                                      1897

                                    DRACULA

                                 by Bram Stoker

                              CHAPTER I.

                      JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL.

                         (Kept in shorthand.)



  3 May. Bistriz.- Left Munich at 8:35 P.M., on 1st May, arriving at

Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train

was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse

which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through

the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had

arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible. The

impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the

East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is

here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish

rule.

  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, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with

red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem., get recipe for

Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called "paprika

hendl," and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get

it anywhere along the Carpathians. I found my smattering of German

very useful here; indeed, I don'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

the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the

library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some

importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country. I find that the

district he named is in the extreme east of the country just on the

borders of three states, Transylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the

midst of the Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least

known portions of Europe. I was not able to light on any map or work

giving the exact locality of the Castle Dracula, as there are no

maps of this country as yet to compare with our own Ordnance Survey

maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post town named by Count Dracula,

is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes,

as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with Mina.

  In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct

nationalities: Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the

Wallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West,

and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going among the latter, who

claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for

when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they

found the Huns settled in it. I read that every known superstition

in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as

if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so

my stay may be very interesting. (Mem., I must ask the Count all about

them.)

  I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I

had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under

my window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may

have been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my

carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened

by the continuous knocking 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 flour which they said was "mamaliga," and

egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they

call "impletata." (Mem., get recipe for this also.) I had to hurry

breakfast, for the train started a little before eight, or rather it

ought to have done so, for after rushing to the station at 7:30 I

had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour before we began to

move. It seems to me that the further east you go the more

unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?

  All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of

beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on

the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran

by rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on

each side of them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of

water, and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear.

At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in

all sorts of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at

home or those I saw coming through France and Germany, with short

jackets and round hats and home-made trousers; but others were very

picturesque. The women looked pretty, except when you got near them,

but they were very clumsy about 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 something fluttering from them like the dresses in

a ballet, but of course there were petticoats under them. The

strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who were more barbarian

than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats, great baggy dirty-white

trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly

a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore high

boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and had long black hair

and heavy black moustaches. They are very picturesque, but do not look

prepossessing. On the stage they would be set down at once as some old

Oriental band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless

and rather wanting in natural self-assertion.

  It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which

is a very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier-

for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina- it has had a very

stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years

ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on

five separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth

century it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people,

the casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and disease.

  Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which

I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of

course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I was

evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a

cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress-white

undergarment with long double apron, front, and back, of coloured

stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she

bowed, and said, "The Herr Englishman?" "Yes," I said, "Jonathan

Harker." She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in

white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door. He went, but

immediately returned with a letter:-



  "My Friend.- Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting

you. Sleep well to-night. At three tomorrow the diligence will start

for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my

carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your

journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your

stay in my beautiful land."

                                                        "Your friend,

                                                        "DRACULA."



  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 on

making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and

pretended that he could not understand my German. This could not be

true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least,

he answered my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the

old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened

sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a

letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count

Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his

wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all,

simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting

that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious

and not by any means comforting.

  Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and

said in a very hysterical way:

  "Must you go? Oh young Herr, must you go?" She was in such an

excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she

knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not

know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions.

When I told her that 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?" On my 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,

when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will

have full 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, but without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and

implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before

starting. It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable.

How ever, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing

to interfere with it. I therefore tried to raise her up, and said,

as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty was imperative,

and that I must go. She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a

crucifix from her neck offered it to me. I did not know what to do,

for, as an English Churchman, I have been taught to regard such things

as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to

refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind. She

saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round

my neck, and said, "For your mother's sake," and went out of the room.

I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for the

coach, which, is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still round

my neck. Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly

traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I

am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book should

ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes

the coach!



  5 May. The Castle.- The grey of the morning has passed, and the

sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with

trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and

little are mixed. 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 put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined

too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.

I dined on what they call "robber steak"- bits of bacon, onion, and

beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted

over the fire, in the simple style of the London cat's meat! The

wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the

tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable. 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

him talking with the landlady. They were evidently talking of me,

for every now and then they looked at me, and some of the people who

were sitting on the bench outside the door- which they call by a

name meaning "word-bearer"- came and listened, and then looked at

me, most of them pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often

repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd;

so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them

out. I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were

"Ordog"- Satan, "pokol"- hell, "stregoica"- witch, "vrolok" and

"vlkoslak"- both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and

the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.

(Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions.)

  When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this

time swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross

and pointed two fingers towards me. With some difficulty I got a

fellow-passenger to tell me what they meant; he would not answer at

first, but on learning that I was English he explained that it was a

charm 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 one seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic

that I could not but be touched. I shall never forget the last glimpse

which I had of the innyard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all

crossing themselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its

background of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green

tubs clustered in the centre of the yard. Then our driver, whose

wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the box-seat- "gotza"

they call them- cracked his big whip over his four small horses, which

ran abreast, and we set off on our journey.

  I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of

the scene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or

rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might

not have been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a

green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there

steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses. the

blank gable and to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass

of fruit blossom- apple, plum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I

could see the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen

petals. In and out amongst these green 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 the straggling ends of pine woods,

which here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The

road was rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish

haste. I could not understand then what the haste meant, but the

driver was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching Borgo Prund. I

was told that this road is in summertime excellent, but that it had

not yet been put in order after the winter snows. In this respect it

is different from the general run of roads in the Carpathians, for

it is an old tradition that they are not to be kept in too good order.

Of old the Hospadars would not repair them, lest the Turk 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

slopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves.

Right and left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full

upon them and bringing out all the glorious colours of this

beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks,

green and brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless

perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were

themselves lost in the distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly.

Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, as

the sun began to sink, we saw now and again the white gleam of falling

water. One of my companions touched my arm as we swept round the

base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered peak of a

mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, to be 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

behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This

was emphasised by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held

the sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and

there we passed Cszeks and Slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I

noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many

crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves.

Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine,

who did not even turn round as we approached, but seemed in the

self-surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer

world. There were many things new to me: for instance, hay-ricks in

the trees, and here and there very beautiful masses of weeping

birch, their white stems shining like silver through the delicate

green of the leaves. Now and again we passed a leiter-wagon- the

ordinary peasant's cart- with its long, snake-like vertebra,

calculated to suit the inequalities of the road. On this were sure

to be seated quite a group of home-coming peasants, the Cszeks with

their white, and the Slovaks with their coloured, sheepskins, the

latter carrying lance-fashion their long staves, 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 the gloom of the trees, oak,

beech, and pine, though in the valleys which ran deep between the

spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs

stood out here and there against the background of late-lying snow.

Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in

the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of greyness,

which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly

weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and grim

fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the failing sunset

threw into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the

Carpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes

the hills were so steep that, despite our driver's haste, the horses

could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we

do at home, but the driver would not hear it. "No, no," he said;

"you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce;" and then he

added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry- for he looked

round to catch the approving smile of the rest- "and you may have

enough of such matters before you go to sleep." The only stop he would

make was a moment's pause to light his lamps.

  When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the

passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as

though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses

unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of

encouragement urged them on to further exertions. Then through the

darkness I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us, as

though there were a cleft in the hills. The excitement of the

passengers grew greater; the crazy coach rocked on its great leather

springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to

hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along.

Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side and to

frown down upon us; we were entering on the Borgo Pass. One by one

several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed upon me

with an earnestness which would take no denial; these were certainly

of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good faith,

with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture of

fear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at Bistritz-

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 the

passengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into

the darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was either

happening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no one would

give me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on

for some little time; and at last we saw before us the Pass opening

out on the eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and

in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though

the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we

had got into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for

the conveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I

expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness; but all

was dark. The only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps,

in which the steam from our hard-driven horses rose in a white

cloud. We could now see the sandy road 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 mock my own disappointment. I

was already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, looking at

his watch, said to the others something which I could hardly hear,

it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone; I thought it was "An

hour less than the time." Then turning to me, he said in German

worse than my own:-

  "There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He

will now come on to Bukovina. and return tomorrow of the next day;

better the next day." Whilst he was speaking the horses began to neigh

and snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up.

Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal

crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four horses, drove up behind

us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the

flash of our lamps, as the rays fell on them, that the horses were

coal-black and splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man,

with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide

his face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very

bright eyes, which seemed red in 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

cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are

swift." As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a

hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as

white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line

from Burger's "Lenore:"-



                  "Denn die Todten reiten schnell"-

                    ("For the dead travel fast.")



The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with

a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same time

putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. "Give me the

Herr's luggage," said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my

bags were handed out and put in the caleche. Then I descended from the

side of the coach, as the caleche was close alongside, the driver

helping me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel; his

strength must have been prodigious. Without a word he shook his reins,

the horses turned, and we swept into the darkness of the Pass. As I

looked back I saw the steam from the horses of the coach by the

light of the lamps, and projected against it the figures of my late

companions crossing themselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and

called to his horses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina.

As they sank into the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a lonely

feeling came over me; but a cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and

a rug across my knees, and the driver said in excellent German:-

  "The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take

all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the

country) underneath the seat, if you should require it." I did not

take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the same. I

felt a little strangely, and not a little frightened. I think had

there been any alternative I should have taken it, instead of

prosecuting that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard

pace straight along, then we made a complete turn and went along

another straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply going

over and over the same ground again; and so I took note of some

salient point, and found that this was so. I would have liked to

have asked the driver what this all meant, but I really feared to do

so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any protest would have had no

effect in case there had been an intention to delay. By-and-by,

however, as I was curious to know how time was passing, I struck a

match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was within a few

minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the

general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent

experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

  Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road-

a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by

another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind

which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began,

which seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the

imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night. At the

first howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the driver spoke

to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but shivered and sweated as

though after a run-away from sudden fright. Then, far off in the

distance, from the mountains on each side of us began a louder and a

sharper howling- that of wolves- which affected both the horses and

myself in the same way- for I was minded to jump from the caleche

and run, whilst they reared again and plunged madly, so that the

driver had to use all his great strength to keep them from bolting. In

a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed to the sound, and

the horses so far became quiet that the driver was able to descend and

to stand before them. He petted and soothed them, and whispered

something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and

with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became quite

manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver again took

his seat, and shaking his reins, started off at a great pace. This

time, after going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down

a narrow roadway which ran sharply to the right.

  Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over

the roadway till we passed as through a tunnel; and again great

frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in

shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled

through the rocks, 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. The keen wind still carried the howling of the

dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The baying of

the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing

round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully afraid, and the

horses shared my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least

disturbed; he kept turning his head to left and right, but I could not

see anything through the darkness.

  Suddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue flame. The

driver saw it at the same moment; he at once checked the horses and,

jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not know

what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer, but

while I wondered the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a

word took his seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have

fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be

repeated endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful

nightmare. Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in

the darkness around us I could watch the driver's motions. He went

rapidly to where the blue flame arose- it must have been very faint,

for it did not seem to illumine the place around it at all- and

gathering a few stones, formed them into some device. Once there

appeared a strange optical effect: 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, but as the effect was only

momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining through the

darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we sped

onwards through the gloom, with the howling of the wolves around us,

as though they were following in a moving circle.

  At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than

he had yet gone, and during his absence the horses began to tremble

worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could not see

any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether;

but just then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared

behind the jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its

light I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling

red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a

hundred times more terrible 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 man feels himself face to face with such horrors

that he can under stand their true import.

  All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had

some peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared,

and looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful

to see; but the living ring of terror encompassed them on every

side, and they had perforce to remain within it. I called to the

coachman to come, for it seemed to me that our only chance was to

try to break out through the ring and to aid his approach. I shouted

and beat the side of the caleche, hoping by the noise to scare the

wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the

trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his voice raised in a

tone of imperious command, and looking towards the sound, saw him

stand in the roadway. As he swept his long arms, as though brushing

aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves fell back and back

further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the

moon, so that we were again in darkness.

  When I could see again the driver was climbing into the caleche, and

the wolves had disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a

dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The

time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost

complete darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept

on ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in the

main always ascending. Suddenly I became conscious of the fact that

the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of

a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of

light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the

moonlit sky.

                             CHAPTER II.

                      JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL.



  5 May.- I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully

awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place.

In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several

dark ways led from it under great round arches it perhaps seemed

bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by

daylight.

  When the caleche stopped the driver jumped down, and held out his

hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his

prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that

could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took out my traps,

and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great

door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting

doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the

stone was massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by

time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat

and shook the reins; the horses started forward, and trap and all

disappeared down one of the dark openings.

  I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of

bell or knocker there was no sign; through these frowning walls and

dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could

penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and

fears crowding upon me. 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 a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's

clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a

foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor,-

for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was

successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my

eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a

horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake,

and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the

windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of

overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were

not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians.

All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the

morning.

  Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step

approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the

gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains

and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with

the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back.

  Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white

moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck

of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver

lamp, in which the name burned without chimney or globe of any kind,

throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of

the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a

courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange

intonation:-

  "Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no

motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though

his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however,

that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward,

and holding 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 as ice- 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

the happiness you bring!" The strength of the handshake was so much

akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not

seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to

whom I was speaking; 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 was speaking 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. I protested but he insisted:-

  "Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not

available. Let me see to your comfort myself." He insisted on carrying

my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and

along another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang

heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced

to 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

crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small

octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of

any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and motioned

me to enter. It was a welcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well

lighted and warmed with another log fire,- also added to but lately

for the top logs were fresh- which sent a hollow roar up the wide

chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside and withdrew,

saying, before he closed the door:-

  "You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making

your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready

come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared."

  The light and warmth and the Count's courteous welcome seemed to

have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal

state, I discovered that I was half famished with hunger; so making

a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.

  I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of

the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful

wave of his hand to the table, and said:-

  "I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust,

excuse me 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 handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a

thrill of pleasure:

  "I much regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a

constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for

some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient

substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a

young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very

faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into

manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you

will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all

matters."

  The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and

I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some

cheese and a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two

glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count

asked me many questions as to my journey, and I told him by degrees

all I had experienced.

  By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host's desire had

drawn up 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 an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very

marked physiognomy.

  His face was a strong- a very strong- aquiline, with high bridge

of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed

forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely

elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the

nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion.

The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was

fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth;

these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed

astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears

were pale and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and

strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of

extraordinary pallor.

  Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his

knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but

seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were

rather coarse- broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were

hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut

to a sharp point. As the Count learned over me and his hands touched

me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath

was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do

what I would, I could not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it,

drew back; and with a grim sort of smile. which showed more than he

had yet done his protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his

own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while; and as I

looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming

dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I

listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of

many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, 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, he

added:-

  "Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of

the hunter." Then he rose and said:-

  "But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and to-morrow you

shall 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

me himself 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 the sake of those dear to me!



  7 May.- it is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the

last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of

my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we

had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept

hot by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the

table, on which was written:-

  "I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.- D." I set

to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so

that I might let the servants know I had finished; but I could not

find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house,

considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round

me. The table service is 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 of my bed are of the costliest and most

beautiful fabrics, and must have been 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 of the rooms in there a

mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table and I had to

get the little shaving glass from my bag before I could either shave

or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, 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 it breakfast

or dinner, for it was between five and six o'clock when I had it- I

looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about the

castle until I had asked the Count's permission. There was

absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing

materials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of

library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked.

  In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of

English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of

magazines and newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with

English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very

recent date. The books were of the most varied kind- history,

geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law- all

relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There

were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the "Red"

and "Blue" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and- it

somehow gladdened my heart to see it- the Law List.

  Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count

entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a

good night's rest. Then he went on:-

  "I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much

that will interest you. These companions"- and he laid his hand on

some of the books- "have been good friends to me, and for some years

past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me

many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your

great England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go through

the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the

whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its

death, and all that makes it 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

bowed gravely.

  "I thank you, my friend, for your all too flattering estimate, but

yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel.

True, I know the 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

your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That

is not enough 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; men know him not- and to know not is to care not for. I am

content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or

pause in his speaking if he hear my words, 'Ha, ha! a stranger!' I

have been so long master that I would be master still- or at least

that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as

agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my

new estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while,

so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would

that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my

speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long to-day; but you

will, I know, forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand."

  Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I

might come into that room when I chose. He answered: "Yes, certainly,"

and added:-

  "You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the

doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is

reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes

and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand." I

said I was sure of this, and then he went on:-

  "We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways

are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay,

from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know

something of what strange things there may be."

  This led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he

wanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him many questions

regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my

notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the

conversation by pretending not to understand; but generally he

answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got

somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the

preceding night, as, for instance, why the coachman went to the places

where he had seen the blue flames. He then explained to me that it was

commonly believed that on a certain night of the year- last night,

in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway-

a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed.

"That treasure has been hidden," he went on, "in the region through

which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it was

the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and

the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region

that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or

invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and

the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet

them- men and women, the aged and the children too- and waited their

coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep

destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader

was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been

sheltered in the friendly soil."

  "But how," said I, "can it have remained so long undiscovered,

when there 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 names

only appear on one night; and on that night no man of this land

will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even

if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you

tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to

look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare

be sworn, be able to find these places again?"

  "There you are right," I said. "I know no more than the dead where

even to look for them." Then we drifted into other matters.

  "Come," he said at last, "tell me of London and of the house which

you have procured for me." With an apology for my remissness, I went

into my own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing

them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room,

and as I passed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and

the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps

were also lit in 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 I came in he cleared the books and papers

from the table; and with him I went into plans and deeds and figures

of all sorts. He was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad

questions about the place and its surroundings. He clearly had studied

beforehand all he could get on the subject of the neighborhood, for he

evidently at the end knew very much more than I did. When I remarked

this, he answered:-

  "Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go

there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan- nay, pardon

me, I fall into my country's habit of putting your patronymic first-

my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid

me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of

the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!"

  We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate

at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to

the necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post

to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a

place. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which

I inscribe here:-

  "At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as

seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice

that the place was 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 of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and

iron, all eaten with rust.

  "The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old

Quatre Face, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal

points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite

surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many

trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep,

dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the

water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is

very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediaeval

times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few

windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of

a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it,

as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house, but I

have taken with my kodak views of it from various points. The house

has been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only

guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great.

There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house

only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. 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

to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable

in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century. I

rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian

nobles love not to think that our bones may lie amongst the common

dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of

much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I

am no longer young; and my heart, through weary years of mourning over

the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle

are broken; the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through

the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow,

and would be alone with my thoughts when I may." Somehow his words and

his look did not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of

face made his smile look malignant and saturnine.

  Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my

papers together. He was some little time away, and I began to look

at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened

naturally at England, as if that map had been much used. On looking at

it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on examining

these I noticed that one was near London on the east side,

manifestly where his new estate was situated; the other two were

Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.

  It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. "Aha!" he

said; "still at your books? Good! But you must not work always.

Come; I am informed that your supper is ready." He took my arm, and we

went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on

the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out on his

being away from home. 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 with me, chatting and asking questions on every

conceivable subject, hour after hour. I felt that it was getting

very late indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under

obligation to meet my host's wishes in every way. I was not sleepy

as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me; but I could not help

experiencing that chill which comes over one at the 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 to the dawn or

at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, and tied as it

were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere can well

believe it. All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming up with

preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air, Count Dracula,

jumping to his feet, said:-

  "Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up

so long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country

of England, less interesting, so that I may not forget how time

flies by us," and, with courtly bow, he quickly left me.

  I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was

little to notice; my window opened into the courtyard, all I could see

was the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again,

and have written of this day.



  8 May.- I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting

too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first,

for there is something so strange about this place and all in it

that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I

had never come. It may be that this strange night-existence is telling

on me; but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk

to I could 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. Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me

to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am

lost. Let me say at once how I stand- or seem to.

  I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I

could not 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, for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the

reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In

starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the

moment. Having answered the Count's salutation, 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 I could see him over my

shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The

whole room behind me was displayed; but there was no sign of a man

in it, except myself. This was startling, and, coming on the top of so

many strange things, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of

uneasiness which I always have when the Count is near; but at the

instant I saw that the cut had bled a little, and the blood was

trickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so

half round to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my

face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly

made a grab at my throat. I drew away, and his hand touched the string

of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him,

for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was

ever there.

  "Take care," he said, "take care how you cut yourself. It is more

dangerous than you think in this country." Then seizing the shaving

glass, he went on: "And this is the wretched thing that has done the

mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" and

opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he

flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the

stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It

is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my

watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of

metal.

  When I went into the dining-room, breakfast was prepared; but I

could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is

strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be

a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the

castle. I went out on the stairs and found a room looking towards

the South. The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there

was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge

of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall

a thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach

is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there

is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in

deep gorges through the forests.

  But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the

view I explored further, doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all

locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle

walls is there an available exit.

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

                             CHAPTER III.

                      JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL.



  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 of every window I could find; but after a little the

conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I

look back after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the time,

for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the

conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly- as

quietly as I have ever done anything in my life- and began to think

over what was best to be done. I am thinking still, and as yet have

come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain; that

it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that

I am imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless

his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him

fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to

keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. 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, and shall

need, all my brains to get through.

  I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door

below shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come at

once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found

him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all

along though that there were no servants in the house. When later I

saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table

in the dining-room, I was assured of it; for if he does himself all

these menial 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, it must have been the Count himself who was the driver

of the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought; for

if so, what does it mean that he could control the wolves, as he

did, by only holding up his hand in silence. How was it that all the

people at Bistritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for me?

What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild

rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good, good woman who hung the

crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a strength to me

whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught

to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of

loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in

the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible

help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if

it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind about

it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula,

as it may help me to understand. To-night he may talk of himself, 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

few questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the subject

wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially of

battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This he

afterwards explained by saying that to a boyar the pride of his

house and name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that

their fate 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 put down all he said exactly as he said it, for to me

it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of

the country. He grew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room

pulling his great white moustache and grasping anything on which he

laid his hands as though he would crush it by main strength. One thing

he said which I shall put down as nearly as I can; for it tells in its

way the story of his race:-

  "We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the

blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship.

Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down

from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which

their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of

Europe, ay, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought

that the were wolves themselves had come. Here too when they came,

they found the 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 those old witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated

with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what

witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?"

He held up his arms. "Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race;

that we were proud; that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the

Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove

them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and his legions swept through

the Hungarian fatherland he found us here when he reached the

frontier; that the Honfoglalas was completed there? And when the

Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were claimed as kindred

by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries was trusted the

guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land; ay and more than that,

endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say, 'water

sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.' Who more gladly than we throughout

the Four Nations received the bloody sword, or at its warlike call

flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that

great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of

the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent, who was

it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat

the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that

his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the

Turk 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 and again brought his forces over the great river into

Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again,

and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his

troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could

ultimately triumph? They said that he thought only of himself. Bah!

what good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without

a brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of

Mohacs, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood

were amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we

were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys- and the Dracula as their

heart's blood, their brains, and their swords- can boast a record that

mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach.

The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days

of dishonourable peace; and the 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. this

diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for

everything has to break off at cockcrow- or like the ghost of Hamlet's

father.)



  12 May.- Let me begin with facts- bare, meagre facts, verified by

books and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must not

confuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own

observation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came

from his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and

on the doing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily

over books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over some of

the matters I had been examined in at Lincoln's Inn. There was a

certain method in the Count's inquiries, so I shall try to put them

down in sequence; 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. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would

not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one

transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change would

be certain to militate against his interest. He seemed thoroughly to

understand, and went on to ask if there would be any practical

difficulty in having one man to attend, say, to banking, and another

to look after shipping, in case local help were needed in a place

far from the home of the banking solicitor. I asked him to explain

more fully, so that I might not by any chance mislead him, so he

said:-

  "I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from

under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which is far

from London, buys for me through your good self my place at London.

Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange

that I have sought the services of one so far off from London

instead of some one resident there, that my motive was that no local

interest might be served save my wish only; and as one of London

resident might, perhaps, have some purpose of himself or friend to

serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, whose labours should be

only to my interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of affairs, wish to

ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover,

might it not be that it could with more ease be done by consigning

to one in these ports?" I answered that certainly it would be most

easy, but that we solicitors had a system of agency one for the other,

so that local work could be done locally on instruction from any

solicitor, so that the client, simply placing himself in the hands

of one man, could have his wishes carried out by him 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, who do 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 making

consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of

difficulties which might arise, but by fore thought could be guarded

against. 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 a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not

think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who

did not evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and

acumen were wonderful. When he had satisfied himself on these points

of which he had spoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by

the books available, he suddenly stood up and said:-

  "Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter

Hawkins, or to any other?" It was with some bitterness in my heart

that I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any

opportunity of sending letters to anybody.

  "Then write now, my young friend," he said, laying a heavy hand on

my shoulder, "write to our friend and to any other, and say, if it

will please 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

the thought.

  "I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master,

employer, what you will, engaged that some one should come on his

behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I

have not stinted. Is it not so?"

  What could I do but bow acceptance? it was Mr. Hawkins's interest,

not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself, and besides, which

Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his

bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I

wished it I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow,

and his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use

them, but in his own smooth, resistless way:-

  "I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of

things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please

your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to

getting home to them. Is it not so?" As he spoke he handed me three

sheets of note-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the

thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and

noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over

the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I

should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it. So

I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully to Mr.

Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I could write in

shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did see it. When I

had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a book whilst the

Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote them to some books on

his table. Then he took up my two and placed them with his own, and

put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had

closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which were

face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, for under

the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I

could.

  One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7,

The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to

Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock &

Billreuth, bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I

was just about to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I sank

back in my seat, having just had time to replace the letters as they

had been and to resume my book before the Count, holding still another

letter in his hand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the

table and stamped them carefully, and then turning to me, said:-

  "I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in

private this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as you

wish." At the door he turned, and after a moment's pause said:-

  "Let me advise you, my dear young friend- nay, let me warn you

with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not

by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is

old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who

sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or

be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for

your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this

respect, then"- He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he

motioned with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite

understood; my only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more

terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery which

seemed closing round me.



  Later.- I endorse the last words written, but this time there is

no doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where

he is not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed- I

imagine that my 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

any sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where I could

look out towards the South. There was some sense of freedom in the

vast expanse, inaccessible though it was to me, as compared with the

narrow darkness of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I

was indeed in prison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air,

though it were of the 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 all sorts of horrible imaginings. God knows

that there is ground for my terrible fear in this accursed place! I

looked out over the beautiful expanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight

till it was almost as light as day. In the soft light the distant

hills became melted, and the shadows in the valleys and gorges of

velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed to cheer me; there was peace

and comfort in every breath I drew. As I leaned from the window my eye

was caught by something moving a storey below me, and somewhat to my

left, where I imagined, from the order of the rooms, that the

windows of the Count's own room would look out. The window at which

I stood was tall and deep, stone-mullioned, and though weatherworn,

was still complete; but it was evidently many a day since the case had

been there. I drew back behind the stonework, and looked carefully

out.

  What I saw was the Count's head coming out from the window. I did

not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of

his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I

had had so many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested

and somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will

interest and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings

changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge

from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that

dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him like

great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was

some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept

looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp

the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of

years, and by thus using every projection and inequality move

downwards with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a

wall.

  What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in

the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place

overpowering me; I am in fear- in awful fear- and there is no escape

for me; I am encompassed 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 good deal to the left. He vanished into some hole or window.

When his head had disappeared I leaned out to try and see more, but

without avail- the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of

sight. I knew he had left the castle now, and thought to use the

opportunity to explore more than I had dared to do as yet. I went back

to the room, and taking a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all

locked, as I had expected, and the locks were comparatively new, but I

went down the stone stairs to the hall where I had entered originally.

I found I could pull back the bolts easily enough and unhook the great

chains; but the door was locked, and the key was gone That key must be

in the Count's room; I must watch should his door be unlocked, so that

I may get it and escape. I went on to make a thorough examination of

the various stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from

them. One or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was

nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with age and

moth-eaten. At last, however, I found one door at the top of the

stairway which, though it seemed to be locked, gave a little under

pressure. I tried it harder, and found that it was not really

locked, but that the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had

fallen somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an

opportunity which I might not have again, so I exerted myself, and

with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter. I was now in a

wing of the castle further to the right than the rooms I knew and a

storey lower down. From the windows I could see that the suite of

rooms lay along to the south of the castle, the windows of the end

room looking out both west and south. On the latter side, as well as

to the former, there was a great precipice. The castle was built on

the corner of a great rock, so that on three sides it was quite

impregnable, and great windows were placed here where sling, or bow,

or culverin could not reach, and consequently light and comfort,

impossible to a position which had to be guarded, were secured. To the

West was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great jagged

mountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded

with mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and

crevices and crannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion

of the castle occupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the furniture

had more air of comfort than any I had seen. The windows were

curtainless, and the yellow moonlight, flooding in through the diamond

panes, enabled one to see even colours, whilst it softened the

wealth of dust which lay over all and disguised in some measure the

ravages of time and the moth. My lamp seemed to be of little effect in

the brilliant moonlight, but I was glad to have it with me, for

there was a dread loneliness in the place which chilled my heart and

made my nerves tremble. Still, it was better than living alone in

the rooms which I had come to hate from the presence of the Count, and

after trying a little to school my nerves, I found a soft quietude

come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old

times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many

blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my diary in

shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is

nineteenth century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my

senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their

own which mere "modernity" cannot kill.



  Later: the Morning of 16 May.- God preserve my sanity, for to this I

am 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

not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then

surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul things that

lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that

to him alone I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst

I can serve his purpose. Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm,

for out of that way lies madness indeed. I begin to get new lights

on certain things which have puzzled me. Up to now I never quite

knew what Shakespeare meant when he made Hamlet say:-



                   "My tablets! quick, my tablets!

                 'Tis meet that I put it down," etc.,



for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the

shock had 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

frightens me more now, when I think of it, for in future he has a

fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!

  When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book

and pen 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

soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of

freedom which refreshed me. I determined not to return to-night to the

gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where of old ladies had sat

and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad

for their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a

great couch out of its place near the corner, so that, as I lay, I

could look at the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of and

uncaring for the dust, composed myself for sleep. I suppose I must

have fallen asleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that followed was

startlingly real- so real that now sitting here in the broad, full

sunlight of the morning, 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 I

came into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight,

my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation of

dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by

their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be

dreaming when I saw them, for, though the moonlight was behind them,

they threw no shadow on the floor. They came close to me and looked at

me for some time, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and

had high aquiline noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing

eyes, that seemed to be almost red when contrasted with the pale

yellow moon. The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great wavy

masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow

to know her face, and to know it in connection with some dreamy

fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or where. All

three had brilliant white teeth, that shone like pearls against the

ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something about them that

made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear.

I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me

with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some day

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 a

silvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could

have come 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 her on. One said:-

  "Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to

begin." 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 movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense,

honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as her

voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness,

as one smells in blood.

  I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly

under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply

gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both

thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually

licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight

the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it

lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the

lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to

fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning

sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel

the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to

tingle as one's flesh does when the hand that is 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 beating heart.

  But at that instant another sensation swept through me as quick as

lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of his

being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily

I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and

with giant's power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with

fury, the white teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks

blazing red with passion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such

wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His eyes were

positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as if the

flames of hell-fire blazed behind them. His face 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 bar of white-hot metal.

With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman from him, and then

motioned to the others, as though he were beating them back; it was

the same imperious gesture that I had seen used to the wolves. In a

voice which, though low and almost in a whisper seemed to cut

through the air and then ring round the room as he said:-

  "How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him

when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me!

Beware how 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

women joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang

through the room that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed

like the pleasure of 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

it not so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him you

shall kiss him at your will. Now go! go! I must awaken him, for

there is work to 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 which moved as though there were some living thing within it.

For answer he nodded his head. One of the women jumped forward and

opened it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low

wall, as of a half-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I

was aghast with horror; but as I looked they disappeared, and with

them the dreadful bag. There was no door near them, and they could not

have passed me without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into

the rays of the moonlight and pass out through the window, for I could

see outside the dim, 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.



  I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count

must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject,

but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there

were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded

and laid by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still

unwound, and I am rigourously accustomed to wind it the last thing

before going to bed, and many such details. But these things are no

proof, for they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual,

and, from some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I

must watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad: if it was that the Count

carried me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his

task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have

been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked. He would have

taken or destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been

to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing

can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were- who are-

waiting to suck my blood.



  18 May.- I have been down to look at that room again in daylight,

for I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the

stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the

jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the

bolt of 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

in the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work

here was 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

the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at

Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present

state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count

whilst I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to

excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too

much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only

chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which

will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that

gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from

him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my

writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me

with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later

letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case

chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him

would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall

in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the

letters. He calculated a minute, and then said:-

  "The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June

29."

  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

to send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are

encamped in the courtyard. These Szgany are gipsies; I have notes of

them in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though

allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands

of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law.

They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or boyar, and

call themselves by his name. They are fearless and without religion,

save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of the

Romany tongue.

  I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have

them posted. I have already spoken them through my window to begin

acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and many

signs, which, however, I could not understand any more than I could

their 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 and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to

her. Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know

my secret or the extent of my knowledge...

  I have given the letters; I threw them through the bars of my window

with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted.

The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then

put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study,

and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have written

here...

  The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest

voice as he opened two letters:-

  "The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence

they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!"- he must have looked

at it- "one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other"-

here he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope,

and the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly-

"the other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and

hospitality! It is not signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us." And

he calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till

they were consumed. Then he went on:-

  "The letter to Hawkins- that I shall, of course, send on, since it

is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend,

that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?"

He held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a

clean envelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in

silence. When he went out of the room I could hear the key turn

softly. A minute later I went over and tried it, and the door was

locked.

  When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room;

his coming wakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was

very courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had

been sleeping, he said:-

  "So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest.

I may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many

labours to 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 myself

with some paper and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my

pocket, so that I might write in case I should get an opportunity; but

again a surprise, 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 that might be useful to me were I once outside the castle.

I sat and pondered a while, and then some thought occurred to me,

and I made search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had

placed my clothes.

  The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and

rug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some new

scheme of villainy...



  17 June.- This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed

cudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of whips and pounding

and 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

great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the

head of each pair of Slovak, with his hat, great, nail-studded belt,

dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in

hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them

through the main hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them.

Again a shock: My door was fastened on the outside.

  Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me

stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the Szgany came

out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which

they laughed. Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised

entreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned

away. The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of

thick rope; these were evidently empty by the ease with which the

Slovaks handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly

moved. When they were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one

corner of the yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany,

and spitting on it for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head.

Shortly afterwards I heard the cracking of their whips die away in the

distance.



  24 June, before morning.- Last night the Count left me early, and

locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the

winding stair, and looked out of the window, which opened south. I

thought I would watch for the Count, for there is something going

on. The Szgany are quartered somewhere in the castle, and are doing

work of some kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away,

muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be

the end of some ruthless villainy.

  I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw

something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched

carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to

find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst

travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which

I had 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 will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may

both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages

posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which he may do

shall by the local people be attributed to me.

  It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am

shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the

law which is even a criminal's right and consolation.

  I thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long

time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there

were some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the

moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled

round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched

them with a sense of soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I

leaned back in the embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I

could enjoy more fully the aerial gambolling.

  Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere

far below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it

seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take

new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself

struggling to awake to some call of my instincts; may, my very soul

was struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving

to answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker

danced the dust; the moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me

into the mass of gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they

seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started, broad awake and

in full possession of my senses, and ran screaming from the place. The

phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised from the

moonbeams, were those of the three ghostly women to whom I was doomed.

I fled, and felt somewhat safer in my own room, where there was no

moonlight and where the lamp was burning brightly.

  When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in

the Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed;

and then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me.

With a beating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison,

and could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.

  As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without- the agonised

cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out

between the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair,

holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She

was leaning against a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at

the window she threw 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 same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair

and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of

extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I

could not see her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against

the door.

  Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of

the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to

be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many

minutes had 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

but short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

  I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child,

and she was better dead.

  What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this

dreadful thrall of night and gloom and fear?



  25 June, morning.- No man knows till he has suffered from the

night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can

be. When the sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of

the great gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched

seemed to me as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear

fell from me as if it had been a vapourous garment which dissolved

in the warmth. I must take action of some sort whilst the courage of

the day is upon me. Last night one of my post-dated letters went to

post, the first of that fatal series which is to blot out the very

traces of my existence from the earth.

  Let me not think of it. Action!

  It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or

threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen

the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others

wake, that he 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

gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from

his window? Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The

chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall

risk it. At the worst it can only be death; and a man's death is not a

calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me

in my task! Good-bye. Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend

and second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!



  Same day, later.- I have made the effort, and, God helping me,

have come safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in

order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on

the south side, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone

which runs round 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. I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate

way. I looked down once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of

the awful depth would not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes

away from it. I knew pretty well the direction and distance of the

Count's window, and made for it as well as I could, having regard to

the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy- I suppose I was too

excited- and the time seemed ridiculously short till I found myself

standing on the window-sill and trying to raise up the sash. I was

filled with agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet

foremost in through the window. Then I looked around for the Count,

but, with surprise and gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty!

It was barely furnished with odd things, which seemed to have never

been used; the furniture was something the same style as that in the

south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it

was not in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only

thing I found was a great heap of gold in one corner- gold of all

kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, and Hungarian, and Greek

and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as though it had

lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was less 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 I

could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which

was the main object of my search, I must make further examination,

or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a

stone passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I

descended, minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark,

being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom

there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly,

sickly odour, the odour of old earth newly turned. As I went through

the passage the smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a

heavy door which stood a jar, and found myself in an old, ruined

chapel, which had evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof was

broken, and in two places were steps leading to vaults, but the ground

had recently been dug over, and the earth placed in great wooden

boxes, manifestly those which had been brought by the Slovaks. There

was nobody about, and I made search for any further outlet, but

there was none. Then I went over every inch of the ground, so as not

to lose a chance. I went down even into the vaults, where the dim

light struggled, although to do so was a dread to my very soul. Into

two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragments of old coffins

and piles of dust; in the third, however, I made a discovery.

  There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in

all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead

or asleep, I could not say which- for the eyes were open and stony,

but without the glassiness of death- and the cheeks had the warmth

of life through all their pallor, the lips were as red as ever. But

there was no sign of movement, 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 lain there 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 saw the 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, and leaving the Count's

room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall. Regaining my

room chamber, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried to

think...



  29 June.- To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has

taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave

the castle 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 might destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought

alone by man's hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait

to see him return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came

back to the library, and read there till I fell asleep.

  I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can

look as he said:-

  "To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful

England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never

meet. Your letter home has been despatched; to-morrow I shall not be

here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the

Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some

Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and

shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina

to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at

Castle Dracula." I suspected him, and determined to test his

sincerity. Sincerity! it seems like a profanation of the word to write

it in connection 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 trick behind 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 my eyes, it seemed so real:-

  "You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its

spirit is that which rules our boyars: 'Welcome the coming; speed

the parting guest.' Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour

shall you wait in my house against your will, though sad am I at

your going, and that you so suddenly desire it. Come!" With a

stately gravity, he, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and

along the hall. Suddenly he stopped.

  "Hark!"

  Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as if

the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the music of

a great orchestra seems to leap under the baton of the conductor.

After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the

door, drew back the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and

began to draw it open.

  To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked.

Suspiciously I looked all round, but could see no key of any kind.

  As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without grew

louder and angrier, their red jaws, with champing teeth, and their

blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through the opening door.

I knew then that to struggle at the moment against the Count was

useless. With such allies as these at his command, I could do nothing.

But still the door continued 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 my doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at

my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea

great enough for the Count, and as a last chance I cried out:-

  "Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!" and covered my face with

my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With one sweep

of his powerful arm, the Count threw the door shut, and the great

bolts clanged and 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

went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing

his hand to me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a

smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.

  When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I heard a

whispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened. Unless my

ears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:-

  "Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait!

Have patience! 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 saw without the three terrible women licking their lips.

As I appeared they all joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away.

  I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then so

near the end? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I

am dear!



  30 June, morning.- These may be the last words I ever write in

this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw

myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find

me ready.

  At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the

morning had 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 seen that the door was unlocked, and now escape was before

me. With hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and

drew back the massive bolts.

  But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and

pulled, at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it

rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. it had been locked

after I left the Count.

  Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I

determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's

room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of

evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled

down the wall, as before, into the Count's room. It was empty, but

that was as I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap

of gold remained. I went through the door in the corner and down the

winding stair and along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now

well enough where to find the monster I sought.

  The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the

lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in

their places to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the

key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and

then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There

lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed,

for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the

cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the

mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood,

which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and

neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh,

for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if

the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like

a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. I shuddered as I bent

over to touch him, and every sense in me revolted at the contact;

but I had to search, or I was lost. The coming night might see my

own body a banquet in a similar way to those horrid three. I felt

all over the body, but no sign could I find of the key. Then I stopped

and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the bloated face

which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to

transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might,

amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a

new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.

The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to 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 the cases,

and lifting it high struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful

face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me,

with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to

paralyse 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 my hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the

blade caught the edge of the lid, which fell over again, and hid the

horrid thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the

bloated face, bloodstained and fixed with a grin of malice which would

have held its own in the nethermost hell.

  I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain

seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over

me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry

voices coming closer, and through their song the rolling of heavy

wheels and the cracking of whips; the Szgany and the Slovaks of whom

the Count had spoken were coming. With a last look around and at the

box which contained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the

Count's room, determined to rush out at the moment the door should

be opened. With strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the

grinding of the key in the great lock and the falling back of the

heavy door. There must have been some other means of entry, or some

one had a key for one of the locked doors. Then there came the sound

of many feet tramping and dying away in some passage which sent up a

clanging echo. I turned to run 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 the door to the winding stair blew to with

a shock that set the dust from the lintels flying. When I ran to

push it open, I found that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a

prisoner, and the net of doom was closing round me more closely.

  As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping

feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the

boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound of hammering;

it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet

tramping again along the hall, with many other idle feet coming behind

them.

  The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of

the key in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another door

opens and shuts; 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 the distance.

  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 wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of

the gold with me, 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! away

from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and

his children still walk with earthly feet!

  At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and

the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep- as a

man. Good-bye, all! Mina!

                              CHAPTER V.

                            LETTERS, ETC.



         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

overwhelmed with 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 together freely and build our castles in the air. I have

been working very hard lately, because I want to keep up with

Jonathan's studies, and I have been practising shorthand very

assiduously. When we are married I shall be able to be useful to

Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what

he wants to say in this way and write it out for him on the

typewriter, at which also I am practising very hard. He and I

sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping a stenographic

journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I shall keep a diary

in the same way. I don't mean one of those

two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but

a sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined. I

do not suppose there will be much of interest to other people; but

it is not intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if

there is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise

book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing

and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am

told that, with a little practise, one can remember all that goes on

or that one hears said during a day. However we shall see. I will tell

you of my little plans when we meet I have just had a few hurried

lines from Jonathan from Transylvania. He is well, and will be

returning in about a week. I am longing to hear all his news. it

must be so nice to see strange countries. I wonder if we- I mean

Jonathan and I- shall ever see them together. 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 for a 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.

I wrote to you twice since we parted, and your last letter was only

your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really

nothing to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a

good deal to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As

to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with

me at the last 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 well together; they have so many things to talk about in

common. We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if

you were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti,

being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really

clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and-twenty, and he has an

immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced

him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I

think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the

most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what a

wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious habit

of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's

thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself

he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you

ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a

bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you

have never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological

study, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient

interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is

a bore. 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 other since we were children; we have slept together and eaten

together, and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have

spoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I

love him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves

me, he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love

him; I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with you,

dear, sitting by the fire undressing, 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 so want to tell you all. Let me

hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it.

Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; 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 so nice 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 a proposal 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 so happy 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 be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas and

imagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first day

at home they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain! You and

I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down soon

soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I must

tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear, from

every one, except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I

would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A woman ought

to tell her husband everything- don't you think so dear?- and I must

be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to be quite as fair as

they are; and women, I am afraid, are not always quite as fair as they

should be. Well, my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told

you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum man, with the strong

jaw and the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous

all the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all

sorts of little things, and remembered them; but he almost managed

to sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally do when they

are cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing

with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,

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 to

help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if

I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a

brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and

asked if I 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 one else. He put it very nicely, saying that he did

not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because

if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I

felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told

him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and

very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would

be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of

my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can't help crying; and you must excuse

this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice

and all that sort of thing, but it isn't at all a happy thing when you

have to see a poor fellow, whom you know loves you honestly, going

away and looking all broken-hearted, and to know that, no matter

what he may say at the moment, you are passing quite out of his

life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel so miserable,

though I am so happy.



                                                            "Evening.

  "Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I left

off, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear, number

two came after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an American from

Texas, and he looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost

impossible that he has been to so many places and has had such

adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when she had such a

dangerous stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I suppose

that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from

fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were a man

and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was Mr.

Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told 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 girl alone. No, he doesn't, for

Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could;

I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you beforehand 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 well educated and has

exquisite manners- but he found out that it amused me to hear him talk

American slang, and whenever I was present, and there was no one to be

shocked, he said such funny things. I am afraid, my dear, he has to

invent it all, for it fits exactly into whatever else he has to say.

But this is a way slang has. I do not know myself if I shall ever

speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard

him use any as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked

as happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he

was very 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

your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that is

you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when you

quit. Won't you just hitch up alongside of me and let us go down the

long road together, driving in double harness?'

  "Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem

half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, as

lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that

I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken

in a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing

so on so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive

him. He really did look serious when he was saying it, and I

couldn't help feeling a bit serious too- I know, Mina, you will

think me a horrid flirt- though I couldn't help feeling a sort of

exultation that he was number two in one day. And then, my dear,

before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of

love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so

earnest over it that I shall never 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 face which checked him, for he suddenly

stopped, and said with a sort of manly 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 here

speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean grit, right

through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like one good fellow

to another, is there any one else that you care for? And if there is

I'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again, but will be, if you

will let me, a very faithful friend.'

  "My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little

worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great-hearted,

true gentleman. I burst into tears- I am afraid, my dear, you will

think this a very sloppy letter in more ways than one- and I really

felt very badly. Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many

as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must

not say it. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able

to look into Mr. 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 he even loves me.' I was right to speak to him so frankly, for

quite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands and

took mine- I think 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 of

winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world.

Don't cry, my dear. if it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack; and I

take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn't know his

happiness, well, he'd better 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 a lover; it's more unselfish anyhow. My dear,

I'm going to have a pretty lonely 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, you know, 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 spoken yet.' That quite

won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet of him, and noble, too, to

a rival- wasn't it?- and he so sad; so I leant over and kissed him. He

stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down into 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

these things don't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for

your sweet honesty 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 a quiver or a pause; and I am crying like a baby.

Oh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots of

girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I know I

would if I were free- only I don't want to be free. My dear, this

quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once,

after telling you of it; and I don'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,

need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment

from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he

was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have

done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am

not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such

a lover, 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, so

diary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty

feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be

worth the doing... As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing

was work, I went down amongst the patients. I picked out one who has

afforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint in his mined

to understand him as well as I can. To-day I seemed to get nearer than

ever before to the heart of his mystery.

  I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to

making myself master of the facts of his hallucination. in my manner

of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to

wish to keep him to the point of his madness- a thing which I avoid

with the patients as I would the mouth of hell.

  (Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of

hell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price! verb. sap. If

there be anything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it

afterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so, therefore-

  R. M. Renfield, aetat 59.- Sanguine temperament; great physical

strength; morbidly excitable; periods of gloom, ending in some fixed

idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine

temperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a

mentally-accomplished finish; a possibly dangerous man, probably

dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an

armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of on this point

is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is balanced

with the centrifugal; when duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed point,

the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series of

accidents 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

one another's wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas; and

drunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be

told, and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk.

Won't you let this be at my camp-fire to-morrow night? I have no

hesitation in asking you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a

certain dinner-party, and that you are free. There will only be one

other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack Seward. He's coming, too, and we

both want to mingle our weeps over the wine-cup, and to drink a health

with all our hearts to the happiest man in all the wide world, who has

won the noblest hear that God has made and the best worth winning.

We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving greeting, and a health

as true as your own right hand. We shall both swear to leave you at

home if you drink too deep to a 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

ears tingle.

                                                               "Art."

                             CHAPTER VI.

                        MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL.



  24 July. Whitby.- Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter and

lovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent in

which they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river, the

Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near

the harbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through

which the view seems somehow further away than it really is. The

valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on

the high land on either side you look right across it, unless you

are near enough to see down. The houses of the old town- the side away

from us- are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other

anyhow, like the pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town

is the ruin of Whitby Abbey, 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 noble ruin, of immense size, and full of

beautiful and romantic bits; there is a legend that a white lady is

seen in one of the windows. Between it and the town there is another

church, the parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of

tombstones. This is to my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it

lies right over the town, and has a full view of the harbour and all

up the bay to where the headland called Kettleness stretches out

into the sea. it descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the

bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have been destroyed. In

one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over the

sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside them,

through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day long

looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come

and sit here very often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing now,

with my book on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old men

who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but sit

up here and talk.

  The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite

wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end

of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs

along outside of 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 a narrow opening into the harbour, which then

suddenly widens.

  It is nice at high water; but when the tide is out it shoals away to

nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between

banks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on

this side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp

edge of which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At

the end of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather,

and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here

that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the

old man about this; he is coming this way...

  He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is all

gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is

nearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing

fleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical

person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady

at 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 in my 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 and Leeds 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 be bothered tellin' lies to them- even the

newspapers, which is full of fool-talk." I thought he would be a

good person to learn interesting things from, so I asked him if he

would mind telling me something about the whale-fishing in the old

days. He was just settling himself to begin when the clock struck six,

whereupon he laboured to get up, and said:-

  "I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand-daughter doesn't

like to be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to

crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of 'em; an', miss, I lack

belly-timber sairly by the clock."

  He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he

could, down the steps. The steps are a great feature of the place.

They lead from the town up to the church; there are hundreds of

them- I do not know how many- and they wind up in a delicate curve;

the slope is so gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down

them. I think they must originally have had something to do with the

abbey. I shall go home too. Lucy went out visiting with her mother,

and as they were only duty calls, I did not go. They will be home by

this.



  1 August.- I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a most

interesting talk with my old friend and the two others who always come

and join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I should

think must have been in his time a most dictatorial person. He will

not admit anything, and downfaces everybody. If he can't out-argue

them he bullies them, and then takes their silence for agreement

with his views. Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn

frock, she has got a beautiful colour since she has been here. I

noticed that the old men did not 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 her on the spot. Even my old man

succumbed and did not contradict her, but gave 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 it and 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'

bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy women

a-belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs

an' 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 do

somethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful to

think o' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies

on paper an' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin'

them on the tombsteans. Look here all around you in what airt ye will;

all them steans, 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 on them, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory'

wrote on all of them, 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 less sacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of

one kind or another! My gog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the

Day of Judgment when they come tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all

jouped together an' tryin' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove

how good they was; some of them trimmlin' and ditherin', with their

hands that dozzened an' slippy from lyin' 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

in which 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

not all wrong?"

  "Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they

make out the people too good; for there be folk that do think a

balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be

only lies. Now look you here; you come here a stranger, an' you see

this kirk-garth." I nodded, for I thought it better to assent,

though I did not quite understand 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 be happed here, snod an' snog?" I assented

again. "Then that be just where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores

of these lay-beds that be toom as old 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 at that one, the aftest abaft

the bier-bank; read it!" I went over and read:-

  "Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the

coast of Andres, April, 1854, aet. 30." When I came back Mr. Swales

went on:-

  "Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the

coast of Andres! an' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could

name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above"- he

pointed northwards- "or where the currents may have drifted them.

There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read

the small-print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey- I knew

his father, lost in the Lively off Greenland in '20; or Andrew

Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned

off Cape Farewell a year later; or old John Rawlings, whose

grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in '50.

Do ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to Whitby when

the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums about 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 ice in 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 was evidently local

pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and his cronies joined in

with gusto.

  "But," I said, "surely you are not quite correct, for you start on

the assumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have

to take their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you

think that 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

intense scorn. "How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies

is wrote over them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be

lies?" He pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a

slab, on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff.

"Read the lies on that thruff-stean," he said. The letters were upside

down to me from where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so

she leant over and read:-

  "Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of a

glorious resurrection, on July 29, 1873, falling from the rocks at

Kettleness. This tomb is erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly

beloved 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 spoke her comment very gravely and somewhat severely.

  "Ye don't see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't

gawm the sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was

acrewk'd- a regular lamiter he was- an' he hated her so that he

committed suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she

put on his life. He blew night the top of his head off with an old

musket that they had for scarin' the crows with. 'Twarn't for crows

then, for it brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he

fell off the rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection,

I've often heard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his

mother was so pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he

didn't wan't to addle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any

rate"- he hammered it with his stick as he spoke- "a pack of lies? and

won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' up the grees

with the tombstean balanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as

evidence!"

  I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as

she said, rising up:-

  "Oh why did you tell us of this? it is my favourite seat, and I

cannot leave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of

a suicide."

  "That won't harm ye, my pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie

gladsome to have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt

ye. Why, I've sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it

hasn't done me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye,

or that doesn' lie there either! it'll be time for ye to be getting

scart when ye see the tombsteans 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 off he hobbled.

  Lucy and I sat a while, and it was all so beautiful before us that

we took hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur

and their coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick,

for I haven't heard from Jonathan for a whole month.



  The same day.- I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no

letter 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 the town, 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 my left the view is cut off by a black line of

roof of the old house next the abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating

in the fields away behind me, and there is a clatter of donkey's hoofs

up the paved road below. The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz

in good time, and further along 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 them both. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is

thinking of me! I wish he were here.





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  5 June.- The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I

get to understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely

developed; selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at

what is the object 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 of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it

that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are

of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at

present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my

astonishment, he did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but

took the matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and

then said: "May I have three days? I shall clear them away." Of

course, I said that would do. I must watch him.



  18 June.- He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got several

big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, and the

number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he

has used half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his

room.



  1 July.- His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his

flies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked

very sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, at

all events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the

same time as before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with

him, for when a horrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food,

buzzed into the room, he caught it, held it exultantly for a few

moments between his finger and thumb, and, before I knew what he was

going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but

he argued quietly that it was very good and very wholesome; that it

was life, strong life, and gave life to him. This gave me an idea,

or the rudiment of one. I must watch how he gets rid of his spiders.

He has evidently some deep problem in his mind for he keeps a little

note-book in which he is always jotting down something. Whole pages of

it are filled with masses of figures, generally single numbers added

up in batches, and then the totals added in batches again, as though

he were "focussing" some account, as the auditors put it.



  8 July.- There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary

idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then,

oh, unconscious cerebration! you will have to give the wall to your

conscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so

that I might notice if there were any change. Things remain as they

were except that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new

one. He has managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially

tamed it. His means of taming is simple, for already the spiders

have diminished. Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he

still brings in the flies by tempting them with his food.



  19 July.- We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of

sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I

came in 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

asked him what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his

voice and bearing:-

  "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 this request, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in

size and vivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame

sparrows should be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the

spiders; so I said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not

rather have a cat 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

should refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would

they?" I shook my head, and said that at present I feared it would not

be possible, but that I would see about it. His face fell, and I could

see a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce,

sidelong, look which meant killing. The man is an undeveloped

homicidal maniac. I shall test him with his present craving and see

how it will work out; then I shall know more.



  10 p.m.- I have visited him again and found him sitting in a

corner brooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees before

me and implored 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, whereupon he went without a word, and sat down, gnawing

his fingers, in the corner where I had found him. I shall see him in

the morning early.



  20 July.- Visited Renfield very early, before the attendant went his

rounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his

sugar, which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning

his fly-catching again; and beginning it cheerfully and with a good

grace. I looked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him

where they were. 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 of blood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper

to report to me if there were anything odd about him during the day.



  11 a.m.- The attendant has just been to me to say that Renfield

has been 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 took and ate them raw!"



  11 p.m.- I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough to make

even him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to look at it. The

thought that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, and

the theory proved. My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I

shall have to invent a new classification for him, and call him a

zoophagous (life-eating) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as

many lives as he can, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a

cumulative way. He gave many flies to one spider and many spiders to

one bird, and then wanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have

been his later steps? It would almost be worth while to complete the

experiment. It might be done if there were only a sufficient cause.

Men sneered at vivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! Why

not advance science in its most difficult and vital aspect- the

knowledge of the brain? Had I even the secret of one such mind- did

I hold the key to the fancy of even one lunatic- I might advance my

own branch of science to a pitch compared with which

Burdon-Sanderson's physiology or Ferrier's brain-knowledge would be as

nothing. If only there were a sufficient cause! I must not think too

much of this, or I may be tempted; a good cause might turn the scale

with me, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain, congenitally?

  How well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within their own

scope. I wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only

one. He has closed the account most accurately, and to-day begun a new

record. How many 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

Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a

balance to profit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you'

nor can I be angry with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must

only wait on hopeless and work. Work! work!

  If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend

there- a good, 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; it

is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time. And

there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes it

different from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan.

I had not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned;

but yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a

letter from him. I had written asking him if he had heard, and he said

the enclosed had 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 in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about

it, and we have decided that I am to lock the door of our room every

night. Mrs. Westenra has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go

out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs, and then get

suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all

over the place. Poor dear, she is naturally anxious about Lucy, and

she tells me that her husband, Lucy's father, had the same habit; that

he would get up in the night and dress himself and go out, if he

were not stopped. Lucy is to be married in the autumn, and she is

already planning out her dresses and how her house is to be

arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan

and I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try

to make both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood- he is the Hon. Arthur

Holmwood, only son of Lord Godalming- is coming up here very

shortly- as soon as he can leave town, for his father is not very

well, and I think dear Lucy is counting the moments till he comes. She

wants to take him up to the seat on the churchyard cliff and show

him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting which disturbs

her; she will be all right when he arrives.



  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, if it were only a single line. Lucy walks more than ever, and

each night I am awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately,

the weather is so hot that she cannot get cold; but still the

anxiety and the perpetually being wakened is beginning to tell on

me, and I am getting nervous and wakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy's

health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has been suddenly called to Ring to

see his father, who has been taken seriously ill. Lucy frets at the

postponement of seeing him, but it does not touch her looks; she is

a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely rose pink. She has

lost that anaemic look which she had. I pray it will all last.



  3 August.- Another week gone, and no news from Jonathan, not even to

Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is not ill. He

surely would have written. I look at that last letter of his, but

somehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet

it is his writing. There is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked

much in her sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration

about her which I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be

watching me. She tries the door, and finding it locked, goes about the

room searching for the key.



  6 August.- Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting

dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should

feel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last

letter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable

than ever, but is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and

the fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it

and learn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I

write is hidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is

grey- except the green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it;

grey earthy rock; grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far

edge, hang over the grey sea, into which the sand-points stretch

like grey fingers. The sea is 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 grey mist. All is vastness; the clouds are

piled up like giant rocks, and there 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 in the mist, and seem "men like

trees walking." The fishing-boats are racing for home, and rise and

dip in the ground swell as they sweep into the harbour, bending to the

scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is making straight for me, and

I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to talk...

  I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he

sat down 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

speak fully; so he said, leaving his hand in mine:-

  "I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the

wicked things 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. We aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft

the krok-hooal, don't altogether 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 my own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye,

miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a bit; only I don't want to die

if I can help it. My time must be nigh at hand now, for I be aud,

and a hundred years is too much for any man to expect; and I'm so nigh

it that the Aud Man is already whettin' his scythe. Ye see, I can't

get out o' the habit of affin' about it all at once: the chafts will

wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound

his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my deary!"- for he

saw that I was crying- "if he should come this very night I'd not

refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a waitin'

for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that we can

rightly depend on. But I'm content, for it's comin' to me, my deary,

and comin' quick. It may be comin' while we be lookin' and

wonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out over the sea that's bringin'

with it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look!

look!" he cried suddenly. "There's something in that wind and in the

hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like

death. It's in the air, I feel it comin. Lord, make me answer cheerful

when my call comes!" He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat.

His mouth moved as though he were praying. After a few minutes'

silence, he got up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said

good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me very much.

  I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spyglass under

his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the

time kept 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 mind a bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide

whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there

again! She is steered 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 before this time to-morrow."

                             CHAPTER VII.

                    CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH".



                  (Pasted in Mina Murray's Journal.)

                        From a Correspondent.



                                                     8 August. Whitby

  One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been

experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather

had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the

month of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and

the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to

Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and

the various trips in the neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma

and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there was an

unusual amount of "tripping" both to and from Whitby. The day was

unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips who

frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from that commanding

eminence watch the wide sweep of sea 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 then blowing from the south-west in the

mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked "No. 2: light

breeze." The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old

fisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on

weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner

the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very

beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds,

that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in

the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped blow the

black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its

downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour-

flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with

here and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute

blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal

silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and

doubtless some of the sketches 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 and there that his "cobble" or his

"mule," as they term the different classes of boats, would remain in

the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell away entirely

during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead calm, a sultry

heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder,

affects persons of a sensitive nature. There were but few lights in

sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, which usually "hug"

the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but few

fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign

schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards.

The foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme

for comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to

signal her to reduce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut

down she was seen with sails idly napping as she gently rolled on

the undulating swell of the sea,



          "As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."



  Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite

oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep

inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and

the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord

in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came

a strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began

to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming.

  Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at

the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to

realise, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The

waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till in a

very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and

devouring monster. White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands

and rushed up the shelving cliffs; others broke over the piers, and

with their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise

from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like

thunder, and blew with such force that it was with difficulty that

even strong men kept their feet, or clung with grim clasp to the

iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear the entire piers from

the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would

have been increased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers

of the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland- white, wet

clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold

that it needed but little effort of imagination to think that the

spirits of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren

with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the

wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mist cleared, and the sea

for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which

now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals of thunder that

the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the

footsteps of the storm.

  Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and

of absorbing interest- the sea, running mountains high, threw skywards

with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed

to snatch at and whirl away into space; here and there a fishing-boat,

with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast; now

and again the white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of

the East Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had

not yet been tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working

order, and in the 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 guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the

danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved the

safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass of people on

shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was

then swept away in its rush.

  Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner

with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been

noticed earlier 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

they realised the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her

and the port lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships

have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its

present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she should fetch

the entrance of the harbour. It was now nearly the hour of high

tide, but the waves were so great that in their troughs the shallows

of the shore were almost visible, and the schooner, with all sails

set, was rushing with such speed 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 than any hitherto- a mass of dank

mist, which seemed to close on all things like 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 the booming of the mighty

billows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The

rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across

the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited

breathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the

remnant of the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, mirabile

dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at

headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with

all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The search-light

followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to

the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and

fro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on deck at

all. A great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if

by a miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a

dead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to

write these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the

harbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel

washed by many tides and many storms into the south-east corner of the

pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.

  There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up

on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of

the "top-hammer" came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very

instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from

below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped

from the bow on the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where

the churchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that

some of the flat tombstones- "thruff-steans" or "through-stones," as

they call them in the Whitby vernacular- actually project over where

the sustaining cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the

darkness, which seemed intensified just beyond the focus of the

searchlight.

  It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill

Pier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either

in bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty

on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little

pier, was the first to climb on board. The men working the

searchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without seeing

anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it there. The

coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel, bent over to

examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some sudden

emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a number of

people began to run. It is a good way round from the West Cliff by the

Drawbridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your correspondent 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 the

courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted

to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman

whilst actually lashed to the wheel.

  It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed,

for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply

fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the

wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set

of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists and

wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow may

have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the

sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and dragged him to

and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had cut the flesh to

the bone. Accurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor-

Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place- who came immediately

after me, declared, after making examination, that the man must have

been dead for quite two days. In his pocket was a bottle, carefully

corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be

the addendum to the log. The coastguard said the man must have tied up

his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a

coastguard was the first on board may save some complications, later

on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards cannot claim the salvage

which is the tight of the first civilian entering on a derelict.

Already however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law

student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already

completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the

statutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof,

of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand. It is needless to say

that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place

where he held his honourable watch and ward till death- a

steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casablanca- and placed

in the mortuary to await inquest.

  Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is

abating; crowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is beginning to

redden over the Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next

issue, further details of the derelict ship which found her way so

miraculously into harbour in the storm.



                                                              Whitby.

  9 August.- The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in

the storm last night is almost more startling than the thing itself.

It turns out that the schooner is a Russian from Varna, and is

called the Demeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver

sand, with only a small amount of cargo- a number of great wooden

boxes filled with mould. This cargo was consigned to a Whitby

solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this

morning went aboard and formally took possession of the goods

consigned to him. The Russian consul, too, acting for the

charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, and paid all

harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day except the

strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade have been

most exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with

existing regulations. As the matter is to be a "nine days' wonder,"

they are evidently determined that there shall be no cause of after

complaint. A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which

landed when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of the

S.P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriend the

animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be

found; it seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may

be that it was frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it

is still hiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on

such a possibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger,

for it is evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog,

a half-bred mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill

Pier, was found dead in the roadway opposite to 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 been

permitted to look over the log-book of the Demeter, which was in order

up to within three days, but contained nothing of special interest

except as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest, however,

is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was to-day

produced at the inquest; and a more strange narrative than the two

between them unfold it has not been my lot to come across. As there is

no motive for concealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly

send you a rescript, simply omitting technical details of seamanship

and supercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been

seized with some kind of mania before he had got well into blue water,

and that this had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of

course my statement must be taken cum grano, since I am writing from

the dictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly

translated for me, time being short.





                        LOG OF THE "DEMETER."

                           Varna to Whitby.



  Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep

accurate 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 Customs

officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p.m.



  On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat

of guarding squadron,. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough,

but quick. 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, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was

wrong; they only told him there was something, and crossed themselves.

Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck him. Expected

fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.



  On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky,

was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells

last night; was relieved by Abramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more

downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind,

but would not say more than that there was something aboard. Mate

getting very impatient with them; feared some trouble ahead.



  On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin,

and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a

strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been

sheltering behind 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 may spread. To allay it, I shall to-day

search entire ship carefully from stem to stern.



  Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as

they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search

from stem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to

yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would

engage to keep them out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take

the helm, while the rest began thorough search, all keeping abreast,

with lanterns; we left no corner unsearched. As there were only the

big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a man could hide.

Men much relieved when search over, and went back to work

cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said nothing.



  22 July.- Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with

sails- 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 bad weather. Passed Gibraltar 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 last night another man lost- disappeared. Like the first, he

came off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear;

sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be

alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or

the men will do some 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. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on.

Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few

hours' sleep. Wind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less,

as ship is steadier.



  29 July.- Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew too

tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one

except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough

search, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a

panic. Mate and 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 telling

me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate

and two hands left to work ship.



  1 August.- Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when

in the 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 terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than

either of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly

against himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and

patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, 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, and ran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of

man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be

past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North

Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in

the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to

move with us; and God seems to have deserted us.



  3 August.- At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, and

when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we

ran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted

for the mate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his

flannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his

reason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with

his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might hear: "It is

here; I know it, 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 behind It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went

through it, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took his knife and

drove it savagely into space. Then he went on: "But it is here, and

I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll

unscrew them one by one and see. You work the helm." And with a

warning look and his finger on his lip, he went below. There was

springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave the helm. I saw

him come out on deck again with a tool-chest and 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 those big boxes: they are

invoiced as "clay," and to pull them about is as harmless a thing as

he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and write 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 cut down sails and

lie by, and signal for help.

  It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that

the mate would come out calmer- for I heard him knocking away at

something in the hold, 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 he came as if shot from a gun- a raging madman,

with his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. "Save me! save

me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror

turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said: "You had better come

too, captain, before it is too late. He is there. I know the secret

now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!"

Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize him, he sprang

on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I

suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid

of the men one by one, and now he has followed them himself. God

help me! How am I to account for all these horrors 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 is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared

not go below, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I

stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw It- Him! God forgive me,

but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die like

a man; to die like a sailor in blue water no man can object. But I

am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this

fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my

strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which

He- It!- dare not touch; and then, come good wind or foul, I shall

save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing weaker, and the

night is coming on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not

have time to act... If we are wrecked, mayhap this 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. God and the

Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to 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 now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the

captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral.

Already it is arranged that his body is to be taken with a train of

boats up the Esk for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier

and up the abbey steps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on

the cliff. The owners of more than a hundred boats have already

given in their names as wishing to follow him to the grave.

  No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there is

much mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he

would, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the

funeral; and so will end this one more "mystery of the sea."





                        Mina Murray's Journal.



  8 August.- Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could not

sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the

chimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed

to be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she

got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in

time, and managed to undress her without waking her, and got her

back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as

soon as her will is thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if

there be any, disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the

routine of her life.

  Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour

to see if 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 that topped them was like snow, forced themselves

in through the narrow mouth of the harbour- like a bullying man

going through a crowd. Somehow I felt 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 fearfully anxious 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 most

touching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffin

was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to the

churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat,

whilst the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and

came down again. 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 on it 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 that her 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 if there be, she does not understand it

herself. There is an additional cause in that poor old Mr. Swales

was found dead this morning on our seat, 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 of fear and horror on his face that the

men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man! Perhaps he had seen

Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she

feels influences more acutely than other people do. Just now she was

quite upset by a little thing which I did not much heed, though I am

myself very fond of animals. One of the men who 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 saw the man

angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would not

come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few

yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and

then harshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to

make a noise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and

all its hairs bristling out like a cat's tail when puss, is, on the

war-path. Finally the man, too, got angry, and jumped down and

kicked the dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half

dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed.

The moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and fell

all into a tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched down,

quivering and cowering, and was in 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 to touch the dog, but looked at

it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly fear that she is of too

supersensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. She

will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The whole

agglomeration of things- the ship steered into port by a dead man; his

attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; the touching

funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror- will all afford

material for her dreams.

  I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically,

so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood's

Bay and back. 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 I

had made my diary a duty I should not open it tonight. We had a lovely

walk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits, owing, I think, to some

dear cows who came nosing towards us in a field close to the

lighthouse, and frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot

everything, except, of course, personal fear, and it seemed to wipe

there slate clean and give us a fresh start. We had a capital

"severe tea" at Robin Hood's Bay in a sweet little old-fashioned

inn, with a bow-window right over the seaweed-covered rocks of the

strand. I believe we should have shocked the "New Woman" with our

appetites. Men are more tolerant, bless them! 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 was really 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 stay for supper. Lucy and I

had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; I know it was a hard

fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that some day the

bishops must get together and see about breeding up a new class of

curates, who don't take supper, no matter how they may be pressed

to, and who will know when girls are tired. Lucy is asleep and

breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and

looks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her seeing

her only in the drawingroom, 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 and women should be allowed to see each other asleep before

proposing or accepting. But I suppose the New Woman won't condescend

in future to accept; she will do the proposing herself And a nice

job she will make of 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 the corner, and that we are over her troubles with

dreaming. I should be quite 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

an agonising 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 fear upon 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 bed was empty. I lit a match, and found that she was

not in the room. The door was shut, but not locked, as I had left

it. I feared to wake her mother, who has been more than usually ill

lately, so threw on some clothes and got ready to look for her. As I

was leaving the room it struck me that the clothes she wore might give

me some clue to her dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean

house; dress, outside. Dressing-gown and dress were both in their

places. "Thank God," I said to myself, "she cannot be far, as she is

only in her nightdress." I ran downstairs and looked in the

sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other open rooms

of the house, with an ever-growing fear chilling my heart. Finally I

came to the hall-door and found it open. It was not wide open, but the

catch of the lock had not caught. The people of the house are

careful to lock the door every night, so I feared that Lucy must

have gone out as she was. There was no time to think of what might

happen; a vague, overmastering fear obscured all details. I took a

big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I was in

the Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I ran along the North

Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected.

At the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the

harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear- I don't know which- of

seeing Lucy in our favourite seat. There was a bright full moon,

with heavy black, driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a

fleeting diorama of light and shade as they sailed across. For a

moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured

St. Mary's Church and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I

could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view; and as the edge

of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the

church and the churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my

expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our

favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining

figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was too quick for me to

see much, for shadow shut down on light almost immediately; but it

seemed to me as though something dark stood behind the 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 another glance,

but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the fish-market

to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East Cliff. The

town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I see; I rejoiced that it

was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy's condition. The time and

distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath came

laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must have

gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with

lead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty. When I got

almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was

now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of

shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black, bending

over the half-reclining white figure. I called in fright, "Lucy!

Lucy!" and something raised a head, and from where I was I could see a

white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on

to the entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was

between me and the seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her.

When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight

struck so brilliantly that I could see Lucy half reclining with her

head lying over the back of the seat. She was quite alone, and there

was not a sign of any living thing about.

  When I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Her lips

were parted, and she was breathing- not softly, as usual with her, but

in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs full at

every breath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and

pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her throat. Whilst

she did so there came a little shudder through her, as though she felt

the cold. I flung 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 to have my hands free that I might help her. I

fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety-pin; but I must

have been clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with it, for

by-and-by, when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand to

her throat again and moaned. When I had her carefully wrapped up I put

my shoes on her feet, and then began very gently to wake her. At first

she did not respond; but gradually she became more and more uneasy

in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At last, as time was

passing fast, and, for many other reasons, 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 surprised to 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 must have been chilled with

cold, and her mind somewhat appalled at waking unclad in a

churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. She trembled a

little, and clung to me; when I told her to come at once with me

home she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we

passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me wince.

She stopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes; but I

would not. However, when we got to the pathway outside the churchyard,

where there was a puddle of water remaining from the storm, I daubed

my feet with mud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as

we went home no one, 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

saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front

of us; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such

as there are here, steep little closes, or "wynds," as they call

them in Scotland. My heart beat so loud all the time that sometimes

I thought I should faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not

only for her health, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for

her reputation in case the story should get wind. When we got in,

and had washed our feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness

together, I tucked her into bed. Before falling asleep she asked- even

implored- me not to say a word to any one, even her mother, about

her sleep-walking adventure. I hesitated at first to promise; but on

thinking of the state of her mother's health, and how the knowledge of

such a thing would fret her, and thinking, too, of how such a story

might become distorted- may, infallibly would- in case it should

leak out, I thought it wiser to do so. I hope I did right. I have

locked the door, and the key is tied to my wrist, so perhaps I shall

not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleeping soundly; 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

seemed not to have even changed her side. The adventure of the night

does not seem to have harmed her; on the contrary, it has benefited

her, for she looks better this morning than she has done for weeks.

I was sorry to notice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her.

Indeed, it might have been serious, for the skin of her throat was

pierced. I must have pinched up a piece of loose skin and have

transfixed it, for there are two little red points like pin-pricks,

and on the band of her nightdress was a drop of blood. When I

apologised and was concerned about it, she laughed and petted me,

and said she did not even feel it. Fortunately it cannot leave a scar,

as it is so tiny.



  Same day, night.- We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and

the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to

Mulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I

walking by the cliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a little

sad myself, for I could not but feel how absolutely happy it would

have been had Jonathan been with me. But there! I must only be

patient. In the evening we strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard

some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie, and went to bed early. Lucy

seems more restful than she has been for some time, and fell asleep at

once. I shall lock the door and secure the key the same as before,

though I do not expect any trouble to-night.



  12 August.- My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night I

was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in her

sleep, to be a little impatient at finding the door shut, and went

back to bed under a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard

the birds chirping 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 of manner seemed to have come back, and she came and snuggled

in beside me, and told me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I

was about Jonathan, and then she tried to comfort me. Well, she

succeeded somewhat, for, though sympathy can't alter facts, it can

help to make them more bearable.



  13 August.- Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my wrist

as before. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting up in

bed, still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly, and

pulling aside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and

the soft effect of the light over the sea and sky- merged together

in one great, silent mystery- was beautiful beyond words. Between me

and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and going in great,

whirling circles. Once or twice it came quite close, but was, I

suppose, frightened at seeing me, and flitted away across the

harbour towards the abbey. When I came back from 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

seems to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it

is hard to get her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch

or tea or dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were

coming home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from

the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The

setting sun, low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness;

the red light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and

seemed to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent

for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself:-

  "His red eyes again! They are just the same." It was such an odd

expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I

slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare

at her, and saw that she was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd

look on her face that I could not quite make out; so I said nothing,

but followed 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 like burning flames; but a second look dispelled the

illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary's

Church behind our seat, and as the sun dipped there was just

sufficient change in the refraction and reflection to make it appear

as if the light moved. I called Lucy's attention to the peculiar

effect, and she became herself with a start, but she looked sad all

the same; it may have been that she was thinking of that terrible

night up there. We never refer to it; so I said nothing, and we went

home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went early 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 sweet sadness, for I was

thinking of Jonathan. When coming home- it was then bright

moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the

Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen- I threw a

glance up at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I thought

that perhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief

and waved it. She did not notice or make any movement whatever. Just

then, the moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the

light fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy with her head

lying up against the side of the window-sill and her eyes shut. She

was fast asleep, and by her, seated on the window-sill, was

something that looked like a good-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, fast asleep, 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

the door is locked and the window securely fastened.

  She looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than is her wont,

and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like.

I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what

it is.



  15 August.- Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired, and

slept 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. Lucy is full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad and

sorry at once. Later on in the day she told me the cause. She is

grieved to lose Lucy as her very own, but she is rejoiced that she

is soon to have some one to protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She

confided to me that she has got her 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, for her heart is weakening. At

any time, even now, a sudden shock would be almost sure to kill her.

Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair of the dreadful night

of Lucy's sleep-walking.



  17 August.- No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart to

write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our

happiness. No news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker,

whilst her mother's hours are numbering to a close. I do not

understand Lucy's fading away as she is doing. She eats well and

sleeps well, and enjoys the fresh air; but all the time the roses in

her cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more languid day by

day; at night I hear her gasping as if for air. I keep the key of

our door always fastened to my wrist at night, but she gets up and

walks about the room, and sits at the open window. Last night I

found her leaning out when I woke up, and when I tried to wake her I

could not; she was in a faint. When I managed to restore 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 the window she

shook her head and turned away. I trust her feeling ill may not be

from that unlucky prick of the safety pin. I looked at her throat just

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 the

edges of them are faintly white. They are like little white dots

with red centres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist

on the doctor 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 Northern

Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near Purfleet,

immediately on 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

the consignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of

the house and marked 'A' on rough diagram enclosed. Your agent will

easily recognise the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the

mansion. The goods leave by the train at 9:30 to-night, and will be

due at King's Cross at 4:30 to-morrow afternoon. As our client

wishes the delivery made as soon as possible, we shall be obliged by

your having teams ready at King's Cross at the time named and

forthwith conveying the goods to destination. In order to obviate

any delays possible through any routine requirements as to payment

in your departments, we enclose cheque herewith for ten pounds

(L10), receipt of which please acknowledge. Should the charge be

less than this amount, you can return balance; if greater, we shall at

once send cheque for difference on hearing from you. You are to

leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of the house, where the

proprietor may get them on his entering the house by means of his

duplicate key.

  "Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business courtesy in

pressing 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 pounds (L10) received and to return cheque

L1 17s. 9d., amount of overplus, as shown in receipted account

herewith. Goods are delivered in exact accordance with instructions,

and keys left in parcel in main hall, as directed.

                                                  "We are, dear Sirs,

                                                 "Yours respectfully,

                                         "Pro Carter, Paterson & Co."





  18 August.- I am happy to-day, and write sitting on the seat in

the churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well

all night, and did not disturb me once. The roses seem coming back

already to her cheeks, though she is still sadly pale and wan-looking.

If she were in any way anaemic I could understand it, but she is

not. She is in gay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness. All

the morbid reticence seems to have passed from her, and she has just

reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of that night, and that

it was here, on this very seat, I found her asleep. As he told me

she tapped playfully with the 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 up Geordie." As she was in such a communicative humour, I asked

her if she had dreamed at all that night. Before she answered, that

sweet, puckered look came into her forehead, which Arthur- I call

him Arthur from her habit- says he loves; and, indeed, I don't

wonder that he does. Then she went on in a half-dreaming kind of

way, as if trying to recall it to herself:-

  "I didn't quite dream; but it all seemed to be real. I only wanted

to be here in this spot- I don't know why, for I was afraid of

something- I don't know what. I remember though I suppose I was

asleep, passing through the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped

as I went by, and I leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of

dogs howling- the whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs

all howling at once- as I went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory

of something long and dark with red eyes, just as we saw in the

sunset, and something very sweet and very bitter all around me at

once; and then I seemed sinking into deep green water, and there was a

singing in my ears, as I have heard there is to drowning men; and then

everything seemed passing away from 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 an earthquake, and I came back

and found you shaking my body. I saw you do it before I felt you."

  Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I

listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought

it better not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to

other subjects, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got home

the fresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really

more rosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a

very happy evening together.



  19 August.- Joy, joy, joy! although not all joy. At last, news of

Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill; that is why he did not

write. I am not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. Mr.

Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh, so kindly. I

am to leave in the morning 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 if we were to be married out there. I have

cried over the good Sister's letter till I can feel it wet against

my bosom, where it lies. It is of Jonathan, and must be next my heart,

for he is in my heart. My journey is all mapped out, and my luggage

ready. I am only taking one change of dress; Lucy All bring my trunk

to London and keep it till I send for it, for it may be that... I must

write no more; I must keep it to say to Jonathan, my husband. The

letter that he has seen and touched must comfort me till we meet.





     Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of SL 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 strong

enough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St. Joseph

and 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 his

delay, and that all of his work is completed. He will require some few

weeks' rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. He

wishes me to say that he has not sufficient money with him, and that

he would like to pay for his staying here, so that others who need

shall not 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

something more. He has told me all about you, and that you are

sortly to be his wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some

fearful shock- so says our doctor- and in his delirium his ravings

have been dreadful; of wolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and

demons; and I fear to say of what. Be careful with him always that

there may be nothing to excite him of this kind for a long time to

come; the traces of such an illness as his do not lightly die away. We

should have written long ago, but we knew nothing of his friends,

and there was on him nothing that any one could understand. He came in

the train from Klausenburg, and the guard was told by the

station-master there that he rushed into the station shouting for a

ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour that he was

English, they gave him a ticket for the furthest station on the way

thither that the train reached.

  "Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all hearts by

his sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on well, and I

have no doubt will in a few weeks be all himself But be careful of him

for safety'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.

About eight o'clock he began to get excited and to sniff about as a

dog does when setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and

knowing my interest in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually

respectful to the attendant, and at times servile; but to-night, the

man tells me, he was quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk

with him at all. All he would say was:-

  "I don't want to talk to you: you don't count now; the Master is

at hand."

  The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which

has seized him. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong

man with homicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous. The

combination is a dreadful one. At nine o'clock I visited him myself.

His attitude to me was the same as that to the attendant; in his

sublime self-feeling the difference between myself and attendant

seemed to him as nothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will

soon think that he himself is God. These infinitesimal distinctions

between man and man are too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How

these madmen give themselves away! The real God taketh heed lest a

sparrow fall; but the God created from 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

and greater degree. I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept

strict observation all the same. All at once that shifty look came

into his eyes which we always see when a madman has seized an idea,

and with it the shifty movement of the head and back which asylum

attendants come to know so well. He became quite quiet, and went and

sat on the edge of his bed resignedly, and looked into space with

lack-lustre eyes. I thought I would find out if his apathy were real

or only assumed, and tried to lead him to talk of his pets, a theme

which had never failed to excite his 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 about

spiders?" (Spiders at present are his hobby, and the note-book is

filling up 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 eyes that are filled."

  He would not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on his

bed all the time I remained with him.

  I am weary to-night and low in spirits. I cannot but think of

Lucy, and how different things might have been. If I don't sleep at

once, chloral, the modern Morpheus- C(2) HCL(3)O: H(2)O! I must be

careful not to let it grow into a habit. No, I shall take none

ton-night! I have thought of Lucy, 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 had

lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice, when

the night-watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say that

Renfield had escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once; my

patient is too dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas

of his might work out dangerously with strangers. The attendant was

waiting for me. He said he had seen him not ten minutes before,

seemingly asleep in his bed, when he had looked through the

observation-trap in the door. His attention was called by the sound of

the window being wrenched out. He ran back and saw his feet

disappear through the window, and had at once sent 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 should go than to follow

him, as he might lose sight of him whilst getting out of the

building by the door. He is a bulky man, and couldn't get through

the 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. The

attendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and had taken a

straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As I got through the

belt of trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which separates

our grounds from those of the deserted house.

  I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men

immediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in case our

friend might be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the

wall, dropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield's figure

just disappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him.

On the far side of the house I found him pressed close against the old

iron-bound oak door of the chapel. He was talking, apparently to

some one, but I was afraid to go near enough to hear what he was

saying, lest I might frighten him, and he should run off. Chasing an

errant swarm of bees is nothing to following a naked lunatic, when the

fit of escaping is upon him! After a few minutes, however, I could see

that he did not take note of anything around him, and so ventured to

draw nearer to him- the more so as my men had now crossed the wall and

were closing him in. I heard him say:-

  "I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, and You will

reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped You long and

afar off. Now that You are near, I await Your commands, and You will

not pass me by, will You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good

things?"

  He is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves and

fishes even when he believes he is in a Real Presence. His manias make

a startling combination. When we closed in on him he fought like a

tiger. He is immensely strong, and he was more like a wild beast

than a man. I never saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before;

and I hope I shall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his

strength and his danger in good time. With strength, and determination

like his, he might have done wild work before he was caged. He is safe

now at any rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get free from the

strait-waistcoat that keeps him restrained, and he's chained to the

wall in the padded room. His cries are at times awful, but the

silences that follow are more 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

this diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep to-night.

                             CHAPTER IX.

                      LETTERS, ETC.- continued.



                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 we

parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to

Hull all right, and caught the boat to Homburg, and then the train

on here. I feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey,

except that I knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should

have to do some nursing, 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 out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which

I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of

himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him

for a long time past. At least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall

never ask. He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his

poor brain if he were to try to 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. I wanted 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 the secrets of God, and that

if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect

her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the next 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 raved about, added: 'I can

tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything 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 owes to you. His

fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat

of.' I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my

poor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea

of my being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me

whisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other

woman was a cause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I

can see his face while he sleeps. He is waking!...

  "When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get

something from 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 to let me look at it- for I knew then that I might

find some clue to his trouble- but I suppose he must have seen my wish

in my eyes, for he sent me 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 the note-book, and he said to me very solemnly:-

  "'Wilhelmina'- I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has

never 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 no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and

when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I

do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I

have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I

do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our

marriage.' For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the

formalities are complete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my

ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will,

but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come

upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or

mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted, and I put the book

under his pillow, and kissed him I have asked Sister Agatha to beg the

Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am waiting her

reply...

  "She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English mission

church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as

soon after as Jonathan awakes...

  "Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very,

very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was

ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered

his 'I will' firmly and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was

so full that even those words seemed to choke me. The dear sisters

were so kind. Please God, I shall never, never forget them, nor the

grave and sweet responsibilities I have taken upon me. I must tell you

of my wedding present. When the chaplain and the sisters had left me

alone with my husband- oh, Lucy, it is the first time I have written

the words 'my husband'- left me alone with my husband, I took the book

from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it

with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which 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 it to my husband, and told

him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and

visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I

would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or 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 wifes hand, and said that it was the

dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through

all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to

have said a part of the past; but he cannot think of time yet, and I

shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the

year.

  "Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was

the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to

give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these

went my love and 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 solemn pledge between us...

  "Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only

because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are,

very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide

when you came from the 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 that in 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 of sunshine, with no harsh kind, no forgetting

duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that can never be;

but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now Good-bye, my

dear. I shall post this at once, and, perhaps, write you very soon

again. I must stop, for Jonathan is 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 own home with your husband. I wish you could be coming home

soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore

Jonathan; it has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a

cormorant, am full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know

that I have quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not

stirred out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at

night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell

you that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, and rides, and

rowing, and tennis, and fishing together; and I love him more than

ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at

first he told me that he couldn't love me more 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 has

now so far quieted that there are spells or cessation from his

passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually

violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and

kept murmuring to himself- "Now I can wait; now I can wait." The

attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at

him. He was still in the strait-waistcoat and in the padded room,

but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had

something of their old pleading- I might almost say, "cringing"-

softness, I was satisfied with his present condition, and directed him

to be relieved. The attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my

wishes without protest. It was a strange thing that the patient had

humour enough to see their distrust, for, coming close to me, he

said in a whisper, all the while looking furtively at them:-

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

  It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociated

even in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same

I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in

common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or has

he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is

needful to him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not

speak. Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not

tempt him. He will only 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 quiet

until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at

length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which

exhausted him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.

  ...Three nights has the same thing happened- violent all day then

quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the

cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence which

came and went. Happy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against

mad ones. He escaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape

with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to

follow in case they are required...



  23 August.- "The unexpected always happens." How well Disraeli

knew life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so

all our subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have

proved one thing; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time.

We shall in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day.

I have given orders 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's body 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

the attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out

past him and new down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to

follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we

found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When

he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized him

in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a

strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as

suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see

nothing. Then I caught the patient's eye and followed it, but could

trace nothing as it looked into the moonlit sky except a big bat,

which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the West. Bats

usually wheel and flit about, but this one seemed to go straight on,

as if it knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.

The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said:

  "You needn't tie me; I shall go quietly!" Without trouble we came

back to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm,

and shall not forget this night...





                        Lucy Westenra's Diary.



  Hillingham, 24 August.- I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things

down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it

will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last

night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps

it is the change 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 so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked

quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to be

cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother's room to-night. I shall

make an excuse and try.



  25 August.- Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my

proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to

worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when

the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been

falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the

window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose

I must then have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could

remember them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly

pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my

lungs, for I don't seem ever to get air enough. I shall try to cheer

up when Arthur comes, or else I know 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

special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every

day. I have asked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask

her mother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter

in her present state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has

confided to me that her doom is spoken- disease of the heart- though

poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am sure that there is something

preying on my dear girl's mind: I am almost distracted when I think of

her; to look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should ask you to

see her, and though she demurred at first- I know why, old fellow- she

finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I know, old

friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you

to act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham to-morrow, two o'clock,

so as not to arose any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch

Lucy will take an opportunity of being alone with you. I shall come in

for tea, and we can go away together; I am filled with anxiety, and

want to consult with you alone as soon as I can 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

fully by 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

once that in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or any

malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means

satisfied with her appearance; she is woefully different from what she

was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did

not have full opportunity of examination such as I should wish; our

very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even medical

science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you exactly

what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure, your own

conclusions. I shall then say what I have done 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 knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious.

I have no doubt 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, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real

cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy

was left with me. 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 chair with a great sigh, and hid her eyes with

her hand. When I saw that her high spirits had failed, I at once

took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis. She said to me

very sweetly:

  "'I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I reminded

her that a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were

grievously anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and

settled that matter in a word. 'Tell Arthur everything you choose. I

do not care for myself, but all for him!' So I am quite free.

  "I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could

not see the usual anaemic signs, and by a chance I was actually able

to test the quality of her blood, for in opening a window which was

stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken

glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident

chance, and I secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed them.

The qualitative analysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows,

I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In other

physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for

anxiety; but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to the

conclusion that it must be something mental. She complains of

difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at times, and of heavy,

lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but regarding which

she can remember nothing. She says that as a child she used 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 the East Cliff, where

Miss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has

not returned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know

of, I have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing,

of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in

the world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that

all things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who

you are and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow,

is in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to

do anything I can for her. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything

for me for a personal reason. So, no matter on what ground he comes,

we must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this

is because he knows what he is talking about better than any one else.

He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most

advanced scientists of his day; and he has, I believe, an absolutely

open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an

indomitable resolution, self-command and toleration exalted from

virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats-

these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for

mankind- work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide

as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may

know why I have such confidence in him. I have asked him to come at

once. I shall see Miss Westenra to-morrow again. She is to meet me

at the Stores, so that I may not alarm 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

good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those

who have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those

who have trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those

he holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my

wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our

other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he

wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune could

do. But it is 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 near to hand, and please it so arrange that we may see

the young lady not too late on to-morrow, for it is likely that I

may have to return here that night. But if need be I shall come

again in three days, and stay longer if 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,

and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was lunching out,

so that we were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very careful

examination of the patient. He is to report to me, and I shall

advise you, for of course 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 you trust 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 not jesting. This is no jest, but life and

death, perhaps more.' I asked what he meant by that, for he was very

serious. This was when we had come back to town, and he was having a

cup of tea before starting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not

give me any further clue. You must not be angry with me, Art,

because his very reticence means that all his brains are working for

her good. He will speak plainly enough when the time comes, be sure.

So I told him I would simply write an account of our visit, just as if

I were doing a descriptive special article for The Dally Telegraph. He

seemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts in London were not

quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. I am to

get his report tomorrow if he can possible make it. In any case I am

to have a letter.

  "Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I

first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something

of the ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal.

She was very sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to

make him feel at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was

making a hard struggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too,

for I saw the quick look under his bushy brows that I knew of old.

Then he began to chat of all things except ourselves and diseases

and with such an infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucy's

pretense of animation merge into reality. Then, without any seeming

change, he brought the conversation gently round to his visit, and

suavely said:-

  "'My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you are

much beloved. That is much, my dear, even were there that which I do

not see. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that you were

of a ghastly pale. To them I say: "Pouf!"' And he snapped his

fingers at me and went on: 'But you and I shall show them how wrong

they are. How can he'- and he pointed at me with the same look and

gesture as that with which once he pointed me out to his class, on, or

rather after, a particular occasion which he never fails to remind

me of- 'know anything of a young ladies? He has his madams to play

with, and to bring them back 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 the young ladies! He has no wife nor

daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to the young, but to

the old, like me, who have known so many sorrows and the causes of

them. So, my dear, we will send him away to smoke the cigarette in the

garden, whiles you and I have little talk all to ourselves.' I took

the hint, and strolled about, and presently the professor came to

the window and called me in. He looked grave, but said: 'I have made

careful examination, but there is no functional cause. With you I

agree that there has been much blood lost; it has been, but is not.

But the conditions of her are in no way anaemic. I have asked 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 go back

home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day; and if

there be cause I shall come again. The disease- for not to be all well

is a disease- interest me, and the sweet young dear, she interest me

too. 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 trust your poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible thing to

you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two

people who are both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your

father, and you are right to stick to it; but, if need be, I shall

send you word to come at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious

unless you hear from me."





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  4 September.- Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.

He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time.

Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The

attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the

men came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he

became so violent that it took all their strength to hold him. In

about five minutes, however, he began to get more and more quiet,

and finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has

remained up to now. The attendant tells me that his screams whilst

in the paroxysm were really appalling; I found my hands full when I

got in, attending to some of the other patients who were frightened by

him. Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds

disturbed even me, though I was some distance away. It is now after

the dinner-hour of the asylum, and as yet my patient sits in a

corner brooding, with a dull, sullen, woe-be-gone look in his face,

which seems rather to indicate than to show something directly. I

cannot quite understand it.



  Later.- Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in on

him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to

be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his

capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the ridges

of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad

conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to

his own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well to

humour him; so he is back in his room, with the window open. He has

the sugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping

quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting

them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of

his room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past

few days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me;

but he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and

said in a sort of far-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

do it 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

more sugar? 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 like

it." And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen

do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy

a man as, 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

our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him

yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it

better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the

wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid

lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul

clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of

my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and

my own desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him just as the

sun was going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it

sank he became less and less frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid

from the hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is

wonderful, however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics

have, for within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked

around him. I signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was

anxious to see what he would do. He went straight over to the window

and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took his fly-box and

emptied it outside, and threw away the box: then he shut the window

and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, 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 a

wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of

his mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be a

clue after all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at

high noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of

the sun at periods 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; sleeps

naturally; good spirits; colour coming back."





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



  "6 September.- Terrible change for the worse. Come at once; do not

lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen you."

                              CHAPTER X.

                      LETTERS, ETC.- continued.



             Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.



                                                        "6 September.

  "My dear Art,-

  "My news to-day is not so good. Lucy this morning has 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

me professionally about her. I took advantage of the opportunity,

and told her that my old master, Van Helsing, the great specialist,

was coming to stay with me, and that I would put her in his charge

conjointly with myself, so now we can come and go without alarming her

unduly, for a shock to her would mean sudden death, and this, in

Lucy's weak condition, might be disastrous to her. We are hedged in

with difficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God,

we shall come through them all right. If any need I shall write, so

that, if you do not hear from me, take it for granted that I am simply

waiting for news. In haste. Yours ever,

                                                       "John Seward."





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  7 September.- The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met a

Liverpool 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. I wrote him a letter simply telling him that you were

coming, as Miss Westenra 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

he shall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution you. You

deal with the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the other; and

inasmuch as 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 why you do it; you tell them not what you think. So you

shall keep knowledge in its place, where it may rest- where it may

gather its kind around it and breed. You and I shall keep as yet

what we know here, and here." He touched me on the heart and on the

forehead, and then touched himself the same way. "I have for myself

thoughts at the present. Later I shall unfold to you."

  "Why not now?" I asked. "It may do some good; we may arrive at

some decision." He stopped and looked at me, and said:-

  "My friend John, when the corn is grown, even before it has ripened-

while the milk of its mother-earth is in him, and the sunshine has not

yet begun to paint him with his gold, the husbandman he pull the ear

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 the

time comes.'" I did not see the application, and told him so. For

reply he reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it

playfully, as he used long ago to do at lectures, and said: "The

good husbandman tell you so then because he knows, but not till

then. But you do not find the good husbandman dig up his planted

corn to see if he grow; that is for the children who play at

husbandry, and not for those who take it as of the 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 broke off, for

he evidently saw that I understood. Then he went on, and very

gravely:-

  "You were always a careful student, and your case-book was ever more

full than the rest. You were only student then; now you are master,

and I trust that good habit have not fail. Remember, my friend, that

knowledge 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 this

case of our dear miss is one that may be- mind, I say may be- of

such interest to us and others that all the rest may not make him kick

the beam, as your peoples say. Take then good note of it. Nothing is

too small. 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. We learn from failure, not from success!"

  When I described Lucy's symptoms- the same as before, but infinitely

more marked- he looked very grave, but said nothing. He took with

him a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, "the ghastly

paraphernalia of our beneficial trade," as he once called, in one of

his lectures, the equipment 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 I expected to find her. Nature in one of her

beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its

own terrors. Here, in a case where any shock may prove fatal,

matters are so ordered that, from some cause or other, the things

not personal- even the terrible change in her daughter to whom she

is so attached- do not seem to reach her. It is something like the way

Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some

insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that which it would

otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered selfishness, then

we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice of egoism,

for there may be deeper roots for its causes than we have knowledge

of.

  I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and laid

down a rule that she should not be present with Lucy or think of her

illness more than was absolutely required. She assented readily, so

readily that I saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van

Helsing and I were shown up to Lucy's room. If I was shocked when I

saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her to-day. She was

ghastly, chalkily pale; the red seemed to have gone even from her lips

and gums, and the bones of her face stood out prominently; her

breathing was painful to see or hear. Van Helsing's face grew set as

marble, and his eyebrows converged till they almost touched over his

nose. Lucy lay motionless and did not seem to have strength to

speak, so for a while we were all silent. Then Van Helsing beckoned to

me, and we went gently out of the room. The instant we had closed

the door he stepped quickly along the passage to the next door,

which was open. Then he pulled me quickly in with him and closed the

door. "My God!" he said; "this is dreadful. There is no time to be

lost. She will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart's

action as it should be. There must be transfusion of blood at once. Is

it 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

at the hall-door. When we reached the hall the maid had just opened

the door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to me,

saying in an eager whisper:-

  "Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your letter,

and have been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran down here to

see for myself. 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 had been angry at my interruption at such a

time; but now, as he took in his stalwart proportions and recognised

the strong young manhood which seemed to emanate from him, his eyes

gleamed. Without a pause he said to him gravely as he held out his

hand:-

  "Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our lear miss. She

is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that." For he

suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. "You are

to help her. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is

your best help."

  "What can I do?" asked Arthur hoarsely. "Tell me, and I shall do it.

My life is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body

for her." The Professor has a strongly humourous side, and I could

from old knowledge 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

nostril quivered 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 than me, better than my friend John." Arthur looked bewildered,

and the Professor went on by explaining in a kindly way:-

  "Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must

have or die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about

to perform what we call transfusion of blood- to transfer from full

veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give

his blood, as he is the more young and strong than me"- here Arthur

took my hand and wrung it 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 not so calm and our blood not so bright than

yours!" Arthur turned to him and said:-

  "If you only knew how gladly I would die for her you would

understand-"

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

  "Good boy!" said Van Helsing. "In the not-so-far-off you will be

happy that you have done all for her you love. Come now and be silent.

You shall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must go; and

you must leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame; you know how it is

with her! 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 not

asleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort. Her eyes spoke

to us; that was all. Van Helsing took some things from his bag and

laid them on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic,

and coming over to the bed, said cheerily:-

  "Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like a

good child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. Yes." She

had made the effort with success.

  It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact,

marked the extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep

began to flicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic

began to manifest its potency; and she fell into a deep sleep. When

the Professor was satisfied he called Arthur into the room, and bade

him strip off his coat. Then he added: 'You may take that one little

kiss whiles I bring over the table. Friend John, help to me!- So

neither of us looked whilst he bent over her.

  Van Helsing turning to me, said:

  "He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not

defibrinate it."

  Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed

the operation. As the transfusion went on something like life seemed

to come back to poor Lucy's cheeks, and through Arthur's growing

pallor the joy of his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I

began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur,

strong man as he was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain

Lucy's system must have undergone that what weakened Arthur only

partially restored her. But the Professor's face was set, and he stood

watch in hand and with his eyes fixed now on the patient and now on

Arthur. I could hear my own heart 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 I could see how much Arthur was

weakened. I dressed the wound and took his arm to bring him away, when

Van Helsing spoke without turning round- the man seems to have eyes in

the back of his head:-

  "The brave lover, I think deserve another kiss, which he shall

have presently." And as he had now finished his operation, he adjusted

the pillow to the patient's head. As he did so the narrow black velvet

band which she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with

an old diamond 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 I could hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is

one of Van Helsing's ways of betraying emotion. He said nothing at the

moment, but turned to me, saying: "Now take down our brave young

lover, give him of the port wine, and let him lie down a while. He

must then go home and rest, sleep much and eat much, that he may be

recruited of what he has so given to his 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 ways the operation is

successful. You have saved her life this time, and you can go home and

rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tell her all when

she is well; she shall love you none the less for what you have

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 her breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking

at her intently. The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked

the Professor in a whisper:-

  "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

proceeded to loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein there

were two punctures, not large, but not wholesome-looking. There was no

sign of disease, but the edges were white and worn-looking, as if by

some trituration. It at once occurred to me that this wound, or

whatever it was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood;

but I abandoned the idea as soon as formed, for such a thing could not

be. The whole bed would have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood

which the girl must have 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. "I must go back to Amsterdam to-night," he said. "There are

books and things there which I want. You must remain here all the

night, and you must 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

that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not

sleep all the night. Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall be back

as soon as possible. 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 moment

later and put his head inside the door and said with warning finger

held up:-

  "Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and harm befall,

you shall not sleep easy hereafter!"





                    Dr. Seward's Diary- continued.



  8 September.- I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate worked itself

off towards dusk, and she waked naturally; she looked a different

being from 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 the absolute prostration which she had undergone. When

I told Mrs. Westenra that Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should

sit up with her she almost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her

daughter's renewed strength and excellent spirits. I was firm,

however, and made preparations for my long vigil. When her maid had

prepared her for the night I came in, having in the meantime had

supper, and took a seat by the bedside. She did not in any way make

objection, but looked at me gratefully whenever I caught her eye.

After a long spell she seemed sinking off to sleep, but with an effort

seemed to pull herself together and shook it off. This was repeated

several times, with greater effort and with shorter pauses as the time

moved on. It was apparent that she did 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.

All this 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, and I can promise that nothing will happen."

  "Ah, I can trust you!" I seized the opportunity, and said: "I

promise you 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

will sleep!" And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief,

and sank back, asleep.

  All night long I watched by, her. She never stirred, but slept on

and on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. Her lips

were slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity

of a pendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident

that no bad dreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.

  In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and

took myself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a

short wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent

result of the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears,

took me all day to clear off, it was dark when I was able to inquire

about my zoophagous patient. The report was good; he had been quite

quiet for the past day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing

at Amsterdam whilst I was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at

Hillingham to-night, as it might be well to be at hand, and stating

that he was leaving by the night mail and would join me early in the

morning.



  9 September.- I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to

Hillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my

brain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral

exhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook

hands with me she looked sharply in my face and said:-

  "No sitting up to-night for you. You are worn out. I am quite well

again; indeed, I am; and if there is to be any sitting up, it is I who

will sit up with you." I would not argue the point, but went and had

my supper. Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence,

I made an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than

excellent port. Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room

next her own, where a cozy fire was burning. "Now," she said, "you

must stay here. I shall leave this door open and my door too. You

can lie on the sofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you

doctors to go to bed whilst there is a patient above the horizon. If I

want anything I shall call out, and you can come to me at once." I

could not but acquiesce, for I was "dob-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

after a 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 suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things

and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and

strength give Love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander

where he wills. I know where my thoughts are. If Arthur only knew!

My dear, my dear, your ears must tingle as you sleep, as mine do

waking. Oh, the blissful rest of last 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 and within 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,

and started awake all in a second. That is one of the things that we

learn in 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 Van

Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the bed.

  As I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the room,

I heard the Professor's low hiss of inspiration, and knowing its

rarity, a deadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over he moved

back, and his exclamation of horror, "Gott in Himmel!" needed no

enforcement from his agonised face. He raised his hand and pointed

to the bed, and his iron 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 horribly

white and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were white, and the

gums seemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we sometimes

see in a corpse after a prolonged illness. Van Helsing raised his foot

to stamp in anger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years

of habit stood to him, and he put it down again softly. "Quick!" he

said. "Bring the 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 and wrist and heart. He felt her heart, and after a few

moments of agonising suspense said:-

  "It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our work is

undone; we must begin again. There is no young Arthur here now; I have

to call on you yourself this time, friend John." As he spoke, he was

dipping into his bag and producing the instruments for transfusion;

I had taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt-sleeve. There was no

possibility 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

did not seem a short time either, for the draining away of one's

blood, no matter how willingly it be given, is a terrible feeling- Van

Helsing held up a warning finger. "Do not stir," he said, "but I

fear that with growing strength she may wake; and that would make

danger, oh, so much danger. But I shall precaution take. I shall

give hypodermic injection of morphia." He proceeded then, swiftly

and deftly, to carry out his intent. The effect on Lucy was not bad,

for the faint seemed to merge subtly into the narcotic sleep. It was

with a feeling of personal pride that I could see a faint tinge of

colour steal back into the pallid cheeks and lips. No man knows till

he experiences it, what it is to feel 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 he smiled a sad sort of smile as he replied:-

  "He is her lover, her fiance. You have work, much work, to do for

her and for others; and the present will suffice."

  When we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, whilst I applied

digital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, whilst I waited

his leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick.

By-and-by he bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a

glass of wine for myself. As I was leaving the room, he came after me,

and half whispered:-

  "Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should

turn up unexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once

frighten him and enjealous 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,

and rest awhile; then have much breakfast, and come here to me."

  I followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise they

were. I had done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my

strength. I felt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of

the amazement at what had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa,

however, wondering over and over again how Lucy had made such a

retrograde movement, and how she could have been drained of so much

blood with no sign anywhere to show for it. I think I must have

continued my wonder in my dreams, for, sleeping and waking, my

thoughts always came back to the little punctures in her throat and

the ragged, exhausted appearance of their edges- tiny though they

were.

  Lucy slept well into the day and when she woke she was fairly well

and strong, though not nearly so much so as the day before. When Van

Helsing had seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me in charge,

with strict injunctions that I was not to leave her for a moment. I

could hear his voice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest

telegraph office.

  Lucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that

anything had happened. I tried to keep her amused and interested. When

her mother came up to see her, she did not seem to notice any change

whatever, but said to me gratefully:-

  "We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, but you

really must now take care not to overwork yourself. You are looking

pale yourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a bit; that

you do!" As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only

momentarily, for her poor wasted veins could not stand for long such

an unwonted drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor

as she turned imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my

finger on my lips; 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.

I stay here to-night, and I shall sit up with little miss myself.

You and I must watch the case, and we must have none other to know.

I have grave reasons. No, do not ask them; think what you will. Do not

fear to think even the most not-probable. Good-night."

  In the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if they or either

of them might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They implored me to let them;

and when I said it was Dr. Van Helsing's wish that either he or I

should sit up, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with the

"foreign gentleman." I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it

is because I am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on

Lucy's account, that their devotion was manifested; for over and

over again have I seen similar instances of woman's kindness. I got

back here in time for a late dinner; went my rounds- all well; and set

this down whilst waiting for sleep. It is coming.



  11 September.- This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. Found Van

Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better. Shortly after I

had arrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor. He

opened it with much impressment- assumed, of course- and showed a

great bundle of white 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."

Here Lucy made a wry face. "Nay, but they are not to take in a

decoction or in nauseous form, so you need not snub that so charming

nose, or I shall point out to my friend Arthur what woes he may have

to endure in seeing so 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, but you do not know how. I put him in your

window, I make pretty wreath, and hang him round your neck, so that

you sleep well. Oh yes! they, like the lotus flower, make your trouble

forgotten. It smell so like the waters of Lethe, and of that

fountain of youth that the Conquistodores sought for in the

Floridas, and find him all too late."

  Whilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the flowers and

smelling them. Now she threw them down. saying, with half-laughter and

half-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

sterness, his iron 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 of others if not for your own." Then seeing poor Lucy scared,

as she might well be, he went on more gently: "Oh, little miss, my

dear, do not fear me. I only do for your good; but there is much

virtue to you in those so common flowers. See, I place them myself

in your room. I make myself the wreath that you are to wear. But hush!

no telling to others that make so inquisitive questions. We must obey,

and silence is a part of obedience; and obedience is to bring you

strong and well into loving arms that wait for you. Now sit still

awhile. Come with me, friend John, and you shall help 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's

actions were certainly odd and not to be found in any pharmacopoeia

that I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows and latched

them securely; next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them

all over the sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air

that might get in would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with

the wisp he rubbed all over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at

each side, and round the fireplace in the same way. It all seemed

grotesque to me, and presently I said:-

  "Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do,

but this certainly puzzles me. It is well we have no sceptic here,

or he would 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

which Lucy was to wear round her neck.

  We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and when

she was in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of garlic round

her neck. The last words he said to her were:-

  "Take care you do not disturb it; and even if the room feel close,

do not to-night open the window or the door."

  "I promise," said Lucy,- "and thank you both a thousand times for

all your kindness to me! Oh, what have I done to be blessed with such

friends?"

  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 early you call for me, and we come together to see our

pretty miss, so much more strong for my 'spell' which I have work. Ho!

ho!"

  He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two

nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague

terror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it

to my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.

                             CHAPTER XI.

                      LETTERS, ETC.- continued.



                        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.

He positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must have

been right, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not

dread being alone to-night, and I can go to sleep without fear. I

shall not mind any flapping outside the window. Oh, the terrible

struggle that I have 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 has for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives

have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes

nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am

to-night, hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia in the play, with

"virgin crants and maiden strewments." 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.

The Professor took his bag, which he always brings with him now.

  Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at Hillingham

at eight o'clock. It was a lovely morning; the bright sunshine and all

the fresh feeling of early autumn seemed liked the completion of

nature's annual 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 met Mrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room.

She is always an early riser. She greeted us warmly and said:-

  "You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is

still asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go in,

lest I should disturb her." The Professor smiled, and looked quite

jubilant. He rubbed his hands together, and said:-

  "Aha! I thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is

working," to which she answered:-

  "You must not take all the credit to yourself, doctor Lucy's state

this morning is due in part to me."

  "How do you mean, ma'am?" asked the Professor.

  "Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went

into her room. She was sleeping soundly- so soundly that even my

coming did not wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There were a

lot of those horrible, strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and

she had actually a bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the

heavy odour would be too much for the dear child in her weak state, so

I took them all away and opened a bit of the window to let in a little

fresh air. You will be pleased with her, I am sure."

  She moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted early.

As she had spoken, I watched the Professor's face, and saw it turn

ashen grey. He had been able to retain his self-command whilst the

poor lady was 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 into her room. But the instant she had disappeared he

pulled me, suddenly and forcibly, into the dining-room and closed

the door.

  Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down.

He raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and

then beat his 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 sobs that seemed to come from the very racking of his heart.

Then he raised his arms again, as though appealing to the whole

universe. "God! God! God!" he said. "What have we done, what has this

poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? is there fate amongst us

still, sent down form the pagan world of old, that such things must

be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing, and all for

the best as she think, does such thing as lose her daughter body and

soul; and we must not tell her, we must not even warn her, or she die,

and then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the

devils against us!" Suddenly he jumped to his feet. "Come," he said,

"come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils

at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same." He went to the

hall-door for his bag; and together we went 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 same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern

sadness and infinite pity.

  "As I expected," he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his

which meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and

then began to set out on the little table the instruments for yet

another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognised

the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a

warning 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 rolled up his shirt-sleeve.

  Again the operation; again the narcotic; again some return of colour

to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep. This

time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested.

  Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she

must not remove anything from Lucy's room without consulting him; that

the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of their

odour was a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the care

of the case himself, saying that he would watch this night and the

next and would send me word when to come.

  After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright and

seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.

  What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit

of life amongst 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 strong

again that I hardly know myself It is as if I had passed through

some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful

sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dim

half-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing;

darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make

present distress more poignant; and then long spell of oblivion, and

the rising back to life as a diver coming up through a great press

of water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this

bad dreaming seems to have passed away; the noises that used to

frighten me out of my wits- the flapping against the windows, the

distant voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that came

form I know not where and commanded me to do I know not what- have all

ceased. I go to bed now without any fear of sleep. I do not even try

to keep awake. I have grown quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful

arrives for me every day from Haarlem. To-night Dr. Van Helsing is

going away, as he has to be for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not

be watched; I am well enough to be left alone. Thank God for

mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our friends who have

been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for last night Dr. Van

Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I found him asleep twice

when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again, although the

boughs or bats or something flapped almost angrily against the

window-panes.





                "The Pall Mall Gazette," 18 September.



                          The Escaped Wolf.



                Perilous Adventure Of Our Interviewer.



         Interview with the Keeper in the Zoological Gardens.



  After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and perpetually

using the words "Pall Mall Gazette" as a sort of talisman, I managed

to find the keeper of the section of the Zoological Gardens in which

the wolf department is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the

cottages in the enclosure behind the elephant-house, and was just

sitting down to his tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are

hospitable folk, elderly, and without children, and if the specimen

I enjoyed of their hospitality be of the average kind, their lives

must be pretty comfortable. The keeper would not enter on what he

called "business" until the supper was over, and we were all

satisfied. Then when the table 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 me

refoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore meals. I gives the

wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea

afore I begins to arsk them questions."

  "How do you mean, ask them questions?" I queried, wishful to get him

into a talkative humour.

  "'Ittin' of them over the 'ead with a pole is one way; scratchin' of

their hears is another, when gents as is flush wants a bit of a

show-orf to their gals. I don't so much mind the fust- the 'ittin'

with a pole afore I chucks in their dinner; but I waits till they've

'ad their sherry and kawfee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the

ear-scratchin'. Mind you," he added philosophically, "there's a deal

of the same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here's you

a-comin' and arksin' of me questions about my business, and I that

grumpy-like that only for your bloomin' 'arf-quid I'd 'a' seen you

blowed fust 'fore I'd answer. Not even when you arsked me

sarcastic-like if I'd like you to arsk the Superintendent if you might

arsk me questions. Without offense, did I tell yer to go to 'ell?"

  "You did."

  "An' when you said you'd report me for usin' of obscene language

that was 'ittin' me over the ead; but the 'arf-quid made that all

right. I weren't a-goin' to fight, so I waited for the food, and did

with my 'owl as the wolves, and lions, and tigers does. But, Lor' love

yer 'art, now that the old 'ooman has stuck a chunk if her tea-cake in

me, an' rinsed me out with her bloomin' old teapot, and I've lit

hup, you may scratch my 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 'ere escaped wolf."

  "Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me how it

happened; and when I know the facts I'll get you to say what you

consider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole affair

will end."

  "All right, guv'nor. This 'ere is about the 'ole story. That 'ere

wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three grey ones that come

from Norway to Jamrach's, which we bought off him four year ago. He

was a nice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk of.

I'm more surprised at 'im for wantin' to get out nor any other animile

in the place. But, there, you can't trust wolves no more nor women."

  "Don't you mind him, sir!" broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cherry laugh.

"'E's got 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

first hear my disturbance. I was makin' up a litter in the

monkey-house for a young puma which is ill; but when I heard the

yelpin' and 'owlin' I kem away straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin'

like a mad thing at the bars as if he wanted to get out. There

wasn't much people about that day, and close at hand was only one man,

a tall, thin chap, with a 'ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few

white hairs runnin' through it. He had 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 white kid 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

kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white sharp teeth. 'Oh

no, they wouldn't like me,' 'e says.

  "'Ow yes, they would,' says I, a-imitatin' of him. 'They always

likes a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea-time, which

you 'as a bagful.'

  "Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us a-talkin'

they lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker he let me stroke

his ears same as ever. That there man kem over, and blessed but if

he didn't put in his hand and stroke the old wolfs 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 a man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good friend to

keeper.

  "'No.' says he, 'not exactly in the business, but I 'ave made pets

of several.' And with that he lifts his 'at as perlite as a lord,

and walks away. 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 'ole hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon

was hup, the wolves here 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' a dog somewheres out back of the gardings in the

Park road. Once or twice I went out to see that all was right, and

it was, and then the 'owling stopped. Just before twelve o'clock I

just took a look round afore turnin' in, an, bust me, but when I kem

opposite to old Bersicker's cage I see the rails broken and twisted

about and the cage empty. And that'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. At least, so he says; but I don't give much for it myself, for

if he did 'e never said a word about it to his missis when 'e got

'ome, and it was only after the escape of the wolf was made known, and

we had been up all night- 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 the

wolf?"

  "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 from

experience, 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

'ere wolf escaped- simply because he wanted to get out."

  From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the

joke I could see that it had done service before, and that the whole

explanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn't cope in

badinage with 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

me what you think will happen."

  "Right y'are, sir," he said briskly. "Ye'll excoose me, I know,

for a-chaffin' of ye, but the old woman here winked at me, which was

as much as telling me to go on."

  "Well, I never!" said the old lady.

  "My opinion is this: that 'ere wolf is a-'idin' of, somewheres.

The gard'ner wot didn't remember said he was a-gallopin' northward

faster than 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

that way. Wolves is fine things in a story-book, and I dessay when

they gets in packs and does be chivyin' somethin' that's more

afeared than they is they 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 so clever 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' for hisself, 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 get his breakfast from; or maybe he's got

down some area and is an a coal-celler. My eye, won't some cook get

a rum start when she sees his green eyes a-shining at her out of the

dark! If he can't get food he's bound to look for it, and mayhap he

may chance to light on a butcher's shop in time. If he doesn't, and

some nursemaid goes a-walkin' orf with a soldier, leavin' of the

hinfant in the perambulator- well then I shouldn't be surprised if the

census is one babby the less. That's all."

  I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came bobbing up

against the window, and Mr. Bilder's face doubled its natural length

with 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

it seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never

looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is

between us; a personal experience has intensified rather than

diminished that idea.

  After all, however, there is nothing like custom, for neither Bilder

nor his wife thought any more of the wolf than I should of a dog.

The animal itself was as peaceful and well-behaved as that father of

all picture-wolves- Red Riding Hood's quondam friend, whilst moving

her confidence in masquerade.

  The whole scene was an unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos. The

wicked wolf that for half a day had paralysed London and set all the

children in the town shivering in their shoes, was there in a sort

of penitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpine

prodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most tender

solicitude, 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 broken glass. 'E's been a-gettin' over some bloomin' wall or other.

It's a shyme 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

that satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary conditions

of the fatted calf, and went off to report.

  I came off, too, to report the only exclusive information that is

given to-day regarding the strange escapade at the Zoo.





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  17 September.- I was engaged after dinner in my study posting up

my books, which, through press of other work and the many visits to

Lucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst

open, and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with

passion. I was thunder-struck, for such a thing as a patient getting

of his own accord into the Superintendent's study is almost unknown.

Without an instant's pause 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 was too quick and too strong for me,

however; for before I could get my balance 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 was sprawling on his back on the

floor. My wrist bled freely, and quite a little pool trickled on to

the carpet. I saw that my friend was not intent on further effort, and

occupied myself binding up my wrist, keeping a wary eye on the

prostrate figure all the time. When the attendants rushed in, and we

turned our attention to him, his employment positively sickened me. He

was lying on his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the

blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured,

and, to my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, 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 of late for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of

Lucy's illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am

overexcited and weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van

Helsing has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep; to-night I

could not well do without it.





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



     (Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given; delivered late

                        by twenty-two hours.)



  "17 September.- Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night. If not

watching all the time, frequently visit and see that flowers are as

placed; very important; do not fail. Shall be with you as soon as

possible after arrival."





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  18 September.- Just off for train to London. The arrival of Van

Helsing's telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I

know by bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it

is possible that all may be well, but what may have happened? Surely

there is some horrible doom hanging over us that every possible

accident should thwart us in all we try to do. I shall take this

cylinder with me, 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 no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is

an exact record of what took place tonight. I feel I am dying of

weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if

I die in the doing.

  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

that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and

which now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr.

Seward was in the next room- as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be- so

that I might have called him. I tried to go to sleep, but could not.

Then there came to me the old fear of sleep, and I determined to

keep awake. Perversely sleep would try to come then when I did not

want it; so, as I feared to be alone, I opened my door and called

out:- Is there anybody there?' There was 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, but more fierce and

deeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing,

except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against

the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined not 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. She said to me

even more sweetly and softly than her wont:-

  "I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were

all right."

  I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to come

in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down beside me;

she did not take off her dressing gown, for she said she would only

stay a while and then go back to her own bed. As she lay there in my

arms, and I in hers, the flapping and buffeting came to the window

again. She was startled and a little frightened, and cried out:

"What is that?" I tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and

she lay quiet; but I could hear her poor dear heart still beating

terribly. After a while there was the low howl again out in the

shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash 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 the aperture of the broken

panes there was the head of a great, gaunt grey wolf. Mother cried out

in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting posture, and clutched

wildly at anything that would help her. Amongst other things, she

clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my

wearing round my neck, and tore it away form me. For a second or two

she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange and horrible

gurgling in her throat; then she fell over, as if struck with

lightning, and her head hit my forehead and made me dizzy for a moment

or two. The room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes

fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole

myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken

window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that

travellers describe when there is a simoom in the desert. I tried to

stir, 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 to

beat- weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while.

  The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered

consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; the

dogs all round the neighborhood were howling; and in our shrubbery,

seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I was dazed and

stupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the sound of the

nightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to

comfort me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the maids, too, for I

could hear their bare feet pattering outside my door. I called to

them, and they came in, and when they saw what had happened, and

what it was that lay over me on the bed, they screamed out. The wind

rushed in through the broken window, and the door slammed to. They

lifted off the body of my dear mother, and laid her, covered up with a

sheet, on the bed after I had got up. They were all so frightened

and nervous that I directed them to go to the dining-room and have

each a glass of wine. The door flew open for an instant and closed

again. The maids shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining-room;

and I laid what flowers I had on my dear mother's breast. When they

were there I remembered what Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but I didn't

like to remove them, and, besides, I would have some of the servants

to sit up with me now. I was surprised that the maids did not come

back. I called them, but got no answer, so I went to the dining-room

to look for them.

  My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay

helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry was

on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell about. I

was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and

looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother's

doctor uses for her- oh! did use- was empty. What am I to do? what

am I to do? I am back in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and

I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged.

Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of

the wolf through the broken window.

  The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught

from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do?

God shield 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

mother gone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I

should not survive 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

gently and rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to disturb Lucy

or her mother, 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 cursed the laziness of the servants that they should lie

abed at such an hour- for it was now ten o'clock- and so rang and

knocked again, but more impatiently, but still without response.

Hitherto I had blamed only the servants, but now a terrible fear began

to assail me. Was this desolation but another link in the chain of

doom which seemed drawing tight around us? Was it indeed a house of

death to which I had come, too late? I knew that minutes, even

seconds, of delay might mean hours of danger 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 entry anywhere.

  I could find no means of ingress. Every window and door was fastened

and locked, and I returned baffled to the porch. As I did so, I

heard the rapid pit-pat of a swiftly driven horse's feet. They stopped

at the gate, 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

you not get my telegram?"

  I answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only

got his telegram 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 and raised his hat as he said solemnly:-

  "Then I fear we are too late. God's will be done!" With his usual

recuperative energy, he went on: "Come. If there be no way open to get

in, 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 kitchen

window. The Professor took a small surgical saw from his case, and

handing it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded the window. I

attacked them at once and had very soon cut through three of them.

Then with a long, thin knife we pushed back the fastening of the

sashes and opened the window. I helped the Professor in, and

followed him. There was no one in the kitchen or in the servants'

rooms, which were close at hand. We tried all the rooms as we went

along, and in the dining-room, dimly lit by rays of light through

the shutters, found four servant-women lying on the floor. There was

no need to think them dead, for their stertorous breathing and the

acrid smell of laudanum in the room left no doubt as to their

condition. Van Helsing and I looked at each 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 the door to listen,

but there was no sound that we could hear. With white faces and

trembling hands, we opened the door gently, and entered the room.

  How shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two women, Lucy and

her mother. The latter lay farthest in, and she was covered with a

white sheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the draught

through the broken window, showing the drawn, white face, with a

look of terror fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white

and still more drawn. The flowers which had been round her neck we

found upon her mother's bosom, and her throat was bare, showing the

two little wounds which we had noticed before, but looking horribly

white and mangled. Without a word the Professor bent over the bed, his

head almost touching poor Lucy's breast; then he gave a quick turn

of his head, as of one who listens, 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

taste it, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry which

I found on the table. The maids were still breathing, but more

restlessly, and I fancied that the narcotic was wearing off. I did not

stay to make sure, but returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed the

brandy, as on another occasion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists

and the palms of her hands. 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 them get heat and fire and a warm bath. This poor soul is

nearly as cold as that beside her. She will need be heated before we

can do anything more."

  I went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three of the

women. The fourth was only a young girl, and the drug had evidently

affected her more strongly, so I lifted her on the sofa and let her

sleep. The others were dazed at first, but as remembrance came back to

them they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner. I was stern with

them, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that one

life was bad enough to lose, and that if they delayed they would

sacrifice Miss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying, they went about their

way, half clad as they were, and prepared fire and water. Fortunately,

the kitchen and boiler fires were still alive, and there was no lack

of hot water. We got a bath, and carried Lucy out as she was and

placed her in it. Whilst we were busy chafing her limbs there was a

knock at the halldoor. One of the maids ran off, hurried on some

more clothes, and opened it. Then she returned and whispered to us

that there was a gentleman who had come with a message from Mr.

Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him that he must 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 deadly

earnest. 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 not understand, 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

fade away into peace, for I see no light in life over her horizon." He

went on with his work with, if possible, renewed and more frenzied

vigour.

  Presently we both began to be conscious that the heat was

beginning to be of some effect. Lucy's heart beat a trine more audibly

to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible movement. Van

Helsing's face almost beamed, and as we lifted her from the bath and

rolled her in a 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 laid her in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down her

throat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round

her throat. She was still unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not

worse than, we had ever seen her.

  Van Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay with

her and not to take her eyes off her till we returned, and then

beckoned me out of the room.

  "We must consult as to what is to be done," he said as we

descended the stairs. In the hall he opened the dining-room door,

and we passed in, he closing the door carefully behind him. The

shutters had been opened, but the blinds were already down, with

that obedience to the etiquette of death which the British woman of

the lower classes always rigidly observes. The room was, therefore,

dimly dark. It was, however, light enough for our purposes. Van

Helsing's sternness was somewhat relieved by a look of perplexity.

He was evidently torturing his mind about something, so I waited for

an instant, and he spoke:-

  "What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must

have another transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor

girl's life won't be worth an hour's purchase. You are exhausted

already; I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if they

would have courage to submit. What are we to do for some one who

will open his veins for her?"

  "What's the matter with me, anyhow?"

  The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones

brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey

Morris. Van Helsing started angrily at the first sound, but his face

softened and a glad look came into his eyes as I cried out: "Quincey

Morris!" and rushed 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 tell me what to do."

  Van Helsing strode forward and took his hand, looking him straight

in the eyes as he said:-

  "A brave man's blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is

in trouble. You're a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work

against us 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

heart to go through with the details. Lucy had got a terrible shock

and it told on her more than before, for though plenty of blood went

into her veins, her body did not respond to the treatment as well as

on the other occasions. Her struggle back into life was something

frightful to see and hear. However, the action of both heart and lungs

improved, and Van Helsing made a subcutaneous injection of morphia, as

before, and with good effect. Her faint became a profound slumber. The

Professor watched whilst I went downstairs with Quincey Morris, and

sent one of the maids to pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting. I

left Quincey lying down after having a glass of wine, and told the

cook to get ready a good breakfast. Then a thought struck me, and I

went back to the room where Lucy now was. When I came softly in, I

found Van Helsing with a sheet or two of note-paper in his hand. He

had evidently read it, and was thinking it over as he sat with his

hand to his brow. There was a look of 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 when we carried her to the bath."

  When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a

pause asked 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 I did not know what to say more. Van Helsing put out

his hand and took the paper, saying:-

  "Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall

know and understand it all in good time; but it will be later. And now

what is it that you came to say?" This brought me back to fact, and

I was all myself again.

  "I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do not act

properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that paper would

have to be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no inquest, for

if we had it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I know,

and you know, and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs.

Westenra had disease of the heart, and we can certify that she died of

it. Let us fill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself

to the registrar and go on to the undertaker."

  "Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she

be sad in the foes that beset her, is at least happy in the friends

that love her. One, two, three, all open their veins for her,

besides one old man. Ah yes, I know, friend John; I am not blind! I

love you all the more for it! Now go."

  In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur telling

him that Mrs. Westenra was dead; that Lucy also had been ill, but

was now going on better; and that Van Helsing and I were with her. I

told him where 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 to

ourselves?" I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty

about the registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come

up in the 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

him as soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her room. She was

still sleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from his

seat at her side. From his putting his finger to his lips, I

gathered that he expected her to wake before long and was afraid of

forestalling nature. So I went down to Quincey and took him into the

breakfast-room, where the blinds were not drawn down, and which was

a little more cheerful, or rather less cheerless, than the other

rooms. When we were alone, he said to me:-

  "Jack Seward, I don't want to shove myself in anywhere where I've no

right to be; but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that

girl and wanted to marry her; but, although that's all past and

gone, I can't help feeling anxious about her all the same. What is

it that's wrong with her? The Dutchman- and a fine old fellow he is; I

can see that- said, that time you two came into the room, that you

must have another 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 man must not expect to know what they consult about

in private. But this is no common matter, and, whatever it is, I

have done my part. Is not that so?"

  "That's so," I said, and he went on:-

  "I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did

to-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

his own place he looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so

quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go

to grass all in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires

had got at her in the night, and, what with his gorge and the vein

left open, there wasn't enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I

had to put a bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me

without betraying confidence, Arthur was the first; is not that so?"

As he spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a

torture of suspense regarding the woman he loved, and his utter

ignorance of the terrible mystery which seemed to surround her

intensified his pain. His very heart was bleeding, and it took all the

manhood of him- and there was a royal lot of it, too- to keep him from

breaking down. I paused before answering, for I felt that I must not

betray anything which the Professor wished kept secret; but already he

knew so much, and guessed so much, that there could be no reason for

not answering, so I answered in 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 creature

that we all love has had put into her veins within that time the blood

of 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 it

out?"

  I shook my head. "That," I said, "is the crux. Van Helsing is simply

frantic 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 out all our calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But

these shall not occur again. Here we stay until all be well- or

ill." Quincey held out his hand. " Count me in," he said. "You and the

Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

  When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy's first movement was to

feel in her breast, and, to my surprise, produced the paper which

Van Helsing had given me to read. The careful Professor had replaced

it where it had come from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her

eye then lit on Van Helsing 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 her poor thin hands before her pale face.

We both understood what that meant- that she had realised to the

full her mother's death; so we tried what we could to comfort her.

Doubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, but she was very low in thought

and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for a long time. We told

her that either or both of us would now remain with her all the

time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fell into a

doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep she took the

paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped over and

took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on with

the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her hands;

finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering

the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as

if in thought, but he said nothing.



  19 September.- All last night she slept fitfully, being always

afraid to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from it. The

Professor and I took it in turns to watch, and we never left her for a

moment unattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention,

but I knew that all night long he patrolled round and round the house.

  When the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor

Lucy's strength. She was hardly able to turn her head, and the

little nourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good. At

times she slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference

in her, between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked

stronger, although more haggard, and her breathing was softer; her

open mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the teeth, which

thus looked positively longer and sharper than usual; when she woke

the softness of her eyes evidently changed the expression, for she

looked her own self, although a dying one. 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

full and warm, and the red light streamed in through the window and

gave more colour to the pale cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was

simply chocking with 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, had grown more frequent, so that the pauses when

conversation was possible were shortened. Arthur's presence,

however, seemed to act as a stimulant; she rallied a little, and spoke

to him more brightly than she had done since we arrived. He too pulled

himself together, and spoke as cheerily 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

with her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am

entering this on Lucy's phonograph. Until six o'clock they are to

try to rest. I fear that to-morrow will end our watching, for the

shock has been too great; 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.

You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all

my budget of news. Well I got my husband back all right; when we

arrived at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it,

though he had an attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his house,

where there were rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined

together. After dinner Mr. Hawkins said:-

  "'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may

every blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and

have, with love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make

your home here with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all

are gone, and in my will I have left you everything.' I cried, Lucy

dear, as Jonathan and the 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 my bedroom and the drawing-room I can see the great elms of the

cathedral close, with their great black stems standing our against the

old yellow stone of the cathedral and I can hear the rooks overhead

cawing and cawing and flattering and gossiping all day, after the

manner of rooks- and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging

things and housekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day;

for, now that Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all

about the clients.

  "How is your dear mother getting on? I wash I could run up to town

for a day or two to see you, dear, but I dare not go yet, with so much

on my shoulders; and Jonathan wants looking after still. He is

beginning to put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly

weakened by the long illness; even now he sometimes starts out of

his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax

him back to his usual placidity. However, thank God, these occasions

grow less frequent as the days go on, and they will in time pass

away altogether, I trust And now I 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 interests you 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 the junior partner of the important

firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you love me, and he loves me, and

I love you with all the moods and tenses of the verb, I send you

simply his 'love' instead. Good-bye, my dearest Lucy, 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 of everything left in my charge... With regard to

patient, Renfield, there is more to say. He has had another outbreak

which might have had a dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately

happened, was unattended with any unhappy results. This afternoon a

carrier's cart with two men made a call at the empty house whose

grounds about on ours- the house to which, you will remember, the

patient twice ran away. The men stopped at our gate to ask the

porter their way, as they were strangers. I was myself looking out

of the study window, having a smoke after dinner, and saw one of

them come up to the house. As he passed the window of Renfield's room,

the patient began to rate him from within, and called him all the foul

names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who seemed a decent

fellow enough, contented himself by telling him to "shut up for a

foul-mouthed beggar," whereon our man accused him of robbing him and

wanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him if he were

to swing 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 his mind as to what kind of a place he had got to by saying:

'Lor' bless yer, sir, I wouldn't mind what was said to me in a

bloomin' madhouse. I pity ye and the guv'nor for havin' to live in the

house with a wild beast like that.' Then he asked his way civilly

enough, and I told him where the gate of the empty house was; he

went away, followed by threats and curses and revilings from our

man. I went down to see if I could make out any cause for his anger,

since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and except his violent

fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred. I found him, to my

astonishment, quite composed and most genial in his manner. I tried to

get him to talk of the incident, but he blandly asked me questions

as to what I meant, and led me to believe that he was completely

oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to say, however, only

another instance of his cunning, for within half an hour I heard of

him again. This time he had broken out through the window of his room,

and was running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to

follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on some

mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same cart which had

passed before coming down the road, having on it some great wooden

boxes. The men were wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the

face, as if with violent exercise. Before I could get up to him the

patient rushed at them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began to

knock his head against the ground. If I had not seized him just at the

moment I believe he would have killed the man there and then. The

other fellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the

butt-end of his heavy whip. It was a terrible blow: but he did not

seem to mind it, but seized him also, and struggled with the three

of us, pulling us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no

light weight, and the others were both burly men. At first he was

silent in his fighting; but as we began to master him, and the

attendants were putting a strait-waistcoat on 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!' and all sorts of

similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable difficulty

that they got him back to the house and put him in the padded room.

One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set it

all right; and he is going on well.

  "The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for

damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us.

Their threats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect

apology for the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They

said that if it had not been for the way their strength had been spent

in carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have

made short work of him. They gave as another reason for their defeat

the extraordinary state of drouth to which they had been reduced by

the dusty nature of their occupation and the reprehensible distance

from the scene of their labours of any place of public

entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after a stiff glass

of grog, or rather more of the same, and with each a sovereign in

hand, they made light of the attack, and swore that they would

encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of meeting so

'bloomin' good a bloke' as your correspondent. I took their names

and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are as follows:-

Jack Smollet, of Dudding's Rents, King George's Road, Great

Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley's Row, Guide Court,

Bethnal Green. They are both in the employment of Harris & Sons,

Moving and Shipment Company, Orange Master's Yard, Soho.

  "I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring here, and

shall wire 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 him that it really seems as though we had lost a father. I

never knew either father 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

be-friended him all his life, and now at the end has treated him

like his own son and left him a fortune which to people of our

modest bringing up is wealth beyond the dream of avarice, but Jonathan

feels it on another account. He says the amount of responsibility

which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He begins to doubt

himself. I try to cheer him up, and my belief in him helps him to have

a belief in himself. But it is here that the grave shock that he

experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a

sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his- a nature which

enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise from clerk to

master in a few years- should be so injured that the very essence of

its strength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my

troubles in the 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 Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here that I can

confide in. I dread coming up 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 his father. As there are no relations at all,

Jonathan will have to be chief mourner. I shall try to run over to see

you, dearest, if only for a few minutes. 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 entry

to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the

world and all in it, including life itself that I would not care if

I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death.

And he has been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late-

Lucy's mother and 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

to go to rest also, but he refused at first. It was only when I told

him that we should want him to help us during the day, and that we

must not all break down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer,

that he agreed to 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 much mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength

that we know of. You must 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 two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on

the other, and our sympathy will be comfort to each other, even though

we do not speak, and even if we sleep." Arthur went off with him,

casting back a longing look on Lucy's face, which lay on her pillow,

almost whiter than the lawn. She lay quite still and I looked round

the room to see that all was as it should 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 the window-sashes reeked with it,

and round Lucy's neck, over the silk handkerchief which Van Helsing

made her keep on, was a rough chaplet of the same odorous flowers.

Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and her face was at its

worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. her teeth, in the dim,

uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they had been in the

morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the canine 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 sort

of 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

wheeled round- doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim-

and every now and 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 garlic flowers from her throat. I replaced them as

well as I could, and sat watching 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 with her now the unconscious struggle for life and strength

that had hitherto so marked her illness. It struck me as curious

that the moment she became conscious she pressed the garlic flowers

close to her. It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that

lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers

from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close. There was

no possibility of making any mistake about this, for in the long hours

that followed, she had many spells of sleeping and waking and repeated

both actions many times.

  At six o'clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then

fallen into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw

Lucy's face I could hear the hissing in-draw of his breath, and he

said to me in a sharp whisper: "Draw up the blind; I want light!" Then

he bent down, and, with his face almost touching Lucy's, examined

her carefully. He removed the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief

from her throat. As he did so he started back, and I could hear his

ejaculation, "Mein Gott!" 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

face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:-

  "She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much

difference, mark me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep.

Wake that poor boy, and let 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, but when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges of

the shutters he thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured

him that Lucy was still asleep, but told him as gently as I could that

both Van Helsing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his

face with his hands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa, where

he remained, perhaps a minute, with his head buried, praying, whilst

his shoulders shook with grief. I took him by the hand and raised

him up. "Come," I said, "my dear old fellow, summon all your

fortitude; it will be best and easiest for her."

  When we came into Lucy's room I could see that Van Helsing had, with

his usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making

everything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy's

hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we

came into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered

softly:-

  "Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!" He was stooping

to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered,

"not yet! 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.

Then gradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For a little

bit her breast 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 in the night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the mouth opened,

and the pale gums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer and

sharper than ever. In a sort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way

she opened her eyes, which were 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

bent eagerly 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 by the neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury

of strength which I never thought he could have possessed, and

actually hurled him almost across the room.

  "Not for your life!" he said; "not for your living soul and hers!"

And he stood between them like a lion at bay.

  Arthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what

to do or say; and before any impulse of violence, could seize him he

realised the place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting.

  I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm

as of rage flit like a shadow over her face; the sharp teeth champed

together. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily.

  Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and

putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great

brown one; drawing it to her, she kissed it "My true friend," she

said, in a faint voice, but with untellable pathos, "My true friend,

and his! Oh, guard him, and give me peace!"

  "I swear it!" said he solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding up

his hand, as one who registers an oath. Then he turned to Arthur,

and said to him: "Come, my child, take her hand in yours, and kiss her

on the forehead, 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, took Arthur's arm, and drew him away.

  And then Lucy's breathing became stertorous again, and all at once

it ceased.

  "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 he sat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a

way that nearly broke me down to see.

  I went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor Lucy,

and his 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

had recovered some of their flowing lines; even the lips had lost

their deadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for

the working of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as

little rude as might be.



               "We thought her dying whilst she slept,

                   And sleeping when she died."



  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.



  The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy

and her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly

formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were

afflicted- or blessed- with something of his own obsequious suavity.

Even the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to

me, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out

from the death-chamber:-

  "She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to

attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our

establishment!"

  I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible

from the disordered state of things in the household. There were no

relatives at hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend

at his father's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should

have been bidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it

upon ourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over

Lucy's papers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being

a foreigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements,

and so 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. But this is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when

you avoided the coroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be

papers more- such as this."

  As he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had

been in 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 tonight. For me, I

watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and I

myself search for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts

go into the hands of strangers."

  I went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had

found the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had

written to him. All the poor lady's papers were in order; explicit

directions regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly

sealed the letter, 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

to you."

  "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 I have, all that there was- only some letters and a few

memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall

for the present say nothing of them. I shall see that poor lad

to-morrow evening, and, with his 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

you and I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do,

but for the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!"

  Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had

certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small

chapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,

and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the

winding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and

turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the

tall wax candies showing a sufficient light to note it well. All

Lucy's loveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that

had passed, instead of leaving traces of "decay's effacing fingers,"

had but restored the beauty of life, till positively I could not

believe my eyes that I was looking at a corpse.

  The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had,

and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: "Remain

till I return," and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild

garlic from the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been

opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on and around the

bed. Then he took from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold

crucifix, and placed it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its

place, and we came away.

  I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the

door, he entered, and at once began to speak:-

  "To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of

post-mortem knives."

  "Must we make an autopsy?" I asked.

  "Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell

you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and

take out her heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I

have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life

and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my

dear friend John, that you loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for

it is I that shall operate, and you must only help. I would like to do

it to-night, but for Arthur 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 coffined ready for the next day, you and I shall

come when all sleep. We shall unscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our

operation; and then replace all, so that none know, save we alone."

  "But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor

body without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem

and nothing to gain by it- no good to her, to us, to science, to human

knowledge- why do it? Without such it is monstrous."

  For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite

tenderness:-

  "Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the

more because it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself

the burden that you do bear. But there are things that you know not,

but that you shall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not

pleasant things. John, my child, you have been my friend now many

years, and yet did you ever know me to do any without good cause? I

may err- I am but man; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these

causes that you send for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you

not amazed, nay horrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his

love- though she was dying- and snatched him away by all my

strength? Yes! And yet you saw how she thanked me, with her so

beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so weak, and she kiss my rough

old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not hear 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

many years trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be

things so strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a

little, friend John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I

think; and that is not perhaps well. And if I work- as work I shall,

no matter trust or no trust- 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 a moment and went on solemnly: "Friend

John, there are strange and terrible days before us. Let us not be

two, but one, that so we work to a 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 without moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the

passage- she had her back towards me, so did not see me- and go into

the room where Lucy lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare,

and we are so grateful to those who show it unasked to those we

love. Here was a poor girl putting aside the terrors which she

naturally had of death to go watch alone by the bier of the mistress

whom she loved, so that the poor clay might not be lonely till laid to

eternal rest...

  I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when

Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my

bedside and said:-

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

  "Why not?" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had

greatly impressed me.

  "Because," he said sternly, "it is too late- or too early. See!"

Here he held 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 the woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will

surely come, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did,

and thus unknowing she only stole. Now we must wait."

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

a new 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

genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our

hands all cares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs.

Westenra had for some time expected sudden death from her heart, and

had put her affairs in absolute order; he informed us that, with the

exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy's father's which now,

in default of direct issue, went back to a distant branch of the

family, the whole estate, real and personal, was left absolutely to

Arthur Holmwood. When he had told us so much he went on:-

  "Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition,

and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter

either penniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a

matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we

almost came into collision, for she asked us if we were or were not

prepared to carry out her wishes. Of course, we had then no

alternative but to accept. We were right in principle, and ninety-nine

times out of a hundred we should have proved, by the logic of

events, the accuracy of our judgment. Frankly, however, I must admit

that in this case any other form of disposition would have rendered

impossible the carrying out of her wishes. For by her predeceasing her

daughter the latter would have come into possession of the property,

and, even had she only survived her mother by five minutes, her

property would, in case there were no will- and a will was a practical

impossibility in such a case- have been treated 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 the inheritors,

being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just rights, for

sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure you, 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

which he was officially interested- of so great a tragedy, was an

object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.

  He did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day

and see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain

comfort to us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread

hostile criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five

o'clock, so a little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It

was so in very 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, and there was a mortuary air about the place

that lowered our spirits at once. Van Helsing ordered the former

arrangement to be adhered to, explaining that, as Lord Godalming was

coming very soon, it would be less harrowing to his feelings to see

all that was left of his fiancee quite alone. The undertaker seemed

shocked at his own stupidity, and exerted himself to restore things to

the condition in which we left them the night before, so that when

Arthur came such shocks to his feelings as we could avoid were saved.

  Poor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwart

manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of his

much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly

attached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was a

bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he

was sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was some

constraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me to

bring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as

I felt he would like to be quite alone with her; but he took my arm

and led me in, saying huskily:-

  "You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and

there was no friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I

don't know how to thank 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

and laid his head on my breast, crying:-

  "Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do? The whole of life seems gone

from me all 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

much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the

shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man's

heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I

said softly 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

her loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for

Arthur, he fell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with

an ague. At last, 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

felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment

longer than I could help- that it often happened that after death

faces became softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty;

that this was especially so when death had been preceded by any

acute or prolonged suffering. It seemed to quite do away with any

doubt, and, after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at

her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I told him that that must be

good-bye, as the coffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took

her dead hand in his and 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

said good-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the

undertaker's men to proceed with the preparations and to screw up

the coffin. When he came out of the room again I told him of

Arthur's question, and he replied:-

  "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

make the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all

dinner-time; but when 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 so recent."

  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-

as Arthur."

  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 of a friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to

thank you for your goodness to my poor dear." He paused a moment, and

went on: "I know that she understood your goodness even better than

I do; and if I was rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted

so- you remember"- the Professor 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

such violence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not- that

you cannot- trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may

be more times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot- and

may not- and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your

trust shall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand

as though the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless

me from first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others,

and for her dear sake to whom I swore to protect."

  "And, indeed, indeed, sir," said Arthur warmly, "I shall in all ways

trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are

Jack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like."

  The Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though

about to speak, 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. I want you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's

papers and letters. 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 them before we knew that all was yours, so that no

strange hand might touch them- no strange eye look through words

into her soul. I shall keep them, if I may; even you may not see

them yet, but I shall keep them safe. No word shall be lost; and in

the good time I shall give them back to you. It's a hard thing I

ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucy'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 I am doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not

trouble you with 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

be all pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too- you

most of all, my dear boy- will have to pass through the bitter water

before we reach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and

unselfish, and do our duty, and all will be well!"

  I slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did not

go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house,

and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin,

strewn with the 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

much between then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan

away and no news of him; and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a

solicitor, a partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead

and buried, and Jonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some

day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my

shorthand- see what unexpected prosperity does for us- so it may be as

well to freshen it up again with an exercise anyhow.

  The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only

ourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends of his from

Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John

Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and

I stood hand in hand, 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, so we sat down; but there were very few people there, and it

was sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us

think of 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 days before I went to school. I felt it very improper, for

you can't go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other

girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it

was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know anybody who

saw us- and we didn't care if they did- so on we walked. I was looking

at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel flat, sitting in a

victoria outside Giuliano's, when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so

tight that he hurt me, and he said under his breath: "My God!" I am

always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous fit may

upset him again; so I turned to him quickly, and asked him what it was

that disturbed him.

  He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror

and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose

and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the

pretty girl. 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 was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth,

that looked all the 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. I feared he might take it ill, he looked so

fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was disturbed, and he

answered, evidently thinking I 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

to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that

it was to me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:-

  "It is the man himself!"

  The poor dear was evidently terrified at something- very greatly

terrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to

support him he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out

of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then

drove off. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the

carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and

hailed a hansom. 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 be so! Oh, my God! my God! if I only knew! if I only knew!" He

was distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on

the subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I

drew him away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We

walked a little further, and then went in and sat for a while in the

Green Park. It was a 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 he went quietly into a sleep, with his

head on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so did

not disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said to me

quite cheerfully:-

  "Why, Mina, I have been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude.

Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere." He had evidently

forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had

forgotten all that this episode had reminded him of. I don't like this

lapsing into forgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the

brain. I must not ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good;

but I must somehow learn the facts of his journey abroad. The time

is come, I fear, when I must 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

dear soul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a

slight relapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing,

whoever he may be:-

  "You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days

ago, and that 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! poor

Lucy Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have

lost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear our

troubles.





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  22 September.- it is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has

taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I

believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's

death as any of us; but he bore himself through it like a moral

Viking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a

power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest

preparatory to his journey. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but

says he returns to-morrow night; that he only wants to make some

arrangements which can only be made personally. He is to stop with

me then, if he can; he says he has work to do in London which may take

him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past

week has broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the

burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on

himself. When it was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who,

poor fellow, was speaking of his part in the operation where his blood

had been transfused to his Lucy's veins; I could see Van Helsing's

face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying that he felt

since then as if they two had been really married, and that she was

his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other

operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away

together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The

moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of

hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and

insisted that it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under

very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to

draw down the 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 woman does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman

under the circumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so

different in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then

where his face grew grave 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 and forceful 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. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he

come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at

your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not the true laughter. No! he

is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he

choose no time of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example

I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood

for her, though I am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep;

I let my other sufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I

can laugh at her very grave- laugh when the clay from the spade of the

sexton drop upon her coffin and say. 'Thud! thud!' to my heart, till

it send back the blood from my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor

boy- that dear boy, so of the age of mine own boy had I been so

blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes the same. There,

you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say things that

touch my husband-Heart to the quick, and make my father-heart yearn to

him as to no other man- not even to you, friend John, for we are

more level in experiences than father and son- yet even at 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 of the

sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is

a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes,

and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to

the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard,

and tears that burn as they fall- all dance together to the music that

he make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John,

that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes

drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears

come; and, like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps

the strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like

the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on

with our labour what it may be."

  I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea;

but, as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked

him. As he answered the his face grew stern, and he said in quite a

different tone:-

  "Oh, it was the grim irony of it all- this so lovely lady

garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one

we wondered if she were truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble

house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid

there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved; and that

sacred bell going 'Toll! toll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those

holy men, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to read

books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the page; and all of

us with the bowed head. And all for what? She is dead; so! Is it not?"

  "Well, for the life of me, Professor," I said, "I can't see anything

to laugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder

puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what

about poor Art and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking."

  "Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins

had made 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, then

what about the others? Ho, ho! There this so sweet maid is a

polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by

Church's law, though no 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

did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things.

He laid his hand on my arm, and said:-

  "Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to

others when 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 so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown and all that

is to him- for he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time-

maybe you would perhaps 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

will sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb

of her kin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from

teeming London; 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 begin

another. If I do, or I I even open this again, it will be to deal with

different people and different themes; for here at the end, where

the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of

my life-work, I say sadly and without hope,



                               "Finis."





               "The Westminister Gazette," 25 September



                         A Hampstead Mystery.

  The neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with a

series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of

what was known to the writers of headlines as "The Kensington Horror,"

or "The Stabbing Woman," or "The Woman in Black." During the past

two or three days several cases have occurred of young children

straying from home or neglecting to return from their playing on the

Heath. In all these cases the children were too young to give any

properly intelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of

their excuses is that they had been with a "bloofer lady." It has

always been late in the evening when they have been missed, and on two

occasions the children have not been found until early in the

following morning. It is generally supposed in the neighbourhood that,

as the first child missed gave as his reason for being away that a

"bloofer lady" had asked him to come for a walk, the others had picked

up the phrase and used it as occasion served. This is the more natural

as the favourite game of the little ones at present is luring each

other away by wiles. A correspondent writes us that to see some of the

tiny tots pretending to be the "bloofer lady" is supremely funny. Some

of our caricaturists might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of

grotesque by comparing the reality and the picture. It is only in

accordance with general principles of human nature that the "bloofer

lady" should be the popular role at these al fresco performances.

Our correspondent naively says that even Ellen Terry could not be so

willingly attractive as some of these grubby-faced little children

pretend- and even imagine themselves- to be.

  There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some

of the children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been

slightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such as

might be made by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much

importance individually, would tend to show that whatever animal

inflicts them has a system or method of its own. The police of the

division have been instructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying

children, especially when very young, in and around Hampstead Heath,

and for any stray dog which may be about.



              "The Westminister Gazette," 25 September.



                            Extra Special.



                        THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR.



                        Another Child injured.



                         The "Bloofer Lady."



  We have just received intelligence that another child, missed last

night, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze bush at

the Shooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is, perhaps, less

frequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in the

throat as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and

looked quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the

common story 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

that he has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the

terrible things; and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed down

with the responsibility 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 his advancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties

that come upon him. He will be away all day till late, for he said

he could not lunch at 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 terrible

record 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 truth in it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all

those terrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I

shall never know, for I dare not open the subject to him... And yet

that man we saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him... Poor

fellow! I suppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind

back on some train of thought... He believes it all himself. I

remember how on our wedding-day he said: "Unless some solemn duty come

upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane."

There seems to be through it all some thread of continuity... That

fearful Count was coming to London... If it should be, and he came

to London, with his teeming millions... There may be a solemn duty;

and if it come we must not shrink from it... I shall be prepared. I

shall get my typewriter this very hour and begin transcribing. Then we

shall be ready for other eyes 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 let him be troubled or worried with it

at all. If ever Jonathan quite gets over the nervousness he may want

to tell me of it all, and I can ask him questions 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

I sent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's death. By the

kindness of Lord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and

papers, for I am deeply concerned about certain matters vitally

important. In them I find some letters from you, which show how

great friends you were and how you love her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that

love, I implore you, help me. It is for others' good that I ask- to

redress great wrong, and to lift much and terrible troubles- that

may be more great than you can know. May it be that I see you? You can

trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and of Lord Godalming (that

was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private for the present

from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if you tell me

I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your pardon,

madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good you

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

catch it. Can see you any time you call.

                                                 "Wilhelmina Harker."





                        Mina Harker's Journal.



  25 September.- I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the time

draws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect that

it will throw some light upon Jonathan's sad experience: and as he

attended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all

about her. That is the reason of his coming, it is concerning Lucy and

her sleep-walking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the

real truth now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of my

imagination and tinges everything with something of its own colour. Of

course it is about Lucy. That habit came back to the poor dear, and

that awful night on the cliff must have made her ill. I had almost

forgotten in my own affairs how ill she was afterwards. She must

have told him of her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that

I knew all about it; and now he wants me to tell him what she knows,

so that he may understand. 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 even a negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I

hope, too, Dr. Van Helsing will not blame me; I have had so much

trouble and anxiety of late 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

rain does. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that upset me,

and then Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a

whole day and night, the first time we have been parted since our

marriage. I do hope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and

that nothing will occur to upset him. It is two o'clock, and the

doctor will be here soon now. I shall say nothing of Jonathan's

journal unless he asks me. I am so glad I have type-written out my own

journal, so that, in case he asks about 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 it

all makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be

all possible, or even a part of it? if I had not read Jonathan's

journal first, I should never have accepted even a possibility.

Poor, poor, dear Jonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the

good God, all this may not upset him again. I shall try to save him

from it; but it may be even a consolation and a help to him-

terrible though it be and awful in its consequences- to know for

certain that his eyes and ears and brain did not deceive him, and that

it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt which haunts him;

that when the doubt is removed, no matter which- waking or dreaming-

may prove the truth, he will be more satisfied and better able to bear

the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a good 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 after Lucy. I feel from having seen

him that he is good and kind and of a noble 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 good end. I used to think I

would like to practice interviewing; Jonathan's friend on "The

Exeter News" told him that memory was everything in such work- that

you must be able to put down exactly almost every word spoken, even if

you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare interview;

I shall try to record it verbatim.

  It was half-past two o'clock when the knock came. I took my

courage a deux mains and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the

door, and announced "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

and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck.

The poise of the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and

power, the head is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the

ears. The face shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile

mouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive

nostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and

the mouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first

almost straight 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 set widely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with

the man's moods. He said 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

dear child 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

were a friend and helper of Lucy Westenra." And I held out my hand. He

took it and said tenderly:-

  "Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl

must be good, but I had yet to learn-" He finished his speech with a

courtly bow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about,

so he at once began:-

  "I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to

begin to inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you

were with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary- you need not

look, surprised Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was

made in imitation of you- and in that diary she traces by inference

certain things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you

saved her. In great perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out

of your so much kindness to tell me all of it that you 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

always so with young ladies."

  "No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to

you if you like."

  "Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour."

  I could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit- I suppose

it is some of the taste of the original apple that remains still in

our mouths- so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a

grateful bow, and said:-

  "May I read it?"

  "If you wish," I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it,

and for an instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.

  "Oh, you so clever woman!" he said. "I long knew that Mr. Jonathan

was a man 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 type-written

copy from my workbasket and handed it to him.

  "Forgive me," I said: "I could not help it; but I had been

thinking that it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so

that you might not have to wait- not on my account, but because I know

your time must be 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

may I 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

you can ask me questions whilst we eat." He bowed and settled

himself in a chair 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 be disturbed. When I came back I found him walking

hurriedly up and down the room, his face all ablaze with excitement.

He rushed up to me and took me by both hands.

  "Oh, Madam Mina," he said, "how can I say what I owe to you? This

paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle,

with so much light; and yet clouds roll in behind the light every

time. But that you do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful

to you, you so clever woman. Madam"- he said this very solemnly- "if

ever Abraham Van Helsing 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 a friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can

ever do, shall be for you and 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, and your 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

and women; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that

belongs to him and all that follow from him! And I have read your

diary that you have so goodly written for me, and which breathes out

truth in every line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor

Lucy of your marriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina,

good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute,

such things that angels can read; and we men who wish to know have

in us something of angels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you

are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be where there is

mean nature. And your husband- tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is

all that fever gone, and is he strong and hearty?" I saw here an

opening to ask him about Jonathan, so I said:-

  "He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr.

Hawkins's death." He interrupted:-

  "Oh yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters." I

went on:-

  "I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last

he had a sort of shock."

  "A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What

kind of shock was it?"

  "He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible,

something which led to his brain fever." And here the whole thing

seemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror

which he experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and

the fear that has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a

tumult. I suppose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and

held up my hands to him, and implored him to make my husband well

again. He took my hands and raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa,

and sat by me; he held my hand 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

not had much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to

here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good people and

seen such nobility that I feel more than ever- and it has grown with

my advancing years- the loneliness of my life. Believe me, then,

that I come here full of respect for you, and you have given me

hope- hope, not in what I am seeking of, but that there are good women

still left to make life happy- good women, whose lives and whose

truths may make good lesson for the children that are to be. I am

glad, glad, that I may here be of some use to you; for if your husband

suffer, he suffer within the range of my study and experience. I

promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can- all to

make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy one. 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 not where

he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eat and

smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall not

speak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for

I want to think much over what you have told me, and when I have

thought I will ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will

tell me of husband Jonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not

yet. You must eat now; 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

great, learned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak

fool, and Jonathan a madman- that journal is all so strange- and I

hesitated to go on. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had

promised to help, and I trusted him, so I said:-

  "Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you

must not laugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday

in a sort of fever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think

me foolish that I have even half believed some very strange things."

He reassured me by his manner as well as his words when he said:-

  "Oh, my dear, if you only knew how strange is the matter regarding

which I am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to

think little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it be. I

have tried to keep an open mind; and it is not the ordinary things

of life that could close it, but the strange things, the extraordinary

things, the things that make one doubt if they be mad or sane."

  "Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off

my mind. 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 and

Jonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all that

happened. I happ dare not say anything of it; you will read for

yourself and judge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very

kind and tell me 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

lunch with us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34

train, which will leave you at Paddington before eight." He was

surprised at my knowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know

that I have made up all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may

help Jonathan in case he is in a hurry.

  So he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here

thinking- 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

without doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I will

pledge my life on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and

you there is no dread. 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 that room- ay, and going a second time- is not

one to be injured in permanence by a shock. His brain and his heart

are all right; this I swear, before I have even seen him; so be at

rest. I shall have much to ask him of other things. I am blessed

that to-day I come to see you, for I have learn all at once so much

that again I am dazzle- dazzle more than 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

weight off my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things there

are in the world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster,

be really in London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst

writing, had a wire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25

to-night from Launceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall

have no fear to-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with

us, please come to breakfast at eight o'clock, if this be not too

early for you? You can get away, if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30

train, which will bring you 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 the

time has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, and

when we had supped she told me of Van Helsing's visit, and of her

having given him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she

has been about me. She showed me in the doctor's letter that all I

wrote down was true. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the

doubt as to the reality of the whole thing that knocked me over. I

felt impotent, and in the dark, and distrustful. But, now that I know,

I am not afraid, even of the Count. He has succeeded after all,

then, in his design in getting to London, and it was he I saw. He

has got younger, and how? Van Helsing is the man to unmask him and

hunt him out, if he is anything like what Mina says. We sat late,

and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and I shall 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 he was, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and

turned my face 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 was so 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

everything took a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to

trust, even the evidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to

trust, I did not know what to do; and so had only to keep on working

in what had hitherto been the groove of my life. The groove ceased

to avail me, and I mistrusted myself. Doctor, you don't know what it

is to doubt everything, even yourself. No, you don't; you couldn't

with eyebrows like yours." He seemed pleased, and laughed as he said:-

  "So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am

with so much pleasure coming to you to breakfast; and, oh, sir, you

will pardon praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife."

I would listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply

nodded and stood silent.

  "She is one of God's women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men

and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that

its light can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little

an egoist- and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so

sceptical and selfish. 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 the knowing of others; but I have seen your true self

since last night. You will give me your hand, will you not? And let us

be friends for all our lives."

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

quite choky.

  "And now." he said, "may I ask you for some more help? I have a

great task 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 I may 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,

you will 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 he

said:-

  "Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take Madam Mina

too."

  "We shall both come when you will," I said.

  I had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the

previous night, and while we were talking at the carriage window,

waiting for the train to start, he was turning them over. His eye

suddenly seemed to catch something in one of them, "The Westminster

Gazette"- I knew it by the colour- and he grew quite white. He read

something intently, groaning to himself. "Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So

soon! so soon!" I do not think he remembered me at the moment. Just

then the whistle blew, and the train moved off. This recalled him to

himself, and he leaned out of the window and waved his hand, calling

out: "Love to Madam Mina; I shall write so soon as ever I can."





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  26 September.- Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a

week since I said "Finis," and yet here I am starting fresh again,

or rather going on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no

cause to think of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents,

as sane as he ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly

business; and he had just started in the spider line also; so he had

not been of any trouble to me. I had a letter from Arthur, written

on Sunday, and from it I gather that he is bearing up wonderfully

well. Quincey Morris is with him, and that is much of a help, for he

himself is a bubbling well of good spirits. Quincey wrote me a line

too, and from him I hear that Arthur is beginning to recover something

of his old buoyancy; so as to them all my mind is at rest. As for

myself, I was settling down to my work with the enthusiasm which I

used to have for it, so that I might fairly have said that the wound

which poor Lucy left on me was becoming cicatrised. Everything is,

however, now reopened; and what is to be the end 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. He went to Exeter

yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he came back, and almost

bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock, and thrust last

night's "Westminister Gazette" into my hand.

  "What do you think of that?" he asked as he stood back and folded

his arms.

  I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant;

but he took it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children

being decoyed away at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I

reached a passage where it described small punctured wounds on their

throats. An idea 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

injured her 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

take his seriousness lightly- for, after all, four days of rest and

freedom from burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one's

spirits- but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the

midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.

  "Tell me!" I said. "I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to

think, 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 to what poor Lucy died of, not after all the hints given, not

only by events, 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 and sat 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 ears hear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of

account to you. Do you not think that there are things which you

cannot understand, and yet which are; that some people see things that

others cannot? But there are things old and new which must not be

contemplate by men's eyes, because they know- or think they know- some

things which other men have told them. Ah, it is the fault of our

science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it

says there is nothing to explain. 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 pretend to be young- like the fine ladies at

the opera. I suppose now you do not believe in corporeal transference.

No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the

reading of thought. No? Nor in hypnotism-"

  "Yes," I said. "Charcot has proved that pretty well." He smiled as

he went on: "Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course

then you understand how it act, and can follow the mind of the great

Charcot- alas that he is no more!- into the very soul of the patient

that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you

simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to

conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me- for I am student of the

brain- how you accept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading.

Let me tell you, my friend, that there are things done to-day in

electrical science which would have been deemed unholy by the very men

who discovered electricity- who would themselves not so long before

have been burned as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why

was it that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one

hundred and sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's

blood in her poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had she

live one more day, we could have save her. Do you know all the mystery

of life and death? Do you know the altogether of comparative

anatomy, and can say wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some

men, and not in others? Can you tell me why, when other spiders die

small and soon, that one great spider lived for 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? Can you tell me why in

the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come at night and

open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins; how in

some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang on the

trees all day, that those who have seen describe as like giant nuts or

pods and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is

hot, flit down on them, and then- and then in the morning are found

dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?"

  "Good God, Professor!" I said, starting up. "Do you mean to tell

me that Lucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here

in London in the nineteenth century?" He waved his hand for silence,

and went on:-

  "Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations

of men; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties;

and why 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 are some few who live on always if they be permit; that there

are men and women who cannot die? We all know- because science has

vouched for the fact- that there have been toads shut up in rocks

for thousands of years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him

since the youth of the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir

make himself to die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and

corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped

and cut again, and then men come and take away the unbroken seal,

and that there lie the Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and

walk amongst them as before?" Here I interrupted him. I was getting

bewildered; he so crowded on my mind his list of nature's

eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my imagination was

getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching me some lesson,

as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; but he used

then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of

thought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet I

wanted to follow him, so I said:-

  "Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis

so that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going

in my mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one,

follows an idea. I feel like a novice blundering through a bog in a

mist, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort

to move on without knowing where I am going."

  "That is good image," he said. "Well, I shall tell you My thesis

is this: I want you to believe."

  "To believe what?"

  "To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard

once of an American who so defined faith: 'that faculty which

enables us to believe 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 of truth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock

does a railway truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him,

and we value him; but all the same we must not let him think himself

all the truth in the universe."

  "Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure the

receptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read

your lesson aright?"

  "Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now

that you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to

understand. You think then that those so small holes in the children's

throats 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 his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he

spoke:-

  "They were made by Miss Lucy!"

                             CHAPTER XV.

                         DR. SEWARD'S DIARY.



  For a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during

her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up

as I said to him:-

  "Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?" He raised his head and looked at me,

and somehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. "Would I

were!" he said. "Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like

this. Oh, my friend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take

so long to tell you so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and

have hated you all my 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 a fearful 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 not expect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any

abstract truth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have

always believed the 'no' of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad

a concrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to

prove it. Dare you come with me?"

  This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth;

Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.



             "And prove the very truth he most abhorred."



  He saw my hesitation, and spoke:-

  "The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from

tussock to 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; yet very 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 child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North

Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is friend of mine, and

I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let two

scientists see his case, if he will not let two friends. We shall tell

him nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And then-"

  "And then?" He took a key from his pocket and held it up. "And

then we spend the night, you and I, in the church-yard where Lucy

lies. This is the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man

to give to Arthur." My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was

some fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I

plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as

the afternoon was passing.

  We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food,

and altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from

its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the

similarity 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 he attributed them, and he replied that it must have

been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he

was inclined to think that it was one of the bats which are so

numerous on the northern heights of London. "Out of so many harmless

ones," he said, "there may be sonic wild specimen from the South of

a more malignant species. Some sailor may have brought one home, and

it managed to escape; or even from the Zoological Gardens a young

one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a vampire. These

things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago a wolf got out, and

was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a week after, the

children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath and

in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare came

along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even this

poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he

might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he

wanted to play with the 'bloofer lady.'"

  "I hope," said Van Helsing, "that when you are sending the child

home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it.

These fancies to stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to

remain out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in any

case I suppose you will not let it away for some days?"

  "Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is

not healed."

  Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on,

and the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how

dark it was, he said:-

  "There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us

seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way."

  We dined at "Jack Straw's Castle" along with a little crowd of

bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we

started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps

made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual

radius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go,

for he went on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mix-up

as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people,

till at last we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of

horse police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached

the wall of the church-yard, which we climbed over. With some little

difficulty- for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so

strange to us- we found the Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key,

opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely, but quite

unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was a delicious irony

in the offer, in the courtliness of giving preference on such a

ghastly occasion. My companion followed me quickly, and cautiously

drew the door to, after carefully 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 he fumbled in his bag, and taking out a

match-box and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a light. The tomb

in the day-time, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim

and gruesome enough; but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers

hung lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to

browns; when the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed

dominance; when time-discoloured stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and

rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and clouded silver-plating gave

back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was more miserable and

sordid than could have been imagined It conveyed irresistibly the idea

that life- animal life- was not the only thing which could pass away.

  Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle

so that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the

sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the

metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his

bag, and he took out a turnscrew.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked.

  "To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced." Straightway he

began taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing

the casing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It

seemed to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to

have stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I

actually took hold of his hand to stop him. He only said: "You shall

see," and again fumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw.

Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift downward stab,

which made me wince, he made a small hole, which was, however, big

enough to admit the point of the saw. I had expected a rush of gas

from the week-old corpse. We doctors, who have had to study our

dangers, have to become accustomed to such things, and I drew back

towards the door. But the Professor never stopped for a moment; he

sawed down a couple of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and

then across, and down the other side. Taking the edge of the loose

flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up

the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to look.

  I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.

  It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable

shock, but Van 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, friend John?" he asked.

  I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me

as I answered him:-

  "I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that

only proves 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-

how can you- account for it not being there?"

  "Perhaps a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the undertaker's

people may have stolen it." I felt that I was speaking folly, and

yet it was the only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor

sighed. "Ah well!" he said, "we must have more proof. Come with me."

  He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and

placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also

in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed

the door and locked it. He handed me the key, saying: "Will you keep

it? You had better be assured." I laughed- it was not a very

cheerful laugh, I am bound 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 lock of that kind." He said nothing, but put

the key in his pocket. Then he told me to watch at one side of the

churchyard whilst he would watch at the other. I took up my place

behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark figure move until the

intervening headstones and trees hid it from my sight.

  It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a

distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was

chilled and unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on

such an errand and with myself for coming. I was too cold and too

sleepy to be keenly observant, and not sleepy enough to betray my

trust; so altogether I had a dreary, miserable time.

  Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a

white streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the

churchyard farthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass

moved from the Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went

towards it. Then I too moved; but I had to go round headstones and

railed-off tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast,

and somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little way off, beyond a

line of scattered juniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the

church, a white, dim figure flitted in the direction of the tomb.

The tomb itself was hidden by trees, and I could not see where the

figure disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where I

had first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the

Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When he 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?"

I asked.

  "We shall see," said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our

way out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.

  When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of

trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was

without 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

consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police-station we

should have to give some account of our movements during the night; at

least, we should have 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 we heard a policeman coming, would leave it

where he could not fail to find it; we would then seek our way home as

quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath

we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and laying the child on the

pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he flashed his

lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation of astonishment, and then

we went away silently. By good chance we got a cab 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 shall go with him on another expedition.



  27 September- It was two o'clock before we found a suitable

opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all

completed, and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken

themselves lazily away, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of

alder-trees, we saw the sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then

that we were safe till morning did we desire it; but the Professor

told me that we should not want more than an hour at most. Again I

felt that horrid sense of the reality of things, in which any effort

of imagination seemed out of place; and I realised distinctly the

perils of the law which we were incurring 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 dead nearly a week were really

dead, it now seemed the height of folly to open the tomb again, when

we knew, from the evidence of our own eyesight, 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 again courteously

motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as last night,

but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine streamed 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 shock of

surprise and dismay shot through me.

  There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before

her funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever;

and I could not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay

redder than before; 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

spoke he put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder,

pulled back the dead lips and showed the white teeth.

  "See," he went on, "see, they are even sharper than before. With

this and this"- and he touched one of the canine teeth and that

below it- "the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now,

friend John?" Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I

could not accept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with

an attempt to argue 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

not look so." I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did

not seem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither

chagrin nor triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead

woman, raising the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more

opening the lips and examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and

said:-

  "Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here

is some dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the

vampire when she was in a trance, sleep-walking- oh, you start; you do

not know that, friend John, but you shall know it all later- and in

trance could he best come to take more blood. In trance she died,

and in trance she is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all

other. Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home"- as he spoke he made

a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to a vampire was

"home"- "their face show what they are, but this so sweet that was

when she not Un-Dead she go back to the nothings of the common dead.

There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard that I must kill

her in her sleep." This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn

upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's theories; but if she were

really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing her? He

looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for he

said almost joyously:-

  "Ah, you believe now?"

  I answered; "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to

accept. How will you do this bloody work?"

  "I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I

shall drive a stake through her body." It made me shudder to think

of so mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the

feeling was not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning

to shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing

called 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 as if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his

bag with a snap, and said:-

  "I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is

best. If I did simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this

moment, what is to be done; but there are other things to follow,

and things that are thousand times more difficult in that them we do

not know. This is simple. She have yet no life taken, though that is

of time; and to act now would be to take danger from her for ever. But

then we may have to want Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If

you, who saw the wounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so

similar on the child's at the hospital; if you, who saw the coffin

empty last night and full to-day with a woman who have not change only

to be more rose and more beautiful in a whole week, after she die-

if you know of this and know of 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 expect Arthur, who know none of

those things, to believe? He doubted me when I took him from her

kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me because in some

mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say good-bye as he

ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken idea this woman was

buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we have killed her. He

will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that have killed

her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet he

never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he will sometimes

think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint his

dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, he will

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,

since I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know

that he must 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 to him; then we can act for good all round and send him

peace. My mind is made up. Let us go. You return home for to-night

to your asylum, and see that all be well. As for me, I shall spend the

night here in this churchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you

will come to me to the Berkeley 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 we shall all have work to do. I

come with you so far as Piccadilly and there 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 the

churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to

Piccadilly.





        Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley

                 Hotel, directed to John Seward, M.D.

                           (Not delivered.)



                                                       "27 September.

  "Friend John,-

  "I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in

that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall

not leave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager.

Therefore I shall fix some things she like not- garlic and a crucifix-

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; they may not

prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead is desperate,

and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may be. 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 Miss Lucy,

or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there that

she 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 all along he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss

Lucy's life, and we lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong.

He have always the strength in his hand of twenty men; even we four

who gave our strength to Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides,

he can summon his wolf and I know not what. So if it be that he come

thither on this night he shall find me; but none other shall- until it

be too late. But it may be that he will not attempt the place. There

is no reason why he should; his hunting ground is more full of game

than the churchyard where the Un-Dead woman sleep, and 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

this great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a

stake through 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 for

one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's

monstrous ideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as

outrages on common sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I

wonder if his mind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there

must be some rational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is

it possible that the Professor can have done it himself? He is so

abnormally clever that if he went off his head he would carry out

his intent with regard to some fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am

loath to think it, and indeed it would be almost as great a marvel

as the other to find that Van Helsing was mad; but anyhow I shall

watch him carefully. I may get some light 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

he wanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if

all our wills were centered in his. He began by saying that he hoped

we would all come with him too, "for," he said, "there is a grave duty

to be done there. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?" This

query was directly addressed to Lord Godalming.

  "I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble

around my house of late that I could do without any more. I have

been curious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it

over; but the more we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I

can say for myself that 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

of you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he

can even get so far as to begin."

  It was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame

of mind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he

said with intense gravity:-

  "I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I

know, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you

will know, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you

promise me in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry

with me for a time- I must not disguise from myself the possibility

that such may be- 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 good enough for me."

  "I thank you, sir," said Van Helsing proudly. "I have done myself

the honour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement

is dear to 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

they say in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a

gentleman or 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 of these two, then I give my consent at once; though,

for the life of me, I cannot understand what you are driving at."

  "I accept your limitation," said Van Helsing, "and all I ask of

you is that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you

will first consider it well and be satisfied that it does not

violate your reservations."

  "Agreed!" said Arthur; "that is only fair. And now that the

pourparlers 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 at Kingstead."

  Arthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:-

  "Where poor Lucy is buried?" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on:

"And when 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

that he sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There

was silence 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 be patient in all things that are reasonable; but in this- this

desecration of the grave- of one who-" He fairly choked with

indignation. The Professor looked pityingly at him.

  "If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend," he said, "God knows

I would. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later,

and for 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 go

on?"

  "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 to

her. But if she be not dead-"

  Arthur jumped to his feet.

  "Good God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Has there been any mistake;

has she been buried alive?" He groaned in anguish that not even hope

could soften.

  "I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go

no further than to say that she might be Un-Dead."

  "Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or

what is it?"

  "There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age

they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of

one. But I 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

for the 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 should torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do

that you should want to cast such dishonour on her grave? Are you

mad that speak such things, or am I mad that listen to them? Don't

dare to think more of such a desecration; I shall not give my

consent to anything you do. I have a duty to do in protecting her

grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do it!"

  Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated,

and said, gravely and sternly:-

  "My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a

duty to you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask

you now is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if

when later I make the same request you do not be more eager for its

fulfilment even than I am, then- then I shall do my duty, whatever

it may seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship's wishes, I

shall hold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when

and where you will." His voice broke a little, and he went on with a

voice full of pity:-

  "But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long

life of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which

sometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now.

Believe me that if the time comes for you to change your mind

towards me, one look from you will wipe away all this so sad hour, for

I would do what a man can to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why

should I give myself so much of labour and so much of sorrow? I have

come here from my own land to do what I can of good; at the first to

please my friend John, and then to help a sweet young lady, whom, too,

I came to love. For her- I am ashamed to say so much, but I say it

in kindness- I gave what you gave; the blood of my veins; I gave it,

I, who was not, like you, her lover, but only her physician and her

friend. I gave to her my nights and days- before death, after death;

and if my death can do her good even now, when she is the dead

Un-Dead, she shall have it freely." He said this with a very grave,

sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected by 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 I shall go with you and wait."

                             CHAPTER XVI.

                         DR. SEWARD'S DIARY.



  It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the

churchyard over the low wall. The night was dark, with occasional

gleams of moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded

across the sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing

slightly in front as he led the way. When we had come close to the

tomb I looked well at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a

place laden with so sorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore

himself well. I took it that the very mystery of the proceeding was in

some way a counteractant to his grief. The Professor unlocked the

door, and seeing a natural hesitation amongst us for various

reasons, solved the difficulty by entering first himself. The rest

of us followed, and he closed the door. He then lit a dark lantern and

pointed to the coffin. Arthur stepped forward hesitatingly; Van

Helsing said to me:-

  "You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in

that coffin?"

  "It was." The Professor turned to the rest saying:-

  "You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me." He

took his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin.

Arthur looked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he

stepped forward. 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 away again, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness;

he was still silent. Van Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we

all looked in and recoiled.

  The coffin was empty!

  For several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken by

Quincey Morris:-

  "Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I

wouldn't ask such a thing ordinarily- I wouldn't so dishonour you as

to imply a doubt; 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

nor touched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend

Seward and I came here- with good purpose, believe me. I opened that

coffin, which was then sealed up, and we found it, as now empty. We

then waited, and saw something white come through the trees. The

next day we came here in day-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 came here before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can

move. I waited here all the night till the sun rose, but I saw

nothing. It was most probable that 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. Last night there was no exodus, so

to-night before the sundown I took away my garlic and other things.

And so it is we find this coffin empty. But bear with me. So far there

is much that is strange. Wait you with me outside, 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 the door behind him.

  Oh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror

of that vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the

passing gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing

and passing- like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life; how sweet

it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay;

how humanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and

to hear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city.

Each in his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and

was, I could see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner

meaning of the mystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and half

inclined again to throw aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing's

conclusions. Quincey Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who

accepts all things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery,

with hazard of all he has to stake. Not being able to smoke, he cut

himself a good-sized plug of tobacco and began to chew. As to Van

Helsing, he was employed in a definite way. First he took from his bag

a mass of what looked like thin, wafer-like biscuit, which was

carefully rolled up in a white napkin; next he took out a

double-handful of some whitish stuff, like dough or putty. He crumbled

the wafer up fine and worked it into the mass between his hands.

This he then took, and rolling it into thin strips, began to lay

them into the crevices between the door and its setting 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 near also, 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 by

Arthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered:-

  "The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence." It

was an answer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt

individually that in the presence of such earnest purpose as the

Professor's, a purpose which could thus use the to him most sacred

of things, it was impossible to distrust. In respectful silence we

took the places assigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from

the sight of any one approaching. I pitied the others, especially

Arthur. I had myself been 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 sink within me. Never did tombs look so

ghastly white; never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the

embodiment of funeral gloom; never did tree or grass wave or rustle so

ominously; never did bough creak so mysteriously; and never did the

far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.

  There was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and then from

the Professor a keen "S-s-s-s!" He pointed; and far down the avenue of

yews we saw a white figure advance- a dim white figure, which held

something dark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment

a ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed

in startling prominence 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 a fair-haired child. There was a pause and

a sharp little cry, such as a child gives in sleep, or a dog as it

lies before the fire and dreams. We were starting forward, but the

Professor's warning hand, seen by us as he stood behind a yew-tree,

kept us back; and then as we looked the white figure moved forwards

again. It was now near enough for us to see clearly, 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 of Lucy Westenra. Lucy

Westenra, but yet how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine,

heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness. Van

Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, we all advanced

too; the four of us ranged in a line before the door of the tomb.

Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide; by the concentrated

light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips were crimson

with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her chin and

stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.

  We shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that

even Van Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and

if I had not 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 her shape- saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a

cat gives when taken unawares; then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy's

eyes in form and colour; but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of

hell-fire, instead of the pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment

the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then

to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight. As she looked,

her eyes blazed with unholy light, 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 to the ground, callous as a devil, the

child that up to now she had clutched strenuously to her breast,

growling over it as a dog growls over a bone. The child gave a sharp

cry, and lay there moaning. There was a cold-bloodedness in the act

which wrung a groan from Arthur; when she advanced to him with

outstreched arms and a wanton smile he fell back 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 are

hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband,

come!"

  There was something diabolically sweet in her tones- something of

the tingling of glass when struck- which rang through the brains

even of us who heard the words addressed to another. As for Arthur, he

seemed under a spell; moving his hands from his face, he opened wide

his arms. She was leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward

and held between them his little golden crucifix. She recoiled from

it, and, with a suddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past him

as if to enter the tomb.

  When within a foot or two of the door, however, she stopped as if

arrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her face was

shown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now

no quiver from Van Helsing's iron nerves. Never did I see such baffled

malice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by

mortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to

throw out sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the

folds of the flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the

lovely, blood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the

passion masks of the Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant

death- if looks could kill- we saw it at that moment.

  And so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she

remained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her

means of entry: 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

he answered:-

  "Do as you will, friend; do as you will. There can be no horror like

this ever any more;" and he groaned in spirit. Quincey and I

simultaneously moved towards him, and took his arms. We could hear the

click of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down; coming close

to the tomb, he began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred

emblem which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrified

amazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporeal

body as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the interstice

where scarce a knife-blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense

of relief when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of

putty to 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

a funeral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that.

The friends of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton

lock the gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do; but not

like this of to-night. As for this little one, he is not much harm,

and by to-morrow night he shall be well. We shall leave him where

the police will find him, as on the other night; and then to home."

Coming close to Arthur, he said:-

  "My friend Arthur, you have had sore trial; but after, when you will

look back, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the

bitter waters, my child. By this time tomorrow you will, please God,

have passed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not

mourn overmuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me."

  Arthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each

other on the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired;

so we all slept 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 to notice that by common consent we had all put on black

clothes. Of course, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning,

but the rest of us wore it by instinct. We got to the churchyard by

half-past one, and strolled about, keeping out of official

observation, so that when the gravediggers had completed their task

and the sexton, under the belief that every one had gone, had locked

the gate, we had the place all to ourselves. Van Helsing, instead of

his little black bag, had with him a long leather one, something

like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of fair weight.

  When we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out

up the road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed the

Professor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing

it behind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and

also two wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting

their own ends, on other coffins, so that they might give light

sufficient to work by. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's

coffin we all looked- Arthur trembling like an aspen- and saw that the

body lay there in all its death-beauty. But there was no love in my

own heart, nothing but loathing for the foul Thing which had taken

Lucy's shape without her soul. I could see even Arthur's face grow

hard as he looked. Presently he 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 shall see

her as 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

to see- the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like a

devilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with his usual

methodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and

placing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and

some plumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out,

when lit in a corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with

a blue flame; then his operating knives, which he placed to hand;

and last a round wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches

thick and about three feet long. One end of it was hardened by

charring in the fire, and was sharpened to a fine point. With this

stake came a heavy hammer, such as in households is used in the

coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. To me, a doctor's preparations for

work of any kind are stimulating and bracing, but the effect of

these things on both Arthur and Quincey was to cause them a sort of

consternation. They both, however, kept their courage, 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 and experience of the ancients and of all those who have

studied the powers of the Un-Dead. When they become such, there

comes with the change the curse of immortality; they cannot die, but

must go on age after age adding new victims and multiplying the

evils of the world; for all that die from the preying of the Un-Dead

become themselves Un-Dead, and prey on their kind. And so the circle

goes on ever widening, like as the ripples from a stone thrown in

the water. Friend Arthur, if you had met that kiss which you know of

before poor Lucy die; or again, last night when 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 would all 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. Those children whose blood she

suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if she live on, Un-Dead,

more and more they lose their blood and by her power over them they

come to her; and so she draw their blood with that so wicked mouth.

But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tiny wounds of the

throats disappear, and they go back to their plays unknowing ever of

what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when this now Un-Dead

be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor lady whom we

love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by night and

growing more debased in the assimilation of it by day, she shall

take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be 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 better

right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the

night when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars;

it was the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she

would herself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if

there be such a one amongst us?"

  We all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the

infinite kindness which suggested that his should be the hand which

would restore Lucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he

stepped forward and said bravely, though his hand trembled, and his

face was as pale as snow:-

  "My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you.

Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not falter!" Van Helsing laid a

hand on his shoulder, and said:-

  "Brave lad! A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be

driven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal- be not deceived in

that- but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more

than your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as

though you tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have

begun. Only think that we, your true friends, are round you, and

that we pray for you 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

the heart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer

for the dead- I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others

shall follow- strike in God's name, that so all may be well with the

dead that we love and that the Un-Dead pass away."

  Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set

on action his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing

opened his missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as

well as we could. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I

looked I could see its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with

all his might.

  The Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling

screech came from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and

twisted in wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together

till the lips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam.

But Arthur never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his

untrembling arm rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the

mercy-bearing stake, whilst the blood from the pierced heart welled

and spurted up around it. His face was set, and high duty seemed to

shine through it; the sight of it gave us courage, so that our

voices seemed to ring through the little vault.

  And then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the

teeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still.

The terrible task was over.

  The hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He reeled and would have

fallen had we 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 strain on him; and had he not been forced to his task by more

than human considerations he could never have gone through with it.

For a few minutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look

towards the coffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled

surprise ran from one to the other of us, We gazed so eagerly that

Arthur rose, for he had been seated on the ground, and came and looked

too; and then a glad, strange light broke over his face and

dispelled altogether the gloom of horror that lay upon it.

  There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so

dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded

as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen

her in her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity.

True that there were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of

care and pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they

marked her truth to what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy

calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted face and form was only

an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was to reign forever.

  Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to

him:-

  "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

hand in 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 laying his head on his breast, cried for a while silently,

whilst we stood unmoving. 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, as she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a

grinning devil now- not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No

longer she is the 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 the tomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake,

leaving the point of it in the body. Then we cut off the head and

filled the mouth with garlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin,

screwed on the coffin-lid, and gathering up our belongings, came away.

When the Professor locked the door he gave the key to Arthur.

  Outside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and it

seemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There was

gladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselves

on 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

harrowing to ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find

out the author of all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have

clues which we can follow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and

there is danger in it, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have

learned to believe, all of us- is it not so? And since so, do we not

see our duty? Yes! And do we not promise to go on to the better end?"

  Each in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then

said the Professor as we moved off:-

  "Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at

seven of the clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two

that you know not as yet; and I shall be ready to all our work show

and our plans unfold. Friend John, you come with me home, for I have

much to consult about, and you can help me. To-night I leave for

Amsterdam, but shall return to-morrow night. And then begins our great

quest. But first I shall 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 a terrible task before us, and once our feet are on

the ploughshare, we must not draw back."

                            CHAPTER XVII.

                         DR. SEWARD'S DIARY.



  When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a

telegram waiting for him:-

  "Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news.- Mina

Harker."

  The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he

said, "pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go

to your house, 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

of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a

typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.

"Take these," he said, "and study them well. When I have returned

you will be master of all the facts, and we can then better enter on

our inquisition. Keep them safe, for there is in them much of

treasure. You will need all your faith, even you who have had such

an experience as that of to-day. What is here told," he laid his

hand heavily and gravely on the packet of papers as he spoke, "may

be the beginning of the end to you and me and many another; or it

may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the earth. Read all, I

pray you, with the open mind; and if you can add in any way to the

story here told do so, for it is all-important. You have kept diary of

all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes! Then we shall go

through all these together when that we meet." He then made ready

for his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool Street.

I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes

before the train came in.

  The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to

arrival platforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, last I might

miss my guest, 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

out her hand.

  "I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy, but-" She

stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.

  The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease,

for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which

included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch

Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a

sitting-room and bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.

  In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was a

lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a

shudder when we entered.

  She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my

study, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my

phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the

chance of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though

they lie open before me. I must get her interested in something, so

that I may have an opportunity of reading them. She does not know

how precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be

careful not to frighten her. Here she is!





                        Mina Harker's Journal.



  29 September.- After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr.

Seward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard

him talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick,

I knocked at the 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

the description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much

interested.

  "I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said; "but I stayed at the

door as 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 on the 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

train for 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 as it is entirely- almost entirely- about my cases, it may be

awkward- that is, I mean"- He stopped, and I tried to help him out

of his embarrassment:-

  "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, very dear 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 the

diary." Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he

said with unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the

naivete of a child: "That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest

Indian!" I could not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself

away that time!" he said. "But do you know that, although I have

kept the diary for months past, it never once struck me how I was

going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it

up?" By this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who

attended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of our

knowledge of that terrible Being, and I said boldly;-

  "Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my

typewriter." He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:-

  "No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that

terrible story!"

  Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I

thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for

something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on the great batch

of typewriting on the 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

own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed- you will know

me better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart

in this cause; but, of course, you do not know me- yet; and I must not

expect you to trust me so far."

  He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right

about him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were

arranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with

dark wax, and said:-

  "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

long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May

I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear

them- the first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will

not horrify you; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then

be ready. In the meantime I shall read over some of these documents,

and shall be better able to understand certain things." He carried the

phonograph himself up to my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I

shall learn something pleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the

other side of a true love episode of which I know one side already...





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  29 September.- I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan

Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without

thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce

dinner, so I said: "She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour;"

and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary,

when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her

eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I

have had cause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied

me; and now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent

tears, went straight 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

touched than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but

it is cruelly 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

them spoken ever again! See. I have tried to be useful. I have

copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear

your heart beat, as I did."

  "No one need ever know, shall ever know." I said in a low voice. She

laid 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's death and all that led to it; because in the struggle which

we have before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must

have all the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that

the cylinders 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 dark mystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up

to a certain point; 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 wrought out. Jonathan and I have been working day and

night since Professor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to

get more information, and he will 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 than if some of us were in the dark."

She looked at me so appealingly, and at the 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 you like in the matter. God

forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet to learn of,

but if you so have so far travelled on the road to poor Lucy's

death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the dark. 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 learn the

rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask- if there be anything

which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were

present."





                        Mina Harker's Journal.



  29 September.- After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study.

He brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter.

He placed me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so

that I could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it

in case I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully, took a

chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as free as possible,

and began to read. I put the forked metal to my ears and listened.

  When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and- and all that followed,

was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of

a fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a

horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a

cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat

restored me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came

through all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my

dear, dear Lucy was at lest at peace, I do not think I could have

borne it without making a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious,

and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in

Transylvania I could not have believed. As it was, I didn't know

what to believe, and so got out of my difficulty by attending to

something else. I took the cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr.

Seward:-

  "Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing

when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when

he 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 item

put in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me

that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to

tell them when they come." He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow

pace, and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh

cylinder. I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary

just as I had done with all the rest. It was late when I got

through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of going his round of

the patients; when he had finished he came back and sat near me,

reading, so that I did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good

and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men- even if

there are monsters in it. Before I left him I remembered what Jonathan

put in his diary of the Professor's perturbation at reading

something in an evening paper at the station at Exeter; so, seeing

that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the files of "The

Westminister Gazette" and "The Pall Mall Gazette," and took them to my

room. I remember how much "The Dailygraph" and "The Whitby Gazette."

of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand the terrible

events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look through

the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.

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 his

wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one

can judge from his face, and full of energy. If his journal be true-

and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be- he is also

a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a

remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was

prepared 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.

They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting

together in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have.

Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at

Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now

reading his wife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out

of it. Here it is...

  Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be

the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from

the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating to

the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only

had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness

lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He

says that by dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected

narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as

hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the

Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose

I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into

type! We never could have found the dates otherwise...

  I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded,

smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever

saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which

he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home,

a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn

here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge

at once. I believe that had I not had the chat with Harker and read

the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have been

prepared to sign for him after a brief time of observation. As it

is, I am darkly suspicious. All those outbreaks were in some way

linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does his absolute

content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the

vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay; he is himself zoophagous, and in his

wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he always

spoke of "master." This all seems confirmation of our idea. However,

after a while I came away; my friend is just a little too sane at

present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions. He might

begin to think, and then-! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet

moods of his; so I have given the attendant a hint to look closely

after him, and to have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need.





                      Jonathan Harker's Journal.



  29 September, in train to London.- When I received Mr.

Billington's courteous message that he would give me any information

in his power I thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the

spot, such inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that

horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be

able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the

station, and brought me to his father's house, where they had

decided that I must stay the night. They are hospitable, with true

Yorkshire hospitality: give a guest everything, and leave him free

to do as he likes. They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was

short, and Mr. Billington had ready 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 had seen on the Count's table

before I knew of his diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully

thought out, and done systematically and with precision. He seemed

to have been prepared for every obstacle which might be placed by

accident in the way of his intentions being carried out. To use an

Americanism, he had "taken no chances," and the absolute accuracy with

which his instructions were fulfilled, was simply the logical 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 of these I

got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could give me,

so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs

officers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of

the strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in

local tradition; but no one could add to the simple description.

"Fifty cases of common earth." I then saw the station-master, who

kindly put me in communication with the men who had actually

received the boxes. Their tally was exact with the list, and they

had nothing to add except that the boxes were "main and mortal heavy,"

and that shifting them was dry work. One of them added that it was

hard lines that there wasn't any gentleman "such-like as yourself,

squire," to show some sort of appreciation of their efforts in a

liquid form; another put in a rider that the thirst then generated was

such that even the time which had elapsed had not completely allayed

it. Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift, for ever

and adequately, this source of reproach.



  30 September.- The station-master was good enough to give me a

line to his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so

that when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about

the arrival of the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication

with the proper officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with

the original invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal

thirst had been here limited; a noble use of them, had, however,

been made, and again I was compelled to deal with the result in an

ex post facto manner.

  From thence I went on to Carter Patterson's central office, where

I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in

their day-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King's

Cross office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the

teaming were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them

over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers

connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found

the tally agreeing exactly; the carriers' men were able to

supplement the paucity of the written words with a few details. These,

were I shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of

the job, and of the consequent thirst engendered in the operators.

On my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency

of the realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial

evil, one of the men remarked:-

  "That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but

it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick

in the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of yer

bones; an' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave smelled

ole Jerusalem in it. But the ole chappel- that took the cike, that

did! Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick

enough. Lor, I wouldn'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

what I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.

  Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which arrived at

Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old

chapel of Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have

since been removed- as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.

  I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax

when Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn

a good deal.



  Later.- Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the

papers into 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 act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for

Whitby with as brave a face as I could, but I was sick with

apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good. He was never

so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as

at present. It is just as that dear, this good Professor Van Helsing

said: he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill

a weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and determination;

we have got everything in order for to-night. I feel myself quite wild

with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is

the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not human- not even beast.

To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what

followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.



  Later.- Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we

expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan

with him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it

brought back All poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of

course they had heard Lucy speak to me, and it seemed that Dr. Van

Helsing, too, has been quite "blowing my trumpet," as Mr. Morris

expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all

about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to

say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so

they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter

over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do

would be to post them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr.

Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death- her real death- and

that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told

them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and

diaries, and that my husband and 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 got his 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

and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically,

that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help

you. I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make

a man humble to 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 hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with

instinctive delicacy just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder,

and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is

something in woman's nature that makes a man free to break down before

her and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without

feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when Lord Godalming found

himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and

openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn't

think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it afterwards he

never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I know he never

will- he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see

that his heart was breaking:-

  "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you

were to her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will

you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what

sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If

sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be

of some little service- for Lucy's sake?"

  In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It

seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence

found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open

hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood

up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I

felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a

sob he laid his head on my shoulder, and cried like a wearied child,

whilst he shook with emotion.

  We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above

smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big,

sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby

that some day may he on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though

he were 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 an

apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that

for days and nights past- weary days and sleepless nights- he had been

unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of

sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or

with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow

was surrounded, 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 can ever know- how much your sweet sympathy has been to me

to-day. I shall know better in time; and believe me that, though I

am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding.

You will let me be like 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

your own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are

ever worth the winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future

should bring to you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you

will not call in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to

you to break the sunshine of your life; but if it should ever come,

promise me that you will let me know." He was so earnest, and his

sorrow was so fresh, that I 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 noticing my red eyes, he went on; "Ah, I see you have been

comforting him. Poor old fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can

help a man when he is in trouble 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

the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would

realise how much I knew; so I said to him:-

  "I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you

let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need

it? You will know, later on, why I speak." He saw that I was in

earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips,

kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a

soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in

his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat; he said

quite calmly:-

  "Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so

long as 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 he

proved himself a friend!

                            CHAPTER XVIII.

                         DR. SEWARD'S DIARY.



  30 September.- I got home at five o'clock, and found that

Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the

transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker and his

wonderful wife had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from

his visit to the carriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to

me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for

the first time since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like

home. When we had finished, 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 diary

interests me so much!" She looked so appealing and so pretty that I

could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should;

so I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man

that a lady 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," I answered. "Oh, very well," he said; "let her come in, by all

means; but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place." His method of

tidying was peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in

the boxes before I could stop him. It was quite evident that he

feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When he had got

through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully: "Let the lady come

in," and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but

with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered. For a

moment I thought that he might have some homicidal intent; I

remembered how quiet he had been just before he attacked me in my

own study, and I took care to stand where I could seize him at once if

he attempted to make a spring at her. She came into the room with an

easy gracefulness which would at once command the respect of any

lunatic- for easiness is one of the qualities mad people most respect.

She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and held 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 all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way

to one of wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense

astonishment, he said:-

  "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

ever saw 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 be pleasant 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 simply

contemptuous, 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 once

championing me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as

he had shown contempt to me:-

  "You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so

loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of

interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by

his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being

some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes

and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I

cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates

lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi." I

positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet

lunatic- the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met with-

talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished

gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which had touched

some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any

way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift

or power.

  We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was

seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me

questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favourite topic. I

was again astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with

the impartiality of the completest sanity: he even took himself as

an example when he mentioned certain 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 being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive

and perpetual entity and that by consuming a multitude of live things,

no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely

prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually

tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one

occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital

powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the

medium of his blood-relying, of course, upon the Scriptual phrase.

'For the blood is the life.' Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain

nostrum has vulgarised 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 to either think or say; it was hard to imagine that I had

seen him eat up his spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking

at my watch, I saw 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 saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield: "Good-bye, and I

hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself," to

which, to my astonishment, he replied:-

  "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

behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy

first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he

has been for many a long day.

  Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a

boy. 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

come here to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I

have much to tell. Madame Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine

husband? And Arthur 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

own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's suggestion;

at which the Professor interrupted me:-

  "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain- a brain that

a man should have were he much gifted- and woman's heart. The good God

fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good

combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of

help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this

terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men

are determined- nay, are we not pledged?- to destroy this monster; but

it is no part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may

fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer-

both in waking, 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 to think of some time, if not now. You tell me she has

wrote all, then she must consult with us; but to-morrow she say

good-bye to this work, and we go alone." I agreed heartily with him,

and then I told him what we had found in his absence: that the house

which Dracula had bought was the very next one to my own. He was

amazed, and a great concern seemed to come on him. "Oh that we had

known it before!" he said, "for then we might have reached him in time

to save poor Lucy. However, 'the milk that is spilt cries not out

afterwards,' as you say. We shall not think of that, but go on our way

to the end." Then he fell into a silence that lasted till we entered

my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for dinner he said to Mrs.

Harker:-

  "I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your

husband have put up in exact order all things that have been, up to

this moment."

  "Not up to this moment, Professor," she said impulsively, "but up to

this morning."

  "But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the

little things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one

who has told is the worse for it."

  Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she

said:-

  "Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go

in. It is my record of to-day. I too have seen the need of putting

down at present everything, however trivial; but there is little in

this except what 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

can but make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends,

more honour you- as well as more esteem and love." She took it back

with another blush and a bright smile.

  And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are

complete and 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 us have already read everything; so when we meet in the

study we shall all be informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan

of battle with this terrible and mysterious enemy.





                        Mina Harker's Journal.



  30 September.- When we met in Dr. Seward's study two hours after

dinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed a

sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the

table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He

made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as

secretary; Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming,

Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris- Lord Godalming being next the Professor,

and Dr. Seward in the centre. The Professor said:-

  "I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts

that 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 of

enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make it known to you

something 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

measure according.

  "There are such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that

they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience,

the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane

peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that

through long years I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could

not have 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 of us who did love her. But that is gone; and we must

so work, that other poor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The

nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only

stronger; and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This

vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as

twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be

the growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as

his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that

he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than

brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can,

within limitations, appear at will when, and where, and ill any of the

forms that are to him; he can, within his range, direct the

elements; the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the

meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the bat- the moth, and the

fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small; and he can at times

vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strife to

destroy him? How shall we find his where, and having found it, how can

we destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terrible task that we

undertake, and there may be consequence to make the brave shudder. For

if we fail in this our fight he must surely win; and then where end

we? Life is nothings; I heed him not. But to fail here, is not mere

life or death. It is that we become as him; that we henceforward

become 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 for

ever 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's sunshine; an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we

are face to 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, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You

others are young. Some have seen sorrow; but there are fair days yet

in store. What say you?"

  Whilst he was speaking Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so

much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him

when I saw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its

touch- so strong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man's hand can

speak for itself, 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 I in 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

other reason."

  Dr. Dr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after

laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either

side. I took his right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan

held my right with his left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So

as we all took hands our solemn compact was made. I felt my heart

icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our

places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness

which showed that the serious work had 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

not without strength. We have on our side power of combination- a

power denied to the vampire kind; we have sources of science; we are

free to act 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 are free to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and

an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.

  "Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are

restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider

the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in

particular.

  "All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do

not at the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and

death- nay of more than either life or death. Yet must we be

satisfied; in the first place because we have to be- no other means is

at our control- and secondly, because, after all, these things-

tradition and superstition- are everything. Does not the belief in

vampires rest for others- though not, alas! for us- on them? A year

ago which of us would have received such a possibility, in the midst

of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We

even scouted a belief that we saw justified under our very eyes.

Take it, then, that the vampire, and the belief in his limitations and

his cure, rest for the moment on the same base. For, let me tell

you, he is known everywhere that men have been. In old Greece, in

old Rome; he nourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in

the Chersonese; and in China, so far from us in all ways, there even

is he, and the peoples fear him at this day. He have follow the wake

of the berserker Icelander, the devil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the

Saxon, the Magyar. So far, then, we have all we may act upon; and

let me tell you that very much of the beliefs are justified by what we

have seen in our own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, and

cannot die by mere passing of the time; he can flourish when that he

can fatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst

us that he can even grow younger; that his vital faculties grow

strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his special

pabulum is plenty. But he cannot flourish without this diet; he eat

not as others. Even friend Jonathan, 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 again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of

many of his hand- witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against

the wolfs, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can

transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in

Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw

him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from

this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window

of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create- that noble ship's

captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance he

can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He

come on moonlight rays as elemental dust- as again Jonathan saw

those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small- we

ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a

hairbreadth space at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his way,

come out from anything or into anything, no matter how close it be

bound or even fused up with fire-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 me through. He can do all these things, yet he

is not free. Nay; he is even more 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 obey some of nature's laws- why we

know not. He may not enter anywhere at the first, 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 does that of all evil

things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain times can he have

limited freedom. If Ire be not at the place whither he is bound, 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 by

inference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when

he have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place

unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at

Whitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come.

It is said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or

the flood of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that

he has no power, as the garlic that we know of, and as for things

scared, as this symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when

we resolve, to them he is nothing, but in their presence he take his

place far off and silent 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 his coffin keep him that he move not from it; a

sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill him so that he be true

dead; and as for the stake through him, 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

confine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know.

But he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth

University, to make his record; and, from all the means that are, he

tell me of what he has seen. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode

Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the

very frontier of Turkey-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 most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons

of the 'land beyond the forest.' That mighty brain and that iron

resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now arrayed

against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble

race, though now and again were scions who were held by their

coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his

secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake

Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In

the records are such words as 'stregoica'- witch, 'ordog,' and

'pokol'- Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is

spoken of as 'wampyr,' which we all understand too well. There have

been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and

their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can

dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing

is rooted deep in all 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 little pause, and then the Professor went on:-

  "And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we

must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of

Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all

of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some

of these boxes have been removed. It seems to the, that our first step

should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond

that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed.

If the latter, we must trace-"

  Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the

house came the sound of a pistol shot; the glass of the window was

shattered with a bullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the

embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at

heart a coward, for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their

feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As

he did so we heard Mr. Morris's voice without.-

  "Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you

about it." 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.

But the fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big

bat and sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damned

brutes from recent events that I cannot stand then, and I went out

to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings whenever I

have seen 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." Without

saying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume

his statement:-

  "We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must

either capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to

speak, 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 of noon 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, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good

time. We are men and are able to bear; but you must be our star and

our hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in the

danger, such as we are."

  All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem

to me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their

safety- strength being the best safety- through care of me; but

their minds 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

right now. Time is everything with him; and swift action on our part

may save another victim."

  I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came

so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if

I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even

leave me 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

can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and

pretend to 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, an

urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would

see him 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 the morning; I was busy just at the moment. The attendant added:-

  "He seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I

don't know but what, if you don't see him soon, he will have one of

his violent fits." I knew the man would not have said this without

some cause, so I said: "All right; I'll go now;" and I asked the

others to wait 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

your diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on

our case. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind is

disturbed."

  "May I come also?" asked Lord Godalming.

  "Me too?" said Quincey Morris. "May I come?" said Harker. I

nodded, and we all went down the passage together.

  We found him in a state of considerable excitement, but far more

rational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen him. There

was an unusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything I

had ever met with in a lunatic; and he took it for granted that his

reasons would prevail with others entirely sane, We all four went into

the room, but none of the others at first said anything. His request

was that I would at once release him from the asylum and send him

home. This he backed up with arguments regarding his complete

recovery, and adduced his own existing sanity. "I appeal to your

friends," he said, "they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment

on my case. By the way, you have not introduced me." I was so much

astonished, that the oddness of introducing 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 of the habit of equality, that

I at once made the introduction: "Lord Godalming; 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 the

Windham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no

more. He was a man loved and honoured by all who knew him; and in

his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much

patronised on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your

great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may

have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may

hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet

prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its

true place as a political fable. What shall any man say of his

pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping

all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has

revolutionised therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous

evolution of brain-matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since

they would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by

nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are

fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to

witness that I am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in

full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr.

Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as scientist, will deem

it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as under

exceptional circumstances." He made this last appeal with a courtly

air of conviction which was not without its own charm.

  I think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was under the

conviction, despite my knowledge of the man's character and history,

that his reason had been restored; and I felt under a strong impulse

to tell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity, and would see about

the necessary formalities for his release in the morning. I thought it

better to wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of

old I knew the sudden changes to which this particular patient was

liable. So I contented myself with making a general statement that

he appeared to be improving very rapidly; that I would have a longer

chat with him in the morning, and would then see what I could do in

the direction of meeting his wishes. This did not at all satisfy

him, for he said quickly:-

  "But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire

to go at once- here- now- this very hour- this very moment, if I

may. Time presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman

it is of the essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary

to put before so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet

so momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment." He looked at me

keenly, and seeing the negative in my face, turned to the others,

and scrutinised them 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

for this concession- boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to

implore in such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of

others. I am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons; but

you may, I assure you, take it from me that they are good ones,

sound and unselfish, and springing from the highest sense of duty.

Could you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full

the sentiments which animate me. Nay, more, you would count me amongst

the best and truest of your friends." Again he looked at us all

keenly. I had a growing conviction that this sudden change of his

entire intellectual method was but yet another form or phase of his

madness, and so determined to let him go on a little longer, knowing

from experience that he would, like all lunatics, give himself away in

the end. Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of the utmost

intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed

concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tone which did not

surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it afterwards- for

it was as of one addressing an equal:-

  "Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free

to-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, the privilege you seek." He shook his head sadly,

and with a look of poignant regret on his face. The Professor went

on:-

  "Come, sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in

the highest degree, since you seek to impress us with your complete

reasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt,

since you are not yet released from medical treatment for this very

defect. If you will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest

course, how can we perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be

wise, and help us; and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your

wish." He still shook his head as he said:-

  "Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is

complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate a

moment; but I am not my own master in the matter. I can only ask you

to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility does not rest with

me." I thought it was now time to end the scene, which was becoming

too comically grave, so I went towards 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. He moved towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared

that he was about to make another homicidal attack. My fears, however,

were groundless, for he held up his two hands imploringly, and made

his petition in a moving manner. As he saw that the very excess of his

emotion was militating against him, by restoring us more to our old

relations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van

Helsing, and saw my conviction reflected in his eyes; so I became a

little more fixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to him

that his efforts were unavailing. I had previously seen something of

the same constantly growing excitement in him when he had to make some

request of which at the time he had thought much, such, for

instance, as when he wanted a cat; and I was prepared to see the

collapse into the same sullen acquiescence on this occasion. My

expectation was not realised, for, when he found that his appeal would

not be successful, he got into quite a frantic condition. He threw

himself on his knees, and held up his hands, wringing them in

plaintive supplication, and poured forth a torrent of entreaty, with

the tear's rolling down his cheeks and his whole face and form

expressive of the deepest emotion:-

  "Let me entreat you. Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you to let me

out of 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 a strait-waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a goal; but

let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me

here. I am speaking from the depths of my heart- of my very soul.

You don't know whom 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 is lost- by your hope that lives- for the sake of the

Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can't you

hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you

know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad

fit, but a sane man fighting for 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 so would 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 enough

already. 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

the bed. The collapse had come, as on former occasion, just as I had

expected.

  When I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in a

quiet, well-bred voice:-

  "You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind,

later on, 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

easy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and well.

I am so 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 at all; but now that her work is done, and that it is due

to her energy and brains and foresight that the whole story is put

together in such a way that every point tells, she may well feel

that her part is finished, and that she can henceforth leave the

rest to us. We were, I think, all a little upset by the scene with Mr.

Renfield. When we came away from his room we were silent till we got

back to the study. Then Mr. Morris said to Dr. Seward:-

  "Say, Jack, if that man wasn't attempting a bluff, he is about the

sanest lunatic I ever saw. I'm not sure, but I believe that he had

some serious purpose, and if he had, it was pretty rough on him not to

get a chance." 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

last hysterical outburst have given him free. But we live and learn,

and in our 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 a dreamy kind of way:-

  "I don't know but that I agree with you. If that man had been an

ordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him; but

he seems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I am

afraid of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can't forget how

he prayed with almost equal fervour for a cat, and then tried to

tear my throat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the Count

'lord and master,' 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 help him, so I suppose he isn't above trying to use

a respectable lunatic. He certainly did seem earnest, though. I only

hope we have done what is best. These things, in conjunction with

the wild work we have in hand, help to unnerve a man." The Professor

stepped over, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said in his

grave, kindly way:-

  "Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very

sad and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else

have we to hope for, except the pity of the good God?" Lord

Godalming had slipped away for a few minutes, but he now returned.

He held up a little silver whistle as he remarked:-

  "That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an antidote

on call." Having passed the wall, we took our way to the house, taking

care to keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the

moonlight shone out. When we got to the porch the Professor opened his

bag and took out a lot of things, which he laid on the step, sorting

them into four little groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke:-

  "My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need arms

of many kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember that he has

the strength of twenty men, and that, though our necks or our

windpipes are of the common kind- and therefore breakable or

crushable- his are not amenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a

body of men more strong in all than him, can at certain times hold

him; but yet they cannot hurt him as we can be hurt by him. We must,

therefore, guard ourselves from his touch. Keep this near your heart"-

as he spoke he lifted a little silver crucifix and held it out to

me, I being nearest to him- "put these flowers round your neck"-

here he handed to me a wreath of withered garlic blossoms- "for

other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this knife; and for

aid in all, these small electric lamps, which you can fasten to your

breast; and for all, and above all at the last, this, which we must

not desecrate needless." This was a portion of Sacred Wafer, which

he put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the others was

similarly equipped. "Now," he said, "friend John, where are the

skeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break

house by the window, as before at Miss Lucy's."

  Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical

dexterity as a surgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he got

one to suit; after a little play back and forward the bolt yielded,

and, with a rusty clang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the

rusty hinges creaked, and it slowly opened. It was startlingly like

the image conveyed to me in Dr. Seward's diary of the opening of

Miss Westenra's tomb; I fancy that the same idea seemed to strike

the others, for with one accord they shrank back. The Professor was

the first to move forward, and stepped into the open door.

  "In manus tuas, Domine!" he said, crossing himself as he passed over

the threshold. We closed the door behind us, lest when we should

have lit our lamps we should possibly attract attention from the road.

The Professor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not be able to

open it from within should we be in a hurry making our exit. Then we

all lit our lamps and proceeded on our search.

  The light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd forms, as the

rays crossed each other, or the opacity of our bodies threw great

shadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling that

there was some one else amongst us. I suppose it was the recollection,

so powerfully brought home to me by the grim surroundings, of that

terrible experience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common to

us all, for I noticed that the others kept looking over their

shoulders at every sound and every new shadow, just as I felt myself

doing.

  The whole place was thick with dust. The floor was seemingly

inches deep, except where there were recent footsteps, in which on

holding down my lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust

was cracked. The walls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the

corners were masses of spider's webs, whereon the dust had gathered

till they looked like old tattered rags as the weight had torn them

partly down. On a table in the hall was a great bunch of keys, with

a time-yellowed label on each. They had been used several times, for

on the table were several similar rents in the blanket of dust,

similar to that exposed when the Professor lifted them. He turned to

me and said:-

  "You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and

you know it at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?"

I had an idea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not

been able to get admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few

wrong turnings found 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 small map of the house, copied from the file of

my original correspondence regarding the purchase. With a little

trouble we found the key on the bunch and opened the door. We were

prepared for some unpleasantness, for as we were opening the door a

faint, malodorous air seemed to exhale through the gaps, but none of

us even expected such an odour as we encountered. None of the others

had met the Count at all at close quarters, and when I had seen him he

was either in the fasting stage of his existence in his rooms or, when

he was gloated with fresh blood, in a ruined building open to the air;

but here the place was small and close, and the long disuse had made

the air stagnant and foul. There was an earthy smell, as of some dry

miasma, which came through the fouler air. But as to the odour itself,

now shall I describe it? It was not alone that it was composed of

all the ills of mortality and with the pungent, acrid smell of

blood, but it seemed as though corruption had become itself corrupt.

Faugh! it sickens me to think of it. Every breath exhaled by that

monster seemed to have clung to the place and intensified its

loathsomeness.

  Under ordinary circumstances such a stench would have brought our

enterprise to an end; but this was no ordinary case, and the high

and terrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a strength

which rose above merely physical considerations. After the involuntary

shrinking consequent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set

about our work as though that loathsome place were a garden of roses.

  We made an accurate examination of the place, and Professor saying

as we began:-

  "The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left; we must

then examine every hole and corner and cranny and see if we cannot get

some clue as to what has become of the rest." A glance was

sufficient to show how many remained, for the great earth chests

were bulky, and there was no 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

vaulted door into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and for an

instant my heart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from the

shadow, I seemed to see the high lights of the Count's evil face,

the ridge of the nose, the red 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 the shadows," 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 there were no corners, no doors, no

aperture of any kind, but only the solid walls of the passage, there

could be no hiding-place even for him. I took it that fear had

helped imagination, and said nothing.

  A few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from a corner,

which he was examining. We all followed his movements with our eyes,

for undoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and we saw a whole

mass of phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all

instinctively drew back. The whole place was becoming alive with rats.

  For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming,

who was seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to

the great iron-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 the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his

little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call.

It was answered from behind Dr. Seward's house by the yelping of dogs,

and after about a minute three terriers came dashing round the

corner of the house. Unconsciously we had all moved towards the

door, and as we moved I noticed that the dust had been much disturbed:

the boxes which had been taken out had been brought this way. But even

in the minute that had elapsed the number of the rats had vastly

increased. They seemed to swarm over the place all at once, till the

lamplight, shining on their moving dark bodies and glittering, baleful

eyes, made the place look like a bank of earth set with fireflies. The

dogs dashed on, but at the threshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and

then, simultaneously lifting their noses, began to howl in most

lugubrious fashion. The rats were multiplying in thousands, and we

moved out.

  Lord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him in, placed

him on the floor. The instant his feet touched the ground he seemed to

recover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies. They fled

before him so fast that before he had shaken the life out of a

score, the other dogs, who had by now been lifted in in the same

manner, had but small prey ere the whole mass had vanished.

  With their going it seemed as if some evil presence had departed,

for the dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they made sudden

darts at their prostrate foes, and turned them over and over and

tossed them in the air with vicious shakes. We all seemed to find

our spirits rise. Whether it was the purifying of the deadly

atmosphere by the opening of the chapel door, or the relief which we

experienced by finding ourselves in the open I know not; but most

certainly the shadow of dread seemed to slip from us like a robe,

and the occasion of our coming lost something of its grim

significance, though we did not slacken a whit in our resolution. We

closed the outer door and barred and locked it, and bringing the

dogs with us, began our search of the house. We found nothing

throughout except dust in extraordinary proportions, and all untouched

save for my own footsteps when I had made my first visit. Never once

did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even when we

returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had been

rabbit-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, and locked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key into

his pocket when he had done.

  "So far," he said, "our night has been eminently successful. No harm

has come to us such as I feared might be and yet we have ascertained

how many boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice that this,

our first- and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous- step has been

accomplished without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam

Mina or troubling her walking or sleeping thoughts with sights and

sounds and smells of horror which she might never forget. One

lesson, too, we have learned, if it be allowable to argue a

particulari: that the brute beasts which are to the Count's command

are yet themselves not amenable to his spiritual power; for look,

these rats that would come to his call, just as from his castle top he

summon the wolves to your going and to that poor mother's cry,

though they come to him, they run pell-mell from the so little dogs of

my friend Arthur. We have other matters before us, other dangers,

other fears; and that monster- he has not used his 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 opportunity to cry 'check'

in some ways in this chess game, which we play for the stake 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 be

ordained 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

who was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning

sound from 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 so

softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler

than usual. I hope the meeting to-night has not upset her. I am

truly thankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even

of our deliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear.

I did not think so at first, but I know better now. Therefore I am

glad that it is settled. There may be things which would frighten

her to hear; and yet to conceal them from her might be worse than to

tell her if once she suspected that there was any concealment.

Henceforth our work is to be a sealed book to her, till at least

such time as we can tell her that all is finished, and the earth

free from a monster of the nether world. I daresay it will be

difficult to begin to keep silence after such confidence as ours;

but I must be resolute, and to-morrow I shall keep dark over

to-night's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that has

happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.



  1 October, later.- I suppose it was natural that we should have

all overslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and the night had

no rest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for though

I slept till the sun was high, I was awake before her, and had to call

two or three times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep

that for a few seconds she did not recognize me, but looked at me with

a sort of blank terror, as one looks who has been waked out of a bad

dream. She complained a little of being tired, and I let her rest till

later in the day. We now know of twenty one boxes having been removed,

and if it be that several were taken in any of these removals we may

be able to trace them all. Such will, of course, immensely simplify

our labour, and the sooner the matter is attended to the better. I

shall look up Thomas Snelling to-day.





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  1 October.- it was towards noon when I was awakened by the Professor

walking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful than usual, and

it is quite evident that last night's work has helped to take some

of the brooding weight off his mind. After going over the adventure of

the night he suddenly said:-

  "Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit him

this morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if it

may be. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk

philosophy, and reason sound." I had some work to do which pressed, so

I told him that if he would go alone I would be glad, as then I should

not have to keep him waiting; so I called an attendant and gave him

the necessary instructions. Before the Professor left the room I

cautioned him against getting any false impression from my patient.

"But," he answered, "I want him to talk of himself and of his delusion

as to consuming live things. He said to Madam Mina, as I see in your

diary of yesterday, that he 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 the

type-written matter. "When our sane and learned lunatic made that very

statement of how he used to consume life, his mouth was actually

nauseous 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 it is this very obliquity of thought and memory

which makes mental disease such a fascinating study. Perhaps I may

gain more knowledge out of the folly 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 in hand. It seemed that the

time had been very short indeed, but there was Van Helsing back in the

study. "Do I interrupt?" he asked politely as he stood 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, with his elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture

of sullen discontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and

with such a measure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply

whatever. "Don't you know me?" I asked. His answer was not reassuring:

"I know you well enough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish

you would take yourself and your idiotic brain theories somewhere

else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!" Not a word more would he say,

but sat in his implacable sullenness as indifferent to the as though I

had not been ill the room at all. Thus departed for this time my

chance of much learning from this so clever lunatic; so I shall go, if

I may, and cheer myself with a few happy words with that sweet soul

Madam Mina. Friend John, it does rejoice me unspeakable that she is no

more to be pained, no more to be worried, with our terrible things.

Though we shall much miss her help, it is better so."

  "I agree with you with all my heart," I answered earnestly, for I

did not 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 have been 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 time infallibly have wrecked her."

  So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker;

Quincey and Art are all out following up the clues as to the

earth-boxes. I shall 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 him

manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all.

This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and

though Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me

before he went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never

mentioned a word of what had happened in the visit to the Count's

house. And yet he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor

dear fellow! I suppose it must have distressed him even more than it

did me. They all agreed that it was best that I should not be drawn

further into this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think that he

keeps anything from me! And now I am crying like a silly fool, when

I know it comes from my husband's great love and from the good, good

wishes of those other strong men...

  That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all, and

lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept

anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has

feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my

heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and

low-spirited to-day. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible

excitement.

  Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because

they told me to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of

devouring anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been

ever since Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like

a horrible tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some

destined end. Everything that one does seems, no matter how right it

may be, to bring on the very thing which is most to be deplored. If

I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us

now. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if

she hadn't come there in the day-time with me she wouldn't have walked

there in her sleep; and if she hadn't gone there at night 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 what has

come over me today. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew

that I had been crying twice in one morning- I, who never cried on

my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear- the

dear fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on,

and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is one

of the lessons that we poor women have to learn...

  I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember

hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like

praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which is

somewhere under this. And then there was silence over everything,

silence so profound 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 moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a

thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death

or fate; so that a thin streak of white mist, that crept with almost

imperceptible slowness across the grass towards the house, seemed to

have a sentience and a vitality of its own. I think that the

digression of my thoughts must have done me good, for when I got

back to bed I found a lethargy creeping over me. I lay a while, but

could not quite sleep, so I got out and looked out of the window

again. The mist was spreading, and was now close up to the house, so

that I could see it lying thick against the wall, as though it were

stealing up to the windows. The poor man was more 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 on his part. Then

there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that the attendants were

dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept into bed, 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 have

fallen asleep, for, except dreams, I do not remember anything until

the morning, when Jonathan woke me. I think that it took me an

effort and a little time to realise where I was, and that it was

Jonathan who was bending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and

was almost typical of the way that waking thoughts become merged in,

or continued in, dreams.

  I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come

back. I was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act; my

feet, and my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing

could proceed at the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and

thought. Then it began to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and

dank, and cold. I put back the clothes from my face, and found, to

my surprise, that all was dim around. The gas-light which I had left

lit for Jonathan, but turned down, came only like a tiny red spark

through the fog, which had evidently grown thicker and poured into the

room. There it occurred to me that I had shut the window before I

had come to bed. I would have got out to make certain on the point,

but some leaden lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even my will.

I lay still and endured; that was all. I closed my eyes, but could

still see through my eyelids. (it is wonderful what tricks our

dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.) The mist grew

thicker and thicker, and I could see now how it came in, for I could

see it like smoke- or with the white energy of boiling water-

pouring in, not through the window, but through the joinings of the

door. It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as if it became

concentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the

top of which I could see the light of the gas shining like a red

eye. Things began to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy

column was now whirling in the room, and through it all came the

scriptural words "a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night."

Was it indeed some such spiritual guidance that was coming to me in my

sleep? But the pillar was composed of both the day and the

night-guiding, for the fire was in the red eye, which at the thought

got a new fascination for me; till, as I looked, the fire divided, and

seemed to shine on me through the fog like two red eyes, such as

Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on the

cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's Church.

Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan had

seen those awful women growing into reality throught the whirling mist

in the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all

became black darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination

made was to show me a livid white face bending over me out of the

mist. I must be careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's

reason if there were too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing

or Dr. Seward to prescribe something for me which would make me sleep,

only that I fear to alarm them. Such a dream at the present time would

become woven into their fears for me. To-night I shall strive hard

to sleep naturally. If I do not, I shall to-morrow night get them to

give me a dose of chloral; that cannot hurt me for once, and it will

give me a good night's sleep. Last night 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

have slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed; but

the sleep has not refreshed me, for to-day I feel terribly weak and

spiritless. 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 was very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and

bade God bless me. Some way it affected me much; I am crying when I

think of him. This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful.

Jonathan would be miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the

others were out until dinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did

what I could to brighten them up, and I suppose that the effort did me

good, for I forgot how tired I was. After dinner they sent me to

bed, and all went off to smoke together, as they said, but I knew that

they wanted to tell each other of what had occurred to each during the

day; I could see from Jonathan's manner that he had something

important to communicate. I was not so sleepy as I should have been;

so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to give me a little opiate of

some kind, as I had not slept well the night before. He very kindly

made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to me, telling me that it

would do me no harm, as it was very mild... I have taken it, and am

waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope I have not done

wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes: that

I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the power of

waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Goodnight.

                             CHAPTER XX.

                      JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL.



  1 October, evening.- I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal

Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything.

The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him

had proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected

debauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent,

poor soul, that he was only the assistant to Smollet, who of the two

mates was the responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and

found Mr. Joseph Smollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a

late tea out of a saucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow,

distinctly a good, reliable type of workman, and with a headpiece of

his own. He remembered all about the incident of the boxes, and from a

wonderful dog's-eared notebook, which he produced from some mysterious

receptable about the seat of his trousers, and which had

hieroglyphical entries in thick, half-obliterated pencil, he gave me

the destinations of the boxes. There were, he said, six in the

cartload which he took from Carfax and left at 197, Chicksand

Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which he deposited at

Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to scatter these

ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were chosen as the

first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more fully. The

systematic manner in which this was done made me think that he could

not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now fixed

on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern

shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to

be left out of his diabolical scheme- let alone the City itself and

the very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west. I

went back to Smollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other

boxes had been taken from Carfax.

  He replied:-

  "Well, guv'nor, you've treated me wery' an'some"- I had given him

half a sovereign- "an' I'll tell yer all I know I heard a man by the

name of Bloxam 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 at Purfect. 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 me where to find him. I told him that if he could get me

the address it would be worth another half-sovereign to him. So he

gulped down the rest of his tea and stood up, saying that he was going

to begin the search then and there. At the door he stopped, and said:-

  "Look 'ere, guv'nor, there ain't no sense in me a-keepin' you

'ere. I may find Sam soon, or I mayn't; but anyhow he ain't like to be

in a way to 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 on it, I'll find out where Sam is to be found and post

it ye to-night. But ye'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

to buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change.

When she came back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it, and

when Smollet had again faithfully promised to post the address when

found, I took my way to 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 as though she had been crying. Poor dear, I've

no doubt it frets her to be kept in the dark, and it may make her

doubly anxious about me and the others. But it is best as it is. It is

better to be disappointed and worried in such a way now than to have

her nerve broken. The doctors were quite right to insist on her

being kept out of this dreadful business. I must be firm, for on me

this particular burden of silence must rest. I shall not ever enter on

the subject with her under any circumstances. Indeed, it may not be

a hard task, after all, for she herself has become reticent on the

subject, and has not spoken of the Count or his doings ever since we

told her of our decision.



  2 October, evening.- A long and trying and exciting day. By the

first post I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper

enclosed, on which was written with a carpenter's pencil in a

sprawling hand:-

  "Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4, Poters Cort, Bartel Street, Walworth. Arsk

for the depite."

  I got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She looked

heavy and 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 for her 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 and in ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a

moment, and told him where I was off to, promising to come back and

tell the rest so soon as I should have found out anything. I drove

to Walworth and found, with some difficulty, Potter's Court. Mr.

Smollet's spelling misled me, as I asked for Poter's Court instead

of Potter's Court. However, when I had found the 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 his head, 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 nobody of

that kind livin 'ere or anywheres." I took out Smollet's letter, and

as I read it it seemed to me that the lesson of the spelling of the

name of 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 right

track, phonetic spelling had again misled me. A half-crown tip put the

deputy's knowledge at my disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam,

who had slept off the remains of his beer on the previous night at

Corcoran's, had left for his work at Poplar at five o'clock that

morning. He could not tell me where the place of work was situated,

but he 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

twelve o'clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a

building, and this I got at a coffee-shop, where some workmen were

having their dinner. One of these suggested that there was being

erected at Cross Angel Street a new "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 surly gatekeeper and a surlier

foreman, both of whom were appeased with the coin of the realm, put me

on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on my suggesting that I was

willing to pay his day's wages to his foreman for the privilege of

asking him a few questions on a private matter. He was a smart

enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had promised

to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me that

he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly, and

had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes- "main

heavy ones"- with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. I

asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly,

to which he replied:-

  "Well, guv'nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few doors

from a big white church or somethink of the kind, not long built. It

was a dusty old 'ouse, too, though nothin' to the dustiness of the

'ouse we tooked 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 at

Purfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray.

Curse me, 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 throw a shadder."

  How this phrase thrilled through me!

  "Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of tea,

and me a-puffin' an' a-blowin' afore I could up-end mine anyhow- an'

I'm no chicken, 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,

for when I rung of the bell he kem an' opened the door 'isself an'

'elped me to 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

was main dry work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I got 'ome." I

interrupted him:-

  "Were the boxes left in the hall?"

  "Yus; it was a big 'all, an' there was nothin' else in it." I made

one more attempt to further matters:-

  "You didn't have any key?"

  "Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door

'isself an' shut it again when I druv off. I don't remember the last

time- but that 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 'un with a stone front with a bow on it, an' 'igh steps up to the

door. I know them steps, 'avin 'ad to carry the boxes up with three

loafers what 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 them by the shoulder and was like to throw 'im down the

steps, till the lot of them went away cussin'." I thought that with

this description I could find the house, so, having paid my friend for

his information, I started off for Piccadilly. I had gained a new

painful experience; the Count could, it was evident, handle the

earth-boxes himself! If so, time was precious; for, now that he had

achieved a certain amount of distribution, he could, by choosing his

own time, complete the task unobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I

discharged my cab, and walked westward; beyond the Junior

Constitutional I came across the house described, and was satisfied

that this was the next of the lairs arranged by Dracula. The house

looked as though it had been long untenanted. The windows were

encrusted with dust, and the shutters were up. All the framework was

black with time, and from the iron the paint had mostly scaled away.

It was evident that up to lately there had been a large notice-board

in front of the balcony; it had, however, been roughly 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 have been able

to see the notice-board intact, as it would, perhaps, have given

some clue to the owner-ship of the house. I remembered my experience

of the investigation and purchase of Carfax, and I could not but

feel that if I could find the former owner there might be some means

discovered of gaining access to the house.

  There was at present nothing to be learned from the Piccadilly side,

and nothing could be done; so I went round to the back to see if

anything could be gathered from this quarter. The mews were active,

the Piccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked one or two

of the grooms and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me

anything about the empty house. One of them said that he heard it

had lately been taken, but he couldn't say from whom. He told me,

however, that up to very lately there had been a notice-board of

"For Sale" up, and that perhaps Mitchell, Sons, & Candy, the house

agents, could tell me something, as he thought he remembered seeing

the name of that firm on the board. I did not wish to seem too

eager, or to let my informant know or guess too much, so, thanking him

in the usual manner, I strolled away. It was now growing dusk, and the

autumn night was closing in, so I did not lose any time. Having

learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy from a directory at the

Berkeley, I was soon at their office in Sackville Street.

  The gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, but

uncommunicative in equal proportion. Having once told me that the

Piccadilly house- which throughout our interview he called a

"mansion"- was sold, he considered my business as concluded. When I

asked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and

paused a few seconds before replying:-

  "It is sold, sir."

  "Pardon me," I said, with equal politeness, "but I have a special

reason for 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 are

absolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy." This was

manifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no use arguing

with him. 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

their confidence. 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 of Lord Godalming, who wishes to know something of the

property which was, he understood, lately for sale." These words put a

different complexion on affairs. He said:-

  "I would like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and especially

would I like to oblige his lordship. We once carried out a small

matter of renting some chambers for him when he was the Honourable

Arthur Holmwood. If you will let me have his lordship's address I will

consult the House on the subject, and will in any case, communicate

with his lordship by to-night's post. It will be a pleasure if we

can so far deviate from our rules as to give the required

information to his lordship."

  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 I was tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the

Aerated Bread Company and came down to Purfleet by the next train.

  I found all the others at home. Mina was looking tired and pale, but

she made a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful; it wrung my heart

to think that I had had to keep anything from her and so caused her

inquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of her looking on

at our conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our

confidence. It took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution of

keeping her out of our grim task. She seems somehow more reconciled;

or else the very subject seems to have become repugnant to her, for

when any accidental allusion is made she actually shudders. I am

glad we made our resolution in time, as with such a feeling as this,

our growing knowledge 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

even amongst 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 me as though she would detain me; but there was much to be

talked of and I came away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things

has made no difference between us.

  When I came down again I found the others all gathered round the

fire in the study. In the train I had written my diary so far, and

simply read it off to them as the best means of letting them get

abreast of my own information; when I had finished Van Helsing said:-

  "This has been a great day's work, friend Jonathan. Doubtless we are

on the track of the missing boxes. If we find them all in that

house, then our work is near the end. But if there be some missing, we

must search until we find them. Then shall we make our final coup, and

hunt the wretch 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

night and a walled park to protect us. It will be a mighty different

thing to commit burglary in Piccadilly, either by day or night. I

confess I don't see how we are going to get in unless that agency duck

can find us a key of some sort; perhaps we shall know when you get his

letter in the morning." Lord Godalming's brows contracted, and he

stood up and walked about the room. By-and-by he stopped and said,

turning from one to another of us:-

  "Quincey's head is level. This burglary business is getting serious;

we got off once all right; but we have now a rare job on hand-

unless we can find the Count's key basket."

  As nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be

at least advisable to wait till Lord Godalming should hear from

Mitchell's, we decided not to take any active step before breakfast

time. For a good while we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in its

various lights and bearings; I took the opportunity of bringing this

diary right up to the moment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed...

  Just a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her breathing is regular. Her

forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though she thinks

even in her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look so haggard

as she did this morning. Tomorrow will, I hope, mend all this; she

will be herself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy!





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  1 October- I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His moods change so

rapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as they

always mean something more than his own well-being, they form a more

than interesting study. This morning, when I went to see him after his

repulse of Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man commanding

destiny. He was, in fact, commanding destiny- subjectively. He did not

really care for any of the things of mere earth; he was in the

clouds and looked down on all the weaknesses and wants of us poor

mortals. I thought I would improve the occasion and learn something,

so I asked him:-

  "What about the flies these times?" He smiled on me in quite a

superior sort of way- such a smile as would have become the face of

Malvolio- as he answered me:-

  "The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature; its wings are

typical of the aerial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients

did well when they typified the soul as a butterfly!"

  I thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I

said quickly:-

  "Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?" His madness foiled

his reason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as, shaking his

head with 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

brightened up; "I am pretty indifferent about it at present. Life is

all right; I have all I want. You must get a new patient, doctor, if

you wish to study zoophagy!"

  This puzzled me a little, so I drew him on:-

  "Then you command life; you are a god I suppose?" He smiled with

an ineffably benign superiority.

  "Oh no! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the attributes of

the Deity. I am not even concerned in His especially spiritual doings.

If I may state my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns

things purely terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch

occupied spiritually!" This was a poser to me. I could not at the

moment recall Enoch's appositeness; so I had to ask a simple question,

though I felt that 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

not like 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 put my question quickly and somewhat sternly, on purpose to

disconcert him. The effort succeeded; for an instant he

unconsciously relapsed into his old servile manner, bent low before

me, and actually fawned upon me as he replied:-

  "I don't want any souls, indeed, indeed! I don't. I couldn't use

them if I had them; they would be no manner of use to me. I couldn't

eat them or-" he suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over

his face, like a wind-sweep on the surface of the water. "And

doctor, as to life, what is it after all? When you've got all you

require, and you know that you will never want, that is all. I have

friends- good friends- like you Dr. Seward;" this was said with a leer

of inexpressible cunning, "I know that I shall never lack the means of

life!"

  I think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw some

antagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last refuge of

such as he- a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the

present it was 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 come

without special reason, but just at present I am so interested in

him that I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to have

anything to help to pass the time. Harker is out, following up

clues; and so are Lord Godalming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in my

study poring over the record prepared by the Harkers; he seems to

think that by accurate knowledge of all details he will light upon

some clue. He does not wish to be disturbed in the work, without

cause. I would have taken him with me to see the patient, only I

thought that after his last repulse he might not care to go again.

There was also another reason: Renfield might not speak so freely

before a third person as when he and I were alone.

  I found him sitting out in the middle of the floor on his stool, a

pose which is generally indicative of some mental energy on his

part. When I came in, he said at once, as though the question had been

waiting on his lips:-

  "What about souls?" It was evident then that my surmise had been

correct. Unconscious cerebration was doing its work, even with the

lunatic. I determined to have the matter out. "What about them

yourself?" I asked. He did not reply for a moment but looked all round

him, and up and down, as though he expected to find some inspiration

for an answer.

  "I don't want any souls!" he said in a feeble, apologetic way. The

matter seemed preying on his mind, and so I determined to use it- to

"be cruel 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 soul

also?" This seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it up:-

  "A nice time you'll have some time when you're flying out there,

with the souls of thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats

buzzing and twittering and miauing all round you. You've got their

lives, you know, and you must put up with their souls!" Something

seemed to affect his 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 being soaped. There was something pathetic in it that

touched me; it also gave me 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. It was evident that he was undergoing

some process of mental disturbance, and, knowing how his past moods

had interpreted things seemingly foreign to himself, I thought I would

enter into his mind as well as I could and go 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

to wake 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

them to eat or"- he stopped suddenly, as though reminded of a

forbidden topic.

  "So, so!" I thought to myself, "this is the second time he has

suddenly stopped at the word 'drink;' what does it mean?" Renfield

seemed himself aware of having made a lapse, for he hurried on, as

though to distract my attention from it:-

  "I don't take any stock at all in such matters. 'Rats and mice and

such small deer,' as Shakespeare has it, 'chicken-feed of the

larder' they might be called. I'm past all that sort of nonsense.

You might as well ask a man to eat molecules with a pair of

chop-sticks, as to try to interest me about the lesser carnivora, when

I know of what is before me."

  "I see," I said. "You want big things that you can make your teeth

meet in? How would you like to breakfast on elephant?"

  "What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!" He was getting too

wide awake, so I thought I would press him hard. "I wonder," I said

reflectively, "what an elephant's soul is like!"

  The effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from his

high-horse and became a child again.

  "I don't want an elephant's soul, or, any soul at all!" he said.

For a few moments he sat despondently. Suddenly he jumped to his feet,

with his eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral

excitement. "To hell with you and your souls!" he shouted. "Why do you

plague me about souls. 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 was in 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

so worried in my mind that I am apt to be irritable. If you only

knew the problem I have to face, and that I am working out, you

would pity, and tolerate, and pardon me. Pray do not put me in a

strait-waistcoat. I want to think and I cannot think freely when my

body is confined. I am sure you will understand!" He had evidently

self-control; so when the attendants came I told them not to mind, and

they withdrew. Renfield watched them go; when the door was closed he

said, with considerable dignity and sweetness:-

  "Dr. Seward you have been very considerate towards me. Believe me

that I am very, very grateful to you!" I thought it well to leave

him in this mood, and so I came away. There is certainly something

to ponder over in this man's state. Several points seem to make what

the American interviewer 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 being

haunted by their souls.

  Logically all these things point one way! he has assurance of some

kind that he will acquire some higher life. He dreads the consequence-

the burden 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 of terror afoot!



  Later.- I went after my round to Van Helsing and told him my

suspicion. He grew very grave; and, after thinking the matter over for

a while asked me to take him to Renfield. I did so. As we came to

the door we heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as he used to do

in the time which now seems so long ago. When we entered we saw with

amazement that he had spread out his sugar as of old; the flies,

lethargic with the autumn, were beginning to buzz into the room. We

tried to make him talk of the subject of our previous conversation,

but he would not attend. He went on with his singing, just as though

we had not been present. He had got a scrap of paper and was folding

it into a note-book. We had to come away 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,

with regard to the desire of your Lordship, expressed by Mr. Harker on

your behalf, to supply the following information concerning the sale

and purchase of No. 347 Piccadilly. The original vendors are the

executors of the late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser

is a foreign nobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the purchase

himself paying the purchase money in notes 'over the counter,' if your

Lordship will pardon us using so vulgar an expression. Beyond this

we know nothing whatever of 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 to make an accurate note of any sound he might hear from

Renfield's room, and gave him instructions that if there should be

anything strange he was to call me. After dinner, when we had all

gathered round the fire in the study- Mrs. Harker having gone to

bed- we discussed the attempts and 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 in

through the observation trap. He was sleeping soundly, and his heart

rose and fell with regular respiration.

  This morning the man on duty reported to me that a little after

midnight he was restless and kept saying his prayers somewhat

loudly. I asked him if that was all; he replied that it was all he

heard. There was something about his manner so suspicious that I asked

him point blank if he had been asleep. He denied sleep, but admitted

to having "dozed" for a while. It is too bad that men cannot be

trusted unless they are watched.

  To-day Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey

are looking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be well to

have horses always in readiness, for when we get the information which

we seek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilise all the

imported earth between sunrise and sunset; we shall thus catch the

Count at his weakest, and without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is

off to the British Museum looking up some authorities on ancient

medicine. The old physicians took account of things which their

followers do not accept, and the Professor is searching for witch

and demon cures which may be useful to us later.

  I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to

sanity in strait-waistcoats.



  Later.- We have met again. We seem at last to be on the track, and

our work of to-morrow may be the beginning of the end. I wonder if

Renfield's quiet has anything to do with this. His moods have so

followed the doings of the Count, that the coming destruction of the

monster may be carried to him in some subtle way. If we could only get

some hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time of my

argument with him to-day and his resumption of fly-catching, it

might afford us a valuable clue. He is now seemingly quiet for a

spell... Is he?- that wild yell seemed to come from his room.

  The attendant came bursting into my room and told me that Renfield

had somehow met with some accident. He had heard him yell; and when he

went to 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 well

as I can remember it, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that

I can 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 his

left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, it

became at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries;

there seemed none of that unity of purpose between the parts of the

body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I

could see that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten

against the floor- indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of

blood originated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body

said to me as we turned him over:-

  "I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg

and the whole side of his face are paralysed." How such a thing

could have happened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed

quite bewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said:-

  "I can't understand the two things. He could mark his face like that

by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once

at the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I

suppose he might have broken his neck by falling out of bed, if he got

in an awkward kink. But for the life of me I can't imagine how the two

things occurred. If his back was broke, he couldn't beat his head; and

if his face was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be

marks of it." I said to him:-

  "Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I

want him without an instant's delay." The man ran off, and within a

few minutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers appeared.

When he saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment

and then turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eyes,

for he said very quietly manifestly for the ears of the attendant:-

  "Ah a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and much

attention. 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

that he had suffered some terrible injury. Van Helsing returned with

extraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had

evidently been thinking and had his mind made up; for, almost before

he looked at the patient, he whispered to me:-

  "Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he

becomes conscious, after the operation." So I said:-

  "I think that will do now Simmons. We have done all that we can at

present. 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 were superficial; the real injury

was a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through

the motor area. The Professor thought a moment and said:-

  "We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as

far as can be; the rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature

of his injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of

the brain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may

be too late." As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door.

I went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur

and Quincey 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. Things are moving too quickly and too strangely for sound

sleep for any of us these times. I've been thinking that to-morrow

night will not see things as they have been. We'll have to look

back- and forward a little more than we have done. May we come in?"

I nodded, and held the door open till they had entered; then I

closed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state of the

patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he said softly:-

  "My God! what has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!" I told him

briefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness

after the operation- for a short time at all events. He went at once

and sat down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him; we all

watched in patience.

  "We shall wait," said Van Helsing, "just long enough to fix the

best spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly

remove the blood clot; for it is evident that the haemorrhage is

increasing."

  The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I

had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing's face I

gathered that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to

come. I dreaded the 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 men who have heard the death-watch. The

poor man's breathing came in uncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed

as though he would open his eyes and speak, but then would follow a

prolonged stertorous breath, and he would relapse into a more fixed

insensibility. Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this suspense

grew, and grew upon me. I could almost hear the beating of my own

heart; and the blood surging through my temples sounded like blows

from a hammer. The silence finally became agonising. I looked at my

companions, one after another, and saw from their flushed faces and

damp brows that they were enduring equal torture. There was a

nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead some dread bell would

peal out powerfully when we should least expect it.

  At last there came a time when it was evident that the patient was

sinking fast; he might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor

and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as he

spoke:-

  "There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives; I have

been 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 the

breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath so

prolonged 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

glad surprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief. He moved

convulsively and as he did so, said:-

  "I'll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the

strait-waistcoat. I have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so

weak that I cannot move. What's wrong with my face? it feels all

swollen, and it smarts dreadfully." He tried to turn his head; but

even with the effort his eyes seemed to grow glassy again, so I gently

put it back. Then Van Helsing said in a quiet grave tone:-

  "Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield." As he heard the voice his face

brightened through its mutilation, and he said:-

  "That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give

me some water, my lips are dry; and I shall try to tell you. I

dreamed"- he stopped and seemed fainting, I called quietly to Quincey-

"The brandy- 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 parched lips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however,

that his poor injured brain had been working in the interval, for,

when he was quite conscious, he looked at me piercingly with an

agonised confusion which I shall 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 two figures 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

his eyes closed- not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though

he were bringing 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 brandy again. I have something that I must say before I die; or

before my poor crushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night

after you left me, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn't

speak then, for I felt my tongue was tied; but I was as sane then,

except in that way, as I am now. I was in an agony of despair for a

long time after you left me; it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden

peace to me. My brain seemed to become cool again, and I realised

where I was. I heard the dogs bark behind our house, but not where

He was!" As he spoke Van Helsing's eyes never blinked, but his hand

came out and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not, however, betray

himself, he nodded slightly and 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 a man's when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp

white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back

over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't ask

him to come in at 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." He was interrupted by a word from the Professor:-

  "How?"

  "By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when

the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on

their wings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and crossbones on

their backs." Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me

unconsciously:-

  "The Acherontia Aiettropos 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 cats

too. All lives! all red blood, with years of life in it; and not

merely buzzing 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. He beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He

raised his hands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A

dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame

of fire; and then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could

see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red-

like His, only smaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and

I thought He seemed to be saying: 'All these lives will I give you,

ay, and many more and greater, through countless ages, if you will

fall down and worship me!' And then a red cloud, like the colour of

blood, seemed to close over my eyes; and before I knew what I was

doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to Him: 'Come in,

Lord and Master!' The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room

through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide- just as the

Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood

before me in all her size and splendour."

  His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again,

and he continued; but it seemed as though his memory had gone on

working in the interval for his story was further advanced. I was

about to call him back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to

me: "Let him go on. Do not interrupt him; he cannot go back, and

may-be could not proceed at all if 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,

not even 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 even knock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and

his white face looked out of the mist with his red eyes gleaming,

and he went on as though he owned the whole place, and I was no one.

He didn't even smell the same as 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

behind him 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

without noticing:-

  "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

the same. I don't care for the pale people; I like them with lots of

blood in them, and hers had all seemed to have run out. I didn't think

of it at the time; but when she went away I began to think, and it

made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of her." I

could feel that the rest quivered, as I did; but we remained otherwise

still. "So when He came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist

stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have

unnatural strength; and as 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 struggle with me. I held tight; and I thought I was

going to win, for I didn't mean Him to take any more of her life, till

I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like

water. He slipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He

raised me up and flung me down. There was a red cloud before me, and a

noise like thunder, and the mist seemed to steal away under the door."

His voice was becoming fainter and his breath 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 other night, but lose no time; there is not an instant to

spare." There was no need to put our fear, nay our conviction, into

words- we shared them in common. We all hurried and took from our

rooms the same things that we had when we entered the Court's house.

The Professor had his ready, and as 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 is over. 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; his voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror

predominated in my own heart.

  Outside the Harker's door we paused. Art and Quincey held back,

and the latter said:-

  "Should we disturb her?"

  "We must," said Van Helsing grimly. "If the door be locked, I

shall break it in."

  "May it not frighten her terribly? it is unusual to break into a

lady's room!" Van Helsing said solemnly.

  "You are always right; but this is life and death. All chambers

are alike to the doctor, and even were they not they are all as one to

me to-night. Friend John, when I turn the handle, if the door does not

open, do you put your shoulder down and shove; and you too, my

friends, Now!"

  He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We

threw ourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we

almost fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall,

and I saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees.

What I saw appalled 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 room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay

Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a

stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the

white-clad figure 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 recognised the Count- in every way, even to the scar on his

forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping

them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by

the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white

night-dress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down

the man's bare breast which was shown by his torn-open dress. The

attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a

kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst

into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that

I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with

devilish passion; the great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened

wide and quivered at the edge; and the white sharp teeth, behind the

full lips of the blood-dripping mouth, champed together like those

of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon the

bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by

this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards

him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count

suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and

cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we, lifting

our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great

black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up

under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, as

we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its

bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art,

and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her

breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so

despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till

my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and

disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by

the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin; from her

throat trickled a thin stream of blood her eyes were mad with

terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which

bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip, and

from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible

scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van Helsing

stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body, whilst

Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran out of

the room. Van Helsing whispered to me:-

  "Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We

can do nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she

recovers herself, I must wake him!" He dipped the end of a towel in

cold water and with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all

the while holding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that

was heart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of

the window. There was much moonshine; and as I looked I could see

Quincey Morris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a

great yew tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this; but at

the instant I heard Harker's quick exclamation as he woke to partial

consciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well

be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds,

and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once,

and he started up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and

turned to him with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him;

instantly, however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows

together, held her 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 to this!" and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands

wildly together. "Good God help us! help her! oh, help her!" With a

quick movement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his

clothes,- all the man in him awake at the need for instant exertion.

"What has happened? Tell me all about it?" he cried without pausing.

"Dr. Van Helsing, you love Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her.

It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her while I look for him!"

His wife, through her terror and horror and distress saw some sure

danger to him: instantly forgetting her own grief, she seized hold

of him and cried out:-

  "No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough

to-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must

stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!" Her

expression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, she

pulled 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 his

little golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness:-

  "Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is close to

you no foul thing can approach. You are safe for to-night; and we must

be calm and take counsel together." She shuddered and was silent,

holding down her head on her husband's breast. When she raised it, his

white night-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched,

and where the thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The

instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wall, and whispered,

amidst choking sobs:-

  "Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it

should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may

have most cause to fear." To this he spoke out resolutely:-

  "Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would

not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me

by my deserts, 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 out his arms and folded her to his breast; and for a while she lay

there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that

blinked damply above his quivering nostrils; his mouth was set as

steel. After a while her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and

then he said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt

tried his nervous power to the utmost:-

  "And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the

broad fact; tell me all that has been." I told him exactly what had

happened, and he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils

twitched and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the

Count had held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her

mouth to the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at

that moment, to see, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked

convulsively over the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly

stroked the ruffled hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and

Godalming knocked at the door. They entered in obedience to our

summons. Van Helsing looked at me questioningly. I understood him to

mean if we were to take advantage of their coming to divert if

possible the thoughts of the unhappy husband and wife from each

other and from themselves; so on nodding acquiescence to him he

asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming

answered:-

  "I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our

rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been there, he had

gone. He had, however-" He stopped suddenly looking at the poor

drooping figure on the bed. Van Helsing said gravely:-

  "Go on friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope

now is in knowing all. Tell freely!" So Art went on:-

  "He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few

seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been

burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes;

the cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and

the wax had helped the flames." Here I interrupted. "Thank God there

is the other copy in the safe!" His face lit for a moment, but fell

again as he went on; "I ran down stairs then, but could see no sign of

him. I looked into Renfield's room; but there was no trace there

except-!" Again he paused. "Go on," said Harker hoarsely; so he

bowed his head and moistening his lips with his tongue, added: "except

that the poor fellow is dead." Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking

from one to the other of us she said solemnly:-

  "God's will be done!" I could not but feel that Art was keeping back

something; 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 I can't say. I thought it well to know if possible where the

Count would go when he left the house. I did not see him; but I saw

a bat rise from Renfield's window, and flap westward. I expected to

see him in some shape go back to Carfax; but he evidently sought

some other lair. He will not be back to-night; for the sky is

reddening in the east, and the dawn is close. We must work to-morrow!"

  He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of

perhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy

that I could hear the sound of our hearts beating; then Van Helsing

said, placing his hand very tenderly on Mrs. Harker's head:-

  "And now, Madam Mina- poor, dear, dear Madam Mina- tell us exactly

what happened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained; but it

is need that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be

done quick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us

that must end all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we

may live and learn."

  The poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her

nerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head

lower and lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly,

and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and, after

stooping and kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was

locked in that of her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her

protectingly. After a pause in which she was evidently ordering her

thoughts, she began:-

  "I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but

for a long time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and

myriads of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind- all of

them connected with death, and vampires; with blood, and pain, and

trouble." Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and

said lovingly: "Do not fret dear. You must be brave and strong, and

help me through the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort

it is to me to tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand

how much I need your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine

to its work with my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely

set myself to sleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me,

for I remember no more. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he

lay by my side when next I remember. There was in the room the same

thin white mist that I had before noticed. But I forget now if you

know of this; you will find it in my diary which I shall show you

later. I felt the same vague terror 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 it seemed as if it was he who

had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not

wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around

terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me: beside the bed, as if

he had stepped out of the mist- or rather as if the mist had turned

into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared- stood a tall, thin

man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of the

others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light

fell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white

teeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in

the sunset on the windows of St. Mary's Church at Whitby. I knew, too,

the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an

instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that

I was paralysed. 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 out before your very eyes.' I was appalled and was too

bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed

one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat

with the other, saying as he did so; 'First, a little refreshment to

reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet, it is not the first

time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!' I was

bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I

suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his

touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! He placed his

reeking lips upon my throat!" Her husband groaned again. She clasped

his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if he were the

injured one, and went on:-

  "I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How long

this horrible thing lasted I know not; but it seemed that a long

time must have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth

away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!" The remembrance seemed

for a while to overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down

but for her husband's sustaining arm. With a great effort she

recovered herself and went on:-

  "Then he spoke to me mockingly, 'And so you, like the others,

would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to

hunt me and frustrate 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. They should have kept their energies for use closer to

home. Whilst they played wits against me- against me who commanded

nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of

years before they were born- I was countermining them. And you,

their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of

my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and

shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged

in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But

as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided

in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call. When my brain says

"Come!" to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to

that end this!' With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his

long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began

to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight,

and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound,

so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the- Oh my God!

my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I

who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days.

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

her lips 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 look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till

when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh

stood darkly out against the whitening hair.

  We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the

unhappy pair 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

in all 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. It

is now six o'clock, and we are to meet in the study in half an hour

and take something to eat, for Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward are

agreed that if we do not eat we cannot work our best. Our best will

be, God knows, required today. I must keep writing at every chance,

for I dare not stop to think. All, big and little, must go down;

perhaps at the end the little things may teach us most. The

teaching, big or little, could not 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 tears running down her dear cheeks, that it

is in trouble and trial that our faith is tested- that we must keep on

trusting; and that God will aid us up 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 poor

Renfield, we went gravely into what was to be done. First, Dr.

Seward told us that when he and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to the

room below they had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a

heap. His face was all 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 had heard anything. He said that he had been sitting down- he

confessed to half dozing- when he heard loud voices in the room, and

then Renfield had called out loudly several times, "God! God! God!"

After that there was a sound of falling, and when he entered the

room he found him lying on the floor, face down, just as the doctors

had seen him. Van Helsing asked if he had heard "voices" or "a voice,"

and he said he could not say; that at first it had seemed to him as if

there were two, but as there was no one in the room it could have been

only one. He could swear to 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 into the matter; the question of an inquest

had to be considered, and it would never do to put forward the

truth, as no one would believe it. As it was, he thought that on the

attendant's evidence he could give a certificate of death by

misadventure in falling from bed. In case the coroner should demand

it, there would be a formal inquest, necessarily to the same result.

  When the question began to be discussed as to what should be our

next step, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be

in full confidence; that nothing of any sort- no matter how painful-

should be kept from her. She herself agreed as to its wisdom, and it

was pitiful to see her so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a

depth of despair. "There must be no concealment," she said, "Alas!

we have had too much already. And besides there is nothing in all

the world that can give 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, suddenly but quietly:-

  "But dear Madam Mina are you not afraid; not for yourself, but for

others from yourself, after what has happened?" Her face grew set in

its lines, but her eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr as she

answered:-

  "Ah no! for my mind is made up!"

  "To what?" he asked gently, whilst we were all very still; for

each in our own way we had a sort of vague idea of what she meant. Her

answer came 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 of harm 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 a pain, and so desperate an effort!" She looked at him

meaningly as she spoke. He was sitting down; but now he rose and

came close to her and put his hand on her head as he said solemnly:

  "My child, there is such an one if it were for your good. For myself

I could 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

my child-" for a moment he seemed choked, and a great sob rose in

his throat; he gulped it down and went on:-

  "There are here some who would stand between you and death. You must

not die. You must not die by any hand; but least of all by your own.

Until the other, who has fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must

not die; for if he is still with the quick Un-Dead, your death would

make you even as he is. No, you must live! You must struggle and

strive to live, though death would seem a boon unspeakable. You must

fight Death himself, though he come to you in pain or in joy; by the

day, or the night; in safety or in peril! On your living soul I charge

you that you do not die- nay nor think of death- till this great

evil be past." The poor dear grew white as death, and shook and

shivered, as I have seen a quicksand shake and shiver at the

incoming of the tide. We were all silent; we could do nothing. At

length she grew more calm and turning to him 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

shall strive to do so; till, if it may be in His good time, this

horror may have passed away from me." She was so good and brave that

we all felt that our hearts were strengthened to work and endure for

her, and we began to discuss what we were to do. I told her that she

was to have all the papers in the safe, and all the papers or

diaries and phonographs we might 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" could be used in connection with so

grim an interest.

  As usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of everyone else, and was

prepared with an exact ordering of our work.

  "It is perhaps well" he said "that at our meeting after our visit to

Carfax we decided not to do anything with the earthboxes that lay

there. Had we done so, the Count must have guessed our purpose, and

would doubtless have taken measures in advance to frustrate such an

effort with regard to the others; but now he does not know our

intentions. Nay more, in all probability, he does not know that such a

power exists to us as can sterilise his lairs, so that he cannot use

them as of old. We are now so much further advanced in our knowledge

as to their disposition, that, when we have examined the house in

Piccadilly, 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 morning

guards us in its course. Until it sets tonight, that monster must

retain whatever form he now has. He is confined within the limitations

of his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin air nor disappear

through cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go through a door-way,

he must open the door like a mortal. And so we have this day to hunt

out all his lairs and sterilise them. So we shall, if we have not

yet catch him and destroy him, drive him to bay in some place where

the catching and the destroying shall be, in time, sure." Here I

started up for I could not contain myself at the thought that the

minutes and seconds so preciously laden with Mina's life and happiness

were flying from us, since whilst we talked action was impossible. But

Van Helsing held up his hand warningly. "Nay, friend Jonathan," he

said, "In this, the quickest way home is the longest way, so your

proverb say. We shall all act and act with desperate quick, when the

time has come. But think, in all 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 have deeds of purchase, keys and

other things. He will have paper that he write on; he will have his

book of cheques. There are many belongings that 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 the very vast

of the traffic there is none to notice. We shall go there and search

that house; and when we learn what it holds, then we do what our

friend Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt 'stop the earths' and so we

run 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 good

reason 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

am in."

  "Ah, my child, that I do; and indeed there is no wish of me to add

to your anguish. But just think, what can we do, until all the world

be at movement. Then will come our time. I have thought and thought,

and it seems to me that the simplest way is the best of all. Now we

wish to get into 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

could not still get it, and think there was to you no conscience of

the housebreaker, what would you do?"

  "I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work to pick

the lock 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 keenly as he spoke, "all that is in doubt is

the conscience of the employer, and the belief of your policemen as to

whether or no that employer has a good conscience or a bad one. Your

police must indeed be zealous men and clever- oh so clever!- in

reading the heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter. No,

no, my friend Jonathan, you go take the lock off a hundred empty house

in this your London, or of any city in the world; and if you do it

as such things 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 fine house in your London, and when he went for months of

summer to Switzerland and lock up his house, some burglar came and

broke window at back and got in. Then he went and made open the

shutters in front and walk out and in through the door, before the

very eyes of the police. Then he have 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 of that other man who own them.

Then he go to a builder, and he sell him that house, making an

agreement that he pull it down and take all away within a certain

time. And your police and other authority help him all they can. And

when that owner come back from his holiday in Switzerland he find only

an empty hole where his house had been. This was all done en regle,

and in our work we shall be en regle too. We shall not go so early

that the policemen who have then little to think of, shall deem it

strange; but we shall go after ten o'clock, when there are many about,

and when such things would be done were we indeed owners of the

house."

  I could not but see how right he was and the terrible despair of

Mina's face became relaxed a thought; there was hope in such good

counsel. Van Helsing went on:-

  "When once within that house we may find more clues; at any rate

some of us can remain there whilst the rest find the other places

where there be more earth-boxes- at Bermondsey and Mile End."

  Lord Godalming stood up. "I can be of some use here," he said. "I

shall wire to my people to have horses and carriages where they will

be most convenient."

  "Look here, old fellow," said Morris, "it is a capital idea to

have all ready in case we want to go horse-backing; but don't you

think that one of your snappy carriages with its heraldic adornments

in a byway of Walworth 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; and even leave them somewhere near the neighborhood

we are going to."

  "Friend Quincey is right!" said the Professor. "His head is what you

call in plane with the horizon. It is a difficult thing that we go

to do, 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 see

that the exigency of affairs was helping her to forget for a time

the terrible experience of the night. She was very, very pale-

almost ghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing her

teeth in somewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last, lest

it should give her needless pain; but it made my blood run cold in

my veins to think of what had occurred with poor Lucy when the Count

had sucked her blood. As yet there was no sign of the teeth growing

sharper, but the time as yet was short, and there was time for fear.

  When we came to the discussion of the sequence of our efforts and of

the disposition of our forces, there were new sources of doubt. It was

finally agreed that before starting for Piccadilly we should destroy

the Count's lair close at hand. In case he should find it out too

soon, we should thus be still ahead of him in our work of destruction;

and his presence in his purely material shape, and at his weakest,

might give us some 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 Godalming and Quincey found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End

and destroyed them. It was possible, if not likely, the Professor

urged, that the Count might appear in Piccadilly during the day, and

that if so we might be able to cope with him then and there. At any

rate, we might be able to follow him in force. To this plan I

strenuously objected, and so far as my going was concerned, for I said

that I intended to stay and protect Mina. I thought that my mind was

made up on the subject; but Mina would not listen to my objection. She

said that there might be some law matter in which I could be useful;

that amongst the Count's papers might be some clue which I could

understand out of my experience in Transylvania; and that, as it

was, all the strength we could muster was required to cope with the

Count's extraordinary power. I had to give in, for Mina's resolution

was fixed; she said that it was the last hope for her that we 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 must have in it

some element of hope or comfort. Go, my husband! God can, if He wishes

it, guard me as well alone as with any one present." So I started up

crying out: "Then in God's name let us come at once, for we are losing

time. The Count may come to Piccadilly earlier than we think."

  "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 he

banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?"

  Did I forget! shall I ever- can I ever! Can any of us ever forget

that terrible scene! Mina struggled hard to keep her brave

countenance; but the pain overmastered her and she put her hands

before her face, and shuddered whilst she moaned. Van Helsing had

not intended to recall her frightful experience. He had simply lost

sight of her and her part in the 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 so reverence you

should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid old lips of

mine and this stupid old head do not deserve so; but you will forget

it, will you not?" He bent low beside her as he spoke; she took his

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

I have so much in memory of you that is sweet, that I take it all

together. Now, you must all be going soon. Breakfast is ready, and

we must all eat that we may be strong."

  Breakfast was a strange meal to us all. We tried to be cheerful

and encourage each other, and Mina was the brightest and most cheerful

of us. When it was over, Van Helsing stood up and said:-

  "Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enterprise. Are

we all armed, as we were on that night when first we visited our

enemy's lair; armed against ghostly as well as carnal attack?" We

all assured him. "Then it is well. Now Madam Mina, you are in any case

quite safe here until the sunset; and before then we shall return- if-

We shall return! But before we go let me see you armed against

personal attack. I have myself, since you came down, prepared your

chamber by the placing of things of which we know, so that He may

not enter. Now let me guard yourself. On your forehead I touch this

piece of Sacred Wafer in the name of the Father, the Son, and-"

  There was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to hear. As

he had placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had seared it- had

burned into the flesh as though it had been a piece of white-hot

metal. My poor darling's brain had told her the significance of the

fact as quickly as her nerves received the pain of it; and the two

so overwhelmed her that her overwrought nature had its voice in that

dreadful scream. But the words to her thought came quickly; the echo

of the scream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came the

reaction, and she sand on her knees on the floor in an agony of

abasement. Pulling her beautiful hair over her face, as the leper of

old his mantle, she wailed out:-

  "Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty shuns my polluted flesh! I must

bear this mark of shame upon my forehead until the Judgement Day."

They all paused. I had thrown myself beside her in an agony of

helpless grief, and putting my arms around held her tight. For a few

minutes our sorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends

around us turned away their eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van

Helsing turned and said gravely; so gravely that I could not help

feeling that he was in some way 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 of the earth and of His children that He has placed

thereon. And oh, Madam Mina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you

be there to see, when that red 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 as we live, that scar shall pass away

when God sees right to lift the burden that is hard upon us. Till then

we bear our Cross, as His Son did in obedience to His Will. It may

be that we are chosen instruments of His good pleasure, and that we

ascend to His bidding as that other through stripes and shame; through

tears and blood; through doubts and fears, 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 old man's hands and bent over and kissed it. Then

without a word we all knelt down together, and, all holding hands,

swore to be true to each other. We men pledged ourselves to raise

the veil of sorrow from the head of her whom, each in his own way,

we loved; and we prayed for help and guidance in the terrible task

which lay before us.

  It was then time to start. So I said farewell to Mina, a parting

which neither 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 a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and

terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one

vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in

sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for

their ghastly ranks.

  We entered Carfax without trouble and found all things the same as

on the first occasion. It was hard to believe that amongst so

prosaic surroundings of neglect and dust and decay there was any

ground for such fear as already we knew. Had not our minds been made

up, and had there not been terrible memories to spur us on, we could

hardly have proceeded with our task. We found no papers, or any sign

of use in the house; and in 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

this earth, so sacred of holy memories, that he has brought from a far

distant land for such fell use. He has chosen this earth because it

has been holy. Thus we defeat him with his own weapon, for we make

it more holy still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we

sanctify it to God." As he spoke he took from his bag a screw-driver

and a wrench, and very soon the top of one of the cases was thrown

open. The earth smelled musty and close; but we did not somehow seem

to mind, for our attention was concentrated on the Professor. Taking

from his box a piece of the Sacred Wafer he laid it reverently on

the earth, and then shutting down the 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

left them as we had found them to all appearance; but in each was a

portion of 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

can be so successful, then the sunset of this evening may shine on

Madam Mina's forehead all white as ivory and with no stain!"

  As we passed across the lawn on our way to the station to catch

our train we could see the front of the asylum. I looked eagerly,

and in the window of my own room saw Mina. I waved my hand to her, and

nodded to tell that our work there was successfully accomplished.

She nodded in reply to show that she understood. The last I saw, she

was waving her hand in farewell. It was with a heavy heart that we

sought the station and just caught the train, which was steaming in as

we reached the platform.

  I have written this in the train.



  Piccadilly, 12:30 o'clock.- Just before we reached Fenchurch

Street Lord Godalming said to me:-

  "Quincey and I will find a locksmith. You had better not come with

us in case there should be any difficulty; for under the circumstances

it wouldn't seem so bad for us to break into an empty house. But you

are a solicitor and the Incorporated Law Society might tell you that

you should have known better." I demurred as to my not sharing any

danger even of odium, but he went on: "Besides, it will attract less

attention if there are not too many of us. My title will make it all

right with the locksmith, and with any policeman that may come

along. You had better 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 and the smith has gone away, do you all come across. We shall

be on the look out for you, and shall let you in."

  "The advice is good!" said Van Helsing, so we said no more.

Godalming and Morris hurried off in a cab, we following in another. At

the corner of Arlington Street our contingent got our and strolled

into the Green Park. My heart beat as I saw the house on which so much

of our hope was centered, looming up grim and silent in its deserted

condition amongst its more lively and spruce-looking neighbours. We

sat down on a bench within good view, and began to smoke cigars so

as to attract as little attention as possible. The minutes seemed to

pass with leaden feet as we waited for the coming of the others.

  At length we saw a four-wheeler drive up. Out of it, in leisurely

fashion, got Lord Godalming and Morris; and down from the box

descended a thick-set working man with his rush-woven basket of tools.

Morris paid the cabman, who touched his hat and drove away. Together

the two ascended 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 spikes of the rail, saying something to a policeman who

just then sauntered along. The policeman nodded acquiescence, and

the man kneeling down placed his bag beside him. After searching

through it, he took out a selection of tools which he produced to

lay beside him in orderly fashion. Then he stood up, looked into the

keyhole, blew into it, and, turning to his employers, made some

remark. Lord Godalming smiled, and the man lifted a good sized bunch

of keys; selecting one of them, he began to probe the lock, as if

feeling his way with it. After fumbling about for a bit he tried a

second, and then a third. All at once the door opened under a slight

push from him, and he and the two others entered the hall. We sat

still; my own cigar burnt furiously, but Van Helsing's went cold

altogether. We waited patiently as we saw the workman come out and

bring in his bag. Then he held the door partly open, 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 and gave him

something. The man touched his hat, took his bag, put on his coat

and departed; not a soul took the slightest notice of the whole

transaction.

  When the man had fairly gone, we three crossed the street and

knocked at the door. It was immediately opened by Quincey Morris,

beside whom stood Lord Godalming lighting a cigar.

  "The place smells so vilely," said the latter as we came in. It

did indeed smell vilely- like the old chapel at Carfax- and with our

previous experience it was plain to us that the Count had been using

the place pretty freely. We moved to explore the house, all keeping

together in case of attack; for we knew we had a strong and wily enemy

to deal with, and as yet we did not know whether the Count might not

be in the house. In the dining-room, which lay at the back of the

hall, we found eight 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 the missing box. First we opened the

shutters of the window which looked out across a narrow

stone-flagged yard at the blank face of a stable, pointed to look like

the front of a miniature house. There were no windows in it, so we

were not afraid of being overlooked. We did not lose any time in

examining the chests. With the tools which we had brought with us we

opened them, one by one, and treated them as we had treated those

others in the old chapel. It was evident to us that the Count was

not at present in the house, and we proceeded to search for any 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

effects which might belong to the Count; and so we proceeded to

minutely examine them. They lay in a sort of orderly disorder on the

great dining-room table. There were title deeds of the Piccadilly

house in a great bundle; deeds of the purchase of the houses at Mile

End and Bermondsey; notepaper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All were

covered up in thin wrapping paper to keep them from the dust. There

were also a clothes brush, a brush and comb, and a jug and basin-

the latter containing dirty water which was reddened as if with blood.

Last of all was a little heap of keys of all sorts and sizes, probably

those belonging to the other houses. When we had examined this last

find, Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris taking accurate notes of the

various addresses of the houses in the East and the South, took with

them the keys in a great bunch, and set out to destroy the boxes in

these places. The rest of us are, with what patience we can, waiting

their return- or the coming of the Count.

                            CHAPTER XXIII.

                         DR. SEWARD'S DIARY.



  3 October- The time seemed terribly long whilst we were waiting

for the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The Professor tried to

keep our minds active by using them all the time. I could see his

beneficent purpose, by the side glances which he threw from time to

time at Harker. The poor fellow is overwhelmed 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 dark brown hair.

To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well

with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face.

His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame. This

may yet be his salvation, for, if all go well, it will tide him over

the despairing period; he will 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 Professor knows this well enough, and is doing

his best to keep his mind active. What he has been saying was, under

the circumstances, of absorbing interest. So well as I can remember,

here it is:-

  "I have studied, over and over again since they came into my

hands, all the papers relating to this monster; and the more I have

studied, the greater seems the necessity to utterly stamp him out. All

through there are signs of his advance; not only of his power, but

of his knowledge of it. As I learned from the researches of my

friend Arminius of Buda-Pesth, he was in life a most wonderful man.

Soldier, statesman, and alchemist- which latter was the highest

development of the science knowledge of his time. He had a mighty

brain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that knew no fear and no

remorse. He dared even to attend the Scholomance, and there was no

branch of knowledge of his time that he did not essay. Well, in him

the brain powers survived the physical 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 is growing, and some things that

were childish at the first are now of man's stature. He is

experimenting, and doing it well; and if it had not been that we

have crossed his path he would be yet- he may be yet if we fail- the

father or furtherer of a new order of beings, whose road must lead

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

but surely; that big child-brain of his working. Well for us, it is,

as yet, a child-brain; for had he dared, at the first, to attempt

certain things he would long ago have been beyond our power.

However, he means to succeed, and a man who has centuries before him

can afford to wait and to go slow. Festina lente may well be his

motto."

  "I fail to understand," said Harker wearily. "Oh, do be more plain

to me! 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, this

monster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How he has

been making use of the zoophagous patient to effect his entry into

friend John's home; for your Vampire, though in all afterwards he

can come when and how he will, must at the first make entry only

when asked thereto by an inmate. But these are not his most

important experiments. Do we not see how at the first all these so

great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but that must be

so. But all the time that so great child-brain of his was growing, and

he began to consider whether might not himself move the box. So he

began to help; and then, when he found that this be all-right, he

try to move them all alone. And so he progress, and he scatter these

graves of him; and none but he know where they are hidden. He may have

intend to bury them deep in the ground. So that he only use them in

the night, or at such time as he can change his form, they do him

equal well; and none may know these are his hiding place But, my

child, do not despair, this knowledge come to him just 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 he can move

and hide. I delayed this morning that so we might be sure. Is there

not more at stake for us than for him? Then why we not be even more

careful than him? By my clock it is one hour, and already, if all be

well, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way to us. To-day is

our day, and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See!

there are five of us when those absent ones return."

  Whilst he was speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall door,

the double postman's knock of the telegraph boy. We all moved out to

the hall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up his hand to

us to keep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The boy

handed in a despatch. The Professor closed the door again and, after

looking at the direction, opened it and read aloud.

  "Look out for D. He has just now, 12.45, come from Carfax

hurriedly and hastened towards the South. He seems to be going the

round and may want to 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 him

quickly and said:-

  "God will act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and do not

rejoice as 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

this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!"

  "Oh hush, hush, my child!" said Van Helsing, "God does not

purchase souls in this wise; and the Devil, though he may purchase,

does not keep faith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your pain

and your devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her pain

would be doubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of

us, we are all devoted to this cause, and to-day shall see the end.

The time is coming for action; to-day this Vampire is limit to the

powers of man, and fill sunset he may not change. It will take him

time to arrive here- see, it is twenty minutes past one- and there are

yet some times before he can hither come, be he never so quick. What

we must hope for is that my Lord Arthur and Quincey arrive first."

  About half an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker's telegram,

there came a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. It was just an

ordinary knock, such as is given hourly by thousands of gentlemen, but

it made the Professor's heart and mine beat loudly. We looked at

each other, and together moved out into the hall; we each held ready

to use our various armaments- the spiritual in the left hand, the

mortal in the right. Van Helsing pulled back the latch, and, holding

the door half open, stood back, having both hands ready for action.

The gladness of our hearts must have shown upon our faces when on

the step, close to the door, we saw Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris.

They came quickly in and closed the door behind them, the former

saying, as they moved along the hall:-

  "It is all right. We found both places; six boxes in each, and we

destroyed 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 up by five o'clock, we must start off, for it won't do to leave

Mrs. Harker alone after sunset."

  "He will be here before long now," said Van Helsing, who had been

consulting his pocket-book. "Nota bene, in Madam's telegram he went

south from Carfax, that means he went to cross the river, and he could

only do so at slack of tide, which should be something before one

o'clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He is as yet only

suspicious; and he went from Carfax first to the place where he

would suspect interference least. You must have been at Bermondsey

only a short time before him. That he is not here already shows that

he went to Mile End next. This took him some time; for he would then

have to be carried over the river in some way. Believe me, my friends,

we shall not have long to wait now. We should have ready some plan

of attack, so that we may throw away no chance. Hush, there is no time

now. Have all your arms! Be ready!" He held up a warning hand as he

spoke, for we all could hear 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 a

dominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting parties and

adventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had

always been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I

had been accustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit

seemed to be renewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the

room, he at once laid out our plan of attack, and, without speaking

a word, with a gesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing,

Harker and I were just behind the door, so that when it was opened the

Professor could guard it whilst we two stepped between the incomer and

the door. Godalming behind and Quincey in front stood just out of

sight ready to move in front of the window. We waited in a suspense

that made the seconds pass with nightmare slowness. The slow,

careful steps came along the hall; the Count was evidently prepared

for some surprise- at least he feared it.

  Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room, winning a

way past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay him. There was

something so panther-like in the movement- something so unhuman,

that it seemed to sober us all from the shock of his coming. The first

to act was Harker, who, with a quick movement, threw himself before

the door leading into the room in the front of the house. As the Count

saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed over his face, showing the

eye-teeth long and pointed; but the evil smile as quickly passed

into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. His expression again

changed, as, with a single impulse, we all advanced upon him. It was a

pity that we had not some better organised plan of attack, for even at

the moment I wondered what we were to do. I did not myself know

whether our lethal weapons would avail us anything. Harker evidently

meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great Kukri knife, and

made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow was a powerful one; only

the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap back saved him. A

second less and the trenchant blade had shorne through 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 gold fell out. The

expression of the Count's face was so hellish, that for a moment I

feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife aloft

again for another stroke. Instinctively I moved forward with a

protective impulse, holding the Crucifix and Wafer in my left-hand.

I felt a mighty power fly along my arm; and it was without surprise

I saw that the monster cower back before a similar movement made

spontaneously by each one of us. It would be impossible to describe

the expression of hate and baffled malignity- of anger and hellish

rage- which came over the Count's face. His waxen hue became

greenish-yellow by the contrast of his burning eyes, and the red

scar on the forehead showed on the pallid skin like a palpitating

wound. The next instant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker's

arm, ere his blow could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money

from the floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window.

Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass, he tumbled into the

flagged area below. Through the sound of the shivering glass I could

hear the "ting" of the gold, as some of the sovereigns fell on the

flagging.

  We ran over and saw him spring unhurt from the ground. He, rushing

up the 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,

like sheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you You

think you have left me without a place to rest; but I have more. My

revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my

side. Your girls that you all love are mine already; and through

them you and others shall yet be mine- my creatures, to do my

bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed. Bah!" With a

contemptuous sneer, he passed quickly through the door, and we heard

the rusty bolt creak as he fastened it behind him. A door beyond

opened and shut. The first of us to speak was the Professor, as,

realising the difficulty of following him through the stable, we moved

toward the hall.

  We have learnt something- much! Notwithstanding his brave words,

he fears us; he fear time, he fear want! For if not, why he hurry

so? His very tone betray him, or my ears deceive. Why take that money?

You follow quick. You are hunters of wild beast, and understand it so.

For me, I make sure that nothing here may be of use to him, if so that

he return.- As he spoke he put the money remaining into his pocket;

took the title-deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them; and

swept the remaining things into the open fireplace, where he set

fire to them with a match.

  Godalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker had

lowered himself from the window to follow the Count. He had,

however, bolted the stable door, and by the time they had forced it

open there was no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry

at the back of 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

to recognise that our game was up; with heavy hearts we agreed with

the Professor when he said:-

  "Let us go back to Madam Mina- poor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we

can do just now is done; and we can there, at least, protect her.

But we need not despair. There is but one more earth-box, and we

must try to find it; when that is done all may yet be well." I could

see that he spoke as bravely as he could to comfort Harker. The poor

fellow was quite broken down; now and again he gave a low groan

which he could not suppress- he was thinking of his wife.

  With sad hearts we came back to my house, where we found Mrs. Harker

waiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which did honour to her

bravery and unselfishness. When she saw our faces, her own became as

pale as death; for a second or two her eyes were closed as if she were

in 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 your poor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear!

God will protect us if he so will it in His good intent." The poor

fellow only groaned. There was no place for words in his sublime

misery.

  We had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it cheered

us all up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat of food to

hungry people- for none of us had eaten anything since breakfast- or

the sense of companionship may have helped us; but anyhow we were

all less miserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without hope.

True to our promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything which had

passed; and although she grew snowy white at times when danger had

seemed to threaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion to

her was manifested, she listened bravely and with calmness. When we

came to the part where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly,

she clung to her husband's arm, and held it tight as though her

clinging could protect him from any harm that might come. She said

nothing, however, till the narration was all done, and matters had

been brought right up to the present time. Then without letting go her

husband's hand she stood up amongst us and spoke. Oh that I could give

any idea of the scene; of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all

the radiant beauty of her youth and animation, with the red scar on

her forehead, of which she was conscious, and which we saw with

grinding of our teeth- remembering whence and how it came; her

loving kindness against our grim hate; her tender faith against all

our fears and doubting; and we, knowing that so far as symbols went,

she with all her goodness and purity and faith, was outcast from God.

  "Jonathan," she said, and the word sounded like music on her lips it

was so full of love and tenderness, "Jonathan dear, and you all my

true, true friends, I want you to bear something in mind through all

this dreadful time. I know that you must fight- that you must

destroy even as you 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 this misery is the saddest case of all. Just think

what will be his joy when he, too, is destroyed in his worser part

that his better part may have spiritual immortality. You must be

pitiful to him, too, though it may not hold your hands from his

destruction."

  As she spoke I could see her husband's face darken and draw

together, as though the passion in him were shriveling his being to

its core. Instinctively the clasp on his wife's hand grew closer, till

his knuckles looked white. She did not flinch from the pain which I

knew she must have suffered, but looked at him with eyes that were

more appealing than ever. As she stopped speaking he leaped to his

feet, almost tearing his hand from hers as he spoke:-

  "May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy

that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond it I

could send his 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. Just think, 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 some other 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 thought had there been another way; but I pray

that God may not have treasured your wild words, except as the

heart-broken wall of a very loving and sorely stricken man. Oh God,

let these poor white hairs go in evidence of what he has suffered, who

all his life has done no wrong, and on whom so many sorrows have

come."

  We men were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and we

wept openly. She wept, too, to see that her sweeter counsels had

prevailed. Her husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and

putting his arms round her, hid his face in the folds of her dress.

Van Helsing beckoned to us and we stole out of the room, leaving the

two loving hearts alone with their God.

  Before they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any

coming of the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest

in peace. She tried to school herself to the belief, and, manifestly

for her husband'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 at hand 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 should sit up, dividing the night between us,

and watch over the safety of the poor stricken lady. The first watch

falls to Quincey, so the rest of us shall 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 go to 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

belief that to wake would be to find things changed, and that any

change must now be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed what

our next step was to be, but we could arrive at no result. All we knew

was that one earth-box remained, and that the Count alone knew where

it was. If he chooses to lie hidden, he may baffle us for years; and

in the meantime!- 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, that one is my poor wronged darling. I love her a thousand

times more for her sweet pity of last night, a pity that made my own

hate of the monster seem despicable. Surely God will not permit the

world to be the poorer by the loss of such a creature. This is hope to

me. We are all drifting reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor.

Thank God! Mina is sleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear

what her dreams might be like, with such terrible memories to ground

them in. She has not been so calm, within my seeing, since the sunset.

Then, for a while, there came over 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 her face, but somehow now I think it

has a deeper meaning. I am not sleepy myself, 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 me until...



  Later.- I must have fallen asleep, for I was awaked by Mina, who was

sitting 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 hand over my mouth, and now she whispered in my ear:-

  "Hush! there is someone in the corridor!" I got up softly, and,

crossing the room, gently opened the door.

  Just outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide awake.

He raised 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 all

night. 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, pale face as she put her arms round me and said softly:-

  "Oh, thank God for good brave men!" With a sigh she sank back

again to sleep. 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 by

Mina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the grey of the

coming dawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas

flame was like 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

matured without my knowing it. He must hypnotise me before the dawn,

and then I shall be able to speak. Go quick, dearest, the time is

getting close." I went to the door. Dr. Seward was resting on the

mattress, and, seeing me, 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 his

dressing-gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming were with Dr.

Seward at the door asking questions. When the Professor saw Mina a

smile- a positive smile ousted the anxiety of his face; he rubbed

his hands as he said:-

  "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!" Then turning to her, he said, cheerfully: "And what am I do

for you? For at this hour you do not want me for nothings."

  "I want you to hypnotise me!" she said. "Do it before the dawn,

for I feel that then I can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for

the time is short!" 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. Mina

gazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my own heart beat

like a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand. Gradually

her eyes closed, and she sat, stock still; only by the gentle

heaving of her bosom could one know that she was alive. The

Professor made a few more passes and then stopped, and I could see

that his forehead was covered with great beads of perspiration. Mina

opened her eyes; but she did not seem the same woman. There was a

far-away look in her eyes, and her voice had a sad dreaminess which

was new to me. Raising his hand to impose silence, the Professor

motioned to me to bring the others in. They came on tip-toe, closing

the door behind them, and stood at the foot of the bed, looking on.

Mina appeared not to see them. The stillness was broken by Van

Helsing's voice speaking in a low level tone which 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 several

minutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid, and the Professor stood

staring at her fixedly; the rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The

room was growing lighter, without taking his eyes from Mina's face,

Dr. Van Helsing motioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the

day seemed just upon us. A red streak shot up, and a rosy light seemed

to diffuse itself through the room. On the instant the Professor spoke

again:-

  "Where are you now?" The answer came dreamily, but with intention;

it were as though she were interpreting something. I have heard her

use the same 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

patient voice.

  "The lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves leap. I

can hear them on the outside."

  "Then you are on a ship?" We all looked at each other, trying to

glean something each from the other. We were afraid to think. The

answer came quick:-

  "Oh, yes!"

  "What else do you hear?"

  "The sound of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is

the creaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the check of the

capstan falls into the rachet."

  "What are you doing?"

  "I am still- oh, so still. It is like death!" The voice faded away

into a 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 of

day. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina's shoulders, and laid

her head down softly on her pillow. She lay like a sleeping child

for a few moments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke and stared in

wonder to see us all around her. "Have I been talking in my sleep?"

was all she said. She seemed, however, to know the situation without

telling; though she was eager to know what she had told. The Professor

repeated the conversation, 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

calm voice called them back:-

  "Stay, my friends. That ship wherever it was, was weighing anchor

whilst she spoke. There are many ships weighing anchor at the moment

in your so great Port of London. Which of them is it that you seek?

God be thanked that we have once again a clue, though whither it may

lead us we know 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 looking forward if we had been able to see what we might have

seen Alas! but that sentence is a puddle; is it not? We can know now

what was in the Count's mind when he seize that money, though

Jonathan's so fierce knife put him in the danger that even he dread.

He meant escape. Hear me, ESCAPE! He saw that with but one earth-box

left, and a pack of men following like dogs after a fox, this London

was no place for him. He have take his last earth-box on board a ship,

and he leave the land. He think to escape, but no! we follow him.

Tally Ho! as friend Arthur would say when he put on his red frock! Our

old fox is wily; oh! so wily and we must follow with wile. I too am

wily and I think his mind in a little while. In meantime we may rest

and in peace, for there are waters between us which he do not want

to pass, and which he could not if he would- unless the ship were to

touch the land, and then only at full or slack tide. See, and the

sun is just rose, and all day to sunset is to us. 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 with us." Mina looked

at him appealingly as she asked:-

  "But why need we seek him further, when he is gone away from us?" He

took her hand and patted it as he replied:-

  "Ask me nothings as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all

questions." He would say no more, and we separated to dress.

  After breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at her gravely

for a minute and then said sorrowfully:-

  "Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find

him even if we have to follow him to the jaws of Hell!" She grew paler

as she asked faintly:-

  "Why?"

  "Because," he answered solemnly, "he can live for centuries, and you

are but mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded- since once he put

that mark upon 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 our

search- if I can call it so, for it is not search but knowing, and

we seek 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 him here. 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 back to his Castle in Transylvania. I know it so

well, as if a great hand of fire wrote it on the wall. He have prepare

for this in some way, and that last earth-box was ready to ship

somewheres. For this he took the money; for this he hurry at the last,

lest we catch him before the sun go down. It was his last hope, save

that the might hide in the tomb that he 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 last resource- his last earthwork I

might say did I wish double entente. He is clever, oh so clever! he

know that his game here was finish; and so 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 will comfort you and poor

dear Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be hope when you think it

over: that all is not lost. This very creature that we pursue, he take

hundreds of years to get so far as London; and yet in one day, when we

know of the disposal of him we drive him out. He is finite, 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 strong together. Take

heart afresh dear husband of Madam Mina. This battle is but begun, and

in the end we shall win- so sure as that God sits on high to 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 the

phonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably. Already the

certainty 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

horrible danger is not face to face with us, it seems almost

impossible to believe in it. Even my own terrible experiences in

Castle Dracula seem like a long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp

autumn air in the bright sunlight-

  Alas! how can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye fell

on the red scar on my poor darling's white forehead. Whilst that

lasts, there can be no disbelief. And afterwards the very memory of it

will keep faith crystal clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we

have been over all the diaries agains and again. Somehow, although the

reality seems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less.

There is something of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which

is comforting. Mina says that perhaps we are the instruments of

ultimate good. It may be I shall try to think as she does. We have

never spoken to each other yet of the future. It is better to wait

till we see the Professor and the others after their investigations.

  The day is running by more quickly than I ever thought a day could

run for me again. It is now three o'clock.





                        Mina Harker's Journal.



  5 October, 5 p.m.- Our meeting for report. Present: Professor Van

Helsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris, Jonathan

Harker, Mina Harker.

  Dr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day to

discover 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

that he must go by the Danube mouth; or by somewhere in the Black Sea,

since by that way he come. It was a dreary blank that was before us.

Omne ignotum pro magnifico, and so with heavy hearts we start to

find what ships leave for the Black Sea last night. He was in

sailing ship, since Madam Mina tell of sails being set. These not so

important as to go in your list of the shipping in the Times. and so

we go, by suggestion of Lord 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 go out with the tide. She is the Czarina

Catherine, and she sail from Doolittle's Wharf for Varna, and thence

on to other parts and up the Danube. 'Soh!' said I, 'this is the

ship whereon is the Count.' So off we go to Doolittle's Wharf, and

there we find a man in an office of wood so small that the man look

bigger than the office. From him we inquire of the goings of the

Czarina Catherine. He swear much, and he red face and loud of voice,

but he good fellow all the same; and when Quincey give him something

from his pocket which crackle as he roll it up, and put it in a so

small bag which he have hid deep in his clothing, he still better

fellow and humble servant to us. He come with us, and ask many men who

are rough and hot; these be better fellows too when they have been

no more thirsty. They say much of blood and bloom and of others

which I comprehend not, though I guess what they mean; but

nevertheless they tell us all things which we want to know.

  "They make known to us among them, how last afternoon at about

five o'clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and pale, with

high nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That

he be all in black, except that he have a hat of straw which suit

not him or the time. That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry

as to what ship sails for the Black Sea and for where. Some took him

to the office and then to the ship, where he will not go aboard but

halt at shore end of gang-plank, and ask that the captain come to him.

The captain come, when told that he will be pay well; and though he

swear much at the first he agree to term. Then the thin man go and

some one tell him where horse and cart can be hired. He go there and

soon he come again, himself driving cart on which a great box; this he

himself lift down, though it take several to put it on truck for the

ship. He give much talk to captain as to how and where his box is to

be place; but the captain like it not and swear at him in many

tongues, and tell him that if he like he can come and see where it

shall be. But he say 'no;' that he come not yet, for that he have much

to do. Whereupon the captain tell him that he had better be quick-

with blood- for that his ship will leave the place- of blood- before

the turn of the tide- with blood. Then the thin man smile and say that

of course he must go when he think fit; but he will 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 he will so far intrude

on his kindness as to come aboard before the sailing. Final the

captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues, tell him that he

doesn't want no Frenchmen- with bloom upon them and also with blood-

in his ship- with blood on her also. And so, after asking where

there might be close at hand a shop where he might purchase ship

forms, he departed.

  "No one knew where he went 'or bloomin' well cared,' as they said,

for they had something else to think of- well with blood again; for it

soon became apparent to all that the Czarina Catherine would not

sail as was 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 and blood; but he could do nothing. The water rose and

rose; and he began to fear 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 and asked to see where his box had been

stowed. Then the captain replied that he wished that he and his box-

old and with much bloom and blood- were in hell. But the thin man

did not be offend, and went down with the mate and saw where it was

place, and came up and stood awhile on 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, and all was clear again.

My friends of the thirst and the language that was of bloom and

blood laughed, as they told how the captain's swears exceeded even his

usual polyglot, and was more than ever full of picturesque, when on

questioning other mariners who were on movement up and down on the

river that hour, he found that few of them had seen any of fog at all,

except where it lay round the wharf! However, the ship went out on the

ebb tide; and was doubtless by morning far down the river 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,

for our enemy is on the sea, with the fog at his command, on his way

to the Danube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go she never so quick;

and when we start we go on land more quick, and we meet him there. Our

best hope is to come on him when in the box between sunrise and

sunset; for then he can make no struggle, and we may deal with him

as we should. There are days for us, in which we can make ready our

plan. We know all about where he go; for we have seen the owner of the

ship, who have shown us invoices and all papers that can be. The box

we seek is to be landed in Varna, and to be given to an agent, one

Ristics who will there present his 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 and have inquiry made at Varna, we say 'no;'

for what is to be done is not for police or of the customs. It must be

done by us alone and in our own way."

  When Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I asked him if he were

certain that the Count had remained on board the ship. He replied: "We

have the best proof of that: your own evidence, when in the hypnotic

trance this morning." I asked him again if it were really necessary

that they should pursue the Count, for oh! I dread Jonathan leaving

me, and I know that he 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 more forceful, till in the end we could not but

see wherein was at least some of that personal dominance which made

him so long a master amongst men:-

  "Yes it is necessary- necessary- necessary! For your sake in the

first, and then for the sake of humanity. This monster has done much

harm already, in the narrow scope where he find himself, and in the

short time when as yet he was only as a body groping his so small

measure in darkness and not knowing. All this have I told these

others; you, my dear Madam Mina, will learn it in the phonograph of my

friend John, or in that of your husband. I have told them how the

measure of leaving his own barren land- barren of peoples- and

coming to a new land where life of man teems till they are like the

multitude of standing corn, was the work of centuries. Were another of

the Un-Dead, like him, to try to do what he has done, perhaps not

all the centuries of the world that have been, or that will be,

could aid him. With this one, all the forces of nature that are occult

and deep and strong must have worked together in some wondrous way.

The very place, where he have been alive, Un-Dead for all these

centuries, is full of strangeness of the geologic and chemical

world. There are deep caverns and fissures that reach none know

whither. There have been volcanoes, some of whose openings still

send out waters of strange properties, and gases that kill or make

to vivify. Doubtless, there is something magnetic or electric in

some of these combinations of occult forces which work for physical

life in strange way; and in himself were from the first some great

qualities. In a hard and warlike time he was celebrate that he have

more iron nerve, more subtle brain, more braver heart, than any man.

In him some vital principle have in strange way found their utmost;

and as his body keep strong and grow and thrive, so his brain grow

too. All this without that diabolic aid which is 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 have infect you- oh forgive me,

my dear, that I must say such; but it is for good of you that I speak.

He infect you in such wise, that even if he do no more, you have

only to live- to live in your own old, sweet way; and so 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 together that it

must not. Thus are we ministers of God's own wish: that the world, 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 one soul

already, and we go out as the old knights of the Cross to redeem more.

Like them we shall travel towards the sunrise; and like them, if we

fall, we fall in good cause." He paused and I said:-

  "But will not the Count take his rebuff wisely? Since he has been

driven from England, will he not avoid it, as a tiger does the village

from which he has been hunted?"

  "Aha!" he said, "your simile of the tiger good, for me, and I

shall adopt him. Your man-eater, as they of India call the tiger who

has once taste blood of the human, care no more for other prey, but

prowl unceasing till he get him. This that we hunt from our village is

a tiger, too, a man-eater, and he never cease to prowl. Nay in himself

he is not one to retire and stay afar. In his life, his living life,

he go over the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own ground;

he be beaten 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 to him he have long since conceive the idea of coming to a

great city. What does he do? He find out the place of all the world

most of promise for him. Then he deliberately set himself down to

prepare for the task. He find in patience just how is his strength,

and what are his powers. He study new tongues. He learn new social

life; new environment of old ways, the politic, the law, the

finance, the science, the habit of a new land and a new people who

have come to be since he was. His glimpse that he have had, whet his

appetite only and enkeen his desire. Nay, it help him to grow as to

his brain; for it all prove to him how right he was at the first in

his surmises. He have done this alone; all alone! from a ruin tomb

in a forgotten land. What more may he not do when the greater world of

thought is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we know him;

who can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off whole peoples.

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 we are

pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in silence, and our

efforts all in secret; for in this enlightened age, when men believe

not even what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest

strength. It would be at once his sheath and his armour, and his

weapons to destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril even

our own souls for the safety of one we love- for the good of

mankind, and for the honour and glory of God."

  After a general discussion it was determined that for tonight

nothing be definitely settled; that we should all sleep on the

facts, and try to think out the proper conclusions. To-morrow at

breakfast we are to meet again, and, after making our conclusions

known to one another, we shall decide on some definite cause of

action.

  I feel a wonderful peace and rest to-night. It is as if some

haunting presence were removed from me. Perhaps...

  My surmise was not finished, could not be; for I caught sight in the

mirror of the red mark upon my forehead; and I knew that I was still

unclean.





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  5 October.- We all rose early, and I think that sleep did much for

each and all of us. When we met at early breakfast there was more

general cheerfulness than any of us had ever expected to experience

again.

  It is really wonderful how much resilience there is in human nature.

Let any obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed in any way- even

by death- and we fly back to first principles of hope and enjoyment.

More than once as we sat around the table, my eyes opened in wonder

whether the whole of the past days had not been a dream. It was only

when I caught sight of the red blotch on Mrs. Harker's forehead that I

was brought back to reality. Even now, when I am gravely revolving the

matter, it is almost impossible to realise that the cause of all our

trouble is still existent. Even Mrs. Harker seems to lose sight of her

trouble for whole spells; it is only now and again, when something

recalls it to her mind, that she thinks of her terrible scar. We are

to meet here in my study in half an hour and decide on our course of

action. I see only one immediate difficulty, I know it by instinct

rather than reason: we shall all have to speak frankly; and yet I fear

that in some mysterious way poor Mrs. Harker's tongue is tied. I

know that she forms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been

I can guess how brilliant and how true they must be; but she will not,

or cannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this to Van

Helsing, and he and I are to talk it over when we are alone. I suppose

it is some of that horrid poison which has got into her veins

beginning to work. The Count had his own purposes when he gave her

what Van Helsing called "the Vampire's baptism of blood." Well,

there may be a poison that distils itself out of good things; in an

age when the existence of ptomaines is a mystery we should not

wonder at anything! One thing I know: that if my instinct be true

regarding poor Mrs. Harker's silences, then there is a terrible

difficulty- an unknown danger- in the work before us. The same power

that compels her silence may compel her speech. I dare not think

further; for so I should in my thoughts dishonour a noble woman!

  Van Helsing is coming to my study a little before the others. I

shall try to open the subject with him.



  Later.- When the Professor came in, we talked over the state of

things. I could see that he had something on his mind which he

wanted to say, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject.

After beating about the bush a little, he said suddenly:-

  "Friend John, there is something that you and I must talk of

alone, just at the first at any rate. Later, we may have to take the

others into our confidence;" then he stopped, so I waited; he went

on:-

  "Madam Mina, our poor, dear Madam Mina is changing." A cold shiver

ran through me to find my worst fears thus endorsed. Van Helsing

continued:-

  "With the sad experience of Miss Lucy, we must this time be warned

before things go too far. Our task is now in reality more difficult

than ever, and this new trouble makes every hour of the direst

importance. I can see the characteristics of the vampire coming in her

face. It is now but very, very slight; but it is to be seen if we have

eyes to notice without to prejudge. Her teeth are some sharper, and at

times her eyes are more hard. But these are not all, there is to her

the silence now often; as so it was with Miss Lucy. She did not speak,

even when she wrote that which she wished to be known later. Now my

fear is this. If it be that she can, by our hypnotic trance, tell what

the Count see and hear, is it not more true that he who have hypnotise

her first, and who have drink of her very blood and make her drink

of his, should, if he will, compel her mind to disclose to him that

which she know?" I nodded acquiescence; he went on:-

  "Then, what we must do is to prevent this; we must keep her ignorant

of our intent, and so she cannot tell what she know not. This is a

painful task! 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 not to speak she must not more be of our council, but be

simply guarded by us." He wiped his forehead, which had broken out

in profuse perspiration at the thought of the pain which he might have

to inflict upon the poor soul already so tortured. I knew that it

would be some sort of comfort to him if I told him that I also had

come to the same conclusion; for at any rate it would take away the

pain of doubt. I told him, and the effect was as I expected.

  It is now close to the time of our general gathering. Van Helsing

has gone away to prepare for the meeting, and his painful part of

it. I really believe his purpose is to be able to pray alone.



  Later.- At the very outset of our meeting a great personal relief

was experienced by both Van Helsing and myself. Mrs. Harker had sent a

message by her husband to say that she would not join us at present,

as she thought it better that we should be free to discuss our

movements without her presence to embarrass us. The Professor and I

looked at each other for an instant, and somehow we both seemed

relieved. For my own part, I thought that if Mrs. Harker realised

the danger herself, it was much pain as well as much danger averted.

Under the circumstances we agreed, by a questioning look and answer,

with finger on lip, to preserve silence in our suspicions, until we

should have been able to confer alone again. We went at once into

our Plan of Campaign. Van Helsing roughly put the facts before us

first:-

  "The Czarina Catherine left the Thames yesterday morning. It will

take her at the quickest speed she has ever made at least three

weeks to reach 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 such weather influences as we know that the Count can

bring to bear, and if we 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 quite safe, we must leave here on 17th at latest.

Then we shall at any rate be in Varna a day before the ship arrives,

and able to make such preparations as may be necessary. Of course we

shall all go armed- armed against evil things, spiritual as well as

physical." Here Quincey Morris added:-

  "I understand that the Count comes from a wolf country, and it may

be that he shall get there before us. I propose that we add

Winchesters to our armament. I have a kind of belief in a Winchester

when there is any trouble of that sort around. Do you remember Art,

when we had the pack after us at Tobolsk? What wouldn't we have

given then for a repeater apiece!"

  "Good!" said Van Helsing, "Winchester's it shall be. Quincey's

head is level at all times, but most so when there is to hunt,

though my metaphor be more dishonour to science than wolves be of

danger to man. In the meantime we can do nothing here; and as I

think that Varna is not familiar to any of us, 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, we four can set out on our

journey."

  "We four?" said Harker interrogatively, looking from one to

another of us.

  "Of course!" answered the Professor quickly, "you must remain to

take care of your so sweet wife!" Harker was silent for awhile and

then said in a hollow voice:-

  "Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want to consult

with Mina." I thought that now was the time for Van Helsing to warn

him not to disclose our plans to her, but he took no notice. I

looked at him significantly and coughed. For answer he put his

finger on his lips and turned away.





                      Jonathan Harker's Journal.



  5 October, afternoon.- For some time after our meeting this

morning I could not think. The new phases of things leave my mind in a

state of wonder which allows no room for active thought. Mina's

determination not to take any part in the discussion set me

thinking; and as I could not argue the matter with her, I could only

guess. I am as far as ever from a solution now. The way the others

received it, too, puzzled me; the last time we talked of the subject

we agreed that there was to be no more concealment of anything amongst

us. Mina is sleeping now, calmly and sweetly like a little child.

Her lips are curved and her face beams with happiness. Thank God there

are such moments still for her.



  Later.- How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina's happy sleep,

and came as near to being happy myself as I suppose I shall ever be.

As the evening drew on, and the earth took its shadows from the sun

sinking lower, the silence of the room grew more and more solemn to

me. All at once Mina opened her eyes, and looking at me tenderly,

said:-

  "Jonathan, I want you to promise me something on your word of

honour. A promise made to me, but made holily in God's hearing, and

not to be broken though I should go down on my knees and implore you

with bitter tears. Quick, you must make it to me at once."

  "Mina," I said, "a promise like that, I cannot make at once. I may

have no right to make it."

  "But, dear one," she said, with such spiritual intensity that her

eyes were 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 may do as you will. Nay more, if you all agree, later, you are

absolved from the promise."

  "I promise!" I said, and for a moment she looked supremely happy;

though to 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

for the campaign against the Count. Not by word, or inference, or

implication; not at any time whilst this remains to me!" and she

solemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that she was in earnest, and

said solemnly:-

  "I promise!" and as I said it I felt that from that instant a door

had been 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

infected somewhat with her gaiety; as a result even I myself felt as

if the pall of gloom which weighs us down were somewhat lifted. We all

retired early. Mina is now sleeping like a little child; it is a

wonderful thing that her faculty of sleep remains to her in the

midst of her terrible trouble. 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 shall try it. Oh! for a dreamless sleep.



  6 October, morning.- Another surprise. Mina woke me early, about the

same time as yesterday, and asked me to bring Dr. Van Helsing. I

thought that it was another occasion for hypnotism, and without

question went for the Professor. He had evidently expected some such

call, for I found him dressed in his room. His door was ajar, so

that he could hear the opening of the door of our room. He came at

once; as he passed into the room, he asked Mina if the others might

come too.

  "No," she said quite simply, "It will not be necessary. You can tell

them just as well. I must go with you on your journey."

  Dr. Van Helsing was startled as I was. After a moment's pause he

asked:-

  "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

solemnest duty. We go into danger, to which you are, or may be, more

liable than any 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

is coming up; I may not be able again. I know that when the Count

wills me I must go. I know that if he tells me to come in secret, I

must come by wile; by any device to hoodwink- even Jonathan." God

saw the look that she turned on me as she spoke, and if there be

indeed a Recording Angel that look is noted to her everlasting honour.

I could only clasp her hand. I could not speak; my emotion was too

great for even the relief of tears. She went on:-

  "You men are brave and strong. You are strong in your numbers, for

you can defy that which would break down the human endurance of one

who had to guard alone. Besides, I may be of service, since you can

hypnotise me and so learn that which even I myself do not know." Dr.

Van Helsing said very gravely:-

  "Madam Mina you are, as always, most wise. You shall with us come;

and together we shall do that which we go forth to achieve." When he

had spoken, Mina's long spell of silence made me look at her. She

had fallen back on her pillow asleep; she did not even wake when I had

pulled up the blind and let in the sunlight which flooded the room.

Van Helsing motioned to me to come with him quietly. We went to his

room, and within a 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 a

new factor: Madam Mina. Oh, but her soul is true. It is to her an

agony to tell us so much as she has done; but it is most right, and we

are warned in time. There must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must

be ready to act the instant when that ship arrives."

  "What shall we do exactly?" asked Mr. Morris laconically. The

Professor paused before replying:-

  "We shall at the first board that ship; then, when we have

identified the box, we shall place a branch of the wild rose on it.

This we shall fasten, for when it is there none can emerge; so at

least says the superstition. And to superstition must we trust at

the first; it was man'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, we shall open the box, and- and all will be well."

  "I shall not wait for any opportunity," said Morris. "When I see the

box I shall open it and destroy the monster, though there were a

thousand men looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the next

moment!" I grasped 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,

God bless him for it. My child, believe me none of us shall lag behind

or pause 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 things which may happen, and their ways and their ends are so

various that until the moment we may not say. We shall all be armed,

in all ways; and when the time for the end has come, our effort

shall not be lack. Now let us to-day put all our affairs in order. Let

all things which touch on others dear to us, and who on us depend,

be complete; for none of us can tell what, or when, or how, the end

may be. As for me, my own affairs are regulate; and as I have

nothing else to do, I shall go make arrangement for the travel. I

shall have all tickets and so forth for our journey."

  "There was nothing further to be said, and we parted. I shall now

settle up 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

she survive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, then the others

who have been so good to us shall have remainder.

  It is now drawing towards the sunset; Mina's uneasiness calls my

attention to it. I am sure that there is something on her mind which

the time of exact sunset will reveal. These occasions are becoming

harrowing times for us all, for each sunrise and sunset opens up

some new danger- some new pain, which, however, may in God's will be

means to a good end. I write all these things in the diary since my

darling must not hear them now, but if it may be that she can see them

again, they shall 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 he says 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

to understand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of peculiar

freedom; when her old self can be manifest without any controlling

force subduing or restraining her, or inciting her to action. This

mood or condition begins some half hour or more before actual

sunrise or sunset, and lasts till either the sun is high, or whilst

the clouds are still aglow with the rays streaming above the

horizon. At first there is a sort of negative condition, as if some

tie were loosened, and then the absolute freedom quickly follows;

when, however, the freedom ceases the change-back or relapse comes

quickly, preceded only by a spell of warning silence.

  To-night, when we met she was somewhat constrained, and bore all the

signs of an internal struggle. I put it down myself to her making a

violent effort at the earliest instant she could do so. A very few

minutes, however, gave her complete control of herself, then,

motioning her 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 hand in 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 to her husband whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon

hers. "In the morning we go out upon our task, and God alone knows

what may be in store for any of us. You are going to be so good to

me as to take me with you. I know that all that brave earnest men

can do for a poor weak woman, whose soul perhaps is lost- no, no,

not yet, but is at any rate at 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; which must destroy me, unless some

relief comes to us. Oh, my friends, you know as well as I do, that

my soul is at stake; and though I know there is one way out for me,

you must not and I must not take it!" She looked appealingly to us all

in turn, beginning and ending with her husband.

  "What is that way?" asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. "What is

that way, which we must not- may not- take?"

  "That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of another,

before the greater evil is entirely wrought. I know, and you know,

that were I once dead you could and would set free my immortal spirit,

even as you did my poor Lucy's. Were death, or the fear of death,

the only thing that stood in the way I would not shrink to die here,

now, amidst the friends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot

believe that to die in such a case, when there is hope before us and a

bitter task to be done, is God's will. Therefore, I on my part, give

up here the certainty of eternal rest, and go out into the dark

where may be the blackest things that the world or the nether world

holds!" We were all silent, for we knew instinctively that this was

only a prelude. The faces of the others were set, and Harker's grew

ashen grey; perhaps he guessed 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

the quaint legal phrase which she used in such a place, and with all

seriousness. "What will each of you give? Your lives I know," she went

on quickly, "that is easy for brave men. Your lives are God's, and you

can give them back to Him; but what will you give to me?" She looked

again questioningly, but this time avoided her husband's face. Quincey

seemed to understand; he nodded, and her face lit up. "Then I shall

tell you plainly what I want, for there must be no doubtful matter

in this connection 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 was low and

strained.

  "When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is

better that I die that 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 her and taking her hand in his said solemnly:-

  "I'm only a rough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a man should

to win such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold

sacred and dear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch

from the duty that you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I

shall make all certain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that

the time has come!"

  "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

to take the oath. I followed, myself. Then her husband turned to her

wan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy

whiteness of his 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

her voice and eyes. "You must not shrink. You are nearest and

dearest and all the world to me; our souls are knit into one, for

all life and all time. Think dear, that there have been times when

brave men have killed their wives and their womenkind, to keep them

from failing into the hands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter

any the more because those that they loved implored them to slay them.

It is men's duty towards those whom they love, in such times of sore

trial! And oh, my dear, if it is to be that I must meet death at any

hand, let it be at the hand of him that loves me best. Dr. Van

Helsing, I have not forgotten your mercy in poor Lucy's case to him

who loved"- she stopped with a flying blush, and changed her phrase-

"to him who had best right to give her peace. If that time shall

come again, I look to you to make it a happy memory of my husband's

life that it was his loving hand which set me free from the awful

thrall upon me."

  "Again I swear!" came the Professor's resonant voice. Mrs. Harker

smiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of relief she leaned back

and said:-

  "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

in such case you must lose no time in using your opportunity. At

such a time I myself might be- nay! If the time ever comes, shall

be- leagued with your enemy against you."

  "One more request;" she became very solemn as she said this, "it

is not vital and necessary like the other, but I want you to do one

thing for me, if you will." We all acquiesced, but no one spoke; there

was no need to speak:-

  "I want you to read the Burial Service." She was interrupted by a

deep groan from her husband; taking his hand in hers, she held it over

her heart, and continued. "You must read it over me some day. Whatever

may be the issue of all this fearful state of things, it will be a

sweet thought to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will I hope

read it, for then it will be in your voice in my memory for ever- come

what may!"

  "But oh, my dear one," he pleaded, "death afar off from you."

  "Nay," she said, holding up a warning hand. "I am deeper in death at

this 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 to

read when she had got the book ready.

  "How can I- how could any one- tell of that strange scene, its

solemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its horror; and withal, its

sweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but travesty of

bitter truth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted

to the heart had he seen that little group of loving and devoted

friends kneeling round that stricken and sorrowing lady; or heard

the tender passion of her husband's voice, as in tones so broken

with emotion that often he had to pause, he read the simple and

beautiful service from the Burial of 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 may hereafter seem even to us who felt its potent influence at

the time, it comforted us much; and the silence, which showed Mrs.

Harker's coming relapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem so full

of despair to any of 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 the Orient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here at

about five o'clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any

telegram had arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this

hotel- "the Odessus." The journey may have had incidents; I was,

however, too eager to get on, to care for them. Until the Czarina

Catherine comes into port 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 is coming back. She sleeps a great deal;

throughout the journey she slept nearly all the time. Before sunrise

and sunset, however, she is very wakeful and alert; and it has

become a habit for Van Helsing to hypnotise her at such times. At

first, some effort was needed, and he had to make many passes; but

now, she seems to yeild at once, as if by habit, and scarcely any

action is needed. He seems to have power at these particular moments

to simply will, and her thoughts obey him. He always 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

rushing by. Canvas and cordage strain and masts and yards creak. The

wind is high- I can hear it in the shrouds, and the bow throws back

the foam." It is evident that the Czarina Catherine is still a sea,

hastening on her way to Varna. Lord Godalming has just returned. He

had four telegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same

effect: that the Czarina Catherine had not been reported to Lloyd's

from anywhere. He had arranged before leaving London that his agent

should send him every day a telegram saying if the ship had been

reported. He was to have a message even if she were not reported, so

that he might be sure 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 the

Vice-Counsul, and to arrange, if we can, about getting on board the

ship as soon as she arrives. Van Helsing says that our chance will

be to get on the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Count, even if

he takes the form of a bat, cannot cross the running water of his

own volition, and so cannot leave the ship. As he dare not change to

man's form without suspicion- which he evidently washes to avoid- he

must remain in the box. 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 for much. We think that we shall not have

much trouble with officials or the seamen. Thank God! this is the

country where bibery can do anything, and we are well supplied with

money. We have only to make sure that the ship cannot come into port

between sunset and sunrise without our being warned, and we shall be

safe. Judge Moneybag will settle this case, I think!



  16 October.- Mina's report still the same: lapping waves and rushing

water, darkness and favouring winds. We are evidently in good time,

and when we hear of the Czarina Catherine we shall be ready. As she

must pass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some report.



  17 October.- Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to

welcome the Count on his return from his tour. Godalming told the

shippers that he fancied that the box sent aboard might contain

something stolen from a friend of his, and got a half consent that

he might open it at his own risk. The owner gave him a paper telling

the Captain to give him every facility in doing whatever he chose on

board the ship, and also a similar authorisation to his agent at

Varna. We have seen the agent, who was much impressed with Godalming's

kindly manner to him, and we are all satisfied that whatever he can do

to aid our wishes will be done. We have already arranged what to do in

case we get the box open. If the Count is there, Van Helsing and

Seward will cut off his head at once and drive a stake through his

heart. Morris and Godalming and I shall prevent interference, even

if we have to use the arms which we shall have 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 no evidence against us, in case

any suspicion of murder were aroused. But even if it were not, we

should stand or fall by our act, and perhaps some day this very script

may be evidence to come between some of us and a rope. For myself, I

should take the chance only too thankfully if it were to come. We mean

to leave no stone unturned to carry out our intent. We have arranged

with certain officials that the instant the Czarina Catherine is seen,

we are to be informed by a special messenger.



  24 October.- A whole week of waiting. Dally telegrams to

Godalming, but only the same story: "Not yet reported." Mina's morning

and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried: lapping waves, rushing water,

and creaking masts.





                                              Telegram, October 24th.



       Rufus Smith, Lloyd's London, to Lord Godalming, care of

                      H.B.M. Vice-Consul, Varna.



  "Czarina Catherine reported this morning from Dardanelles."





                         Dr. Seward's Diary.



  25 October.- How I miss my phonograph! To write diary with a pen

is irksome to me; but Van Helsing says I must. We were all wild with

excitement yesterday when Godalming got his telegram from Lloyd's. I

know 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.

After all, it is not strange that she did not; for we took special

care not to let her know anything about it, and we all tried not to

show any excitement when we were in her presence. In old days she

would, I am sure, have noticed, no matter how we might have tried to

conceal it; but in this way she is greatly changed during the past

three weeks. The lethargy grows upon her, and though she seems

strong and well, and is getting back some of her colour, Van Helsing

and I are not satisfied. We talk of her often; we have not, however,

said a word to the others. It would break poor Harker's heart-

certainly his nerve- if he knew that we had even a suspicion on the

subject. Van Helsing examines, he tells me, her teeth very

carefully, whilst she is in the hypnotic condition, for he says that

so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is no active danger of a

change in her. If this change should come, it would be necessary to

take steps!... We both know what those steps would have to be,

though we do not mention our thoughts to each other. We should neither

of us shrink from the task- awful though it be to contemplate.

"Euthanasia" is an excellent and a comforting word! I am grateful to

whoever invented it.

  It is only about 24 hours' sail from the Dardanelles to here, at the

rate the Czarina Catherine has come from London. She should

therefore arrive some time in the morning; but as she cannot

possibly get in before then, we are all about to retire early. We

shall get up at one o'clock, so as to be ready.



  25 October, Noon.- No news yet of the ship's arrival. Mrs.

Harker's hypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so it

is possible that we may get news at any moment. We men are all in a

fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold

as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great

Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad

look out for the Count if the edge of that "Kukri" ever touches his

throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!

  Van Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Mrs. Harker to-day.

About noon she got into a sort of lethargy which we did not like;

although we kept silence to the others, we were neither of us happy

about it. She had been restless all the morning, so that we were at

first glad to know that she was sleeping. When, however, her husband

mentioned casually that she was sleeping so soundly that he could

not wake her, we went to her room to see for ourselves. She was

breathing naturally and looked so well and peaceful that we agreed

that the sleep was better for her than anything else. Poor girl, she

has so much to forget that it is no wonder that sleep, if it brings

oblivion to her, does her good.



  Later.- Our opinion was justified, for when after a refreshing sleep

of some hours she woke up, she seemed brighter and better than she had

been for days. At sunset she made the usual hypnotic report.

Wherever he may be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying to his

destination. To his 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 is

apparent, for Mrs. Harker's hypnotic report at sunrise was still the

same. 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 fog both to north and south of the port. We must continue

our watching, as the 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:

"lapping waves and rushing water," though she added that "the waves

were very faint." The telegrams from London have been the same: "no

further report." Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told me just now

that he fears the Count is escaping us. He added significantly:-

  "I did not like that lethargy of Madam Mina's. Souls and memories

can do strange things during trance." I was about to ask him more, but

Harker just then came in, and he held up a warning hand. We must try

to-night at sunset to make her speak more fully when in her hypnotic

state.






         28 October.- Telegram. Rufus Smith, London, to Lord

              Godalming, care H.B.M. Vice Consul, Varna.




  "Czarina Catherine reported entering Galatz at one o'clock to-day."







                         Dr. Seward's Diary.




  28 October.- When the telegram came announcing the arrival in Galatz

I do not think it was such a shock to any of us as might have been

expected. True, we did not know whence, or how, or when, the bolt

would come; but I think we all expected that something strange would

happen. The delay of arrival at Varna made us individually satisfied

that things would not be just as we had expected; we only waited to

learn where the change would occur. None the less, however, was it a

surprise. I suppose that nature works on such a hopeful basis that

we believe against ourselves that things will be as they ought to

be, not as we should know that they will be. Transcendentalism is a

beacon to the angels, even if it be a will-o'-the-wisp to man. It

was an odd experience and we all took it differently. Van Helsing

raised his hand over his head for a moment, as though in

remonstrance with the Almighty; but he said not a word, and in a few

second stood up with his face sternly set. Lord Godalming grew very

pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was myself half stunned and

looked in wonder at one after another. Quincey Morris tightened his

belt with that quick movement which I knew so well; in our old

wandering days it meant "action." Mrs. Harker grew ghastly white, so

that the scar on her forehead seemed to burn, but she folded her hands

meekly and looked up in prayer. Harker smiled- actually smiled- the

dark, bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time

his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the

hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there. "When does the next

train start for Galatz?" said Van Helsing to us generally.

  "At 6:30 to-morrow morning!" We all stared, for the answer came from

Mrs. Harker.

  "How on earth do you know?" said Art.

  "You forget- or perhaps you do not know, though Jonathan does and so

does Dr. Van Helsing- that I am the train fiend. At home in Exeter I

always used to make up the time-tables, so as to be helpful to my

husband. I found it so useful sometimes, that I always make a study of

the timetables now. I knew that if anything were to take us to

Castle Dracula we should go by Galatz, or at any rate through

Bucharest, so I learned the times very carefully. Unhappily there

are not many to learn, as the only train tomorrow leaves as I say."

  "Wonderful woman!" murmured the Professor.

  "Can't we get a special?" asked Lord Godalming. Van Helsing shook

his head: "I fear not. This land is very different from your's or

mine; even if we did have a special, it would probably not arrive as

soon as our regular train. Moreover, we have something to prepare.

We must think. Now let us organize. You, friend Arthur, go to the

train and get the tickets and arrange that all be ready for us to go

in the morning. Do you, friend Jonathan, go to the agent of the ship

and get from him letters to the agent in Galatz, with authority to

make search the ship just as it was here. Morris Quincey, you see

the Vice-Consul, and get his aid with his fellow in Galatz and all

he can do to make our way smooth, so that no times be lost when over

the Danube. John will stay with Madam Mina and me, and we shall

consult. For so if time be long you may be delayed; and it will not

matter when the sun set, since I am here with Madam to make report."

  "And I," said Mrs. Harker brightly, and more like her old self

than she had been for many a long day, "shall try to be of use in

all ways, and shall think and write for you as I used to do. Something

is shifting from 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 to realise the significance of her words; but Van

Helsing and I, turning to each other, met each a grave and troubled

glance. We said nothing at the time, 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

of Harker's journal at the Castle. She went away to get it; when the

door was 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 may

deceive 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

tell you 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 those words that arrest both our understanding, an

inspiration came to me. In the trance of three days ago the Count sent

her his spirit to read her mind; or more like he took her to see him

in his earth-box in the ship with water rushing, just as it go free at

rise and set of sun. He learn then that we are here; for she have more

to tell in her open life with eyes 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, that so she come not to him. Ah! there I have hope that our

man-brains that have been of man so long and that have not lost the

grace of God, will come, 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 and therefore 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 when we want all her hope all her courage; when most

we want all her great brain which is trained like man's brain, but

is of sweet woman and have a special power which the Count give her,

and which he may not take away altogether- though he think not so.

Hush! let me speak, and you shall learn. Oh, John, my friend, we are

in awful straits. I fear, as I never feared 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

controlled himself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs. Harker

tripped into the room, bright and happy-looking and, in the doing of

work, seemingly forgetful of her misery. As she came in, she handed

a number of sheets of typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over

them gravely, his face brightening up as he read. Then holding the

pages between his finger and thumb 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 to think. A half-thought has been buzzing often in my brain,

but I fear to let him loose his wings. Here now, with more

knowledge, I go back to where that half-thought come from, and I

find that he be no half-thought at all; that be a whole thought,

though so young that he is not yet strong to use his little wings.

Nay, like the "Ugly Duck" of my friend Hans Andersen, he be no

duck-thought at all, but a big swan-thought that sail nobly on big

wings, when the time come for him to try them. See I read here what

Jonathan have written:-

  "That other of his race who, in a later age, again and again,

brought his forces over The Great River into Turkey Land; who, when he

was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had to

come alone 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 see

nothing; therefore he speak so free. Your man-thought see nothing;

my man-thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there comes another

word from some one who speak without thought because she, too, know

not what it 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- then pouf! and there comes a flash of light, heaven wide,

that blind and kill and destroy some: but that show up all earth below

for leagues and leagues. Is it not so? Well, I shall explain. To

begin, have you ever study the philosophy of crime. 'Yes' and 'No.'

You, John, yes; for it is a study of insanity. You, no, Madam Mina;

for crime touch you not- not but once. Still, your mind works true,

and argues not a particulari and universale. There is this

pecularity in criminals. It is so constant, in all countries and at

all times, that even police, who know not much from philosophy, come

to know it empirically, that it Is. That is to be empiric. The

criminal always work at one crime- that is the true criminal who seems

predestinate to crime, and who will of none other. This criminal has

not full man-brain. He is clever and cunning and resourceful; but he

be not of man-stature as to brain. He be of child-brain in much. Now

this criminal of ours is predestinate to crime also; he, too, have

child-brain, and it is of the child to do what he have done. The

little bird, the little fish, the little animal learn not by

principle, but empirically; and when he learn to do, then there is

to him the ground to start from to do more. 'Dos pou sto,' said

Archimedes. '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 have the 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

are opened, and that to you the lightning flash show all the leagues,"

for Mrs. 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

with those 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 and unconsciously, as she spoke:-

  "The Count is a criminal and of criminal type. Nordau and Lombroso

would so classify him, and qua criminal he is of imperfectly formed

mind. Thus, in a difficulty he has to seek resource in habit. His past

is a clue, and the one page of it that we know- and that from his

own lips- 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 had

tried to invade, and thence, without losing purpose, prepared

himself for 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 all hope of success was lost, and his existence in

danger, he fled back over the sea to his home; just as formerly he had

fled back over the Danube from Turkey Land."

  "Good, good! oh, you so clever lady?" said Van Helsing,

enthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later he

said to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sickroom

consultation:-

  "Seventy-two only; and in all this excitement. I have hope." Turning

to her 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

small and his action is based on selfishness, he confines himself to

one purpose. 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

being safe, careless of all. So, his own selfishness frees my soul

somewhat from the terrible power which he acquired over me on that

dreadful night. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for His great

mercy! My soul is freer than it has been since that awful hour; and

all that haunts me is a fear lest in some trance or dream he may

have used my knowledge for his 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 to

Galatz, 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

in God's Providence, the very thing that the evil-doer most reckoned

on for his selfish good, turns out to be his chiefest harm. The hunter

is taken in his own snare, as the great Psalmist says, For now that he

think he is free from every trace of us all, and that he has escaped

us with so many hours to him, then his selfish child-brain will

whisper him to sleep. 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 fall! That terrible baptism of blood which he give you

makes you free to go to him in spirit, as you have as yet done in your

times of freedom, when the sun rise and set. At such times you go by

my volition and not by his; and this power to good of you and

others, you have won from your suffering at his hands. This is now all

more precious that he know it not, and to guard himself have even

cut himself off from his knowledge of our where. We, however, are

not selfish, and we believe that God is with us through all this

blackness, and these many dark hours. We shall follow him; and we

shall not flinch; even if we peril ourselves that we become like

him. Friend John, this has been a great hour, and it have done much to

advance us on our way. You must be scribe and write him all down, so

that when the others return from their work you 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.

Harker has 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. Last

night we all assembled a little before the time of sunset. Each of

us had 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, and for 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 and more serious effort on the part of Van Helsing than

has been usually necessary, she sank into the trance. Usually she

speaks on a hint; but this time the Professor had to ask her

questions, and to ask them pretty resolutely, before we could learn

anything; at last her answer came:-

  "I can see nothing; we are still; there are no waves lapping, but

only a steady swirl of water softly running against the hawser. I

can hear men's voices calling, near and far, and the roll and creak of

oars in the rowlocks. A gun is fired somewhere; the echo of it seems

far away. There is tramping of feet overhead, and ropes and chains are

dragged along. What is this? There is a gleam of light; I can feel the

air blowing upon me."

  Here she stopped. She had risen, as if impulsively, from where she

lay on the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms upwards, as if

lifting a weight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with

understanding. Quincey raised her eyebrows slightly and looked at

her intently, whilst Harker's hand instinctively closed round the hilt

of his Kukri. There was a long pause. We all knew that the time when

she could speak was passing; but we felt that it was useless to say

anything. Suddenly she sat up, and, as she opened her eyes, said

sweetly:-

  "Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so tired!"

We could only make her happy, and so acquiesced. She bustled off to

get tea; when she had gone Van Helsing said:-

  "You see, my friends. He is close to land: he has left his

earth-chest. But he has yet to get on shore. In the night he may lie

hidden somewhere; but if he be not carried on shore, or if the ship do

not touch it, he cannot achieve the land. In such case he can, if it

be in the night, change his form and can jump or fly on shore, as he

did at Whitby. But if the day come before he get on shore, then,

unless he be carried he cannot escape. And if he be carried, then

the customs men may discover what the box contains. Thus, in fine,

if he escape not on shore 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 come on him in daytime, boxed up and at

our mercy; for he dare not be his true 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 her

response in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even longer in coming

than before; and when it came the time remaining until full sunrise

was so short that we began to despair. Van Helsing seemed to throw his

whole soul into the effort; at last, in obedience to his will she made

reply:-

  "All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and some creaking

as of wood on wood." She paused, and the red sun shot up. We must wait

till to-night.

  And so it is that we are travelling towards Galatz in an agony of

expectation. We are due to arrive between two and three in the

morning; but already, at Bucharest, we are three hours late, so we

cannot possibly get in till well after sunup. Thus we shall have two

more hypnotic messages from Mrs. Harker, either or both may possibly

throw more light on what is happening.




  Later.- Sunset has come and gone. Fortunately it came at a time when

there was no distraction; for had it occurred whilst we were at a

station, we might not have secured the necessary calm and isolation.

Mrs. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less readily than

this morning. I am in fear that her power of reading the Count's

sensations may die away just when we want it most. It seems to me that

her imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she has been in the

trance hitherto she has confined herself to the simplest of facts.

If this goes on it may ultimately mislead us. If I thought that the

Count's power over her would die away equally with her power of

knowledge it would be a happy thought; but I am afraid that it may not

be so. When she did speak, her words were enigmatical:-

  "Something is going out; I can feel it pass me like a cold wind. I

can hear, far off, confused sounds- as of men talking in strange

tongues, fierce- falling water, and the howling of wolves." She

stopped and a shudder 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, even in answer to the Professor's imperative

questioning. When she woke from the trance, she was cold, and

exhausted, and languid; but her mind was all 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 in silence.




  30 October, 7 a.m.- We are near Galatz now, and I may not have

time to 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 no effect, however, until the regular time, when she

yielded with a still greater difficulty, only a minute before the

sun rose. The Professor lost no time in his questioning; her answer

came with equal quickness:-

  "All is dark. I hear water swirling by, level with my ears, and

the creaking of wood on wood. Cattle low far off. There is another

sound, a queer one like-" she stopped and grew white, and whiter

still.

  "Go on; go on! Speak, I command you!" said Van Helsing in an

agonised voice. At the same time there was despair in his eyes, for

the risen sun was reddening even Mrs. Harker's pale face. She opened

her eyes, and we all started as she said, sweetly and seemingly with

the utmost unconcern:-

  "Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what you know I can't? I don't

remember anything." 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 was

lying 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

bad child!"

  "Oh, Madam Mina," he said, sadly, "it is proof, if proof be needed,

of how I love and honour you, when a word for your good, spoken more

earnest than ever, can seem so strange because it is to order her whom

I am proud to obey!"

  The whistles are sounding; we are nearing Galatz. We are on fire

with anxiety and eagerness.







                        Mina Harker's Journal.




  30 October.- Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had

been ordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best be

spared, since he does not speak any foreign language. The forces

were distributed much as they had been at Varna, except that Lord

Godalming went to the Vice-Consul, as his rank might serve as an

immediate guarantee of some sort to the official, we being in

extreme hurry. Jonathan and the two doctors went to the shipping agent

to learn particulars of the arrival of the Czarina Catherine.




  Later.- Lord Godalming has returned. The Consul is away, and the

Vice-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

called on Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the agents of the London firm

of Hapgood. They had received a wire from London, in answer to Lord

Godalming's telegraphed request, asking us to show them any civility

in their power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took us at

once on board the Czarina Catherine, which lay at anchor out in the

river harbour. There we saw the Captain, Donelson by name, who told us

of his voyage. He said that in all his life he had never had so

favourable a run.

  "Man!" he said, "but it made us afeard, for we expeckit that we

should have to pay for it wi' some rare piece o' ill luck, so as to

keep up the average. It's no canny to run frae London to the Black Sea

wi' a wind ahint ye, as though the Deil himself were blawin' on yer

sail for his ain purpose An' a' the time we could no speer a thing.

Gin we were nigh a 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 could we see. We ran by Gibraltar wi'oot bein' able

to signal; an'till we came to the Dardanelles and had to wait to get

our permit to pass, we never were within hail o' aught. At first I

inclined to slack off sail and beat about till the fog was lifted; but

whiles, I thocht that if the Deil was minded to get us into the

Black Sea quick, he was like to do it whether we would or no. If we

had a quick voyage it would be no to our miscredit wi' the owners,

or no hurt to our traffic; an' the Old Mon who had served his ain

purpose wad be decently grateful to us for no hinderin' him." This

mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition and commercial

reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said:-

  "Mine friend, that Devil is more clever than he is thought by

some; and he know when he meet his match!" The skipper was not

displeased with the compliment, 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 had been put on board by a queer lookin' old man just before

we had started frae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and

put out their twa fingers when they saw him, to guard against the evil

eye. Man! but the supersteetion of foreigners is pairfectly

rideeculous! I sent them aboot their business pretty quick; but as

just after a fog closed in on us, I felt a wee bit as they did anent

something, though I wouldn't say it was agin the bit box. Well, on

we went, and as the fog didn't let up for five days I joost let the

wind carry us; for if the Deil wanted to get somewheres- well, he

would fetch it up a'reet. An' if he didn't, well, we'd keep a sharp

look out anyhow. Sure eneuch, we had a fair way and deep water all the

time; and two days ago, when the mornin' sun came through the fog,

we found ourselves just in the river opposite Galatz. The Roumanians

were wild, and wanted me right or wrong to take out the box and

fling it in the river. I had to argy wi' them aboot it wi' a

handspike; an' when the last o' them rose off the deck, wi' his head

in his hand, I had convinced them that, evil eye or no evil eye, the

property and the trust of my owners were better in my hands than in

the river Danube. They had, mind ye, taken the box on the deck ready

to fling in, and as it was marked Galatz via Varna, I thocht I'd let

it lie till we discharged in the port an' get rid o't athegither. We

didn'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 came aboard wi' an order, written to him from England, to

receive a box marked for one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was

one ready to his hand. He had his papers a' reet, an' glad I was to be

rid o' the dam thing, for I was beginnin' masel' to feel uneasy at it.

If the Deil did have any luggage aboord the ship, I'm thinkin' it

was nane ither than that same!"

  "What was the name of the man who took it?" asked Dr. Van Helsing

with restrained eagerness.

  "I'll be tellin' ye quick!" he answered, and, stepping down to his

cabin, produced a receipt signed "Immanuel Hildesheim." Burgen-strasse

16 was the address. We found out that this was all the Captain knew;

so with thanks we came away.

  We found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the Adelphi

Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His arguments

were pointed with specie- we doing the punctuation- and with a

little bargaining he told us what he knew. This turned out to be

simple but important. He had received a letter from Mr. de Ville of

London, telling him to receive, if possible before sunrise so as to

avoid customs, a box which would arrive at Galatz in the Czarina

Catherine. This he was to give in charge to a certain Petrof

Skinsky, who dealth with the Slovaks who traded down the river to

the port. He had been paid for his work by an English bank note, which

had been duly cashed for gold at the Danube international Bank. When

Skinsky had come to him, he had taken him to the ship and handed

over the box, so as to save porterage. That was all he knew.

  We then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find him. One of

his neighbours, who did not seem to bear him any affection, said

that he had gone away two days before, no one knew whither. This was

corroborated by his landlord, who had received by messenger the key of

the house together with the rent due, in English money. This had

been between ten and eleven o'clock last night. We were at a

standstill again.

  Whilst we were talking one came running and breathlessly gasped

out that the body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall of the

churchyard of St. Peter, and that the throat had been torn open as

if by some wild animal. Those we had been speaking with ran off to see

the horror, the women crying out "This is the work of a Slovak!" We

hurried away lest we should 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

all convinced that the box was on its way, by water, to somewhere; but

where that might be we would have to discover. With heavy hearts we

came home to the hotel to Mina.

  When we met together, the first thing was to consult as to taking

Mina again into our confidence. Things are getting desperate, and it

is at least a chance, though a hazardous one. As a preliminary step, I

was released from my promise to her.







                        Mina Harker's Journal.




  30 October, evening.- They were so tired and worn out and dispirited

that there was nothing to be done till they had some rest; so I

asked them all to lie down for half an hour whilst I should enter

everything up to the moment. I feel so grateful to the man who

invented the "Traveller's" typewriter, and to Mr. Morris for getting

this one for me. I should have felt quite astray doing the work if I

had to write with 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 to breathe, and his whole body appears in collapse. His

brows are knit; his face is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe he

is thinking, and I can see 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 I have not yet seen... Whilst they are resting, I shall go over

all carefully, and perhaps I may arrive at some conclusion. I shall

try to follow the Professor's example, and think without prejudice

on the facts before me...

  I do believe that under God's providence I have made a discovery.

I shall get the maps and look over them...

  I am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is

ready, so I shall get our party together and read it. They can judge

it; it is well 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

own place.

  (a) He must be brought back by some one. This is evident; for had he

power 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 or

interference, in the state of helplessness in which he must be

confined as he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden box.

  (b) How is he to be taken?- Here a process of exclusions may help

us. By road, by rail, by water?

  1. By Road.- There are endless difficulties, especially in leaving

the city.

  (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

order to prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so far as he can,

even his victim- me!

  2. By Rail.- There is no one in charge of the box. It would have

to take its chance of being delayed; and delay would be fatal, with

enemies on the track. True, he might escape at night, but what would

he be, if left in a strange place with no refuge that he could fly to.

This is not what he intends; and he does not mean to risk it.

  3. By Water.- Here is the safest way, in one respect, but with

most danger in another. On the water he is powerless except at

night; even then he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his

wolves. But were he wrecked, the living water would engulf him,

helpless; and he would indeed be lost. He could have the vessel

drive to land; but if it were unfriendly land, wherein he was not free

to move, his position would still be desperate.

  We know from the record that he was on the water, so what we have to

do is 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

part of his general plan of action, when he was pressed for moments

and had to arrange as best he could.

  Secondly.- we must see, as well as we can surmise it from the

facts we know of, what he has done here.

  As to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and sent

invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain his means of

exit from England; his immediate and sole purpose then was to

escape. The proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent to

immanuel Hildesheim to clear and take away the box before sunrise.

There is also the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only

guess at; but there must have been some letter or message, since

Skinsky came to Hildesheim.

  That, so far, his plans were successful we know. The Czarina

Catherine made a phenomenally quick journey- so much so that Captain

Donelson's suspicions were aroused; but his superstition united with

his canniness played the Count's game for him, and he ran with his

favouring wind through fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at

Galatz. That the Count's arrangements were well made, has been proved.

Hildesheim cleared the box, took it off, and gave it to Skinsky.

Skinsky took it- and here we 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 been avoided.

  Now we come to what the Count must have done after his arrival- on

land, at Galatz.

  The box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the Count

could appear in his own form. Here, we ask why Skinsky was chosen at

all to aid in the work? In my husband's diary, Skinsky is mentioned as

dealing with the Slovaks who trade down the river to the port; and the

man's remark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the

general feeling against his class. The Count wanted isolation.

  My surmise is, this: that in London the Count decided to get back to

his castle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was brought

from the castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered their cargo

to Slovaks who took the boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped

for London. Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could

arrange this service. When the box was on land, before sunrise or

after sunset, he came out from his box, met Skinsky and instructed him

what to do as to arranging the carriage of the box up some river. When

this was done, and he 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

the Slovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the Sereth. I read

in the typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and water

swirling level 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 or poles, for the banks are near and it is working against

stream. There would be no such sound if floating down stream.

  Of course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, but we may

possibly investigate further. Now of these two, the Pruth is the

more easily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by the

Bistritza which runs up round the Borgo pass. The loop it makes is

manifestly as close 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.

The others kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing said:-

  "Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes have been

where we were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and this

time we may succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless; and if we

can come on him by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has

a start, but he is powerless to hasten, as he may not leave his box

lest those who carry him may suspect; for them to suspect would be

to prompt them to throw him 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 all shall 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.

There must be force to overcome force if need be; the Slovak is strong

and rough, and he carries rude arms." All the men smiled, for

amongst them they carried a small arsenal. Said Mr. Morris:-

  "I have brought some Winchesters; they are pretty handy in a

crowd, and there may be wolves. The Count, if you remember, took

some other precautions; he made some requisitions on others that

Mrs. Harker could not 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

hunt together, and we two, well armed, will be a match for whatever

may come along. You must not be alone Art. It may be necessary to

fight the Slovaks, and a chance thrust- for I don't suppose these

fellows carry guns- would undo all our plans. There must be no

chances, this time; we shall not rest until the Count's head and

body have been separated, and we are sure that he cannot

re-incarnate." He looked at Jonathan as he spoke, and Jonathan

looked at me. I could see that the poor dear was torn about in his

mind. Of course he wanted to be with me; but then the boat service

would, most likely, be the one which would destroy the... the...

the... Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?) He was

silent awhile, and during his silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke:-

  "Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First, because

you are young and brave and can fight, and all energies may be

needed at the last; and again that it is your right to destroy him-

that- which has wrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for

Madam Mina; she will be my care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not

so quick to run as once; and I am not used to ride so long or to

pursue as need be, or to fight with lethal weapons. But I can be of

other service; I can fight in other way. And I can die, if need be, as

well as younger men. Now let me say that what I would is this: while

you, my Lord Godalming, and friend Jonathan go in your so swift little

steamboat up the river, and whilst John and Quincey guard the bank

where perchance he might be landed, I will take Madam Mina right

into the heart of the enemy's country. Whilst the old fox is tied in

his box, floating on the running stream whence he cannot escape to

land-where he dares not raise the lid of his coffin-box lest his

Slovak carriers should in fear leave him to perish- we shall go in the

track where Jonathan went,- from Bistritz over the Borgo, and find our

way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, Madam Mina's hypnotic power will

surely help, and we shall And our way- all dark and unknown otherwise-

after the first sunrise when we are near that fateful place. There

is much to be done, and other places to be made sanctify, so that that

nest of vipers be obliterated." Here Jonathan 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,

right into the jaws of his death-trap? Not for the world! Not for

Heaven or Hell!" 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

hellish infamy- with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes,

and every speck 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 to me, 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 sank down on the sofa in a collapse of misery. The

Professor's voice, as he spoke in clear, sweet tones, which seemed

to vibrate in the air, calmed us all:-

  "Oh my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina from that awful

place that I would go. God forbid that I should take her into that

place. There is work- wild work- to be done there, that her eyes may

not see. We men here, all save Jonathan, have seen with their own eyes

what is to be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we

are in terrible straits. If the Count escape us this time- and he is

strong and subtle and cunning- he may choose to sleep him for a

century, and then in time our dear one"- he took my hand- "would

come to him to keep him company, and would be as those others that

you, Jonathan, saw. You have told us of their gloating lips; you heard

their ribald laugh as they clutched the moving bag that the Count

threw to them, You shudder, and well may it be. Forgive me that I make

you so much pain, but it is necessary. My friend, is it not a dire

need for the which I am giving, possibly my life? If it were that

anyone 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, "we are 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, and so 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 do when basely used. I felt so thankful that Lord

Godalming is rich, and that both he and Mr. Morris, who also has

plenty of money, are willing to spend it so freely. For if they did

not, our little expedition could not start, either so promptly or so

well equipped, as it will within another hour. It is not three hours

since it was arranged what part each of us was to do; and now Lord

Godalming and Jonathan have a lovely steam launch, with steam up ready

to start at a moment's notice. Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris have half a

dozen good horses, well appointed. We have all the maps and appliances

of various kinds that can be had. Professor Van 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 are bringing a good deal of

ready money, as we are to buy a carriage and horses. We shall drive

ourselves, for we have no one whom we can trust in 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 a large-bore revolver,

Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed like the rest. Alas!

I cannot carry one arm that the rest do; the scar on my forehead

forbids that. Dear Dr. Van Helsing comforts me by telling me that I am

fully armed as there may be wolves; the weather is getting colder

every hour, and there are snow-flurries which come and go as warnings.




  Later.- It took all my courage to say good-bye to my darling. We may

never 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 that God will let them fall in gladness.







                      Jonathan Harker's Journal.




  October 30. Night.- I am writing this in the light from the

furnace door of the steam launch; Lord Godalming is firing up. He is

an experienced hand at the work, as he has had for years a launch of

his own on the Thames, and an other on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding

our plans, we finally decided that Mina's guess was correct, and

that if any waterway was chosen for the Count's escape back to his

Castle, the Sereth and then the Bistritza at its junction, would be

the one. We took it, that somewhere about the 47th degree, north

latitude, would be the place chosen for the crossing the country

between the river and the Carpathians. We have no fear in running at

good speed up the river at night; there is plenty of water, and the

banks are wide enough apart to make steaming, even in the dark, easy

enough. Lord Godalming tells me to sleep for a while, as it is

enough for the present for one to be on watch. But I cannot sleep- how

can I with the terrible danger hanging over my darling, and her

going out into that awful place... My only comfort is that we are in

the hands of God. Only for that faith it would be 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 higher lands where they

can see a good stretch of river and avoid the following of its curves.

They have, for the first stages, two men to ride and lead their

spare horses- four in all, so as not to excite curiosity. When they

dismiss the men, which shall be shortly, they shall themselves look

after the horses. It may be necessary for us to join forces; if so

they can mount our whole party. One of the saddles has a movable horn,

and can be easily adapted for Mina, if required.

  It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along

through the darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise

up and strike us; with all the mysterious voices of the night around

us, it all comes home. We seem to be drifting into unknown places

and unknown ways; into a whole world of dark and dreadful things.

Godalming is shutting the furnace door...




  31 October.- Still hurrying along. The day has come, and Godalming

is sleeping. I am on watch. The morning is bitterly cold; the

furnace heat is grateful, though we have heavy fur coats. As yet we

have passed only a few open boats, but none of them had on board any

box or package of anything like the size of the one we seek. The men

were scared every time we turned our electric lamp on them, and fell

on their knees and prayed.




  1 November, evening.- No news all day; we have found nothing of

the kind we seek. We have now passed into the Bistritza; and if we are

wrong in our surmise our chance is gone. We have overhauled every

boat, big and 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 a Roumanian flag which we now fly conspicuously. With

every boat which we have overhauled since then this trick has

succeeded; we have had every deference shown to us, and not once any

objection to whatever we chose to 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. This was before they came to Fundu, so

they could not tell us whether the boat turned into the Bistritza or

continued on up the Sereth. At Fundu we could not hear of any such

boat, so she must have passed there in the night. I am feeling very

sleepy; the cold is perhaps beginning to tell upon me, and nature must

have rest some time. Godalming insists that he shall keep the first

watch. God bless him for all his goodness to poor dear Mina and me.




  2 November, morning.- It is broad daylight. That good fellow would

not wake me. He says it would have been a sin to, for I slept so

peacefully and was forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish to

me to have slept so long, and let him watch all night; but he was

quite right. I am a new man this morning; and, as I sit here and watch

him sleeping, I can do all that is necessary both as to minding the

engine, steering, and keeping watch. I can feel that my strength and

energy are coming back to me. I wonder where Mina is now, and Van

Helsing. They should have got to Veresti about noon on Wednesday. It

would take them some time to get the carriage and horses; so if they

had started and travelled hard, they would be about now at the Borgo

Pass. God guide and help them! I am afraid to think what may happen.

If we could only go faster! but we cannot; the engines are throbbing

and doing their utmost. I wonder how Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris are

getting on. There seem to be endless streams running down from the

mountains into this river, but as none of them are very large- at

present, at all events, though they are terrible doubtless in winter

and when the snow melts- the horsemen may not have met much

obstruction. I hope that before we get to Strasba we may see them; for

if by that time we have not overtaken the Count, it may be necessary

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

it if there had been, for every moment is precious. We have had only

the rest 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 the

Bistritza. I wish it wasn't so cold. There are signs of snow coming;

and if it falls heavy it will stop us. In such case we must get a

sledge and go on, Russian fashion.




  4 November.- To-day we heard of the launch having been detained by

an accident when trying to force a way up the rapid. The Slovak

boats get up all right, by aid of a rope, and steering with knowledge.

Some went up only a few hours before. Godalming is an amateur fitter

himself, and evidently it was he who put the launch in trim again.

Finally, they got up the Rapids all right, with local help, and are

off on the chase afresh. I fear that the boat is not any better for

the accident; the peasantry tell us that after she got upon the smooth

water again, she kept stopping every now and again so long as she

was in sight. We must push on harder than ever; our help may be wanted

soon.







                        Mina Harker's Journal.




  31 October.- Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor tells me that

this morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotise me at all, and that all

I could say was: "dark and quiet." He is off now buying a carriage and

horses. He says that he will later on try to buy additional horses, so

that we may be able to change them on the way. We have something

more than 70 miles before us. The country is lovely, and most

interesting; if only we were under different conditions, how

delightful it would be to see it all. If Jonathan and I were driving

through it alone what a pleasure it would be. To stop and see

people, and learn something of their life, and to fill our minds and

memories with all the colour and picturesqueness of the whole wild,

beautiful country and the quaint people! But, alas!




  Later.- Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has got the carriage and

horses; we are to have some dinner, and to start in an hour. The

landlady is putting us up a huge basket of provisions; it seems enough

for a company of soldiers. The Professor encourages her, and

whispers to me that it may be a week before we can get any good food

again. He has been shopping too, and has sent home such a wonderful

lot of fur coats and wraps, and all sorts of warm things. There will

not be any chance of our being cold.

  We shall soon be off. I am afraid to think what may happen to us. We

are truly 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 over my beloved husband; that whatever may happen, Jonathan

may know that I loved him and honoured him more than I can say, and

that my latest and truest 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.

The horses seem to know that they are being kindly treated, for they

go willingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had so many

changes and find the same thing so constantly that we are encouraged

to think 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 well to make the exchange of horses. We get hot soup, or

coffee, or tea; and off we go. It is a lovely country; full of

beauties of all imaginable kinds, and the people are brave, and

strong, and simple, and seem full of nice qualities. They are very,

very superstitious. In the first house where we stopped, when the

woman who served us saw the scar on my forehead, she crossed herself

and put out two fingers towards me, to keep off the evil eye. I

believe they went to the trouble of putting an extra amount of

garlic into our food; and I can't abide garlic. Ever since then I have

taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so have escaped their

suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have no driver with us

to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal; but I daresay that fear of the

evil eye will follow hard behind us all the way. The Professor seems

tireless; all day he would not take any rest, though he made me

sleep for a long spell. At sunset time he hypnotised me, and he says

that I answered as usual "darkness, lapping water and creaking

wood;" so our enemy is still on the river. I am afraid to think of

Jonathan, but somehow I have now no fear for him, or for myself I

write this 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 and grey, but his mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror's; even in

his sleep he is instinct with resolution. When we have well started

I must make him rest whilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have

days before us, and he must not break down when most of all his

strength will be needed... All is ready; we are off shortly.




  2 November, morning.- I was successful, and we took turns driving

all night; now the day is on us, bright though cold. There is a

strange heaviness in the air- I say heaviness for want of a better

word; I mean that it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only

our warm furs keep us comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotised

me; he says I answered "darkness, creaking wood and roaring water," so

the river is changing as they ascend. I do hope that my darling will

not run any chance of danger- more than need be; but we are in God's

hands.




  2 November, night.- All day long driving. The country gets wilder as

we go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which at Veresti seemed

so far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather round

us and tower in front. We both seem in good spirits; I think we make

an effort 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.

The houses are very few here now, and the Professor says that the last

horses we got will have to go on with us, as we may not be able to

change. He got two in addition to the two we changed, so that now we

have a rude four-in-hand. The dear horses are patient and good, and

they give us no trouble. We are not worried with other travellers, and

so even I can drive. We shall get to the Pass in daylight; we do not

want to arrive before. So we take it easy, and have each a long rest

in turn. Oh, what will to-morrow bring to us? We go to seek the

place where my poor darling suffered so much. God grant that we may be

guided aright, and that 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 His sight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and

shall be until He may deign to let me stand forth in His sight as

one of those who have not incurred His wrath.







                  Memorandum by Abraham Van Helsing.




  4 November.- This to my old and true friend John Seward, M.D., of

Purfleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may explain. It is

morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept

alive- Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold; so cold that the grey

heavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for all

winter as the ground is hardening to receive it. It seems to have

affected Madam Mina; she has been so heavy of head all day that she

was not like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps! She, who

is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day; she even

have lost her appetite. She make no entry into her little diary, she

who write so faithful 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 refresh and restore her, for now she is all sweet and

bright as ever. At sunset I try to hypnotise her, but alas! with no

effect; the power has grown less 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, I must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day of

us may not go unrecorded.

  We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning.

When I saw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism. We

stopped our carriage, and got down so that there might be no

disturbance. I made a couch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down,

yield herself as usual, but more slow and more short time than ever,

to the hypnotic sleep. As before, came the answer: "darkness and the

swirling of water." Then she woke, 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 new guiding 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 my Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?"

  At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be only

one such by-road. It is used but little, and very different from the

coach road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more wide and hard,

and more of use.

  So we came down this road; when we meet other ways- not always

were we sure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and

light snow have fallen- the horses know and they only. I give rein

to them, and they go on so patient. By-and-by we find all the things

which Jonathan have note in that wonderful diary of him. Then we go on

for long, long hours and hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to

sleep; she try, and she succeed. She sleep all the time; till at the

last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and attempt to wake her. But

she sleep on, and I may not wake her though I try. I do not wish to

try too hard lest I harm her; for I know that she have suffer much,

and sleep at times be all-in-all to her. I think I drowse myself,

for all of sudden I feel guilt, as though I have done something; I

find myself bolt up, with the reins in my hand, and the good horses go

along jog, jog, just as ever. I look down and find Madam Mina still

sleep. It is now not far off sunset time, 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 though it were the end of

the world.

  Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much

trouble, and then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But she sleep

not, being as though I were not. Still I try and try, till all at once

I find her and myself 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 we first enter the Count's house. I am amaze, and

not at ease then; but she is so bright and tender and thoughtful for

me that I forget all fear. I light a fire, for we have brought

supply of wood with us, and she prepare 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 go to help her, but she smile,

and tell me that she have eat already- that she was so hungry that she

would not wait. I like it not, and I have grave doubts; but I fear

to affright her, and so I am silent of it. She help me and I eat

alone; and then we wrap in fur and lie beside the fire, and I tell her

to sleep while I watch. But presently I forget all of watching; and

when I sudden remember that I watch, I find her lying quiet, but

awake, and looking at me with so bright eyes. Once, twice more the

same occur, and I get much sleep till before morning. When I wake I

try to hypnotise her; but alas! though she shut her eyes obedient, she

may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up; and then sleep come to

her too late, but so heavy that she will not wake. I have to lift

her up, and place her sleeping in the carriage when I have harnessed

the horses and made all ready. Madam still sleep, and sleep; and she

look in her sleep more healthy and more redder than before. And I like

it not. And I am afraid, afraid, afraid!- I am afraid of all things-

even to think; but I must go on my way. The stake we play for is

life and death, or more than these, and we must not flinch.




  5 November, morning.- Let me be accurate in everything, for though

you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first

think that I, Van Helsing, am mad- that the many horrors and the so

long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.

  All yesterday we travel, ever getting closer to the mountains, and

moving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are great,

frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem to have

held sometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and sleep; and

though I did have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken her-

even for food. I began to fear that the fatal spell of the place was

upon her, tainted as she is with that Vampire baptism. "Well," said

I to myself, "if it be that she sleep all the day, it shall also be

that I do not sleep at night." As we travel on the rough road, for a

road of an ancient and imperfect kind there was, I held down my head

and slept. Again I waked with a sense of guilt and of time passed, and

found Madam Mina still sleeping, and the sun low down. But all was

indeed changed; the frowning mountains seemed further away, and we

were near the top of a steep-rising hill, on summit of which was

such a castle as Jonathan tell of 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- for

even after down-sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the snow,

and all was for a time in a great twilight- I took out the horses

and fed them in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire; and near

it I make Madam Mina, now awake and more charming than ever, sit

comfortable amid her rugs. I got ready food: but she would not eat,

simply saying that she had not hunger. I did not press her, knowing

her unavailingness. But I myself eat, for I must needs now be strong

for all. Then, with the fear on me of what might be, I drew a ring

so big for her comfort, round where Madam Mina sat; and over the

ring I passed some of the wafer, and I broke it fine so that all was

well guarded. She sat still all the time- so still as one dead; and

she grew whiter and ever whiter till the snow was not more pale; and

no word she said. But when I drew near, she clung to me, and I could

know that the poor soul shook her from head to feet with a tremor that

was pain to feel. I said to her presently, when she had grown more

quiet:-

  "Will you not come over to the fire?" for I wished to make a test of

what she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step she

stopped, and stood as one stricken.

  "Why not go on?" I asked. She shook her head, and, coming back,

sat down in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one

waked from sleep, she said simply:-

  "I cannot!" and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what

she could not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might

be danger to her body, yet her soul was safe!

  Presently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers till

I came to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands on

them, they whinnied low as in joy, and licked at my hands and were

quiet for a time. Many times through the night did I come to them,

till it arrive to the cold hour when all nature is at lowest; and

every time my coming was with quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire

began to die, and I was about stepping forth to replenish it, for

now the snow came in flying sweeps and with it a chill mist. Even in

the dark there was a light of some kind, as there ever is over snow;

and it seemed as though the snow-flurries and the wreaths of mist took

shape as of women with trailing garments. All was in dead, grim

silence only that the horses whinnied and cowered, as if in terror

of the worst. I began to fear- horrible fears; but then came to me the

sense of safety in that ring wherein I stood. I began, too, to think

that my imaginings were of the night, and the gloom, and the unrest

that I have gone through, and all the terrible anxiety. It was as

though my memories of all Jonathan's horrid experience were

befooling me; for the snow flakes and the mist began to wheel and

circle round, till I could get as though a shadowy glimpse of those

women that would have kissed him. And then the horses cowered lower

and lower, and moaned in terror as men do in pain. Even the madness of

fright was not to them, so that they could break away. I feared for my

dear Madam Mina when these weird figures drew near and circled

round. I looked at her, but she sat calm, and smiled at me; when I

would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, she caught me and held

me back, and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low

it was:-

  "No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!" I turned to her, and

looking in her eyes, said:-

  "But you? It is for you that I fear!" whereat she laughed- a

laugh, low and unreal, and said:-

  "Fear for me! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from them

than I am," and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff of

wind 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 the

wheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever

without the Holy circle. Then they began to materialise, till- if

God have not take away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes-

there were before me in actual flesh the same three women that

Jonathan saw in the room, when they would have kissed his throat. I

knew the swaying round forms, the bright hard eyes, the white teeth,

the ruddy colour, the voluptuous lips. They smiled ever at poor dear

Madam Mina; and as their laugh came through the silence of the

night, they twined their arms and pointed to her, and said in those so

sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said were of the intolerable

sweetness of the water-glasses:-

  "Come, sister. Come to us. Come! Come!" in fear I turned to my

poor Madam Mina, and my heart with gladness leapt like flame; for

oh! the terror in her sweet eyes, the repulsion, the horror, told a

story to my heart that was all of hope. God be thanked she was not,

yet, of them. I seized some of the firewood which was by me, and

holding out some of the Wafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They

drew back before me, and laughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the

fire, and feared them not; for I knew that we were safe within our

protections. They could not approach me, whilst so armed, nor Madam

Mina whilst she remained within the ring, which she could not leave no

more than they could enter. The horses had ceased to moan, and lay

still on the ground; the snow fell on them softly, and they grew

whiter. I knew that there was for the poor beasts no more of terror.

  And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through

the snow-gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror,

but when 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

the whirling mist and snow; the wreaths of transparent gloom moved

away towards the castle, and were lost.

  Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina,

intending to hypnotise her, but she lay in a deep and sudden sleep,

from which I could not wake her. I tried to hypnotise through her

sleep, but she made no response, none at all; and the day broke. I

fear yet to stir. I have made my fire and have seen the horses, they

are all dead. To-day I have much to do here, and I keep waiting till

the sun is up high; for there may be places where I must go, where

that sunlight, though snow and mist obscure it, will be to me a

safety.

  I will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will to my

terrible work. Madam Mina still sleeps; and, God be thanked she is

calm in her sleep...







                      Jonathan Harker's Journal.




  4 November, evening.- The accident to the launch has been a terrible

thing 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 we follow on the track. I note this whilst Godalming is getting

ready. We have our arms. The Szgany must look out if they mean

fight. Oh, if only Morris and Seward were with us. We must only

hope! if I write no more Good-bye Mina! God bless and keep you.







                         Dr. Seward's Diary.




  5 November.- With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us

dashing away from the river with their leiter-wagon. They surrounded

it in a cluster, and hurried along as though beset. The snow is

falling lightly and there is a strange excitement in the air. It may

be our own feelings, but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the

howling of wolves; the snow brings them down from the mountains, and

there are dangers 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 mercy

at all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When I left

Madam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to the

castle. The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from

Veresti was useful; though the doors were all open I broke them off

the rusty hinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close

them, so that being entered I might not get out. Jonathan's bitter

experience served me here. By memory of his diary I found my way to

the old chapel, for I knew that here my work lay. The air was

oppressive; it seemed as if there was some sulphurous fume, which at

times made me dizzy. Either there 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 the Vampire in that Holy circle; and yet even there would be

the wolf! I resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the

wolves we must submit, if it were God's will. At any rate it was

only death and freedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but

been for myself the choice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were

better to rest in than the 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

are inhabit; so I search, and search, and I find one of them. She

lay in her vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I

shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in

old time, when such 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 the wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain

on, and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then

the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open and look love, and the

voluptuous mouth present to a kiss- and man is weak. And there

remain one more victim in the Vampire fold; 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

presence of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted

with age and heavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that

horrid odour such as 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 a yearning for delay which seemed to paralyse

my faculties and to clog my very soul. It may have been that the

need of natural sleep, and the strange oppression of the air were

beginning to overcome me. Certain it was that I was lapsing into

sleep, the open-eyed sleep of one who yields to a sweet fascination,

when there came through the snow-stilled air a long, low wail, so full

of woe and pity that it woke me like the sound of 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 wrenching

away tomb-tops one other of the sisters, the other dark one. I dared

not pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once more I

should begin to be enthrall; but I go on searching until, presently, I

find in a high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other

fair sister which, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of

the atoms of the mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly

beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in

me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one of hers,

made my head whirl with new emotion. But God be thanked, that

soul-wall of my dear Madam Mina had not died out of my ears; and,

before the spell could be wrought further upon me, I had nerved myself

to my wild work. By this time I had searched all the tombs in the

chapel, so far as I could tell; and as there had been only three of

these Un-Dead phantoms around us in the night, 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, and nobly proportioned. On it

was but one word







                               DRACULA.




  This then was the Un-Dead home of the King-Vampire, to whom so

many more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain

what I knew. Before I began to restore these women to their dead

selves through my awful work, I laid in Dracula's tomb some of the

Wafer, and so banished him from it, Un-Dead, for ever.

  Then began my terrible task, and, I dreaded it. Had it been but one,

it had been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more after

I had been through a deed of horror, for if it was terrible with the

sweet Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who

had survived through centuries, and who had been strengthened by the

passing of the years; 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

by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung such a

pall of fear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and tremble even

yet, though till all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had

I not seen the repose in the first place, and the gladness that

stole over it just ere the final dissolution came, as realisation that

the soul had been won, I could not have gone further with my butchery.

I could not have endured the horrid screeching as the stake drove

home; the plunging of writhing form, and lips of bloody foam. I should

have fled in terror and left my work undone. But it is over! And the

poor souls, I can pity them now and weep, as I think of them placid

each in her full sleep of death, for a short moment ere fading. For,

friend John, hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before

the whole body began to melt away and crumble into its native dust, as

though the death that should have come centuries agone had at last

assert himself and say at once and loud "I am here!"

  Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more

can the Count enter there Un-dead.

  When I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke from

her sleep, 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 my husband who is, I know, coming towards us." She was looking

thin and pale and weak; but her eyes were pure and glowed with

fervour. I was glad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind

was full of the fresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.

  And so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward

to meet our friends- and him- whom Madam Mina tell me that she know

are coming to meet us.







                        Mina Harker's Journal.




  6 November.- it was late in the afternoon when the Professor and I

took our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming. We

did not go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for we had to

take heavy rugs and wraps with us; we dared not face the possibility

of being left without warmth in the cold and the snow. We had to

take some of our provisions too, for we were in a perfect

desolation, and, so far as we could see through the snowfall, there

was not even the sign of habitation. When we had gone about a mile,

I was tired with the heavy walking and sat down to rest. Then we

looked back and saw where the clear line of Dracula's castle cut the

sky; for we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that the

angle of perspective of the Carpathian mountains was far below it.

We saw it in all its grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the summit

of a sheer precipice, and with seemingly a great gap between it and

the steep of the adjacent mountain on any side. There was something

wild and uncanny about the place. We could hear the distant howling of

wolves. They were far off, but the sound, even though coming muffled

through the deadening snowfall, was full of terror. I knew from the

way Dr. Van Helsing was searching about that he was trying to seek

some strategic point, where we would be less exposed in case of

attack. The rough roadway still led downwards; we could trace it

through the drifted snow.

  In a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up and

joined him. 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 the hand and drew me in. "See!" he said, "here you will

be in shelter, and if the wolves do come I can meet them one by

one." He brought in our furs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out

some provisions and forced them upon me. But I could not eat; to

even try to do so was repulsive to me, and, much as I would have liked

to please him, I could not bring myself to the attempt. He looked very

sad, but did not reproach me. Taking his field-glasses from the

case, he stood on the top of 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 the rock; he handed me his glasses and pointed. The snow was now

falling more heavily, and swirled about fiercely, for a high wind

was beginning to blow. However there were times when there were pauses

between the snow flurries and I could see a long way round. From the

height where we were it was possible to see a great distance; and

far off, beyond the white waste of snow, I could see the river lying

like a black ribbon in kinks and curls as it wound its way. Straight

in front of us and not far off- in fact so near that I wondered we had

not noticed before- came a group of mounted men hurrying along. In the

midst of them was a cart, a long leiter-wagon which swept from side to

side, like a dog's tail wagging, with each stern inequality of the

road. Outlined against the snow as they were, I could see from the

men's clothes that they were peasants or gypsies of some kind.

  On the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw it,

for I felt that the end was coming. The evening was now drawing close,

and well I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till then

imprisoned there, would take new freedom and could in any of many

forms elude all pursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor, to my

consternation, however, he was not there. An instant later, I saw

him below me. Round the rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had

found shelter in last night. When he had completed it he stood

beside me again, saying:-

  "At least you shall be safe here from him!" He took the glasses from

me, 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,

and galloping as hard as they can." He paused and went on in a

hollow voice:-

  "They are racing for the sunset. We may be too late. God's will be

done!" Down came another blinding rush of driving snow, and the

whole landscape was blotted out. It soon passed, however, and once

more his glasses were fixed on the plain. Then came a sudden cry:-

  "Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen follow fast, coming up from the

south. It must be Quincey and John. Take the glass. Look, before the

snow blots it all out!" I took it and looked. The two men might be Dr.

Seward and 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 around I saw on the north side of the coming party two other

men, riding at break-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 with the cart. When I told the Professor he shouted

in glee like a schoolboy, and, after looking intently till a snow fall

made sight impossible, he laid his Winchester rifle ready for use

against the boulder at the opening of our shelter. "They are all

converging," he said. "When the time comes we shall have the gypsies

on all sides." I got out my revolver ready to hand, for whilst we were

speaking the howling of wolves came louder 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 down towards the far

mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I could see here and

there dots moving singly and in twos and threes and larger numbers-

the wolves were gathering for their prey.

  Every instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind came now in

fierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury as it swept upon us

in circling 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

to clear the air-space around us so that we could see afar off. We had

of late been so accustomed to watch for sunrise and sunset, that we

knew with fair accuracy when it would be; and we knew that before long

the sun would set.

  It was hard to believe that by our watches it was less than an

hour that we waited in that rocky shelter before the various bodies

began to converge close upon us. The wind came now with fiercer and

more bitter sweeps, and more steadily from the north. It seemingly had

driven the snow clouds from us, for, with only occasional bursts,

the snow fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of each

party, the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued

did not seem to realise, or at least to care, that they were

pursued; they seemed, however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the

sun dropped lower and lower on the mountain tops.

  Closer and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched down

behind our rock, and held our weapons ready; I could see that he was

determined that they should not pass. One and all were quite unaware

of our presence.

  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 resolute tone of quiet command. The gypsies may not have

known the language, but there was no mistaking the tone, in whatever

tongue the words were spoken. Instinctively they reined in, and at the

instant Lord Godalming and Jonathan dashed up at one side and Dr.

Seward and Mr. Morris on the other. The leader of the gypsies, a

splendid looking fellow who sat his horse like a centaur, waved them

back, and in a fierce voice gave to his companions some word to

proceed. They lashed the horses which sprang forward; but the four men

raised their Winchester rifles, and in an unmistakable way commanded

them to stop. At the same moment Dr. Van Helsing and I rose behind the

rock and pointed our weapons at them. Seeing that they were surrounded

the men tightened their reins and drew up. The leader turned to them

and gave a word at which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon

he carried, knife or pistol, and held himself in readiness to

attack. Issue was joined in an instant.

  The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse out

in front, and pointing first to the sun- now close down on the hill

tops- and then to the castle, said something which I did not

understand. For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves

from their horses and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt

terrible fear at seeing Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardour

of battle must have been upon 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 our parties, the leader of the gypsies gave a

command; his men instantly formed round the cart in a sort of

undisciplined endeavour, each one shouldering and pushing the other in

his eagerness to carry out the order.

  In the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of the

ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to the cart;

it was evident that they were bent on finishing their task before

the sun should set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to hinder them.

Neither the levelled weapons or the flashing knives of the gypsies

in front, or the howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even

attract their attention. Jonathan's impetuosity, and the manifest

singleness of his purpose, seemed to overawe those in front of him;

instinctively they cowered aside and let him pass. In an instant he

had jumped upon the cart, and, with a strength which seemed

incredible, raised the great box, 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 of Szgany. All the time I had been

breathlessly watching Jonathan I had, with the tail of my eye, seen

him pressing desperately forward, and had seen the knives of the

gypsies flash as he won a way through them, and they cut at him. He

had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first I thought that he

too had come through in safety; but as he sprang beside Jonathan,

who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see that with his left

hand he was clutching at his side, and that the blood was spurting

through his fingers. He did not delay notwithstanding this, for as

Jonathan with desperate energy, attacked one end of the chest,

attempting to prize off the lid with his great Kukri knife, he

attacked the other frantically with his bowie. Under the efforts of

both men the lid began to yield; the nails drew with a quick

screeching sound, and the 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 made no further resistance. The sun was almost down on

the mountain tops, and the shadows of the whole group fell long upon

the snow. I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of

which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was

deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with

the horrible vindictive look which I knew too well.

  As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in

them turned 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 same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart.

  It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the

drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from

our sight.

  I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of

final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I

never could have imagined might have rested there.

  The Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and every

stone of its broken battlements was articulated against the light of

the setting sun.

  The gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the extraordinary

disappearance of the dead man, turned, without a word, and rode away

as if for their lives. Those who were unmounted jumped upon the

leiter-wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to desert them. The

wolves, which had withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their

wake, leaving us alone.

  Mr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his elbow, holding

his hand pressed to his side; the blood still gushed through his

fingers. I flew to him, for the Holy circle did not now keep me

back; so did the two doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and the

wounded man laid back his head on his shoulder. With a sigh he took,

with a feeble effort, my hand in that of his own which was

unstained. He must have seen the anguish of my 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 cried

suddenly, struggling up to a sitting posture and pointing to me, "It

was worth for this to die! Look! look!"

  The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red gleams

fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With one

impulse the men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest "Amen"

broke from all as their eyes followed the pointing of his finger.

The dying man spoke:-

  "Now God be thanked that all has not been in vain! See! the snow

is not more stainless than her forehead The curse has passed away!"

  And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, a

gallant gentleman.







                                NOTE.




  Seven years ago we all went through the flames; and the happiness of

some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured. It

is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday is the

same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I

know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has

passed into him. His bundle of names links all our little band of

men together, but we call him Quincey.

  In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and

went over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and

terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the things

which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears were

living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The

castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation.

  When we got home we were talking of the old time- which we could all

look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both

happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been

ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact,

that in all the mass of material of which the record is composed,

there is hardly one authentic document; nothing but a mass of

type-writing, except the later note-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 as proofs of so wild a story. Van

Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee:-

  "We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some

day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he

knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how

some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake."

                                                     Jonathan Harker.







                               THE END

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