be until He may deign\nto let me stand forth in His sight as one of those who have not incurred\nHis wrath.\n\n\n_Memorandum by Abraham Van Helsing._\n\n_4 November._--This to my old and true friend John Seward, M.D., of\nPurfleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may explain. It is\nmorning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept\nalive--Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold; so cold that the grey\nheavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for all\nwinter as the ground is hardening to receive it. It seems to have\naffected Madam Mina; she has been so heavy of head all day that she was\nnot like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps! She who is usual\nso alert, have done literally nothing all the day; she even have lost\nher appetite. She make no entry into her little diary, she who write so\nfaithful at every pause. Something whisper to me that all is not well.\nHowever, to-night she is more _vif_. Her long sleep all day have refresh\nand restore her, for now she is all sweet and bright as ever. At sunset\nI try to hypnotise her, but alas! with no effect; the power has grown\nless and less with each day, and to-night it fail me altogether. Well,\nGod's will be done--whatever it may be, and whithersoever it may lead!\n\nNow to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her stenography, I\nmust, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day of us may not go\nunrecorded.\n\nWe got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning. When I\nsaw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism. We stopped our\ncarriage, and got down so that there might be no disturbance. I made a\ncouch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down, yield herself as usual, but\nmore slow and more short time than ever, to the hypnotic sleep. As\nbefore, came the answer: \"darkness and the swirling of water.\" Then she\nwoke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon reach the Pass.\nAt this time and place, she become all on fire with zeal; some new\nguiding power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and say:--\n\n\"This is the way.\"\n\n\"How know you it?\" I ask.\n\n\"Of course I know it,\" she answer, and with a pause, add: \"Have not my\nJonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?\"\n\nAt first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be only one\nsuch by-road. It is used but little, and very different from the coach\nroad from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more wide and hard, and\nmore of use.\n\nSo we came down this road; when we meet other ways--not always were we\nsure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and light snow\nhave fallen--the horses know and they only. I give rein to them, and\nthey go on so patient. By-and-by we find all the things which Jonathan\nhave note in that wonderful diary of him. Then we go on for long, long\nhours and hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep; she try, and\nshe succeed. She sleep all the time; till at the last, I feel myself to\nsuspicious grow, and attempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I may\nnot wake her though I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm\nher; for I know that she have suffer much, and sleep at times be\nall-in-all to her. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feel\nguilt, as though I have done something; I find myself bolt up, with the\nreins in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever. I\nlook down and find Madam Mina still sleep. It is now not far off sunset\ntime, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big yellow flood,\nso that we throw great long shadow on where the mountain rise so steep.\nFor we are going up, and up; and all is oh! so wild and rocky, as though\nit were the end of the world.\n\nThen I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much trouble, and\nthen I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But she sleep not, being as\nthough I were not. Still I try and try, till all at once I find her and\nmyself in dark; so I look round, and find that the sun have gone down.\nMadam Mina laugh, and I turn and look at her. She is now quite awake,\nand look so well as I never saw her since that night at Carfax when we\nfirst enter the Count's house. I am amaze, and not at ease then; but she\nis so bright and tender and thoughtful for me that I forget all fear. I\nlight a fire, for we have brought supply of wood with us, and she\nprepare food while I undo the horses and set them, tethered in shelter,\nto feed. Then when I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I go\nto help her; but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already--that\nshe was so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I have\ngrave doubts; but I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it. She\nhelp me and I eat alone; and then we wrap in fur and lie beside the\nfire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I forget all\nof watching; and when I sudden remember that I watch, I find her lying\nquiet, but awake, and looking at me with so bright eyes. Once, twice\nmore the same occur, and I get much sleep till before morning. When I\nwake I try to hypnotise her; but alas! though she shut her eyes\nobedient, she may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up; and then\nsleep come to her too late, but so heavy that she will not wake. I have\nto lift her up, and place her sleeping in the carriage when I have\nharnessed the horses and made all ready. Madam still sleep, and she look\nin her sleep more healthy and more redder than before. And I like it\nnot. And I am afraid, afraid, afraid!--I am afraid of all things--even\nto think but I must go on my way. The stake we play for is life and\ndeath, or more than these, and we must not flinch.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_5 November, morning._--Let me be accurate in everything, for though you\nand I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think\nthat I, Van Helsing, am mad--that the many horrors and the so long\nstrain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.\n\nAll yesterday we travel, ever getting closer to the mountains, and\nmoving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are great,\nfrowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem to have held\nsometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and sleep; and though I\ndid have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken her--even for food. I\nbegan to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon her, tainted as\nshe is with that Vampire baptism. \"Well,\" said I to myself, \"if it be\nthat she sleep all the day, it shall also be that I do not sleep at\nnight.\" As we travel on the rough road, for a road of an ancient and\nimperfect kind there was, I held down my head and slept. Again I waked\nwith a sense of guilt and of time passed, and found Madam Mina still\nsleeping, and the sun low down. But all was indeed changed; the frowning\nmountains seemed further away, and we were near the top of a\nsteep-rising hill, on summit of which was such a castle as Jonathan tell\nof in his diary. At once I exulted and feared; for now, for good or ill,\nthe end was near.\n\nI woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotise her; but alas!\nunavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came upon us--for\neven after down-sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the snow, and\nall was for a time in a great twilight--I took out the horses and fed\nthem in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire; and near it I make\nMadam Mina, now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable amid\nher rugs. I got ready food: but she would not eat, simply saying that\nshe had not hunger. I did not press her, knowing her unavailingness. But\nI myself eat, for I must needs now be strong for all. Then, with the\nfear on me of what might be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, round\nwhere Madam Mina sat; and over the ring I passed some of the wafer, and\nI broke it fine so that all was well guarded. She sat still all the\ntime--so still as one dead; and she grew whiter and ever whiter till the\nsnow was not more pale; and no word she said. But when I drew near, she\nclung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from head to\nfeet with a tremor that was pain to feel. I said to her presently, when\nshe had grown more quiet:--\n\n\"Will you not come over to the fire?\" for I wished to make a test of\nwhat she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step she\nstopped, and stood as one stricken.\n\n\"Why not go on?\" I asked. She shook her head, and, coming back, sat\ndown in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one waked\nfrom sleep, she said simply:--\n\n\"I cannot!\" and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she\ncould not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might be\ndanger to her body, yet her soul was safe!\n\nPresently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers till I\ncame to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands on them, they\nwhinnied low as in joy, and licked at my hands and were quiet for a\ntime. Many times through the night did I come to them, till it arrive to\nthe cold hour when all nature is at lowest; and every time my coming was\nwith quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire began to die, and I was\nabout stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying\nsweeps and with it a chill mist. Even in the dark there was a light of\nsome kind, as there ever is over snow; and it seemed as though the\nsnow-flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with\ntrailing garments. All was in dead, grim silence only that the horses\nwhinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst. I began to\nfear--horrible fears; but then came to me the sense of safety in that\nring wherein I stood. I began, too, to think that my imaginings were of\nthe night, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, and\nall the terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all Jonathan's\nhorrid experience were befooling me; for the snow flakes and the mist\nbegan to wheel and circle round, till I could get as though a shadowy\nglimpse of those women that would have kissed him. And then the horses\ncowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror as men do in pain. Even\nthe madness of fright was not to them, so that they could break away. I\nfeared for my dear Madam Mina when these weird figures drew near and\ncircled round. I looked at her, but she sat calm, and smiled at me; when\nI would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, she caught me and held\nme back, and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low\nit was:--\n\n\"No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!\" I turned to her, and\nlooking in her eyes, said:--\n\n\"But you? It is for you that I fear!\" whereat she laughed--a laugh, low\nand unreal, and said:--\n\n\"Fear for _me_! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from them\nthan I am,\" and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff of\nwind made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead.\nThen, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for the\nwheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever without\nthe Holy circle. Then they began to materialise till--if God have not\ntake away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes--there were before me\nin actual flesh the same three women that Jonathan saw in the room, when\nthey would have kissed his throat. I knew the swaying round forms, the\nbright hard eyes, the white teeth, the ruddy colour, the voluptuous\nlips. They smiled ever at poor dear Madam Mina; and as their laugh came\nthrough the silence of the night, they twined their arms and pointed to\nher, and said in those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said were\nof the intolerable sweetness of the water-glasses:--\n\n\"Come, sister. Come to us. Come! Come!\" In fear I turned to my poor\nMadam Mina, and my heart with gladness leapt like flame; for oh! the\nterror in her sweet eyes, the repulsion, the horror, told a story to my\nheart that was all of hope. God be thanked she was not, yet, of them. I\nseized some of the firewood which was by me, and holding out some of the\nWafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They drew back before me, and\nlaughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and feared them not; for\nI knew that we were safe within our protections. They could not\napproach, me, whilst so armed, nor Madam Mina whilst she remained within\nthe ring, which she could not leave no more than they could enter. The\nhorses had ceased to moan, and lay still on the ground; the snow fell on\nthem softly, and they grew whiter. I knew that there was for the poor\nbeasts no more of terror.\n\nAnd so we remained till the red of the dawn to fall through the\nsnow-gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror; but\nwhen that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.\nAt the first coming of the dawn the horrid figures melted in the\nwhirling mist and snow; the wreaths of transparent gloom moved away\ntowards the castle, and were lost.\n\nInstinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina, intending\nto hypnotise her; but she lay in a deep and sudden sleep, from which I\ncould not wake her. I tried to hypnotise through her sleep, but she made\nno response, none at all; and the day broke. I fear yet to stir. I have\nmade my fire and have seen the horses, they are all dead. To-day I have\nmuch to do here, and I keep waiting till the sun is up high; for there\nmay be places where I must go, where that sunlight, though snow and mist\nobscure it, will be to me a safety.\n\nI will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will to my terrible\nwork. Madam Mina still sleeps; and, God be thanked! she is calm in her\nsleep....\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_4 November, evening._--The accident to the launch has been a terrible\nthing for us. Only for it we should have overtaken the boat long ago;\nand by now my dear Mina would have been free. I fear to think of her,\noff on the wolds near that horrid place. We have got horses, and we\nfollow on the track. I note this whilst Godalming is getting ready. We\nhave our arms. The Szgany must look out if they mean fight. Oh, if only\nMorris and Seward were with us. We must only hope! If I write no more\nGood-bye, Mina! God bless and keep you.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_5 November._--With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us dashing\naway from the river with their leiter-wagon. They surrounded it in a\ncluster, and hurried along as though beset. The snow is falling lightly\nand there is a strange excitement in the air. It may be our own\nfeelings, but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the howling of\nwolves; the snow brings them down from the mountains, and there are\ndangers to all of us, and from all sides. The horses are nearly ready,\nand we are soon off. We ride to death of some one. God alone knows who,\nor where, or what, or when, or how it may be....\n\n\n_Dr. Van Helsing's Memorandum._\n\n_5 November, afternoon._--I am at least sane. Thank God for that mercy\nat all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When I left\nMadam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to the castle.\nThe blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti was\nuseful; though the doors were all open I broke them off the rusty\nhinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close them, so that\nbeing entered I might not get out. Jonathan's bitter experience served\nme here. By memory of his diary I found my way to the old chapel, for I\nknew that here my work lay. The air was oppressive; it seemed as if\nthere was some sulphurous fume, which at times made me dizzy. Either\nthere was a roaring in my ears or I heard afar off the howl of wolves.\nThen I bethought me of my dear Madam Mina, and I was in terrible plight.\nThe dilemma had me between his horns.\n\nHer, I had not dare to take into this place, but left safe from the\nVampire in that Holy circle; and yet even there would be the wolf! I\nresolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolves we must\nsubmit, if it were God's will. At any rate it was only death and\nfreedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been for myself the\nchoice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were better to rest in than\nthe grave of the Vampire! So I make my choice to go on with my work.\n\nI knew that there were at least three graves to find--graves that are\ninhabit; so I search, and search, and I find one of them. She lay in her\nVampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as\nthough I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when\nsuch things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine,\nfound at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay,\nand delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the\nwanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset\ncome, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair\nwoman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a\nkiss--and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire\nfold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!...\n\nThere is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere presence\nof such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted with age and\nheavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that horrid odour such\nas the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was moved--I, Van Helsing,\nwith all my purpose and with my motive for hate--I was moved to a\nyearning for delay which seemed to paralyse my faculties and to clog my\nvery soul. It may have been that the need of natural sleep, and the\nstrange oppression of the air were beginning to overcome me. Certain it\nwas that I was lapsing into sleep, the open-eyed sleep of one who yields\nto a sweet fascination, when there came through the snow-stilled air a\nlong, low wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like the sound\nof a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that I heard.\n\nThen I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by wrenching\naway tomb-tops one other of the sisters, the other dark one. I dared not\npause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once more I should\nbegin to be enthrall; but I go on searching until, presently, I find in\na high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other fair sister\nwhich, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms of\nthe mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so\nexquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which calls\nsome of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl\nwith new emotion. But God be thanked, that soul-wail of my dear Madam\nMina had not died out of my ears; and, before the spell could be wrought\nfurther upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By this time I had\nsearched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell; and as\nthere had been only three of these Un-Dead phantoms around us in the\nnight, I took it that there were no more of active Un-Dead existent.\nThere was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and\nnobly proportioned. On it was but one word\n\n                                DRACULA.\n\nThis then was the Un-Dead home of the King-Vampire, to whom so many more\nwere due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain what I knew.\nBefore I began to restore these women to their dead selves through my\nawful work, I laid in Dracula's tomb some of the Wafer, and so banished\nhim from it, Un-Dead, for ever.\n\nThen began my terrible task, and I dreaded it. Had it been but one, it\nhad been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more after I had\nbeen through a deed of horror; for if it was terrible with the sweet\nMiss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who had survived\nthrough centuries, and who had been strengthened by the passing of the\nyears; who would, if they could, have fought for their foul lives....\n\nOh, my friend John, but it was butcher work; had I not been nerved by\nthoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung such a pall of\nfear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and tremble even yet, though\ntill all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had I not seen\nthe repose in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it just\nere the final dissolution came, as realisation that the soul had been\nwon, I could not have gone further with my butchery. I could not have\nendured the horrid screeching as the stake drove home; the plunging of\nwrithing form, and lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and\nleft my work undone. But it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity them\nnow and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of death\nfor a short moment ere fading. For, friend John, hardly had my knife\nsevered the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away and\ncrumble in to its native dust, as though the death that should have come\ncenturies agone had at last assert himself and say at once and loud \"I\nam here!\"\n\nBefore I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more can\nthe Count enter there Un-Dead.\n\nWhen I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke from her\nsleep, and, seeing, me, cried out in pain that I had endured too much.\n\n\"Come!\" she said, \"come away from this awful place! Let us go to meet my\nhusband who is, I know, coming towards us.\" She was looking thin and\npale and weak; but her eyes were pure and glowed with fervour. I was\nglad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind was full of the\nfresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.\n\nAnd so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward to meet\nour friends--and _him_--whom Madam Mina tell me that she _know_ are\ncoming to meet us.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_6 November._--It was late in the afternoon when the Professor and I\ntook our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming. We did\nnot go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for we had to take\nheavy rugs and wraps with us; we dared not face the possibility of being\nleft without warmth in the cold and the snow. We had to take some of our\nprovisions, too, for we were in a perfect desolation, and, so far as we\ncould see through the snowfall, there was not even the sign of\nhabitation. When we had gone about a mile, I was tired with the heavy\nwalking and sat down to rest. Then we looked back and saw where the\nclear line of Dracula's castle cut the sky; for we were so deep under\nthe hill whereon it was set that the angle of perspective of the\nCarpathian mountains was far below it. We saw it in all its grandeur,\nperched a thousand feet on the summit of a sheer precipice, and with\nseemingly a great gap between it and the steep of the adjacent mountain\non any side. There was something wild and uncanny about the place. We\ncould hear the distant howling of wolves. They were far off, but the\nsound, even though coming muffled through the deadening snowfall, was\nfull of terror. I knew from the way Dr. Van Helsing was searching about\nthat he was trying to seek some strategic point, where we would be less\nexposed in case of attack. The rough roadway still led downwards; we\ncould trace it through the drifted snow.\n\nIn a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up and joined\nhim. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow in a rock,\nwith an entrance like a doorway between two boulders. He took me by the\nhand and drew me in: \"See!\" he said, \"here you will be in shelter; and\nif the wolves do come I can meet them one by one.\" He brought in our\nfurs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out some provisions and\nforced them upon me. But I could not eat; to even try to do so was\nrepulsive to me, and, much as I would have liked to please him, I could\nnot bring myself to the attempt. He looked very sad, but did not\nreproach me. Taking his field-glasses from the case, he stood on the top\nof the rock, and began to search the horizon. Suddenly he called out:--\n\n\"Look! Madam Mina, look! look!\" I sprang up and stood beside him on the\nrock; he handed me his glasses and pointed. The snow was now falling\nmore heavily, and swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning\nto blow. However, there were times when there were pauses between the\nsnow flurries and I could see a long way round. From the height where we\nwere it was possible to see a great distance; and far off, beyond the\nwhite waste of snow, I could see the river lying like a black ribbon in\nkinks and curls as it wound its way. Straight in front of us and not far\noff--in fact, so near that I wondered we had not noticed before--came a\ngroup of mounted men hurrying along. In the midst of them was a cart, a\nlong leiter-wagon which swept from side to side, like a dog's tail\nwagging, with each stern inequality of the road. Outlined against the\nsnow as they were, I could see from the men's clothes that they were\npeasants or gypsies of some kind.\n\nOn the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw it, for I\nfelt that the end was coming. The evening was now drawing close, and\nwell I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till then imprisoned\nthere, would take new freedom and could in any of many forms elude all\npursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor; to my consternation,\nhowever, he was not there. An instant later, I saw him below me. Round\nthe rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had found shelter in last\nnight. When he had completed it he stood beside me again, saying:--\n\n\"At least you shall be safe here from _him_!\" He took the glasses from\nme, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below us.\n\"See,\" he said, \"they come quickly; they are flogging the horses, and\ngalloping as hard as they can.\" He paused and went on in a hollow\nvoice:--\n\n\"They are racing for the sunset. We may be too late. God's will be\ndone!\" Down came another blinding rush of driving snow, and the whole\nlandscape was blotted out. It soon passed, however, and once more his\nglasses were fixed on the plain. Then came a sudden cry:--\n\n\"Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen follow fast, coming up from the\nsouth. It must be Quincey and John. Take the glass. Look before the snow\nblots it all out!\" I took it and looked. The two men might be Dr. Seward\nand Mr. Morris. I knew at all events that neither of them was Jonathan.\nAt the same time I _knew_ that Jonathan was not far off; looking around\nI saw on the north side of the coming party two other men, riding at\nbreak-neck speed. One of them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took,\nof course, to be Lord Godalming. They, too, were pursuing the party with\nthe cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee like a schoolboy,\nand, after looking intently till a snow fall made sight impossible, he\nlaid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the boulder at the\nopening of our shelter. \"They are all converging,\" he said. \"When the\ntime comes we shall have gypsies on all sides.\" I got out my revolver\nready to hand, for whilst we were speaking the howling of wolves came\nlouder and closer. When the snow storm abated a moment we looked again.\nIt was strange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us,\nand beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank down\ntowards the far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I could\nsee here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes and larger\nnumbers--the wolves were gathering for their prey.\n\nEvery instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind came now in\nfierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury as it swept upon us in\ncircling eddies. At times we could not see an arm's length before us;\nbut at others, as the hollow-sounding wind swept by us, it seemed to\nclear the air-space around us so that we could see afar off. We had of\nlate been so accustomed to watch for sunrise and sunset, that we knew\nwith fair accuracy when it would be; and we knew that before long the\nsun would set. It was hard to believe that by our watches it was less\nthan an hour that we waited in that rocky shelter before the various\nbodies began to converge close upon us. The wind came now with fiercer\nand more bitter sweeps, and more steadily from the north. It seemingly\nhad driven the snow clouds from us, for, with only occasional bursts,\nthe snow fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of each\nparty, the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued did\nnot seem to realise, or at least to care, that they were pursued; they\nseemed, however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the sun dropped lower\nand lower on the mountain tops.\n\nCloser and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched down behind\nour rock, and held our weapons ready; I could see that he was determined\nthat they should not pass. One and all were quite unaware of our\npresence.\n\nAll at once two voices shouted out to: \"Halt!\" One was my Jonathan's,\nraised in a high key of passion; the other Mr. Morris' strong resolute\ntone of quiet command. The gypsies may not have known the language, but\nthere was no mistaking the tone, in whatever tongue the words were\nspoken. Instinctively they reined in, and at the instant Lord Godalming\nand Jonathan dashed up at one side and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris on the\nother. The leader of the gypsies, a splendid-looking fellow who sat his\nhorse like a centaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his\ncompanions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which sprang\nforward; but the four men raised their Winchester rifles, and in an\nunmistakable way commanded them to stop. At the same moment Dr. Van\nHelsing and I rose behind the rock and pointed our weapons at them.\nSeeing that they were surrounded the men tightened their reins and drew\nup. The leader turned to them and gave a word at which every man of the\ngypsy party drew what weapon he carried, knife or pistol, and held\nhimself in readiness to attack. Issue was joined in an instant.\n\nThe leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse out in\nfront, and pointing first to the sun--now close down on the hill\ntops--and then to the castle, said something which I did not understand.\nFor answer, all four men of our party threw themselves from their horses\nand dashed towards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeing\nJonathan in such danger, but that the ardour of battle must have been\nupon me as well as the rest of them; I felt no fear, but only a wild,\nsurging desire to do something. Seeing the quick movement of our\nparties, the leader of the gypsies gave a command; his men instantly\nformed round the cart in a sort of undisciplined endeavour, each one\nshouldering and pushing the other in his eagerness to carry out the\norder.\n\nIn the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of the ring\nof men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to the cart; it was\nevident that they were bent on finishing their task before the sun\nshould set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to hinder them. Neither the\nlevelled weapons nor the flashing knives of the gypsies in front, nor\nthe howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract their\nattention. Jonathan's impetuosity, and the manifest singleness of his\npurpose, seemed to overawe those in front of him; instinctively they\ncowered, aside and let him pass. In an instant he had jumped upon the\ncart, and, with a strength which seemed incredible, raised the great\nbox, and flung it over the wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr.\nMorris had had to use force to pass through his side of the ring of\nSzgany. All the time I had been breathlessly watching Jonathan I had,\nwith the tail of my eye, seen him pressing desperately forward, and had\nseen the knives of the gypsies flash as he won a way through them, and\nthey cut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first\nI thought that he too had come through in safety; but as he sprang\nbeside Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see that\nwith his left hand he was clutching at his side, and that the blood was\nspurting through his fingers. He did not delay notwithstanding this, for\nas Jonathan, with desperate energy, attacked one end of the chest,\nattempting to prize off the lid with his great Kukri knife, he attacked\nthe other frantically with his bowie. Under the efforts of both men the\nlid began to yield; the nails drew with a quick screeching sound, and\nthe top of the box was thrown back.\n\nBy this time the gypsies, seeing themselves covered by the Winchesters,\nand at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, had given in and made\nno resistance. The sun was almost down on the mountain tops, and the\nshadows of the whole group fell long upon the snow. I saw the Count\nlying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from\nthe cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen\nimage, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I\nknew too well.\n\nAs I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them\nturned to triumph.\n\nBut, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's great knife.\nI shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the same\nmoment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart.\n\nIt was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the\ndrawing of a breath, the whole body crumble into dust and passed from\nour sight.\n\nI shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final\ndissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never\ncould have imagined might have rested there.\n\nThe Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and every stone\nof its broken battlements was articulated against the light of the\nsetting sun.\n\nThe gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the extraordinary\ndisappearance of the dead man, turned, without a word, and rode away as\nif for their lives. Those who were unmounted jumped upon the\nleiter-wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to desert them. The wolves,\nwhich had withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their wake, leaving\nus alone.\n\nMr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his elbow, holding his\nhand pressed to his side; the blood still gushed through his fingers. I\nflew to him, for the Holy circle did not now keep me back; so did the\ntwo doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and the wounded man laid back his\nhead on his shoulder. With a sigh he took, with a feeble effort, my hand\nin that of his own which was unstained. He must have seen the anguish of\nmy heart in my face, for he smiled at me and said:--\n\n\"I am only too happy to have been of any service! Oh, God!\" he cried\nsuddenly, struggling up to a sitting posture and pointing to me, \"It was\nworth for this to die! Look! look!\"\n\nThe sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red gleams\nfell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With one impulse\nthe men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest \"Amen\" broke from all\nas their eyes followed the pointing of his finger. The dying man\nspoke:--\n\n\"Now God be thanked that all has not been in vain! See! the snow is not\nmore stainless than her forehead! The curse has passed away!\"\n\nAnd, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, a\ngallant gentleman.\n\n\n\n\n                                  NOTE\n\n\nSeven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of\nsome of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured. It\nis an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday is the same\nday as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the\nsecret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has passed into\nhim. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; but\nwe call him Quincey.\n\nIn the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went\nover the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and\nterrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the things\nwhich we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were\nliving truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The\ncastle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.\n\nWhen we got home we were talking of the old time--which we could all\nlook back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily\nmarried. I took the papers from the safe where they had been ever since\nour return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the\nmass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one\nauthentic document; nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the later\nnote-books of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum.\nWe could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as\nproofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with\nour boy on his knee:--\n\n\"We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day\nknow what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her\nsweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so\nloved her, that they did dare much for her sake.\"\n\nJONATHAN HARKER.\n\n                                THE END"