The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dracula, by Bram Stoker (2024)

by
Bram Stoker

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers

Copyright, 1897, in the United States of America, according
to Act of Congress, by Bram Stoker

[All rights reserved.]

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N.Y.

Contents

CHAPTER I

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL

(Kept in shorthand.)

3 May. Bistritz.—Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving atVienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was anhour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which Igot of it from the train and the little I could walk through thestreets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrivedlate and would start as near the correct time as possible. Theimpression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering theEast; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which ishere of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkishrule.

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh.Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, orrather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which wasvery good but thirsty. (Mem., get recipe for Mina.) I asked thewaiter, and he said it was called “paprika hendl,” and that, as it was anational dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along theCarpathians. I found my smattering of German very useful here; indeed, Idon’t know how I should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited theBritish Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the libraryregarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of thecountry could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with anobleman of that country. I find that the district he named is in theextreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states,Transylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathianmountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe. I wasnot able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of theCastle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to comparewith our own Ordnance Survey maps; but I found that Bistritz, the posttown named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enterhere some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over mytravels with Mina.

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities:Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are thedescendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in theEast and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be descendedfrom Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conqueredthe country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it. Iread that every known superstition in the world is gathered into thehorseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort ofimaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (Mem., Imust ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I hadall sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under mywindow, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have beenthe paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and wasstill thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuousknocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then.I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flourwhich they said was “mamaliga,” and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, avery excellent dish, which they call “impletata.” (Mem., get recipefor this also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a littlebefore eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing tothe station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hourbefore we began to move. It seems to me that the further east you go themore unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full ofbeauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on thetop of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran byrivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each sideof them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, andrunning strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear. At everystation there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sortsof attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those Isaw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets and round hatsand home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque. The womenlooked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were very clumsyabout the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other,and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of somethingfluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course therewere petticoats under them. The strangest figures we saw were theSlovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boyhats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormousheavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brassnails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, andhad long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are verypicturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would beset down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They are,however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in naturalself-assertion.

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is avery interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier—for theBorgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina—it has had a very stormyexistence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a seriesof great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separateoccasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwenta siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of warproper being assisted by famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which Ifound, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for ofcourse I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I wasevidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced acheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress—whiteundergarment with long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stufffitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed andsaid, “The Herr Englishman?” “Yes,” I said, “Jonathan Harker.” Shesmiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves,who had followed her to the door. He went, but immediately returned witha letter:—

4 May.—I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count,directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but onmaking inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, andpretended that he could not understand my German. This could not betrue, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, heanswered my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the oldlady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort ofway. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and thatwas all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and couldtell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves,and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speakfurther. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to askany one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any meanscomforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in avery hysterical way:

“Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?” She was in such an excitedstate that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, andmixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. Iwas just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told herthat I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business,she asked again:

“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was the fourth of May.She shook her head as she said again:

“Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?” Onmy saying that I did not understand, she went on:

“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that to-night, whenthe clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will havefull sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?”She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, butwithout effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me notto go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all veryridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was businessto be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it. I thereforetried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thankedher, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go. She then rose anddried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me. Idid not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have beentaught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet itseemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such astate of mind. She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put therosary round my neck, and said, “For your mother’s sake,” and went outof the room. I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waitingfor the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is stillround my neck. Whether it is the old lady’s fear, or the many ghostlytraditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but Iam not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book shouldever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes thecoach!

5 May. The Castle.—The grey of the morning has passed, and the sun ishigh over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees orhills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little aremixed. I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake,naturally I write till sleep comes. There are many odd things to putdown, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before Ileft Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly. I dined on what theycalled “robber steak”—bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with redpepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simplestyle of the London cat’s meat! The wine was Golden Mediasch, whichproduces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, notdisagreeable. I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.

When I got on the coach the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw himtalking with the landlady. They were evidently talking of me, for everynow and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sittingon the bench outside the door—which they call by a name meaning“word-bearer”—came and listened, and then looked at me, most of thempityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, forthere were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglotdictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were notcheering to me, for amongst them were “Ordog”—Satan, “pokol”—hell,“stregoica”—witch, “vrolok” and “vlkoslak”—both of which mean the samething, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that iseither were-wolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Count about thesesuperstitions)

When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this timeswelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross andpointed two fingers towards me. With some difficulty I got afellow-passenger to tell me what they meant; he would not answer atfirst, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it was acharm or guard against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me,just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man; but every oneseemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that Icould not but be touched. I shall never forget the last glimpse which Ihad of the inn-yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossingthemselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background ofrich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in thecentre of the yard. Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers coveredthe whole front of the box-seat—“gotza” they call them—cracked his bigwhip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off onour journey.

I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of thescene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or ratherlanguages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might not havebeen able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green slopingland full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crownedwith clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to theroad. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom—apple,plum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I could see the green grass underthe trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst thesegreen hills of what they call here the “Mittel Land” ran the road,losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by thestraggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down thehillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged, but still weseemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand thenwhat the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing notime in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summertimeexcellent, but that it had not yet been put in order after the wintersnows. In this respect it is different from the general run of roads inthe Carpathians, for it is an old tradition that they are not to be keptin too good order. Of old the Hospadars would not repair them, lest theTurk should think that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops,and so hasten the war which was always really at loading point.

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopesof forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Rightand left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full uponthem and bringing out all the glorious colours of this beautiful range,deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown wheregrass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged rock andpointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the distance, wherethe snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in themountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and againthe white gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm aswe swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-coveredpeak of a mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, tobe right before us:—

“Look! Isten szek!”—“God’s seat!”—and he crossed himself reverently.

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behindus, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This wasemphasised by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held thesunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and therewe passed Cszeks and Slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I noticedthat goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many crosses,and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves. Here and therewas a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did not eventurn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender ofdevotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world. There weremany things new to me: for instance, hay-ricks in the trees, and hereand there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white stemsshining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves. Now andagain we passed a leiter-wagon—the ordinary peasant’s cart—with itslong, snake-like vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of theroad. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of home-comingpeasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with theircoloured, sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their longstaves, with axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get very cold,and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness thegloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys whichran deep between the spurs of the hills, as we ascended through thePass, the dark firs stood out here and there against the background oflate-lying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woodsthat seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses ofgreyness, which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced apeculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts andgrim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunsetthrew into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst theCarpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes thehills were so steep that, despite our driver’s haste, the horses couldonly go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home,but the driver would not hear of it. “No, no,” he said; “you must notwalk here; the dogs are too fierce”; and then he added, with what heevidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch theapproving smile of the rest—“and you may have enough of such mattersbefore you go to sleep.” The only stop he would make was a moment’spause to light his lamps.

When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst thepassengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, asthough urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifullywith his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them onto further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort ofpatch of grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in thehills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater; the crazy coachrocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on astormy sea. I had to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appearedto fly along. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on eachside and to frown down upon us; we were entering on the Borgo Pass. Oneby one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressedupon me with an earnestness which would take no denial; these werecertainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple goodfaith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture offear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel atBistritz—the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye.Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on each side thepassengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into thedarkness. It was evident that something very exciting was eitherhappening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no one wouldgive me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on forsome little time; and at last we saw before us the Pass opening out onthe eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in theair the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though themountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had gotinto the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyancewhich was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see theglare of lamps through the blackness; but all was dark. The only lightwas the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from ourhard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the sandyroad lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle.The passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mockmy own disappointment. I was already thinking what I had best do, whenthe driver, looking at his watch, said to the others something which Icould hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone; Ithought it was “An hour less than the time.” Then turning to me, he saidin German worse than my own:—

“There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He willnow come on to Bukovina, and return to-morrow or the next day; betterthe next day.” Whilst he was speaking the horses began to neigh andsnort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then,amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossingof themselves, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtookus, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of ourlamps, as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black andsplendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brownbeard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. Icould only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed redin the lamplight, as he turned to us. He said to the driver:—

“You are early to-night, my friend.” The man stammered in reply:—

“The English Herr was in a hurry,” to which the stranger replied:—

“That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannotdeceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.” As hespoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, withvery red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of mycompanions whispered to another the line from Burger’s “Lenore”:—

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with agleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same timeputting out his two fingers and crossing himself. “Give me the Herr’sluggage,” said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my bags werehanded out and put in the calèche. Then I descended from the side of thecoach, as the calèche was close alongside, the driver helping me with ahand which caught my arm in a grip of steel; his strength must have beenprodigious. Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and weswept into the darkness of the Pass. As I looked back I saw the steamfrom the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and projectedagainst it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves. Thenthe driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swepton their way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I felt astrange chill, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was thrownover my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said inexcellent German:—

“The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take allcare of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of thecountry) underneath the seat, if you should require it.” I did not takeany, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. I felt alittle strangely, and not a little frightened. I think had there beenany alternative I should have taken it, instead of prosecuting thatunknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace straight along,then we made a complete turn and went along another straight road. Itseemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same groundagain; and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this wasso. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, butI really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, anyprotest would have had no effect in case there had been an intention todelay. By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time waspassing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it waswithin a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for Isuppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by myrecent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—along, agonised wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up byanother dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind whichnow sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemedto come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could graspit through the gloom of the night. At the first howl the horses began tostrain and rear, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and theyquieted down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway fromsudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on eachside of us began a louder and a sharper howling—that of wolves—whichaffected both the horses and myself in the same way—for I was minded tojump from the calèche and run, whilst they reared again and plungedmadly, so that the driver had to use all his great strength to keep themfrom bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed tothe sound, and the horses so far became quiet that the driver was ableto descend and to stand before them. He petted and soothed them, andwhispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamersdoing, and with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they becamequite manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver againtook his seat, and shaking his reins, started off at a great pace. Thistime, after going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down anarrow roadway which ran sharply to the right.

Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over theroadway till we passed as through a tunnel; and again great frowningrocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in shelter, wecould hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through therocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along.It grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall,so that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. Thekeen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grewfainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearerand nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. Igrew dreadfully afraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver,however, was not in the least disturbed; he kept turning his head toleft and right, but I could not see anything through the darkness.

Suddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue flame. Thedriver saw it at the same moment; he at once checked the horses, and,jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not knowwhat to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer; but whileI wondered the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word tookhis seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleepand kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be repeatedendlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare.Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darknessaround us I could watch the driver’s motions. He went rapidly to wherethe blue flame arose—it must have been very faint, for it did not seemto illumine the place around it at all—and gathering a few stones,formed them into some device. Once there appeared a strange opticaleffect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it,for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same. This startled me, butas the effect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived mestraining through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blueflames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the howling of thewolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle.

At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than hehad yet gone, and during his absence, the horses began to tremble worsethan ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could not see any causefor it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether; but justthen the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind thejagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light I sawaround us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues,with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times moreterrible in the grim silence which held them than even when they howled.For myself, I felt a sort of paralysis of fear. It is only when a manfeels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understandtheir true import.

All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had hadsome peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared, andlooked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful to see;but the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side; and theyhad perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, forit seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through thering and to aid his approach. I shouted and beat the side of thecalèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so asto give him a chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I knownot, but I heard his voice raised in a tone of imperious command, andlooking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he swept hislong arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolvesfell back and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed acrossthe face of the moon, so that we were again in darkness.

When I could see again the driver was climbing into the calèche, and thewolves had disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that adreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The timeseemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost completedarkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept onascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in the mainalways ascending. Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that thedriver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of avast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light,and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlitsky.

CHAPTER II

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL—continued

5 May.—I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fullyawake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. Inthe gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several darkways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger thanit really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.

When the calèche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his handto assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigiousstrength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could havecrushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took out my traps, and placedthem on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old andstudded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway ofmassive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone wasmassively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time andweather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook thereins; the horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down oneof the dark openings.

I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bellor knocker there was no sign; through these frowning walls and darkwindow openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. Thetime I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding uponme. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people?What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this acustomary incident in the life of a solicitor’s clerk sent out toexplain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor’sclerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leavingLondon I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now afull-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see ifI were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and Iexpected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, withthe dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again feltin the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered thepinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awakeand among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and towait the coming of the morning.

Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approachingbehind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a cominglight. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking ofmassive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noiseof long disuse, and the great door swung back.

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long whitemoustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speckof colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silverlamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind,throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of theopen door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtlygesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:—

“Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!” He made nomotion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though hisgesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, thatI had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, andholding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince,an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold asice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said:—

“Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of thehappiness you bring!” The strength of the handshake was so much akin tothat which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, thatfor a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I wasspeaking; so to make sure, I said interrogatively:—

“Count Dracula?” He bowed in a courtly way as he replied:—

“I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in;the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.” As he wasspeaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out,took my luggage; he had carried it in before I could forestall him. Iprotested but he insisted:—

“Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are notavailable. Let me see to your comfort myself.” He insisted on carryingmy traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, andalong another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rangheavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoicedto see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper,and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished,flamed and flared.

The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossingthe room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room litby a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passingthrough this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was awelcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed withanother log fire,—also added to but lately, for the top logs werefresh—which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himselfleft my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed thedoor:—

“You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making yourtoilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, comeinto the other room, where you will find your supper prepared.”

The light and warmth and the Count’s courteous welcome seemed to havedissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state,I discovered that I was half famished with hunger; so making a hastytoilet, I went into the other room.

I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of thegreat fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave ofhis hand to the table, and said:—

“I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuseme that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.”

I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me.He opened it and read it gravely; then, with a charming smile, he handedit to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill ofpleasure.

“I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constantsufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time tocome; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one inwhom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energyand talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He isdiscreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shallbe ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall takeyour instructions in all matters.”

The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and Ifell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheeseand a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, wasmy supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me manyquestions as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I hadexperienced.

By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host’s desire had drawnup a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me,at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now anopportunity of observing him, and found him of a very markedphysiognomy.

His face was a strong—a very strong—aquiline, with high bridge of thethin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, andhair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. Hiseyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushyhair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as Icould see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rathercruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded overthe lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in aman of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the topsextremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firmthough thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his kneesin the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeingthem now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rathercoarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs inthe centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharppoint. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could notrepress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but ahorrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I couldnot conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with agrim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done hisprotuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of thefireplace. We were both silent for a while; and as I looked towards thewindow I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed astrange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if fromdown below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count’s eyesgleamed, and he said:—

“Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!”Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, headded:—

“Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of thehunter.” Then he rose and said:—

“But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow youshall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon;so sleep well and dream well!” With a courteous bow, he opened for mehimself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom....

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things,which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for thesake of those dear to me!

7 May.—It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed thelast twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of myown accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we hadsupped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by thepot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on whichwas written:—

“I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.—D.” I set to andenjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that Imight let the servants know I had finished; but I could not find one.There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering theextraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table serviceis of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value.The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings ofmy bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must havebeen of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old,though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court,but there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none ofthe rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on mytable, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before Icould either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servantanywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves.Some time after I had finished my meal—I do not know whether to call itbreakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o’clock when I hadit—I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go aboutthe castle until I had asked the Count’s permission. There wasabsolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writingmaterials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort oflibrary. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked.

In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of Englishbooks, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines andnewspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazinesand newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The bookswere of the most varied kind—history, geography, politics, politicaleconomy, botany, geology, law—all relating to England and English lifeand customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as theLondon Directory, the “Red” and “Blue” books, Whitaker’s Almanac, theArmy and Navy Lists, and—it somehow gladdened my heart to see it—theLaw List.

Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Countentered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a goodnight’s rest. Then he went on:—

“I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much thatwill interest you. These companions”—and he laid his hand on some ofthe books—“have been good friends to me, and for some years past, eversince I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hoursof pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England; and toknow her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets ofyour mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush ofhumanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makesit what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books.To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.”

“But, Count,” I said, “you know and speak English thoroughly!” He bowedgravely.

“I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet Ifear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I knowthe grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.”

“Indeed,” I said, “you speak excellently.”

“Not so,” he answered. “Well, I know that, did I move and speak in yourLondon, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is notenough for me. Here I am noble; I am boyar; the common people know me,and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; menknow him not—and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I amlike the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or pause in hisspeaking if he hear my words, ‘Ha, ha! a stranger!’ I have been so longmaster that I would be master still—or at least that none other shouldbe master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend PeterHawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. Youshall, I trust, rest here with me awhile, so that by our talking I maylearn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I makeerror, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to beaway so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so manyimportant affairs in hand.”

Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I mightcome into that room when I chose. He answered: “Yes, certainly,” andadded:—

“You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors arelocked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason thatall things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know withmy knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.” I said I was sure ofthis, and then he went on:—

“We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways arenot your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, fromwhat you have told me of your experiences already, you know something ofwhat strange things there may be.”

This led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he wanted totalk, if only for talking’s sake, I asked him many questions regardingthings that had already happened to me or come within my notice.Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation bypretending not to understand; but generally he answered all I asked mostfrankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I askedhim of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as, forinstance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blueflames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on acertain night of the year—last night, in fact, when all evil spiritsare supposed to have unchecked sway—a blue flame is seen over any placewhere treasure has been concealed. “That treasure has been hidden,” hewent on, “in the region through which you came last night, there can bebut little doubt; for it was the ground fought over for centuries by theWallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soilin all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men,patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when theAustrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went outto meet them—men and women, the aged and the children too—and waitedtheir coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweepdestruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invaderwas triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had beensheltered in the friendly soil.”

“But how,” said I, “can it have remained so long undiscovered, whenthere is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?”The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long,sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered:—

“Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames onlyappear on one night; and on that night no man of this land will, if hecan help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did hewould not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of whomarked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylighteven for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able tofind these places again?”

“There you are right,” I said. “I know no more than the dead where evento look for them.” Then we drifted into other matters.

“Come,” he said at last, “tell me of London and of the house which youhave procured for me.” With an apology for my remissness, I went into myown room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them inorder I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as Ipassed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamplit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also litin the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa,reading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw’s Guide. When Icame in he cleared the books and papers from the table; and with him Iwent into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested ineverything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and itssurroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on thesubject of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very muchmore than I did. When I remarked this, he answered:—

“Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go thereI shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan—nay, pardon me, Ifall into my country’s habit of putting your patronymic first—my friendJonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will bein Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with myother friend, Peter Hawkins. So!”

We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate atPurfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to thenecessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post toMr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable aplace. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which Iinscribe here:—

“At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as seemed tobe required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the placewas for sale. It is surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure,built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number ofyears. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten withrust.

“The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old QuatreFace, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points ofthe compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded bythe solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, whichmake it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond orsmall lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear andflows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of allperiods back, I should say, to mediæval times, for one part is of stoneimmensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred withiron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel orchurch. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leadingto it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views of it fromvarious points. The house has been added to, but in a very stragglingway, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which mustbe very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a verylarge house only recently added to and formed into a private lunaticasylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.”

When I had finished, he said:—

“I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and tolive in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in aday; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoicealso that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles lovenot to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek notgaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine andsparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young;and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is notattuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; theshadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the brokenbattlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and wouldbe alone with my thoughts when I may.” Somehow his words and his lookdid not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made hissmile look malignant and saturnine.

Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my paperstogether. He was some little time away, and I began to look at some ofthe books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened naturally atEngland, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I found incertain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticedthat one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his newestate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on theYorkshire coast.

It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. “Aha!” hesaid; “still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; Iam informed that your supper is ready.” He took my arm, and we went intothe next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. TheCount again excused himself, as he had dined out on his being away fromhome. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate.After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed withme, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject, hourafter hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did notsay anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host’s wishes inevery way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortifiedme; but I could not help experiencing that chill which comes over one atthe coming of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide.They say that people who are near death die generally at the change tothe dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, andtied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmospherecan well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming upwith preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air; CountDracula, jumping to his feet, said:—

“Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up solong. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country ofEngland less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies byus,” and, with a courtly bow, he quickly left me.

I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little tonotice; my window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was thewarm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and havewritten of this day.

8 May.—I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting toodiffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, forthere is something so strange about this place and all in it that Icannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I hadnever come. It may be that this strange night-existence is telling onme; but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to Icould bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with,and he!—I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. Letme be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me to bear up, andimagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me sayat once how I stand—or seem to.

I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I couldnot sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window,and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder,and heard the Count’s voice saying to me, “Good-morning.” I started, forit amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glasscovered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly,but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the Count’ssalutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken.This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and Icould see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him inthe mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed; but there was nosign of a man in it, except myself. This was startling, and, coming onthe top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that vaguefeeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near; but atthe instant I saw that the cut had bled a little, and the blood wastrickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so halfround to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, hiseyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab atmy throat. I drew away, and his hand touched the string of beads whichheld the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for the fury passedso quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there.

“Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is moredangerous than you think in this country.” Then seizing the shavingglass, he went on: “And this is the wretched thing that has done themischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s vanity. Away with it!” andopening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flungout the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stonesof the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is veryannoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case orthe bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.

When I went into the dining-room, breakfast was prepared; but I couldnot find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange thatas yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a verypeculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. Iwent out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South. Theview was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunityof seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. Astone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet withouttouching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green treetops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here andthere are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges throughthe forests.

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view Iexplored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked andbolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is therean available exit.

The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!

CHAPTER III

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL—continued

WHEN I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me.I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out ofevery window I could find; but after a little the conviction of myhelplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back after afew hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved muchas a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to methat I was helpless I sat down quietly—as quietly as I have ever doneanything in my life—and began to think over what was best to be done. Iam thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Ofone thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known tothe Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done ithimself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceiveme if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my onlyplan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyesopen. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears,or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need, andshall need, all my brains to get through.

I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door belowshut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come at once intothe library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him makingthe bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all alongthought—that there were no servants in the house. When later I saw himthrough the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in thedining-room, I was assured of it; for if he does himself all thesemenial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them.This gave me a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, itmust have been the Count himself who was the driver of the coach thatbrought me here. This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does itmean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up hishand in silence. How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on thecoach had some terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of thecrucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Blessthat good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is acomfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thingwhich I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrousshould in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that thereis something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium,a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Sometime, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up mymind about it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about CountDracula, as it may help me to understand. To-night he may talk ofhimself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful,however, not to awake his suspicion.

Midnight.—I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a fewquestions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the subjectwonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially ofbattles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This heafterwards explained by saying that to a boyar the pride of his houseand name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that theirfate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always said “we,”and spoke almost in the plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could putdown all he said exactly as he said it, for to me it was mostfascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of the country. Hegrew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room pulling his greatwhite moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands asthough he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said which Ishall put down as nearly as I can; for it tells in its way the story ofhis race:—

“We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the bloodof many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here,in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down fromIceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which theirBerserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay,and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that thewere-wolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they foundthe Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame,till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of thoseold witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in thedesert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great asAttila, whose blood is in these veins?” He held up his arms. “Is it awonder that we were a conquering race; that we were proud; that when theMagyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured histhousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that whenArpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found ushere when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas was completedthere? And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys wereclaimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centurieswas trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land; ay, and morethan that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say,‘water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.’ Who more gladly than wethroughout the Four Nations received the ‘bloody sword,’ or at itswarlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When wasredeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when theflags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent? Whowas it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beatthe Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it thathis own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to theTurk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula,indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again andagain brought his forces over the great river into Turkey-land; who,when he was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he hadto come alone from the bloody field where his troops were beingslaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! Theysaid that he thought only of himself. Bah! what good are peasantswithout a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and heart toconduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohács, we threw off theHungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, forour spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, theSzekelys—and the Dracula as their heart’s blood, their brains, andtheir swords—can boast a record that mushroom growths like theHapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over.Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace; andthe glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.”

It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (Mem., thisdiary seems horribly like the beginning of the “Arabian Nights,” foreverything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet’sfather.)

12 May.—Let me begin with facts—bare, meagre facts, verified bybooks and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must notconfuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my ownobservation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came fromhis room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and on thedoing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily overbooks, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over some of thematters I had been examining at Lincoln’s Inn. There was a certainmethod in the Count’s inquiries, so I shall try to put them down insequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me.

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or more. Itold him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not bewise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as onlyone could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militateagainst his interest. He seemed thoroughly to understand, and went on toask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one man toattend, say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in caselocal help were needed in a place far from the home of the bankingsolicitor. I asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not by anychance mislead him, so he said:—

“I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from underthe shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which is far fromLondon, buys for me through your good self my place at London. Good! Nowhere let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange that I havesought the services of one so far off from London instead of some oneresident there, that my motive was that no local interest might beserved save my wish only; and as one of London residence might, perhaps,have some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield toseek my agent, whose labours should be only to my interest. Now, supposeI, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, orDurham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with moreease be done by consigning to one in these ports?” I answered thatcertainly it would be most easy, but that we solicitors had a system ofagency one for the other, so that local work could be done locally oninstruction from any solicitor, so that the client, simply placinghimself in the hands of one man, could have his wishes carried out byhim without further trouble.

“But,” said he, “I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?”

“Of course,” I replied; and “such is often done by men of business, whodo not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person.”

“Good!” he said, and then went on to ask about the means of makingconsignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts ofdifficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be guardedagainst. I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability,and he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made awonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of orforesee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did notevidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen werewonderful. When he had satisfied himself on these points of which he hadspoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the booksavailable, he suddenly stood up and said:—

“Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. PeterHawkins, or to any other?” It was with some bitterness in my heart thatI answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity ofsending letters to anybody.

“Then write now, my young friend,” he said, laying a heavy hand on myshoulder: “write to our friend and to any other; and say, if it willplease you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now.”

“Do you wish me to stay so long?” I asked, for my heart grew cold at thethought.

“I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master,employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf,it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have notstinted. Is it not so?”

What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins’s interest, notmine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while CountDracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearingwhich made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it Icould have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and hismastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, butin his own smooth, resistless way:—

“I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of thingsother than business in your letters. It will doubtless please yourfriends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to gettinghome to them. Is it not so?” As he spoke he handed me three sheets ofnote-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreignpost, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile,with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understoodas well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, forhe would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notesnow, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, forto her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if hedid see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading abook whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote them tosome books on his table. Then he took up my two and placed them with hisown, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the doorhad closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, whichwere face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, forunder the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every wayI could.

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, TheCrescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was toCoutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth,bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was justabout to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I sank back in myseat, having just had time to replace the letters as they had been andto resume my book before the Count, holding still another letter in hishand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and stampedthem carefully, and then turning to me, said:—

“I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private thisevening. You will, I hope, find all things as you wish.” At the door heturned, and after a moment’s pause said:—

“Let me advise you, my dear young friend—nay, let me warn you with allseriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by anychance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and hasmany memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Bewarned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, thenhaste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then besafe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then”—He finished hisspeech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he werewashing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to whether anydream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloomand mystery which seemed closing around me.

Later.—I endorse the last words written, but this time there is nodoubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where he isnot. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed—I imagine thatmy rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain.

When he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not hearing anysound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where I could look outtowards the South. There was some sense of freedom in the vast expanse,inaccessible though it was to me, as compared with the narrow darknessof the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I was indeed inprison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air, though it were ofthe night. I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me.It is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of allsorts of horrible imaginings. God knows that there is ground for myterrible fear in this accursed place! I looked out over the beautifulexpanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light asday. In the soft light the distant hills became melted, and the shadowsin the valleys and gorges of velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemedto cheer me; there was peace and comfort in every breath I drew. As Ileaned from the window my eye was caught by something moving a storeybelow me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, from the order ofthe rooms, that the windows of the Count’s own room would look out. Thewindow at which I stood was tall and deep, stone-mullioned, and thoughweatherworn, was still complete; but it was evidently many a day sincethe case had been there. I drew back behind the stonework, and lookedcarefully out.

What I saw was the Count’s head coming out from the window. I did notsee the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of hisback and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had hadso many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested andsomewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will interestand amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed torepulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from thewindow and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss,face down with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. Atfirst I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of themoonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept looking, and it couldbe no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of thestones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thususing every projection and inequality move downwards with considerablespeed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in thesemblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpoweringme; I am in fear—in awful fear—and there is no escape for me; I amencompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of....

15 May.—Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet down, and a gooddeal to the left. He vanished into some hole or window. When his headhad disappeared, I leaned out to try and see more, but withoutavail—the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of sight. Iknew he had left the castle now, and thought to use the opportunity toexplore more than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to the room, andtaking a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all locked, as I hadexpected, and the locks were comparatively new; but I went down thestone stairs to the hall where I had entered originally. I found I couldpull back the bolts easily enough and unhook the great chains; but thedoor was locked, and the key was gone! That key must be in the Count’sroom; I must watch should his door be unlocked, so that I may get it andescape. I went on to make a thorough examination of the various stairsand passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One or twosmall rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see inthem except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten. At last,however, I found one door at the top of the stairway which, though itseemed to be locked, gave a little under pressure. I tried it harder,and found that it was not really locked, but that the resistance camefrom the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and the heavy doorrested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which I might not haveagain, so I exerted myself, and with many efforts forced it back so thatI could enter. I was now in a wing of the castle further to the rightthan the rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I couldsee that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the castle, thewindows of the end room looking out both west and south. On the latterside, as well as to the former, there was a great precipice. The castlewas built on the corner of a great rock, so that on three sides it wasquite impregnable, and great windows were placed here where sling, orbow, or culverin could not reach, and consequently light and comfort,impossible to a position which had to be guarded, were secured. To thewest was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great jaggedmountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded withmountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and crevices andcrannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion of the castleoccupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the furniture had more air ofcomfort than any I had seen. The windows were curtainless, and theyellow moonlight, flooding in through the diamond panes, enabled one tosee even colours, whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay overall and disguised in some measure the ravages of time and the moth. Mylamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I wasglad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the placewhich chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, it was betterthan living alone in the rooms which I had come to hate from thepresence of the Count, and after trying a little to school my nerves, Ifound a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oaktable where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with muchthought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in mydiary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It isnineteenth century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless mysenses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their ownwhich mere “modernity” cannot kill.

Later: the Morning of 16 May.—God preserve my sanity, for to this Iam reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past.Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may notgo mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely itis maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in thishateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone Ican look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve hispurpose. Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that waylies madness indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things whichhave puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meantwhen he made Hamlet say:—

for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shockhad come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose.The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it frightensme more now when I think of it, for in future he has a fearful hold uponme. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book andpen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count’s warning came into my mind,but I took a pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was upon me,and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider. The softmoonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of freedomwhich refreshed me. I determined not to return to-night to thegloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had satand sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad fortheir menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a greatcouch out of its place near the corner, so that as I lay, I could lookat the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of and uncaring forthe dust, composed myself for sleep. I suppose I must have fallenasleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that followed was startlinglyreal—so real that now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of themorning, I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.

I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way since Icame into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight,my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation ofdust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies bytheir dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreamingwhen I saw them, for, though the moonlight was behind them, they threwno shadow on the floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for sometime, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquilinenoses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes that seemed to bealmost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other wasfair, as fair as can be, with great wavy masses of golden hair and eyeslike pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know itin connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at themoment how or where. All three had brilliant white teeth that shone likepearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was somethingabout them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time somedeadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they wouldkiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest someday it should meet Mina’s eyes and cause her pain; but it is the truth.They whispered together, and then they all three laughed—such asilvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could havecome through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable,tingling sweetness of water-glasses when played on by a cunning hand.The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged heron. One said:—

“Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right tobegin.” The other added:—

“He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all.” I lay quiet,looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation.The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movementof her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sentthe same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitterunderlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.

I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly underthe lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simplygloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrillingand repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lipslike an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shiningon the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharpteeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range ofmy mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then shepaused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it lickedher teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then theskin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand thatis to tickle it approaches nearer—nearer. I could feel the soft,shivering touch of the lips on the super-sensitive skin of my throat,and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there.I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited—waited with beatingheart.

But at that instant, another sensation swept through me as quick aslightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of hisbeing as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily Isaw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and withgiant’s power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, thewhite teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red withpassion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even tothe demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red lightin them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them. Hisface was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard like drawn wires;the thick eyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like a heaving barof white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the womanfrom him, and then motioned to the others, as though he were beatingthem back; it was the same imperious gesture that I had seen used to thewolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in a whisper seemed tocut through the air and then ring round the room he said:—

“How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him whenI had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Bewarehow you meddle with him, or you’ll have to deal with me.” The fair girl,with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:—

“You yourself never loved; you never love!” On this the other womenjoined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through theroom that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasureof fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively,and said in a soft whisper:—

“Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is itnot so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him you shallkiss him at your will. Now go! go! I must awaken him, for there is workto be done.”

“Are we to have nothing to-night?” said one of them, with a low laugh,as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the floor, and whichmoved as though there were some living thing within it. For answer henodded his head. One of the women jumped forward and opened it. If myears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of ahalf-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast withhorror; but as I looked they disappeared, and with them the dreadfulbag. There was no door near them, and they could not have passed mewithout my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into the rays of themoonlight and pass out through the window, for I could see outside thedim, shadowy forms for a moment before they entirely faded away.

Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.

CHAPTER IV

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL—continued

I AWOKE in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count musthave carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, butcould not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there werecertain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid byin a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I amrigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, andmany such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have beenevidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause oranother, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of onething I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and undressedme, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. Iam sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would nothave brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round thisroom, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort ofsanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, whowere—who are—waiting to suck my blood.

18 May.—I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, forI must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of thestairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against thejamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the boltof the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside.I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise.

19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me inthe suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work herewas nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days,another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of theletter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived atBistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present stateof things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst Iam so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite hissuspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, andthat I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is toprolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me achance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrathwhich was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explainedto me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now wouldensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so muchimpressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which wouldbe held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of myprolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create newsuspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his views, and askedhim what dates I should put on the letters. He calculated a minute, andthen said:—

“The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June29.”

I know now the span of my life. God help me!

28 May.—There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able tosend word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and areencamped in the courtyard. These Szgany are gipsies; I have notes ofthem in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, thoughallied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousandsof them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law.They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or boyar, andcall themselves by his name. They are fearless and without religion,save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of the Romanytongue.

I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have themposted. I have already spoken them through my window to beginacquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and manysigns, which, however, I could not understand any more than I couldtheir spoken language....

I have written the letters. Mina’s is in shorthand, and I simply ask Mr.Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my situation,but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock andfrighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should theletters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or theextent of my knowledge....

I have given the letters; I threw them through the bars of my windowwith a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. Theman who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put themin his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, and began toread. As the Count did not come in, I have written here....

The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothestvoice as he opened two letters:—

“The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence theycome, I shall, of course, take care. See!”—he must have looked atit—“one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other”—herehe caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, andthe dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly—“theother is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It isnot signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us.” And he calmly held letterand envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed. Then hewent on:—

“The letter to Hawkins—that I shall, of course, send on, since it isyours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, thatunknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?” He heldout the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a cleanenvelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. Whenhe went out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute laterI went over and tried it, and the door was locked.

When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, hiscoming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was verycourteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had beensleeping, he said:—

“So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. Imay not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many laboursto me; but you will sleep, I pray.” I passed to my room and went to bed,and, strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms.

31 May.—This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myselfwith some paper and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, sothat I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but again asurprise, again a shock!

Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda,relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all thatmight be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and ponderedawhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of myportmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes.

The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat andrug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some newscheme of villainy....

17 June.—This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bedcudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of whips and poundingand scraping of horses’ feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard.With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two greatleiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head ofeach pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirtysheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. Iran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them through themain hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again ashock: my door was fastened on the outside.

Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at mestupidly and pointed, but just then the “hetman” of the Szgany came out,and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which theylaughed. Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonisedentreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away.The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thickrope; these were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovakshandled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. Whenthey were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner of theyard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and spitting onit for luck, lazily went each to his horse’s head. Shortly afterwards, Iheard the cracking of their whips die away in the distance.

24 June, before morning.—Last night the Count left me early, andlocked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up thewinding stair, and looked out of the window, which opened south. Ithought I would watch for the Count, for there is something going on.The Szgany are quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work ofsome kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away muffled soundas of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of someruthless villainy.

I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I sawsomething coming out of the Count’s window. I drew back and watchedcarefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me tofind that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilsttravelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which Ihad seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest,and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that he willallow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leaveevidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my ownletters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the localpeople be attributed to me.

It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut uphere, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law whichis even a criminal’s right and consolation.

I thought I would watch for the Count’s return, and for a long time satdoggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were somequaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They werelike the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered inclusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense ofsoothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in theembrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy morefully the aërial gambolling.

Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere farbelow in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed toring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes tothe sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling toawake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling,and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. Iwas becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; themoonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloombeyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantomshapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of mysenses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which werebecoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of thethree ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhatsafer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and where the lampwas burning brightly.

When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in theCount’s room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed; and thenthere was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With abeating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, andcould do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.

As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without—the agonised cry of awoman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out betweenthe bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding herhands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaningagainst a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window shethrew herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:—

“Monster, give me my child!”

She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the samewords in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat herbreast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagantemotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I could not seeher, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door.

Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of theCount calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to beanswered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many minuteshad passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated,through the wide entrance into the courtyard.

There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was butshort. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, andshe was better dead.

What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadfulthing of night and gloom and fear?

25 June, morning.—No man knows till he has suffered from the nighthow sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When thesun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the greatgateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to meas if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me asif it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I musttake action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Lastnight one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of that fatalseries which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from theearth.

Let me not think of it. Action!

It has always been at night-time that I have been molested orthreatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen theCount in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, thathe may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his room!But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me.

Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gonewhy may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from hiswindow. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? Thechances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall riskit. At the worst it can only be death; and a man’s death is not acalf’s, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help mein my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend andsecond father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!

Same day, later.—I have made the effort, and God, helping me, havecome safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order. Iwent whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the southside, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runsaround the building on this side. The stones are big and roughly cut,and the mortar has by process of time been washed away between them. Itook off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked downonce, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth wouldnot overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I knew prettywell the direction and distance of the Count’s window, and made for itas well as I could, having regard to the opportunities available. I didnot feel dizzy—I suppose I was too excited—and the time seemedridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window-sill andtrying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, whenI bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then I lookedaround for the Count, but, with surprise and gladness, made a discovery.The room was empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, whichseemed to have never been used; the furniture was something the samestyle as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I lookedfor the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find itanywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in onecorner—gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, andHungarian, and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, asthough it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed wasless than three hundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments,some jewelled, but all of them old and stained.

At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since Icould not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, whichwas the main object of my search, I must make further examination, orall my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stonepassage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended,minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, being only litby loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark,tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, theodour of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage the smellgrew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which stoodajar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which had evidentlybeen used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places weresteps leading to vaults, but the ground had recently been dug over, andthe earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had beenbrought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I made search forany further outlet, but there was none. Then I went over every inch ofthe ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into thevaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a dread tomy very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragmentsof old coffins and piles of dust; in the third, however, I made adiscovery.

There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on apile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep, Icould not say which—for the eyes were open and stony, but without theglassiness of death—and the cheeks had the warmth of life through alltheir pallor; the lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign ofmovement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him,and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lainthere long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few hours.By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there.I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I sawthe dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, such a look of hate,though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, andleaving the Count’s room by the window, crawled again up the castlewall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and triedto think....

29 June.—To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count hastaken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave thecastle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the wall,lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I mightdestroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man’s hand wouldhave any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I fearedto see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read theretill I fell asleep.

I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man canlook as he said:—

“To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautifulEngland, I to some work which may have such an end that we may nevermeet. Your letter home has been despatched; to-morrow I shall not behere, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come theSzgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come someSlovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shallbear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina toBistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at CastleDracula.” I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity.Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it inconnection with such a monster, so asked him point-blank:—

“Why may I not go to-night?”

“Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission.”

“But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.” He smiled,such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trickbehind his smoothness. He said:—

“And your baggage?”

“I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.”

The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub myeyes, it seemed so real:—

“You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit isthat which rules our boyars: ‘Welcome the coming; speed the partingguest.’ Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you waitin my house against your will, though sad am I at your going, and thatyou so suddenly desire it. Come!” With a stately gravity, he, with thelamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly hestopped.

“Hark!”

Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as if thesound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the music of a greatorchestra seems to leap under the bâton of the conductor. After a pauseof a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the door, drew backthe ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw itopen.

To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked. Suspiciously, Ilooked all round, but could see no key of any kind.

As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without grew louderand angrier; their red jaws, with champing teeth, and their blunt-clawedfeet as they leaped, came in through the opening door. I knew then thatto struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With suchallies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But still the doorcontinued slowly to open, and only the Count’s body stood in the gap.Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of mydoom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. Therewas a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, andas a last chance I cried out:—

“Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!” and covered my face with myhands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With one sweep of hispowerful arm, the Count threw the door shut, and the great bolts clangedand echoed through the hall as they shot back into their places.

In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two I wentto my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his handto me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile thatJudas in hell might be proud of.

When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I heard awhispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened. Unless my earsdeceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:—

“Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Havepatience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!” There was a low,sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw open the door, and sawwithout the three terrible women licking their lips. As I appeared theyall joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away.

I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then so nearthe end? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I amdear!

30 June, morning.—These may be the last words I ever write in thisdiary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myselfon my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find meready.

At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the morninghad come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I felt that I was safe.With a glad heart, I opened my door and ran down to the hall. I had seenthat the door was unlocked, and now escape was before me. With handsthat trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew back themassive bolts.

But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and pulled, atthe door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled in itscasement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I left theCount.

Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and Idetermined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count’sroom. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice ofevils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambleddown the wall, as before, into the Count’s room. It was empty, but thatwas as I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap of goldremained. I went through the door in the corner and down the windingstair and along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now wellenough where to find the monster I sought.

The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the lidwas laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in theirplaces to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the key, soI raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and then I sawsomething which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count,but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hairand moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller,and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder thanever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from thecorners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep,burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouchesunderneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature weresimply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with hisrepletion. I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense inme revolted at the contact; but I had to search, or I was lost. Thecoming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar way to thosehorrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of thekey. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smileon the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being Iwas helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to comehe might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, andcreate a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on thehelpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon meto rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand,but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill thecases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at thehateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell fullupon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed toparalyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face,merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from myhand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the bladecaught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horridthing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face,blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have held itsown in the nethermost hell.

I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain seemedon fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over me. As Iwaited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry voices comingcloser, and through their song the rolling of heavy wheels and thecracking of whips; the Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count hadspoken were coming. With a last look around and at the box whichcontained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count’sroom, determined to rush out at the moment the door should be opened.With strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of thekey in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door. There musthave been some other means of entry, or some one had a key for one ofthe locked doors. Then there came the sound of many feet tramping anddying away in some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned torun down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance;but at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and thedoor to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust fromthe lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it washopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closinground me more closely.

As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping feetand the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes,with their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering; it is thebox being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping againalong the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind them.

The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of the keyin the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another door opens andshuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.

Hark! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy wheels,the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as they pass into thedistance.

I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman,and there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit!

I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the castle wallfarther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold withme, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this dreadful place.

And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest train! awayfrom this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and hischildren still walk with earthly feet!

At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters, and theprecipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man.Good-bye, all! Mina!

CHAPTER V

Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra.

“9 May.

“My dearest Lucy,—

“Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmedwith work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is sometimes trying.I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk togetherfreely and build our castles in the air. I have been working very hardlately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I havebeen practising shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shallbe able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough Ican take down what he wants to say in this way and write it out for himon the typewriter, at which also I am practising very hard. He and Isometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping a stenographicjournal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I shall keep a diaryin the same way. I don’t mean one of thosetwo-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but asort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined. I do notsuppose there will be much of interest to other people; but it is notintended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there is in itanything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book. I shall tryto do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writingdescriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, witha little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hearssaid during a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my littleplans when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathanfrom Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. Iam longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see strangecountries. I wonder if we—I mean Jonathan and I—shall ever see themtogether. There is the ten o’clock bell ringing. Good-bye.

“Your loving
“Mina.

“Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me anything fora long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome,curly-haired man???”

Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.

“17, Chatham Street,
“Wednesday.

“My dearest Mina,—

“I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad correspondent. Iwrote to you twice since we parted, and your last letter was only yoursecond. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothingto interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good dealto picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to thetall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at thelast Pop. Some one has evidently been telling tales. That was Mr.Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very welltogether; they have so many things to talk about in common. We met sometime ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not alreadyengaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being handsome, welloff, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! Heis only nine-and-twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all underhis own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here tosee us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute menI ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. Ican fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He hasa curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying toread one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flattermyself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Doyou ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is nota bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if youhave never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychologicalstudy, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficientinterest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is abore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day.There, it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each othersince we were children; we have slept together and eaten together, andlaughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I would liketo speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love him. I am blushingas I write, for although I think he loves me, he has not told me so inwords. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, thatdoes me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fireundressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel.I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop,or I should tear up the letter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do sowant to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me allthat you think about it. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in yourprayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.

“LUCY.

“P.S.—I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.

“L.”

Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.

“24 May.

“My dearest Mina,—

“Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It was sonice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.

“My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had aproposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day I have had three.Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day! Isn’t it awful! I feel sorry,really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am sohappy that I don’t know what to do with myself. And three proposals!But, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell any of the girls, or they would begetting all sorts of extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injuredand slighted if in their very first day at home they did not get six atleast. Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged andare going to settle down soon soberly into old married women, candespise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must keepit a secret, dear, from every one, except, of course, Jonathan. Youwill tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tellArthur. A woman ought to tell her husband everything—don’t you thinkso, dear?—and I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, tobe quite as fair as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not alwaysquite as fair as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came justbefore lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylumman, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cooloutwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently been schoolinghimself as to all sorts of little things, and remembered them; but healmost managed to sit down on his silk hat, which men don’t generally dowhen they are cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he keptplaying with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke tome, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me tohelp and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if Idid not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a bruteand would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked ifI could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled,and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any oneelse. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring myconfidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman’s heart wasfree a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty totell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then hestood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both myhands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I everwanted a friend I must count him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can’thelp crying: and you must excuse this letter being all blotted. Beingproposed to is all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn’t atall a happy thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you knowloves you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted, and toknow that, no matter what he may say at the moment, you are passingquite out of his life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel somiserable, though I am so happy.

“Evening.

“Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I leftoff, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear, number Twocame after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an American from Texas, andhe looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that hehas been to so many places and has had such adventures. I sympathisewith poor Desdemona when she had such a dangerous stream poured in herear, even by a black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards thatwe think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know nowwhat I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, Idon’t, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur nevertold any, and yet—— My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincey P.Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girlalone. No, he doesn’t, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and Ihelping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell youbeforehand that Mr. Morris doesn’t always speak slang—that is to say,he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really welleducated and has exquisite manners—but he found out that it amused meto hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was present, and therewas no one to be shocked, he said such funny things. I am afraid, mydear, he has to invent it all, for it fits exactly into whatever else hehas to say. But this is a way slang has. I do not know myself if I shallever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have neverheard him use any as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and lookedas happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he wasvery nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly:—

“‘Miss Lucy, I know I ain’t good enough to regulate the fixin’s of yourlittle shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that is youwill go join them seven young women with the lamps when you quit. Won’tyou just hitch up alongside of me and let us go down the long roadtogether, driving in double harness?’

“Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn’t seemhalf so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, aslightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that Iwasn’t broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken ina light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing soon so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. Hereally did look serious when he was saying it, and I couldn’t helpfeeling a bit serious too—I know, Mina, you will think me a horridflirt—though I couldn’t help feeling a sort of exultation that he wasnumber two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say a word hebegan pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his veryheart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shallnever again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest,because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my facewhich checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort ofmanly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free:—

“‘Lucy, you are an honest-hearted girl, I know. I should not be herespeaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean grit, rightthrough to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like one good fellowto another, is there any one else that you care for? And if there isI’ll never trouble you a hair’s breadth again, but will be, if you willlet me, a very faithful friend.’

“My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little worthyof them? Here was I almost making fun of this great-hearted, truegentleman. I burst into tears—I am afraid, my dear, you will thinkthis a very sloppy letter in more ways than one—and I really felt verybadly. Why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as wanther, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not sayit. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to look intoMr. Morris’s brave eyes, and I told him out straight:—

“‘Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that heeven loves me.’ I was right to speak to him so frankly, for quite alight came into his face, and he put out both his hands and took mine—Ithink I put them into his—and said in a hearty way:—

“‘That’s my brave girl. It’s better worth being late for a chance ofwinning you than being in time for any other girl in the world. Don’tcry, my dear. If it’s for me, I’m a hard nut to crack; and I take itstanding up. If that other fellow doesn’t know his happiness, well, he’dbetter look for it soon, or he’ll have to deal with me. Little girl,your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that’s rarer than alover; it’s more unselfish anyhow. My dear, I’m going to have a prettylonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won’t you give me one kiss?It’ll be something to keep off the darkness now and then. You can, youknow, if you like, for that other good fellow—he must be a good fellow,my dear, and a fine fellow, or you could not love him—hasn’t spokenyet.’ That quite won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet of him, andnoble, too, to a rival—wasn’t it?—and he so sad; so I leant over andkissed him. He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked downinto my face—I am afraid I was blushing very much—he said:—

“‘Little girl, I hold your hand, and you’ve kissed me, and if thesethings don’t make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweethonesty to me, and good-bye.’ He wrung my hand, and taking up his hat,went straight out of the room without looking back, without a tear or aquiver or a pause; and I am crying like a baby. Oh, why must a man likethat be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who wouldworship the very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free—onlyI don’t want to be free. My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel Icannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and Idon’t wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.

“Ever your loving
“Lucy.

“P.S.—Oh, about number Three—I needn’t tell you of number Three, needI? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from hiscoming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he waskissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don’t know what I have done todeserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am notungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such alover, such a husband, and such a friend.

“Good-bye.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

(Kept in phonograph)

25 May.—Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot rest, sodiary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of emptyfeeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worththe doing.... As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing waswork, I went down amongst the patients. I picked out one who hasafforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I amdetermined to understand him as well as I can. To-day I seemed to getnearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.

I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to makingmyself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my manner of doingit there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keephim to the point of his madness—a thing which I avoid with the patientsas I would the mouth of hell.

(Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?)Omnia Romæ venalia sunt. Hell has its price! verb. sap. If there beanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwardsaccurately, so I had better commence to do so, therefore—

R. M. Renfield, ætat 59.—Sanguine temperament; great physical strength;morbidly excitable; periods of gloom, ending in some fixed idea which Icannot make out. I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and thedisturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish; a possiblydangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men cautionis as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think ofon this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force isbalanced with the centrifugal; when duty, a cause, etc., is the fixedpoint, the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series ofaccidents can balance it.

Letter, Quincey P. Morris to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.

“25 May.

“My dear Art,—

“We’ve told yarns by the camp-fire in the prairies; and dressed oneanother’s wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas; and drunkhealths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be told, andother wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk. Won’t you letthis be at my camp-fire to-morrow night? I have no hesitation in askingyou, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a certain dinner-party, andthat you are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at theKorea, Jack Seward. He’s coming, too, and we both want to mingle ourweeps over the wine-cup, and to drink a health with all our hearts tothe happiest man in all the wide world, who has won the noblest heartthat God has made and the best worth winning. We promise you a heartywelcome, and a loving greeting, and a health as true as your own righthand. We shall both swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep toa certain pair of eyes. Come!

“Yours, as ever and always,
“Quincey P. Morris.”

Telegram from Arthur Holmwood to Quincey P. Morris.

“26 May.

“Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both your earstingle.

“Art.”

CHAPTER VI

MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL

24 July. Whitby.—Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter andlovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent inwhich they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river, theEsk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near theharbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which theview seems somehow further away than it really is. The valley isbeautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on the high landon either side you look right across it, unless you are near enough tosee down. The houses of the old town—the side away from us—are allred-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other anyhow, like thepictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is the ruin of WhitbyAbbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene of part of“Marmion,” where the girl was built up in the wall. It is a most nobleruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits; there isa legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it andthe town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a biggraveyard, all full of tombstones. This is to my mind the nicest spot inWhitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of theharbour and all up the bay to where the headland called Kettlenessstretches out into the sea. It descends so steeply over the harbour thatpart of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have beendestroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretchesout over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats besidethem, through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day longlooking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come andsit here very often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing now, with mybook on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old men who aresitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but sit up here andtalk.

The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite wallstretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it, inthe middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs along outsideof it. On the near side, the sea-wall makes an elbow crooked inversely,and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is anarrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens.

It is nice at high water; but when the tide is out it shoals away tonothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running betweenbanks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on thisside there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge ofwhich runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end ofit is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in amournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship islost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this; heis coming this way....

He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is allgnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he isnearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishingfleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very scepticalperson, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Ladyat the abbey he said very brusquely:—

“I wouldn’t fash masel’ about them, miss. Them things be all wore out.Mind, I don’t say that they never was, but I do say that they wasn’t inmy time. They be all very well for comers and trippers, an’ the like,but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks from York andLeeds that be always eatin’ cured herrin’s an’ drinkin’ tea an’ lookin’out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel’ who’d bebothered tellin’ lies to them—even the newspapers, which is full offool-talk.” I thought he would be a good person to learn interestingthings from, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something aboutthe whale-fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to beginwhen the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and said:—

“I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand-daughter doesn’t liketo be kept waitin’ when the tea is ready, for it takes me time tocrammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of ’em; an’, miss, I lackbelly-timber sairly by the clock.”

He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could, downthe steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead fromthe town up to the church, there are hundreds of them—I do not know howmany—and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is so gentle thata horse could easily walk up and down them. I think they must originallyhave had something to do with the abbey. I shall go home too. Lucy wentout visiting with her mother, and as they were only duty calls, I didnot go. They will be home by this.

1 August.—I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a mostinteresting talk with my old friend and the two others who always comeand join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I should thinkmust have been in his time a most dictatorial person. He will not admitanything, and downfaces everybody. If he can’t out-argue them he bulliesthem, and then takes their silence for agreement with his views. Lucywas looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock; she has got abeautiful colour since she has been here. I noticed that the old men didnot lose any time in coming up and sitting near her when we sat down.She is so sweet with old people; I think they all fell in love with heron the spot. Even my old man succumbed and did not contradict her, butgave me double share instead. I got him on the subject of the legends,and he went off at once into a sort of sermon. I must try to remember itand put it down:—

“It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that’s what it be, an’nowt else. These bans an’ wafts an’ boh-ghosts an’ barguests an’ boglesan’ all anent them is only fit to set bairns an’ dizzy womena-belderin’. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an’ all grims an’ signsan’ warnin’s, be all invented by parsons an’ illsome beuk-bodies an’railway touters to skeer an’ scunner hafflin’s, an’ to get folks to dosomethin’ that they don’t other incline to. It makes me ireful to thinko’ them. Why, it’s them that, not content with printin’ lies on paperan’ preachin’ them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin’ them on thetombstones. Look here all around you in what airt ye will; all themsteans, holdin’ up their heads as well as they can out of their pride,is acant—simply tumblin’ down with the weight o’ the lies wrote onthem, ‘Here lies the body’ or ‘Sacred to the memory’ wrote on all ofthem, an’ yet in nigh half of them there bean’t no bodies at all; an’the memories of them bean’t cared a pinch of snuff about, much lesssacred. Lies all of them, nothin’ but lies of one kind or another! Mygog, but it’ll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment when theycome tumblin’ up in their death-sarks, all jouped together an’ tryin’ todrag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was; some of themtrimmlin’ and ditherin’, with their hands that dozzened an’ slippy fromlyin’ in the sea that they can’t even keep their grup o’ them.”

I could see from the old fellow’s self-satisfied air and the way inwhich he looked round for the approval of his cronies that he was“showing off,” so I put in a word to keep him going:—

“Oh, Mr. Swales, you can’t be serious. Surely these tombstones are notall wrong?”

“Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin’ where they makeout the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowl belike the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be only lies. Nowlook you here; you come here a stranger, an’ you see this kirk-garth.” Inodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quiteunderstand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the church.He went on: “And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that behapped here, snod an’ snog?” I assented again. “Then that be just wherethe lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these lay-beds that be toom asold Dun’s ’bacca-box on Friday night.” He nudged one of his companions,and they all laughed. “And my gog! how could they be otherwise? Look atthat one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank: read it!” I went over andread:—

“Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coast ofAndres, April, 1854, æt. 30.” When I came back Mr. Swales went on:—

“Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the coastof Andres! an’ you consated his body lay under! Why, I could name ye adozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above”—he pointednorthwards—“or where the currents may have drifted them. There be thesteans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print ofthe lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey—I knew his father, lost inthe Lively off Greenland in ’20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in thesame seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a yearlater; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drownedin the Gulf of Finland in ’50. Do ye think that all these men will haveto make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherumsaboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they’d be jommlin’ an’jostlin’ one another that way that it ’ud be like a fight up on the icein the old days, when we’d be at one another from daylight to dark, an’tryin’ to tie up our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis.” This wasevidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and hiscronies joined in with gusto.

“But,” I said, “surely you are not quite correct, for you start on theassumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have totake their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you thinkthat will be really necessary?”

“Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss!”

“To please their relatives, I suppose.”

“To please their relatives, you suppose!” This he said with intensescorn. “How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is wroteover them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?” Hepointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, onwhich the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. “Read thelies on that thruff-stean,” he said. The letters were upside down to mefrom where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so she leant overand read:—

“Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of aglorious resurrection, on July, 29, 1873, falling from the rocks atKettleness. This tomb was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearlybeloved son. ‘He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.’Really, Mr. Swales, I don’t see anything very funny in that!” She spokeher comment very gravely and somewhat severely.

“Ye don’t see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that’s because ye don’t gawm thesorrowin’ mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he wasacrewk’d—a regular lamiter he was—an’ he hated her so that hecommitted suicide in order that she mightn’t get an insurance she put onhis life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket thatthey had for scarin’ the crows with. ’Twarn’t for crows then, for itbrought the clegs and the dowps to him. That’s the way he fell off therocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I’ve often heard himsay masel’ that he hoped he’d go to hell, for his mother was so piousthat she’d be sure to go to heaven, an’ he didn’t want to addle whereshe was. Now isn’t that stean at any rate”—he hammered it with hisstick as he spoke—“a pack of lies? and won’t it make Gabriel kecklewhen Geordie comes pantin’ up the grees with the tombstean balanced onhis hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!”

I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as shesaid, rising up:—

“Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, and I cannotleave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of asuicide.”

“That won’t harm ye, my pretty; an’ it may make poor Geordie gladsome tohave so trim a lass sittin’ on his lap. That won’t hurt ye. Why, I’vesat here off an’ on for nigh twenty years past, an’ it hasn’t done meno harm. Don’t ye fash about them as lies under ye, or that doesn’ liethere either! It’ll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see thetombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field.There’s the clock, an’ I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!” And offhe hobbled.

Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that wetook hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur andtheir coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for Ihaven’t heard from Jonathan for a whole month.

The same day. I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was noletter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over thetown, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly;they run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. To myleft the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house nextthe abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behindme, and there is a clatter of a donkey’s hoofs up the paved road below.The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and furtheralong the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street.Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see themboth. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish hewere here.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

5 June.—The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I get tounderstand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed;selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is theobject of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own,but what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is a love ofanimals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that Isometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of oddsorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such aquantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, hedid not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter insimple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: “May I havethree days? I shall clear them away.” Of course, I said that would do. Imust watch him.

18 June.—He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got severalvery big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, andthe number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although hehas used half his food in attracting more flies from outside to hisroom.

1 July.—His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as hisflies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He lookedvery sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, at allevents. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the same timeas before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, for when ahorrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room,he caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his fingerand thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it in hismouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that itwas very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life, andgave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I mustwatch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deep problemin his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he is alwaysjotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with masses offigures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then thetotals added in batches again, as though he were “focussing” someaccount, as the auditors put it.

8 July.—There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary idea inmy mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then, oh,unconscious cerebration! you will have to give the wall to yourconscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so that Imight notice if there were any change. Things remain as they were exceptthat he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one. He hasmanaged to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. His meansof taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished. Those thatdo remain, however, are well fed, for he still brings in the flies bytempting them with his food.

19 July.—We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony ofsparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I camein he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour—a very,very great favour; and as he spoke he fawned on me like a dog. I askedhim what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice andbearing:—

“A kitten, a nice little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with,and teach, and feed—and feed—and feed!” I was not unprepared for thisrequest, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size andvivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrowsshould be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders; soI said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have acat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he answered:—

“Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you shouldrefuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?” I shookmy head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, butthat I would see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning ofdanger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meantkilling. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test himwith his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall knowmore.

10 p. m.—I have visited him again and found him sitting in a cornerbrooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees before me andimplored me to let him have a cat; that his salvation depended upon it.I was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it, whereuponhe went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his fingers, in the cornerwhere I had found him. I shall see him in the morning early.

20 July.—Visited Renfield very early, before the attendant went hisrounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his sugar,which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning hisfly-catching again; and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace. Ilooked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him where theywere. He replied, without turning round, that they had all flown away.There were a few feathers about the room and on his pillow a drop ofblood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report to me ifthere were anything odd about him during the day.

11 a. m.—The attendant has just been to me to say that Renfield hasbeen very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of feathers. “My belief is,doctor,” he said, “that he has eaten his birds, and that he just tookand ate them raw!”

11 p. m.—I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough to makeeven him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to look at it. The thoughtthat has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, and the theoryproved. My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have toinvent a new classification for him, and call him a zoöphagous(life-eating) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as many lives as hecan, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. Hegave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and thenwanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his latersteps? It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. Itmight be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered atvivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! Why not advance sciencein its most difficult and vital aspect—the knowledge of the brain? HadI even the secret of one such mind—did I hold the key to the fancy ofeven one lunatic—I might advance my own branch of science to a pitchcompared with which Burdon-Sanderson’s physiology or Ferrier’sbrain-knowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficientcause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted; a goodcause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of anexceptional brain, congenitally?

How well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within their own scope. Iwonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only one. He hasclosed the account most accurately, and to-day begun a new record. Howmany of us begin a new record with each day of our lives?

To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope,and that truly I began a new record. So it will be until the GreatRecorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance toprofit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I beangry with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must only wait onhopeless and work. Work! work!

If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there—agood, unselfish cause to make me work—that would be indeed happiness.

Mina Murray’s Journal.

26 July.—I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here; itis like whispering to one’s self and listening at the same time. Andthere is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes itdifferent from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. Ihad not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned; butyesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter fromhim. I had written asking him if he had heard, and he said the enclosedhad just been received. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula,and says that he is just starting for home. That is not like Jonathan;I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too, Lucy,although she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of walking inher sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and we have decidedthat I am to lock the door of our room every night. Mrs. Westenra hasgot an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses andalong the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall overwith a despairing cry that echoes all over the place. Poor dear, she isnaturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me that her husband, Lucy’sfather, had the same habit; that he would get up in the night and dresshimself and go out, if he were not stopped. Lucy is to be married in theautumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how her house isto be arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathanand I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try tomake both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood—he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, onlyson of Lord Godalming—is coming up here very shortly—as soon as he canleave town, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy iscounting the moments till he comes. She wants to take him up to the seaton the churchyard cliff and show him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay itis the waiting which disturbs her; she will be all right when hearrives.

27 July.—No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about him,though why I should I do not know; but I do wish that he would write, ifit were only a single line. Lucy walks more than ever, and each night Iam awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is sohot that she cannot get cold; but still the anxiety and the perpetuallybeing wakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous andwakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy’s health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has beensuddenly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken seriouslyill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, but it does not touchher looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovelyrose-pink. She has lost that anæmic look which she had. I pray it willall last.

3 August.—Another week gone, and no news from Jonathan, not even toMr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is not ill. Hesurely would have written. I look at that last letter of his, butsomehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet it ishis writing. There is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked much inher sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration about herwhich I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be watchingme. She tries the door, and finding it locked, goes about the roomsearching for the key.

6 August.—Another three days, and no news. This suspense is gettingdreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I shouldfeel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that lastletter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitablethan ever, but is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, andthe fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it andlearn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write ishidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is grey—exceptthe green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock;grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over thegrey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey fingers. The seais tumbling in over the shallows and the sandy flats with a roar,muffled in the sea-mists drifting inland. The horizon is lost in a greymist. All is vastness; the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, andthere is a “brool” over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom.Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half shrouded inthe mist, and seem “men like trees walking.” The fishing-boats areracing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep intothe harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He ismaking straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, thathe wants to talk....

I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he satdown beside me, he said in a very gentle way:—

“I want to say something to you, miss.” I could see he was not at ease,so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speakfully; so he said, leaving his hand in mine:—

“I’m afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wickedthings I’ve been sayin’ about the dead, and such like, for weeks past;but I didn’t mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I’m gone. Weaud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don’taltogether like to think of it, and we don’t want to feel scart of it;an’ that’s why I’ve took to makin’ light of it, so that I’d cheer up myown heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain’t afraid of dyin’, not abit; only I don’t want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh athand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man toexpect; and I’m so nigh it that the Aud Man is already whettin’ hisscythe. Ye see, I can’t get out o’ the habit of caffin’ about it all atonce; the chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel ofDeath will sound his trumpet for me. But don’t ye dooal an’ greet, mydeary!”—for he saw that I was crying—“if he should come this verynight I’d not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only awaitin’ for somethin’ else than what we’re doin’; and death be all thatwe can rightly depend on. But I’m content, for it’s comin’ to me, mydeary, and comin’ quick. It may be comin’ while we be lookin’ andwonderin’. Maybe it’s in that wind out over the sea that’s bringin’ withit loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! look!” hecried suddenly. “There’s something in that wind and in the hoast beyontthat sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It’s in theair; I feel it comin’. Lord, make me answer cheerful when my callcomes!” He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouthmoved as though he were praying. After a few minutes’ silence, he gotup, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbledoff. It all touched me, and upset me very much.

I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under hisarm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the timekept looking at a strange ship.

“I can’t make her out,” he said; “she’s a Russian, by the look of her;but she’s knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn’t know her minda bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can’t decide whether torun up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She issteered mighty strangely, for she doesn’t mind the hand on the wheel;changes about with every puff of wind. We’ll hear more of her beforethis time to-morrow.”

CHAPTER VII

CUTTING FROM “THE DAILYGRAPH,” 8 AUGUST

Whitby.

ONE of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just beenexperienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather hadbeen somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month ofAugust. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the greatbody of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods,Robin Hood’s Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips inthe neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough madetrips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of“tripping” both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till theafternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliffchurchyard, and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep ofsea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of“mares’-tails” high in the sky to the north-west. The wind was thenblowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometricallanguage is ranked “No. 2: light breeze.” The coastguard on duty at oncemade report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century haskept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphaticmanner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so verybeautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds, thatthere was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the oldchurchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the blackmass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, itsdownward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour—flame,purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with here andthere masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in allsorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. Theexperience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of thesketches of the “Prelude to the Great Storm” will grace the R. A. and R.I. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind then andthere that his “cobble” or his “mule,” as they term the differentclasses of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed.The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight therewas a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, onthe approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature. Therewere but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers,which usually “hug” the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and butfew fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreignschooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. Thefoolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme forcomment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signalher to reduce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut down shewas seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulatingswell of the sea,

Shortly before ten o’clock the stillness of the air grew quiteoppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheepinland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and theband on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord in thegreat harmony of nature’s silence. A little after midnight came astrange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began tocarry a strange, faint, hollow booming.

Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at thetime, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize,the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose ingrowing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till in a very few minutesthe lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster.White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up theshelving cliffs; others broke over the piers, and with their spume sweptthe lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pierof Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blew with suchforce that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet,or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessaryto clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers, or else thefatalities of the night would have been increased manifold. To add tothe difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog camedrifting inland—white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion,so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort ofimagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea weretouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and manya one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mistcleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of thelightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden pealsof thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shockof the footsteps of the storm.

Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and ofabsorbing interest—the sea, running mountains high, threw skywards witheach wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed tosnatch at and whirl away into space; here and there a fishing-boat, witha rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast; now and againthe white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the EastCliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet beentried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and inthe pauses of the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea.Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing-boat,with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidanceof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against thepiers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout ofjoy from the mass of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemedto cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush.

Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schoonerwith all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticedearlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east,and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as theyrealized the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her and theport lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from timeto time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter,it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of theharbour. It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were sogreat that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almostvisible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with suchspeed that, in the words of one old salt, “she must fetch up somewhere,if it was only in hell.” Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater thanany hitherto—a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all thingslike a grey pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing,for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and thebooming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louderthan before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbourmouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waitedbreathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnantof the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, mirabile dictu, betweenthe piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed,swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, andgained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and ashudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was acorpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at eachmotion of the ship. No other form could be seen on deck at all. A greatawe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, hadfound the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However,all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. Theschooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself onthat accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and manystorms into the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the EastCliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.

There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up onthe sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the“top-hammer” came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instantthe shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, asif shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bowon the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyardhangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flattombstones—“thruff-steans” or “through-stones,” as they call them inthe Whitby vernacular—actually project over where the sustaining cliffhas fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemedintensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.

It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, asall those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or wereout on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on the easternside of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was thefirst to climb on board. The men working the searchlight, after scouringthe entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned thelight on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, andwhen he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled atonce as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique generalcuriosity, and quite a number of people began to run. It is a good wayround from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to Tate Hill Pier, but yourcorrespondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd.When I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd,whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By thecourtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permittedto climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seamanwhilst actually lashed to the wheel.

It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, fornot often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastenedby his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Betweenthe inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which itwas fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast bythe binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, butthe flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder ofthe wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which hewas tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of thestate of things, and a doctor—Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East ElliotPlace—who came immediately after me, declared, after makingexamination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days. In hispocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll ofpaper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. The coastguard saidthe man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with histeeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save somecomplications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards cannotclaim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on aderelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one younglaw student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are alreadycompletely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of thestatutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, ofdelegated possession, is held in a dead hand. It is needless to saythat the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place wherehe held his honourable watch and ward till death—a steadfastness asnoble as that of the young Casabianca—and placed in the mortuary toawait inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating;crowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is beginning to redden overthe Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next issue, furtherdetails of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously intoharbour in the storm.

Whitby

9 August.—The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in thestorm last night is almost more startling than the thing itself. Itturns out that the schooner is a Russian from Varna, and is called theDemeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only asmall amount of cargo—a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and formally tookpossession of the goods consigned to him. The Russian consul, too,acting for the charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, andpaid all harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day exceptthe strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade have beenmost exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made withexisting regulations. As the matter is to be a “nine days’ wonder,” theyare evidently determined that there shall be no cause of aftercomplaint. A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog whichlanded when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of theS. P. C. A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriend theanimal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be found;it seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that itwas frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is stillhiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on such apossibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for itis evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bredmastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was founddead in the roadway opposite to its master’s yard. It had been fighting,and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away,and its belly was slit open as if with a savage claw.

Later.—By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have beenpermitted to look over the log-book of the Demeter, which was in orderup to within three days, but contained nothing of special interestexcept as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest, however, iswith regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was to-day producedat the inquest; and a more strange narrative than the two between themunfold it has not been my lot to come across. As there is no motive forconcealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly send you arescript, simply omitting technical details of seamanship andsupercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been seized withsome kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and thatthis had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course mystatement must be taken cum grano, since I am writing from thedictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated forme, time being short.

LOG OF THE “DEMETER.”

Varna to Whitby.

Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keepaccurate note henceforth till we land.

On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth.At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands ... two mates,cook, and myself (captain).

On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customsofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.

On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat ofguarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, butquick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago.

On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something.Seemed scared, but would not speak out.

On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, whosailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong; they onlytold him there was something, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temperwith one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, butall was quiet.

On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky, wasmissing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells lastnight; was relieved by Abramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men moredowncast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, butwould not say more than there was something aboard. Mate getting veryimpatient with them; feared some trouble ahead.

On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and inan awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange manaboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been shelteringbehind the deck-house, as there was a rain-storm, when he saw a tall,thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companion-way,and go along the deck forward, and disappear. He followed cautiously,but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed.He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic mayspread. To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully fromstem to stern.

Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as theyevidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search fromstem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to yield to suchfoolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would engage to keepthem out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, while therest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we leftno corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, therewere no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved whensearch over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, butsaid nothing.

22 July.—Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy withsails—no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread.Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in badweather. Passed Gibralter and out through Straits. All well.

24 July.—There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short,and entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet lastnight another man lost—disappeared. Like the first, he came off hiswatch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear; sent a roundrobin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mateangry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will dosome violence.

28 July.—Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom,and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardlyknow how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second matevolunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours’ sleep.Wind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship issteadier.

29 July.—Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew tootired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no oneexcept steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search,but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mateand I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.

30 July.—Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine,all sails set. Retired worn out; slept soundly; awaked by mate tellingme that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate andtwo hands left to work ship.

1 August.—Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when inthe English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere.Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower,as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terribledoom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger natureseems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear,working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They areRussian, he Roumanian.

2 August, midnight.—Woke up from few minutes’ sleep by hearing a cry,seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, andran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man onwatch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straitsof Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just ashe heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, andonly God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and Godseems to have deserted us.

3 August.—At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, andwhen I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ranbefore it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for themate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. Helooked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has givenway. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to myear, as though fearing the very air might hear: “It is here; I knowit, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin,and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behindIt, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as theair.” And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely intospace. Then he went on: “But It is here, and I’ll find It. It is in thehold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I’ll unscrew them one by one andsee. You work the helm.” And, with a warning look and his finger on hislip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I couldnot leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool-chestand a lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark,raving mad, and it’s no use my trying to stop him. He can’t hurt thosebig boxes: they are invoiced as “clay,” and to pull them about is asharmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, andwrite these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears.Then, if I can’t steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cutdown sails and lie by, and signal for help....

It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the matewould come out calmer—for I heard him knocking away at something in thehold, and work is good for him—there came up the hatchway a sudden,startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck hecame as if shot from a gun—a raging madman, with his eyes rolling andhis face convulsed with fear. “Save me! save me!” he cried, and thenlooked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and ina steady voice he said: “You had better come too, captain, before it istoo late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save mefrom Him, and it is all that is left!” Before I could say a word, ormove forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberatelythrew himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It wasthis madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he hasfollowed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all thesehorrors when I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be?

4 August.—Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there issunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not gobelow, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and inthe dimness of the night I saw It—Him! God forgive me, but the mate wasright to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man; to die like asailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, and I must notleave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tiemy hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along withthem I shall tie that which He—It!—dare not touch; and then, come goodwind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I amgrowing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in theface again, I may not have time to act.... If we are wrecked, mayhapthis bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand; if not,... well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. Godand the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul tryingto do his duty....

Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to adduce;and whether or not the man himself committed the murders there is nownone to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the captain issimply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already it isarranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Eskfor a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbeysteps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The ownersof more than a hundred boats have already given in their names aswishing to follow him to the grave.

No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there is muchmourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he would, Ibelieve, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see the funeral; and sowill end this one more “mystery of the sea.”

Mina Murray’s Journal.

8 August.—Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could notsleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among thechimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to belike a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got uptwice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time andmanaged to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. Itis a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will isthwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any,disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of herlife.

Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to seeif anything had happened in the night. There were very few people about,and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and fresh, the big,grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves because the foam thattopped them was like snow, forced themselves in through the narrow mouthof the harbour—like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow Ifelt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But,oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfullyanxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything!

10 August.—The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day was mosttouching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffinwas carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to thechurchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilstthe cortège of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came downagain. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way.The poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat so that we stood onit when the time came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemed much upset.She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think thather dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing:she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or ifthere be, she does not understand it herself. There is an additionalcause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on ourseat, his neck being broken. He had evidently, as the doctor said,fallen back in the seat in some sort of fright, for there was a look offear and horror on his face that the men said made them shudder. Poordear old man! Perhaps he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is sosweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than otherpeople do. Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I didnot much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the menwho came up here often to look for the boats was followed by his dog.The dog is always with him. They are both quiet persons, and I never sawthe man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog wouldnot come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a fewyards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and thenharshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make anoise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairsbristling out like a cat’s tail when puss is on the war-path. Finallythe man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and thentook it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it onthe tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched thestone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It didnot try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and wasin such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect,to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt totouch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatlyfear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the worldwithout trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. Thewhole agglomeration of things—the ship steered into port by a deadman; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; thetouching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror—will allafford material for her dreams.

I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, so Ishall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood’s Bay andback. She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-walking then.

CHAPTER VIII

MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL

Same day, 11 o’clock p. m.—Oh, but I am tired! If it were not that Ihad made my diary a duty I should not open it to-night. We had a lovelywalk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits, owing, I think, to somedear cows who came nosing towards us in a field close to the lighthouse,and frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot everythingexcept, of course, personal fear, and it seemed to wipe the slate cleanand give us a fresh start. We had a capital “severe tea” at Robin Hood’sBay in a sweet little old-fashioned inn, with a bow-window right overthe seaweed-covered rocks of the strand. I believe we should haveshocked the “New Woman” with our appetites. Men are more tolerant, blessthem! Then we walked home with some, or rather many, stoppages to rest,and with our hearts full of a constant dread of wild bulls. Lucy wasreally tired, and we intended to creep off to bed as soon as we could.The young curate came in, however, and Mrs. Westenra asked him to stayfor supper. Lucy and I had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; Iknow it was a hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think thatsome day the bishops must get together and see about breeding up a newclass of curates, who don’t take supper, no matter how they may bepressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Lucy is asleep andbreathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, andlooks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her seeing heronly in the drawing-room, I wonder what he would say if he saw her now.Some of the “New Women” writers will some day start an idea that men andwomen should be allowed to see each other asleep before proposing oraccepting. But I suppose the New Woman won’t condescend in future toaccept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will makeof it, too! There’s some consolation in that. I am so happy to-night,because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe she has turned thecorner, and that we are over her troubles with dreaming. I should bequite happy if I only knew if Jonathan.... God bless and keep him.

11 August, 3 a. m.—Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write.I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such anagonising experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary....Suddenly I became broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fearupon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark,so I could not see Lucy’s bed; I stole across and felt for her. The bedwas empty. I lit a match and found that she was not in the room. Thedoor was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake hermother, who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on someclothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the room itstruck me that the clothes she wore might give me some clue to herdreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house; dress, outside.Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places. “Thank God,” I saidto myself, “she cannot be far, as she is only in her nightdress.” I randownstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked inall the other open rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fearchilling my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. Itwas not wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The peopleof the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared thatLucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to think of whatmight happen; a vague, overmastering fear obscured all details. I took abig, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I was in theCrescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I ran along the NorthTerrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. Atthe edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour tothe East Cliff, in the hope or fear—I don’t know which—of seeing Lucyin our favourite seat. There was a bright full moon, with heavy black,driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama oflight and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could seenothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary’s Church and allaround it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbeycoming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp asa sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became graduallyvisible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, forthere, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck ahalf-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was tooquick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almostimmediately; but it seemed to me as though something dark stood behindthe seat where the white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was,whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch anotherglance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by thefish-market to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the EastCliff. The town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I see; I rejoicedthat it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy’s condition. Thetime and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breathcame laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must havegone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted withlead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty. When I got almostto the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was nowclose enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow. Therewas undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over thehalf-reclining white figure. I called in fright, “Lucy! Lucy!” andsomething raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white faceand red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to theentrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me andthe seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came inview again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantlythat I could see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the backof the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any livingthing about.

When I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Her lipswere parted, and she was breathing—not softly as usual with her, but inlong, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs full at everybreath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled thecollar of her nightdress close around her throat. Whilst she did sothere came a little shudder through her, as though she felt the cold. Iflung the warm shawl over her, and drew the edges tight round her neck,for I dreaded lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air,unclad as she was. I feared to wake her all at once, so, in order tohave my hands free that I might help her, I fastened the shawl at herthroat with a big safety-pin; but I must have been clumsy in my anxietyand pinched or pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathingbecame quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moaned. When Ihad her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on her feet and then beganvery gently to wake her. At first she did not respond; but gradually shebecame more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighingoccasionally. At last, as time was passing fast, and, for many otherreasons, I wished to get her home at once, I shook her more forcibly,till finally she opened her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprisedto see me, as, of course, she did not realise all at once where she was.Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her body musthave been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat appalled at wakingunclad in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. Shetrembled a little, and clung to me; when I told her to come at once withme home she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As wepassed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me wince. Shestopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes; but I would not.However, when we got to the pathway outside the churchyard, where therewas a puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet withmud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as we went home, noone, in case we should meet any one, should notice my bare feet.

Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soul. Once we sawa man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front ofus; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such asthere are here, steep little closes, or “wynds,” as they call them inScotland. My heart beat so loud all the time that sometimes I thought Ishould faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only for herhealth, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputationin case the story should get wind. When we got in, and had washed ourfeet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her intobed. Before falling asleep she asked—even implored—me not to say aword to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure. Ihesitated at first to promise; but on thinking of the state of hermother’s health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret her,and thinking, too, of how such a story might become distorted—nay,infallibly would—in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to doso. I hope I did right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied tomy wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleepingsoundly; the reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea....

Same day, noon.—All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her and seemednot to have even changed her side. The adventure of the night does notseem to have harmed her; on the contrary, it has benefited her, for shelooks better this morning than she has done for weeks. I was sorry tonotice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it mighthave been serious, for the skin of her throat was pierced. I must havepinched up a piece of loose skin and have transfixed it, for there aretwo little red points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdresswas a drop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, shelaughed and petted me, and said she did not even feel it. Fortunately itcannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny.

Same day, night.—We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and thesun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to MulgraveWoods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I walking by thecliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a little sad myself, forI could not but feel how absolutely happy it would have been hadJonathan been with me. But there! I must only be patient. In the eveningwe strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard some good music by Spohrand Mackenzie, and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than shehas been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the doorand secure the key the same as before, though I do not expect anytrouble to-night.

12 August.—My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night Iwas wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in her sleep, tobe a little impatient at finding the door shut, and went back to bedunder a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard the birdschirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and, I was glad to see,was even better than on the previous morning. All her old gaiety ofmanner seemed to have come back, and she came and snuggled in beside meand told me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I was aboutJonathan, and then she tried to comfort me. Well, she succeededsomewhat, for, though sympathy can’t alter facts, it can help to makethem more bearable.

13 August.—Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my wrist asbefore. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting up in bed,still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly, and pullingaside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and the softeffect of the light over the sea and sky—merged together in one great,silent mystery—was beautiful beyond words. Between me and the moonlightflitted a great bat, coming and going in great whirling circles. Once ortwice it came quite close, but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me,and flitted away across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came backfrom the window Lucy had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully.She did not stir again all night.

14 August.—On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seemsto have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard toget her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea ordinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming home fordinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier andstopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun, lowdown in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness; the red light wasthrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to batheeverything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, andsuddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself:—

“His red eyes again! They are just the same.” It was such an oddexpression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. Islewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stareat her, and saw that she was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd look onher face that I could not quite make out; so I said nothing, butfollowed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat,whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was a little startled myself,for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes likeburning flames; but a second look dispelled the illusion. The redsunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary’s Church behind ourseat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in therefraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. Icalled Lucy’s attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herselfwith a start, but she looked sad all the same; it may have been that shewas thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to it; so Isaid nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and wentearly to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll myself;I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweetsadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home—it was thenbright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of theCrescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen—I threw a glanceup at our window, and saw Lucy’s head leaning out. I thought thatperhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief andwaved it. She did not notice or make any movement whatever. Just then,the moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the light fellon the window. There distinctly was Lucy with her head lying up againstthe side of the window-sill and her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, andby her, seated on the window-sill, was something that looked like agood-sized bird. I was afraid she might get a chill, so I ran upstairs,but as I came into the room she was moving back to her bed, fastasleep, and breathing heavily; she was holding her hand to her throat,as though to protect it from cold.

I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly; I have taken care that thedoor is locked and the window securely fastened.

She looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than is her wont, andthere is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like. Ifear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what itis.

15 August.—Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired, andslept on after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at breakfast.Arthur’s father is better, and wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucyis full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad and sorry at once. Later onin the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to lose Lucy as hervery own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon to have some one toprotect her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She confided to me that she has gother death-warrant. She has not told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy;her doctor told her that within a few months, at most, she must die, forher heart is weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock would bealmost sure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair ofthe dreadful night of Lucy’s sleep-walking.

17 August.—No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart towrite. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our happiness.No news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker, whilst hermother’s hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy’sfading away as she is doing. She eats well and sleeps well, and enjoysthe fresh air; but all the time the roses in her cheeks are fading, andshe gets weaker and more languid day by day; at night I hear her gaspingas if for air. I keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist atnight, but she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the openwindow. Last night I found her leaning out when I woke up, and when Itried to wake her I could not; she was in a faint. When I managed torestore her she was as weak as water, and cried silently between long,painful struggles for breath. When I asked her how she came to be at thewindow she shook her head and turned away. I trust her feeling ill maynot be from that unlucky prick of the safety-pin. I looked at her throatjust now as she lay asleep, and the tiny wounds seem not to have healed.They are still open, and, if anything, larger than before, and theedges of them are faintly white. They are like little white dots withred centres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist on thedoctor seeing about them.

Letter, Samuel F. Billington & Son, Solicitors, Whitby, to Messrs.Carter, Paterson & Co., London.

“17 August.

“Dear Sirs,—

“Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great NorthernRailway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near Purfleet, immediatelyon receipt at goods station King’s Cross. The house is at present empty,but enclosed please find keys, all of which are labelled.

“You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form theconsignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of the houseand marked ‘A’ on rough diagram enclosed. Your agent will easilyrecognise the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion. Thegoods leave by the train at 9:30 to-night, and will be due at King’sCross at 4:30 to-morrow afternoon. As our client wishes the deliverymade as soon as possible, we shall be obliged by your having teams readyat King’s Cross at the time named and forthwith conveying the goods todestination. In order to obviate any delays possible through any routinerequirements as to payment in your departments, we enclose chequeherewith for ten pounds (£10), receipt of which please acknowledge.Should the charge be less than this amount, you can return balance; ifgreater, we shall at once send cheque for difference on hearing fromyou. You are to leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of thehouse, where the proprietor may get them on his entering the house bymeans of his duplicate key.

“Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business courtesy inpressing you in all ways to use the utmost expedition.

“We are, dear Sirs,
“Faithfully yours,
“Samuel F. Billington & Son.”

Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, to Messrs. Billington &Son, Whitby.

“21 August.

“Dear Sirs,—

“We beg to acknowledge £10 received and to return cheque £1 17s. 9d,amount of overplus, as shown in receipted account herewith. Goods aredelivered in exact accordance with instructions, and keys left in parcelin main hall, as directed.

“We are, dear Sirs,
“Yours respectfully.
“Pro Carter, Paterson & Co.”

Mina Murray’s Journal.

18 August.—I am happy to-day, and write sitting on the seat in thechurchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well allnight, and did not disturb me once. The roses seem coming back alreadyto her cheeks, though she is still sadly pale and wan-looking. If shewere in any way anæmic I could understand it, but she is not. She is ingay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticenceseems to have passed from her, and she has just reminded me, as if Ineeded any reminding, of that night, and that it was here, on thisvery seat, I found her asleep. As she told me she tapped playfully withthe heel of her boot on the stone slab and said:—

“My poor little feet didn’t make much noise then! I daresay poor old Mr.Swales would have told me that it was because I didn’t want to wake upGeordie.” As she was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if shehad dreamed at all that night. Before she answered, that sweet, puckeredlook came into her forehead, which Arthur—I call him Arthur from herhabit—says he loves; and, indeed, I don’t wonder that he does. Then shewent on in a half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it toherself:—

“I didn’t quite dream; but it all seemed to be real. I only wanted to behere in this spot—I don’t know why, for I was afraid of something—Idon’t know what. I remember, though I suppose I was asleep, passingthrough the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by, andI leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling—thewhole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all howling at once—asI went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory of something long anddark with red eyes, just as we saw in the sunset, and something verysweet and very bitter all around me at once; and then I seemed sinkinginto deep green water, and there was a singing in my ears, as I haveheard there is to drowning men; and then everything seemed passing awayfrom me; my soul seemed to go out from my body and float about the air.I seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under me,and then there was a sort of agonising feeling, as if I were in anearthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw you doit before I felt you.”

Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and Ilistened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought itbetter not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to othersubjects, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got home thefresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really morerosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a veryhappy evening together.

19 August.—Joy, joy, joy! although not all joy. At last, news ofJonathan. The dear fellow has been ill; that is why he did not write. Iam not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. Mr. Hawkins sentme on the letter, and wrote himself, oh, so kindly. I am to leave in themorning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if necessary,and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it would not be a bad thing ifwe were to be married out there. I have cried over the good Sister’sletter till I can feel it wet against my bosom, where it lies. It is ofJonathan, and must be next my heart, for he is in my heart. My journeyis all mapped out, and my luggage ready. I am only taking one change ofdress; Lucy will bring my trunk to London and keep it till I send forit, for it may be that ... I must write no more; I must keep it to sayto Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has seen and touched mustcomfort me till we meet.

Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary,Buda-Pesth, to Miss Wilhelmina Murray.

“12 August.

“Dear Madam,—

“I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strongenough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St. Josephand Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six weeks,suffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love,and to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Hawkins,Exeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is sorry for hisdelay, and that all of his work is completed. He will require some fewweeks’ rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. Hewishes me to say that he has not sufficient money with him, and that hewould like to pay for his staying here, so that others who need shallnot be wanting for help.

“Believe me,
“Yours, with sympathy and all blessings,
“Sister Agatha.

“P. S.—My patient being asleep, I open this to let you know somethingmore. He has told me all about you, and that you are shortly to be hiswife. All blessings to you both! He has had some fearful shock—so saysour doctor—and in his delirium his ravings have been dreadful; ofwolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and demons; and I fear to say ofwhat. Be careful with him always that there may be nothing to excite himof this kind for a long time to come; the traces of such an illness ashis do not lightly die away. We should have written long ago, but weknew nothing of his friends, and there was on him nothing that any onecould understand. He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guardwas told by the station-master there that he rushed into the stationshouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour thathe was English, they gave him a ticket for the furthest station on theway thither that the train reached.

“Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all hearts by hissweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on well, and I have nodoubt will in a few weeks be all himself. But be careful of him forsafety’s sake. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, many,many, happy years for you both.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

19 August.—Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night. Abouteight o’clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does whensetting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and knowing my interestin him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to theattendant and at times servile; but to-night, the man tells me, he wasquite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with him at all. All hewould say was:—

“I don’t want to talk to you: you don’t count now; the Master is athand.”

The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which hasseized him. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong man withhomicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous. Thecombination is a dreadful one. At nine o’clock I visited him myself. Hisattitude to me was the same as that to the attendant; in his sublimeself-feeling the difference between myself and attendant seemed to himas nothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think thathe himself is God. These infinitesimal distinctions between man and manare too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselvesaway! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall; but the God createdfrom human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh,if men only knew!

For half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in greater andgreater degree. I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept strictobservation all the same. All at once that shifty look came into hiseyes which we always see when a madman has seized an idea, and with itthe shifty movement of the head and back which asylum attendants come toknow so well. He became quite quiet, and went and sat on the edge of hisbed resignedly, and looked into space with lack-lustre eyes. I thought Iwould find out if his apathy were real or only assumed, and tried tolead him to talk of his pets, a theme which had never failed to excitehis attention. At first he made no reply, but at length said testily:—

“Bother them all! I don’t care a pin about them.”

“What?” I said. “You don’t mean to tell me you don’t care aboutspiders?” (Spiders at present are his hobby and the note-book is fillingup with columns of small figures.) To this he answered enigmatically:—

“The bride-maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming of the bride;but when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyesthat are filled.”

He would not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on his bedall the time I remained with him.

I am weary to-night and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucy, andhow different things might have been. If I don’t sleep at once, chloral,the modern Morpheus—C₂HCl₃O. H₂O! I must be careful not to letit grow into a habit. No, I shall take none to-night! I have thought ofLucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need be,to-night shall be sleepless....

Later.—Glad I made the resolution; gladder that I kept to it. I hadlain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice, when thenight-watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say that Renfieldhad escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once; my patient istoo dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas of his mightwork out dangerously with strangers. The attendant was waiting for me.He said he had seen him not ten minutes before, seemingly asleep in hisbed, when he had looked through the observation-trap in the door. Hisattention was called by the sound of the window being wrenched out. Heran back and saw his feet disappear through the window, and had at oncesent up for me. He was only in his night-gear, and cannot be far off.The attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where he shouldgo than to follow him, as he might lose sight of him whilst getting outof the building by the door. He is a bulky man, and couldn’t get throughthe window. I am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet foremost,and, as we were only a few feet above ground, landed unhurt. Theattendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and had taken astraight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As I got through the beltof trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which separates ourgrounds from those of the deserted house.

I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four menimmediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in case our friendmight be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the wall,dropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield’s figure justdisappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him. On thefar side of the house I found him pressed close against the oldironbound oak door of the chapel. He was talking, apparently to someone, but I was afraid to go near enough to hear what he was saying, lestI might frighten him, and he should run off. Chasing an errant swarm ofbees is nothing to following a naked lunatic, when the fit of escapingis upon him! After a few minutes, however, I could see that he did nottake note of anything around him, and so ventured to draw nearer tohim—the more so as my men had now crossed the wall and were closing himin. I heard him say:—

“I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, and You willreward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped You long and afaroff. Now that You are near, I await Your commands, and You will not passme by, will You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good things?”

He is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves and fisheseven when he believes he is in a Real Presence. His manias make astartling combination. When we closed in on him he fought like a tiger.He is immensely strong, for he was more like a wild beast than a man. Inever saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before; and I hope Ishall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his strength andhis danger in good time. With strength and determination like his, hemight have done wild work before he was caged. He is safe now at anyrate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn’t get free from the strait-waistcoatthat keeps him restrained, and he’s chained to the wall in the paddedroom. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow aremore deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement.

Just now he spoke coherent words for the first time:—

“I shall be patient, Master. It is coming—coming—coming!”

So I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to sleep, but thisdiary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep to-night.

CHAPTER IX

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.

“Buda-Pesth, 24 August.

“My dearest Lucy,—

“I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since weparted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hullall right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. Ifeel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that Iknew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do somenursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one,oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone outof his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in hisface has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does notremember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. Atleast, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had someterrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to tryto recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse,tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. Iwanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself,and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were thesecrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hearthem, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and thenext day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject again,and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear ravedabout, added: ‘I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not aboutanything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be,have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owesto you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal cantreat of.’ I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest mypoor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea ofmy being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, Ifelt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other woman was acause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see hisface while he sleeps. He is waking!...

“When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get somethingfrom the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought all his things.I saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him tolet me look at it—for I knew then that I might find some clue to histrouble—but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sentme over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment.Then he called me back, and when I came he had his hand over thenote-book, and he said to me very solemnly:—

“‘Wilhelmina’—I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he hasnever called me by that name since he asked me to marry him—‘you know,dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be nosecret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try tothink of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if itwas all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brainfever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want toknow it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.’ For, mydear, we had decided to be married as soon as the formalities arecomplete. ‘Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here isthe book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let meknow; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back tothe bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.’ He fellback exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. Ihave asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be thisafternoon, and am waiting her reply....

“She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English missionchurch has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soonafter as Jonathan awakes....

“Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, veryhappy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and hesat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his ‘I will’ firmlyand strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even thosewords seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, Ishall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilitiesI have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When thechaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband—oh, Lucy, itis the first time I have written the words ‘my husband’—left me alonewith my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped itup in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbonwhich was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax,and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed itto my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it wouldbe an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted eachother; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sakeor for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh,Lucy, it was the first time he took his wife’s hand, and said that itwas the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would gothrough all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant tohave said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and Ishall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but theyear.

“Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was thehappiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give himexcept myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my loveand duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me,and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemnpledge between us....

“Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only becauseit is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear tome. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came fromthe schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now,and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so thatin your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear,please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day ofsunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I mustnot wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will bealways as happy as I am now. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this atonce, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathanis waking—I must attend to my husband!

“Your ever-loving
“Mina Harker.”

Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker.

“Whitby, 30 August.

“My dearest Mina,—

“Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your ownhome with your husband. I wish you could be coming home soon enough tostay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan; it hasquite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full oflife, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite givenup walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for aweek, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am gettingfat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have suchwalks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishingtogether; and I love him more than ever. He tells me that he loves memore, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn’t love memore than he did then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me.So no more just at present from your loving

“Lucy.

“P. S.—Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.

“P. P. S.—We are to be married on 28 September.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

20 August.—The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He hasnow so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion.For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then onenight, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring tohimself: “Now I can wait; now I can wait.” The attendant came to tellme, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in thestrait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gonefrom his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading—I mightalmost say, “cringing”—softness. I was satisfied with his presentcondition, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesitated,but finally carried out my wishes without protest. It was a strangething that the patient had humour enough to see their distrust, for,coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while lookingfurtively at them:—

“They think I could hurt you! Fancy me hurting you! The fools!”

It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociatedeven in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same Ido not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything incommon with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or hashe to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needfulto him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not speak. Even theoffer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him. He willonly say: “I don’t take any stock in cats. I have more to think of now,and I can wait; I can wait.”

After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quietuntil just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and atlength violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhaustedhim so that he swooned into a sort of coma.

... Three nights has the same thing happened—violent all day then quietfrom moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the cause. Itwould almost seem as if there was some influence which came and went.Happy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against mad ones. Heescaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape with it. Weshall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow in case theyare required....

23 August.—“The unexpected always happens.” How well Disraeli knewlife. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all oursubtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved onething; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall infuture be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have givenorders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded room,when once he is quiet, until an hour before sunrise. The poor soul’sbody will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark!The unexpected again! I am called; the patient has once more escaped.

Later.—Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until theattendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past himand flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow.Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found himin the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw mehe became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in time, hewould have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a strange thinghappened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grewcalm. I looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caughtthe patient’s eye and followed it, but could trace nothing as it lookedinto the moonlit sky except a big bat, which was flapping its silent andghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel and flit about, but this oneseemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or hadsome intention of its own. The patient grew calmer every instant, andpresently said:—

“You needn’t tie me; I shall go quietly!” Without trouble we came backto the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and shallnot forget this night....

Lucy Westenra’s Diary

Hillingham, 24 August.—I must imitate Mina, and keep writing thingsdown. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it willbe. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night Iseemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is thechange of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me,for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear, and I feel soweak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grievedwhen he saw me, and I hadn’t the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonderif I could sleep in mother’s room to-night. I shall make an excuse andtry.

25 August.—Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to myproposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears toworry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when theclock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been fallingasleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but Idid not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I must then havefallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them. Thismorning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat painsme. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don’t seem ever toget air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else Iknow he will be miserable to see me so.

Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward.

“Albemarle Hotel, 31 August.

“My dear Jack,—

“I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she has no specialdisease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every day. I haveasked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask her mother, for todisturb the poor lady’s mind about her daughter in her present state ofhealth would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom isspoken—disease of the heart—though poor Lucy does not know it yet. Iam sure that there is something preying on my dear girl’s mind. I amalmost distracted when I think of her; to look at her gives me a pang. Itold her I should ask you to see her, and though she demurred atfirst—I know why, old fellow—she finally consented. It will be apainful task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for her sake, andI must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch atHillingham to-morrow, two o’clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion inMrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of beingalone with you. I shall come in for tea, and we can go away together; Iam filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as Ican after you have seen her. Do not fail!

“Arthur.”

Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward.

“1 September.

“Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fullyby to-night’s post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.”

Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood.

“2 September.

“My dear old fellow,—

“With regard to Miss Westenra’s health I hasten to let you know at oncethat in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or any maladythat I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means satisfied withher appearance; she is woefully different from what she was when I sawher last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have fullopportunity of examination such as I should wish; our very friendshipmakes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom canbridge over. I had better tell you exactly what happened, leaving you todraw, in a measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I havedone and propose doing.

“I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was present,and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying all she knewto mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious. I have nodoubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is.We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful, wegot, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real cheerfulnessamongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy was left withme. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained,for the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door was closed,however, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down into a chairwith a great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that herhigh spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction tomake a diagnosis. She said to me very sweetly:—

“‘I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.’ I reminded herthat a doctor’s confidence was sacred, but that you were grievouslyanxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and settled thatmatter in a word. ‘Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care formyself, but all for him!’ So I am quite free.

“I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could not seethe usual anæmic signs, and by a chance I was actually able to test thequality of her blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cordgave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken glass. It was aslight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secureda few drops of the blood and have analysed them. The qualitativeanalysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows, I should infer, initself a vigorous state of health. In other physical matters I was quitesatisfied that there is no need for anxiety; but as there must be acause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion that it must be somethingmental. She complains of difficulty in breathing satisfactorily attimes, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, butregarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child sheused to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back,and that once she walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, whereMiss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has notreturned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of; Ihave written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, ofAmsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in theworld. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all thingswere to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and yourrelations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience toyour wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do anything I can forher. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personalreason, so, no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept hiswishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is because he knowswhat he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopherand a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day;and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an ironnerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution,self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and thekindliest and truest heart that beats—these form his equipment for thenoble work that he is doing for mankind—work both in theory andpractice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy. Itell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence inhim. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenrato-morrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may notalarm her mother by too early a repetition of my call.

“Yours always,
“John Seward.”

Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc., to Dr.Seward.

“2 September.

“My good Friend,—

“When I have received your letter I am already coming to you. By goodfortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who havetrusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who havetrusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holdsdear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound soswiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our otherfriend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants myaids and you call for them than all his great fortune could do. But itis pleasure added to do for him, your friend; it is to you that I come.Have then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel, so that I may be nearto hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young lady not toolate on to-morrow, for it is likely that I may have to return here thatnight. But if need be I shall come again in three days, and stay longerif it must. Till then good-bye, my friend John.

“Van Helsing.”

Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.

“3 September.

“My dear Art,—

“Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to Hillingham, andfound that, by Lucy’s discretion, her mother was lunching out, so thatwe were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very careful examination ofthe patient. He is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for ofcourse I was not present all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned,but says he must think. When I told him of our friendship and how youtrust to me in the matter, he said: ‘You must tell him all you think.Tell him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am notjesting. This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.’ I askedwhat he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when we hadcome back to town, and he was having a cup of tea before starting on hisreturn to Amsterdam. He would not give me any further clue. You must notbe angry with me, Art, because his very reticence means that all hisbrains are working for her good. He will speak plainly enough when thetime comes, be sure. So I told him I would simply write an account ofour visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special article forThe Daily Telegraph. He seemed not to notice, but remarked that thesmuts in London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was astudent here. I am to get his report to-morrow if he can possibly makeit. In any case I am to have a letter.

“Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I firstsaw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something of theghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal. She wasvery sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to make himfeel at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was making a hardstruggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quicklook under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to chat ofall things except ourselves and diseases and with such an infinitegeniality that I could see poor Lucy’s pretense of animation merge intoreality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the conversationgently round to his visit, and suavely said:—

“‘My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you are somuch beloved. That is much, my dear, ever were there that which I do notsee. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that you were of aghastly pale. To them I say: “Pouf!”’ And he snapped his fingers at meand went on: ‘But you and I shall show them how wrong they are. How canhe’—and he pointed at me with the same look and gesture as that withwhich once he pointed me out to his class, on, or rather after, aparticular occasion which he never fails to remind me of—‘know anythingof a young ladies? He has his madmans to play with, and to bring themback to happiness, and to those that love them. It is much to do, and,oh, but there are rewards, in that we can bestow such happiness. But theyoung ladies! He has no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tellthemselves to the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so manysorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send him away tosmoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you and I have little talk allto ourselves.’ I took the hint, and strolled about, and presently theprofessor came to the window and called me in. He looked grave, butsaid: ‘I have made careful examination, but there is no functionalcause. With you I agree that there has been much blood lost; it hasbeen, but is not. But the conditions of her are in no way anæmic. I haveasked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question,that so I may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will say.And yet there is cause; there is always cause for everything. I must goback home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day; and ifthere be cause I shall come again. The disease—for not to be all wellis a disease—interest me, and the sweet young dear, she interest metoo. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.’

“As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were alone.And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern watch. I trustyour poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible thing to you, mydear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two people whoare both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your father, andyou are right to stick to it; but, if need be, I shall send you word tocome at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious unless you hear fromme.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

4 September.—Zoöphagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time. Justbefore the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The attendant knewthe symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came at arun, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became soviolent that it took all their strength to hold him. In about fiveminutes, however, he began to get more and more quiet, and finally sankinto a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained up to now. Theattendant tells me that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were reallyappalling; I found my hands full when I got in, attending to some of theother patients who were frightened by him. Indeed, I can quiteunderstand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I wassome distance away. It is now after the dinner-hour of the asylum, andas yet my patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen,woe-begone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than to showsomething directly. I cannot quite understand it.

Later.—Another change in my patient. At five o’clock I looked in onhim, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be. Hewas catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his captureby making nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges ofpadding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his badconduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back tohis own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well tohumour him: so he is back in his room with the window open. He has thesugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite aharvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them into abox, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his room to finda spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, for anyclue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me; but he would notrise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort offar-away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me:—

“All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I doit for myself!” Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he said:“Doctor, won’t you be very good to me and let me have a little moresugar? I think it would be good for me.”

“And the flies?” I said.

“Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore I likeit.” And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen donot argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a manas, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.

Midnight.—Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra,whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at ourown gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him yelling. Ashis room is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than inthe morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smokybeauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadowsand all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foulwater, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stonebuilding, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heartto endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was going down, and fromhis window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less and lessfrenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, aninert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectualrecuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood upquite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not tohold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straightover to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took hisfly-box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box; then he shutthe window, and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprisedme, so I asked him: “Are you not going to keep flies any more?”

“No,” said he; “I am sick of all that rubbish!” He certainly is awonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of hismind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be a clueafter all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at high noonand at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the sun atperiods which affects certain natures—as at times the moon does others?We shall see.

Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.

“4 September.—Patient still better to-day.”

Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.

“5 September.—Patient greatly improved. Good appetite; sleepsnaturally; good spirits; colour coming back.”

Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.

“6 September.—Terrible change for the worse. Come at once; do notlose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen you.”

CHAPTER X

Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.

“6 September.

“My dear Art,—

“My news to-day is not so good. Lucy this morning had gone back a bit.There is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it; Mrs.Westenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucy, and has consulted meprofessionally about her. I took advantage of the opportunity, and toldher that my old master, Van Helsing, the great specialist, was coming tostay with me, and that I would put her in his charge conjointly withmyself; so now we can come and go without alarming her unduly, for ashock to her would mean sudden death, and this, in Lucy’s weakcondition, might be disastrous to her. We are hedged in withdifficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shallcome through them all right. If any need I shall write, so that, if youdo not hear from me, take it for granted that I am simply waiting fornews. In haste

Yours ever,
“John Seward.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

7 September.—The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met atLiverpool Street was:—

“Have you said anything to our young friend the lover of her?”

“No,” I said. “I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my telegram. Iwrote him a letter simply telling him that you were coming, as MissWestenra was not so well, and that I should let him know if need be.”

“Right, my friend,” he said, “quite right! Better he not know as yet;perhaps he shall never know. I pray so; but if it be needed, then heshall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution you. You dealwith the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the other; and inasmuchas you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God’s madmen,too—the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen what you do nor whyyou do it; you tell them not what you think. So you shall keep knowledgein its place, where it may rest—where it may gather its kind around itand breed. You and I shall keep as yet what we know here, and here.” Hetouched me on the heart and on the forehead, and then touched himselfthe same way. “I have for myself thoughts at the present. Later I shallunfold to you.”

“Why not now?” I asked. “It may do some good; we may arrive at somedecision.” He stopped and looked at me, and said:—

“My friend John, when the corn is grown, even before it hasripened—while the milk of its mother-earth is in him, and the sunshinehas not yet begun to paint him with his gold, the husbandman he pull theear and rub him between his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff,and say to you: ‘Look! he’s good corn; he will make good crop when thetime comes.’” I did not see the application, and told him so. For replyhe reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully, ashe used long ago to do at lectures, and said: “The good husbandman tellyou so then because he knows, but not till then. But you do not find thegood husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow; that is forthe children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it as ofthe work of their life. See you now, friend John? I have sown my corn,and Nature has her work to do in making it sprout; if he sprout at all,there’s some promise; and I wait till the ear begins to swell.” He brokeoff, for he evidently saw that I understood. Then he went on, and verygravely:—

“You were always a careful student, and your case-book was ever morefull than the rest. You were only student then; now you are master, andI trust that good habit have not fail. Remember, my friend, thatknowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker.Even if you have not kept the good practise, let me tell you that thiscase of our dear miss is one that may be—mind, I say may be—of suchinterest to us and others that all the rest may not make him kick thebeam, as your peoples say. Take then good note of it. Nothing is toosmall. I counsel you, put down in record even your doubts and surmises.Hereafter it may be of interest to you to see how true you guess. Welearn from failure, not from success!”

When I described Lucy’s symptoms—the same as before, but infinitelymore marked—he looked very grave, but said nothing. He took with him abag in which were many instruments and drugs, “the ghastly paraphernaliaof our beneficial trade,” as he once called, in one of his lectures, theequipment of a professor of the healing craft. When we were shown in,Mrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed, but not nearly so much as Iexpected to find her. Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordainedthat even death has some antidote to its own terrors. Here, in a casewhere any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from somecause or other, the things not personal—even the terrible change in herdaughter to whom she is so attached—do not seem to reach her. It issomething like the way Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body anenvelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil thatwhich it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an orderedselfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one for the viceof egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes than we haveknowledge of.

I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and laid downa rule that she should not be present with Lucy or think of her illnessmore than was absolutely required. She assented readily, so readily thatI saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van Helsing and I wereshown up to Lucy’s room. If I was shocked when I saw her yesterday, Iwas horrified when I saw her to-day. She was ghastly, chalkily pale; thered seemed to have gone even from her lips and gums, and the bones ofher face stood out prominently; her breathing was painful to see orhear. Van Helsing’s face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows convergedtill they almost touched over his nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did notseem to have strength to speak, so for a while we were all silent. ThenVan Helsing beckoned to me, and we went gently out of the room. Theinstant we had closed the door he stepped quickly along the passage tothe next door, which was open. Then he pulled me quickly in with him andclosed the door. “My God!” he said; “this is dreadful. There is no timeto be lost. She will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart’saction as it should be. There must be transfusion of blood at once. Isit you or me?”

“I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me.”

“Then get ready at once. I will bring up my bag. I am prepared.”

I went downstairs with him, and as we were going there was a knock atthe hall-door. When we reached the hall the maid had just opened thedoor, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to me, saying inan eager whisper:—

“Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your letter, andhave been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran down here to see formyself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you,sir, for coming.” When first the Professor’s eye had lit upon him he hadbeen angry at his interruption at such a time; but now, as he took inhis stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood whichseemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said tohim gravely as he held out his hand:—

“Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss. She isbad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that.” For hesuddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. “You are tohelp her. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is yourbest help.”

“What can I do?” asked Arthur hoarsely. “Tell me, and I shall do it. Mylife is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body forher.” The Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from oldknowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer:—

“My young sir, I do not ask so much as that—not the last!”

“What shall I do?” There was fire in his eyes, and his open nostrilquivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him on the shoulder. “Come!”he said. “You are a man, and it is a man we want. You are better thanme, better than my friend John.” Arthur looked bewildered, and theProfessor went on by explaining in a kindly way:—

“Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must haveor die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to performwhat we call transfusion of blood—to transfer from full veins of one tothe empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he isthe more young and strong than me”—here Arthur took my hand and wrungit hard in silence—“but, now you are here, you are more good than us,old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are notso calm and our blood not so bright than yours!” Arthur turned to himand said:—

“If you only knew how gladly I would die for her you wouldunderstand——”

He stopped, with a sort of choke in his voice.

“Good boy!” said Van Helsing. “In the not-so-far-off you will be happythat you have done all for her you love. Come now and be silent. Youshall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must go; and youmust leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame; you know how it is withher! There must be no shock; any knowledge of this would be one. Come!”

We all went up to Lucy’s room. Arthur by direction remained outside.Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but said nothing. She was notasleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort. Her eyes spoketo us; that was all. Van Helsing took some things from his bag and laidthem on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, andcoming over to the bed, said cheerily:—

“Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like a goodchild. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. Yes.” She had madethe effort with success.

It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact, markedthe extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep began toflicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic began to manifestits potency; and she fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor wassatisfied he called Arthur into the room, and bade him strip off hiscoat. Then he added: “You may take that one little kiss whiles I bringover the table. Friend John, help to me!” So neither of us looked whilsthe bent over her.

Van Helsing turning to me, said:

“He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need notdefibrinate it.”

Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed theoperation. As the transfusion went on something like life seemed to comeback to poor Lucy’s cheeks, and through Arthur’s growing pallor the joyof his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I began to growanxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur, strong man as hewas. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain Lucy’s system musthave undergone that what weakened Arthur only partially restored her.But the Professor’s face was set, and he stood watch in hand and withhis eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Arthur. I could hear my ownheart beat. Presently he said in a soft voice: “Do not stir an instant.It is enough. You attend him; I will look to her.” When all was over Icould see how much Arthur was weakened. I dressed the wound and took hisarm to bring him away, when Van Helsing spoke without turning round—theman seems to have eyes in the back of his head:—

“The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which he shall havepresently.” And as he had now finished his operation, he adjusted thepillow to the patient’s head. As he did so the narrow black velvet bandwhich she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with an olddiamond buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little up,and showed a red mark on her throat. Arthur did not notice it, but Icould hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing’sways of betraying emotion. He said nothing at the moment, but turned tome, saying: “Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the portwine, and let him lie down a while. He must then go home and rest, sleepmuch and eat much, that he may be recruited of what he has so given tohis love. He must not stay here. Hold! a moment. I may take it, sir,that you are anxious of result. Then bring it with you that in all waysthe operation is successful. You have saved her life this time, and youcan go home and rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tellher all when she is well; she shall love you none the less for what youhave done. Good-bye.”

When Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy was sleeping gently,but her breathing was stronger; I could see the counterpane move as herbreast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking at her intently.The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor in awhisper:—

“What do you make of that mark on her throat?”

“What do you make of it?”

“I have not examined it yet,” I answered, and then and there proceededto loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein there were twopunctures, not large, but not wholesome-looking. There was no sign ofdisease, but the edges were white and worn-looking, as if by sometrituration. It at once occurred to me that this wound, or whatever itwas, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood; but I abandonedthe idea as soon as formed, for such a thing could not be. The whole bedwould have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the girl musthave lost to leave such a pallor as she had before the transfusion.

“Well?” said Van Helsing.

“Well,” said I, “I can make nothing of it.” The Professor stood up. “Imust go back to Amsterdam to-night,” he said. “There are books andthings there which I want. You must remain here all the night, and youmust not let your sight pass from her.”

“Shall I have a nurse?” I asked.

“We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night; see thatshe is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not sleep allthe night. Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall be back as soon aspossible. And then we may begin.”

“May begin?” I said. “What on earth do you mean?”

“We shall see!” he answered, as he hurried out. He came back a momentlater and put his head inside the door and said with warning finger heldup:—

“Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and harm befall, youshall not sleep easy hereafter!”

Dr. Seward’s Diary—continued.

8 September.—I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate worked itselfoff towards dusk, and she waked naturally; she looked a different beingfrom what she had been before the operation. Her spirits even were good,and she was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of theabsolute prostration which she had undergone. When I told Mrs. Westenrathat Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit up with her shealmost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her daughter’s renewedstrength and excellent spirits. I was firm, however, and madepreparations for my long vigil. When her maid had prepared her for thenight I came in, having in the meantime had supper, and took a seat bythe bedside. She did not in any way make objection, but looked at megratefully whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she seemedsinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself togetherand shook it off. This was repeated several times, with greater effortand with shorter pauses as the time moved on. It was apparent that shedid not want to sleep, so I tackled the subject at once:—

“You do not want to go to sleep?”

“No; I am afraid.”

“Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave for.”

“Ah, not if you were like me—if sleep was to you a presage of horror!”

“A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?”

“I don’t know; oh, I don’t know. And that is what is so terrible. Allthis weakness comes to me in sleep; until I dread the very thought.”

“But, my dear girl, you may sleep to-night. I am here watching you, andI can promise that nothing will happen.”

“Ah, I can trust you!” I seized the opportunity, and said: “I promiseyou that if I see any evidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once.”

“You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to me. Then I willsleep!” And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief, and sankback, asleep.

All night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but slept on and onin a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. Her lips wereslightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity of apendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident that no baddreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.

In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and tookmyself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a shortwire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent resultof the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears, took me allday to clear off; it was dark when I was able to inquire about myzoöphagous patient. The report was good; he had been quite quiet for thepast day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing at Amsterdam whilstI was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at Hillingham to-night, asit might be well to be at hand, and stating that he was leaving by thenight mail and would join me early in the morning.

9 September.—I was pretty tired and worn out when I got toHillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and mybrain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebralexhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook handswith me she looked sharply in my face and said:—

“No sitting up to-night for you. You are worn out. I am quite wellagain; indeed, I am; and if there is to be any sitting up, it is I whowill sit up with you.” I would not argue the point, but went and had mysupper. Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, Imade an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more thanexcellent port. Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room nexther own, where a cozy fire was burning. “Now,” she said, “you must stayhere. I shall leave this door open and my door too. You can lie on thesofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you doctors to go tobed whilst there is a patient above the horizon. If I want anything Ishall call out, and you can come to me at once.” I could not butacquiesce, for I was “dog-tired,” and could not have sat up had I tried.So, on her renewing her promise to call me if she should want anything,I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything.

Lucy Westenra’s Diary.

9 September.—I feel so happy to-night. I have been so miserably weak,that to be able to think and move about is like feeling sunshine aftera long spell of east wind out of a steel sky. Somehow Arthur feels very,very close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me. I supposeit is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our innereyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give Loverein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills. I knowwhere my thoughts are. If Arthur only knew! My dear, my dear, your earsmust tingle as you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest oflast night! How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching me.And to-night I shall not fear to sleep, since he is close at hand andwithin call. Thank everybody for being so good to me! Thank God!Good-night, Arthur.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

10 September.—I was conscious of the Professor’s hand on my head, andstarted awake all in a second. That is one of the things that we learnin an asylum, at any rate.

“And how is our patient?”

“Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me,” I answered.

“Come, let us see,” he said. And together we went into the room.

The blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, whilst VanHelsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the bed.

As I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the room, Iheard the Professor’s low hiss of inspiration, and knowing its rarity, adeadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over he moved back, andhis exclamation of horror, “Gott in Himmel!” needed no enforcement fromhis agonised face. He raised his hand and pointed to the bed, and hisiron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees begin to tremble.

There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, more horriblywhite and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were white, and the gumsseemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we sometimes see in acorpse after a prolonged illness. Van Helsing raised his foot to stampin anger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years of habitstood to him, and he put it down again softly. “Quick!” he said. “Bringthe brandy.” I flew to the dining-room, and returned with the decanter.He wetted the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm andwrist and heart. He felt her heart, and after a few moments of agonisingsuspense said:—

“It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our work isundone; we must begin again. There is no young Arthur here now; I haveto call on you yourself this time, friend John.” As he spoke, he wasdipping into his bag and producing the instruments for transfusion; Ihad taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt-sleeve. There was nopossibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of one; and so,without a moment’s delay, we began the operation. After a time—it didnot seem a short time either, for the draining away of one’s blood, nomatter how willingly it be given, is a terrible feeling—Van Helsingheld up a warning finger. “Do not stir,” he said, “but I fear that withgrowing strength she may wake; and that would make danger, oh, so muchdanger. But I shall precaution take. I shall give hypodermic injectionof morphia.” He proceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out hisintent. The effect on Lucy was not bad, for the faint seemed to mergesubtly into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal pridethat I could see a faint tinge of colour steal back into the pallidcheeks and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is tofeel his own life-blood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves.

The Professor watched me critically. “That will do,” he said. “Already?”I remonstrated. “You took a great deal more from Art.” To which hesmiled a sad sort of smile as he replied:—

“He is her lover, her fiancé. You have work, much work, to do for herand for others; and the present will suffice.”

When we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, whilst I applieddigital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, whilst I waited hisleisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick. By-and-byhe bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine formyself. As I was leaving the room, he came after me, and halfwhispered:—

“Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should turn upunexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once frighten him andenjealous him, too. There must be none. So!”

When I came back he looked at me carefully, and then said:—

“You are not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie on your sofa, andrest awhile; then have much breakfast, and come here to me.”

I followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise they were. Ihad done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my strength. Ifelt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of the amazement atwhat had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa, however, wondering overand over again how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement, and howshe could have been drained of so much blood with no sign anywhere toshow for it. I think I must have continued my wonder in my dreams, for,sleeping and waking, my thoughts always came back to the littlepunctures in her throat and the ragged, exhausted appearance of theiredges—tiny though they were.

Lucy slept well into the day, and when she woke she was fairly well andstrong, though not nearly so much so as the day before. When Van Helsinghad seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me in charge, with strictinjunctions that I was not to leave her for a moment. I could hear hisvoice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest telegraph office.

Lucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that anythinghad happened. I tried to keep her amused and interested. When her mothercame up to see her, she did not seem to notice any change whatever, butsaid to me gratefully:—

“We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, but you reallymust now take care not to overwork yourself. You are looking paleyourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a bit; that youdo!” As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only momentarily,for her poor wasted veins could not stand for long such an unwonteddrain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as she turnedimploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my finger on mylips; with a sigh, she sank back amid her pillows.

Van Helsing returned in a couple of hours, and presently said to me:“Now you go home, and eat much and drink enough. Make yourself strong. Istay here to-night, and I shall sit up with little miss myself. You andI must watch the case, and we must have none other to know. I have gravereasons. No, do not ask them; think what you will. Do not fear to thinkeven the most not-probable. Good-night.”

In the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if they or either ofthem might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They implored me to let them; andwhen I said it was Dr. Van Helsing’s wish that either he or I should situp, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with the “foreigngentleman.” I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it is becauseI am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on Lucy’s account, thattheir devotion was manifested; for over and over again have I seensimilar instances of woman’s kindness. I got back here in time for alate dinner; went my rounds—all well; and set this down whilst waitingfor sleep. It is coming.

11 September.—This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. Found VanHelsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better. Shortly after I hadarrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor. He opened itwith much impressment—assumed, of course—and showed a great bundle ofwhite flowers.

“These are for you, Miss Lucy,” he said.

“For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!”

“Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are medicines.” HereLucy made a wry face. “Nay, but they are not to take in a decoction orin nauseous form, so you need not snub that so charming nose, or I shallpoint out to my friend Arthur what woes he may have to endure in seeingso much beauty that he so loves so much distort. Aha, my pretty miss,that bring the so nice nose all straight again. This is medicinal, butyou do not know how. I put him in your window, I make pretty wreath, andhang him round your neck, so that you sleep well. Oh yes! they, like thelotus flower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like the watersof Lethe, and of that fountain of youth that the Conquistadores soughtfor in the Floridas, and find him all too late.”

Whilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the flowers and smellingthem. Now she threw them down, saying, with half-laughter, andhalf-disgust:—

“Oh, Professor, I believe you are only putting up a joke on me. Why,these flowers are only common garlic.”

To my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and said with all his sternness, hisiron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting:—

“No trifling with me! I never jest! There is grim purpose in all I do;and I warn you that you do not thwart me. Take care, for the sake ofothers if not for your own.” Then seeing poor Lucy scared, as she mightwell be, he went on more gently: “Oh, little miss, my dear, do not fearme. I only do for your good; but there is much virtue to you in those socommon flowers. See, I place them myself in your room. I make myself thewreath that you are to wear. But hush! no telling to others that make soinquisitive questions. We must obey, and silence is a part of obedience;and obedience is to bring you strong and well into loving arms that waitfor you. Now sit still awhile. Come with me, friend John, and you shallhelp me deck the room with my garlic, which is all the way from Haarlem,where my friend Vanderpool raise herb in his glass-houses all the year.I had to telegraph yesterday, or they would not have been here.”

We went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The Professor’sactions were certainly odd and not to be found in any pharmacopœiathat I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows and latched themsecurely; next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them all overthe sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air that might getin would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp he rubbedall over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at each side, and roundthe fireplace in the same way. It all seemed grotesque to me, andpresently I said:—

“Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, butthis certainly puzzles me. It is well we have no sceptic here, or hewould say that you were working some spell to keep out an evil spirit.”

“Perhaps I am!” he answered quietly as he began to make the wreath whichLucy was to wear round her neck.

We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and when shewas in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of garlic round herneck. The last words he said to her were:—

“Take care you do not disturb it; and even if the room feel close, donot to-night open the window or the door.”

“I promise,” said Lucy, “and thank you both a thousand times for allyour kindness to me! Oh, what have I done to be blessed with suchfriends?”

As we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van Helsing said:—

“To-night I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want—two nights of travel,much reading in the day between, and much anxiety on the day to follow,and a night to sit up, without to wink. To-morrow in the morning earlyyou call for me, and we come together to see our pretty miss, so muchmore strong for my ‘spell’ which I have work. Ho! ho!”

He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nightsbefore and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It musthave been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, butI felt it all the more, like unshed tears.

CHAPTER XI

Lucy Westenra’s Diary.

12 September.—How good they all are to me. I quite love that dear Dr.Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about these flowers. Hepositively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must have beenright, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dreadbeing alone to-night, and I can go to sleep without fear. I shall notmind any flapping outside the window. Oh, the terrible struggle that Ihave had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness,or the pain of the fear of sleep, with such unknown horrors as it hasfor me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, nodreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and bringsnothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am to-night, hoping for sleep,and lying like Ophelia in the play, with “virgin crants and maidenstrewments.” I never liked garlic before, but to-night it is delightful!There is peace in its smell; I feel sleep coming already. Good-night,everybody.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

13 September.—Called at the Berkeley and found Van Helsing, as usual,up to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel was waiting. TheProfessor took his bag, which he always brings with him now.

Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at Hillingham ateight o’clock. It was a lovely morning; the bright sunshine and all thefresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the completion of nature’sannual work. The leaves were turning to all kinds of beautiful colours,but had not yet begun to drop from the trees. When we entered we metMrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room. She is always an earlyriser. She greeted us warmly and said:—

“You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is stillasleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go in, lest Ishould disturb her.” The Professor smiled, and looked quite jubilant. Herubbed his hands together, and said:—

“Aha! I thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working,” towhich she answered:—

“You must not take all the credit to yourself, doctor. Lucy’s state thismorning is due in part to me.”

“How you do mean, ma’am?” asked the Professor.

“Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went intoher room. She was sleeping soundly—so soundly that even my coming didnot wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There were a lot of thosehorrible, strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and she had actuallya bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the heavy odour would betoo much for the dear child in her weak state, so I took them all awayand opened a bit of the window to let in a little fresh air. You will bepleased with her, I am sure.”

She moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted early. Asshe had spoken, I watched the Professor’s face, and saw it turn ashengrey. He had been able to retain his self-command whilst the poor ladywas present, for he knew her state and how mischievous a shock would be;he actually smiled on her as he held open the door for her to pass intoher room. But the instant she had disappeared he pulled me, suddenly andforcibly, into the dining-room and closed the door.

Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down. Heraised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and then beathis palms together in a helpless way; finally he sat down on a chair,and putting his hands before his face, began to sob, with loud, dry sobsthat seemed to come from the very racking of his heart. Then he raisedhis arms again, as though appealing to the whole universe. “God! God!God!” he said. “What have we done, what has this poor thing done, thatwe are so sore beset? Is there fate amongst us still, sent down from thepagan world of old, that such things must be, and in such way? This poormother, all unknowing, and all for the best as she think, does suchthing as lose her daughter body and soul; and we must not tell her, wemust not even warn her, or she die, and then both die. Oh, how we arebeset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly hejumped to his feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devilsor no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight himall the same.” He went to the hall-door for his bag; and together wewent up to Lucy’s room.

Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the bed.This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face with the sameawful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern sadness andinfinite pity.

“As I expected,” he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his whichmeant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and thenbegan to set out on the little table the instruments for yet anotheroperation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognised thenecessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with awarning hand. “No!” he said. “To-day you must operate. I shall provide.You are weakened already.” As he spoke he took off his coat and rolledup his shirt-sleeve.

Again the operation; again the narcotic; again some return of colour tothe ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep. This time Iwatched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested.

Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she mustnot remove anything from Lucy’s room without consulting him; that theflowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of their odourwas a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the care of the casehimself, saying that he would watch this night and the next and wouldsend me word when to come.

After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright andseemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.

What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit of lifeamongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own brain.

Lucy Westenra’s Diary.

17 September.—Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strongagain that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through somelong nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine andfeel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dimhalf-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darknessin which there was not even the pain of hope to make present distressmore poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back tolife as a diver coming up through a great press of water. Since,however, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming seemsto have passed away; the noises that used to frighten me out of mywits—the flapping against the windows, the distant voices which seemedso close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where andcommanded me to do I know not what—have all ceased. I go to bed nowwithout any fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have grownquite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day fromHaarlem. To-night Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to be for aday in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be leftalone. Thank God for mother’s sake, and dear Arthur’s, and for all ourfriends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, forlast night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I foundhim asleep twice when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again,although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily againstthe window-panes.

“The Pall Mall Gazette,” 18 September.

Interview with the Keeper in the Zoölogical Gardens.

After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and perpetually usingthe words “Pall Mall Gazette” as a sort of talisman, I managed to findthe keeper of the section of the Zoölogical Gardens in which the wolfdepartment is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the cottages inthe enclosure behind the elephant-house, and was just sitting down tohis tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk,elderly, and without children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of theirhospitality be of the average kind, their lives must be prettycomfortable. The keeper would not enter on what he called “business”until the supper was over, and we were all satisfied. Then when thetable was cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said:—

“Now, sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You’ll excoose merefoosin’ to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore meals. I gives thewolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea aforeI begins to arsk them questions.”

“How do you mean, ask them questions?” I queried, wishful to get himinto a talkative humour.

“’Ittin’ of them over the ’ead with a pole is one way; scratchin’ oftheir hears is another, when gents as is flush wants a bit of a show-orfto their gals. I don’t so much mind the fust—the ’ittin’ with a poleafore I chucks in their dinner; but I waits till they’ve ’ad theirsherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with theear-scratchin’. Mind you,” he added philosophically, “there’s a deal ofthe same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here’s you a-comin’ andarskin’ of me questions about my business, and I that grumpy-like thatonly for your bloomin’ ’arf-quid I’d ’a’ seen you blowed fust ’fore I’danswer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic-like if I’d like you toarsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me questions. Without offencedid I tell yer to go to ’ell?”

“You did.”

“An’ when you said you’d report me for usin’ of obscene language thatwas ’ittin’ me over the ’ead; but the ’arf-quid made that all right. Iweren’t a-goin’ to fight, so I waited for the food, and did with my ’owlas the wolves, and lions, and tigers does. But, Lor’ love yer ’art, nowthat the old ’ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me, an’ rinsedme out with her bloomin’ old teapot, and I’ve lit hup, you may scratchmy ears for all you’re worth, and won’t git even a growl out of me.Drive along with your questions. I know what yer a-comin’ at, that ’ereescaped wolf.”

“Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me how ithappened; and when I know the facts I’ll get you to say what youconsider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole affair willend.”

“All right, guv’nor. This ’ere is about the ’ole story. That ’ere wolfwhat we called Bersicker was one of three grey ones that came fromNorway to Jamrach’s, which we bought off him four years ago. He was anice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk of. I’m moresurprised at ’im for wantin’ to get out nor any other animile in theplace. But, there, you can’t trust wolves no more nor women.”

“Don’t you mind him, sir!” broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery laugh. “’E’sgot mindin’ the animiles so long that blest if he ain’t like a old wolf’isself! But there ain’t no ’arm in ’im.”

“Well, sir, it was about two hours after feedin’ yesterday when I firsthear my disturbance. I was makin’ up a litter in the monkey-house for ayoung puma which is ill; but when I heard the yelpin’ and ’owlin’ I kemaway straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin’ like a mad thing at thebars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn’t much people about thatday, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a ’ooknose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs runnin’ through it. Hehad a ’ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him,for it seemed as if it was ’im as they was hirritated at. He ’ad whitekid gloves on ’is ’ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says:‘Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.’

“‘Maybe it’s you,’ says I, for I did not like the airs as he give’isself. He didn’t git angry, as I ’oped he would, but he smiled a kindof insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp teeth. ‘Oh no, theywouldn’t like me,’ ’e says.

“‘Ow yes, they would,’ says I, a-imitatin’ of him. ‘They always likes abone or two to clean their teeth on about tea-time, which you ’as abagful.’

“Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us a-talkin’ theylay down, and when I went over to Bersicker he let me stroke his earssame as ever. That there man kem over, and blessed but if he didn’t putin his hand and stroke the old wolf’s ears too!

“‘Tyke care,’ says I. ‘Bersicker is quick.’

“‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘I’m used to ’em!’

“‘Are you in the business yourself?’ I says, tyking off my ’at, for aman what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good friend to keepers.

“‘No,’ says he, ‘not exactly in the business, but I ’ave made pets ofseveral.’ And with that he lifts his ’at as perlite as a lord, and walksaway. Old Bersicker kep’ a-lookin’ arter ’im till ’e was out of sight,and then went and lay down in a corner and wouldn’t come hout the ’olehevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon was hup, the wolveshere all began a-’owling. There warn’t nothing for them to ’owl at.There warn’t no one near, except some one that was evidently a-callin’ adog somewheres out back of the gardings in the Park road. Once or twiceI went out to see that all was right, and it was, and then the ’owlingstopped. Just before twelve o’clock I just took a look round aforeturnin’ in, an’, bust me, but when I kem opposite to old Bersicker’scage I see the rails broken and twisted about and the cage empty. Andthat’s all I know for certing.”

“Did any one else see anything?”

“One of our gard’ners was a-comin’ ’ome about that time from a ’armony,when he sees a big grey dog comin’ out through the garding ’edges. Atleast, so he says, but I don’t give much for it myself, for if he did ’enever said a word about it to his missis when ’e got ’ome, and it wasonly after the escape of the wolf was made known, and we had been up allnight-a-huntin’ of the Park for Bersicker, that he remembered seein’anything. My own belief was that the ’armony ’ad got into his ’ead.”

“Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape of thewolf?”

“Well, sir,” he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, “I think I can;but I don’t know as ’ow you’d be satisfied with the theory.”

“Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the animals fromexperience, can’t hazard a good guess at any rate, who is even to try?”

“Well then, sir, I accounts for it this way; it seems to me that ’erewolf escaped—simply because he wanted to get out.”

From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the joke Icould see that it had done service before, and that the wholeexplanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn’t cope in badinagewith the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to his heart,so I said:—

“Now, Mr. Bilder, we’ll consider that first half-sovereign worked off,and this brother of his is waiting to be claimed when you’ve told mewhat you think will happen.”

“Right y’are, sir,” he said briskly. “Ye’ll excoose me, I know, fora-chaffin’ of ye, but the old woman here winked at me, which was as muchas telling me to go on.”

“Well, I never!” said the old lady.

“My opinion is this: that ’ere wolf is a-’idin’ of, somewheres. Thegard’ner wot didn’t remember said he was a-gallopin’ northward fasterthan a horse could go; but I don’t believe him, for, yer see, sir,wolves don’t gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein’ built thatway. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay when they getsin packs and does be chivyin’ somethin’ that’s more afeared than they isthey can make a devil of a noise and chop it up, whatever it is. But,Lor’ bless you, in real life a wolf is only a low creature, not half soclever or bold as a good dog; and not half a quarter so much fight in’im. This one ain’t been used to fightin’ or even to providin’ forhisself, and more like he’s somewhere round the Park a-’idin’ an’a-shiverin’ of, and, if he thinks at all, wonderin’ where he is to gethis breakfast from; or maybe he’s got down some area and is in acoal-cellar. My eye, won’t some cook get a rum start when she sees hisgreen eyes a-shining at her out of the dark! If he can’t get food he’sbound to look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher’sshop in time. If he doesn’t, and some nursemaid goes a-walkin’ orf witha soldier, leavin’ of the hinfant in the perambulator—well, then Ishouldn’t be surprised if the census is one babby the less. That’sall.”

I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came bobbing upagainst the window, and Mr. Bilder’s face doubled its natural lengthwith surprise.

“God bless me!” he said. “If there ain’t old Bersicker come back by’isself!”

He went to the door and opened it; a most unnecessary proceeding itseemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never looks sowell as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us; apersonal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.

After all, however, there is nothing like custom, for neither Bilder norhis wife thought any more of the wolf than I should of a dog. The animalitself was as peaceful and well-behaved as that father of allpicture-wolves—Red Riding Hood’s quondam friend, whilst moving herconfidence in masquerade.

The whole scene was an unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos. Thewicked wolf that for half a day had paralysed London and set all thechildren in the town shivering in their shoes, was there in a sort ofpenitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpineprodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most tendersolicitude, and when he had finished with his penitent said:—

“There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some kind of trouble;didn’t I say it all along? Here’s his head all cut and full of brokenglass. ’E’s been a-gettin’ over some bloomin’ wall or other. It’s ashyme that people are allowed to top their walls with broken bottles.This ’ere’s what comes of it. Come along, Bersicker.”

He took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a piece of meat thatsatisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary conditions of thefatted calf, and went off to report.

I came off, too, to report the only exclusive information that is givento-day regarding the strange escapade at the Zoo.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

17 September.—I was engaged after dinner in my study posting up mybooks, which, through press of other work and the many visits to Lucy,had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst open, and inrushed my patient, with his face distorted with passion. I wasthunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own accordinto the Superintendent’s study is almost unknown. Without an instant’spause he made straight at me. He had a dinner-knife in his hand, and,as I saw he was dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. He wastoo quick and too strong for me, however; for before I could get mybalance he had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather severely.Before he could strike again, however, I got in my right and he wassprawling on his back on the floor. My wrist bled freely, and quite alittle pool trickled on to the carpet. I saw that my friend was notintent on further effort, and occupied myself binding up my wrist,keeping a wary eye on the prostrate figure all the time. When theattendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him, his employmentpositively sickened me. He was lying on his belly on the floor lickingup, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He waseasily secured, and, to my surprise, went with the attendants quiteplacidly, simply repeating over and over again: “The blood is the life!The blood is the life!”

I cannot afford to lose blood just at present; I have lost too much oflate for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of Lucy’sillness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over-excited andweary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summonedme, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I could not well do withoutit.

Telegram, Van Helsing, Antwerp, to Seward, Carfax.

(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given; delivered late bytwenty-two hours.)

“17 September.—Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night. If notwatching all the time frequently, visit and see that flowers are asplaced; very important; do not fail. Shall be with you as soon aspossible after arrival.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

18 September.—Just off for train to London. The arrival of VanHelsing’s telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I knowby bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it ispossible that all may be well, but what may have happened? Surelythere is some horrible doom hanging over us that every possible accidentshould thwart us in all we try to do. I shall take this cylinder withme, and then I can complete my entry on Lucy’s phonograph.

Memorandum left by Lucy Westenra.

17 September. Night.—I write this and leave it to be seen, so that noone may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exactrecord of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, andhave barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in thedoing.

I went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed as Dr.Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.

I was waked by the flapping at the window, which had begun after thatsleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and which now Iknow so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward was inthe next room—as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be—so that I might havecalled him. I tried to go to sleep, but could not. Then there came to methe old fear of sleep, and I determined to keep awake. Perversely sleepwould try to come then when I did not want it; so, as I feared to bealone, I opened my door and called out: “Is there anybody there?” Therewas no answer. I was afraid to wake mother, and so closed my door again.Then outside in the shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog’s, butmore fierce and deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but couldsee nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting itswings against the window. So I went back to bed again, but determinednot to go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in;seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came in, and sat by me. Shesaid to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont:—

“I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were allright.”

I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come inand sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me; she didnot take off her dressing gown, for she said she would only stay a whileand then go back to her own bed. As she lay there in my arms, and I inhers, the flapping and buffeting came to the window again. She wasstartled and a little frightened, and cried out: “What is that?” I triedto pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet; but I couldhear her poor dear heart still beating terribly. After a while there wasthe low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was acrash at the window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor.The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, and in theaperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt greywolf. Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sittingposture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her. Amongstother things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsinginsisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For asecond or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strangeand horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over—as if struckwith lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for amoment or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept myeyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a wholemyriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the brokenwindow, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust thattravellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried tostir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother’s poor body,which seemed to grow cold already—for her dear heart had ceased tobeat—weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while.

The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recoveredconsciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; thedogs all round the neighbourhood were howling; and in our shrubbery,seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed andstupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of thenightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to comfortme. The sounds seemed to have awakened the maids, too, for I could heartheir bare feet pattering outside my door. I called to them, and theycame in, and when they saw what had happened, and what it was that layover me on the bed, they screamed out. The wind rushed in through thebroken window, and the door slammed to. They lifted off the body of mydear mother, and laid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after Ihad got up. They were all so frightened and nervous that I directed themto go to the dining-room and have each a glass of wine. The door flewopen for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then wentin a body to the dining-room; and I laid what flowers I had on my dearmother’s breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsinghad told me, but I didn’t like to remove them, and, besides, I wouldhave some of the servants to sit up with me now. I was surprised thatthe maids did not come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I wentto the dining-room to look for them.

My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay helplesson the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was on the tablehalf full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious,and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on thesideboard, I found that the bottle which mother’s doctor uses forher—oh! did use—was empty. What am I to do? what am I to do? I am backin the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save forthe sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! Idare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through thebroken window.

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught fromthe window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do? Godshield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast,where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mothergone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should notsurvive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!

CHAPTER XII

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

18 September.—I drove at once to Hillingham and arrived early.Keeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue alone. I knocked gentlyand rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to disturb Lucy or hermother, and hoped to only bring a servant to the door. After a while,finding no response, I knocked and rang again; still no answer. I cursedthe laziness of the servants that they should lie abed at such anhour—for it was now ten o’clock—and so rang and knocked again, butmore impatiently, but still without response. Hitherto I had blamed onlythe servants, but now a terrible fear began to assail me. Was thisdesolation but another link in the chain of doom which seemed drawingtight around us? Was it indeed a house of death to which I had come, toolate? I knew that minutes, even seconds of delay, might mean hours ofdanger to Lucy, if she had had again one of those frightful relapses;and I went round the house to try if I could find by chance an entryanywhere.

I could find no means of ingress. Every window and door was fastened andlocked, and I returned baffled to the porch. As I did so, I heard therapid pit-pat of a swiftly driven horse’s feet. They stopped at thegate, and a few seconds later I met Van Helsing running up the avenue.When he saw me, he gasped out:—

“Then it was you, and just arrived. How is she? Are we too late? Did younot get my telegram?”

I answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only got histelegram early in the morning, and had not lost a minute in coming here,and that I could not make any one in the house hear me. He paused andraised his hat as he said solemnly:—

“Then I fear we are too late. God’s will be done!” With his usualrecuperative energy, he went on: “Come. If there be no way open to getin, we must make one. Time is all in all to us now.”

We went round to the back of the house, where there was a kitchenwindow. The Professor took a small surgical saw from his case, andhanding it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded the window. Iattacked them at once and had very soon cut through three of them. Thenwith a long, thin knife we pushed back the fastening of the sashes andopened the window. I helped the Professor in, and followed him. Therewas no one in the kitchen or in the servants’ rooms, which were close athand. We tried all the rooms as we went along, and in the dining-room,dimly lit by rays of light through the shutters, found fourservant-women lying on the floor. There was no need to think them dead,for their stertorous breathing and the acrid smell of laudanum in theroom left no doubt as to their condition. Van Helsing and I looked ateach other, and as we moved away he said: “We can attend to them later.”Then we ascended to Lucy’s room. For an instant or two we paused at thedoor to listen, but there was no sound that we could hear. With whitefaces and trembling hands, we opened the door gently, and entered theroom.

How shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two women, Lucy and hermother. The latter lay farthest in, and she was covered with a whitesheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the draught through thebroken window, showing the drawn, white face, with a look of terrorfixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white and still moredrawn. The flowers which had been round her neck we found upon hermother’s bosom, and her throat was bare, showing the two little woundswhich we had noticed before, but looking horribly white and mangled.Without a word the Professor bent over the bed, his head almost touchingpoor Lucy’s breast; then he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one wholistens, and leaping to his feet, he cried out to me:—

“It is not yet too late! Quick! quick! Bring the brandy!”

I flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell and tasteit, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry which I foundon the table. The maids were still breathing, but more restlessly, and Ifancied that the narcotic was wearing off. I did not stay to make sure,but returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on anotheroccasion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists and the palms of herhands. He said to me:—

“I can do this, all that can be at the present. You go wake those maids.Flick them in the face with a wet towel, and flick them hard. Make themget heat and fire and a warm bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold asthat beside her. She will need be heated before we can do anythingmore.”

I went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three of thewomen. The fourth was only a young girl, and the drug had evidentlyaffected her more strongly, so I lifted her on the sofa and let hersleep. The others were dazed at first, but as remembrance came back tothem they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner. I was stern withthem, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that one lifewas bad enough to lose, and that if they delayed they would sacrificeMiss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying, they went about their way, half cladas they were, and prepared fire and water. Fortunately, the kitchen andboiler fires were still alive, and there was no lack of hot water. Wegot a bath and carried Lucy out as she was and placed her in it. Whilstwe were busy chafing her limbs there was a knock at the hall door. Oneof the maids ran off, hurried on some more clothes, and opened it. Thenshe returned and whispered to us that there was a gentleman who had comewith a message from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him that hemust wait, for we could see no one now. She went away with the message,and, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about him.

I never saw in all my experience the Professor work in such deadlyearnest. I knew—as he knew—that it was a stand-up fight with death,and in a pause told him so. He answered me in a way that I did notunderstand, but with the sternest look that his face could wear:—

“If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let her fadeaway into peace, for I see no light in life over her horizon.” He wenton with his work with, if possible, renewed and more frenzied vigour.

Presently we both began to be conscious that the heat was beginning tobe of some effect. Lucy’s heart beat a trifle more audibly to thestethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible movement. Van Helsing’sface almost beamed, and as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her ina hot sheet to dry her he said to me:—

“The first gain is ours! Check to the King!”

We took Lucy into another room, which had by now been prepared, and laidher in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down her throat. I noticedthat Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round her throat. She wasstill unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than, we hadever seen her.

Van Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay with herand not to take her eyes off her till we returned, and then beckoned meout of the room.

“We must consult as to what is to be done,” he said as we descended thestairs. In the hall he opened the dining-room door, and we passed in, heclosing the door carefully behind him. The shutters had been opened, butthe blinds were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette ofdeath which the British woman of the lower classes always rigidlyobserves. The room was, therefore, dimly dark. It was, however, lightenough for our purposes. Van Helsing’s sternness was somewhat relievedby a look of perplexity. He was evidently torturing his mind aboutsomething, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke:—

“What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must haveanother transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor girl’s lifewon’t be worth an hour’s purchase. You are exhausted already; I amexhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if they would havecourage to submit. What are we to do for some one who will open hisveins for her?”

“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?”

The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones broughtrelief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris. VanHelsing started angrily at the first sound, but his face softened and aglad look came into his eyes as I cried out: “Quincey Morris!” andrushed towards him with outstretched hands.

“What brought you here?” I cried as our hands met.

“I guess Art is the cause.”

He handed me a telegram:—

“Have not heard from Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious.Cannot leave. Father still in same condition. Send me word how Lucy is.Do not delay.—Holmwood.”

“I think I came just in the nick of time. You know you have only to tellme what to do.”

Van Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking him straight inthe eyes as he said:—

“A brave man’s blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is introuble. You’re a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work againstus for all he’s worth, but God sends us men when we want them.”

Once again we went through that ghastly operation. I have not the heartto go through with the details. Lucy had got a terrible shock and ittold on her more than before, for though plenty of blood went into herveins, her body did not respond to the treatment as well as on the otheroccasions. Her struggle back into life was something frightful to seeand hear. However, the action of both heart and lungs improved, and VanHelsing made a subcutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and withgood effect. Her faint became a profound slumber. The Professor watchedwhilst I went downstairs with Quincey Morris, and sent one of the maidsto pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting. I left Quincey lying downafter having a glass of wine, and told the cook to get ready a goodbreakfast. Then a thought struck me, and I went back to the room whereLucy now was. When I came softly in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet ortwo of note-paper in his hand. He had evidently read it, and wasthinking it over as he sat with his hand to his brow. There was a lookof grim satisfaction in his face, as of one who has had a doubt solved.He handed me the paper saying only: “It dropped from Lucy’s breast whenwe carried her to the bath.”

When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a pauseasked him: “In God’s name, what does it all mean? Was she, or is she,mad; or what sort of horrible danger is it?” I was so bewildered that Idid not know what to say more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took thepaper, saying:—

“Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall knowand understand it all in good time; but it will be later. And now whatis it that you came to me to say?” This brought me back to fact, and Iwas all myself again.

“I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do not actproperly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that paper would haveto be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no inquest, for if wehad it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I know, and youknow, and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs. Westenrahad disease of the heart, and we can certify that she died of it. Let usfill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself to theregistrar and go on to the undertaker.”

“Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she besad in the foes that beset her, is at least happy in the friends thatlove her. One, two, three, all open their veins for her, besides one oldman. Ah yes, I know, friend John; I am not blind! I love you all themore for it! Now go.”

In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur telling himthat Mrs. Westenra was dead; that Lucy also had been ill, but was nowgoing on better; and that Van Helsing and I were with her. I told himwhere I was going, and he hurried me out, but as I was going said:—

“When you come back, Jack, may I have two words with you all toourselves?” I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty aboutthe registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come up inthe evening to measure for the coffin and to make arrangements.

When I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him I would see himas soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her room. She was stillsleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from his seat at herside. From his putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that heexpected her to wake before long and was afraid of forestalling nature.So I went down to Quincey and took him into the breakfast-room, wherethe blinds were not drawn down, and which was a little more cheerful, orrather less cheerless, than the other rooms. When we were alone, he saidto me:—

“Jack Seward, I don’t want to shove myself in anywhere where I’ve noright to be; but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girland wanted to marry her; but, although that’s all past and gone, I can’thelp feeling anxious about her all the same. What is it that’s wrongwith her? The Dutchman—and a fine old fellow he is; I can seethat—said, that time you two came into the room, that you must haveanother transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted.Now I know well that you medical men speak in camera, and that a manmust not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this isno common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not thatso?”

“That’s so,” I said, and he went on:—

“I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I didto-day. Is not that so?”

“That’s so.”

“And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at hisown place he looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so quicksince I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grassall in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had got ather in the night, and what with his gorge and the vein left open, therewasn’t enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to put abullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me withoutbetraying confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that so?” As he spokethe poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a torture of suspenseregarding the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the terriblemystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His veryheart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of him—and there was aroyal lot of it, too—to keep him from breaking down. I paused beforeanswering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which theProfessor wished kept secret; but already he knew so much, and guessedso much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answeredin the same phrase: “That’s so.”

“And how long has this been going on?”

“About ten days.”

“Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor pretty creaturethat we all love has had put into her veins within that time the bloodof four strong men. Man alive, her whole body wouldn’t hold it.” Then,coming close to me, he spoke in a fierce half-whisper: “What took itout?”

I shook my head. “That,” I said, “is the crux. Van Helsing is simplyfrantic about it, and I am at my wits’ end. I can’t even hazard a guess.There has been a series of little circumstances which have thrown outall our calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But these shallnot occur again. Here we stay until all be well—or ill.” Quincey heldout his hand. “Count me in,” he said. “You and the Dutchman will tell mewhat to do, and I’ll do it.”

When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy’s first movement was to feelin her breast, and, to my surprise, produced the paper which Van Helsinghad given me to read. The careful Professor had replaced it where it hadcome from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her eye then lit on VanHelsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then she looked around the room,and seeing where she was, shuddered; she gave a loud cry, and put herpoor thin hands before her pale face. We both understood what thatmeant—that she had realised to the full her mother’s death; so we triedwhat we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, butshe was very low in thought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly fora long time. We told her that either or both of us would now remain withher all the time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fellinto a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep shetook the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing steppedover and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went onwith the action of tearing, as though the material were still in herhands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scatteringthe fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered asif in thought, but he said nothing.

19 September.—All last night she slept fitfully, being always afraidto sleep, and something weaker when she woke from it. The Professor andI took it in turns to watch, and we never left her for a momentunattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knewthat all night long he patrolled round and round the house.

When the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor Lucy’sstrength. She was hardly able to turn her head, and the littlenourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good. At times sheslept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, betweensleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although morehaggard, and her breathing was softer; her open mouth showed the palegums drawn back from the teeth, which thus looked positively longer andsharper than usual; when she woke the softness of her eyes evidentlychanged the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dyingone. In the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him.Quincey went off to meet him at the station.

When he arrived it was nearly six o’clock, and the sun was setting fulland warm, and the red light streamed in through the window and gave morecolour to the pale cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was simply chokingwith emotion, and none of us could speak. In the hours that had passed,the fits of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for it, hadgrown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation was possiblewere shortened. Arthur’s presence, however, seemed to act as astimulant; she rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than shehad done since we arrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke ascheerily as he could, so that the best was made of everything.

It was now nearly one o’clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting withher. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am enteringthis on Lucy’s phonograph. Until six o’clock they are to try to rest. Ifear that to-morrow will end our watching, for the shock has been toogreat; the poor child cannot rally. God help us all.

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.
(Unopened by her.)

“17 September.

“My dearest Lucy,—

“It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. Youwill pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all mybudget of news. Well, I got my husband back all right; when we arrivedat Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he hadan attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his house, where therewere rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined together. Afterdinner Mr. Hawkins said:—

“‘My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may everyblessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, withlove and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home herewith me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and inmy will I have left you everything.’ I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan andthe old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.

“So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both mybedroom and the drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedralclose, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellowstone of the cathedral and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing andcawing and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner ofrooks—and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging things andhousekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day; for, now thatJonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about theclients.

“How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could run up to town for aday or two to see you, dear, but I dare not go yet, with so much on myshoulders; and Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning toput some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by thelong illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a suddenway and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usualplacidity. However, thank God, these occasions grow less frequent as thedays go on, and they will in time pass away altogether, I trust. And nowI have told you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married,and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear,and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all about it,dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which interestsyou which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send his‘respectful duty,’ but I do not think that is good enough from thejunior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as youlove me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tensesof the verb, I send you simply his ‘love’ instead. Good-bye, my dearestLucy, and all blessings on you.

“Yours,
“Mina Harker.”

Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I.,etc., etc., to John Seward, M. D.

“20 September.

“My dear Sir,—

“In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the conditions ofeverything left in my charge.... With regard to patient, Renfield, thereis more to say. He has had another outbreak, which might have had adreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattendedwith any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier’s cart with two menmade a call at the empty house whose grounds abut on ours—the house towhich, you will remember, the patient twice ran away. The men stopped atour gate to ask the porter their way, as they were strangers. I wasmyself looking out of the study window, having a smoke after dinner, andsaw one of them come up to the house. As he passed the window ofRenfield’s room, the patient began to rate him from within, and calledhim all the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who seemed adecent fellow enough, contented himself by telling him to “shut up for afoul-mouthed beggar,” whereon our man accused him of robbing him andwanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him if he were toswing for it. I opened the window and signed to the man not to notice,so he contented himself after looking the place over and making up hismind as to what kind of a place he had got to by saying: ‘Lor’ blessyer, sir, I wouldn’t mind what was said to me in a bloomin’ madhouse. Ipity ye and the guv’nor for havin’ to live in the house with a wildbeast like that.’ Then he asked his way civilly enough, and I told himwhere the gate of the empty house was; he went away, followed by threatsand curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I couldmake out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such awell-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind hadever occurred. I found him, to my astonishment, quite composed and mostgenial in his manner. I tried to get him to talk of the incident, but heblandly asked me questions as to what I meant, and led me to believethat he was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry tosay, however, only another instance of his cunning, for within half anhour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through thewindow of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to theattendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intenton some mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same cart whichhad passed before coming down the road, having on it some great woodenboxes. The men were wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in theface, as if with violent exercise. Before I could get up to him thepatient rushed at them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began toknock his head against the ground. If I had not seized him just at themoment I believe he would have killed the man there and then. The otherfellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt-end of hisheavy whip. It was a terrible blow; but he did not seem to mind it, butseized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to andfro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light weight, and the otherswere both burly men. At first he was silent in his fighting; but as webegan to master him, and the attendants were putting a strait-waistcoaton him, he began to shout: ‘I’ll frustrate them! They shan’t rob me!they shan’t murder me by inches! I’ll fight for my Lord and Master!’ andall sorts of similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerabledifficulty that they got him back to the house and put him in the paddedroom. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I setit all right; and he is going on well.

“The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions fordamages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Theirthreats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology forthe defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if ithad not been for the way their strength had been spent in carrying andraising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short work ofhim. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinarystate of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature oftheir occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of theirlabours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood theirdrift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, andwith each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and sworethat they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure ofmeeting so ‘bloomin’ good a bloke’ as your correspondent. I took theirnames and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are asfollows:—Jack Smollet, of Dudding’s Rents, King George’s Road, GreatWalworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley’s Row, Guide Court, BethnalGreen. They are both in the employment of Harris & Sons, Moving andShipment Company, Orange Master’s Yard, Soho.

“I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring here, and shallwire you at once if there is anything of importance.

“Believe me, dear Sir,
“Yours faithfully,
“Patrick Hennessey.”

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.
(Unopened by her.)

“18 September.

“My dearest Lucy,—

“Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly.Some may not think it so sad for us, but we had both come to so love himthat it really seems as though we had lost a father. I never knew eitherfather or mother, so that the dear old man’s death is a real blow to me.Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he feels sorrow,deep sorrow, for the dear, good man who has befriended him all his life,and now at the end has treated him like his own son and left him afortune which to people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond thedream of avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account. He says theamount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. Hebegins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and my belief in himhelps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the graveshock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hardthat a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature whichenabled him by our dear, good friend’s aid to rise from clerk to masterin a few years—should be so injured that the very essence of itsstrength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles inthe midst of your own happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one,for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathantries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread comingup to London, as we must do the day after to-morrow; for poor Mr.Hawkins left in his will that he was to be buried in the grave with hisfather. As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will have to be chiefmourner. I shall try to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a fewminutes. Forgive me for troubling you. With all blessings,

“Your loving
“Mina Harker.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

20 September.—Only resolution and habit can let me make an entryto-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the worldand all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heardthis moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he hasbeen flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late—Lucy’s motherand Arthur’s father, and now.... Let me get on with my work.

I duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wanted Arthur togo to rest also, but he refused at first. It was only when I told himthat we should want him to help us during the day, and that we must notall break down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he agreedto go. Van Helsing was very kind to him. “Come, my child,” he said;“come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and muchmental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of. Youmust not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms.Come to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are twosofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy willbe comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if wesleep.” Arthur went off with him, casting back a longing look on Lucy’sface, which lay in her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She layquite still, and I looked round the room to see that all was as itshould be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in this room,as in the other, his purpose of using the garlic; the whole of thewindow-sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy’s neck, over the silkhandkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a rough chaplet ofthe same odorous flowers. Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, andher face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Herteeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than theyhad been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, thecanine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest. I sat down by her,and presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sortof dull flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly,and peeped out by the corner of the blind. There was a full moonlight,and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeledround—doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim—and every nowand again struck the window with its wings. When I came back to my seat,I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlicflowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and satwatching her.

Presently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing had prescribed.She took but a little, and that languidly. There did not seem to be withher now the unconscious struggle for life and strength that had hithertoso marked her illness. It struck me as curious that the moment shebecame conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It wascertainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with thestertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when shewaked she clutched them close. There was no possibility of making anymistake about this, for in the long hours that followed, she had manyspells of sleeping and waking and repeated both actions many times.

At six o’clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then falleninto a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw Lucy’s faceI could hear the sissing indraw of his breath, and he said to me in asharp whisper: “Draw up the blind; I want light!” Then he bent down,and, with his face almost touching Lucy’s, examined her carefully. Heremoved the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief from her throat. Ashe did so he started back, and I could hear his ejaculation, “MeinGott!” as it was smothered in his throat. I bent over and looked, too,and as I noticed some queer chill came over me.

The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared.

For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his faceat its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:—

“She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, markme, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, andlet him come and see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him.”

I went to the dining-room and waked him. He was dazed for a moment, butwhen he saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges of the shuttershe thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured him that Lucywas still asleep, but told him as gently as I could that both VanHelsing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his face with hishands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa, where he remained,perhaps a minute, with his head buried, praying, whilst his shouldersshook with grief. I took him by the hand and raised him up. “Come,” Isaid, “my dear old fellow, summon all your fortitude: it will be bestand easiest for her.”

When we came into Lucy’s room I could see that Van Helsing had, withhis usual forethought, been putting matters straight and makingeverything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy’shair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When wecame into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whisperedsoftly:—

“Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!” He was stooping tokiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. “No,” he whispered, “notyet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more.”

So Arthur took her hand and knelt beside her, and she looked her best,with all the soft lines matching the angelic beauty of her eyes. Thengradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For a little bit herbreast heaved softly, and her breath came and went like a tired child’s.

And then insensibly there came the strange change which I had noticed inthe night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the mouth opened, and the palegums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer and sharper than ever. In asort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, whichwere now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice,such as I had never heard from her lips:—

“Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!” Arthur benteagerly over to kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me,had been startled by her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him bythe neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength whichI never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled him almostacross the room.

“Not for your life!” he said; “not for your living soul and hers!” Andhe stood between them like a lion at bay.

Arthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what to door say; and before any impulse of violence could seize him he realisedthe place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting.

I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm asof rage flit like a shadow over her face; the sharp teeth champedtogether. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily.

Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, andputting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing’s great brownone; drawing it to her, she kissed it. “My true friend,” she said, in afaint voice, but with untellable pathos, “My true friend, and his! Oh,guard him, and give me peace!”

“I swear it!” he said solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding up hishand, as one who registers an oath. Then he turned to Arthur, and saidto him: “Come, my child, take her hand in yours, and kiss her on theforehead, and only once.”

Their eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted.

Lucy’s eyes closed; and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, tookArthur’s arm, and drew him away.

And then Lucy’s breathing became stertorous again, and all at once itceased.

“It is all over,” said Van Helsing. “She is dead!”

I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where hesat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way thatnearly broke me down to see.

I went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor Lucy, andhis face was sterner than ever. Some change had come over her body.Death had given back part of her beauty, for her brow and cheeks hadrecovered some of their flowing lines; even the lips had lost theirdeadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the workingof the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as little rude asmight be.

I stood beside Van Helsing, and said:—

“Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!”

He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:—

“Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!”

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:—

“We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see.”

CHAPTER XIII

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY—continued.

THE funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy andher mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastlyformalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff wereafflicted—or blessed—with something of his own obsequious suavity.Even the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked tome, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come outfrom the death-chamber:—

“She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It’s quite a privilege toattend on her. It’s not too much to say that she will do credit to ourestablishment!”

I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible fromthe disordered state of things in the household. There were no relativesat hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend at hisfather’s funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should have beenbidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it uponourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy’spapers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being aforeigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, andso might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:—

“I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. Butthis is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided thecoroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more—suchas this.”

As he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had beenin Lucy’s breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.

“When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs.Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watchhere in the room and in Miss Lucy’s old room all night, and I myselfsearch for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go intothe hands of strangers.”

I went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had foundthe name and address of Mrs. Westenra’s solicitor and had written tohim. All the poor lady’s papers were in order; explicit directionsregarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed theletter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room,saying:—

“Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is toyou.”

“Have you got what you looked for?” I asked, to which he replied:—

“I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find Ihave, all that there was—only some letters and a few memoranda, and adiary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present saynothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, withhis sanction, I shall use some.”

When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:—

“And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both youand I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, butfor the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!”

Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker hadcertainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a smallchapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of thewinding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over andturned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the tallwax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy’sloveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had passed,instead of leaving traces of “decay’s effacing fingers,” had butrestored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyesthat I was looking at a corpse.

The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, andthere was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: “Remain till Ireturn,” and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlicfrom the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, andplaced the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then hetook from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, andplaced it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and wecame away.

I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at thedoor, he entered, and at once began to speak:—

“To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortemknives.”

“Must we make an autopsy?” I asked.

“Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell younow, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take outher heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen withno tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that makethe rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John, thatyou loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shalloperate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but forArthur I must not; he will be free after his father’s funeral to-morrow,and he will want to see her—to see it. Then, when she is coffinedready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shallunscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation: and then replaceall, so that none know, save we alone.”

“But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor bodywithout need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothingto gain by it—no good to her, to us, to science, to humanknowledge—why do it? Without such it is monstrous.”

For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinitetenderness:—

“Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the morebecause it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burdenthat you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that youshall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasantthings. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yetdid you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err—I am butman; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that yousend for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nayhorrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love—though she wasdying—and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you sawhow she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, soweak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you nothear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!

“Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for manyyears trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things sostrange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friendJohn. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that isnot perhaps well. And if I work—as work I shall, no matter trust or notrust—without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel,oh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!” He paused amoment and went on solemnly: “Friend John, there are strange andterrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work toa good end. Will you not have faith in me?”

I took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away,and watched him go into his room and close the door. As I stood withoutmoving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the passage—she hadher back towards me, so did not see me—and go into the room where Lucylay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so gratefulto those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girlputting aside the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watchalone by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor claymight not be lonely till laid to eternal rest....

I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when VanHelsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside andsaid:—

“You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it.”

“Why not?” I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatlyimpressed me.

“Because,” he said sternly, “it is too late—or too early. See!” Here heheld up the little golden crucifix. “This was stolen in the night.”

“How, stolen,” I asked in wonder, “since you have it now?”

“Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from thewoman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surelycome, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thusunknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.”

He went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, anew puzzle to grapple with.

The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr.Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genialand very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands allcares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had forsome time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairsin absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certainentailed property of Lucy’s father’s which now, in default of directissue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate,real and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he hadtold us so much he went on:—

“Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, andpointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter eitherpenniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonialalliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came intocollision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry outher wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We wereright in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we shouldhave proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form ofdisposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of herwishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have comeinto possession of the property, and, even had she only survived hermother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were nowill—and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case—have beentreated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming,though so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and theinheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their justrights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assureyou, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced.”

He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part—in whichhe was officially interested—of so great a tragedy, was anobject-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.

He did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day andsee Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort tous, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostilecriticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o’clock, soa little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so invery truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker,true to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, andthere was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits atonce. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,explaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would beless harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his fiancéequite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity andexerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left themthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelingsas we could avoid were saved.

Poor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwartmanhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of hismuch-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedlyattached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was abitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing hewas sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was someconstraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me tobring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as Ifelt he would like to be quite alone with her, but he took my arm andled me in, saying huskily:—

“You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and there wasno friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I don’t know how tothank you for all you have done for her. I can’t think yet....”

Here he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my shoulders andlaid his head on my breast, crying:—

“Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do! The whole of life seems gone from meall at once, and there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.”

I comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need muchexpression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over theshoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man’sheart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I saidsoftly to him:—

“Come and look at her.”

Together we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from her face.God! how beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing herloveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for Arthur, hefell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. Atlast, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:—

“Jack, is she really dead?”

I assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest—for I feltthat such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment longer thanI could help—that it often happened that after death faces becamesoftened and even resolved into their youthful beauty; that this wasespecially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolongedsuffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, afterkneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly andlong, he turned aside. I told him that that must be good-bye, as thecoffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took her dead hand in hisand kissed it, and bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away,fondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he came.

I left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that he had saidgood-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker’s mento proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When hecame out of the room again I told him of Arthur’s question, and hereplied:—

“I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment myself!”

We all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying to makethe best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner-time; butwhen we had lit our cigars he said—

“Lord——”; but Arthur interrupted him:—

“No, no, not that, for God’s sake! not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir:I did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is sorecent.”

The Professor answered very sweetly:—

“I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you‘Mr.,’ and I have grown to love you—yes, my dear boy, to love you—asArthur.”

Arthur held out his hand, and took the old man’s warmly.

“Call me what you will,” he said. “I hope I may always have the title ofa friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you foryour goodness to my poor dear.” He paused a moment, and went on: “I knowthat she understood your goodness even better than I do; and if I wasrude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so—you remember”—theProfessor nodded—“you must forgive me.”

He answered with a grave kindness:—

“I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust suchviolence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not—that youcannot—trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may bemore times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot—and maynot—and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your trustshall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand asthough the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me fromfirst to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others and for herdear sake to whom I swore to protect.”

“And, indeed, indeed, sir,” said Arthur warmly, “I shall in all waystrust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you areJack’s friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like.”

The Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though about tospeak, and finally said:—

“May I ask you something now?”

“Certainly.”

“You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?”

“No, poor dear; I never thought of it.”

“And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you will. Iwant you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy’s papers andletters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which,be sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took thembefore we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touchthem—no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keepthem, if I may; even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep themsafe. No word shall be lost; and in the good time I shall give them backto you. It’s a hard thing I ask, but you will do it, will you not, forLucy’s sake?”

Arthur spoke out heartily, like his old self:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying this Iam doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble youwith questions till the time comes.”

The old Professor stood up as he said solemnly:—

“And you are right. There will be pain for us all; but it will not beall pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too—you most ofall, my dear boy—will have to pass through the bitter water before wereach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do ourduty, and all will be well!”

I slept on a sofa in Arthur’s room that night. Van Helsing did not go tobed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house, and wasnever out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn withthe wild garlic flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose,a heavy, overpowering smell into the night.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

22 September.—In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping.

It seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how muchbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away andno news of him; and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, apartner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, andJonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some day he may ask meabout it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my shorthand—see whatunexpected prosperity does for us—so it may be as well to freshen it upagain with an exercise anyhow....

The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselvesand the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter, hisLondon agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, thePresident of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand inhand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us....

We came back to town quietly, taking a ’bus to Hyde Park Corner.Jonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a while, sowe sat down; but there were very few people there, and it wassad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us thinkof the empty chair at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly.Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old daysbefore I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can’t go onfor some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without thepedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, and hewas my husband, and we didn’t know anybody who saw us—and we didn’tcare if they did—so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautifulgirl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano’s,when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he saidunder his breath: “My God!” I am always anxious about Jonathan, for Ifear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to himquickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.

He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror andhalf in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose andblack moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the prettygirl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us,and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it washard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked allthe whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal’s.Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. Ifeared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I askedJonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking thatI knew as much about it as he did: “Do you see who it is?”

“No, dear,” I said; “I don’t know him; who is it?” His answer seemed toshock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it wasto me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:—

“It is the man himself!”

The poor dear was evidently terrified at something—very greatlyterrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and tosupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out ofthe shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then droveoff. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriagemoved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed ahansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself:—

“I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this beso! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!” He wasdistressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on thesubject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew himaway quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a littlefurther, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It wasa hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place.After a few minutes’ staring at nothing, Jonathan’s eyes closed, and hewent quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought itwas the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twentyminutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:—

“Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude.Come, and we’ll have a cup of tea somewhere.” He had evidently forgottenall about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all thatthis episode had reminded him of. I don’t like this lapsing intoforgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I mustnot ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehowlearn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when Imust open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will,I know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.

Later.—A sad home-coming in every way—the house empty of the dearsoul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slightrelapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever hemay be:—

“You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, andthat Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day.”

Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poorLucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to havelost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear ourtroubles.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

22 September.—It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and hastaken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believein my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy’s death as anyof us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If Americacan go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the worldindeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to hisjourney. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returnsto-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements which canonly be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he sayshe has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poor oldfellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even hisiron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, puttingsome terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we werestanding beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part inthe operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy’s veins; Icould see Van Helsing’s face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur wassaying that he felt since then as if they two had been really marriedand that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word ofthe other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey wentaway together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. Themoment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit ofhysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insistedthat it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under veryterrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw downthe blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried,till he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a womandoes. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under thecircumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different inmanifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grewgrave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time.His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical andforceful and mysterious. He said:—

“Ah, you don’t comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad,though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. Butno more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he comejust the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at yourdoor and say, ‘May I come in?’ is not the true laughter. No! he is aking, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose notime of suitability. He say, ‘I am here.’ Behold, in example I grieve myheart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, thoughI am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my othersufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her verygrave—laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon hercoffin and say ‘Thud! thud!’ to my heart, till it send back the bloodfrom my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy—that dear boy, so ofthe age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with hishair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yetwhen he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make myfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man—not even to you, friendJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son—yet evenat such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear,‘Here I am! here I am!’ till the blood come dance back and bring some ofthe sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it isa strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, andtroubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to thetune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, andtears that burn as they fall—all dance together to the music that hemake with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, thathe is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawntight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and,like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strainbecome too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like thesunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on withour labour, what it may be.”

I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as Idid not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As heanswered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a differenttone:—

“Oh, it was the grim irony of it all—this so lovely lady garlanded withflowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if shewere truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonelychurchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the motherwho loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going ‘Toll!toll! toll!’ so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the whitegarments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the timetheir eyes never on the page; and all of us with the bowed head. And allfor what? She is dead; so! Is it not?”

“Well, for the life of me, Professor,” I said, “I can’t see anything tolaugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzlethan before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poorArt and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking.”

“Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins hadmade her truly his bride?”

“Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.”

“Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, thenwhat about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist,and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church’s law, thoughno wits, all gone—even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife,am bigamist.”

“I don’t see where the joke comes in there either!” I said; and I didnot feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laidhis hand on my arm, and said:—

“Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to otherswhen it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust.If you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh;if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do sonow, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him—forhe go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time—maybe you wouldperhaps pity me the most of all.”

I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.

“Because I know!”

And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness willsit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of herkin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teemingLondon; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill,and where wild flowers grow of their own accord.

So I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever beginanother. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal withdifferent people and different themes; for here at the end, where theromance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of mylife-work, I say sadly and without hope,

“FINIS.”

“The Westminster Gazette,” 25 September.

A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.

The neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with aseries of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of whatwas known to the writers of headlines as “The Kensington Horror,” or“The Stabbing Woman,” or “The Woman in Black.” During the past two orthree days several cases have occurred of young children straying fromhome or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In allthese cases the children were too young to give any properlyintelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excusesis that they had been with a “bloofer lady.” It has always been late inthe evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions thechildren have not been found until early in the following morning. It isgenerally supposed in the neighbourhood that, as the first child missedgave as his reason for being away that a “bloofer lady” had asked him tocome for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it asoccasion served. This is the more natural as the favourite game of thelittle ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. Acorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots pretending tobe the “bloofer lady” is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturistsmight, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by comparing thereality and the picture. It is only in accordance with generalprinciples of human nature that the “bloofer lady” should be the popularrôle at these al fresco performances. Our correspondent naïvely saysthat even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some ofthese grubby-faced little children pretend—and even imaginethemselves—to be.

There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some ofthe children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have beenslightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such as might bemade by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much importanceindividually, would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them hasa system or method of its own. The police of the division have beeninstructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying children, especiallywhen very young, in and around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dogwhich may be about.

We have just received intelligence that another child, missed lastnight, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze bush at theShooter’s Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is, perhaps, lessfrequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in thethroat as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, andlooked quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the commonstory to tell of being lured away by the “bloofer lady.”

CHAPTER XIV

MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL

23 September.—Jonathan is better after a bad night. I am so glad thathe has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the terriblethings; and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed down with theresponsibility of his new position. I knew he would be true to himself,and now how proud I am to see my Jonathan rising to the height of hisadvancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come uponhim. He will be away all day till late, for he said he could not lunchat home. My household work is done, so I shall take his foreign journal,and lock myself up in my room and read it....

24 September.—I hadn’t the heart to write last night; that terriblerecord of Jonathan’s upset me so. Poor dear! How he must have suffered,whether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truthin it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all thoseterrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shallnever know, for I dare not open the subject to him.... And yet that manwe saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him.... Poor fellow! Isuppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind back on sometrain of thought.... He believes it all himself. I remember how on ourwedding-day he said: “Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back tothe bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane.” There seems to bethrough it all some thread of continuity.... That fearful Count wascoming to London.... If it should be, and he came to London, with histeeming millions.... There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we mustnot shrink from it.... I shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriterthis very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be ready for othereyes if required. And if it be wanted; then, perhaps, if I am ready,poor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can speak for him and never lethim be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Jonathan quite getsover the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask himquestions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him.

Letter, Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker.

“24 September.
(Confidence)

“Dear Madam,—

“I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that Isent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra’s death. By the kindness ofLord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I amdeeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I findsome letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how youlove her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It isfor others’ good that I ask—to redress great wrong, and to lift muchand terrible troubles—that may be more great than you can know. May itbe that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward andof Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it privatefor the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once ifyou tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore yourpardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how goodyou are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be,enlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.

“Van Helsing.”

Telegram, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing.

“25 September.—Come to-day by quarter-past ten train if you can catchit. Can see you any time you call.

“Wilhelmina Harker.”

MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL.

25 September.—I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the timedraws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect thatit will throw some light upon Jonathan’s sad experience; and as heattended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all abouther. That is the reason of his coming; it is concerning Lucy and hersleep-walking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the realtruth now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of myimagination and tinges everything with something of its own colour. Ofcourse it is about Lucy. That habit came back to the poor dear, and thatawful night on the cliff must have made her ill. I had almost forgottenin my own affairs how ill she was afterwards. She must have told himof her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that I knew all aboutit; and now he wants me to tell him what she knows, so that he mayunderstand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Mrs.Westenra; I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it evena negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope, too, Dr. VanHelsing will not blame me; I have had so much trouble and anxiety oflate that I feel I cannot bear more just at present.

I suppose a cry does us all good at times—clears the air as other raindoes. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that upset me, andthen Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a whole dayand night, the first time we have been parted since our marriage. I dohope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and that nothing willoccur to upset him. It is two o’clock, and the doctor will be here soonnow. I shall say nothing of Jonathan’s journal unless he asks me. I amso glad I have type-written out my own journal, so that, in case he asksabout Lucy, I can hand it to him; it will save much questioning.

Later.—He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how itall makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be allpossible, or even a part of it? If I had not read Jonathan’s journalfirst, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dearJonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all this maynot upset him again. I shall try to save him from it; but it may be evena consolation and a help to him—terrible though it be and awful in itsconsequences—to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain didnot deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubtwhich haunts him; that when the doubt is removed, no matterwhich—waking or dreaming—may prove the truth, he will be moresatisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be agood man as well as a clever one if he is Arthur’s friend and Dr.Seward’s, and if they brought him all the way from Holland to look afterLucy. I feel from having seen him that he is good and kind and of anoble nature. When he comes to-morrow I shall ask him about Jonathan;and then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a goodend. I used to think I would like to practise interviewing; Jonathan’sfriend on “The Exeter News” told him that memory was everything in suchwork—that you must be able to put down exactly almost every wordspoken, even if you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rareinterview; I shall try to record it verbatim.

It was half-past two o’clock when the knock came. I took my courage àdeux mains and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the door, andannounced “Dr. Van Helsing.”

I rose and bowed, and he came towards me; a man of medium weight,strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest anda neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poiseof the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; thehead is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face,clean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobilemouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitivenostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and themouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almoststraight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart;such a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it,but falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are setwidely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man’s moods. Hesaid to me:—

“Mrs. Harker, is it not?” I bowed assent.

“That was Miss Mina Murray?” Again I assented.

“It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dearchild Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come.”

“Sir,” I said, “you could have no better claim on me than that you werea friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.” And I held out my hand. He tookit and said tenderly:—

“Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must begood, but I had yet to learn——” He finished his speech with a courtlybow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he atonce began:—

“I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to beginto inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you werewith her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary—you need not looksurprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was inimitation of you—and in that diary she traces by inference certainthings to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. Ingreat perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so muchkindness to tell me all of it that you can remember.”

“I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.”

“Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not alwaysso with young ladies.”

“No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to youif you like.”

“Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour.” Icould not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit—I suppose it issome of the taste of the original apple that remains still in ourmouths—so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a gratefulbow, and said:—

“May I read it?”

“If you wish,” I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and foran instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.

“Oh, you so clever woman!” he said. “I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was aman of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things.And will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me?Alas! I know not the shorthand.” By this time my little joke was over,and I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from myworkbasket and handed it to him.

“Forgive me,” I said: “I could not help it; but I had been thinking thatit was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might nothave time to wait—not on my account, but because I know your time mustbe precious—I have written it out on the typewriter for you.”

He took it and his eyes glistened. “You are so good,” he said. “And mayI read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read.”

“By all means,” I said, “read it over whilst I order lunch; and then youcan ask me questions whilst we eat.” He bowed and settled himself in achair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers,whilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not bedisturbed. When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and downthe room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me andtook me by both hands.

“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, “how can I say what I owe to you? This paperis as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with somuch light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But thatyou do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you soclever woman. Madam”—he said this very solemnly—“if ever Abraham VanHelsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know.It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as afriend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for youand those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights;you are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, andyour husband will be blessed in you.”

“But, doctor, you praise me too much, and—and you do not know me.”

“Not know you—I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men andwomen; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs tohim and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary that youhave so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in everyline. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of yourmarriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tellall their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things thatangels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something ofangels’ eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, foryou trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And yourhusband—tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, andis he strong and hearty?” I saw here an opening to ask him aboutJonathan, so I said:—

“He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins’sdeath.” He interrupted:—

“Oh, yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters.” I wenton:—

“I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last hehad a sort of shock.”

“A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind ofa shock was it?”

“He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, somethingwhich led to his brain fever.” And here the whole thing seemed tooverwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which heexperienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear thathas been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose Iwas hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands tohim, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my handsand raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held myhand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:—

“My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have nothad much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to here bymy friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen suchnobility that I feel more than ever—and it has grown with my advancingyears—the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come herefull of respect for you, and you have given me hope—hope, not in what Iam seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make lifehappy—good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson forthe children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of someuse to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of mystudy and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do all for himthat I can—all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happyone. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious.Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he like notwhere he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eatand smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall notspeak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for Iwant to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought Iwill ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me ofhusband Jonathan’s trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eatnow; afterwards you shall tell me all.”

After lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:—

“And now tell me all about him.” When it came to speaking to this greatlearned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, andJonathan a madman—that journal is all so strange—and I hesitated to goon. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and Itrusted him, so I said:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must notlaugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort offever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that Ihave even half believed some very strange things.” He reassured me byhis manner as well as his words when he said:—

“Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding whichI am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think littleof any one’s belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keepan open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could closeit, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things thatmake one doubt if they be mad or sane.”

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off mymind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It is long,but I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble andJonathan’s. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all thathappened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself andjudge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tellme what you think.”

“I promise,” he said as I gave him the papers; “I shall in the morning,so soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may.”

“Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunchwith us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34 train, whichwill leave you at Paddington before eight.” He was surprised at myknowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know that I have madeup all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan incase he is in a hurry.

So he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit herethinking—thinking I don’t know what.

Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker.

“25 September, 6 o’clock.

“Dear Madam Mina,—

“I have read your husband’s so wonderful diary. You may sleep withoutdoubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I will pledge mylife on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is nodread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men,that one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to thatroom—ay, and going a second time—is not one to be injured inpermanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this Iswear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much toask him of other things. I am blessed that to-day I come to see you, forI have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzle—dazzle morethan ever, and I must think.

“Yours the most faithful,
“Abraham Van Helsing.”

Letter, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing.

“25 September, 6:30 p. m.

“My dear Dr. Van Helsing,—

“A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken a great weightoff my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things there are inthe world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster, be reallyin London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had awire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 to-night fromLaunceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall have no fearto-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with us, please cometo breakfast at eight o’clock, if this be not too early for you? You canget away, if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bringyou to Paddington by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that,if I do not hear, you will come to breakfast.

“Believe me,
“Your faithful and grateful friend,
“Mina Harker.”

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

26 September.—I thought never to write in this diary again, but thetime has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, andwhen we had supped she told me of Van Helsing’s visit, and of her havinggiven him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has beenabout me. She showed me in the doctor’s letter that all I wrote down wastrue. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the doubt as to thereality of the whole thing that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and inthe dark, and distrustful. But, now that I know, I am not afraid, evenof the Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in his design in gettingto London, and it was he I saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsingis the man to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything like whatMina says. We sat late, and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and Ishall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over....

He was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room where hewas, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and turned myface round to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny:—

“But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had a shock.” It wasso funny to hear my wife called “Madam Mina” by this kindly,strong-faced old man. I smiled, and said:—

“I was ill, I have had a shock; but you have cured me already.”

“And how?”

“By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and then everythingtook a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to trust, even theevidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust, I did not knowwhat to do; and so had only to keep on working in what had hitherto beenthe groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I mistrustedmyself. Doctor, you don’t know what it is to doubt everything, evenyourself. No, you don’t; you couldn’t with eyebrows like yours.” Heseemed pleased, and laughed as he said:—

“So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am withso much pleasure coming to you to breakfast; and, oh, sir, you willpardon praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife.” Iwould listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply noddedand stood silent.

“She is one of God’s women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men andother women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that itslight can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little anegoist—and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so sceptical andselfish. And you, sir—I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy,and some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days from theknowing of others; but I have seen your true self since last night. Youwill give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all ourlives.”

We shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it made me quitechoky.

“And now,” he said, “may I ask you for some more help? I have a greattask to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help me here.Can you tell me what went before your going to Transylvania? Later on Imay ask more help, and of a different kind; but at first this will do.”

“Look here, sir,” I said, “does what you have to do concern the Count?”

“It does,” he said solemnly.

“Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 10:30 train, youwill not have time to read them; but I shall get the bundle of papers.You can take them with you and read them in the train.”

After breakfast I saw him to the station. When we were parting hesaid:—

“Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take Madam Minatoo.”

“We shall both come when you will,” I said.

I had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the previousnight, and while we were talking at the carriage window, waiting for thetrain to start, he was turning them over. His eyes suddenly seemed tocatch something in one of them, “The Westminster Gazette”—I knew it bythe colour—and he grew quite white. He read something intently,groaning to himself: “Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon! so soon!” I do notthink he remembered me at the moment. Just then the whistle blew, andthe train moved off. This recalled him to himself, and he leaned out ofthe window and waved his hand, calling out: “Love to Madam Mina; I shallwrite so soon as ever I can.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

26 September.—Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a weeksince I said “Finis,” and yet here I am starting fresh again, or rathergoing on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no cause tothink of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane ashe ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business; and he hadjust started in the spider line also; so he had not been of any troubleto me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it Igather that he is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is withhim, and that is much of a help, for he himself is a bubbling well ofgood spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear thatArthur is beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as tothem all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to mywork with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I mightfairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becomingcicatrised. Everything is, however, now reopened; and what is to be theend God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows,too, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. Hewent to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he cameback, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o’clock,and thrust last night’s “Westminster Gazette” into my hand.

“What do you think of that?” he asked as he stood back and folded hisarms.

I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant; but hetook it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being decoyedaway at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I reached apassage where it described small punctured wounds on their throats. Anidea struck me, and I looked up. “Well?” he said.

“It is like poor Lucy’s.”

“And what do you make of it?”

“Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injuredher has injured them.” I did not quite understand his answer:—

“That is true indirectly, but not directly.”

“How do you mean, Professor?” I asked. I was a little inclined to takehis seriousness lightly—for, after all, four days of rest and freedomfrom burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one’s spirits—butwhen I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of ourdespair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.

“Tell me!” I said. “I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what tothink, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture.”

“Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as towhat poor Lucy died of; not after all the hints given, not only byevents, but by me?”

“Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste of blood.”

“And how the blood lost or waste?” I shook my head. He stepped over andsat down beside me, and went on:—

“You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and your wit is bold;but you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your earshear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account toyou. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand,and yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? Butthere are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men’seyes, because they know—or think they know—some things which other menhave told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants toexplain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing toexplain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs,which think themselves new; and which are yet but the old, which pretendto be young—like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do notbelieve in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Norin astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor inhypnotism——”

“Yes,” I said. “Charcot has proved that pretty well.” He smiled as hewent on: “Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then youunderstand how it act, and can follow the mind of the greatCharcot—alas that he is no more!—into the very soul of the patientthat he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that yousimply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusionbe a blank? No? Then tell me—for I am student of the brain—how youaccept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, myfriend, that there are things done to-day in electrical science whichwould have been deemed unholy by the very men who discoveredelectricity—who would themselves not so long before have been burnedas wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it thatMethuselah lived nine hundred years, and ‘Old Parr’ one hundred andsixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men’s blood in her poorveins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, wecould have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Doyou know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore thequalities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell mewhy, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider livedfor centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew,till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Canyou tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats thatcome at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry theirveins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hangon the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giantnuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because thatit is hot, flit down on them, and then—and then in the morning arefound dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?”

“Good God, Professor!” I said, starting up. “Do you mean to tell me thatLucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here in Londonin the nineteenth century?” He waved his hand for silence, and wenton:—

“Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations ofmen; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; andwhy the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint?Can you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there aresome few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men andwomen who cannot die? We all know—because science has vouched for thefact—that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands ofyears, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth ofthe world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to dieand have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and thecorn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then mencome and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indianfakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?” HereI interrupted him. I was getting bewildered; he so crowded on my mindhis list of nature’s eccentricities and possible impossibilities that myimagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching mesome lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; buthe used then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object ofthought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet Iwanted to follow him, so I said:—

“Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, sothat I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going inmy mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one, follows anidea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a mist, jumpingfrom one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on withoutknowing where I am going.”

“That is good image,” he said. “Well, I shall tell you. My thesis isthis: I want you to believe.”

“To believe what?”

“To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard onceof an American who so defined faith: ‘that faculty which enables us tobelieve things which we know to be untrue.’ For one, I follow that man.He meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit oftruth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railwaytruck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we valuehim; but all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth inthe universe.”

“Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure thereceptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I readyour lesson aright?”

“Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Nowthat you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step tounderstand. You think then that those so small holes in the children’sthroats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?”

“I suppose so.” He stood up and said solemnly:—

“Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! but alas! no. It is worse,far, far worse.”

“In God’s name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?” I cried.

He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed hiselbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke:—

“They were made by Miss Lucy!”

CHAPTER XV

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY—continued.

FOR a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during her lifestruck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said tohim:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?” He raised his head and looked at me, andsomehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. “Would I were!” hesaid. “Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, myfriend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tellyou so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you allmy life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted,now so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from afearful death? Ah no!”

“Forgive me,” said I. He went on:—

“My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you,for I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do notexpect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstracttruth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have alwaysbelieved the ‘no’ of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad aconcrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to proveit. Dare you come with me?”

This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byronexcepted from the category, jealousy.

He saw my hesitation, and spoke:—

“The logic is simple, no madman’s logic this time, jumping from tussockto tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof will be relief;at worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread; yetvery dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come,I tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that childin the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the paperssay the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you werein class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if hewill not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that wewish to learn. And then——”

“And then?” He took a key from his pocket and held it up. “And then wespend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This isthe key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man to give toArthur.” My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearfulordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up whatheart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon waspassing....

We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, andaltogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from itsthroat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking thesimilarity to those which had been on Lucy’s throat. They were smaller,and the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what heattributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of someanimal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to thinkthat it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northernheights of London. “Out of so many harmless ones,” he said, “there maybe some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Somesailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even fromthe Zoölogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bredthere from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days agoa wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For aweek after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on theHeath and in every alley in the place until this ‘bloofer lady’ scarecame along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Eventhis poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if hemight go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wantedto play with the ‘bloofer lady.’”

“I hope,” said Van Helsing, “that when you are sending the child homeyou will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fanciesto stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out anothernight, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you willnot let it away for some days?”

“Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is nothealed.”

Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, andthe sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark itwas, he said:—

“There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seeksomewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way.”

We dined at “Jack Straw’s Castle” along with a little crowd ofbicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o’clock westarted from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lampsmade the darkness greater when we were once outside their individualradius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for hewent on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as tolocality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till atlast we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horsepolice going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall ofthe churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty—forit was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us—we foundthe Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door,and standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me toprecede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in thecourtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. Mycompanion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, aftercarefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring,one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then hefumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle,proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathedwith fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, somedays afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whitesturning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and thebeetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discolouredstone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnishedbrass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of acandle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have beenimagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life—animal life—wasnot the only thing which could pass away.

Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle sothat he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the spermdropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, hemade assurance of Lucy’s coffin. Another search in his bag, and he tookout a turnscrew.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.” Straightway he begantaking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing thecasing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemedto be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to havestripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually tookhold of his hand to stop him. He only said: “You shall see,” and againfumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrewthrough the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, hemade a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point ofthe saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. Wedoctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed tosuch things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor neverstopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side ofthe lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking theedge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of thecoffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me tolook.

I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.

It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, butVan Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground,and so emboldened to proceed in his task. “Are you satisfied now, friendJohn?” he asked.

I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me asI answered him:—

“I am satisfied that Lucy’s body is not in that coffin; but that onlyproves one thing.”

“And what is that, friend John?”

“That it is not there.”

“That is good logic,” he said, “so far as it goes. But how do you—howcan you—account for it not being there?”

“Perhaps a body-snatcher,” I suggested. “Some of the undertaker’s peoplemay have stolen it.” I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it wasthe only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. “Ahwell!” he said, “we must have more proof. Come with me.”

He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placedthem in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in thebag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door andlocked it. He handed me the key, saying: “Will you keep it? You hadbetter be assured.” I laughed—it was not a very cheerful laugh, I ambound to say—as I motioned him to keep it. “A key is nothing,” I said;“there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lockof that kind.” He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then hetold me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch atthe other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his darkfigure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from mysight.

It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distantclock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled andunnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errandand with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenlyobservant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I hada dreary, miserable time.

Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a whitestreak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyardfarthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from theProfessor’s side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then Itoo moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and Istumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off anearly cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scatteredjuniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dimfigure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hiddenby trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard therustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, andcoming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. Whenhe saw me he held it out to me, and said:—

“Are you satisfied now?”

“No,” I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.

“Do you not see the child?”

“Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?” Iasked.

“We shall see,” said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our wayout of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.

When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump oftrees, and struck a match, and looked at the child’s throat. It waswithout a scratch or scar of any kind.

“Was I right?” I asked triumphantly.

“We were just in time,” said the Professor thankfully.

We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consultedabout it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have togive some account of our movements during the night; at least, we shouldhave had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child.So finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when weheard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to findit; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell outwell. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman’s heavytramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched untilhe saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamationof astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got acab near the “Spaniards,” and drove to town.

I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours’sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shallgo with him on another expedition.

27 September.—It was two o’clock before we found a suitableopportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed,and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazilyaway, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder-trees, we sawthe sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe tillmorning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we should notwant more than an hour at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of thereality of things, in which any effort of imagination seemed out ofplace; and I realised distinctly the perils of the law which we wereincurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless.Outrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman deadnearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly toopen the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our owneyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however,and rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road,no matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and againcourteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome aslast night, but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshinestreamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy’s coffin, and I followed.He bent over and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shockof surprise and dismay shot through me.

There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before herfuneral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever; and Icould not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder thanbefore; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.

“Is this a juggle?” I said to him.

“Are you convinced now?” said the Professor in response, and as he spokehe put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back thedead lips and showed the white teeth.

“See,” he went on, “see, they are even sharper than before. With thisand this”—and he touched one of the canine teeth and that belowit—“the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friendJohn?” Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I could notaccept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with an attempt toargue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said:—

“She may have been placed here since last night.”

“Indeed? That is so, and by whom?”

“I do not know. Some one has done it.”

“And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would notlook so.” I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did notseem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nortriumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raisingthe eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips andexamining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said:—

“Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here issome dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampirewhen she was in a trance, sleep-walking—oh, you start; you do not knowthat, friend John, but you shall know it all later—and in trance couldhe best come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance sheis Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually whenthe Un-Dead sleep at home”—as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep ofhis arm to designate what to a vampire was “home”—“their face show whatthey are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back tothe nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and soit make hard that I must kill her in her sleep.” This turned my bloodcold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing’stheories; but if she were really dead, what was there of terror in theidea of killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change inmy face, for he said almost joyously:—

“Ah, you believe now?”

I answered: “Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing toaccept. How will you do this bloody work?”

“I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shalldrive a stake through her body.” It made me shudder to think of somutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feelingwas not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning toshudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsingcalled it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective,or all objective?

I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood asif wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with asnap, and said:—

“I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If Idid simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this moment, what isto be done; but there are other things to follow, and things that arethousand times more difficult in that them we do not know. This issimple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time; and to actnow would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we may have towant Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw thewounds on Lucy’s throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child’s atthe hospital; if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and fullto-day with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and morebeautiful in a whole week, after she die—if you know of this and knowof the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard,and yet of your own senses you did not believe, how, then, can I expectArthur, who know none of those things, to believe? He doubted me when Itook him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven mebecause in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him saygood-bye as he ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken ideathis woman was buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we havekilled her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, thathave killed her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yethe never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he willsometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will painthis dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, hewill think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all,an Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, sinceI know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that hemust pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow,must have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black tohim; then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My mind ismade up. Let us go. You return home for to-night to your asylum, and seethat all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in thischurchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to theBerkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too,and also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later weshall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly andthere dine, for I must be back here before the sun set.”

So we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of thechurchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly.

Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley Hotel directed toJohn Seward, M. D.

(Not delivered.)

“27 September.

“Friend John,—

“I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch inthat churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall notleave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager.Therefore I shall fix some things she like not—garlic and acrucifix—and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead,and will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out; theymay not prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead isdesperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it maybe. I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after the sunrise,and if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For MissLucy or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there thatshe is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find shelter.He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that allalong he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy’s life, andwe lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always thestrength in his hand of twenty men; even we four who gave our strengthto Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf andI know not what. So if it be that he come thither on this night he shallfind me; but none other shall—until it be too late. But it may be thathe will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; hishunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where theUn-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch.

“Therefore I write this in case.... Take the papers that are with this,the diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find thisgreat Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stakethrough it, so that the world may rest from him.

“If it be so, farewell.

“Van Helsing.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

28 September.—It is wonderful what a good night’s sleep will do forone. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing’s monstrousideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages oncommon sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if hismind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be somerational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible thatthe Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever thatif he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard tosome fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loath to think it, and indeedit would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that VanHelsing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get somelight on the mystery.

29 September, morning..... Last night, at a little before ten o’clock,Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing’s room; he told us all that hewanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if allour wills were centred in his. He began by saying that he hoped we wouldall come with him too, “for,” he said, “there is a grave duty to be donethere. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?” This query wasdirectly addressed to Lord Godalming.

“I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much troublearound my house of late that I could do without any more. I have beencurious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but themore we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myselfthat I’m about up a tree as to any meaning about anything.”

“Me too,” said Quincey Morris laconically.

“Oh,” said the Professor, “then you are nearer the beginning, both ofyou, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he caneven get so far as to begin.”

It was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame ofmind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he saidwith intense gravity:—

“I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, Iknow, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you willknow, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise mein the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for atime—I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such maybe—you shall not blame yourselves for anything.”

“That’s frank anyhow,” broke in Quincey. “I’ll answer for the Professor.I don’t quite see his drift, but I swear he’s honest; and that’s goodenough for me.”

“I thank you, sir,” said Van Helsing proudly. “I have done myself thehonour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dearto me.” He held out a hand, which Quincey took.

Then Arthur spoke out:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, I don’t quite like to ‘buy a pig in a poke,’ as theysay in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentlemanor my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise.If you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either ofthese two, then I give my consent at once; though for the life of me, Icannot understand what you are driving at.”

“I accept your limitation,” said Van Helsing, “and all I ask of you isthat if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will firstconsider it well and be satisfied that it does not violate yourreservations.”

“Agreed!” said Arthur; “that is only fair. And now that thepourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?”

“I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the churchyard atKingstead.”

Arthur’s face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:—

“Where poor Lucy is buried?” The Professor bowed. Arthur went on: “Andwhen there?”

“To enter the tomb!” Arthur stood up.

“Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon me,I see that you are in earnest.” He sat down again, but I could see thathe sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There wassilence until he asked again:—

“And when in the tomb?”

“To open the coffin.”

“This is too much!” he said, angrily rising again. “I am willing to bepatient in all things that are reasonable; but in this—this desecrationof the grave—of one who——” He fairly choked with indignation. TheProfessor looked pityingly at him.

“If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,” he said, “God knows Iwould. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, andfor ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!”

Arthur looked up with set white face and said:—

“Take care, sir, take care!”

“Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?” said Van Helsing.“And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I goon?”

“That’s fair enough,” broke in Morris.

After a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:—

“Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong toher. But if she be not dead——”

Arthur jumped to his feet.

“Good God!” he cried. “What do you mean? Has there been any mistake; hasshe been buried alive?” He groaned in anguish that not even hope couldsoften.

“I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go nofurther than to say that she might be Un-Dead.”

“Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or whatis it?”

“There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age theymay solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. ButI have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?”

“Heavens and earth, no!” cried Arthur in a storm of passion. “Not forthe wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr.Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you that you shouldtorture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want tocast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad to speak such things, oram I mad to listen to them? Don’t dare to think more of such adesecration; I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have aduty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall doit!”

Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated, andsaid, gravely and sternly:—

“My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a dutyto you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask younow is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if whenlater I make the same request you do not be more eager for itsfulfilment even than I am, then—then I shall do my duty, whatever itmay seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship’s wishes I shallhold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and whereyou will.” His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full ofpity:—

“But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life ofacts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wringmy heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that ifthe time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one look fromyou will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man canto save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself somuch of labour and so much of sorrow? I have come here from my own landto do what I can of good; at the first to please my friend John, andthen to help a sweet young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her—Iam ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness—I gave what yougave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, herlover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nightsand days—before death, after death; and if my death can do her goodeven now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.” Hesaid this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affectedby it. He took the old man’s hand and said in a broken voice:—

“Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at least Ishall go with you and wait.”

CHAPTER XVI

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY—continued

IT was just a quarter before twelve o’clock when we got into thechurchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional gleamsof moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded acrossthe sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightlyin front as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I lookedwell at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a place laden with sosorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore himself well. I took itthat the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractantto his grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a naturalhesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty byentering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door.He then lit a dark lantern and pointed to the coffin. Arthur steppedforward hesitatingly; Van Helsing said to me:—

“You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in thatcoffin?”

“It was.” The Professor turned to the rest saying:—

“You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me.” Hetook his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Arthurlooked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he steppedforward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or,at any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead,the blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell awayagain, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness; he was still silent.Van Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in andrecoiled.

The coffin was empty!

For several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken byQuincey Morris:—

“Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I wouldn’t asksuch a thing ordinarily—I wouldn’t so dishonour you as to imply adoubt; but this is a mystery that goes beyond any honour or dishonour.Is this your doing?”

“I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not removed nortouched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend Seward andI came here—with good purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, whichwas then sealed up, and we found it, as now, empty. We then waited, andsaw something white come through the trees. The next day we came here inday-time, and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?”

“Yes.”

“That night we were just in time. One more so small child was missing,and we find it, thank God, unharmed amongst the graves. Yesterday I camehere before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited hereall the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most probablethat it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic,which the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Lastnight there was no exodus, so to-night before the sundown I took away mygarlic and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. Butbear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with meoutside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be.So”—here he shut the dark slide of his lantern—“now to the outside.”He opened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking thedoor behind him.

Oh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror ofthat vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passinggleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing andpassing—like the gladness and sorrow of a man’s life; how sweet it wasto breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay; howhumanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and tohear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Eachin his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, Icould see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of themystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again tothrow aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing’s conclusions. QuinceyMorris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, andaccepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has tostake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug oftobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed in adefinite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked likethin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a whitenapkin; next he took out a double-handful of some whitish stuff, likedough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into themass between his hands. This he then took, and rolling it into thinstrips, began to lay them into the crevices between the door and itssetting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this, and being close,asked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew nearalso, as they too were curious. He answered:—

“I am closing the tomb, so that the Un-Dead may not enter.”

“And is that stuff you have put there going to do it?” asked Quincey.“Great Scott! Is this a game?”

“It is.”

“What is that which you are using?” This time the question was byArthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered:—

“The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence.” It was ananswer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt individuallythat in the presence of such earnest purpose as the Professor’s, apurpose which could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it wasimpossible to distrust. In respectful silence we took the placesassigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the sight of anyone approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur. I had myselfbeen apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror; and yet I,who had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sinkwithin me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white; never did cypress, oryew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funereal gloom; never did treeor grass wave or rustle so ominously; never did bough creak somysteriously; and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such awoeful presage through the night.

There was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and then from theProfessor a keen “S-s-s-s!” He pointed; and far down the avenue of yewswe saw a white figure advance—a dim white figure, which held somethingdark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a ray ofmoonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in startlingprominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of the grave.We could not see the face, for it was bent down over what we saw to be afair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as achild gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. Wewere starting forward, but the Professor’s warning hand, seen by us ashe stood behind a yew-tree, kept us back; and then as we looked thewhite figure moved forwards again. It was now near enough for us to seeclearly, and the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold as ice,and I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognised the features ofLucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how changed. The sweetness wasturned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuouswantonness. Van Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, weall advanced too; the four of us ranged in a line before the door of thetomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide; by theconcentrated light that fell on Lucy’s face we could see that the lipswere crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over herchin and stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.

We shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that evenVan Helsing’s iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and if I hadnot seized his arm and held him up, he would have fallen.

When Lucy—I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it bore hershape—saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a cat giveswhen taken unawares; then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy’s eyes in formand colour; but Lucy’s eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead ofthe pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant of my lovepassed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could havedone it with savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholylight, and the face became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God,how it made me shudder to see it! With a careless motion, she flung tothe ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to now she hadclutched strenuously to her breast, growling over it as a dog growlsover a bone. The child gave a sharp cry, and lay there moaning. Therewas a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur; whenshe advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he fellback and hid his face in his hands.

She still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous grace,said:—

“Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms arehungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!”

There was something diabolically sweet in her tones—something of thetingling of glass when struck—which rang through the brains even of uswho heard the words addressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed undera spell; moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms. Shewas leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held betweenthem his little golden crucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with asuddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past him as if to enterthe tomb.

When within a foot or two of the door, however, she stopped, as ifarrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her face wasshown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now noquiver from Van Helsing’s iron nerves. Never did I see such baffledmalice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again bymortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throwout sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds ofthe flesh were the coils of Medusa’s snakes, and the lovely,blood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks ofthe Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death—if looks couldkill—we saw it at that moment.

And so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she remainedbetween the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her means ofentry. Van Helsing broke the silence by asking Arthur:—

“Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?”

Arthur threw himself on his knees, and hid his face in his hands, as heanswered:—

“Do as you will, friend; do as you will. There can be no horror likethis ever any more;” and he groaned in spirit. Quincey and Isimultaneously moved towards him, and took his arms. We could hear theclick of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down; coming closeto the tomb, he began to remove from the chinks some of the sacredemblem which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrifiedamazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporealbody as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the intersticewhere scarce a knife-blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense ofrelief when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of puttyto the edges of the door.

When this was done, he lifted the child and said:

“Come now, my friends; we can do no more till to-morrow. There is afuneral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that. Thefriends of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton lockthe gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do; but not like this ofto-night. As for this little one, he is not much harm, and by to-morrownight he shall be well. We shall leave him where the police will findhim, as on the other night; and then to home.” Coming close to Arthur,he said:—

“My friend Arthur, you have had a sore trial; but after, when you lookback, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the bitterwaters, my child. By this time to-morrow you will, please God, havepassed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not mournovermuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me.”

Arthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each otheron the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired; so we allslept with more or less reality of sleep.

29 September, night.—A little before twelve o’clock we three—Arthur,Quincey Morris, and myself—called for the Professor. It was odd tonotice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Ofcourse, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest ofus wore it by instinct. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, andstrolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that when thegravediggers had completed their task and the sexton under the beliefthat every one had gone, had locked the gate, we had the place all toourselves. Van Helsing, instead of his little black bag, had with him along leather one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly offair weight.

When we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out upthe road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed theProfessor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing itbehind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and alsotwo wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their ownends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to workby. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy’s coffin we all looked—Arthurtrembling like an aspen—and saw that the body lay there in all itsdeath-beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing butloathing for the foul Thing which had taken Lucy’s shape without hersoul. I could see even Arthur’s face grow hard as he looked. Presentlyhe said to Van Helsing:—

“Is this really Lucy’s body, or only a demon in her shape?”

“It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you all see heras she was, and is.”

She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth,the bloodstained, voluptuous mouth—which it made one shudder tosee—the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like adevilish mockery of Lucy’s sweet purity. Van Helsing, with his usualmethodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag andplacing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and someplumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, when lit ina corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with a blueflame; then his operating knives, which he placed to hand; and last around wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches thick and aboutthree feet long. One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, andwas sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, suchas in households is used in the coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. Tome, a doctor’s preparations for work of any kind are stimulating andbracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey wasto cause them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept theircourage, and remained silent and quiet.

When all was ready, Van Helsing said:—

“Before we do anything, let me tell you this; it is out of the lore andexperience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powersof the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change thecurse of immortality; they cannot die, but must go on age after ageadding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world; for all thatdie from the preying of the Un-Dead becomes themselves Un-Dead, and preyon their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening, like as theripples from a stone thrown in the water. Friend Arthur, if you had metthat kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die; or again, last nightwhen you open your arms to her, you would in time, when you had died,have become nosferatu, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and wouldall time make more of those Un-Deads that so have fill us with horror.The career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Thosechildren whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but ifshe live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by herpower over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood with thatso wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tinywounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their playsunknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, whenthis now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poorlady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness bynight and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, sheshall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it willbe a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free.To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a betterright? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of thenight when sleep is not: ‘It was my hand that sent her to the stars; itwas the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she wouldherself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?’ Tell me if there besuch a one amongst us?”

We all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the infinitekindness which suggested that his should be the hand which would restoreLucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he stepped forward andsaid bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale assnow:—

“My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell mewhat I am to do, and I shall not falter!” Van Helsing laid a hand on hisshoulder, and said:—

“Brave lad! A moment’s courage, and it is done. This stake must bedriven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal—be not deceived inthat—but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice morethan your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as thoughyou tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. Onlythink that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we pray foryou all the time.”

“Go on,” said Arthur hoarsely. “Tell me what I am to do.”

“Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point over theheart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer forthe dead—I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others shallfollow—strike in God’s name, that so all may be well with the dead thatwe love and that the Un-Dead pass away.”

Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set onaction his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing openedhis missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as well as wecould. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I couldsee its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his might.

The Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screechcame from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twistedin wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together till thelips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthurnever faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling armrose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilstthe blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. Hisface was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of itgave us courage so that our voices seemed to ring through the littlevault.

And then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and theteeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. Theterrible task was over.

The hammer fell from Arthur’s hand. He reeled and would have fallen hadwe not caught him. The great drops of sweat sprang from his forehead,and his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strainon him; and had he not been forced to his task by more than humanconsiderations he could never have gone through with it. For a fewminutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards thecoffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from oneto the other of us. We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he hadbeen seated on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad,strange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom ofhorror that lay upon it.

There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreadedand grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as aprivilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her inher life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True thatthere were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care andpain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truthto what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay likesunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token andsymbol of the calm that was to reign for ever.

Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and said tohim:—

“And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?”

The reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man’s handin his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:—

“Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again,and me peace.” He put his hands on the Professor’s shoulder, and layinghis head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stoodunmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:—

“And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, asshe would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinningdevil now—not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she isthe devil’s Un-Dead. She is God’s true dead, whose soul is with Him!”

Arthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out of thetomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake, leaving the pointof it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth withgarlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid,and gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Professor lockedthe door he gave the key to Arthur.

Outside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and itseemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There wasgladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselveson one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy.

Before we moved away Van Helsing said:—

“Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the most harrowingto ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find out the authorof all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we canfollow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and there is danger init, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, allof us—is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And dowe not promise to go on to the bitter end?”

Each in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then said theProfessor as we moved off:—

“Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven ofthe clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that youknow not as yet; and I shall be ready to all our work show and our plansunfold. Friend John, you come with me home, for I have much to consultabout, and you can help me. To-night I leave for Amsterdam, but shallreturn to-morrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first Ishall have much to say, so that you may know what is to do and to dread.Then our promise shall be made to each other anew; for there is aterrible task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare wemust not draw back.”

CHAPTER XVII

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY—continued

WHEN we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegramwaiting for him:—

“Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news.—MinaHarker.”

The Professor was delighted. “Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina,” he said,“pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go to yourhouse, friend John. You must meet her at the station. Telegraph her enroute, so that she may be prepared.”

When the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea; over it he told me ofa diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a typewrittencopy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker’s diary at Whitby. “Take these,” hesaid, “and study them well. When I have returned you will be master ofall the facts, and we can then better enter on our inquisition. Keepthem safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You will need all yourfaith, even you who have had such an experience as that of to-day. Whatis here told,” he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packet ofpapers as he spoke, “may be the beginning of the end to you and me andmany another; or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk theearth. Read all, I pray you, with the open mind; and if you can add inany way to the story here told do so, for it is all-important. You havekept diary of all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes! Then weshall go through all these together when we meet.” He then made readyfor his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool Street. Itook my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes beforethe train came in.

The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to arrivalplatforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss myguest, when a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to me, and,after a quick glance, said: “Dr. Seward, is it not?”

“And you are Mrs. Harker!” I answered at once; whereupon she held outher hand.

“I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy; but——” She stoppedsuddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.

The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for itwas a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which included atypewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street, after I hadsent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting-room and bedroomprepared at once for Mrs. Harker.

In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was alunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a shudderwhen we entered.

She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, asshe had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my phonographdiary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance of looking atthe papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they lie open beforeme. I must get her interested in something, so that I may have anopportunity of reading them. She does not know how precious time is, orwhat a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her. Hereshe is!

Mina Harker’s Journal.

29 September.—After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward’sstudy. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him talkingwith some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked atthe door, and on his calling out, “Come in,” I entered.

To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite alone,and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from thedescription to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was muchinterested.

“I hope I did not keep you waiting,” I said; “but I stayed at the dooras I heard you talking, and thought there was some one with you.”

“Oh,” he replied with a smile, “I was only entering my diary.”

“Your diary?” I asked him in surprise.

“Yes,” he answered. “I keep it in this.” As he spoke he laid his hand onthe phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out:—

“Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?”

“Certainly,” he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in trainfor speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.

“The fact is,” he began awkwardly, “I only keep my diary in it; and asit is entirely—almost entirely—about my cases, it may be awkward—thatis, I mean——” He stopped, and I tried to help him out of hisembarrassment:—

“You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died;for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very, verydear to me.”

To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face:—

“Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!”

“Why not?” I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse.At length he stammered out:—

“You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of thediary.” Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he saidwith unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the naïvetéof a child: “That’s quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian!” I couldnot but smile, at which he grimaced. “I gave myself away that time!” hesaid. “But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for monthspast, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particularpart of it in case I wanted to look it up?” By this time my mind wasmade up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might havesomething to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, andI said boldly:—

“Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on mytypewriter.” He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:—

“No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn’t let you know that terriblestory!”

Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought,and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something orsome opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of typewriting onthe table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his thinking,followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised my meaning.

“You do not know me,” I said. “When you have read those papers—my owndiary and my husband’s also, which I have typed—you will know mebetter. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart inthis cause; but, of course, you do not know me—yet; and I must notexpect you to trust me so far.”

He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right abouthim. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged inorder a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, andsaid:—

“You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know you.But I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you longago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May I makethe only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them—thefirst half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not horrifyyou; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready. In themeantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be betterable to understand certain things.” He carried the phonograph himself upto my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn somethingpleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true loveepisode of which I know one side already....

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

29 September.—I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of JonathanHarker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on withoutthinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announcedinner, so I said: “She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour,” andI went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker’s diary, whenshe came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes wereflushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have hadcause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied me; andnow the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, wentstraight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:—

“I greatly fear I have distressed you.”

“Oh, no, not distressed me,” she replied, “but I have been more touchedthan I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but it iscruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart.It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No one must hear themspoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out thewords on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, asI did.”

“No one need ever know, shall ever know,” I said in a low voice. Shelaid her hand on mine and said very gravely:—

“Ah, but they must!”

“Must! But why?” I asked.

“Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear Lucy’sdeath and all that led to it; because in the struggle which we havebefore us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have allthe knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that thecylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to know;but I can see that there are in your record many lights to this darkmystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certainpoint; and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7 September,how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wroughtout. Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor VanHelsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and hewill be here to-morrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us;working together and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger thanif some of us were in the dark.” She looked at me so appealingly, and atthe same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing,that I gave in at once to her wishes. “You shall,” I said, “do as youlike in the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terriblethings yet to learn of; but if you have so far travelled on the road topoor Lucy’s death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in thedark. Nay, the end—the very end—may give you a gleam of peace. Come,there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us;we have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learnthe rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask—if there be anythingwhich you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who werepresent.”

Mina Harker’s Journal.

29 September.—After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. Hebrought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter. Heplaced me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that Icould touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in caseI should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with hisback to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. Iput the forked metal to my ears and listened.

When the terrible story of Lucy’s death, and—and all that followed, wasdone, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of afainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with ahorrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from acupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restoredme. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through allthe multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear, dear Lucywas at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne it withoutmaking a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious, and strange that if Ihad not known Jonathan’s experience in Transylvania I could not havebelieved. As it was, I didn’t know what to believe, and so got out of mydifficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off mytypewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:—

“Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsingwhen he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here whenhe arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything,and I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every itemput in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me thatLord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell himwhen they come.” He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and Ibegan to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder. I usedmanifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done withall the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went abouthis work of going his round of the patients; when he had finished hecame back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonelywhilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full ofgood men—even if there are monsters in it. Before I left him Iremembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor’sperturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station atExeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed thefiles of “The Westminster Gazette” and “The Pall Mall Gazette,” and tookthem to my room. I remember how much “The Dailygraph” and “The WhitbyGazette,” of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand theterrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall lookthrough the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some newlight. I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

30 September.—Mr. Harker arrived at nine o’clock. He had got hiswife’s wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one canjudge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true—andjudging by one’s own wonderful experiences, it must be—he is also a manof great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was aremarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I wasprepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

Later.—After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. Theyare hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together inchronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has gotthe letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and thecarriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife’stypescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here itis....

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

29 September, in train to London.—When I received Mr. Billington’scourteous message that he would give me any information in his power Ithought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, suchinquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid cargoof the Count’s to its place in London. Later, we may be able to dealwith it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, andbrought me to his father’s house, where they had decided that I muststay the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality:give a guest everything, and leave him free to do as he likes. They allknew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington hadready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes.It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I hadseen on the Count’s table before I knew of his diabolical plans.Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically andwith precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle whichmight be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carriedout. To use an Americanism, he had “taken no chances,” and the absoluteaccuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled, was simply thelogical result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it:“Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes.”Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of both ofthese I got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington couldgive me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customsofficers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of thestrange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in localtradition; but no one could add to the simple description “Fifty casesof common earth.” I then saw the station-master, who kindly put me incommunication with the men who had actually received the boxes. Theirtally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add except thatthe boxes were “main and mortal heavy,” and that shifting them was drywork. One of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn’t anygentleman “such-like as yourself, squire,” to show some sort ofappreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in a riderthat the thirst then generated was such that even the time which hadelapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took carebefore leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source ofreproach.

30 September.—The station-master was good enough to give me a line tohis old companion the station-master at King’s Cross, so that when Iarrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival ofthe boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the properofficials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the originalinvoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been herelimited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I wascompelled to deal with the result in an ex post facto manner.

From thence I went on to Carter Paterson’s central office, where I metwith the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in theirday-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King’s Crossoffice for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teamingwere waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sendingalso by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with thedelivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeingexactly; the carriers’ men were able to supplement the paucity of thewritten words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connectedalmost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequentthirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity,through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying, at alater period, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked:—

“That ’ere ’ouse, guv’nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but itain’t been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick inthe place that you might have slep’ on it without ’urtin’ of yer bones;an’ the place was that neglected that yer might ’ave smelled oleJerusalem in it. But the ole chapel—that took the cike, that did! Meand my mate, we thort we wouldn’t never git out quick enough. Lor’, Iwouldn’t take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark.”

Having been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew whatI know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.

Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which arrived atWhitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the oldchapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any havesince been removed—as from Dr. Seward’s diary I fear.

I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax whenRenfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a gooddeal.

Later.—Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papersinto order.

Mina Harker’s Journal

30 September.—I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had:that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might actdetrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave aface as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, neverso full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, goodProfessor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves understrain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life andhope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. Ifeel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity anything so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is nothuman—not even beast. To read Dr. Seward’s account of poor Lucy’sdeath, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity inone’s heart.

Later.—Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than weexpected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan withhim, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for itbrought back all poor dear Lucy’s hopes of only a few months ago. Ofcourse they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. VanHelsing, too, has been quite “blowing my trumpet,” as Mr. Morrisexpressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know allabout the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what tosay or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so theyhad to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over, andcame to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to postthem in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward’s diary thatthey had been at Lucy’s death—her real death—and that I need not fearto betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as Icould, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husbandand I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order.I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming gothis and turned it over—it does make a pretty good pile—he said:—

“Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?”

I nodded, and he went on:—

“I don’t quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good andkind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that allI can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I havehad one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humbleto the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy—”Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hearthe tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laida hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of theroom. I suppose there is something in woman’s nature that makes a manfree to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender oremotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for whenLord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa andgave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. Ihope he didn’t think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of itafterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; Iknow he never will—he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for Icould see that his heart was breaking:—

“I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were toher. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not letme be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you havehad, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity canhelp in your affliction, won’t you let me be of some little service—forLucy’s sake?”

In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemedto me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found avent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beathis palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then satdown again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinitepity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid hishead on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook withemotion.

We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise abovesmaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this bigsorrowing man’s head resting on me, as though it were that of the babythat some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though hewere my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.

After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with anapology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that fordays and nights past—weary days and sleepless nights—he had beenunable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time ofsorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or withwhom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow wassurrounded, he could speak freely. “I know now how I suffered,” he said,as he dried his eyes, “but I do not know even yet—and none other canever know—how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shallknow better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungratefulnow, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me belike a brother, will you not, for all our lives—for dear Lucy’s sake?”

“For dear Lucy’s sake,” I said as we clasped hands. “Ay, and for yourown sake,” he added, “for if a man’s esteem and gratitude are ever worththe winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bringto you a time when you need a man’s help, believe me, you will not callin vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break thesunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that youwill let me know.” He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, thatI felt it would comfort him, so I said:—

“I promise.”

As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window.He turned as he heard my footsteps. “How is Art?” he said. Then noticingmy red eyes, he went on: “Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poorold fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is introuble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him.”

He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw themanuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realisehow much I knew; so I said to him:—

“I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let mebe your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? Youwill know, later on, why I speak.” He saw that I was in earnest, andstooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemedbut poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively Ibent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was amomentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:—

“Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so longas ever you live!” Then he went into the study to his friend.

“Little girl!”—the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but heproved himself a friend!

CHAPTER XVIII

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

30 September.—I got home at five o’clock, and found that Godalmingand Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcriptof the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wifehad made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to thecarriers’ men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gaveus a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since Ihave lived in it, this old house seemed like home. When we hadfinished, Mrs. Harker said:—

“Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr.Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diaryinterests me so much!” She looked so appealing and so pretty that Icould not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; soI took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that alady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: “Why?”

“She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it,” Ianswered. “Oh, very well,” he said; “let her come in, by all means; butjust wait a minute till I tidy up the place.” His method of tidying waspeculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxesbefore I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or wasjealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgustingtask, he said cheerfully: “Let the lady come in,” and sat down on theedge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so thathe could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought that he mighthave some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been justbefore he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where Icould seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. Shecame into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once commandthe respect of any lunatic—for easiness is one of the qualities madpeople most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, andheld out her hand.

“Good-evening, Mr. Renfield,” said she. “You see, I know you, for Dr.Seward has told me of you.” He made no immediate reply, but eyed her allover intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to oneof wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, hesaid:—

“You’re not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can’t be,you know, for she’s dead.” Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:—

“Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I eversaw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.”

“Then don’t stay.”

“But why not?” I thought that this style of conversation might not bepleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:—

“How did you know I wanted to marry any one?” His reply was simplycontemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs.Harker to me, instantly turning them back again:—

“What an asinine question!”

“I don’t see that at all, Mr. Renfield,” said Mrs. Harker, at oncechampioning me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect ashe had shown contempt to me:—

“You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is soloved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is ofinterest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by hishousehold and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some ofthem hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes andeffects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, Icannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmateslean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi.” Ipositively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own petlunatic—the most pronounced of his type that I had ever metwith—talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polishedgentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker’s presence which had touchedsome chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in anyway due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift orpower.

We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seeminglyquite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as shebegan, to lead him to his favourite topic. I was again astonished, forhe addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of thecompletest sanity; he even took himself as an example when he mentionedcertain things.

“Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed,it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my beingput under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive andperpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, nomatter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely prolonglife. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried totake human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion Itried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers bythe assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of hisblood—relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, ‘For the blood isthe life.’ Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum hasvulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn’t that true,doctor?” I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what toeither think or say; it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat uphis spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, Isaw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs.Harker that it was time to leave. She came at once, after sayingpleasantly to Mr. Renfield: “Good-bye, and I hope I may see you often,under auspices pleasanter to yourself,” to which, to my astonishment, hereplied:—

“Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again.May He bless and keep you!”

When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behindme. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first tookill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been formany a long day.

Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of aboy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying:—

“Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I comehere to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I havemuch to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? AndArthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!”

As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my owndiary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker’s suggestion; atwhich the Professor interrupted me:—

“Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man’s brain—a brain that a manshould have were he much gifted—and a woman’s heart. The good Godfashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so goodcombination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of helpto us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terribleaffair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men aredetermined—nay, are we not pledged?—to destroy this monster; but it isno part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail herin so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer—both inwaking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And, besides,she is young woman and not so long married; there may be other things tothink of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then shemust consult with us; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this work, andwe go alone.” I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what wehad found in his absence: that the house which Dracula had bought wasthe very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemedto come on him. “Oh that we had known it before!” he said, “for then wemight have reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, ‘the milkthat is spilt cries not out afterwards,’ as you say. We shall not thinkof that, but go on our way to the end.” Then he fell into a silence thatlasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare fordinner he said to Mrs. Harker:—

“I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband haveput up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment.”

“Not up to this moment, Professor,” she said impulsively, “but up tothis morning.”

“But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all thelittle things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one whohas told is the worse for it.”

Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, shesaid:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. Itis my record of to-day. I too have seen the need of putting down atpresent everything, however trivial; but there is little in this exceptwhat is personal. Must it go in?” The Professor read it over gravely,and handed it back, saying:—

“It need not go in if you do not wish it; but I pray that it may. It canbut make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, morehonour you—as well as more esteem and love.” She took it back withanother blush and a bright smile.

And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are completeand in order. The Professor took away one copy to study after dinner,and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o’clock. The rest of ushave already read everything; so when we meet in the study we shall allbe informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with thisterrible and mysterious enemy.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

30 September.—When we met in Dr. Seward’s study two hours afterdinner, which had been at six o’clock, we unconsciously formed a sort ofboard or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, towhich Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sitnext to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary; Jonathan satnext to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr.Morris—Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in thecentre. The Professor said:—

“I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the factsthat are in these papers.” We all expressed assent, and he went on:—

“Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind ofenemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to yousomething of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me.So we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measureaccording.

“There are such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that theyexist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, theteachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sanepeoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not thatthrough long years I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could nothave believe until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. ‘See! see!I prove; I prove.’ Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know—nay,had I even guess at him—one so precious life had been spared to many ofus who did love her. But that is gone; and we must so work, that otherpoor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not dielike the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and beingstronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which isamongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is ofcunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he havestill the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, thedivination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to arefor him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil incallous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appearat will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; hecan, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, thethunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, andthe bat—the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and becomesmall; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we tobegin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where; and havingfound it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terribletask that we undertake, and there may be consequence to make the braveshudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must surely win; and thenwhere end we? Life is nothings; I heed him not. But to fail here, is notmere life or death. It is that we become as him; that we henceforwardbecome foul things of the night like him—without heart or conscience,preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us forever are the gates of heaven shut; for who shall open them to us again?We go on for all time abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God’ssunshine; an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are faceto face with duty; and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say, no;but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, hissong of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others areyoung. Some have seen sorrow; but there are fair days yet in store. Whatsay you?”

Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh somuch, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when Isaw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its touch—sostrong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man’s hand can speak foritself; it does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music.

When the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and Iin his; there was no need for speaking between us.

“I answer for Mina and myself,” he said.

“Count me in, Professor,” said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.

“I am with you,” said Lord Godalming, “for Lucy’s sake, if for no otherreason.”

Dr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying hisgolden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I tookhis right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right withhis left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands oursolemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not evenoccur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsingwent on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious workhad begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way,as any other transaction of life:—

“Well, you know what we have to contend against; but we, too, are notwithout strength. We have on our side power of combination—a powerdenied to the vampire kind; we have sources of science; we are free toact and think; and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally.In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and we arefree to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and an end toachieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.

“Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us arerestrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider thelimitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in particular.

“All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do notat the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and death—nayof more than either life or death. Yet must we be satisfied; in thefirst place because we have to be—no other means is at our control—andsecondly, because, after all, these things—tradition andsuperstition—are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest forothers—though not, alas! for us—on them? A year ago which of us wouldhave received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific,sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a beliefthat we saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that thevampire, and the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for themoment on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is known everywherethat men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome; he flourish in Germanyall over, in France, in India, even in the Chernosese; and in China, sofar from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples fear him atthis day. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, thedevil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. So far, then, wehave all we may act upon; and let me tell you that very much of thebeliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappyexperience. The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of thetime; he can flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of theliving. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even growyounger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as thoughthey refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. But hecannot flourish without this diet; he eat not as others. Even friendJonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never!He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as againJonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand—witness againJonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help himfrom the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gatherfrom the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be asbat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend Johnsaw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him atthe window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create—that nobleship’s captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distancehe can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. Hecome on moonlight rays as elemental dust—as again Jonathan saw thosesisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small—we ourselves sawMiss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at thetomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything orinto anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up withfire—solder you call it. He can see in the dark—no small power this,in a world which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but hear methrough. He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay; he is evenmore prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his cell.He cannot go where he lists; he who is not of nature has yet to obeysome of nature’s laws—why we know not. He may not enter anywhere at thefirst, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come;though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as doesthat of all evil things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain timescan he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he isbound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset.These things are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof byinference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when hehave his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the placeunhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide atWhitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come. It issaid, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the floodof the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has nopower, as the garlic that we know of; and as for things sacred, as thissymbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, tothem he is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off andsilent with respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you of,lest in our seeking we may need them. The branch of wild rose on hiscoffin keep him that he move not from it; a sacred bullet fired into thecoffin kill him so that he be true dead; and as for the stake throughhim, we know already of its peace; or the cut-off head that giveth rest.We have seen it with our eyes.

“Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confinehim to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he isclever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, tomake his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what hehas been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won hisname against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier ofTurkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time,and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the mostcunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the ‘land beyond theforest.’ That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to hisgrave, and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, saysArminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions whowere held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. Theylearned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over LakeHermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In therecords are such words as ‘stregoica’—witch, ‘ordog,’ and‘pokol’—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula isspoken of as ‘wampyr,’ which we all understand too well. There have beenfrom the loins of this very one great men and good women, and theirgraves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For itis not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep inall good; in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest.”

Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window,and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. There was a littlepause, and then the Professor went on:—

“And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we mustproceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathanthat from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of whichwere delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxeshave been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be toascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wallwhere we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If thelatter, we must trace——”

Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house camethe sound of a pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with abullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck thefar wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shriekedout. The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to thewindow and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris’s voicewithout:—

“Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you aboutit.” A minute later he came in and said:—

“It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs.Harker, most sincerely; I fear I must have frightened you terribly. Butthe fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big batand sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damnedbrutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out tohave a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I haveseen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.”

“Did you hit it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing.

“I don’t know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood.” Withoutsaying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume hisstatement:—

“We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we musteither capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so tospeak, sterilise the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it.Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours ofnoon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.

“And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well.You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, youno more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are menand are able to bear; but you must be our star and our hope, and weshall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as weare.”

All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to megood that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen theirsafety—strength being the best safety—through care of me; but theirminds were made up, and, though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow,I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me.

Mr. Morris resumed the discussion:—

“As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house rightnow. Time is everything with him; and swift action on our part may saveanother victim.”

I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came soclose, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if Iappeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leaveme out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax,with means to get into the house.

Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman cansleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretendto sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

1 October, 4 a. m.—Just as we were about to leave the house, anurgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would seehim at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to me.I told the messenger to say that I would attend to his wishes in themorning; I was busy just at the moment. The attendant added:—

“He seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I don’tknow but what, if you don’t see him soon, he will have one of hisviolent fits.” I knew the man would not have said this without somecause, so I said: “All right; I’ll go now”; and I asked the others towait a few minutes for me, as I had to go and see my “patient.”

“Take me with you, friend John,” said the Professor. “His case in yourdiary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on ourcase. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind isdisturbed.”

“May I come also?” asked Lord Godalming.

“Me too?” said Quincey Morris. “May I come?” said Harker. I nodded, andwe all went down the passage together.

We found him in a state of considerable excitement, but far morerational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen him. There was anunusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything I had evermet with in a lunatic; and he took it for granted that his reasons wouldprevail with others entirely sane. We all four went into the room, butnone of the others at first said anything. His request was that I wouldat once release him from the asylum and send him home. This he backed upwith arguments regarding his complete recovery, and adduced his ownexisting sanity. “I appeal to your friends,” he said, “they will,perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you havenot introduced me.” I was so much astonished, that the oddness ofintroducing a madman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment; and,besides, there was a certain dignity in the man’s manner, so much ofthe habit of equality, that I at once made the introduction: “LordGodalming; Professor Van Helsing; Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas; Mr.Renfield.” He shook hands with each of them, saying in turn:—

“Lord Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your father at theWindham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is nomore. He was a man loved and honoured by all who knew him; and in hisyouth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, muchpatronised on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your greatstate. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may havefar-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may holdalliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove avast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its trueplace as a political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure atmeeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms ofconventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionised therapeuticsby his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain-matter,conventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him toone of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or bythe possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your respectiveplaces in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as atleast the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties.And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist aswell as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one tobe considered as under exceptional circumstances.” He made this lastappeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its owncharm.

I think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was under theconviction, despite my knowledge of the man’s character and history,that his reason had been restored; and I felt under a strong impulse totell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity, and would see about thenecessary formalities for his release in the morning. I thought itbetter to wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of oldI knew the sudden changes to which this particular patient was liable.So I contented myself with making a general statement that he appearedto be improving very rapidly; that I would have a longer chat with himin the morning, and would then see what I could do in the direction ofmeeting his wishes. This did not at all satisfy him, for he saidquickly:—

“But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire togo at once—here—now—this very hour—this very moment, if I may. Timepresses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is ofthe essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to putbefore so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet somomentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment.” He looked at me keenly, andseeing the negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinisedthem closely. Not meeting any sufficient response, he went on:—

“Is it possible that I have erred in my supposition?”

“You have,” I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, brutally.There was a considerable pause, and then he said slowly:—

“Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let me ask forthis concession—boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implorein such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others. Iam not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, Iassure you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound andunselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty. Could you look,sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the sentiments whichanimate me. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and truest ofyour friends.” Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a growingconviction that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method wasbut yet another form or phase of his madness, and so determined to lethim go on a little longer, knowing from experience that he would, likeall lunatics, give himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing athim with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meetingwith the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tonewhich did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of itafterwards—for it was as of one addressing an equal:—

“Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be freeto-night? I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me—a stranger,without prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind—Dr.Seward will give you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, theprivilege you seek.” He shook his head sadly, and with a look ofpoignant regret on his face. The Professor went on:—

“Come, sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in thehighest degree, since you seek to impress us with your completereasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt, sinceyou are not yet released from medical treatment for this very defect. Ifyou will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how canwe perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and helpus; and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish.” He still shookhis head as he said:—

“Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, andif I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not myown master in the matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I amrefused, the responsibility does not rest with me.” I thought it was nowtime to end the scene, which was becoming too comically grave, so I wenttowards the door, simply saying:—

“Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good-night.”

As, however, I got near the door, a new change came over the patient. Hemoved towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared that he wasabout to make another homicidal attack. My fears, however, weregroundless, for he held up his two hands imploringly, and made hispetition in a moving manner. As he saw that the very excess of hisemotion was militating against him, by restoring us more to our oldrelations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing,and saw my conviction reflected in his eyes; so I became a little morefixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to him that hisefforts were unavailing. I had previously seen something of the sameconstantly growing excitement in him when he had to make some request ofwhich at the time he had thought much, such, for instance, as when hewanted a cat; and I was prepared to see the collapse into the samesullen acquiescence on this occasion. My expectation was not realised,for, when he found that his appeal would not be successful, he got intoquite a frantic condition. He threw himself on his knees, and held uphis hands, wringing them in plaintive supplication, and poured forth atorrent of entreaty, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, and hiswhole face and form expressive of the deepest emotion:—

“Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me outof this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will;send keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in astrait-waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me goout of this. You don’t know what you do by keeping me here. I amspeaking from the depths of my heart—of my very soul. You don’t knowwhom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell.By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that islost—by your hope that lives—for the sake of the Almighty, take me outof this and save my soul from guilt! Can’t you hear me, man? Can’t youunderstand? Will you never learn? Don’t you know that I am sane andearnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fightingfor his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!”

I thought that the longer this went on the wilder he would get, and sowould bring on a fit; so I took him by the hand and raised him up.

“Come,” I said sternly, “no more of this; we have had quite enoughalready. Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly.”

He suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments. Then,without a word, he rose and moving over, sat down on the side of thebed. The collapse had come, as on former occasion, just as I hadexpected.

When I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in aquiet, well-bred voice:—

“You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, lateron, that I did what I could to convince you to-night.”

CHAPTER XIX

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL

1 October, 5 a. m.—I went with the party to the search with an easymind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and well. I amso glad that she consented to hold back and let us men do the work.Somehow, it was a dread to me that she was in this fearful business atall; but now that her work is done, and that it is due to her energy andbrains and foresight that the whole story is put together in such a waythat every point tells, she may well feel that her part is finished, andthat she can henceforth leave the rest to us. We were, I think, all alittle upset by the scene with Mr. Renfield. When we came away from hisroom we were silent till we got back to the study. Then Mr. Morris saidto Dr. Seward:—

“Say, Jack, if that man wasn’t attempting a bluff, he is about thesanest lunatic I ever saw. I’m not sure, but I believe that he had someserious purpose, and if he had, it was pretty rough on him not to get achance.” Lord Godalming and I were silent, but Dr. Van Helsing added:—

“Friend John, you know more of lunatics than I do, and I’m glad of it,for I fear that if it had been to me to decide I would before that lasthysterical outburst have given him free. But we live and learn, and inour present task we must take no chance, as my friend Quincey would say.All is best as they are.” Dr. Seward seemed to answer them both in adreamy kind of way:—

“I don’t know but that I agree with you. If that man had been anordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him; but heseems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I amafraid of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can’t forget howhe prayed with almost equal fervour for a cat, and then tried to tear mythroat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the Count ‘lord andmaster,’ and he may want to get out to help him in some diabolical way.That horrid thing has the wolves and the rats and his own kind to helphim, so I suppose he isn’t above trying to use a respectable lunatic. Hecertainly did seem earnest, though. I only hope we have done what isbest. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we have in hand,help to unnerve a man.” The Professor stepped over, and laying his handon his shoulder, said in his grave, kindly way:—

“Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sadand terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we tohope for, except the pity of the good God?” Lord Godalming had slippedaway for a few minutes, but now he returned. He held up a little silverwhistle, as he remarked:—

“That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I’ve got an antidote oncall.” Having passed the wall, we took our way to the house, taking careto keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the moonlight shoneout. When we got to the porch the Professor opened his bag and took outa lot of things, which he laid on the step, sorting them into fourlittle groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke:—

“My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need arms ofmany kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember that he has thestrength of twenty men, and that, though our necks or our windpipes areof the common kind—and therefore breakable or crushable—his are notamenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a body of men more strongin all than him, can at certain times hold him; but they cannot hurt himas we can be hurt by him. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from histouch. Keep this near your heart”—as he spoke he lifted a little silvercrucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to him—“put theseflowers round your neck”—here he handed to me a wreath of witheredgarlic blossoms—“for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and thisknife; and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you canfasten to your breast; and for all, and above all at the last, this,which we must not desecrate needless.” This was a portion of SacredWafer, which he put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the otherswas similarly equipped. “Now,” he said, “friend John, where are theskeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break houseby the window, as before at Miss Lucy’s.”

Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical dexterity as asurgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he got one to suit; aftera little play back and forward the bolt yielded, and, with a rustyclang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the rusty hinges creaked, andit slowly opened. It was startlingly like the image conveyed to me inDr. Seward’s diary of the opening of Miss Westenra’s tomb; I fancy thatthe same idea seemed to strike the others, for with one accord theyshrank back. The Professor was the first to move forward, and steppedinto the open door.

“In manus tuas, Domine!” he said, crossing himself as he passed overthe threshold. We closed the door behind us, lest when we should havelit our lamps we should possibly attract attention from the road. TheProfessor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not be able to open itfrom within should we be in a hurry making our exit. Then we all lit ourlamps and proceeded on our search.

The light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd forms, as therays crossed each other, or the opacity of our bodies threw greatshadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling that therewas some one else amongst us. I suppose it was the recollection, sopowerfully brought home to me by the grim surroundings, of that terribleexperience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common to us all,for I noticed that the others kept looking over their shoulders at everysound and every new shadow, just as I felt myself doing.

The whole place was thick with dust. The floor was seemingly inchesdeep, except where there were recent footsteps, in which on holding downmy lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust was cracked. Thewalls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the corners were masses ofspider’s webs, whereon the dust had gathered till they looked like oldtattered rags as the weight had torn them partly down. On a table in thehall was a great bunch of keys, with a time-yellowed label on each. Theyhad been used several times, for on the table were several similar rentsin the blanket of dust, similar to that exposed when the Professorlifted them. He turned to me and said:—

“You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you knowit at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?” I had anidea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not been able toget admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few wrong turningsfound myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with iron bands.“This is the spot,” said the Professor as he turned his lamp on a smallmap of the house, copied from the file of my original correspondenceregarding the purchase. With a little trouble we found the key on thebunch and opened the door. We were prepared for some unpleasantness, foras we were opening the door a faint, malodorous air seemed to exhalethrough the gaps, but none of us ever expected such an odour as weencountered. None of the others had met the Count at all at closequarters, and when I had seen him he was either in the fasting stage ofhis existence in his rooms or, when he was gloated with fresh blood, ina ruined building open to the air; but here the place was small andclose, and the long disuse had made the air stagnant and foul. There wasan earthy smell, as of some dry miasma, which came through the foulerair. But as to the odour itself, how shall I describe it? It was notalone that it was composed of all the ills of mortality and with thepungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though corruption hadbecome itself corrupt. Faugh! it sickens me to think of it. Every breathexhaled by that monster seemed to have clung to the place andintensified its loathsomeness.

Under ordinary circumstances such a stench would have brought ourenterprise to an end; but this was no ordinary case, and the high andterrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a strength which roseabove merely physical considerations. After the involuntary shrinkingconsequent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set about ourwork as though that loathsome place were a garden of roses.

We made an accurate examination of the place, the Professor saying as webegan:—

“The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left; we must thenexamine every hole and corner and cranny and see if we cannot get someclue as to what has become of the rest.” A glance was sufficient to showhow many remained, for the great earth chests were bulky, and there wasno mistaking them.

There were only twenty-nine left out of the fifty! Once I got a fright,for, seeing Lord Godalming suddenly turn and look out of the vaulteddoor into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and for an instant myheart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from the shadow, I seemed tosee the high lights of the Count’s evil face, the ridge of the nose, thered eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for a moment, for,as Lord Godalming said, “I thought I saw a face, but it was only theshadows,” and resumed his inquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction,and stepped into the passage. There was no sign of any one; and as therewere no corners, no doors, no aperture of any kind, but only the solidwalls of the passage, there could be no hiding-place even for him. Itook it that fear had helped imagination, and said nothing.

A few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from a corner, whichhe was examining. We all followed his movements with our eyes, forundoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and we saw a whole massof phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all instinctively drewback. The whole place was becoming alive with rats.

For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming, who wasseemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to the greatiron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from the outside,and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew thehuge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silverwhistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answeredfrom behind Dr. Seward’s house by the yelping of dogs, and after about aminute three terriers came dashing round the corner of the house.Unconsciously we had all moved towards the door, and as we moved Inoticed that the dust had been much disturbed: the boxes which had beentaken out had been brought this way. But even in the minute that hadelapsed the number of the rats had vastly increased. They seemed toswarm over the place all at once, till the lamplight, shining on theirmoving dark bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the place looklike a bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but at thethreshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then, simultaneously liftingtheir noses, began to howl in most lugubrious fashion. The rats weremultiplying in thousands, and we moved out.

Lord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him in, placed himon the floor. The instant his feet touched the ground he seemed torecover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies. They fled beforehim so fast that before he had shaken the life out of a score, the otherdogs, who had by now been lifted in the same manner, had but small preyere the whole mass had vanished.

With their going it seemed as if some evil presence had departed, forthe dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they made sudden darts attheir prostrate foes, and turned them over and over and tossed them inthe air with vicious shakes. We all seemed to find our spirits rise.Whether it was the purifying of the deadly atmosphere by the opening ofthe chapel door, or the relief which we experienced by finding ourselvesin the open I know not; but most certainly the shadow of dread seemed toslip from us like a robe, and the occasion of our coming lost somethingof its grim significance, though we did not slacken a whit in ourresolution. We closed the outer door and barred and locked it, andbringing the dogs with us, began our search of the house. We foundnothing throughout except dust in extraordinary proportions, and alluntouched save for my own footsteps when I had made my first visit.Never once did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even whenwe returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had beenrabbit-hunting in a summer wood.

The morning was quickening in the east when we emerged from the front.Dr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the hall-door from the bunch, andlocked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key into his pocketwhen he had done.

“So far,” he said, “our night has been eminently successful. No harm hascome to us such as I feared might be and yet we have ascertained howmany boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice that this, ourfirst—and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous—step has beenaccomplished without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam Mina ortroubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and sounds andsmells of horror which she might never forget. One lesson, too, we havelearned, if it be allowable to argue a particulari: that the brutebeasts which are to the Count’s command are yet themselves not amenableto his spiritual power; for look, these rats that would come to hiscall, just as from his castle top he summon the wolves to your going andto that poor mother’s cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mellfrom the so little dogs of my friend Arthur. We have other mattersbefore us, other dangers, other fears; and that monster—he has not usedhis power over the brute world for the only or the last time to-night.So be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has given us opportunityto cry ‘check’ in some ways in this chess game, which we play for thestake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn is close at hand,and we have reason to be content with our first night’s work. It may beordained that we have many nights and days to follow, if full of peril;but we must go on, and from no danger shall we shrink.”

The house was silent when we got back, save for some poor creature whowas screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning soundfrom Renfield’s room. The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself,after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.

I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, breathing sosoftly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler thanusual. I hope the meeting to-night has not upset her. I am trulythankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even of ourdeliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear. I did notthink so at first, but I know better now. Therefore I am glad that it issettled. There may be things which would frighten her to hear; and yetto conceal them from her might be worse than to tell her if once shesuspected that there was any concealment. Henceforth our work is to be asealed book to her, till at least such time as we can tell her that allis finished, and the earth free from a monster of the nether world. Idaresay it will be difficult to begin to keep silence after suchconfidence as ours; but I must be resolute, and to-morrow I shall keepdark over to-night’s doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything thathas happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.

1 October, later.—I suppose it was natural that we should have alloverslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and the night had norest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for though I slepttill the sun was high, I was awake before her, and had to call two orthree times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep that for afew seconds she did not recognize me, but looked at me with a sort ofblank terror, as one looks who has been waked out of a bad dream. Shecomplained a little of being tired, and I let her rest till later in theday. We now know of twenty-one boxes having been removed, and if it bethat several were taken in any of these removals we may be able to tracethem all. Such will, of course, immensely simplify our labour, and thesooner the matter is attended to the better. I shall look up ThomasSnelling to-day.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

1 October.—It was towards noon when I was awakened by the Professorwalking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful than usual, and itis quite evident that last night’s work has helped to take some of thebrooding weight off his mind. After going over the adventure of thenight he suddenly said:—

“Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit himthis morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if it maybe. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk philosophy,and reason so sound.” I had some work to do which pressed, so I told himthat if he would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have tokeep him waiting; so I called an attendant and gave him the necessaryinstructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned him againstgetting any false impression from my patient. “But,” he answered, “Iwant him to talk of himself and of his delusion as to consuming livethings. He said to Madam Mina, as I see in your diary of yesterday, thathe had once had such a belief. Why do you smile, friend John?”

“Excuse me,” I said, “but the answer is here.” I laid my hand on thetype-written matter. “When our sane and learned lunatic made that verystatement of how he used to consume life, his mouth was actuallynauseous with the flies and spiders which he had eaten just before Mrs.Harker entered the room.” Van Helsing smiled in turn. “Good!” he said.“Your memory is true, friend John. I should have remembered. And yet itis this very obliquity of thought and memory which makes mental diseasesuch a fascinating study. Perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of thefolly of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the most wise.Who knows?” I went on with my work, and before long was through that inhand. It seemed that the time had been very short indeed, but there wasVan Helsing back in the study. “Do I interrupt?” he asked politely as hestood at the door.

“Not at all,” I answered. “Come in. My work is finished, and I am free.I can go with you now, if you like.

“It is needless; I have seen him!”

“Well?”

“I fear that he does not appraise me at much. Our interview was short.When I entered his room he was sitting on a stool in the centre, withhis elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture of sullendiscontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and with such ameasure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply whatever. “Don’tyou know me?” I asked. His answer was not reassuring: “I know you wellenough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourselfand your idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headedDutchmen!” Not a word more would he say, but sat in his implacablesullenness as indifferent to me as though I had not been in the room atall. Thus departed for this time my chance of much learning from this soclever lunatic; so I shall go, if I may, and cheer myself with a fewhappy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it doesrejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to beworried with our terrible things. Though we shall much miss her help, itis better so.”

“I agree with you with all my heart,” I answered earnestly, for I didnot want him to weaken in this matter. “Mrs. Harker is better out of it.Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the world, and who havebeen in many tight places in our time; but it is no place for a woman,and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in timeinfallibly have wrecked her.”

So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker; Quinceyand Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth-boxes. Ishall finish my round of work and we shall meet to-night.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

1 October.—It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am to-day;after Jonathan’s full confidence for so many years, to see himmanifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all. Thismorning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and thoughJonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he wentout, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a word ofwhat had happened in the visit to the Count’s house. And yet he musthave known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose itmust have distressed him even more than it did me. They all agreed thatit was best that I should not be drawn further into this awful work, andI acquiesced. But to think that he keeps anything from me! And now I amcrying like a silly fool, when I know it comes from my husband’s greatlove and from the good, good wishes of those other strong men.

That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all; andlest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I keptanything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he hasfeared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of myheart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad andlow-spirited to-day. I suppose it is the reaction from the terribleexcitement.

Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because they toldme to. I didn’t feel sleepy, and I did feel full of devouring anxiety. Ikept thinking over everything that has been ever since Jonathan came tosee me in London, and it all seems like a horrible tragedy, with fatepressing on relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one doesseems, no matter how right it may be, to bring on the very thing whichis most to be deplored. If I hadn’t gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dearLucy would be with us now. She hadn’t taken to visiting the churchyardtill I came, and if she hadn’t come there in the day-time with me shewouldn’t have walked there in her sleep; and if she hadn’t gone there atnight and asleep, that monster couldn’t have destroyed her as he did.Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder whathas come over me to-day. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knewthat I had been crying twice in one morning—I, who never cried on myown account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear—the dearfellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I dofeel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is one of the lessonsthat we poor women have to learn....

I can’t quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember hearingthe sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like prayingon a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield’s room, which is somewhereunder this. And then there was silence over everything, silence soprofound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out of the window.All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by the moonlightseeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a thing seemed to bestirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or fate; so that a thinstreak of white mist, that crept with almost imperceptible slownessacross the grass towards the house, seemed to have a sentience and avitality of its own. I think that the digression of my thoughts musthave done me good, for when I got back to bed I found a lethargycreeping over me. I lay a while, but could not quite sleep, so I got outand looked out of the window again. The mist was spreading, and was nowclose up to the house, so that I could see it lying thick against thewall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor man wasmore loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a word he said,I could in some way recognise in his tones some passionate entreaty onhis part. Then there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that theattendants were dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept intobed, and pulled the clothes over my head, putting my fingers in my ears.I was not then a bit sleepy, at least so I thought; but I must havefallen asleep, for, except dreams, I do not remember anything until themorning, when Jonathan woke me. I think that it took me an effort and alittle time to realise where I was, and that it was Jonathan who wasbending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical ofthe way that waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in, dreams.

I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come back. Iwas very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act; my feet, and myhands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could proceed at theusual pace. And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began to dawnupon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put back theclothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was dimaround. The gaslight which I had left lit for Jonathan, but turned down,came only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which had evidentlygrown thicker and poured into the room. Then it occurred to me that Ihad shut the window before I had come to bed. I would have got out tomake certain on the point, but some leaden lethargy seemed to chain mylimbs and even my will. I lay still and endured; that was all. I closedmy eyes, but could still see through my eyelids. (It is wonderful whattricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.) Themist grew thicker and thicker and I could see now how it came in, for Icould see it like smoke—or with the white energy of boilingwater—pouring in, not through the window, but through the joinings ofthe door. It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as if it becameconcentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the topof which I could see the light of the gas shining like a red eye. Thingsbegan to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy column was nowwhirling in the room, and through it all came the scriptural words “apillar of cloud by day and of fire by night.” Was it indeed some suchspiritual guidance that was coming to me in my sleep? But the pillar wascomposed of both the day and the night-guiding, for the fire was in thered eye, which at the thought got a new fascination for me; till, as Ilooked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog liketwo red eyes, such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wanderingwhen, on the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary’sChurch. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathanhad seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling mistin the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all becameblack darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was toshow me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist. I must becareful of such dreams, for they would unseat one’s reason if there weretoo much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to prescribesomething for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear to alarmthem. Such a dream at the present time would become woven into theirfears for me. To-night I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If I donot, I shall to-morrow night get them to give me a dose of chloral; thatcannot hurt me for once, and it will give me a good night’s sleep. Lastnight tired me more than if I had not slept at all.

2 October 10 p. m.—Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must haveslept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed; but thesleep has not refreshed me, for to-day I feel terribly weak andspiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing.In the afternoon Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he wasvery gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and bade God blessme. Some way it affected me much; I am crying when I think of him. Thisis a new weakness, of which I must be careful. Jonathan would bemiserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the others were out tilldinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did what I could to brightenthem up, and I suppose that the effort did me good, for I forgot howtired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, and all went off to smoketogether, as they said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each otherof what had occurred to each during the day; I could see from Jonathan’smanner that he had something important to communicate. I was not sosleepy as I should have been; so before they went I asked Dr. Seward togive me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the nightbefore. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave tome, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild.... Ihave taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hopeI have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fearcomes: that I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of thepower of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Good-night.

CHAPTER XX

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL

1 October, evening.—I found Thomas Snelling in his house at BethnalGreen, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything. Thevery prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him hadproved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected debauch. Ilearned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor soul, that hewas only the assistant to Smollet, who of the two mates was theresponsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. JosephSmollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of asaucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliabletype of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He remembered allabout the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog’s-earednotebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle about theseat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick,half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes. Therewere, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and left at197, Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which hedeposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant toscatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places werechosen as the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute morefully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think thathe could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was nowfixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southernshore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant tobe left out of his diabolical scheme—let alone the City itself and thevery heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west. I went backto Smollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes hadbeen taken from Carfax.

He replied:—

“Well, guv’nor, you’ve treated me wery ’an’some”—I had given him half asovereign—“an’ I’ll tell yer all I know. I heard a man by the name ofBloxam say four nights ago in the ’Are an’ ’Ounds, in Pincher’s Alley,as ’ow he an’ his mate ’ad ’ad a rare dusty job in a old ’ouse atPurfect. There ain’t a-many such jobs as this ’ere, an’ I’m thinkin’that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut.” I asked if he could tell mewhere to find him. I told him that if he could get me the address itwould be worth another half-sovereign to him. So he gulped down the restof his tea and stood up, saying that he was going to begin the searchthen and there. At the door he stopped, and said:—

“Look ’ere, guv’nor, there ain’t no sense in me a-keepin’ you ’ere. Imay find Sam soon, or I mayn’t; but anyhow he ain’t like to be in a wayto tell ye much to-night. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze.If you can give me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address onit, I’ll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye to-night. Butye’d better be up arter ’im soon in the mornin’, or maybe ye won’t ketch’im; for Sam gets off main early, never mind the booze the night afore.”

This was all practical, so one of the children went off with a penny tobuy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change. When shecame back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it, and when Smollet hadagain faithfully promised to post the address when found, I took my wayto home. We’re on the track anyhow. I am tired to-night, and want sleep.Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale; her eyes look asthough she had been crying. Poor dear, I’ve no doubt it frets her to bekept in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and theothers. But it is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed andworried in such a way now than to have her nerve broken. The doctorswere quite right to insist on her being kept out of this dreadfulbusiness. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of silencemust rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with her under anycircumstances. Indeed, it may not be a hard task, after all, for sheherself has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of theCount or his doings ever since we told her of our decision.

2 October, evening.—A long and trying and exciting day. By the firstpost I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper enclosed, onwhich was written with a carpenter’s pencil in a sprawling hand:—

“Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4, Poters Cort, Bartel Street, Walworth. Arsk forthe depite.”

I got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She looked heavyand sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined not to wake her,but that, when I should return from this new search, I would arrange forher going back to Exeter. I think she would be happier in our own home,with her daily tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst us andin ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told him where Iwas off to, promising to come back and tell the rest so soon as I shouldhave found out anything. I drove to Walworth and found, with somedifficulty, Potter’s Court. Mr. Smollet’s spelling misled me, as I askedfor Poter’s Court instead of Potter’s Court. However, when I had foundthe court, I had no difficulty in discovering Corcoran’s lodging-house.When I asked the man who came to the door for the “depite,” he shook hishead, and said: “I dunno ’im. There ain’t no such a person ’ere; I never’eard of ’im in all my bloomin’ days. Don’t believe there ain’t nobodyof that kind livin’ ere or anywheres.” I took out Smollet’s letter, andas I read it it seemed to me that the lesson of the spelling of the nameof the court might guide me. “What are you?” I asked.

“I’m the depity,” he answered. I saw at once that I was on the righttrack; phonetic spelling had again misled me. A half-crown tip put thedeputy’s knowledge at my disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, whohad slept off the remains of his beer on the previous night atCorcoran’s, had left for his work at Poplar at five o’clock thatmorning. He could not tell me where the place of work was situated, buthe had a vague idea that it was some kind of a “new-fangled ware’us”;and with this slender clue I had to start for Poplar. It was twelveo’clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a building, and thisI got at a coffee-shop, where some workmen were having their dinner. Oneof these suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel Street anew “cold storage” building; and as this suited the condition of a“new-fangled ware’us,” I at once drove to it. An interview with a surlygatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were appeased with thecoin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on mysuggesting that I was willing to pay his day’s wages to his foreman forthe privilege of asking him a few questions on a private matter. He wasa smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I hadpromised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told methat he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly,and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes—“mainheavy ones”—with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. Iasked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, towhich he replied:—

“Well, guv’nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few doors from abig white church or somethink of the kind, not long built. It was adusty old ’ouse, too, though nothin’ to the dustiness of the ’ouse wetooked the bloomin’ boxes from.”

“How did you get into the houses if they were both empty?”

“There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin’ in the ’ouse atPurfleet. He ’elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curseme, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an’ him a old feller,with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn’t throwa shadder.”

How this phrase thrilled through me!

“Why, ’e took up ’is end o’ the boxes like they was pounds of tea, andme a-puffin’ an’ a-blowin’ afore I could up-end mine anyhow—an’ I’m nochicken, neither.”

“How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?” I asked.

“He was there too. He must ’a’ started off and got there afore me, forwhen I rung of the bell he kem an’ opened the door ’isself an’ ’elped meto carry the boxes into the ’all.”

“The whole nine?” I asked.

“Yus; there was five in the first load an’ four in the second. It wasmain dry work, an’ I don’t so well remember ’ow I got ’ome.” Iinterrupted him:—

“Were the boxes left in the hall?”

“Yus; it was a big ’all, an’ there was nothin’ else in it.” I made onemore attempt to further matters:—

“You didn’t have any key?”

“Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door ’isselfan’ shut it again when I druv off. I don’t remember the last time—butthat was the beer.”

“And you can’t remember the number of the house?”

“No, sir. But ye needn’t have no difficulty about that. It’s a ’igh ’unwith a stone front with a bow on it, an’ ’igh steps up to the door. Iknow them steps, ’avin’ ’ad to carry the boxes up with three loaferswhat come round to earn a copper. The old gent give them shillin’s, an’they seein’ they got so much, they wanted more; but ’e took one of themby the shoulder and was like to throw ’im down the steps, till the lotof them went away cussin’.” I thought that with this description I couldfind the house, so, having paid my friend for his information, I startedoff for Piccadilly. I had gained a new painful experience; the Countcould, it was evident, handle the earth-boxes himself. If so, time wasprecious; for, now that he had achieved a certain amount ofdistribution, he could, by choosing his own time, complete the taskunobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I discharged my cab, and walkedwestward; beyond the Junior Constitutional I came across the housedescribed, and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairsarranged by Dracula. The house looked as though it had been longuntenanted. The windows were encrusted with dust, and the shutters wereup. All the framework was black with time, and from the iron the painthad mostly scaled away. It was evident that up to lately there had beena large notice-board in front of the balcony; it had, however, beenroughly torn away, the uprights which had supported it still remaining.Behind the rails of the balcony I saw there were some loose boards,whose raw edges looked white. I would have given a good deal to havebeen able to see the notice-board intact, as it would, perhaps, havegiven some clue to the ownership of the house. I remembered myexperience of the investigation and purchase of Carfax, and I could notbut feel that if I could find the former owner there might be some meansdiscovered of gaining access to the house.

There was at present nothing to be learned from the Piccadilly side, andnothing could be done; so I went round to the back to see if anythingcould be gathered from this quarter. The mews were active, thePiccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked one or two of thegrooms and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me anythingabout the empty house. One of them said that he heard it had lately beentaken, but he couldn’t say from whom. He told me, however, that up tovery lately there had been a notice-board of “For Sale” up, and thatperhaps Mitchell, Sons, & Candy, the house agents, could tell mesomething, as he thought he remembered seeing the name of that firm onthe board. I did not wish to seem too eager, or to let my informant knowor guess too much, so, thanking him in the usual manner, I strolledaway. It was now growing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so Idid not lose any time. Having learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, &Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office inSackville Street.

The gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, butuncommunicative in equal proportion. Having once told me that thePiccadilly house—which throughout our interview he called a“mansion”—was sold, he considered my business as concluded. When Iasked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, andpaused a few seconds before replying:—

“It is sold, sir.”

“Pardon me,” I said, with equal politeness, “but I have a special reasonfor wishing to know who purchased it.”

Again he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still more. “It is sold,sir,” was again his laconic reply.

“Surely,” I said, “you do not mind letting me know so much.”

“But I do mind,” he answered. “The affairs of their clients areabsolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy.” This wasmanifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no use arguing withhim. I thought I had best meet him on his own ground, so I said:—

“Your clients, sir, are happy in having so resolute a guardian of theirconfidence. I am myself a professional man.” Here I handed him my card.“In this instance I am not prompted by curiosity; I act on the part ofLord Godalming, who wishes to know something of the property which was,he understood, lately for sale.” These words put a different complexionon affairs. He said:—

“I would like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and especially wouldI like to oblige his lordship. We once carried out a small matter ofrenting some chambers for him when he was the Honourable ArthurHolmwood. If you will let me have his lordship’s address I will consultthe House on the subject, and will, in any case, communicate with hislordship by to-night’s post. It will be a pleasure if we can so fardeviate from our rules as to give the required information to hislordship.”

I wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so I thanked him,gave the address at Dr. Seward’s and came away. It was now dark, and Iwas tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the Aërated Bread Companyand came down to Purfleet by the next train.

I found all the others at home. Mina was looking tired and pale, but shemade a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful, it wrung my heart tothink that I had had to keep anything from her and so caused herinquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of her looking on atour conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing ourconfidence. It took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution ofkeeping her out of our grim task. She seems somehow more reconciled; orelse the very subject seems to have become repugnant to her, for whenany accidental allusion is made she actually shudders. I am glad wemade our resolution in time, as with such a feeling as this, our growingknowledge would be torture to her.

I could not tell the others of the day’s discovery till we were alone;so after dinner—followed by a little music to save appearances evenamongst ourselves—I took Mina to her room and left her to go to bed.The dear girl was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung to meas though she would detain me; but there was much to be talked of and Icame away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has made nodifference between us.

When I came down again I found the others all gathered round the fire inthe study. In the train I had written my diary so far, and simply readit off to them as the best means of letting them get abreast of my owninformation; when I had finished Van Helsing said:—

“This has been a great day’s work, friend Jonathan. Doubtless we are onthe track of the missing boxes. If we find them all in that house, thenour work is near the end. But if there be some missing, we must searchuntil we find them. Then shall we make our final coup, and hunt thewretch to his real death.” We all sat silent awhile and all at once Mr.Morris spoke:—

“Say! how are we going to get into that house?”

“We got into the other,” answered Lord Godalming quickly.

“But, Art, this is different. We broke house at Carfax, but we had nightand a walled park to protect us. It will be a mighty different thing tocommit burglary in Piccadilly, either by day or night. I confess I don’tsee how we are going to get in unless that agency duck can find us a keyof some sort; perhaps we shall know when you get his letter in themorning.” Lord Godalming’s brows contracted, and he stood up and walkedabout the room. By-and-by he stopped and said, turning from one toanother of us:—

“Quincey’s head is level. This burglary business is getting serious; wegot off once all right; but we have now a rare job on hand—unless wecan find the Count’s key basket.”

As nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be atleast advisable to wait till Lord Godalming should hear from Mitchell’s,we decided not to take any active step before breakfast time. For a goodwhile we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in its various lights andbearings; I took the opportunity of bringing this diary right up to themoment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed....

Just a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her breathing is regular. Herforehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though she thinks evenin her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look so haggard as shedid this morning. To-morrow will, I hope, mend all this; she will beherself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy!

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

1 October.—I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His moods change sorapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as theyalways mean something more than his own well-being, they form a morethan interesting study. This morning, when I went to see him after hisrepulse of Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man commanding destiny.He was, in fact, commanding destiny—subjectively. He did not reallycare for any of the things of mere earth; he was in the clouds andlooked down on all the weaknesses and wants of us poor mortals. Ithought I would improve the occasion and learn something, so I askedhim:—

“What about the flies these times?” He smiled on me in quite a superiorsort of way—such a smile as would have become the face of Malvolio—ashe answered me:—

“The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature; its wings are typicalof the aërial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients did wellwhen they typified the soul as a butterfly!”

I thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I saidquickly:—

“Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?” His madness foiled hisreason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as, shaking his headwith a decision which I had but seldom seen in him, he said:—

“Oh, no, oh no! I want no souls. Life is all I want.” Here he brightenedup; “I am pretty indifferent about it at present. Life is all right; Ihave all I want. You must get a new patient, doctor, if you wish tostudy zoöphagy!”

This puzzled me a little, so I drew him on:—

“Then you command life; you are a god, I suppose?” He smiled with anineffably benign superiority.

“Oh no! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the attributes of theDeity. I am not even concerned in His especially spiritual doings. If Imay state my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns thingspurely terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch occupiedspiritually!” This was a poser to me. I could not at the moment recallEnoch’s appositeness; so I had to ask a simple question, though I feltthat by so doing I was lowering myself in the eyes of the lunatic:—

“And why with Enoch?”

“Because he walked with God.” I could not see the analogy, but did notlike to admit it; so I harked back to what he had denied:—

“So you don’t care about life and you don’t want souls. Why not?” I putmy question quickly and somewhat sternly, on purpose to disconcert him.The effort succeeded; for an instant he unconsciously relapsed into hisold servile manner, bent low before me, and actually fawned upon me ashe replied:—

“I don’t want any souls, indeed, indeed! I don’t. I couldn’t use them ifI had them; they would be no manner of use to me. I couldn’t eat themor——” He suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over hisface, like a wind-sweep on the surface of the water. “And doctor, as tolife, what is it after all? When you’ve got all you require, and youknow that you will never want, that is all. I have friends—goodfriends—like you, Dr. Seward”; this was said with a leer ofinexpressible cunning. “I know that I shall never lack the means oflife!”

I think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw someantagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last refuge of such ashe—a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the present itwas useless to speak to him. He was sulky, and so I came away.

Later in the day he sent for me. Ordinarily I would not have comewithout special reason, but just at present I am so interested in himthat I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to have anythingto help to pass the time. Harker is out, following up clues; and so areLord Godalming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in my study poring over therecord prepared by the Harkers; he seems to think that by accurateknowledge of all details he will light upon some clue. He does not wishto be disturbed in the work, without cause. I would have taken him withme to see the patient, only I thought that after his last repulse hemight not care to go again. There was also another reason: Renfieldmight not speak so freely before a third person as when he and I werealone.

I found him sitting out in the middle of the floor on his stool, a posewhich is generally indicative of some mental energy on his part. When Icame in, he said at once, as though the question had been waiting on hislips:—

“What about souls?” It was evident then that my surmise had beencorrect. Unconscious cerebration was doing its work, even with thelunatic. I determined to have the matter out. “What about themyourself?” I asked. He did not reply for a moment but looked all roundhim, and up and down, as though he expected to find some inspiration foran answer.

“I don’t want any souls!” he said in a feeble, apologetic way. Thematter seemed preying on his mind, and so I determined to use it—to “becruel only to be kind.” So I said:—

“You like life, and you want life?”

“Oh yes! but that is all right; you needn’t worry about that!”

“But,” I asked, “how are we to get the life without getting the soulalso?” This seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it up:—

“A nice time you’ll have some time when you’re flying out there, withthe souls of thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats buzzingand twittering and miauing all round you. You’ve got their lives, youknow, and you must put up with their souls!” Something seemed to affecthis imagination, for he put his fingers to his ears and shut his eyes,screwing them up tightly just as a small boy does when his face is beingsoaped. There was something pathetic in it that touched me; it also gaveme a lesson, for it seemed that before me was a child—only a child,though the features were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white. Itwas evident that he was undergoing some process of mental disturbance,and, knowing how his past moods had interpreted things seemingly foreignto himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as well as I could andgo with him. The first step was to restore confidence, so I asked him,speaking pretty loud so that he would hear me through his closed ears:—

“Would you like some sugar to get your flies round again?” He seemed towake up all at once, and shook his head. With a laugh he replied:—

“Not much! flies are poor things, after all!” After a pause he added,“But I don’t want their souls buzzing round me, all the same.”

“Or spiders?” I went on.

“Blow spiders! What’s the use of spiders? There isn’t anything in themto eat or”—he stopped suddenly, as though reminded of a forbiddentopic.

“So, so!” I thought to myself, “this is the second time he has suddenlystopped at the word ‘drink’; what does it mean?” Renfield seemed himselfaware of having made a lapse, for he hurried on, as though to distractmy attention from it:—

“I don’t take any stock at all in such matters. ‘Rats and mice and suchsmall deer,’ as Shakespeare has it, ‘chicken-feed of the larder’ theymight be called. I’m past all that sort of nonsense. You might as wellask a man to eat molecules with a pair of chop-sticks, as to try tointerest me about the lesser carnivora, when I know of what is beforeme.”

“I see,” I said. “You want big things that you can make your teeth meetin? How would you like to breakfast on elephant?”

“What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!” He was getting too wideawake, so I thought I would press him hard. “I wonder,” I saidreflectively, “what an elephant’s soul is like!”

The effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from hishigh-horse and became a child again.

“I don’t want an elephant’s soul, or any soul at all!” he said. For afew moments he sat despondently. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, withhis eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral excitement. “Tohell with you and your souls!” he shouted. “Why do you plague me aboutsouls? Haven’t I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me already,without thinking of souls!” He looked so hostile that I thought he wasin for another homicidal fit, so I blew my whistle. The instant,however, that I did so he became calm, and said apologetically:—

“Forgive me, Doctor; I forgot myself. You do not need any help. I am soworried in my mind that I am apt to be irritable. If you only knew theproblem I have to face, and that I am working out, you would pity, andtolerate, and pardon me. Pray do not put me in a strait-waistcoat. Iwant to think and I cannot think freely when my body is confined. I amsure you will understand!” He had evidently self-control; so when theattendants came I told them not to mind, and they withdrew. Renfieldwatched them go; when the door was closed he said, with considerabledignity and sweetness:—

“Dr. Seward, you have been very considerate towards me. Believe me thatI am very, very grateful to you!” I thought it well to leave him in thismood, and so I came away. There is certainly something to ponder over inthis man’s state. Several points seem to make what the Americaninterviewer calls “a story,” if one could only get them in proper order.Here they are:—

Will not mention “drinking.”

Fears the thought of being burdened with the “soul” of anything.

Has no dread of wanting “life” in the future.

Despises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads beinghaunted by their souls.

Logically all these things point one way! he has assurance of some kindthat he will acquire some higher life. He dreads the consequence—theburden of a soul. Then it is a human life he looks to!

And the assurance—?

Merciful God! the Count has been to him, and there is some new scheme ofterror afoot!

Later.—I went after my round to Van Helsing and told him mysuspicion. He grew very grave; and, after thinking the matter over for awhile asked me to take him to Renfield. I did so. As we came to the doorwe heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as he used to do in the timewhich now seems so long ago. When we entered we saw with amazement thathe had spread out his sugar as of old; the flies, lethargic with theautumn, were beginning to buzz into the room. We tried to make him talkof the subject of our previous conversation, but he would not attend. Hewent on with his singing, just as though we had not been present. He hadgot a scrap of paper and was folding it into a note-book. We had to comeaway as ignorant as we went in.

His is a curious case indeed; we must watch him to-night.

Letter, Mitchell, Sons and Candy to Lord Godalming.

“1 October.

“My Lord,

“We are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. We beg, withregard to the desire of your Lordship, expressed by Mr. Harker on yourbehalf, to supply the following information concerning the sale andpurchase of No. 347, Piccadilly. The original vendors are the executorsof the late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser is a foreignnobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the purchase himself paying thepurchase money in notes ‘over the counter,’ if your Lordship will pardonus using so vulgar an expression. Beyond this we know nothing whateverof him.

“We are, my Lord,
“Your Lordship’s humble servants,
“Mitchell, Sons & Candy.”

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

2 October.—I placed a man in the corridor last night, and told him tomake an accurate note of any sound he might hear from Renfield’s room,and gave him instructions that if there should be anything strange hewas to call me. After dinner, when we had all gathered round the firein the study—Mrs. Harker having gone to bed—we discussed the attemptsand discoveries of the day. Harker was the only one who had any result,and we are in great hopes that his clue may be an important one.

Before going to bed I went round to the patient’s room and looked inthrough the observation trap. He was sleeping soundly, and his heartrose and fell with regular respiration.

This morning the man on duty reported to me that a little after midnighthe was restless and kept saying his prayers somewhat loudly. I asked himif that was all; he replied that it was all he heard. There wassomething about his manner so suspicious that I asked him point blank ifhe had been asleep. He denied sleep, but admitted to having “dozed” fora while. It is too bad that men cannot be trusted unless they arewatched.

To-day Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey arelooking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be well to havehorses always in readiness, for when we get the information which weseek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilise all the importedearth between sunrise and sunset; we shall thus catch the Count at hisweakest, and without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is off to theBritish Museum looking up some authorities on ancient medicine. The oldphysicians took account of things which their followers do not accept,and the Professor is searching for witch and demon cures which may beuseful to us later.

I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity instrait-waistcoats.

Later.—We have met again. We seem at last to be on the track, and ourwork of to-morrow may be the beginning of the end. I wonder ifRenfield’s quiet has anything to do with this. His moods have sofollowed the doings of the Count, that the coming destruction of themonster may be carried to him in some subtle way. If we could only getsome hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time of my argumentwith him to-day and his resumption of fly-catching, it might afford us avaluable clue. He is now seemingly quiet for a spell.... Is he?—— Thatwild yell seemed to come from his room....

The attendant came bursting into my room and told me that Renfield hadsomehow met with some accident. He had heard him yell; and when he wentto him found him lying on his face on the floor, all covered with blood.I must go at once....

CHAPTER XXI

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

3 October.—Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as wellas I can remember it, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that Ican recall must be forgotten; in all calmness I must proceed.

When I came to Renfield’s room I found him lying on the floor on hisleft side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, itbecame at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries;there seemed none of that unity of purpose between the parts of the bodywhich marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could seethat it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against thefloor—indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of bloodoriginated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me aswe turned him over:—

“I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg andthe whole side of his face are paralysed.” How such a thing could havehappened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed quitebewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said:—

“I can’t understand the two things. He could mark his face like that bybeating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at theEversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose hemight have broke his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkwardkink. But for the life of me I can’t imagine how the two thingsoccurred. If his back was broke, he couldn’t beat his head; and if hisface was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks ofit.” I said to him:—

“Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I wanthim without an instant’s delay.” The man ran off, and within a fewminutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared. Whenhe saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, andthen turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eyes, for hesaid very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant:—

“Ah, a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and muchattention. I shall stay with you myself; but I shall first dress myself.If you will remain I shall in a few minutes join you.”

The patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to see thathe had suffered some terrible injury. Van Helsing returned withextraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He hadevidently been thinking and had his mind made up; for, almost before helooked at the patient, he whispered to me:—

“Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomesconscious, after the operation.” So I said:—

“I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all that we can atpresent. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van Helsing will operate.Let me know instantly if there be anything unusual anywhere.”

The man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the patient.The wounds of the face was superficial; the real injury was a depressedfracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor area. TheProfessor thought a moment and said:—

“We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as faras can be; the rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature ofhis injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of thebrain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may betoo late.” As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. Iwent over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur andQuincey in pajamas and slippers: the former spoke:—

“I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident.So I woke Quincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Thingsare moving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of usthese times. I’ve been thinking that to-morrow night will not see thingsas they have been. We’ll have to look back—and forward a little morethan we have done. May we come in?” I nodded, and held the door opentill they had entered; then I closed it again. When Quincey saw theattitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on thefloor, he said softly:—

“My God! what has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!” I told himbriefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness afterthe operation—for a short time, at all events. He went at once and satdown on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him; we all watchedin patience.

“We shall wait,” said Van Helsing, “just long enough to fix the bestspot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly removethe blood clot; for it is evident that the hæmorrhage is increasing.”

The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I had ahorrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing’s face I gatheredthat he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreadedthe words that Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think;but the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of menwho have heard the death-watch. The poor man’s breathing came inuncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyesand speak; but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and hewould relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sickbeds and death, this suspense grew, and grew upon me. I could almosthear the beating of my own heart; and the blood surging through mytemples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence finally becameagonising. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw fromtheir flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equaltorture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overheadsome dread bell would peal out powerfully when we should least expectit.

At last there came a time when it was evident that the patient wassinking fast; he might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professorand caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as hespoke:—

“There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives; I havebeen thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake!We shall operate just above the ear.”

Without another word he made the operation. For a few moments thebreathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath soprolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest.Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare.This was continued for a few moments; then it softened into a gladsurprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief. He movedconvulsively, and as he did so, said:—

“I’ll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait-waistcoat. Ihave had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannotmove. What’s wrong with my face? it feels all swollen, and it smartsdreadfully.” He tried to turn his head; but even with the effort hiseyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then VanHelsing said in a quiet grave tone:—

“Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield.” As he heard the voice his facebrightened, through its mutilation, and he said:—

“That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give me somewater, my lips are dry; and I shall try to tell you. I dreamed”—hestopped and seemed fainting, I called quietly to Quincey—“Thebrandy—it is in my study—quick!” He flew and returned with a glass,the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parchedlips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, that his poorinjured brain had been working in the interval, for, when he was quiteconscious, he looked at me piercingly with an agonised confusion which Ishall never forget, and said:—

“I must not deceive myself; it was no dream, but all a grim reality.”Then his eyes roved round the room; as they caught sight of the twofigures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on:—

“If I were not sure already, I would know from them.” For an instant hiseyes closed—not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he werebringing all his faculties to bear; when he opened them he said,hurriedly, and with more energy than he had yet displayed:—

“Quick, Doctor, quick. I am dying! I feel that I have but a few minutes;and then I must go back to death—or worse! Wet my lips with brandyagain. I have something that I must say before I die; or before my poorcrushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you leftme, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn’t speak then, for Ifelt my tongue was tied; but I was as sane then, except in that way, asI am now. I was in an agony of despair for a long time after you leftme; it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brainseemed to become cool again, and I realised where I was. I heard thedogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!” As he spoke, VanHelsing’s eyes never blinked, but his hand came out and met mine andgripped it hard. He did not, however, betray himself; he nodded slightlyand said: “Go on,” in a low voice. Renfield proceeded:—

“He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before;but he was solid then—not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like aman’s when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp whiteteeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the beltof trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn’t ask him to come inat first, though I knew he wanted to—just as he had wanted all along.Then he began promising me things—not in words but by doing them.” Hewas interrupted by a word from the Professor:—

“How?”

“By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when thesun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on theirwings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on theirbacks.” Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously:—

“The Acherontia Aitetropos of the Sphinges—what you call the‘Death’s-head Moth’?” The patient went on without stopping.

“Then he began to whisper: ‘Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands,millions of them, and every one a life; and dogs to eat them, and catstoo. All lives! all red blood, with years of life in it; and not merelybuzzing flies!’ I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do.Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. Hebeckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He raised hishands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A dark massspread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire; andthen He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that therewere thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red—like His, onlysmaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and I thought heseemed to be saying: ‘All these lives will I give you, ay, and many moreand greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worshipme!’ And then a red cloud, like the colour of blood, seemed to closeover my eyes; and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself openingthe sash and saying to Him: ‘Come in, Lord and Master!’ The rats wereall gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was onlyopen an inch wide—just as the Moon herself has often come in throughthe tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size andsplendour.”

His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again, andhe continued; but it seemed as though his memory had gone on working inthe interval for his story was further advanced. I was about to call himback to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me: “Let him go on. Donot interrupt him; he cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at allif once he lost the thread of his thought.” He proceeded:—

“All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send me anything, noteven a blow-fly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with him.When he slid in through the window, though it was shut, and did not evenknock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face lookedout of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on as though heowned the whole place, and I was no one. He didn’t even smell the sameas he went by me. I couldn’t hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs.Harker had come into the room.”

The two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behindhim so that he could not see them, but where they could hear better.They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered; his face,however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on withoutnoticing:—

“When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn’t the same;it was like tea after the teapot had been watered.” Here we all moved,but no one said a word; he went on:—

“I didn’t know that she was here till she spoke; and she didn’t look thesame. I don’t care for the pale people; I like them with lots of bloodin them, and hers had all seemed to have run out. I didn’t think of itat the time; but when she went away I began to think, and it made me madto know that He had been taking the life out of her.” I could feel thatthe rest quivered, as I did, but we remained otherwise still. “So whenHe came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and Igrabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; andas I knew I was a madman—at times anyhow—I resolved to use my power.Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to strugglewith me. I held tight; and I thought I was going to win, for I didn’tmean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burnedinto me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, andwhen I tried to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. Therewas a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the mist seemedto steal away under the door.” His voice was becoming fainter and hisbreath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively.

“We know the worst now,” he said. “He is here, and we know his purpose.It may not be too late. Let us be armed—the same as we were the othernight, but lose no time; there is not an instant to spare.” There was noneed to put our fear, nay our conviction, into words—we shared them incommon. We all hurried and took from our rooms the same things that wehad when we entered the Count’s house. The Professor had his ready, andas we met in the corridor he pointed to them significantly as he said:—

“They never leave me; and they shall not till this unhappy business isover. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with.Alas! alas! that that dear Madam Mina should suffer!” He stopped; hisvoice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated inmy own heart.

Outside the Harkers’ door we paused. Art and Quincey held back, and thelatter said:—

“Should we disturb her?”

“We must,” said Van Helsing grimly. “If the door be locked, I shallbreak it in.”

“May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a lady’sroom!”

Van Helsing said solemnly, “You are always right; but this is life anddeath. All chambers are alike to the doctor; and even were they not theyare all as one to me to-night. Friend John, when I turn the handle, ifthe door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and shove; and youtoo, my friends. Now!”

He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threwourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we almost fellheadlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I sawacross him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I sawappalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck,and my heart seemed to stand still.

The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the roomwas light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay JonathanHarker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor.Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-cladfigure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black.His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognisedthe Count—in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his lefthand he held both Mrs. Harker’s hands, keeping them away with her armsat full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck,forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smearedwith blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man’s bare breast whichwas shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terribleresemblance to a child forcing a kitten’s nose into a saucer of milk tocompel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count turned hisface, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leapinto it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion; the great nostrilsof the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge; and thewhite sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth,champed together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threwhis victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turnedand sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet,and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the SacredWafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outsidethe tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we,lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as agreat black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang upunder Quincey’s match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, as welooked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its burstingopen, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I movedforward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and withit had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that itseems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For afew seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face wasghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smearedher lips and cheeks and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream ofblood; her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face herpoor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of theCount’s terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wailwhich made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of anendless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gentlyover her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instantdespairingly, ran out of the room. Van Helsing whispered to me:—

“Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We cando nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recoversherself; I must wake him!” He dipped the end of a towel in cold waterand with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the whileholding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that washeart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of thewindow. There was much moonshine; and as I looked I could see QuinceyMorris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a greatyew-tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this; but at theinstant I heard Harker’s quick exclamation as he woke to partialconsciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might wellbe, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, andthen full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and hestarted up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned tohim with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him; instantly,however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together, heldher hands before her face, and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook.

“In God’s name what does this mean?” Harker cried out. “Dr. Seward, Dr.Van Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear,what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! has it come tothis!” and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands wildlytogether. “Good God help us! help her! oh, help her!” With a quickmovement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his clothes,—all theman in him awake at the need for instant exertion. “What has happened?Tell me all about it!” he cried without pausing. “Dr. Van Helsing, youlove Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. It cannot have gone toofar yet. Guard her while I look for him!” His wife, through her terrorand horror and distress, saw some sure danger to him: instantlyforgetting her own grief, she seized hold of him and cried out:—

“No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enoughto-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must staywith me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!” Herexpression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, shepulled him down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely.

Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up hislittle golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness:—

“Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is close to you nofoul thing can approach. You are safe for to-night; and we must be calmand take counsel together.” She shuddered and was silent, holding downher head on her husband’s breast. When she raised it, his whitenight-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and wherethe thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The instant shesaw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst chokingsobs:—

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that itshould be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may havemost cause to fear.” To this he spoke out resolutely:—

“Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would nothear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by mydeserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour,if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!” He put outhis arms and folded her to his breast; and for a while she lay theresobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that blinkeddamply above his quivering nostrils; his mouth was set as steel. After awhile her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then he said tome, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nervouspower to the utmost:—

“And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the broadfact; tell me all that has been.” I told him exactly what had happened,and he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitchedand his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count hadheld his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth tothe open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, tosee, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively overthe bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffledhair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked at the door.They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at mequestioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take advantage oftheir coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy husbandand wife from each other and from themselves; so on nodding acquiescenceto him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalminganswered:—

“I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. Ilooked in the study but, though he had been there, he had gone. He had,however——” He stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure onthe bed. Van Helsing said gravely:—

“Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope nowis in knowing all. Tell freely!” So Art went on:—

“He had been there, and though it could only have been for a fewseconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had beenburned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; thecylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the waxhad helped the flames.” Here I interrupted. “Thank God there is theother copy in the safe!” His face lit for a moment, but fell again as hewent on: “I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I lookedinto Renfield’s room; but there was no trace there except——!” Again hepaused. “Go on,” said Harker hoarsely; so he bowed his head andmoistening his lips with his tongue, added: “except that the poor fellowis dead.” Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other ofus she said solemnly:—

“God’s will be done!” I could not but feel that Art was keeping backsomething; but, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing.Van Helsing turned to Morris and asked:—

“And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?”

“A little,” he answered. “It may be much eventually, but at present Ican’t say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Count wouldgo when he left the house. I did not see him; but I saw a bat rise fromRenfield’s window, and flap westward. I expected to see him in someshape go back to Carfax; but he evidently sought some other lair. Hewill not be back to-night; for the sky is reddening in the east, and thedawn is close. We must work to-morrow!”

He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of perhapsa couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy that I couldhear the sound of our hearts beating; then Van Helsing said, placing hishand very tenderly on Mrs. Harker’s head:—

“And now, Madam Mina—poor, dear, dear Madam Mina—tell us exactly whathappened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained; but it isneed that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be donequick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that mustend all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we may live andlearn.”

The poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her nervesas she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head lower andlower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly, and heldout one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and, after stooping andkissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in thatof her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly.After a pause in which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, shebegan:—

“I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but for along time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and myriadsof horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind—all of themconnected with death, and vampires; with blood, and pain, and trouble.”Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and saidlovingly: “Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help methrough the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to meto tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much Ineed your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its workwith my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself tosleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, for I remember nomore. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side whennext I remember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that Ihad before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this; you will findit in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the same vagueterror which had come to me before and the same sense of some presence.I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that itseemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. Itried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and Ilooked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me: besidethe bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist—or rather as if the misthad turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared—stood atall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description ofthe others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the lightfell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp whiteteeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in thesunset on the windows of St. Mary’s Church at Whitby. I knew, too, thered scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instantmy heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I wasparalysed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper,pointing as he spoke to Jonathan:—

“‘Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains outbefore your very eyes.’ I was appalled and was too bewildered to do orsay anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulderand, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he didso, ‘First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as wellbe quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins haveappeased my thirst!’ I was bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did notwant to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse thatsuch is, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pityme! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!” Her husband groanedagain. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as ifhe were the injured one, and went on:—

“I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How longthis horrible thing lasted I know not; but it seemed that a long timemust have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. Isaw it drip with the fresh blood!” The remembrance seemed for a while tooverpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down but for herhusband’s sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself andwent on:—

“Then he spoke to me mockingly, ‘And so you, like the others, would playyour brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me andfrustrate me in my designs! You know now, and they know in part already,and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. Theyshould have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst theyplayed wits against me—against me who commanded nations, and intriguedfor them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they wereborn—I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are nowto me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountifulwine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and myhelper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shallminister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what youhave done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to mycall. When my brain says “Come!” to you, you shall cross land or sea todo my bidding; and to that end this!’ With that he pulled open hisshirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. Whenthe blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holdingthem tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth tothe wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the—— Ohmy God! my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such afate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all mydays. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril;and in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!” Then she began to rub herlips as though to cleanse them from pollution.

As she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken,and everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet;but over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey lookwhich deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the firstred streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly outagainst the whitening hair.

We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the unhappypair till we can meet together and arrange about taking action.

Of this I am sure: the sun rises to-day on no more miserable house inall the great round of its daily course.

CHAPTER XXII

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL

3 October.—As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary. Itis now six o’clock, and we are to meet in the study in half an hour andtake something to eat; for Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward are agreedthat if we do not eat we cannot work our best. Our best will be, Godknows, required to-day. I must keep writing at every chance, for I darenot stop to think. All, big and little, must go down; perhaps at the endthe little things may teach us most. The teaching, big or little, couldnot have landed Mina or me anywhere worse than we are to-day. However,we must trust and hope. Poor Mina told me just now, with the tearsrunning down her dear cheeks, that it is in trouble and trial that ourfaith is tested—that we must keep on trusting; and that God will aid usup to the end. The end! oh my God! what end?... To work! To work!

When Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward had come back from seeing poorRenfield, we went gravely into what was to be done. First, Dr. Sewardtold us that when he and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to the room belowthey had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a heap. His face wasall bruised and crushed in, and the bones of the neck were broken.

Dr. Seward asked the attendant who was on duty in the passage if he hadheard anything. He said that he had been sitting down—he confessed tohalf dozing—when he heard loud voices in the room, and then Renfieldhad called out loudly several times, “God! God! God!” after that therewas a sound of falling, and when he entered the room he found him lyingon the floor, face down, just as the doctors had seen him. Van Helsingasked if he had heard “voices” or “a voice,” and he said he could notsay; that at first it had seemed to him as if there were two, but asthere was no one in the room it could have been only one. He could swearto it, if required, that the word “God” was spoken by the patient. Dr.Seward said to us, when we were alone, that he did not wish to go intothe matter; the question of an inquest had to be considered, and itwould never do to put forward the truth, as no one would believe it. Asit was, he thought that on the attendant’s evidence he could give acertificate of death by misadventure in falling from bed. In case thecoroner should demand it, there would be a formal inquest, necessarilyto the same result.

When the question began to be discussed as to what should be our nextstep, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be in fullconfidence; that nothing of any sort—no matter how painful—should bekept from her. She herself agreed as to its wisdom, and it was pitifulto see her so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a depth ofdespair. “There must be no concealment,” she said, “Alas! we have hadtoo much already. And besides there is nothing in all the world that cangive me more pain than I have already endured—than I suffer now!Whatever may happen, it must be of new hope or of new courage to me!”Van Helsing was looking at her fixedly as she spoke, and said, suddenlybut quietly:—

“But dear Madam Mina, are you not afraid; not for yourself, but forothers from yourself, after what has happened?” Her face grew set in itslines, but her eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr as sheanswered:—

“Ah no! for my mind is made up!”

“To what?” he asked gently, whilst we were all very still; for each inour own way we had a sort of vague idea of what she meant. Her answercame with direct simplicity, as though she were simply stating a fact:—

“Because if I find in myself—and I shall watch keenly for it—a sign ofharm to any that I love, I shall die!”

“You would not kill yourself?” he asked, hoarsely.

“I would; if there were no friend who loved me, who would save me such apain, and so desperate an effort!” She looked at him meaningly as shespoke. He was sitting down; but now he rose and came close to her andput his hand on her head as he said solemnly:

“My child, there is such an one if it were for your good. For myself Icould hold it in my account with God to find such an euthanasia for you,even at this moment if it were best. Nay, were it safe! But mychild——” For a moment he seemed choked, and a great sob rose in histhroat; he gulped it down and went on:—

“There are here some who would stand between you and death. You must notdie. You must not die by any hand; but least of all by your own. Untilthe other, who has fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must notdie; for if he is still with the quick Un-Dead, your death would makeyou even as he is. No, you must live! You must struggle and strive tolive, though death would seem a boon unspeakable. You must fight Deathhimself, though he come to you in pain or in joy; by the day, or thenight; in safety or in peril! On your living soul I charge you that youdo not die—nay, nor think of death—till this great evil be past.” Thepoor dear grew white as death, and shock and shivered, as I have seen aquicksand shake and shiver at the incoming of the tide. We were allsilent; we could do nothing. At length she grew more calm and turning tohim said, sweetly, but oh! so sorrowfully, as she held out her hand:—

“I promise you, my dear friend, that if God will let me live, I shallstrive to do so; till, if it may be in His good time, this horror mayhave passed away from me.” She was so good and brave that we all feltthat our hearts were strengthened to work and endure for her, and webegan to discuss what we were to do. I told her that she was to have allthe papers in the safe, and all the papers or diaries and phonographs wemight hereafter use; and was to keep the record as she had done before.She was pleased with the prospect of anything to do—if “pleased” couldbe used in connection with so grim an interest.

As usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of everyone else, and wasprepared with an exact ordering of our work.

“It is perhaps well,” he said, “that at our meeting after our visit toCarfax we decided not to do anything with the earth-boxes that laythere. Had we done so, the Count must have guessed our purpose, andwould doubtless have taken measures in advance to frustrate such aneffort with regard to the others; but now he does not know ourintentions. Nay, more, in all probability, he does not know that such apower exists to us as can sterilise his lairs, so that he cannot usethem as of old. We are now so much further advanced in our knowledge asto their disposition that, when we have examined the house inPiccadilly, we may track the very last of them. To-day, then, is ours;and in it rests our hope. The sun that rose on our sorrow this morningguards us in its course. Until it sets to-night, that monster mustretain whatever form he now has. He is confined within the limitationsof his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin air nor disappearthrough cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go through a doorway, hemust open the door like a mortal. And so we have this day to hunt outall his lairs and sterilise them. So we shall, if we have not yet catchhim and destroy him, drive him to bay in some place where the catchingand the destroying shall be, in time, sure.” Here I started up for Icould not contain myself at the thought that the minutes and seconds sopreciously laden with Mina’s life and happiness were flying from us,since whilst we talked action was impossible. But Van Helsing held uphis hand warningly. “Nay, friend Jonathan,” he said, “in this, thequickest way home is the longest way, so your proverb say. We shall allact and act with desperate quick, when the time has come. But think, inall probable the key of the situation is in that house in Piccadilly.The Count may have many houses which he has bought. Of them he will havedeeds of purchase, keys and other things. He will have paper that hewrite on; he will have his book of cheques. There are many belongingsthat he must have somewhere; why not in this place so central, so quiet,where he come and go by the front or the back at all hour, when in thevery vast of the traffic there is none to notice. We shall go there andsearch that house; and when we learn what it holds, then we do what ourfriend Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt ‘stop the earths’ and so werun down our old fox—so? is it not?”

“Then let us come at once,” I cried, “we are wasting the precious,precious time!” The Professor did not move, but simply said:—

“And how are we to get into that house in Piccadilly?”

“Any way!” I cried. “We shall break in if need be.”

“And your police; where will they be, and what will they say?”

I was staggered; but I knew that if he wished to delay he had a goodreason for it. So I said, as quietly as I could:—

“Don’t wait more than need be; you know, I am sure, what torture I amin.”

“Ah, my child, that I do; and indeed there is no wish of me to add toyour anguish. But just think, what can we do, until all the world be atmovement. Then will come our time. I have thought and thought, and itseems to me that the simplest way is the best of all. Now we wish to getinto the house, but we have no key; is it not so?” I nodded.

“Now suppose that you were, in truth, the owner of that house, and couldnot still get in; and think there was to you no conscience of thehousebreaker, what would you do?”

“I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work to pick thelock for me.”

“And your police, they would interfere, would they not?”

“Oh, no! not if they knew the man was properly employed.”

“Then,” he looked at me as keenly as he spoke, “all that is in doubt isthe conscience of the employer, and the belief of your policemen as towhether or no that employer has a good conscience or a bad one. Yourpolice must indeed be zealous men and clever—oh, so clever!—in readingthe heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter. No, no, myfriend Jonathan, you go take the lock off a hundred empty house in thisyour London, or of any city in the world; and if you do it as suchthings are rightly done, and at the time such things are rightly done,no one will interfere. I have read of a gentleman who owned a so finehouse in London, and when he went for months of summer to Switzerlandand lock up his house, some burglar came and broke window at back andgot in. Then he went and made open the shutters in front and walk outand in through the door, before the very eyes of the police. Then hehave an auction in that house, and advertise it, and put up big notice;and when the day come he sell off by a great auctioneer all the goods ofthat other man who own them. Then he go to a builder, and he sell himthat house, making an agreement that he pull it down and take all awaywithin a certain time. And your police and other authority help him allthey can. And when that owner come back from his holiday in Switzerlandhe find only an empty hole where his house had been. This was all doneen règle; and in our work we shall be en règle too. We shall not goso early that the policemen who have then little to think of, shall deemit strange; but we shall go after ten o’clock, when there are manyabout, and such things would be done were we indeed owners of thehouse.”

I could not but see how right he was and the terrible despair of Mina’sface became relaxed a thought; there was hope in such good counsel. VanHelsing went on:—

“When once within that house we may find more clues; at any rate some ofus can remain there whilst the rest find the other places where there bemore earth-boxes—at Bermondsey and Mile End.”

Lord Godalming stood up. “I can be of some use here,” he said. “I shallwire to my people to have horses and carriages where they will be mostconvenient.”

“Look here, old fellow,” said Morris, “it is a capital idea to have allready in case we want to go horsebacking; but don’t you think that oneof your snappy carriages with its heraldic adornments in a byway ofWalworth or Mile End would attract too much attention for our purposes?It seems to me that we ought to take cabs when we go south or east; andeven leave them somewhere near the neighbourhood we are going to.”

“Friend Quincey is right!” said the Professor. “His head is what youcall in plane with the horizon. It is a difficult thing that we go todo, and we do not want no peoples to watch us if so it may.”

Mina took a growing interest in everything and I was rejoiced to seethat the exigency of affairs was helping her to forget for a time theterrible experience of the night. She was very, very pale—almostghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing her teeth insomewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last, lest it should giveher needless pain; but it made my blood run cold in my veins to think ofwhat had occurred with poor Lucy when the Count had sucked her blood. Asyet there was no sign of the teeth growing sharper; but the time as yetwas short, and there was time for fear.

When we came to the discussion of the sequence of our efforts and of thedisposition of our forces, there were new sources of doubt. It wasfinally agreed that before starting for Piccadilly we should destroy theCount’s lair close at hand. In case he should find it out too soon, weshould thus be still ahead of him in our work of destruction; and hispresence in his purely material shape, and at his weakest, might give ussome new clue.

As to the disposal of forces, it was suggested by the Professor that,after our visit to Carfax, we should all enter the house in Piccadilly;that the two doctors and I should remain there, whilst Lord Godalmingand Quincey found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End and destroyed them.It was possible, if not likely, the Professor urged, that the Countmight appear in Piccadilly during the day, and that if so we might beable to cope with him then and there. At any rate, we might be able tofollow him in force. To this plan I strenuously objected, and so far asmy going was concerned, for I said that I intended to stay and protectMina, I thought that my mind was made up on the subject; but Mina wouldnot listen to my objection. She said that there might be some law matterin which I could be useful; that amongst the Count’s papers might besome clue which I could understand out of my experience in Transylvania;and that, as it was, all the strength we could muster was required tocope with the Count’s extraordinary power. I had to give in, for Mina’sresolution was fixed; she said that it was the last hope for her thatwe should all work together. “As for me,” she said, “I have no fear.Things have been as bad as they can be; and whatever may happen musthave in it some element of hope or comfort. Go, my husband! God can, ifHe wishes it, guard me as well alone as with any one present.” So Istarted up crying out: “Then in God’s name let us come at once, for weare losing time. The Count may come to Piccadilly earlier than wethink.”

“Not so!” said Van Helsing, holding up his hand.

“But why?” I asked.

“Do you forget,” he said, with actually a smile, “that last night hebanqueted heavily, and will sleep late?”

Did I forget! shall I ever—can I ever! Can any of us ever forget thatterrible scene! Mina struggled hard to keep her brave countenance; butthe pain overmastered her and she put her hands before her face, andshuddered whilst she moaned. Van Helsing had not intended to recall herfrightful experience. He had simply lost sight of her and her part inthe affair in his intellectual effort. When it struck him what he said,he was horrified at his thoughtlessness and tried to comfort her. “Oh,Madam Mina,” he said, “dear, dear Madam Mina, alas! that I of all who soreverence you should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid oldlips of mine and this stupid old head do not deserve so; but you willforget it, will you not?” He bent low beside her as he spoke; she tookhis hand, and looking at him through her tears, said hoarsely:—

“No, I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember; and with it Ihave so much in memory of you that is sweet, that I take it alltogether. Now, you must all be going soon. Breakfast is ready, and wemust all eat that we may be strong.”

Breakfast was a strange meal to us all. We tried to be cheerful andencourage each other, and Mina was the brightest and most cheerful ofus. When it was over, Van Helsing stood up and said:—

“Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enterprise. Are weall armed, as we were on that night when first we visited our enemy’slair; armed against ghostly as well as carnal attack?” We all assuredhim. “Then it is well. Now, Madam Mina, you are in any case quite safehere until the sunset; and before then we shall return—if—— We shallreturn! But before we go let me see you armed against personal attack. Ihave myself, since you came down, prepared your chamber by the placingof things of which we know, so that He may not enter. Now let me guardyourself. On your forehead I touch this piece of Sacred Wafer in thename of the Father, the Son, and——”

There was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to hear. As hehad placed the Wafer on Mina’s forehead, it had seared it—had burnedinto the flesh as though it had been a piece of white-hot metal. My poordarling’s brain had told her the significance of the fact as quickly asher nerves received the pain of it; and the two so overwhelmed her thather overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful scream. But thewords to her thought came quickly; the echo of the scream had not ceasedto ring on the air when there came the reaction, and she sank on herknees on the floor in an agony of abasement. Pulling her beautiful hairover her face, as the leper of old his mantle, she wailed out:—

“Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty shuns my polluted flesh! I mustbear this mark of shame upon my forehead until the Judgment Day.” Theyall paused. I had thrown myself beside her in an agony of helplessgrief, and putting my arms around held her tight. For a few minutes oursorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends around us turned awaytheir eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van Helsing turned and saidgravely; so gravely that I could not help feeling that he was in someway inspired, and was stating things outside himself:—

“It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God himself see fit,as He most surely shall, on the Judgment Day, to redress all wrongs ofthe earth and of His children that He has placed thereon. And oh, MadamMina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you be there to see, when thatred scar, the sign of God’s knowledge of what has been, shall pass away,and leave your forehead as pure as the heart we know. For so surely aswe live, that scar shall pass away when God sees right to lift theburden that is hard upon us. Till then we bear our Cross, as His Son didin obedience to His Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments ofHis good pleasure, and that we ascend to His bidding as that otherthrough stripes and shame; through tears and blood; through doubts andfears, and all that makes the difference between God and man.”

There was hope in his words, and comfort; and they made for resignation.Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each took one of the oldman’s hands and bent over and kissed it. Then without a word we allknelt down together, and, all holding hands, swore to be true to eachother. We men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from thehead of her whom, each in his own way, we loved; and we prayed for helpand guidance in the terrible task which lay before us.

It was then time to start. So I said farewell to Mina, a parting whichneither of us shall forget to our dying day; and we set out.

To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be avampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terribleland alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meantmany; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, sothe holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.

We entered Carfax without trouble and found all things the same as onthe first occasion. It was hard to believe that amongst so prosaicsurroundings of neglect and dust and decay there was any ground for suchfear as already we knew. Had not our minds been made up, and had therenot been terrible memories to spur us on, we could hardly have proceededwith our task. We found no papers, or any sign of use in the house; andin the old chapel the great boxes looked just as we had seen them last.Dr. Van Helsing said to us solemnly as we stood before them:—

“And now, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We must sterilise thisearth, so sacred of holy memories, that he has brought from a fardistant land for such fell use. He has chosen this earth because it hasbeen holy. Thus we defeat him with his own weapon, for we make it moreholy still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we sanctify it toGod.” As he spoke he took from his bag a screwdriver and a wrench, andvery soon the top of one of the cases was thrown open. The earth smelledmusty and close; but we did not somehow seem to mind, for our attentionwas concentrated on the Professor. Taking from his box a piece of theSacred Wafer he laid it reverently on the earth, and then shutting downthe lid began to screw it home, we aiding him as he worked.

One by one we treated in the same way each of the great boxes, and leftthem as we had found them to all appearance; but in each was a portionof the Host.

When we closed the door behind us, the Professor said solemnly:—

“So much is already done. If it may be that with all the others we canbe so successful, then the sunset of this evening may shine on MadamMina’s forehead all white as ivory and with no stain!”

As we passed across the lawn on our way to the station to catch ourtrain we could see the front of the asylum. I looked eagerly, and in thewindow of my own room saw Mina. I waved my hand to her, and nodded totell that our work there was successfully accomplished. She nodded inreply to show that she understood. The last I saw, she was waving herhand in farewell. It was with a heavy heart that we sought the stationand just caught the train, which was steaming in as we reached theplatform.

I have written this in the train.

Piccadilly, 12:30 o’clock.—Just before we reached Fenchurch StreetLord Godalming said to me:—

“Quincey and I will find a locksmith. You had better not come with us incase there should be any difficulty; for under the circumstances itwouldn’t seem so bad for us to break into an empty house. But you are asolicitor and the Incorporated Law Society might tell you that youshould have known better.” I demurred as to my not sharing any dangereven of odium, but he went on: “Besides, it will attract less attentionif there are not too many of us. My title will make it all right withthe locksmith, and with any policeman that may come along. You hadbetter go with Jack and the Professor and stay in the Green Park,somewhere in sight of the house; and when you see the door opened andthe smith has gone away, do you all come across. We shall be on thelookout for you, and shall let you in.”

“The advice is good!” said Van Helsing, so we said no more. Godalmingand Morris hurried off in a cab, we following in another. At the cornerof Arlington Street our contingent got out and strolled into the GreenPark. My heart beat as I saw the house on which so much of our hope wascentred, looming up grim and silent in its deserted condition amongstits more lively and spruce-looking neighbours. We sat down on a benchwithin good view, and began to smoke cigars so as to attract as littleattention as possible. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet as wewaited for the coming of the others.

At length we saw a four-wheeler drive up. Out of it, in leisurelyfashion, got Lord Godalming and Morris; and down from the box descendeda thick-set working man with his rush-woven basket of tools. Morris paidthe cabman, who touched his hat and drove away. Together the twoascended the steps, and Lord Godalming pointed out what he wanted done.The workman took off his coat leisurely and hung it on one of the spikesof the rail, saying something to a policeman who just then saunteredalong. The policeman nodded acquiescence, and the man kneeling downplaced his bag beside him. After searching through it, he took out aselection of tools which he produced to lay beside him in orderlyfashion. Then he stood up, looked into the keyhole, blew into it, andturning to his employers, made some remark. Lord Godalming smiled, andthe man lifted a good-sized bunch of keys; selecting one of them, hebegan to probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After fumblingabout for a bit he tried a second, and then a third. All at once thedoor opened under a slight push from him, and he and the two othersentered the hall. We sat still; my own cigar burnt furiously, but VanHelsing’s went cold altogether. We waited patiently as we saw theworkman come out and bring in his bag. Then he held the door partlyopen, steadying it with his knees, whilst he fitted a key to the lock.This he finally handed to Lord Godalming, who took out his purse andgave him something. The man touched his hat, took his bag, put on hiscoat and departed; not a soul took the slightest notice of the wholetransaction.

When the man had fairly gone, we three crossed the street and knocked atthe door. It was immediately opened by Quincey Morris, beside whom stoodLord Godalming lighting a cigar.

“The place smells so vilely,” said the latter as we came in. It didindeed smell vilely—like the old chapel at Carfax—and with ourprevious experience it was plain to us that the Count had been using theplace pretty freely. We moved to explore the house, all keeping togetherin case of attack; for we knew we had a strong and wily enemy to dealwith, and as yet we did not know whether the Count might not be in thehouse. In the dining-room, which lay at the back of the hall, we foundeight boxes of earth. Eight boxes only out of the nine, which we sought!Our work was not over, and would never be until we should have found themissing box. First we opened the shutters of the window which looked outacross a narrow stone-flagged yard at the blank face of a stable,pointed to look like the front of a miniature house. There were nowindows in it, so we were not afraid of being over-looked. We did notlose any time in examining the chests. With the tools which we hadbrought with us we opened them, one by one, and treated them as we hadtreated those others in the old chapel. It was evident to us that theCount was not at present in the house, and we proceeded to search forany of his effects.

After a cursory glance at the rest of the rooms, from basement to attic,we came to the conclusion that the dining-room contained any effectswhich might belong to the Count; and so we proceeded to minutely examinethem. They lay in a sort of orderly disorder on the great dining-roomtable. There were title deeds of the Piccadilly house in a great bundle;deeds of the purchase of the houses at Mile End and Bermondsey;note-paper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All were covered up in thinwrapping paper to keep them from the dust. There were also a clothesbrush, a brush and comb, and a jug and basin—the latter containingdirty water which was reddened as if with blood. Last of all was alittle heap of keys of all sorts and sizes, probably those belonging tothe other houses. When we had examined this last find, Lord Godalmingand Quincey Morris taking accurate notes of the various addresses of thehouses in the East and the South, took with them the keys in a greatbunch, and set out to destroy the boxes in these places. The rest of usare, with what patience we can, waiting their return—or the coming ofthe Count.

CHAPTER XXIII

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

3 October.—The time seemed terribly long whilst we were waitingfor the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The Professor tried to keep ourminds active by using them all the time. I could see his beneficent purpose, bythe side glances which he threw from time to time at Harker. The poor fellow isoverwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to see. Last night he was a frank,happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with darkbrown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matcheswell with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face. Hisenergy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame. This may yet be hissalvation, for, if all go well, it will tide him over the despairing period; hewill then, in a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life. Poor fellow,I thought my own trouble was bad enough, but his——! The Professorknows this well enough, and is doing his best to keep his mind active. What hehas been saying was, under the circumstances, of absorbing interest. So well asI can remember, here it is:—

“I have studied, over and over again since they came into my hands, allthe papers relating to this monster; and the more I have studied, thegreater seems the necessity to utterly stamp him out. All through thereare signs of his advance; not only of his power, but of his knowledge ofit. As I learned from the researches of my friend Arminus of Buda-Pesth,he was in life a most wonderful man. Soldier, statesman, andalchemist—which latter was the highest development of thescience-knowledge of his time. He had a mighty brain, a learning beyondcompare, and a heart that knew no fear and no remorse. He dared even toattend the Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of his timethat he did not essay. Well, in him the brain powers survived thephysical death; though it would seem that memory was not all complete.In some faculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child; but he isgrowing, and some things that were childish at the first are now ofman’s stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well; and if it had notbeen that we have crossed his path he would be yet—he may be yet if wefail—the father or furtherer of a new order of beings, whose road mustlead through Death, not Life.”

Harker groaned and said, “And this is all arrayed against my darling!But how is he experimenting? The knowledge may help us to defeat him!”

“He has all along, since his coming, been trying his power, slowly butsurely; that big child-brain of his is working. Well for us, it is, asyet, a child-brain; for had he dared, at the first, to attempt certainthings he would long ago have been beyond our power. However, he meansto succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford to waitand to go slow. Festina lente may well be his motto.”

“I fail to understand,” said Harker wearily. “Oh, do be more plain tome! Perhaps grief and trouble are dulling my brain.”

The Professor laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder as he spoke:—

“Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of late, thismonster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How he has beenmaking use of the zoöphagous patient to effect his entry into friendJohn’s home; for your Vampire, though in all afterwards he can come whenand how he will, must at the first make entry only when asked thereto byan inmate. But these are not his most important experiments. Do we notsee how at the first all these so great boxes were moved by others. Heknew not then but that must be so. But all the time that so greatchild-brain of his was growing, and he began to consider whether hemight not himself move the box. So he began to help; and then, when hefound that this be all-right, he try to move them all alone. And so heprogress, and he scatter these graves of him; and none but he know wherethey are hidden. He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. Sothat he only use them in the night, or at such time as he can change hisform, they do him equal well; and none may know these are hishiding-place! But, my child, do not despair; this knowledge come to himjust too late! Already all of his lairs but one be sterilise as for him;and before the sunset this shall be so. Then he have no place where hecan move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we might be sure. Isthere not more at stake for us than for him? Then why we not be evenmore careful than him? By my clock it is one hour and already, if all bewell, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way to us. To-day is ourday, and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See! there arefive of us when those absent ones return.”

Whilst he was speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall door, thedouble postman’s knock of the telegraph boy. We all moved out to thehall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up his hand to us tokeep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The boy handed in adespatch. The Professor closed the door again, and, after looking at thedirection, opened it and read aloud.

“Look out for D. He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly andhastened towards the South. He seems to be going the round and may wantto see you: Mina.”

There was a pause, broken by Jonathan Harker’s voice:—

“Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet!” Van Helsing turned to himquickly and said:—

“God will act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoiceas yet; for what we wish for at the moment may be our undoings.”

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out thisbrute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!”

“Oh, hush, hush, my child!” said Van Helsing. “God does not purchasesouls in this wise; and the Devil, though he may purchase, does not keepfaith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your pain and yourdevotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her pain would bedoubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of us, we areall devoted to this cause, and to-day shall see the end. The time iscoming for action; to-day this Vampire is limit to the powers of man,and till sunset he may not change. It will take him time to arrivehere—see, it is twenty minutes past one—and there are yet some timesbefore he can hither come, be he never so quick. What we must hope foris that my Lord Arthur and Quincey arrive first.”

About half an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker’s telegram, therecame a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. It was just an ordinaryknock, such as is given hourly by thousands of gentlemen, but it madethe Professor’s heart and mine beat loudly. We looked at each other, andtogether moved out into the hall; we each held ready to use our variousarmaments—the spiritual in the left hand, the mortal in the right. VanHelsing pulled back the latch, and, holding the door half open, stoodback, having both hands ready for action. The gladness of our heartsmust have shown upon our faces when on the step, close to the door, wesaw Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris. They came quickly in and closedthe door behind them, the former saying, as they moved along thehall:—

“It is all right. We found both places; six boxes in each and wedestroyed them all!”

“Destroyed?” asked the Professor.

“For him!” We were silent for a minute, and then Quincey said:—

“There’s nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, he doesn’t turn upby five o’clock, we must start off; for it won’t do to leave Mrs. Harkeralone after sunset.”

“He will be here before long now,” said Van Helsing, who had beenconsulting his pocket-book. “Nota bene, in Madam’s telegram he wentsouth from Carfax, that means he went to cross the river, and he couldonly do so at slack of tide, which should be something before oneo’clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He is as yet onlysuspicious; and he went from Carfax first to the place where he wouldsuspect interference least. You must have been at Bermondsey only ashort time before him. That he is not here already shows that he went toMile End next. This took him some time; for he would then have to becarried over the river in some way. Believe me, my friends, we shall nothave long to wait now. We should have ready some plan of attack, so thatwe may throw away no chance. Hush, there is no time now. Have all yourarms! Be ready!” He held up a warning hand as he spoke, for we all couldhear a key softly inserted in the lock of the hall door.

I could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which adominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting parties andadventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had alwaysbeen the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I had beenaccustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to berenewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the room, he at oncelaid out our plan of attack, and, without speaking a word, with agesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing, Harker, and I werejust behind the door, so that when it was opened the Professor couldguard it whilst we two stepped between the incomer and the door.Godalming behind and Quincey in front stood just out of sight ready tomove in front of the window. We waited in a suspense that made theseconds pass with nightmare slowness. The slow, careful steps came alongthe hall; the Count was evidently prepared for some surprise—at leasthe feared it.

Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room, winning a way pastus before any of us could raise a hand to stay him. There was somethingso panther-like in the movement—something so unhuman, that it seemedto sober us all from the shock of his coming. The first to act wasHarker, who, with a quick movement, threw himself before the doorleading into the room in the front of the house. As the Count saw us, ahorrible sort of snarl passed over his face, showing the eye-teeth longand pointed; but the evil smile as quickly passed into a cold stare oflion-like disdain. His expression again changed as, with a singleimpulse, we all advanced upon him. It was a pity that we had not somebetter organised plan of attack, for even at the moment I wondered whatwe were to do. I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons wouldavail us anything. Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he hadready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. Theblow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count’sleap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shornethrough his heart. As it was, the point just cut the cloth of his coat,making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank-notes and a stream of goldfell out. The expression of the Count’s face was so hellish, that for amoment I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knifealoft again for another stroke. Instinctively I moved forward with aprotective impulse, holding the Crucifix and Wafer in my left hand. Ifelt a mighty power fly along my arm; and it was without surprise that Isaw the monster cower back before a similar movement made spontaneouslyby each one of us. It would be impossible to describe the expression ofhate and baffled malignity—of anger and hellish rage—which came overthe Count’s face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrastof his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead showed on thepallid skin like a palpitating wound. The next instant, with a sinuousdive he swept under Harker’s arm, ere his blow could fall, and, graspinga handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threwhimself at the window. Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass,he tumbled into the flagged area below. Through the sound of theshivering glass I could hear the “ting” of the gold, as some of thesovereigns fell on the flagging.

We ran over and saw him spring unhurt from the ground. He, rushing upthe steps, crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open the stable door.There he turned and spoke to us:—

“You think to baffle me, you—with your pale faces all in a row, likesheep in a butcher’s. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You thinkyou have left me without a place to rest; but I have more. My revenge isjust begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side. Yourgirls that you all love are mine already; and through them you andothers shall yet be mine—my creatures, to do my bidding and to be myjackals when I want to feed. Bah!” With a contemptuous sneer, he passedquickly through the door, and we heard the rusty bolt creak as hefastened it behind him. A door beyond opened and shut. The first of usto speak was the Professor, as, realising the difficulty of followinghim through the stable, we moved toward the hall.

“We have learnt something—much! Notwithstanding his brave words, hefears us; he fear time, he fear want! For if not, why he hurry so? Hisvery tone betray him, or my ears deceive. Why take that money? Youfollow quick. You are hunters of wild beast, and understand it so. Forme, I make sure that nothing here may be of use to him, if so that hereturn.” As he spoke he put the money remaining into his pocket; tookthe title-deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and swept theremaining things into the open fireplace, where he set fire to them witha match.

Godalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker hadlowered himself from the window to follow the Count. He had, however,bolted the stable door; and by the time they had forced it open therewas no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry at the backof the house; but the mews was deserted and no one had seen him depart.

It was now late in the afternoon, and sunset was not far off. We had torecognise that our game was up; with heavy hearts we agreed with theProfessor when he said:—

“Let us go back to Madam Mina—poor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we can dojust now is done; and we can there, at least, protect her. But we neednot despair. There is but one more earth-box, and we must try to findit; when that is done all may yet be well.” I could see that he spoke asbravely as he could to comfort Harker. The poor fellow was quite brokendown; now and again he gave a low groan which he could not suppress—hewas thinking of his wife.

With sad hearts we came back to my house, where we found Mrs. Harkerwaiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which did honour to herbravery and unselfishness. When she saw our faces, her own became aspale as death: for a second or two her eyes were closed as if she werein secret prayer; and then she said cheerfully:—

“I can never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling!” As she spoke,she took her husband’s grey head in her hands and kissed it—“Lay yourpoor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear! God will protectus if He so will it in His good intent.” The poor fellow groaned. Therewas no place for words in his sublime misery.

We had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it cheered usall up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat of food to hungrypeople—for none of us had eaten anything since breakfast—or the senseof companionship may have helped us; but anyhow we were all lessmiserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without hope. True toour promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything which had passed; andalthough she grew snowy white at times when danger had seemed tothreaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion to her wasmanifested, she listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to thepart where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she clung toher husband’s arm, and held it tight as though her clinging couldprotect him from any harm that might come. She said nothing, however,till the narration was all done, and matters had been brought right upto the present time. Then without letting go her husband’s hand shestood up amongst us and spoke. Oh, that I could give any idea of thescene; of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the radiant beautyof her youth and animation, with the red scar on her forehead, of whichshe was conscious, and which we saw with grinding of ourteeth—remembering whence and how it came; her loving kindness againstour grim hate; her tender faith against all our fears and doubting; andwe, knowing that so far as symbols went, she with all her goodness andpurity and faith, was outcast from God.

“Jonathan,” she said, and the word sounded like music on her lips it wasso full of love and tenderness, “Jonathan dear, and you all my true,true friends, I want you to bear something in mind through all thisdreadful time. I know that you must fight—that you must destroy even asyou destroyed the false Lucy so that the true Lucy might live hereafter;but it is not a work of hate. That poor soul who has wrought all thismisery is the saddest case of all. Just think what will be his joy whenhe, too, is destroyed in his worser part that his better part may havespiritual immortality. You must be pitiful to him, too, though it maynot hold your hands from his destruction.”

As she spoke I could see her husband’s face darken and draw together, asthough the passion in him were shrivelling his being to its core.Instinctively the clasp on his wife’s hand grew closer, till hisknuckles looked white. She did not flinch from the pain which I knew shemust have suffered, but looked at him with eyes that were more appealingthan ever. As she stopped speaking he leaped to his feet, almost tearinghis hand from hers as he spoke:—

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy thatearthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond it I could sendhis soul for ever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

“Oh, hush! oh, hush! in the name of the good God. Don’t say such things,Jonathan, my husband; or you will crush me with fear and horror. Justthink, my dear—I have been thinking all this long, long day of it—that... perhaps ... some day ... I, too, may need such pity; and that someother like you—and with equal cause for anger—may deny it to me! Oh,my husband! my husband, indeed I would have spared you such a thoughthad there been another way; but I pray that God may not have treasuredyour wild words, except as the heart-broken wail of a very loving andsorely stricken man. Oh, God, let these poor white hairs go in evidenceof what he has suffered, who all his life has done no wrong, and on whomso many sorrows have come.”

We men were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and we weptopenly. She wept, too, to see that her sweeter counsels had prevailed.Her husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and putting his armsround her, hid his face in the folds of her dress. Van Helsing beckonedto us and we stole out of the room, leaving the two loving hearts alonewith their God.

Before they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any comingof the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest in peace.She tried to school herself to the belief, and, manifestly for herhusband’s sake, tried to seem content. It was a brave struggle; and was,I think and believe, not without its reward. Van Helsing had placed athand a bell which either of them was to sound in case of any emergency.When they had retired, Quincey, Godalming, and I arranged that we shouldsit up, dividing the night between us, and watch over the safety of thepoor stricken lady. The first watch falls to Quincey, so the rest of usshall be off to bed as soon as we can. Godalming has already turned in,for his is the second watch. Now that my work is done I, too, shall goto bed.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

3-4 October, close to midnight.—I thought yesterday would never end.There was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort of blind beliefthat to wake would be to find things changed, and that any change mustnow be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed what our next stepwas to be, but we could arrive at no result. All we knew was that oneearth-box remained, and that the Count alone knew where it was. If hechooses to lie hidden, he may baffle us for years; and in themeantime!—the thought is too horrible, I dare not think of it even now.This I know: that if ever there was a woman who was all perfection, thatone is my poor wronged darling. I love her a thousand times more for hersweet pity of last night, a pity that made my own hate of the monsterseem despicable. Surely God will not permit the world to be the poorerby the loss of such a creature. This is hope to me. We are all driftingreefwards now, and faith is our only anchor. Thank God! Mina issleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what her dreams might belike, with such terrible memories to ground them in. She has not been socalm, within my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there cameover her face a repose which was like spring after the blasts of March.I thought at the time that it was the softness of the red sunset on herface, but somehow now I think it has a deeper meaning. I am not sleepymyself, though I am weary—weary to death. However, I must try to sleep;for there is to-morrow to think of, and there is no rest for meuntil....

Later.—I must have fallen asleep, for I was awaked by Mina, who wassitting up in bed, with a startled look on her face. I could see easily,for we did not leave the room in darkness; she had placed a warning handover my mouth, and now she whispered in my ear:—

“Hush! there is someone in the corridor!” I got up softly, and crossingthe room, gently opened the door.

Just outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide awake. Heraised a warning hand for silence as he whispered to me:—

“Hush! go back to bed; it is all right. One of us will be here allnight. We don’t mean to take any chances!”

His look and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back and told Mina.She sighed and positively a shadow of a smile stole over her poor, paleface as she put her arms round me and said softly:—

“Oh, thank God for good brave men!” With a sigh she sank back again tosleep. I write this now as I am not sleepy, though I must try again.

4 October, morning.—Once again during the night I was wakened byMina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the grey of the comingdawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas flame waslike a speck rather than a disc of light. She said to me hurriedly:—

“Go, call the Professor. I want to see him at once.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and maturedwithout my knowing it. He must hypnotise me before the dawn, and then Ishall be able to speak. Go quick, dearest; the time is getting close.” Iwent to the door. Dr. Seward was resting on the mattress, and, seeingme, he sprang to his feet.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked, in alarm.

“No,” I replied; “but Mina wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at once.”

“I will go,” he said, and hurried into the Professor’s room.

In two or three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room in hisdressing-gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming were with Dr. Seward atthe door asking questions. When the Professor saw Mina smile—apositive smile ousted the anxiety of his face; he rubbed his hands as hesaid:—

“Oh, my dear Madam Mina, this is indeed a change. See! friend Jonathan,we have got our dear Madam Mina, as of old, back to us to-day!” Thenturning to her, he said, cheerfully: “And what am I do for you? For atthis hour you do not want me for nothings.”

“I want you to hypnotise me!” she said. “Do it before the dawn, for Ifeel that then I can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for the time isshort!” Without a word he motioned her to sit up in bed.

Looking fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in front of her,from over the top of her head downward, with each hand in turn. Minagazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my own heart beatlike a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand. Graduallyher eyes closed, and she sat, stock still; only by the gentle heaving ofher bosom could one know that she was alive. The Professor made a fewmore passes and then stopped, and I could see that his forehead wascovered with great beads of perspiration. Mina opened her eyes; but shedid not seem the same woman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, andher voice had a sad dreaminess which was new to me. Raising his hand toimpose silence, the Professor motioned to me to bring the others in.They came on tip-toe, closing the door behind them, and stood at thefoot of the bed, looking on. Mina appeared not to see them. Thestillness was broken by Van Helsing’s voice speaking in a low level tonewhich would not break the current of her thoughts:—

“Where are you?” The answer came in a neutral way:—

“I do not know. Sleep has no place it can call its own.” For severalminutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid, and the Professor stoodstaring at her fixedly; the rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The roomwas growing lighter; without taking his eyes from Mina’s face, Dr. VanHelsing motioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the day seemedjust upon us. A red streak shot up, and a rosy light seemed to diffuseitself through the room. On the instant the Professor spoke again:—

“Where are you now?” The answer came dreamily, but with intention; itwere as though she were interpreting something. I have heard her use thesame tone when reading her shorthand notes.

“I do not know. It is all strange to me!”

“What do you see?”

“I can see nothing; it is all dark.”

“What do you hear?” I could detect the strain in the Professor’s patientvoice.

“The lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves leap. I canhear them on the outside.”

“Then you are on a ship?” We all looked at each other, trying to gleansomething each from the other. We were afraid to think. The answer camequick:—

“Oh, yes!”

“What else do you hear?”

“The sound of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is thecreaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the check of the capstanfalls into the rachet.”

“What are you doing?”

“I am still—oh, so still. It is like death!” The voice faded away intoa deep breath as of one sleeping, and the open eyes closed again.

By this time the sun had risen, and we were all in the full light ofday. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina’s shoulders, and laid herhead down softly on her pillow. She lay like a sleeping child for a fewmoments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder to seeus all around her. “Have I been talking in my sleep?” was all she said.She seemed, however, to know the situation without telling, though shewas eager to know what she had told. The Professor repeated theconversation, and she said:—

“Then there is not a moment to lose: it may not be yet too late!” Mr.Morris and Lord Godalming started for the door but the Professor’s calmvoice called them back:—

“Stay, my friends. That ship, wherever it was, was weighing anchorwhilst she spoke. There are many ships weighing anchor at the moment inyour so great Port of London. Which of them is it that you seek? God bethanked that we have once again a clue, though whither it may lead us weknow not. We have been blind somewhat; blind after the manner of men,since when we can look back we see what we might have seen lookingforward if we had been able to see what we might have seen! Alas, butthat sentence is a puddle; is it not? We can know now what was in theCount’s mind, when he seize that money, though Jonathan’s so fierceknife put him in the danger that even he dread. He meant escape. Hearme, ESCAPE! He saw that with but one earth-box left, and a pack of menfollowing like dogs after a fox, this London was no place for him. Hehave take his last earth-box on board a ship, and he leave the land. Hethink to escape, but no! we follow him. Tally Ho! as friend Arthur wouldsay when he put on his red frock! Our old fox is wily; oh! so wily, andwe must follow with wile. I, too, am wily and I think his mind in alittle while. In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there are watersbetween us which he do not want to pass, and which he could not if hewould—unless the ship were to touch the land, and then only at full orslack tide. See, and the sun is just rose, and all day to sunset is tous. Let us take bath, and dress, and have breakfast which we all need,and which we can eat comfortably since he be not in the same land withus.” Mina looked at him appealingly as she asked:—

“But why need we seek him further, when he is gone away from us?” Hetook her hand and patted it as he replied:—

“Ask me nothings as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer allquestions.” He would say no more, and we separated to dress.

After breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at her gravely fora minute and then said sorrowfully:—

“Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find himeven if we have to follow him to the jaws of Hell!” She grew paler asshe asked faintly:—

“Why?”

“Because,” he answered solemnly, “he can live for centuries, and you arebut mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded—since once he put that markupon your throat.”

I was just in time to catch her as she fell forward in a faint.

CHAPTER XXIV

DR. SEWARD’S PHONOGRAPH DIARY, SPOKEN BY VAN HELSING

THIS to Jonathan Harker.

You are to stay with your dear Madam Mina. We shall go to make oursearch—if I can call it so, for it is not search but knowing, and weseek confirmation only. But do you stay and take care of her to-day.This is your best and most holiest office. This day nothing can find himhere. Let me tell you that so you will know what we four know already,for I have tell them. He, our enemy, have gone away; he have gone backto his Castle in Transylvania. I know it so well, as if a great hand offire wrote it on the wall. He have prepare for this in some way, andthat last earth-box was ready to ship somewheres. For this he took themoney; for this he hurry at the last, lest we catch him before the sungo down. It was his last hope, save that he might hide in the tomb thathe think poor Miss Lucy, being as he thought like him, keep open to him.But there was not of time. When that fail he make straight for his lastresource—his last earth-work I might say did I wish double entente.He is clever, oh, so clever! he know that his game here was finish; andso he decide he go back home. He find ship going by the route he came,and he go in it. We go off now to find what ship, and whither bound;when we have discover that, we come back and tell you all. Then we willcomfort you and poor dear Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be hopewhen you think it over: that all is not lost. This very creature that wepursue, he take hundreds of years to get so far as London; and yet inone day, when we know of the disposal of him we drive him out. He isfinite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do.But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strongtogether. Take heart afresh, dear husband of Madam Mina. This battle isbut begun, and in the end we shall win—so sure as that God sits on highto watch over His children. Therefore be of much comfort till we return.

Van Helsing.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

4 October.—When I read to Mina, Van Helsing’s message in thephonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably. Already thecertainty that the Count is out of the country has given her comfort;and comfort is strength to her. For my own part, now that his horribledanger is not face to face with us, it seems almost impossible tobelieve in it. Even my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seemlike a long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp autumn air in the brightsunlight——

Alas! how can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye fell onthe red scar on my poor darling’s white forehead. Whilst that lasts,there can be no disbelief. And afterwards the very memory of it willkeep faith crystal clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we have beenover all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the realityseems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There issomething of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting.Mina says that perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It maybe! I shall try to think as she does. We have never spoken to each otheryet of the future. It is better to wait till we see the Professor andthe others after their investigations.

The day is running by more quickly than I ever thought a day could runfor me again. It is now three o’clock.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

5 October, 5 p. m.—Our meeting for report. Present: Professor VanHelsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris, JonathanHarker, Mina Harker.

Dr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day todiscover on what boat and whither bound Count Dracula made his escape:—

“As I knew that he wanted to get back to Transylvania, I felt sure thathe must go by the Danube mouth; or by somewhere in the Black Sea, sinceby that way he come. It was a dreary blank that was before us. Omneignotum pro magnifico; and so with heavy hearts we start to find whatships leave for the Black Sea last night. He was in sailing ship, sinceMadam Mina tell of sails being set. These not so important as to go inyour list of the shipping in the Times, and so we go, by suggestion ofLord Godalming, to your Lloyd’s, where are note of all ships that sail,however so small. There we find that only one Black-Sea-bound ship goout with the tide. She is the Czarina Catherine, and she sail fromDoolittle’s Wharf for Varna, and thence on to other parts and up theDanube. ‘Soh!’ said I, ‘this is the ship whereon is the Count.’ So offwe go to Doolittle’s Wharf, and there we find a man in an office of woodso small that the man look bigger than the office. From him we inquireof the goings of the Czarina Catherine. He swear much, and he red faceand loud of voice, but he good fellow all the same; and when Quinceygive him something from his pocket which crackle as he roll it up, andput it in a so small bag which he have hid deep in his clothing, hestill better fellow and humble servant to us. He come with us, and askmany men who are rough and hot; these be better fellows too when theyhave been no more thirsty. They say much of blood and bloom, and ofothers which I comprehend not, though I guess what they mean; butnevertheless they tell us all things which we want to know.

“They make known to us among them, how last afternoon at about fiveo’clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and pale, with high noseand teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That he be all inblack, except that he have a hat of straw which suit not him or thetime. That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry as to what shipsails for the Black Sea and for where. Some took him to the office andthen to the ship, where he will not go aboard but halt at shore end ofgang-plank, and ask that the captain come to him. The captain come, whentold that he will be pay well; and though he swear much at the first heagree to term. Then the thin man go and some one tell him where horseand cart can be hired. He go there and soon he come again, himselfdriving cart on which a great box; this he himself lift down, though ittake several to put it on truck for the ship. He give much talk tocaptain as to how and where his box is to be place; but the captain likeit not and swear at him in many tongues, and tell him that if he like hecan come and see where it shall be. But he say ‘no’; that he come notyet, for that he have much to do. Whereupon the captain tell him that hehad better be quick—with blood—for that his ship will leave theplace—of blood—before the turn of the tide—with blood. Then the thinman smile and say that of course he must go when he think fit; but hewill be surprise if he go quite so soon. The captain swear again,polyglot, and the thin man make him bow, and thank him, and say that hewill so far intrude on his kindness as to come aboard before thesailing. Final the captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues tellhim that he doesn’t want no Frenchmen—with bloom upon them and alsowith blood—in his ship—with blood on her also. And so, after askingwhere there might be close at hand a ship where he might purchase shipforms, he departed.

“No one knew where he went ‘or bloomin’ well cared,’ as they said, forthey had something else to think of—well with blood again; for it soonbecame apparent to all that the Czarina Catherine would not sail aswas expected. A thin mist began to creep up from the river, and it grew,and grew; till soon a dense fog enveloped the ship and all around her.The captain swore polyglot—very polyglot—polyglot with bloom andblood; but he could do nothing. The water rose and rose; and he began tofear that he would lose the tide altogether. He was in no friendly mood,when just at full tide, the thin man came up the gang-plank again andasked to see where his box had been stowed. Then the captain repliedthat he wished that he and his box—old and with much bloom andblood—were in hell. But the thin man did not be offend, and went downwith the mate and saw where it was place, and came up and stood awhileon deck in fog. He must have come off by himself, for none notice him.Indeed they thought not of him; for soon the fog begin to melt away, andall was clear again. My friends of the thirst and the language that wasof bloom and blood laughed, as they told how the captain’s swearsexceeded even his usual polyglot, and was more than ever full ofpicturesque, when on questioning other mariners who were on movement upand down on the river that hour, he found that few of them had seen anyof fog at all, except where it lay round the wharf. However, the shipwent out on the ebb tide; and was doubtless by morning far down theriver mouth. She was by then, when they told us, well out to sea.

“And so, my dear Madam Mina, it is that we have to rest for a time, forour enemy is on the sea, with the fog at his command, on his way to theDanube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go she never so quick; and whenwe start we go on land more quick, and we meet him there. Our best hopeis to come on him when in the box between sunrise and sunset; for thenhe can make no struggle, and we may deal with him as we should. Thereare days for us, in which we can make ready our plan. We know all aboutwhere he go; for we have seen the owner of the ship, who have shown usinvoices and all papers that can be. The box we seek is to be landed inVarna, and to be given to an agent, one Ristics who will there presenthis credentials; and so our merchant friend will have done his part.When he ask if there be any wrong, for that so, he can telegraph andhave inquiry made at Varna, we say ‘no’; for what is to be done is notfor police or of the customs. It must be done by us alone and in our ownway.”

When Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I asked him if he were certainthat the Count had remained on board the ship. He replied: “We have thebest proof of that: your own evidence, when in the hypnotic trance thismorning.” I asked him again if it were really necessary that they shouldpursue the Count, for oh! I dread Jonathan leaving me, and I know thathe would surely go if the others went. He answered in growing passion,at first quietly. As he went on, however, he grew more angry and moreforceful, till in the end we could not but see wherein was at least someof that personal dominance which made him so long a master amongstmen:—

“Yes, it is necessary—necessary—necessary! For your sake in the first,and then for the sake of humanity. This monster has done much harmalready, in the narrow scope where he find himself, and in the shorttime when as yet he was only as a body groping his so small measure indarkness and not knowing. All this have I told these others; you, mydear Madam Mina, will learn it in the phonograph of my friend John, orin that of your husband. I have told them how the measure of leaving hisown barren land—barren of peoples—and coming to a new land where lifeof man teems till they are like the multitude of standing corn, was thework of centuries. Were another of the Un-Dead, like him, to try to dowhat he has done, perhaps not all the centuries of the world that havebeen, or that will be, could aid him. With this one, all the forces ofnature that are occult and deep and strong must have worked together insome wondrous way. The very place, where he have been alive, Un-Dead forall these centuries, is full of strangeness of the geologic and chemicalworld. There are deep caverns and fissures that reach none know whither.There have been volcanoes, some of whose openings still send out watersof strange properties, and gases that kill or make to vivify. Doubtless,there is something magnetic or electric in some of these combinations ofoccult forces which work for physical life in strange way; and inhimself were from the first some great qualities. In a hard and warliketime he was celebrate that he have more iron nerve, more subtle brain,more braver heart, than any man. In him some vital principle have instrange way found their utmost; and as his body keep strong and grow andthrive, so his brain grow too. All this without that diabolic aid whichis surely to him; for it have to yield to the powers that come from,and are, symbolic of good. And now this is what he is to us. He haveinfect you—oh, forgive me, my dear, that I must say such; but it is forgood of you that I speak. He infect you in such wise, that even if he dono more, you have only to live—to live in your own old, sweet way; andso in time, death, which is of man’s common lot and with God’s sanction,shall make you like to him. This must not be! We have sworn togetherthat it must not. Thus are we ministers of God’s own wish: that theworld, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given over to monsters,whose very existence would defame Him. He have allowed us to redeem onesoul already, and we go out as the old knights of the Cross to redeemmore. Like them we shall travel towards the sunrise; and like them, ifwe fall, we fall in good cause.” He paused and I said:—

“But will not the Count take his rebuff wisely? Since he has been drivenfrom England, will he not avoid it, as a tiger does the village fromwhich he has been hunted?”

“Aha!” he said, “your simile of the tiger good, for me, and I shalladopt him. Your man-eater, as they of India call the tiger who has oncetasted blood of the human, care no more for the other prey, but prowlunceasing till he get him. This that we hunt from our village is atiger, too, a man-eater, and he never cease to prowl. Nay, in himself heis not one to retire and stay afar. In his life, his living life, he goover the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own ground; he bebeaten back, but did he stay? No! He come again, and again, and again.Look at his persistence and endurance. With the child-brain that was tohim he have long since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. Whatdoes he do? He find out the place of all the world most of promise forhim. Then he deliberately set himself down to prepare for the task. Hefind in patience just how is his strength, and what are his powers. Hestudy new tongues. He learn new social life; new environment of oldways, the politic, the law, the finance, the science, the habit of a newland and a new people who have come to be since he was. His glimpse thathe have had, whet his appetite only and enkeen his desire. Nay, it helphim to grow as to his brain; for it all prove to him how right he was atthe first in his surmises. He have done this alone; all alone! from aruin tomb in a forgotten land. What more may he not do when the greaterworld of thought is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we knowhim; who can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off wholepeoples. Oh, if such an one was to come from God, and not the Devil,what a force for good might he not be in this old world of ours. But weare pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in silence, and ourefforts all in secret; for in this enlightened age, when men believe noteven what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greateststrength. It would be at once his sheath and his armour, and his weaponsto destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril even our own soulsfor the safety of one we love—for the good of mankind, and for thehonour and glory of God.”

After a general discussion it was determined that for to-night nothingbe definitely settled; that we should all sleep on the facts, and try tothink out the proper conclusions. To-morrow, at breakfast, we are tomeet again, and, after making our conclusions known to one another, weshall decide on some definite cause of action.

. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .

I feel a wonderful peace and rest to-night. It is as if some hauntingpresence were removed from me. Perhaps ...

My surmise was not finished, could not be; for I caught sight in themirror of the red mark upon my forehead; and I knew that I was stillunclean.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

5 October.—We all rose early, and I think that sleep did much foreach and all of us. When we met at early breakfast there was moregeneral cheerfulness than any of us had ever expected to experienceagain.

It is really wonderful how much resilience there is in human nature. Letany obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed in any way—even bydeath—and we fly back to first principles of hope and enjoyment. Morethan once as we sat around the table, my eyes opened in wonder whetherthe whole of the past days had not been a dream. It was only when Icaught sight of the red blotch on Mrs. Harker’s forehead that I wasbrought back to reality. Even now, when I am gravely revolving thematter, it is almost impossible to realise that the cause of all ourtrouble is still existent. Even Mrs. Harker seems to lose sight of hertrouble for whole spells; it is only now and again, when somethingrecalls it to her mind, that she thinks of her terrible scar. We are tomeet here in my study in half an hour and decide on our course ofaction. I see only one immediate difficulty, I know it by instinctrather than reason: we shall all have to speak frankly; and yet I fearthat in some mysterious way poor Mrs. Harker’s tongue is tied. I knowthat she forms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I canguess how brilliant and how true they must be; but she will not, orcannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing, andhe and I are to talk it over when we are alone. I suppose it is some ofthat horrid poison which has got into her veins beginning to work. TheCount had his own purposes when he gave her what Van Helsing called “theVampire’s baptism of blood.” Well, there may be a poison that distilsitself out of good things; in an age when the existence of ptomaines isa mystery we should not wonder at anything! One thing I know: that if myinstinct be true regarding poor Mrs. Harker’s silences, then there is aterrible difficulty—an unknown danger—in the work before us. The samepower that compels her silence may compel her speech. I dare not thinkfurther; for so I should in my thoughts dishonour a noble woman!

Van Helsing is coming to my study a little before the others. I shalltry to open the subject with him.

Later.—When the Professor came in, we talked over the state ofthings. I could see that he had something on his mind which he wanted tosay, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject. After beatingabout the bush a little, he said suddenly:—

“Friend John, there is something that you and I must talk of alone, justat the first at any rate. Later, we may have to take the others into ourconfidence”; then he stopped, so I waited; he went on:—

“Madam Mina, our poor, dear Madam Mina is changing.” A cold shiver ranthrough me to find my worst fears thus endorsed. Van Helsingcontinued:—

“With the sad experience of Miss Lucy, we must this time be warnedbefore things go too far. Our task is now in reality more difficult thanever, and this new trouble makes every hour of the direst importance. Ican see the characteristics of the vampire coming in her face. It is nowbut very, very slight; but it is to be seen if we have eyes to noticewithout to prejudge. Her teeth are some sharper, and at times her eyesare more hard. But these are not all, there is to her the silence nowoften; as so it was with Miss Lucy. She did not speak, even when shewrote that which she wished to be known later. Now my fear is this. Ifit be that she can, by our hypnotic trance, tell what the Count see andhear, is it not more true that he who have hypnotise her first, and whohave drink of her very blood and make her drink of his, should, if hewill, compel her mind to disclose to him that which she know?” I noddedacquiescence; he went on:—

“Then, what we must do is to prevent this; we must keep her ignorant ofour intent, and so she cannot tell what she know not. This is a painfultask! Oh, so painful that it heart-break me to think of; but it must be.When to-day we meet, I must tell her that for reason which we will notto speak she must not more be of our council, but be simply guarded byus.” He wiped his forehead, which had broken out in profuse perspirationat the thought of the pain which he might have to inflict upon the poorsoul already so tortured. I knew that it would be some sort of comfortto him if I told him that I also had come to the same conclusion; for atany rate it would take away the pain of doubt. I told him, and theeffect was as I expected.

It is now close to the time of our general gathering. Van Helsing hasgone away to prepare for the meeting, and his painful part of it. Ireally believe his purpose is to be able to pray alone.

Later.—At the very outset of our meeting a great personal relief wasexperienced by both Van Helsing and myself. Mrs. Harker had sent amessage by her husband to say that she would not join us at present, asshe thought it better that we should be free to discuss our movementswithout her presence to embarrass us. The Professor and I looked at eachother for an instant, and somehow we both seemed relieved. For my ownpart, I thought that if Mrs. Harker realised the danger herself, it wasmuch pain as well as much danger averted. Under the circumstances weagreed, by a questioning look and answer, with finger on lip, topreserve silence in our suspicions, until we should have been able toconfer alone again. We went at once into our Plan of Campaign. VanHelsing roughly put the facts before us first:—

“The Czarina Catherine left the Thames yesterday morning. It will takeher at the quickest speed she has ever made at least three weeks toreach Varna; but we can travel overland to the same place in three days.Now, if we allow for two days less for the ship’s voyage, owing to suchweather influences as we know that the Count can bring to bear; and ifwe allow a whole day and night for any delays which may occur to us,then we have a margin of nearly two weeks. Thus, in order to be quitesafe, we must leave here on 17th at latest. Then we shall at any ratebe in Varna a day before the ship arrives, and able to make suchpreparations as may be necessary. Of course we shall all go armed—armedagainst evil things, spiritual as well as physical.” Here Quincey Morrisadded:—

“I understand that the Count comes from a wolf country, and it may bethat he shall get there before us. I propose that we add Winchesters toour armament. I have a kind of belief in a Winchester when there is anytrouble of that sort around. Do you remember, Art, when we had the packafter us at Tobolsk? What wouldn’t we have given then for a repeaterapiece!”

“Good!” said Van Helsing, “Winchesters it shall be. Quincey’s head islevel at all times, but most so when there is to hunt, metaphor be moredishonour to science than wolves be of danger to man. In the meantime wecan do nothing here; and as I think that Varna is not familiar to any ofus, why not go there more soon? It is as long to wait here as there.To-night and to-morrow we can get ready, and then, if all be well, wefour can set out on our journey.”

“We four?” said Harker interrogatively, looking from one to another ofus.

“Of course!” answered the Professor quickly, “you must remain to takecare of your so sweet wife!” Harker was silent for awhile and then saidin a hollow voice:—

“Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want to consult withMina.” I thought that now was the time for Van Helsing to warn him notto disclose our plans to her; but he took no notice. I looked at himsignificantly and coughed. For answer he put his finger on his lips andturned away.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

5 October, afternoon.—For some time after our meeting this morning Icould not think. The new phases of things leave my mind in a state ofwonder which allows no room for active thought. Mina’s determination notto take any part in the discussion set me thinking; and as I could notargue the matter with her, I could only guess. I am as far as ever froma solution now. The way the others received it, too, puzzled me; thelast time we talked of the subject we agreed that there was to be nomore concealment of anything amongst us. Mina is sleeping now, calmlyand sweetly like a little child. Her lips are curved and her face beamswith happiness. Thank God, there are such moments still for her.

Later.—How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina’s happy sleep, andcame as near to being happy myself as I suppose I shall ever be. As theevening drew on, and the earth took its shadows from the sun sinkinglower, the silence of the room grew more and more solemn to me. All atonce Mina opened her eyes, and looking at me tenderly, said:—

“Jonathan, I want you to promise me something on your word of honour. Apromise made to me, but made holily in God’s hearing, and not to bebroken though I should go down on my knees and implore you with bittertears. Quick, you must make it to me at once.”

“Mina,” I said, “a promise like that, I cannot make at once. I may haveno right to make it.”

“But, dear one,” she said, with such spiritual intensity that her eyeswere like pole stars, “it is I who wish it; and it is not for myself.You can ask Dr. Van Helsing if I am not right; if he disagrees you maydo as you will. Nay, more, if you all agree, later, you are absolvedfrom the promise.”

“I promise!” I said, and for a moment she looked supremely happy; thoughto me all happiness for her was denied by the red scar on her forehead.She said:—

“Promise me that you will not tell me anything of the plans formed forthe campaign against the Count. Not by word, or inference, orimplication; not at any time whilst this remains to me!” and shesolemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that she was in earnest, and saidsolemnly:—

“I promise!” and as I said it I felt that from that instant a door hadbeen shut between us.

Later, midnight.—Mina has been bright and cheerful all the evening.So much so that all the rest seemed to take courage, as if infectedsomewhat with her gaiety; as a result even I myself felt as if the pallof gloom which weighs us down were somewhat lifted. We all retiredearly. Mina is now sleeping like a little child; it is a wonderful thingthat her faculty of sleep remains to her in the midst of her terribletrouble. Thank God for it, for then at least she can forget her care.Perhaps her example may affect me as her gaiety did to-night. I shalltry it. Oh! for a dreamless sleep.

6 October, morning.—Another surprise. Mina woke me early, about thesame time as yesterday, and asked me to bring Dr. Van Helsing. I thoughtthat it was another occasion for hypnotism, and without question wentfor the Professor. He had evidently expected some such call, for I foundhim dressed in his room. His door was ajar, so that he could hear theopening of the door of our room. He came at once; as he passed into theroom, he asked Mina if the others might come, too.

“No,” she said quite simply, “it will not be necessary. You can tellthem just as well. I must go with you on your journey.”

Dr. Van Helsing was as startled as I was. After a moment’s pause heasked:—

“But why?”

“You must take me with you. I am safer with you, and you shall be safer,too.”

“But why, dear Madam Mina? You know that your safety is our solemnestduty. We go into danger, to which you are, or may be, more liable thanany of us from—from circumstances—things that have been.” He paused,embarrassed.

As she replied, she raised her finger and pointed to her forehead:—

“I know. That is why I must go. I can tell you now, whilst the sun iscoming up; I may not be able again. I know that when the Count wills meI must go. I know that if he tells me to come in secret, I must come bywile; by any device to hoodwink—even Jonathan.” God saw the look thatshe turned on me as she spoke, and if there be indeed a Recording Angelthat look is noted to her everlasting honour. I could only clasp herhand. I could not speak; my emotion was too great for even the relief oftears. She went on:—

“You men are brave and strong. You are strong in your numbers, for youcan defy that which would break down the human endurance of one who hadto guard alone. Besides, I may be of service, since you can hypnotise meand so learn that which even I myself do not know.” Dr. Van Helsing saidvery gravely:—

“Madam Mina, you are, as always, most wise. You shall with us come; andtogether we shall do that which we go forth to achieve.” When he hadspoken, Mina’s long spell of silence made me look at her. She had fallenback on her pillow asleep; she did not even wake when I had pulled upthe blind and let in the sunlight which flooded the room. Van Helsingmotioned to me to come with him quietly. We went to his room, and withina minute Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris were with us also.He told them what Mina had said, and went on:—

“In the morning we shall leave for Varna. We have now to deal with anew factor: Madam Mina. Oh, but her soul is true. It is to her an agonyto tell us so much as she has done; but it is most right, and we arewarned in time. There must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must beready to act the instant when that ship arrives.”

“What shall we do exactly?” asked Mr. Morris laconically. The Professorpaused before replying:—

“We shall at the first board that ship; then, when we have identifiedthe box, we shall place a branch of the wild rose on it. This we shallfasten, for when it is there none can emerge; so at least says thesuperstition. And to superstition must we trust at the first; it wasman’s faith in the early, and it have its root in faith still. Then,when we get the opportunity that we seek, when none are near to see, weshall open the box, and—and all will be well.”

“I shall not wait for any opportunity,” said Morris. “When I see the boxI shall open it and destroy the monster, though there were a thousandmen looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the next moment!” Igrasped his hand instinctively and found it as firm as a piece of steel.I think he understood my look; I hope he did.

“Good boy,” said Dr. Van Helsing. “Brave boy. Quincey is all man. Godbless him for it. My child, believe me none of us shall lag behind orpause from any fear. I do but say what we may do—what we must do. But,indeed, indeed we cannot say what we shall do. There are so many thingswhich may happen, and their ways and their ends are so various thatuntil the moment we may not say. We shall all be armed, in all ways; andwhen the time for the end has come, our effort shall not be lack. Nowlet us to-day put all our affairs in order. Let all things which touchon others dear to us, and who on us depend, be complete; for none of uscan tell what, or when, or how, the end may be. As for me, my ownaffairs are regulate; and as I have nothing else to do, I shall go makearrangements for the travel. I shall have all tickets and so forth forour journey.”

There was nothing further to be said, and we parted. I shall now settleup all my affairs of earth, and be ready for whatever may come....

Later.—It is all done; my will is made, and all complete. Mina if shesurvive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, then the others whohave been so good to us shall have remainder.

It is now drawing towards the sunset; Mina’s uneasiness calls myattention to it. I am sure that there is something on her mind which thetime of exact sunset will reveal. These occasions are becoming harrowingtimes for us all, for each sunrise and sunset opens up some newdanger—some new pain, which, however, may in God’s will be means to agood end. I write all these things in the diary since my darling mustnot hear them now; but if it may be that she can see them again, theyshall be ready.

She is calling to me.

CHAPTER XXV

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

11 October, Evening.—Jonathan Harker has asked me to note this, as hesays he is hardly equal to the task, and he wants an exact record kept.

I think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see Mrs.Harker a little before the time of sunset. We have of late come tounderstand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of peculiar freedom;when her old self can be manifest without any controlling force subduingor restraining her, or inciting her to action. This mood or conditionbegins some half hour or more before actual sunrise or sunset, and laststill either the sun is high, or whilst the clouds are still aglow withthe rays streaming above the horizon. At first there is a sort ofnegative condition, as if some tie were loosened, and then the absolutefreedom quickly follows; when, however, the freedom ceases thechange-back or relapse comes quickly, preceded only by a spell ofwarning silence.

To-night, when we met, she was somewhat constrained, and bore all thesigns of an internal struggle. I put it down myself to her making aviolent effort at the earliest instant she could do so. A very fewminutes, however, gave her complete control of herself; then, motioningher husband to sit beside her on the sofa where she was half reclining,she made the rest of us bring chairs up close. Taking her husband’s handin hers began:—

“We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know,dear; I know that you will always be with me to the end.” This was toher husband whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon hers. “Inthe morning we go out upon our task, and God alone knows what may be instore for any of us. You are going to be so good to me as to take mewith you. I know that all that brave earnest men can do for a poor weakwoman, whose soul perhaps is lost—no, no, not yet, but is at any rateat stake—you will do. But you must remember that I am not as you are.There is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may destroy me; whichmust destroy me, unless some relief comes to us. Oh, my friends, youknow as well as I do, that my soul is at stake; and though I know thereis one way out for me, you must not and I must not take it!” She lookedappealingly to us all in turn, beginning and ending with her husband.

“What is that way?” asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. “What is thatway, which we must not—may not—take?”

“That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of another, beforethe greater evil is entirely wrought. I know, and you know, that were Ionce dead you could and would set free my immortal spirit, even as youdid my poor Lucy’s. Were death, or the fear of death, the only thingthat stood in the way I would not shrink to die here, now, amidst thefriends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot believe that to diein such a case, when there is hope before us and a bitter task to bedone, is God’s will. Therefore, I, on my part, give up here thecertainty of eternal rest, and go out into the dark where may be theblackest things that the world or the nether world holds!” We were allsilent, for we knew instinctively that this was only a prelude. Thefaces of the others were set and Harker’s grew ashen grey; perhaps heguessed better than any of us what was coming. She continued:—

“This is what I can give into the hotch-pot.” I could not but note thequaint legal phrase which she used in such a place, and with allseriousness. “What will each of you give? Your lives I know,” she wenton quickly, “that is easy for brave men. Your lives are God’s, and youcan give them back to Him; but what will you give to me?” She lookedagain questioningly, but this time avoided her husband’s face. Quinceyseemed to understand; he nodded, and her face lit up. “Then I shall tellyou plainly what I want, for there must be no doubtful matter in thisconnection between us now. You must promise me, one and all—even you,my beloved husband—that, should the time come, you will kill me.”

“What is that time?” The voice was Quincey’s, but it was low andstrained.

“When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is better thatI die than I may live. When I am thus dead in the flesh, then you will,without a moment’s delay, drive a stake through me and cut off my head;or do whatever else may be wanting to give me rest!”

Quincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt down before herand taking her hand in his said solemnly:—

“I’m only a rough fellow, who hasn’t, perhaps, lived as a man should towin such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred anddear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from the dutythat you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall make allcertain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that the time hascome!”

“My true friend!” was all she could say amid her fast-falling tears, as,bending over, she kissed his hand.

“I swear the same, my dear Madam Mina!” said Van Helsing.

“And I!” said Lord Godalming, each of them in turn kneeling to her totake the oath. I followed, myself. Then her husband turned to herwan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness ofhis hair, and asked:—

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest,” she said, with infinite yearning of pity in hervoice and eyes. “You must not shrink. You are nearest and dearest andall the world to me; our souls are knit into one, for all life and alltime. Think, dear, that there have been times when brave men have killedtheir wives and their womenkind, to keep them from falling into thehands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more becausethose that they loved implored them to slay them. It is men’s dutytowards those whom they love, in such times of sore trial! And oh, mydear, if it is to be that I must meet death at any hand, let it be atthe hand of him that loves me best. Dr. Van Helsing, I have notforgotten your mercy in poor Lucy’s case to him who loved”—she stoppedwith a flying blush, and changed her phrase—“to him who had best rightto give her peace. If that time shall come again, I look to you to makeit a happy memory of my husband’s life that it was his loving hand whichset me free from the awful thrall upon me.”

“Again I swear!” came the Professor’s resonant voice. Mrs. Harkersmiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of relief she leaned back andsaid:—

“And now one word of warning, a warning which you must never forget:this time, if it ever come, may come quickly and unexpectedly, and insuch case you must lose no time in using your opportunity. At such atime I myself might be—nay! if the time ever comes, shall be—leaguedwith your enemy against you.”

“One more request;” she became very solemn as she said this, “it is notvital and necessary like the other, but I want you to do one thing forme, if you will.” We all acquiesced, but no one spoke; there was no needto speak:—

“I want you to read the Burial Service.” She was interrupted by a deepgroan from her husband; taking his hand in hers, she held it over herheart, and continued: “You must read it over me some day. Whatever maybe the issue of all this fearful state of things, it will be a sweetthought to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will I hope read it, forthen it will be in your voice in my memory for ever—come what may!”

“But oh, my dear one,” he pleaded, “death is afar off from you.”

“Nay,” she said, holding up a warning hand. “I am deeper in death atthis moment than if the weight of an earthly grave lay heavy upon me!”

“Oh, my wife, must I read it?” he said, before he began.

“It would comfort me, my husband!” was all she said; and he began toread when she had got the book ready.

“How can I—how could any one—tell of that strange scene, itssolemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its horror; and, withal, itssweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty of bittertruth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted to the hearthad he seen that little group of loving and devoted friends kneelinground that stricken and sorrowing lady; or heard the tender passion ofher husband’s voice, as in tones so broken with emotion that often hehad to pause, he read the simple and beautiful service from the Burialof the Dead. I—I cannot go on—words—and—v-voice—f-fail m-me!”

She was right in her instinct. Strange as it all was, bizarre as it mayhereafter seem even to us who felt its potent influence at the time, itcomforted us much; and the silence, which showed Mrs. Harker’s comingrelapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem so full of despair to anyof us as we had dreaded.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

15 October, Varna.—We left Charing Cross on the morning of the 12th,got to Paris the same night, and took the places secured for us in theOrient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here at about fiveo’clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram hadarrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel—“theOdessus.” The journey may have had incidents; I was, however, too eagerto get on, to care for them. Until the Czarina Catherine comes intoport there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world.Thank God! Mina is well, and looks to be getting stronger; her colour iscoming back. She sleeps a great deal; throughout the journey she sleptnearly all the time. Before sunrise and sunset, however, she is verywakeful and alert; and it has become a habit for Van Helsing tohypnotise her at such times. At first, some effort was needed, and hehad to make many passes; but now, she seems to yield at once, as if byhabit, and scarcely any action is needed. He seems to have power atthese particular moments to simply will, and her thoughts obey him. Healways asks her what she can see and hear. She answers to the first:—

“Nothing; all is dark.” And to the second:—

“I can hear the waves lapping against the ship, and the water rushingby. Canvas and cordage strain and masts and yards creak. The wind ishigh—I can hear it in the shrouds, and the bow throws back the foam.”It is evident that the Czarina Catherine is still at sea, hastening onher way to Varna. Lord Godalming has just returned. He had fourtelegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same effect:that the Czarina Catherine had not been reported to Lloyd’s fromanywhere. He had arranged before leaving London that his agent shouldsend him every day a telegram saying if the ship had been reported. Hewas to have a message even if she were not reported, so that he might besure that there was a watch being kept at the other end of the wire.

We had dinner and went to bed early. To-morrow we are to see theVice-Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about getting on board the shipas soon as she arrives. Van Helsing says that our chance will be to geton the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Count, even if he takes theform of a bat, cannot cross the running water of his own volition, andso cannot leave the ship. As he dare not change to man’s form withoutsuspicion—which he evidently wishes to avoid—he must remain in thebox. If, then, we can come on board after sunrise, he is at our mercy;for we can open the box and make sure of him, as we did of poor Lucy,before he wakes. What mercy he shall get from us will not count formuch. We think that we shall not have much trouble with officials or theseamen. Thank God! this is the country where bribery can do anything,and we are well supplied with money. We have only to make sure that theship cannot come into port between sunset and sunrise without our beingwarned, and we shall be safe. Judge Moneybag will settle this case, Ithink!

16 October.—Mina’s report still the same: lapping waves and rushingwater, darkness and favouring winds. We are evidently in good time, andwhen we hear of the Czarina Catherine we shall be ready. As she mustpass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some report.

. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .

17 October.—Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to welcomethe Count on his return from his tour. Godalming told the shippers thathe fancied that the box sent aboard might contain something stolen froma friend of his, and got a half consent that he might open it at his ownrisk. The owner gave him a paper telling the Captain to give him everyfacility in doing whatever he chose on board the ship, and also asimilar authorisation to his agent at Varna. We have seen the agent, whowas much impressed with Godalming’s kindly manner to him, and we are allsatisfied that whatever he can do to aid our wishes will be done. Wehave already arranged what to do in case we get the box open. If theCount is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off his head at once anddrive a stake through his heart. Morris and Godalming and I shallprevent interference, even if we have to use the arms which we shallhave ready. The Professor says that if we can so treat the Count’s body,it will soon after fall into dust. In such case there would be noevidence against us, in case any suspicion of murder were aroused. Buteven if it were not, we should stand or fall by our act, and perhapssome day this very script may be evidence to come between some of us anda rope. For myself, I should take the chance only too thankfully if itwere to come. We mean to leave no stone unturned to carry out ourintent. We have arranged with certain officials that the instant theCzarina Catherine is seen, we are to be informed by a specialmessenger.

24 October.—A whole week of waiting. Daily telegrams to Godalming,but only the same story: “Not yet reported.” Mina’s morning and eveninghypnotic answer is unvaried: lapping waves, rushing water, and creakingmasts.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

25 October.—How I miss my phonograph! To write diary with a pen isirksome to me; but Van Helsing says I must. We were all wild withexcitement yesterday when Godalming got his telegram from Lloyd’s. Iknow now what men feel in battle when the call to action is heard. Mrs.Harker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of emotion. Afterall, it is not strange that she did not; for we took special care not tolet her know anything about it, and we all tried not to show anyexcitement when we were in her presence. In old days she would, I amsure, have noticed, no matter how we might have tried to conceal it; butin this way she is greatly changed during the past three weeks. Thelethargy grows upon her, and though she seems strong and well, and isgetting back some of her colour, Van Helsing and I are not satisfied. Wetalk of her often; we have not, however, said a word to the others. Itwould break poor Harker’s heart—certainly his nerve—if he knew that wehad even a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, he tells me,her teeth very carefully, whilst she is in the hypnotic condition, forhe says that so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is no activedanger of a change in her. If this change should come, it would benecessary to take steps!... We both know what those steps would have tobe, though we do not mention our thoughts to each other. We shouldneither of us shrink from the task—awful though it be to contemplate.“Euthanasia” is an excellent and a comforting word! I am grateful towhoever invented it.

It is only about 24 hours’ sail from the Dardanelles to here, at therate the Czarina Catherine has come from London. She should thereforearrive some time in the morning; but as she cannot possibly get inbefore then, we are all about to retire early. We shall get up at oneo’clock, so as to be ready.

25 October, Noon.—No news yet of the ship’s arrival. Mrs. Harker’shypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so it is possiblethat we may get news at any moment. We men are all in a fever ofexcitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are cold as ice, andan hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knifewhich he now always carries with him. It will be a bad lookout for theCount if the edge of that “Kukri” ever touches his throat, driven bythat stern, ice-cold hand!

Van Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Mrs. Harker to-day. Aboutnoon she got into a sort of lethargy which we did not like; although wekept silence to the others, we were neither of us happy about it. Shehad been restless all the morning, so that we were at first glad to knowthat she was sleeping. When, however, her husband mentioned casuallythat she was sleeping so soundly that he could not wake her, we went toher room to see for ourselves. She was breathing naturally and looked sowell and peaceful that we agreed that the sleep was better for her thananything else. Poor girl, she has so much to forget that it is no wonderthat sleep, if it brings oblivion to her, does her good.

Later.—Our opinion was justified, for when after a refreshing sleepof some hours she woke up, she seemed brighter and better than she hadbeen for days. At sunset she made the usual hypnotic report. Wherever hemay be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying to his destination. Tohis doom, I trust!

26 October.—Another day and no tidings of the Czarina Catherine.She ought to be here by now. That she is still journeying somewhere isapparent, for Mrs. Harker’s hypnotic report at sunrise was still thesame. It is possible that the vessel may be lying by, at times, for fog;some of the steamers which came in last evening reported patches of fogboth to north and south of the port. We must continue our watching, asthe ship may now be signalled any moment.

27 October, Noon.—Most strange; no news yet of the ship we wait for.Mrs. Harker reported last night and this morning as usual: “lappingwaves and rushing water,” though she added that “the waves were veryfaint.” The telegrams from London have been the same: “no furtherreport.” Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told me just now that hefears the Count is escaping us. He added significantly:—

“I did not like that lethargy of Madam Mina’s. Souls and memories can dostrange things during trance.” I was about to ask him more, but Harkerjust then came in, and he held up a warning hand. We must try to-nightat sunset to make her speak more fully when in her hypnotic state.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

28 October.—When the telegram came announcing the arrival in Galatz Ido not think it was such a shock to any of us as might have beenexpected. True, we did not know whence, or how, or when, the bolt wouldcome; but I think we all expected that something strange would happen.The delay of arrival at Varna made us individually satisfied that thingswould not be just as we had expected; we only waited to learn where thechange would occur. None the less, however, was it a surprise. I supposethat nature works on such a hopeful basis that we believe againstourselves that things will be as they ought to be, not as we should knowthat they will be. Transcendentalism is a beacon to the angels, even ifit be a will-o’-the-wisp to man. It was an odd experience and we alltook it differently. Van Helsing raised his hand over his head for amoment, as though in remonstrance with the Almighty; but he said not aword, and in a few seconds stood up with his face sternly set. LordGodalming grew very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was myself halfstunned and looked in wonder at one after another. Quincey Morristightened his belt with that quick movement which I knew so well; in ourold wandering days it meant “action.” Mrs. Harker grew ghastly white, sothat the scar on her forehead seemed to burn, but she folded her handsmeekly and looked up in prayer. Harker smiled—actually smiled—thedark, bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time hisaction belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt ofthe great Kukri knife and rested there. “When does the next train startfor Galatz?” said Van Helsing to us generally.

“At 6:30 to-morrow morning!” We all started, for the answer came fromMrs. Harker.

“How on earth do you know?” said Art.

“You forget—or perhaps you do not know, though Jonathan does and sodoes Dr. Van Helsing—that I am the train fiend. At home in Exeter Ialways used to make up the time-tables, so as to be helpful to myhusband. I found it so useful sometimes, that I always make a study ofthe time-tables now. I knew that if anything were to take us to CastleDracula we should go by Galatz, or at any rate through Bucharest, so Ilearned the times very carefully. Unhappily there are not many to learn,as the only train to-morrow leaves as I say.”

“Wonderful woman!” murmured the Professor.

“Can’t we get a special?” asked Lord Godalming. Van Helsing shook hishead: “I fear not. This land is very different from yours or mine; evenif we did have a special, it would probably not arrive as soon as ourregular train. Moreover, we have something to prepare. We must think.Now let us organize. You, friend Arthur, go to the train and get thetickets and arrange that all be ready for us to go in the morning. Doyou, friend Jonathan, go to the agent of the ship and get from himletters to the agent in Galatz, with authority to make search the shipjust as it was here. Morris Quincey, you see the Vice-Consul, and gethis aid with his fellow in Galatz and all he can do to make our waysmooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. John will staywith Madam Mina and me, and we shall consult. For so if time be long youmay be delayed; and it will not matter when the sun set, since I am herewith Madam to make report.”

“And I,” said Mrs. Harker brightly, and more like her old self than shehad been for many a long day, “shall try to be of use in all ways, andshall think and write for you as I used to do. Something is shiftingfrom me in some strange way, and I feel freer than I have been of late!”The three younger men looked happier at the moment as they seemed torealise the significance of her words; but Van Helsing and I, turning toeach other, met each a grave and troubled glance. We said nothing at thetime, however.

When the three men had gone out to their tasks Van Helsing asked Mrs.Harker to look up the copy of the diaries and find him the part ofHarker’s journal at the Castle. She went away to get it; when the doorwas shut upon her he said to me:—

“We mean the same! speak out!”

“There is some change. It is a hope that makes me sick, for it maydeceive us.”

“Quite so. Do you know why I asked her to get the manuscript?”

“No!” said I, “unless it was to get an opportunity of seeing me alone.”

“You are in part right, friend John, but only in part. I want to tellyou something. And oh, my friend, I am taking a great—a terrible—risk;but I believe it is right. In the moment when Madam Mina said thosewords that arrest both our understanding, an inspiration came to me. Inthe trance of three days ago the Count sent her his spirit to read hermind; or more like he took her to see him in his earth-box in the shipwith water rushing, just as it go free at rise and set of sun. He learnthen that we are here; for she have more to tell in her open life witheyes to see and ears to hear than he, shut, as he is, in his coffin-box.Now he make his most effort to escape us. At present he want her not.

“He is sure with his so great knowledge that she will come at his call;but he cut her off—take her, as he can do, out of his own power, thatso she come not to him. Ah! there I have hope that our man-brains thathave been of man so long and that have not lost the grace of God, willcome higher than his child-brain that lie in his tomb for centuries,that grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish andtherefore small. Here comes Madam Mina; not a word to her of her trance!She know it not; and it would overwhelm her and make despair just whenwe want all her hope, all her courage; when most we want all her greatbrain which is trained like man’s brain, but is of sweet woman and havea special power which the Count give her, and which he may not take awayaltogether—though he think not so. Hush! let me speak, and you shalllearn. Oh, John, my friend, we are in awful straits. I fear, as I neverfeared before. We can only trust the good God. Silence! here she comes!”

I thought that the Professor was going to break down and have hysterics,just as he had when Lucy died, but with a great effort he controlledhimself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs. Harker tripped intothe room, bright and happy-looking and, in the doing of work, seeminglyforgetful of her misery. As she came in, she handed a number of sheetsof typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over them gravely, his facebrightening up as he read. Then holding the pages between his finger andthumb he said:—

“Friend John, to you with so much of experience already—and you, too,dear Madam Mina, that are young—here is a lesson: do not fear ever tothink. A half-thought has been buzzing often in my brain, but I fear tolet him loose his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back towhere that half-thought come from and I find that he be no half-thoughtat all; that be a whole thought, though so young that he is not yetstrong to use his little wings. Nay, like the “Ugly Duck” of my friendHans Andersen, he be no duck-thought at all, but a big swan-thought thatsail nobly on big wings, when the time come for him to try them. See Iread here what Jonathan have written:—

“That other of his race who, in a later age, again and again, broughthis forces over The Great River into Turkey Land; who, when he wasbeaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had to comealone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered,since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph.”

“What does this tell us? Not much? no! The Count’s child-thought seenothing; therefore he speak so free. Your man-thought see nothing; myman-thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there comes another wordfrom some one who speak without thought because she, too, know not whatit mean—what it might mean. Just as there are elements which rest,yet when in nature’s course they move on their way and they touch—thenpouf! and there comes a flash of light, heaven wide, that blind and killand destroy some; but that show up all earth below for leagues andleagues. Is it not so? Well, I shall explain. To begin, have you everstudy the philosophy of crime? ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’ You, John, yes; for it isa study of insanity. You, no, Madam Mina; for crime touch you not—notbut once. Still, your mind works true, and argues not a particulari aduniversale. There is this peculiarity in criminals. It is so constant,in all countries and at all times, that even police, who know not muchfrom philosophy, come to know it empirically, that it is. That is tobe empiric. The criminal always work at one crime—that is the truecriminal who seems predestinate to crime, and who will of none other.This criminal has not full man-brain. He is clever and cunning andresourceful; but he be not of man-stature as to brain. He be ofchild-brain in much. Now this criminal of ours is predestinate to crimealso; he, too, have child-brain, and it is of the child to do what hehave done. The little bird, the little fish, the little animal learn notby principle, but empirically; and when he learn to do, then there is tohim the ground to start from to do more. ‘Dos pou sto,’ saidArchimedes. ‘Give me a fulcrum, and I shall move the world!’ To do once,is the fulcrum whereby child-brain become man-brain; and until he havethe purpose to do more, he continue to do the same again every time,just as he have done before! Oh, my dear, I see that your eyes areopened, and that to you the lightning flash show all the leagues,” forMrs. Harker began to clap her hands and her eyes sparkled. He went on:—

“Now you shall speak. Tell us two dry men of science what you see withthose so bright eyes.” He took her hand and held it whilst she spoke.His finger and thumb closed on her pulse, as I thought instinctively andunconsciously, as she spoke:—

“The Count is a criminal and of criminal type. Nordau and Lombroso wouldso classify him, and quâ criminal he is of imperfectly formed mind.Thus, in a difficulty he has to seek resource in habit. His past is aclue, and the one page of it that we know—and that from his ownlips—tells that once before, when in what Mr. Morris would call a‘tight place,’ he went back to his own country from the land he hadtried to invade, and thence, without losing purpose, prepared himselffor a new effort. He came again better equipped for his work; and won.So he came to London to invade a new land. He was beaten, and when allhope of success was lost, and his existence in danger, he fled back overthe sea to his home; just as formerly he had fled back over the Danubefrom Turkey Land.”

“Good, good! oh, you so clever lady!” said Van Helsing,enthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later hesaid to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sick-roomconsultation:—

“Seventy-two only; and in all this excitement. I have hope.” Turning toher again, he said with keen expectation:—

“But go on. Go on! there is more to tell if you will. Be not afraid;John and I know. I do in any case, and shall tell you if you are right.Speak, without fear!”

“I will try to; but you will forgive me if I seem egotistical.”

“Nay! fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that we think.”

“Then, as he is criminal he is selfish; and as his intellect is smalland his action is based on selfishness, he confines himself to onepurpose. That purpose is remorseless. As he fled back over the Danube,leaving his forces to be cut to pieces, so now he is intent on beingsafe, careless of all. So his own selfishness frees my soul somewhatfrom the terrible power which he acquired over me on that dreadfulnight. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for His great mercy! My soulis freer than it has been since that awful hour; and all that haunts meis a fear lest in some trance or dream he may have used my knowledge forhis ends.” The Professor stood up:—

“He has so used your mind; and by it he has left us here in Varna,whilst the ship that carried him rushed through enveloping fog up toGalatz, where, doubtless, he had made preparation for escaping from us.But his child-mind only saw so far; and it may be that, as ever is inGod’s Providence, the very thing that the evil-doer most reckoned on forhis selfish good, turns out to be his chiefest harm. The hunter is takenin his own snare, as the great Psalmist says. For now that he think heis free from every trace of us all, and that he has escaped us with somany hours to him, then his selfish child-brain will whisper him tosleep. He think, too, that as he cut himself off from knowing your mind,there can be no knowledge of him to you; there is where he fail! Thatterrible baptism of blood which he give you makes you free to go to himin spirit, as you have as yet done in your times of freedom, when thesun rise and set. At such times you go by my volition and not by his;and this power to good of you and others, as you have won from yoursuffering at his hands. This is now all the more precious that he knowit not, and to guard himself have even cut himself off from hisknowledge of our where. We, however, are not selfish, and we believethat God is with us through all this blackness, and these many darkhours. We shall follow him; and we shall not flinch; even if we perilourselves that we become like him. Friend John, this has been a greathour; and it have done much to advance us on our way. You must be scribeand write him all down, so that when the others return from their workyou can give it to them; then they shall know as we do.”

And so I have written it whilst we wait their return, and Mrs. Harkerhas written with her typewriter all since she brought the MS. to us.

CHAPTER XXVI

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

29 October.—This is written in the train from Varna to Galatz. Lastnight we all assembled a little before the time of sunset. Each of ushad done his work as well as he could; so far as thought, and endeavour,and opportunity go, we are prepared for the whole of our journey, andfor our work when we get to Galatz. When the usual time came round Mrs.Harker prepared herself for her hypnotic effort; and after a longer andmore serious effort on the part of Van Helsing than has been usuallynecessary, she sank into the trance. Usually she speaks on a hint; butthis time the Professor had to ask her questions, and to ask them prettyresolutely, before we could learn anything; at last her answer came:—

“I can see nothing; we are still; there are no waves lapping, but only asteady swirl of water softly running against the hawser. I can hearmen’s voices calling, near and far, and the roll and creak of oars inthe rowlocks. A gun is fired somewhere; the echo of it seems far away.There is tramping of feet overhead, and ropes and chains are draggedalong. What is this? There is a gleam of light; I can feel the airblowing upon me.”

Here she stopped. She had risen, as if impulsively, from where she layon the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms upwards, as if lifting aweight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with understanding.Quincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at her intently, whilstHarker’s hand instinctively closed round the hilt of his Kukri. Therewas a long pause. We all knew that the time when she could speak waspassing; but we felt that it was useless to say anything. Suddenly shesat up, and, as she opened her eyes, said sweetly:—

“Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so tired!” Wecould only make her happy, and so acquiesced. She bustled off to gettea; when she had gone Van Helsing said:—

“You see, my friends. He is close to land: he has left hisearth-chest. But he has yet to get on shore. In the night he may liehidden somewhere; but if he be not carried on shore, or if the ship donot touch it, he cannot achieve the land. In such case he can, if it bein the night, change his form and can jump or fly on shore, as he didat Whitby. But if the day come before he get on shore, then, unless hebe carried he cannot escape. And if he be carried, then the customs menmay discover what the box contain. Thus, in fine, if he escape not onshore to-night, or before dawn, there will be the whole day lost to him.We may then arrive in time; for if he escape not at night we shall comeon him in daytime, boxed up and at our mercy; for he dare not be histrue self, awake and visible, lest he be discovered.”

There was no more to be said, so we waited in patience until the dawn;at which time we might learn more from Mrs. Harker.

Early this morning we listened, with breathless anxiety, for herresponse in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even longer in comingthan before; and when it came the time remaining until full sunrise wasso short that we began to despair. Van Helsing seemed to throw his wholesoul into the effort; at last, in obedience to his will she madereply:—

“All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and some creaking asof wood on wood.” She paused, and the red sun shot up. We must wait tillto-night.

And so it is that we are travelling towards Galatz in an agony ofexpectation. We are due to arrive between two and three in the morning;but already, at Bucharest, we are three hours late, so we cannotpossibly get in till well after sun-up. Thus we shall have two morehypnotic messages from Mrs. Harker; either or both may possibly throwmore light on what is happening.

Later.—Sunset has come and gone. Fortunately it came at a time whenthere was no distraction; for had it occurred whilst we were at astation, we might not have secured the necessary calm and isolation.Mrs. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less readily thanthis morning. I am in fear that her power of reading the Count’ssensations may die away, just when we want it most. It seems to me thather imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she has been in the trancehitherto she has confined herself to the simplest of facts. If this goeson it may ultimately mislead us. If I thought that the Count’s powerover her would die away equally with her power of knowledge it would bea happy thought; but I am afraid that it may not be so. When she didspeak, her words were enigmatical:—

“Something is going out; I can feel it pass me like a cold wind. I canhear, far off, confused sounds—as of men talking in strange tongues,fierce-falling water, and the howling of wolves.” She stopped and ashudder ran through her, increasing in intensity for a few seconds,till, at the end, she shook as though in a palsy. She said no more, evenin answer to the Professor’s imperative questioning. When she woke fromthe trance, she was cold, and exhausted, and languid; but her mind wasall alert. She could not remember anything, but asked what she had said;when she was told, she pondered over it deeply for a long time and insilence.

30 October, 7 a. m.—We are near Galatz now, and I may not have timeto write later. Sunrise this morning was anxiously looked for by us all.Knowing of the increasing difficulty of procuring the hypnotic trance,Van Helsing began his passes earlier than usual. They produced noeffect, however, until the regular time, when she yielded with a stillgreater difficulty, only a minute before the sun rose. The Professorlost no time in his questioning; her answer came with equal quickness:—

“All is dark. I hear water swirling by, level with my ears, and thecreaking of wood on wood. Cattle low far off. There is another sound, aqueer one like——” She stopped and grew white, and whiter still.

“Go on; go on! Speak, I command you!” said Van Helsing in an agonisedvoice. At the same time there was despair in his eyes, for the risen sunwas reddening even Mrs. Harker’s pale face. She opened her eyes, and weall started as she said, sweetly and seemingly with the utmostunconcern:—

“Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what you know I can’t? I don’t rememberanything.” Then, seeing the look of amazement on our faces, she said,turning from one to the other with a troubled look:—

“What have I said? What have I done? I know nothing, only that I waslying here, half asleep, and heard you say ‘go on! speak, I command you!’It seemed so funny to hear you order me about, as if I were a badchild!”

“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, sadly, “it is proof, if proof be needed, ofhow I love and honour you, when a word for your good, spoken moreearnest than ever, can seem so strange because it is to order her whom Iam proud to obey!”

The whistles are sounding; we are nearing Galatz. We are on fire withanxiety and eagerness.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

30 October.—Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had beenordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best be spared, sincehe does not speak any foreign language. The forces were distributedmuch as they had been at Varna, except that Lord Godalming went to theVice-Consul, as his rank might serve as an immediate guarantee of somesort to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Jonathan and the twodoctors went to the shipping agent to learn particulars of the arrivalof the Czarina Catherine.

Later.—Lord Godalming has returned. The Consul is away, and theVice-Consul sick; so the routine work has been attended to by a clerk.He was very obliging, and offered to do anything in his power.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

30 October.—At nine o’clock Dr. Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, and I calledon Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the agents of the London firm ofHapgood. They had received a wire from London, in answer to LordGodalming’s telegraphed request, asking us to show them any civility intheir power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took us at onceon board the Czarina Catherine, which lay at anchor out in the riverharbour. There we saw the Captain, Donelson by name, who told us of hisvoyage. He said that in all his life he had never had so favourable arun.

“Man!” he said, “but it made us afeard, for we expeckit that we shouldhave to pay for it wi’ some rare piece o’ ill luck, so as to keep up theaverage. It’s no canny to run frae London to the Black Sea wi’ a windahint ye, as though the Deil himself were blawin’ on yer sail for hisain purpose. An’ a’ the time we could no speer a thing. Gin we were nigha ship, or a port, or a headland, a fog fell on us and travelled wi’ us,till when after it had lifted and we looked out, the deil a thing couldwe see. We ran by Gibraltar wi’oot bein’ able to signal; an’ till wecame to the Dardanelles and had to wait to get our permit to pass, wenever were within hail o’ aught. At first I inclined to slack off sailand beat about till the fog was lifted; but whiles, I thocht that if theDeil was minded to get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do itwhether we would or no. If we had a quick voyage it would be no to ourmiscredit wi’ the owners, or no hurt to our traffic; an’ the Old Mon whohad served his ain purpose wad be decently grateful to us for nohinderin’ him.” This mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstitionand commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said:—

“Mine friend, that Devil is more clever than he is thought by some; andhe know when he meet his match!” The skipper was not displeased with thecompliment, and went on:—

“When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to grumble; some o’ them,the Roumanians, came and asked me to heave overboard a big box which hadbeen put on board by a queer lookin’ old man just before we had startedfrae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put out their twafingers when they saw him, to guard against the evil eye. Man! but thesupersteetion of foreigners is pairfectly rideeculous! I sent them aboottheir business pretty quick; but as just after a fog closed in on us Ifelt a wee bit as they did anent something, though I wouldn’t say it wasagin the big box. Well, on we went, and as the fog didn’t let up forfive days I joost let the wind carry us; for if the Deil wanted to getsomewheres—well, he would fetch it up a’reet. An’ if he didn’t, well,we’d keep a sharp lookout anyhow. Sure eneuch, we had a fair way anddeep water all the time; and two days ago, when the mornin’ sun camethrough the fog, we found ourselves just in the river opposite Galatz.The Roumanians were wild, and wanted me right or wrong to take out thebox and fling it in the river. I had to argy wi’ them aboot it wi’ ahandspike; an’ when the last o’ them rose off the deck wi’ his head inhis hand, I had convinced them that, evil eye or no evil eye, theproperty and the trust of my owners were better in my hands than in theriver Danube. They had, mind ye, taken the box on the deck ready tofling in, and as it was marked Galatz via Varna, I thocht I’d let itlie till we discharged in the port an’ get rid o’t althegither. Wedidn’t do much clearin’ that day, an’ had to remain the nicht at anchor;but in the mornin’, braw an’ airly, an hour before sun-up, a man cameaboard wi’ an order, written to him from England, to receive a boxmarked for one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was one ready tohis hand. He had his papers a’ reet, an’ glad I was to be rid o’ thedam’ thing, for I was beginnin’ masel’ to feel uneasy at it. If the Deildid have any luggage aboord the ship, I’m thinkin’ it was nane itherthan that same!”

“What was the name of the man who took it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing withrestrained eagerness.

“I’ll be tellin’ ye quick!” he answered, and, stepping down to hiscabin, produced a receipt signed “Immanuel Hildesheim.” Burgen-strasse16 was the address. We found out that this was all the Captain knew; sowith thanks we came away.

We found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the AdelphiTheatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His arguments werepointed with specie—we doing the punctuation—and with a littlebargaining he told us what he knew. This turned out to be simple butimportant. He had received a letter from Mr. de Ville of London, tellinghim to receive, if possible before sunrise so as to avoid customs, a boxwhich would arrive at Galatz in the Czarina Catherine. This he was togive in charge to a certain Petrof Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovakswho traded down the river to the port. He had been paid for his work byan English bank note, which had been duly cashed for gold at the DanubeInternational Bank. When Skinsky had come to him, he had taken him tothe ship and handed over the box, so as to save porterage. That was allhe knew.

We then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find him. One of hisneighbours, who did not seem to bear him any affection, said that he hadgone away two days before, no one knew whither. This was corroborated byhis landlord, who had received by messenger the key of the housetogether with the rent due, in English money. This had been between tenand eleven o’clock last night. We were at a standstill again.

Whilst we were talking one came running and breathlessly gasped out thatthe body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall of the churchyard ofSt. Peter, and that the throat had been torn open as if by some wildanimal. Those we had been speaking with ran off to see the horror, thewomen crying out “This is the work of a Slovak!” We hurried away lest weshould have been in some way drawn into the affair, and so detained.

As we came home we could arrive at no definite conclusion. We were allconvinced that the box was on its way, by water, to somewhere; but wherethat might be we would have to discover. With heavy hearts we came hometo the hotel to Mina.

When we met together, the first thing was to consult as to taking Minaagain into our confidence. Things are getting desperate, and it is atleast a chance, though a hazardous one. As a preliminary step, I wasreleased from my promise to her.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

30 October, evening.—They were so tired and worn out and dispiritedthat there was nothing to be done till they had some rest; so I askedthem all to lie down for half an hour whilst I should enter everythingup to the moment. I feel so grateful to the man who invented the“Traveller’s” typewriter, and to Mr. Morris for getting this one forme. I should have felt quite astray doing the work if I had to writewith a pen....

It is all done; poor dear, dear Jonathan, what he must have suffered,what must he be suffering now. He lies on the sofa hardly seeming tobreathe, and his whole body appears in collapse. His brows are knit; hisface is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe he is thinking, and I cansee his face all wrinkled up with the concentration of his thoughts. Oh!if I could only help at all.... I shall do what I can.

I have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and he has got me all the papers that Ihave not yet seen.... Whilst they are resting, I shall go over allcarefully, and perhaps I may arrive at some conclusion. I shall try tofollow the Professor’s example, and think without prejudice on the factsbefore me....

I do believe that under God’s providence I have made a discovery. Ishall get the maps and look over them....

I am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is ready, soI shall get our party together and read it. They can judge it; it iswell to be accurate, and every minute is precious.

Mina Harker’s Memorandum.

(Entered in her Journal.)

Ground of inquiry.—Count Dracula’s problem is to get back to his ownplace.

(a) He must be brought back by some one. This is evident; for had hepower to move himself as he wished he could go either as man, or wolf,or bat, or in some other way. He evidently fears discovery orinterference, in the state of helplessness in which he must be—confinedas he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden box.

(b) How is he to be taken?—Here a process of exclusions may helpus. By road, by rail, by water?

1. By Road.—There are endless difficulties, especially in leaving thecity.

(x) There are people; and people are curious, and investigate. A hint,a surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the box, would destroy him.

(y) There are, or there may be, customs and octroi officers to pass.

(z) His pursuers might follow. This is his highest fear; and in orderto prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so far as he can, evenhis victim—me!

2. By Rail.—There is no one in charge of the box. It would have totake its chance of being delayed; and delay would be fatal, with enemieson the track. True, he might escape at night; but what would he be, ifleft in a strange place with no refuge that he could fly to? This is notwhat he intends; and he does not mean to risk it.

3. By Water.—Here is the safest way, in one respect, but with mostdanger in another. On the water he is powerless except at night; eventhen he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his wolves. But werehe wrecked, the living water would engulf him, helpless; and he wouldindeed be lost. He could have the vessel drive to land; but if it wereunfriendly land, wherein he was not free to move, his position wouldstill be desperate.

We know from the record that he was on the water; so what we have to dois to ascertain what water.

The first thing is to realise exactly what he has done as yet; we may,then, get a light on what his later task is to be.

Firstly.—We must differentiate between what he did in London as partof his general plan of action, when he was pressed for moments and hadto arrange as best he could.

Secondly we must see, as well as we can surmise it from the facts weknow of, what he has done here.

As to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and sentinvoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain his means ofexit from England; his immediate and sole purpose then was to escape.The proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent to ImmanuelHildesheim to clear and take away the box before sunrise. There isalso the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only guess at; butthere must have been some letter or message, since Skinsky came toHildesheim.

That, so far, his plans were successful we know. The Czarina Catherinemade a phenomenally quick journey—so much so that Captain Donelson’ssuspicions were aroused; but his superstition united with his canninessplayed the Count’s game for him, and he ran with his favouring windthrough fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at Galatz. That theCount’s arrangements were well made, has been proved. Hildesheim clearedthe box, took it off, and gave it to Skinsky. Skinsky took it—and herewe lose the trail. We only know that the box is somewhere on the water,moving along. The customs and the octroi, if there be any, have beenavoided.

Now we come to what the Count must have done after his arrival—onland, at Galatz.

The box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the Count couldappear in his own form. Here, we ask why Skinsky was chosen at all toaid in the work? In my husband’s diary, Skinsky is mentioned as dealingwith the Slovaks who trade down the river to the port; and the man’sremark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the generalfeeling against his class. The Count wanted isolation.

My surmise is, this: that in London the Count decided to get back to hiscastle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was brought fromthe castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered their cargo to Slovakswho took the boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped for London.Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could arrange thisservice. When the box was on land, before sunrise or after sunset, hecame out from his box, met Skinsky and instructed him what to do as toarranging the carriage of the box up some river. When this was done, andhe knew that all was in train, he blotted out his traces, as he thought,by murdering his agent.

I have examined the map and find that the river most suitable for theSlovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the Sereth. I read inthe typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and water swirlinglevel with my ears and the creaking of wood. The Count in his box, then,was on a river in an open boat—propelled probably either by oars orpoles, for the banks are near and it is working against stream. Therewould be no such sound if floating down stream.

Of course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, but we maypossibly investigate further. Now of these two, the Pruth is the moreeasily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by the Bistritzawhich runs up round the Borgo Pass. The loop it makes is manifestly asclose to Dracula’s castle as can be got by water.

Mina Harker’s Journal—continued.

When I had done reading, Jonathan took me in his arms and kissed me. Theothers kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing said:—

“Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes have been wherewe were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and this time wemay succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless; and if we can come onhim by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has a start, but heis powerless to hasten, as he may not leave his box lest those who carryhim may suspect; for them to suspect would be to prompt them to throwhim in the stream where he perish. This he knows, and will not. Now men,to our Council of War; for, here and now, we must plan what each and allshall do.”

“I shall get a steam launch and follow him,” said Lord Godalming.

“And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance he land,” said Mr.Morris.

“Good!” said the Professor, “both good. But neither must go alone. Theremust be force to overcome force if need be; the Slovak is strong andrough, and he carries rude arms.” All the men smiled, for amongst themthey carried a small arsenal. Said Mr. Morris:—

“I have brought some Winchesters; they are pretty handy in a crowd, andthere may be wolves. The Count, if you remember, took some otherprecautions; he made some requisitions on others that Mrs. Harker couldnot quite hear or understand. We must be ready at all points.” Dr.Seward said:—

“I think I had better go with Quincey. We have been accustomed to hunttogether, and we two, well armed, will be a match for whatever may comealong. You must not be alone, Art. It may be necessary to fight theSlovaks, and a chance thrust—for I don’t suppose these fellows carryguns—would undo all our plans. There must be no chances, this time; weshall not rest until the Count’s head and body have been separated, andwe are sure that he cannot re-incarnate.” He looked at Jonathan as hespoke, and Jonathan looked at me. I could see that the poor dear wastorn about in his mind. Of course he wanted to be with me; but then theboat service would, most likely, be the one which would destroy the ...the ... the ... Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?) He wassilent awhile, and during his silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke:—

“Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First, because youare young and brave and can fight, and all energies may be needed at thelast; and again that it is your right to destroy him—that—which haswrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for Madam Mina; shewill be my care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not so quick to run asonce; and I am not used to ride so long or to pursue as need be, or tofight with lethal weapons. But I can be of other service; I can fight inother way. And I can die, if need be, as well as younger men. Now letme say that what I would is this: while you, my Lord Godalming andfriend Jonathan go in your so swift little steamboat up the river, andwhilst John and Quincey guard the bank where perchance he might belanded, I will take Madam Mina right into the heart of the enemy’scountry. Whilst the old fox is tied in his box, floating on the runningstream whence he cannot escape to land—where he dares not raise the lidof his coffin-box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave him toperish—we shall go in the track where Jonathan went,—from Bistritzover the Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, MadamMina’s hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall find our way—alldark and unknown otherwise—after the first sunrise when we are nearthat fateful place. There is much to be done, and other places to bemade sanctify, so that that nest of vipers be obliterated.” HereJonathan interrupted him hotly:—

“Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you would bring Mina,in her sad case and tainted as she is with that devil’s illness, rightinto the jaws of his death-trap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven orHell!” He became almost speechless for a minute, and then went on:—

“Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellishinfamy—with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and everyspeck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo?Have you felt the Vampire’s lips upon your throat?” Here he turned tome, and as his eyes lit on my forehead he threw up his arms with a cry:“Oh, my God, what have we done to have this terror upon us!” and he sankdown on the sofa in a collapse of misery. The Professor’s voice, as hespoke in clear, sweet tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmedus all:—

“Oh, my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina from that awfulplace that I would go. God forbid that I should take her into thatplace. There is work—wild work—to be done there, that her eyes may notsee. We men here, all save Jonathan, have seen with their own eyes whatis to be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we are interrible straits. If the Count escape us this time—and he is strong andsubtle and cunning—he may choose to sleep him for a century, and thenin time our dear one”—he took my hand—“would come to him to keep himcompany, and would be as those others that you, Jonathan, saw. You havetold us of their gloating lips; you heard their ribald laugh as theyclutched the moving bag that the Count threw to them. You shudder; andwell may it be. Forgive me that I make you so much pain, but it isnecessary. My friend, is it not a dire need for the which I am giving,possibly my life? If it were that any one went into that place to stay,it is I who would have to go to keep them company.”

“Do as you will,” said Jonathan, with a sob that shook him all over, “weare in the hands of God!”

Later.—Oh, it did me good to see the way that these brave men worked.How can women help loving men when they are so earnest, and so true, andso brave! And, too, it made me think of the wonderful power of money!What can it not do when it is properly applied; and what might it dowhen basely used. I felt so thankful that Lord Godalming is rich, andthat both he and Mr. Morris, who also has plenty of money, are willingto spend it so freely. For if they did not, our little expedition couldnot start, either so promptly or so well equipped, as it will withinanother hour. It is not three hours since it was arranged what part eachof us was to do; and now Lord Godalming and Jonathan have a lovely steamlaunch, with steam up ready to start at a moment’s notice. Dr. Sewardand Mr. Morris have half a dozen good horses, well appointed. We haveall the maps and appliances of various kinds that can be had. ProfessorVan Helsing and I are to leave by the 11:40 train to-night for Veresti,where we are to get a carriage to drive to the Borgo Pass. We arebringing a good deal of ready money, as we are to buy a carriage andhorses. We shall drive ourselves, for we have no one whom we can trustin the matter. The Professor knows something of a great many languages,so we shall get on all right. We have all got arms, even for me alarge-bore revolver; Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed likethe rest. Alas! I cannot carry one arm that the rest do; the scar on myforehead forbids that. Dear Dr. Van Helsing comforts me by telling methat I am fully armed as there may be wolves; the weather is gettingcolder every hour, and there are snow-flurries which come and go aswarnings.

Later.—It took all my courage to say good-bye to my darling. We maynever meet again. Courage, Mina! the Professor is looking at you keenly;his look is a warning. There must be no tears now—unless it may be thatGod will let them fall in gladness.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

October 30. Night.—I am writing this in the light from the furnacedoor of the steam launch: Lord Godalming is firing up. He is anexperienced hand at the work, as he has had for years a launch of hisown on the Thames, and another on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding ourplans, we finally decided that Mina’s guess was correct, and that if anywaterway was chosen for the Count’s escape back to his Castle, theSereth and then the Bistritza at its junction, would be the one. We tookit, that somewhere about the 47th degree, north latitude, would be theplace chosen for the crossing the country between the river and theCarpathians. We have no fear in running at good speed up the river atnight; there is plenty of water, and the banks are wide enough apart tomake steaming, even in the dark, easy enough. Lord Godalming tells me tosleep for a while, as it is enough for the present for one to be onwatch. But I cannot sleep—how can I with the terrible danger hangingover my darling, and her going out into that awful place.... My onlycomfort is that we are in the hands of God. Only for that faith it wouldbe easier to die than to live, and so be quit of all the trouble. Mr.Morris and Dr. Seward were off on their long ride before we started;they are to keep up the right bank, far enough off to get on higherlands where they can see a good stretch of river and avoid the followingof its curves. They have, for the first stages, two men to ride and leadtheir spare horses—four in all, so as not to excite curiosity. Whenthey dismiss the men, which shall be shortly, they shall themselves lookafter the horses. It may be necessary for us to join forces; if so theycan mount our whole party. One of the saddles has a movable horn, andcan be easily adapted for Mina, if required.

It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along throughthe darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise up and strikeus; with all the mysterious voices of the night around us, it all comeshome. We seem to be drifting into unknown places and unknown ways; intoa whole world of dark and dreadful things. Godalming is shutting thefurnace door....

31 October.—Still hurrying along. The day has come, and Godalming issleeping. I am on watch. The morning is bitterly cold; the furnace heatis grateful, though we have heavy fur coats. As yet we have passed onlya few open boats, but none of them had on board any box or package ofanything like the size of the one we seek. The men were scared everytime we turned our electric lamp on them, and fell on their knees andprayed.

1 November, evening.—No news all day; we have found nothing of thekind we seek. We have now passed into the Bistritza; and if we are wrongin our surmise our chance is gone. We have over-hauled every boat, bigand little. Early this morning, one crew took us for a Government boat,and treated us accordingly. We saw in this a way of smoothing matters,so at Fundu, where the Bistritza runs into the Sereth, we got aRoumanian flag which we now fly conspicuously. With every boat which wehave over-hauled since then this trick has succeeded; we have had everydeference shown to us, and not once any objection to whatever we choseto ask or do. Some of the Slovaks tell us that a big boat passed them,going at more than usual speed as she had a double crew on board. Thiswas before they came to Fundu, so they could not tell us whether theboat turned into the Bistritza or continued on up the Sereth. At Funduwe could not hear of any such boat, so she must have passed there in thenight. I am feeling very sleepy; the cold is perhaps beginning to tellupon me, and nature must have rest some time. Godalming insists that heshall keep the first watch. God bless him for all his goodness to poordear Mina and me.

2 November, morning.—It is broad daylight. That good fellow would notwake me. He says it would have been a sin to, for I slept peacefully andwas forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish to me to have sleptso long, and let him watch all night; but he was quite right. I am a newman this morning; and, as I sit here and watch him sleeping, I can doall that is necessary both as to minding the engine, steering, andkeeping watch. I can feel that my strength and energy are coming back tome. I wonder where Mina is now, and Van Helsing. They should have got toVeresti about noon on Wednesday. It would take them some time to get thecarriage and horses; so if they had started and travelled hard, theywould be about now at the Borgo Pass. God guide and help them! I amafraid to think what may happen. If we could only go faster! but wecannot; the engines are throbbing and doing their utmost. I wonder howDr. Seward and Mr. Morris are getting on. There seem to be endlessstreams running down the mountains into this river, but as none of themare very large—at present, at all events, though they are terribledoubtless in winter and when the snow melts—the horsemen may not havemet much obstruction. I hope that before we get to Strasba we may seethem; for if by that time we have not overtaken the Count, it may benecessary to take counsel together what to do next.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

2 November.—Three days on the road. No news, and no time to write itif there had been, for every moment is precious. We have had only therest needful for the horses; but we are both bearing it wonderfully.Those adventurous days of ours are turning up useful. We must push on;we shall never feel happy till we get the launch in sight again.

3 November.—We heard at Fundu that the launch had gone up theBistritza. I wish it wasn’t so cold. There are signs of snow coming; andif it falls heavy it will stop us. In such case we must get a sledge andgo on, Russian fashion.

4 November.—To-day we heard of the launch having been detained by anaccident when trying to force a way up the rapids. The Slovak boats getup all right, by aid of a rope and steering with knowledge. Some went uponly a few hours before. Godalming is an amateur fitter himself, andevidently it was he who put the launch in trim again. Finally, they gotup the rapids all right, with local help, and are off on the chaseafresh. I fear that the boat is not any better for the accident; thepeasantry tell us that after she got upon smooth water again, she keptstopping every now and again so long as she was in sight. We must pushon harder than ever; our help may be wanted soon.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

31 October.—Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor tells me thatthis morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotise me at all, and that all Icould say was: “dark and quiet.” He is off now buying a carriage andhorses. He says that he will later on try to buy additional horses, sothat we may be able to change them on the way. We have something morethan 70 miles before us. The country is lovely, and most interesting; ifonly we were under different conditions, how delightful it would be tosee it all. If Jonathan and I were driving through it alone what apleasure it would be. To stop and see people, and learn something oftheir life, and to fill our minds and memories with all the colour andpicturesqueness of the whole wild, beautiful country and the quaintpeople! But, alas!—

Later.—Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has got the carriage andhorses; we are to have some dinner, and to start in an hour. Thelandlady is putting us up a huge basket of provisions; it seems enoughfor a company of soldiers. The Professor encourages her, and whispers tome that it may be a week before we can get any good food again. He hasbeen shopping too, and has sent home such a wonderful lot of fur coatsand wraps, and all sorts of warm things. There will not be any chance ofour being cold.

. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .. . . . .

We shall soon be off. I am afraid to think what may happen to us. We aretruly in the hands of God. He alone knows what may be, and I pray Him,with all the strength of my sad and humble soul, that He will watch overmy beloved husband; that whatever may happen, Jonathan may know that Iloved him and honoured him more than I can say, and that my latest andtruest thought will be always for him.

CHAPTER XXVII

MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL

1 November.—All day long we have travelled, and at a good speed. Thehorses seem to know that they are being kindly treated, for they gowillingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had so manychanges and find the same thing so constantly that we are encouraged tothink that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van Helsing is laconic;he tells the farmers that he is hurrying to Bistritz, and pays them wellto make the exchange of horses. We get hot soup, or coffee, or tea; andoff we go. It is a lovely country; full of beauties of all imaginablekinds, and the people are brave, and strong, and simple, and seem fullof nice qualities. They are very, very superstitious. In the firsthouse where we stopped, when the woman who served us saw the scar on myforehead, she crossed herself and put out two fingers towards me, tokeep off the evil eye. I believe they went to the trouble of putting anextra amount of garlic into our food; and I can’t abide garlic. Eversince then I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so haveescaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have nodriver with us to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal; but I daresaythat fear of the evil eye will follow hard behind us all the way. TheProfessor seems tireless; all day he would not take any rest, though hemade me sleep for a long spell. At sunset time he hypnotised me, and hesays that I answered as usual “darkness, lapping water and creakingwood”; so our enemy is still on the river. I am afraid to think ofJonathan, but somehow I have now no fear for him, or for myself. I writethis whilst we wait in a farmhouse for the horses to be got ready. Dr.Van Helsing is sleeping. Poor dear, he looks very tired and old andgrey, but his mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror’s; even in his sleephe is instinct with resolution. When we have well started I must makehim rest whilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have days before us,and we must not break down when most of all his strength will beneeded.... All is ready; we are off shortly.

2 November, morning.—I was successful, and we took turns driving allnight; now the day is on us, bright though cold. There is a strangeheaviness in the air—I say heaviness for want of a better word; I meanthat it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only our warm furs keepus comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotised me; he says I answered“darkness, creaking wood and roaring water,” so the river is changing asthey ascend. I do hope that my darling will not run any chance ofdanger—more than need be; but we are in God’s hands.

2 November, night.—All day long driving. The country gets wilder aswe go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which at Veresti seemedso far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather round usand tower in front. We both seem in good spirits; I think we make aneffort each to cheer the other; in the doing so we cheer ourselves. Dr.Van Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the Borgo Pass. Thehouses are very few here now, and the Professor says that the last horsewe got will have to go on with us, as we may not be able to change. Hegot two in addition to the two we changed, so that now we have a rudefour-in-hand. The dear horses are patient and good, and they give us notrouble. We are not worried with other travellers, and so even I candrive. We shall get to the Pass in daylight; we do not want to arrivebefore. So we take it easy, and have each a long rest in turn. Oh, whatwill to-morrow bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poordarling suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, andthat He will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both,and who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in Hissight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and shall be until He may deignto let me stand forth in His sight as one of those who have not incurredHis wrath.

Memorandum by Abraham Van Helsing.

4 November.—This to my old and true friend John Seward, M.D., ofPurfleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may explain. It ismorning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have keptalive—Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold; so cold that the greyheavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for allwinter as the ground is hardening to receive it. It seems to haveaffected Madam Mina; she has been so heavy of head all day that she wasnot like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps! She who is usualso alert, have done literally nothing all the day; she even have losther appetite. She make no entry into her little diary, she who write sofaithful at every pause. Something whisper to me that all is not well.However, to-night she is more vif. Her long sleep all day have refreshand restore her, for now she is all sweet and bright as ever. At sunsetI try to hypnotise her, but alas! with no effect; the power has grownless and less with each day, and to-night it fail me altogether. Well,God’s will be done—whatever it may be, and whithersoever it may lead!

Now to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her stenography, Imust, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day of us may not gounrecorded.

We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning. When Isaw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism. We stopped ourcarriage, and got down so that there might be no disturbance. I made acouch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down, yield herself as usual, butmore slow and more short time than ever, to the hypnotic sleep. Asbefore, came the answer: “darkness and the swirling of water.” Then shewoke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon reach the Pass.At this time and place, she become all on fire with zeal; some newguiding power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and say:—

“This is the way.”

“How know you it?” I ask.

“Of course I know it,” she answer, and with a pause, add: “Have not myJonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?”

At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be only onesuch by-road. It is used but little, and very different from the coachroad from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more wide and hard, andmore of use.

So we came down this road; when we meet other ways—not always were wesure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and light snowhave fallen—the horses know and they only. I give rein to them, andthey go on so patient. By-and-by we find all the things which Jonathanhave note in that wonderful diary of him. Then we go on for long, longhours and hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep; she try, andshe succeed. She sleep all the time; till at the last, I feel myself tosuspicious grow, and attempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I maynot wake her though I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harmher; for I know that she have suffer much, and sleep at times beall-in-all to her. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feelguilt, as though I have done something; I find myself bolt up, with thereins in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever. Ilook down and find Madam Mina still sleep. It is now not far off sunsettime, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big yellow flood,so that we throw great long shadow on where the mountain rise so steep.For we are going up, and up; and all is oh! so wild and rocky, as thoughit were the end of the world.

Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much trouble, andthen I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But she sleep not, being asthough I were not. Still I try and try, till all at once I find her andmyself in dark; so I look round, and find that the sun have gone down.Madam Mina laugh, and I turn and look at her. She is now quite awake,and look so well as I never saw her since that night at Carfax when wefirst enter the Count’s house. I am amaze, and not at ease then; but sheis so bright and tender and thoughtful for me that I forget all fear. Ilight a fire, for we have brought supply of wood with us, and sheprepare food while I undo the horses and set them, tethered in shelter,to feed. Then when I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I goto help her; but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already—thatshe was so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I havegrave doubts; but I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it. Shehelp me and I eat alone; and then we wrap in fur and lie beside thefire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I forget allof watching; and when I sudden remember that I watch, I find her lyingquiet, but awake, and looking at me with so bright eyes. Once, twicemore the same occur, and I get much sleep till before morning. When Iwake I try to hypnotise her; but alas! though she shut her eyesobedient, she may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up; and thensleep come to her too late, but so heavy that she will not wake. I haveto lift her up, and place her sleeping in the carriage when I haveharnessed the horses and made all ready. Madam still sleep, and she lookin her sleep more healthy and more redder than before. And I like itnot. And I am afraid, afraid, afraid!—I am afraid of all things—evento think but I must go on my way. The stake we play for is life anddeath, or more than these, and we must not flinch.

5 November, morning.—Let me be accurate in everything, for though youand I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first thinkthat I, Van Helsing, am mad—that the many horrors and the so longstrain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.

All yesterday we travel, ever getting closer to the mountains, andmoving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are great,frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem to have heldsometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and sleep; and though Idid have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken her—even for food. Ibegan to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon her, tainted asshe is with that Vampire baptism. “Well,” said I to myself, “if it bethat she sleep all the day, it shall also be that I do not sleep atnight.” As we travel on the rough road, for a road of an ancient andimperfect kind there was, I held down my head and slept. Again I wakedwith a sense of guilt and of time passed, and found Madam Mina stillsleeping, and the sun low down. But all was indeed changed; the frowningmountains seemed further away, and we were near the top of asteep-rising hill, on summit of which was such a castle as Jonathan tellof in his diary. At once I exulted and feared; for now, for good or ill,the end was near.

I woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotise her; but alas!unavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came upon us—foreven after down-sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the snow, andall was for a time in a great twilight—I took out the horses and fedthem in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire; and near it I makeMadam Mina, now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable amidher rugs. I got ready food: but she would not eat, simply saying thatshe had not hunger. I did not press her, knowing her unavailingness. ButI myself eat, for I must needs now be strong for all. Then, with thefear on me of what might be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, roundwhere Madam Mina sat; and over the ring I passed some of the wafer, andI broke it fine so that all was well guarded. She sat still all thetime—so still as one dead; and she grew whiter and ever whiter till thesnow was not more pale; and no word she said. But when I drew near, sheclung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from head tofeet with a tremor that was pain to feel. I said to her presently, whenshe had grown more quiet:—

“Will you not come over to the fire?” for I wished to make a test ofwhat she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step shestopped, and stood as one stricken.

“Why not go on?” I asked. She shook her head, and, coming back, satdown in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one wakedfrom sleep, she said simply:—

“I cannot!” and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what shecould not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might bedanger to her body, yet her soul was safe!

Presently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers till Icame to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands on them, theywhinnied low as in joy, and licked at my hands and were quiet for atime. Many times through the night did I come to them, till it arrive tothe cold hour when all nature is at lowest; and every time my coming waswith quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire began to die, and I wasabout stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flyingsweeps and with it a chill mist. Even in the dark there was a light ofsome kind, as there ever is over snow; and it seemed as though thesnow-flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women withtrailing garments. All was in dead, grim silence only that the horseswhinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst. I began tofear—horrible fears; but then came to me the sense of safety in thatring wherein I stood. I began, too, to think that my imaginings were ofthe night, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, andall the terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all Jonathan’shorrid experience were befooling me; for the snow flakes and the mistbegan to wheel and circle round, till I could get as though a shadowyglimpse of those women that would have kissed him. And then the horsescowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror as men do in pain. Eventhe madness of fright was not to them, so that they could break away. Ifeared for my dear Madam Mina when these weird figures drew near andcircled round. I looked at her, but she sat calm, and smiled at me; whenI would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, she caught me and heldme back, and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so lowit was:—

“No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!” I turned to her, andlooking in her eyes, said:—

“But you? It is for you that I fear!” whereat she laughed—a laugh, lowand unreal, and said:—

“Fear for me! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from themthan I am,” and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff ofwind made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead.Then, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for thewheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever withoutthe Holy circle. Then they began to materialise till—if God have nottake away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes—there were before mein actual flesh the same three women that Jonathan saw in the room, whenthey would have kissed his throat. I knew the swaying round forms, thebright hard eyes, the white teeth, the ruddy colour, the voluptuouslips. They smiled ever at poor dear Madam Mina; and as their laugh camethrough the silence of the night, they twined their arms and pointed toher, and said in those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said wereof the intolerable sweetness of the water-glasses:—

“Come, sister. Come to us. Come! Come!” In fear I turned to my poorMadam Mina, and my heart with gladness leapt like flame; for oh! theterror in her sweet eyes, the repulsion, the horror, told a story to myheart that was all of hope. God be thanked she was not, yet, of them. Iseized some of the firewood which was by me, and holding out some of theWafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They drew back before me, andlaughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and feared them not; forI knew that we were safe within our protections. They could notapproach, me, whilst so armed, nor Madam Mina whilst she remained withinthe ring, which she could not leave no more than they could enter. Thehorses had ceased to moan, and lay still on the ground; the snow fell onthem softly, and they grew whiter. I knew that there was for the poorbeasts no more of terror.

And so we remained till the red of the dawn to fall through thesnow-gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror; butwhen that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.At the first coming of the dawn the horrid figures melted in thewhirling mist and snow; the wreaths of transparent gloom moved awaytowards the castle, and were lost.

Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina, intendingto hypnotise her; but she lay in a deep and sudden sleep, from which Icould not wake her. I tried to hypnotise through her sleep, but she madeno response, none at all; and the day broke. I fear yet to stir. I havemade my fire and have seen the horses, they are all dead. To-day I havemuch to do here, and I keep waiting till the sun is up high; for theremay be places where I must go, where that sunlight, though snow and mistobscure it, will be to me a safety.

I will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will to my terriblework. Madam Mina still sleeps; and, God be thanked! she is calm in hersleep....

Jonathan Harker’s Journal.

4 November, evening.—The accident to the launch has been a terriblething for us. Only for it we should have overtaken the boat long ago;and by now my dear Mina would have been free. I fear to think of her,off on the wolds near that horrid place. We have got horses, and wefollow on the track. I note this whilst Godalming is getting ready. Wehave our arms. The Szgany must look out if they mean fight. Oh, if onlyMorris and Seward were with us. We must only hope! If I write no moreGood-bye, Mina! God bless and keep you.

Dr. Seward’s Diary.

5 November.—With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us dashingaway from the river with their leiter-wagon. They surrounded it in acluster, and hurried along as though beset. The snow is falling lightlyand there is a strange excitement in the air. It may be our ownfeelings, but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the howling ofwolves; the snow brings them down from the mountains, and there aredangers to all of us, and from all sides. The horses are nearly ready,and we are soon off. We ride to death of some one. God alone knows who,or where, or what, or when, or how it may be....

Dr. Van Helsing’s Memorandum.

5 November, afternoon.—I am at least sane. Thank God for that mercyat all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When I leftMadam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to the castle.The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti wasuseful; though the doors were all open I broke them off the rustyhinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close them, so thatbeing entered I might not get out. Jonathan’s bitter experience servedme here. By memory of his diary I found my way to the old chapel, for Iknew that here my work lay. The air was oppressive; it seemed as ifthere was some sulphurous fume, which at times made me dizzy. Eitherthere was a roaring in my ears or I heard afar off the howl of wolves.Then I bethought me of my dear Madam Mina, and I was in terrible plight.The dilemma had me between his horns.

Her, I had not dare to take into this place, but left safe from theVampire in that Holy circle; and yet even there would be the wolf! Iresolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolves we mustsubmit, if it were God’s will. At any rate it was only death andfreedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been for myself thechoice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were better to rest in thanthe grave of the Vampire! So I make my choice to go on with my work.

I knew that there were at least three graves to find—graves that areinhabit; so I search, and search, and I find one of them. She lay in herVampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder asthough I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, whensuch things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine,found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay,and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of thewanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunsetcome, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fairwoman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to akiss—and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampirefold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!...

There is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere presenceof such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted with age andheavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that horrid odour suchas the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was moved—I, Van Helsing,with all my purpose and with my motive for hate—I was moved to ayearning for delay which seemed to paralyse my faculties and to clog myvery soul. It may have been that the need of natural sleep, and thestrange oppression of the air were beginning to overcome me. Certain itwas that I was lapsing into sleep, the open-eyed sleep of one who yieldsto a sweet fascination, when there came through the snow-stilled air along, low wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like the soundof a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that I heard.

Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by wrenchingaway tomb-tops one other of the sisters, the other dark one. I dared notpause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once more I shouldbegin to be enthrall; but I go on searching until, presently, I find ina high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other fair sisterwhich, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms ofthe mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, soexquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which callssome of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirlwith new emotion. But God be thanked, that soul-wail of my dear MadamMina had not died out of my ears; and, before the spell could be wroughtfurther upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By this time I hadsearched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell; and asthere had been only three of these Un-Dead phantoms around us in thenight, I took it that there were no more of active Un-Dead existent.There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, andnobly proportioned. On it was but one word

DRACULA.

This then was the Un-Dead home of the King-Vampire, to whom so many morewere due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain what I knew.Before I began to restore these women to their dead selves through myawful work, I laid in Dracula’s tomb some of the Wafer, and so banishedhim from it, Un-Dead, for ever.

Then began my terrible task, and I dreaded it. Had it been but one, ithad been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more after I hadbeen through a deed of horror; for if it was terrible with the sweetMiss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who had survivedthrough centuries, and who had been strengthened by the passing of theyears; who would, if they could, have fought for their foul lives....

Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher work; had I not been nerved bythoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung such a pall offear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and tremble even yet, thoughtill all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had I not seenthe repose in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it justere the final dissolution came, as realisation that the soul had beenwon, I could not have gone further with my butchery. I could not haveendured the horrid screeching as the stake drove home; the plunging ofwrithing form, and lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror andleft my work undone. But it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity themnow and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of deathfor a short moment ere fading. For, friend John, hardly had my knifesevered the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away andcrumble in to its native dust, as though the death that should have comecenturies agone had at last assert himself and say at once and loud “Iam here!”

Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more canthe Count enter there Un-Dead.

When I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke from hersleep, and, seeing, me, cried out in pain that I had endured too much.

“Come!” she said, “come away from this awful place! Let us go to meet myhusband who is, I know, coming towards us.” She was looking thin andpale and weak; but her eyes were pure and glowed with fervour. I wasglad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind was full of thefresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.

And so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward to meetour friends—and him—whom Madam Mina tell me that she know arecoming to meet us.

Mina Harker’s Journal.

6 November.—It was late in the afternoon when the Professor and Itook our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming. We didnot go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for we had to takeheavy rugs and wraps with us; we dared not face the possibility of beingleft without warmth in the cold and the snow. We had to take some of ourprovisions, too, for we were in a perfect desolation, and, so far as wecould see through the snowfall, there was not even the sign ofhabitation. When we had gone about a mile, I was tired with the heavywalking and sat down to rest. Then we looked back and saw where theclear line of Dracula’s castle cut the sky; for we were so deep underthe hill whereon it was set that the angle of perspective of theCarpathian mountains was far below it. We saw it in all its grandeur,perched a thousand feet on the summit of a sheer precipice, and withseemingly a great gap between it and the steep of the adjacent mountainon any side. There was something wild and uncanny about the place. Wecould hear the distant howling of wolves. They were far off, but thesound, even though coming muffled through the deadening snowfall, wasfull of terror. I knew from the way Dr. Van Helsing was searching aboutthat he was trying to seek some strategic point, where we would be lessexposed in case of attack. The rough roadway still led downwards; wecould trace it through the drifted snow.

In a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up and joinedhim. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow in a rock,with an entrance like a doorway between two boulders. He took me by thehand and drew me in: “See!” he said, “here you will be in shelter; andif the wolves do come I can meet them one by one.” He brought in ourfurs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out some provisions andforced them upon me. But I could not eat; to even try to do so wasrepulsive to me, and, much as I would have liked to please him, I couldnot bring myself to the attempt. He looked very sad, but did notreproach me. Taking his field-glasses from the case, he stood on the topof the rock, and began to search the horizon. Suddenly he called out:—

“Look! Madam Mina, look! look!” I sprang up and stood beside him on therock; he handed me his glasses and pointed. The snow was now fallingmore heavily, and swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginningto blow. However, there were times when there were pauses between thesnow flurries and I could see a long way round. From the height where wewere it was possible to see a great distance; and far off, beyond thewhite waste of snow, I could see the river lying like a black ribbon inkinks and curls as it wound its way. Straight in front of us and not faroff—in fact, so near that I wondered we had not noticed before—came agroup of mounted men hurrying along. In the midst of them was a cart, along leiter-wagon which swept from side to side, like a dog’s tailwagging, with each stern inequality of the road. Outlined against thesnow as they were, I could see from the men’s clothes that they werepeasants or gypsies of some kind.

On the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw it, for Ifelt that the end was coming. The evening was now drawing close, andwell I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till then imprisonedthere, would take new freedom and could in any of many forms elude allpursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor; to my consternation,however, he was not there. An instant later, I saw him below me. Roundthe rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had found shelter in lastnight. When he had completed it he stood beside me again, saying:—

“At least you shall be safe here from him!” He took the glasses fromme, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below us.“See,” he said, “they come quickly; they are flogging the horses, andgalloping as hard as they can.” He paused and went on in a hollowvoice:—

“They are racing for the sunset. We may be too late. God’s will bedone!” Down came another blinding rush of driving snow, and the wholelandscape was blotted out. It soon passed, however, and once more hisglasses were fixed on the plain. Then came a sudden cry:—

“Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen follow fast, coming up from thesouth. It must be Quincey and John. Take the glass. Look before the snowblots it all out!” I took it and looked. The two men might be Dr. Sewardand Mr. Morris. I knew at all events that neither of them was Jonathan.At the same time I knew that Jonathan was not far off; looking aroundI saw on the north side of the coming party two other men, riding atbreak-neck speed. One of them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took,of course, to be Lord Godalming. They, too, were pursuing the party withthe cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee like a schoolboy,and, after looking intently till a snow fall made sight impossible, helaid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the boulder at theopening of our shelter. “They are all converging,” he said. “When thetime comes we shall have gypsies on all sides.” I got out my revolverready to hand, for whilst we were speaking the howling of wolves camelouder and closer. When the snow storm abated a moment we looked again.It was strange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us,and beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank downtowards the far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I couldsee here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes and largernumbers—the wolves were gathering for their prey.

Every instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind came now infierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury as it swept upon us incircling eddies. At times we could not see an arm’s length before us;but at others, as the hollow-sounding wind swept by us, it seemed toclear the air-space around us so that we could see afar off. We had oflate been so accustomed to watch for sunrise and sunset, that we knewwith fair accuracy when it would be; and we knew that before long thesun would set. It was hard to believe that by our watches it was lessthan an hour that we waited in that rocky shelter before the variousbodies began to converge close upon us. The wind came now with fiercerand more bitter sweeps, and more steadily from the north. It seeminglyhad driven the snow clouds from us, for, with only occasional bursts,the snow fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of eachparty, the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued didnot seem to realise, or at least to care, that they were pursued; theyseemed, however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the sun dropped lowerand lower on the mountain tops.

Closer and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched down behindour rock, and held our weapons ready; I could see that he was determinedthat they should not pass. One and all were quite unaware of ourpresence.

All at once two voices shouted out to: “Halt!” One was my Jonathan’s,raised in a high key of passion; the other Mr. Morris’ strong resolutetone of quiet command. The gypsies may not have known the language, butthere was no mistaking the tone, in whatever tongue the words werespoken. Instinctively they reined in, and at the instant Lord Godalmingand Jonathan dashed up at one side and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris on theother. The leader of the gypsies, a splendid-looking fellow who sat hishorse like a centaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to hiscompanions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which sprangforward; but the four men raised their Winchester rifles, and in anunmistakable way commanded them to stop. At the same moment Dr. VanHelsing and I rose behind the rock and pointed our weapons at them.Seeing that they were surrounded the men tightened their reins and drewup. The leader turned to them and gave a word at which every man of thegypsy party drew what weapon he carried, knife or pistol, and heldhimself in readiness to attack. Issue was joined in an instant.

The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse out infront, and pointing first to the sun—now close down on the hilltops—and then to the castle, said something which I did not understand.For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves from their horsesand dashed towards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeingJonathan in such danger, but that the ardour of battle must have beenupon me as well as the rest of them; I felt no fear, but only a wild,surging desire to do something. Seeing the quick movement of ourparties, the leader of the gypsies gave a command; his men instantlyformed round the cart in a sort of undisciplined endeavour, each oneshouldering and pushing the other in his eagerness to carry out theorder.

In the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of the ringof men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to the cart; it wasevident that they were bent on finishing their task before the sunshould set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to hinder them. Neither thelevelled weapons nor the flashing knives of the gypsies in front, northe howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract theirattention. Jonathan’s impetuosity, and the manifest singleness of hispurpose, seemed to overawe those in front of him; instinctively theycowered, aside and let him pass. In an instant he had jumped upon thecart, and, with a strength which seemed incredible, raised the greatbox, and flung it over the wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr.Morris had had to use force to pass through his side of the ring ofSzgany. All the time I had been breathlessly watching Jonathan I had,with the tail of my eye, seen him pressing desperately forward, and hadseen the knives of the gypsies flash as he won a way through them, andthey cut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at firstI thought that he too had come through in safety; but as he sprangbeside Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see thatwith his left hand he was clutching at his side, and that the blood wasspurting through his fingers. He did not delay notwithstanding this, foras Jonathan, with desperate energy, attacked one end of the chest,attempting to prize off the lid with his great Kukri knife, he attackedthe other frantically with his bowie. Under the efforts of both men thelid began to yield; the nails drew with a quick screeching sound, andthe top of the box was thrown back.

By this time the gypsies, seeing themselves covered by the Winchesters,and at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, had given in and madeno resistance. The sun was almost down on the mountain tops, and theshadows of the whole group fell long upon the snow. I saw the Countlying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling fromthe cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxenimage, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which Iknew too well.

As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in themturned to triumph.

But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan’s great knife.I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the samemoment Mr. Morris’s bowie knife plunged into the heart.

It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in thedrawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed fromour sight.

I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of finaldissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I nevercould have imagined might have rested there.

The Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and every stoneof its broken battlements was articulated against the light of thesetting sun.

The gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the extraordinarydisappearance of the dead man, turned, without a word, and rode away asif for their lives. Those who were unmounted jumped upon theleiter-wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to desert them. The wolves,which had withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their wake, leavingus alone.

Mr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his elbow, holding hishand pressed to his side; the blood still gushed through his fingers. Iflew to him, for the Holy circle did not now keep me back; so did thetwo doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and the wounded man laid back hishead on his shoulder. With a sigh he took, with a feeble effort, my handin that of his own which was unstained. He must have seen the anguish ofmy heart in my face, for he smiled at me and said:—

“I am only too happy to have been of any service! Oh, God!” he criedsuddenly, struggling up to a sitting posture and pointing to me, “It wasworth for this to die! Look! look!”

The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red gleamsfell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With one impulsethe men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest “Amen” broke from allas their eyes followed the pointing of his finger. The dying manspoke:—

“Now God be thanked that all has not been in vain! See! the snow is notmore stainless than her forehead! The curse has passed away!”

And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, agallant gentleman.

NOTE

Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness ofsome of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured. Itis an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy’s birthday is the sameday as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, thesecret belief that some of our brave friend’s spirit has passed intohim. His bundle of names links all our little band of men together; butwe call him Quincey.

In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and wentover the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid andterrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the thingswhich we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears wereliving truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. Thecastle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.

When we got home we were talking of the old time—which we could alllook back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happilymarried. I took the papers from the safe where they had been ever sinceour return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all themass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly oneauthentic document; nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the laternote-books of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing’s memorandum.We could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these asproofs of so wild a story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, withour boy on his knee:—

“We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some dayknow what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows hersweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men soloved her, that they did dare much for her sake.”

Jonathan Harker.

THE END

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