

Dracula Refanged

by Brandy Stoker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Brandy Stoker

CHAPTER 1

Joanna Harker's Journal

3 May. Bistritz.--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 Minas.) I asked the waiter, and she 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 foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.

I find that the district she 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 Countess 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 Minas.

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 Countess 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 men 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.

Countess 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 man in the usual peasant dress--white undergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close he bowed and said, 'The Frau Englishwoman?'

'Yes,' I said, 'Joanna Harker.'

He smiled, and gave some message to an elderly woman in white shirtsleeves, who had followed his to the door.

She went, but immediately returned with a letter:

'My friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. 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 Countess, directing her to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details she seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that she could not understand my German.

This could not be true, because up to then she had understood it perfectly; at least, she answered my questions exactly as if she did.

She and her husband, the old sir who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. She mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and that was all she knew. When I asked her if she knew Countess Dracula, and could tell me anything of her castle, both she and her husband 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 anyone else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old sir came up to my room and said in a hysterical way: 'Must you go? Oh! Young Frau, must you go?' He was in such an excited state that he seemed to have lost his grip of what German he knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow his by asking many questions. When I told his that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, he asked again:

'Do you know what day it is?' I answered that it was the fourth of May. He shook his head as he 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, he went on:

'It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that tonight, 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?' He was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort him, but without effect. Finally, he went down on his 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. However, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it.

I tried to raise his up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked him, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go.

He then rose and dried his eyes, and taking a crucifix from his 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 sir meaning so well and in such a state of mind.

He saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for he put the rosary round my neck and said, 'For your father'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 Minas before I do, let it bring my goodbye. Here comes the coach!

5 May. The Castle.--The gray 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 called 'robber steak'--bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in 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 her seat, and I saw her talking to 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--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 mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Countess 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. She would not answer at first, but on learning that I was English, she 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 woman. But everyone 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 inn yard 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 boxseat,--'gotza'they call them--cracked her big whip over her 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 end 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 she crossed herself 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 emphasized 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 woman or man 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 peasants's cart--with its long, snakelike vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of homecoming 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 falling 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 of it. 'No, no,' she said. 'You must not walk here. The dogs are too fierce.' and then she added, with what she evidently meant for grim pleasantry--for she looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—'Aand you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep.' The only stop she would make was a moment's pause to light her lamps.

When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the passengers, and they kept speaking to her, one after the other, as though urging her to further speed. She lashed the horses unmercifully with her 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 same 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 Countess. 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 see now 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 her 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, she spoke in German worse than my own.

'There is no carriage here. The Frau is not expected after all. She will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow or the next day, better the next day.'Whilst she 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 woman, with a long brown locks and a great black hat, which seemed to hide her face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight, as she turned to us.

She said to the driver, 'You are early tonight, my friend.'

The woman stammered in reply, 'The English Frau was in a hurry.'

To which the stranger replied, 'That is why, I suppose, you wished her to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend. I know too much, and my horses are swift.'

As she spoke she 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 she looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned her face away, at the same time putting out her two fingers and crossing herself. 'Give me the Frau'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. Her strength must have been prodigious.

Without a word she shook her 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 her whip and called to her 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 come 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 Frau, and my mistress the Countess 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, agonized 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 runaway 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 her 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.

She petted and soothed them, and whispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with extraordinary effect, for under her caresses they became quite manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver again took her seat, and shaking her reins, started off at a great pace. This time, after going to the far side of the Pass, she 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. She kept turning her 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. She 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 her 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 nightstallion. Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the darkness around us I could watch the driver's motions. She 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 she stood between me and the flame she 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 she had yet gone, and during her 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 woman feels herself face to face with such horrors that she can understand 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 coachwoman to come, for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the ring and to aid her approach, I shouted and beat the side of the caleche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from the side, so as to give her a chance of reaching the trap. How she came there, I know not, but I heard her voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and looking towards the sound, saw her stand in the roadway. As she swept her 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 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 sky.
CHAPTER 2

Joanna Harker's Journal Continued

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 her hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice her prodigious strength. Her hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if she had chosen. Then she took 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 her 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! Minas 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 nightstallion 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 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 woman, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about her anywhere. She held in her hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old woman motioned me in with her 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 free will!' she made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though her gesture of welcome had fixed her into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, she moved impulsively forward, and holding out her hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead than a living woman. Again she said,

'Welcome to my house! Enter 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, 'Countess Dracula?'

She bowed in a courtly way as she replied, 'I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Ms. Harker, to my house. Come in, the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.'As she was speaking, she put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage. She had carried it in before I could forestall her. I protested, but she insisted.

'Nay, lady, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself.'She 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 she 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 Countess 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, she 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 Countess herself left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before she 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 Countess' 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 her 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 her the sealed letter which Ms. Hawkins had entrusted to me. She opened it and read it gravely. Then, with a charming smile, she handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of pleasure.

'I must 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. She is a young woman, full of energy and talent in her own way, and of a very faithful disposition. She is discreet and silent, and has grown into womanhood in my service. She shall be ready to attend on you when you will during her stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters.'

The count herself 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 Countess asked me many questions as to my journey, and I told her 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 she offered me, at the same time excusing herself that she did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing her, and found her of a very marked physiognomy.

Her 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. Her 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 woman of her years. For the rest, her 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 her hands as they lay on her 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 Countess leaned over me and her hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that her breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

The Countess, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than she had yet done her protruberant teeth, sat herself down again on her 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 Countess' eyes gleamed, and she said.

'Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!' seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to her, she added, 'Ah, lady, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter.' Then she rose and said.

'But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow 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, she opened for me herself 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 they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is 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 Countess' 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 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 Countess entered. She saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night's rest. Then she 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 she laid her 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 his is to love him. 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, Countess,' I said, 'You know and speak English thoroughly!' she 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,' she 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 a Boyar. The common people know me, and I am mistress. But a stranger in a strange land, she is no one. Women know her not, and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no woman stops if she sees me, or pauses in her speaking if she hears my words, 'Ha, ha! A stranger!' I have been so long mistress that I would be mistress still, or at least that none other should be mistress of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peta 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 today, 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. She 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 she 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 she wanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked her many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my notice. Sometimes she sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand, but generally she answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked her of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as for instance, why the coachwoman went to the places where she had seen the blue flames. She 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,' she 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 women, patriots or invaders. In the old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them, women and men, 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 she 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 women will but take the trouble to look?'The Countess smiled, and as her lips ran back over her gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely. She answered:

'Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one night, and on that night no woman of this land will, if she can help it, stir without her doors. And, dear lady, even if she did she 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 her 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,' she 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 Countess lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw's Guide. When I came in she cleared the books and papers from the table, and with her I went into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. She was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings. She clearly had studied beforehand all she could get on the subject of the neighbourhood, for she evidently at the end knew very much more than I did. When I remarked this, she 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 Joanna, nay, pardon me. I fall into my country's habit of putting your patronymic first, my friend Joanna Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. She will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peta Hawkins. So!'

We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at Purfleet. When I had told her the facts and got her signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to Ms. Hawkins, she began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read to her the notes which I had made at the time, and which I inscribe here.

'At Purfleet, on a byroad, 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 was 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 had 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, she 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 her words and her look did not seem to accord, or else it was that her cast of face made her smile look malignant and saturnine.

Presently, with an excuse, she left me, asking me to pull my papers together. She 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 to 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 her 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 Countess returned. 'Aha!' she said. 'Still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come! I am informed that your supper is ready.'She took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. The Countess again excused herself, as she had dined out on her being away from home. But she sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Countess 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 dawn or at the turn of the tide. Anyone who has when tired, and tied as it were to her post, experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of the cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air.

Countess Dracula, jumping to her 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 a courtly bow, she quickly left me.

I went into my 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 Countess 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 mirror by the window, and was just beginning my toilet. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the Countess' voice saying to me, 'Good morning.'I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen her, 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 Countess' salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could be no error, for the woman was close to me, and I could see her over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of her in the mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a woman 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 Countess 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 trimmer, turning as I did so half round to look for some sticking plaster. When the Countess saw my face, her eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and she suddenly made a grab at my throat. I drew away and her hand touched the string of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in her, for the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever there.

'Take care,' she said, 'take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous that you think in this country.' Then seizing the mirror, she went on, 'and this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of woman's vanity. Away with it!' and opening the window with one wrench of her terrible hand, she flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then she withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to groom myself, 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 Countess anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that as yet I have not seen the Countess eat or drink. She must be a very peculiar woman! 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 terrific 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 3

Joanna Harker's Journal Continued

When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out 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 Countess. She knows well that I am imprisoned, and as she has done it herself, and has doubtless her own motives for it, she would only deceive me if I trusted her 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 Countess had returned. She did not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found her making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought, that there are no servants in the house. When later I saw her through the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining room, I was assured of it. For if she does herself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Countess herself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought, for if so, what does it mean that she could control the wolves, as she did, by only holding up her hand for 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 man 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 Countess Dracula, as it may help me to understand. Tonight she may talk of herself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to awake her suspicion.

Midnight.--I have had a long talk with the Countess. I asked her a few questions on Transylvania history, and she warmed up to the subject wonderfully. In her speaking of things and people, and especially of battles, she spoke as if she had been present at them all. This she afterwards explained by saying that to a Boyar the pride of her house and name is her own pride, that their glory is her glory, that their fate is her fate. Whenever she spoke of her house she always said 'we', and spoke almost in the plural, like a queen speaking. I wish I could put down all she said exactly as she said it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of the country. She grew excited as she spoke, and walked about the room pulling her great white moustache and grasping anything on which she laid her hands as though she would crush it by main strength. One thing she said which I shall put down as nearly as I can, for it tells in its way the story of her 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, aye, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the werewolves 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 warlock was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?'She held up her 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 her thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and her legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland she found us here when she 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 Turkeyland. Aye, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for as the Turks say, 'water sleeps, and the 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 her own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that her own unworthy sister, when she had fallen, sold her people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of her race who in a later age again and again brought her forces over the great river into Turkeyland, who, when she was beaten back, came again, and again, though she had to come alone from the bloody field where her troops were being slaughtered, since she knew that she alone could ultimately triumph! They said that she thought only of herself. 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 lady, 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 mother.)

12 May.--Let me begin with facts, bare, meager 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 Countess came from her room she 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 Countess' inquiries, so I shall try to put them down in sequence. The knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me.

First, she asked if a woman in England might have two solicitors or more. I told her she might have a dozen if she 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 her interest. She seemed thoroughly to understand, and went on to ask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one woman 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 to explain more fully, so that I might not by any chance mislead her, so she said,

'I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Ms. Peta 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 residence might, perhaps, have some purpose of herself 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 herself in the hands of one woman, could have her wishes carried out by her without further trouble.

'But,' said she, 'I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?'

'Of course,' I replied, and 'Such is often done by women of business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person.'

'Good!' she 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 forethought could be guarded against. I explained all these things to her to the best of my ability, and she certainly left me under the impression that she would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that she did not think of or foresee. For a woman who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business, her knowledge and acumen were wonderful. When she had satisfied herself on these points of which she had spoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the books available, she suddenly stood up and said, 'Have you written since your first letter to our friend Ms. Peta 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,' she 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 mistress, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on her 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 Ms. Hawkins' interest, not mine, and I had to think of her, not myself, and besides, while Countess Dracula was speaking, there was that in her eyes and in her bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Countess saw her victory in my bow, and her mastery in the trouble of my face, for she began at once to use them, but in her 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 she spoke she handed me three sheets of note paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at her, and noticing her quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if she had spoken that I should be more careful what I wrote, for she would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully to Ms. Hawkins in secret, and also to Minas, for to his I could write shorthand, which would puzzle the Countess, if she did see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a book whilst the Countess wrote several notes, referring as she wrote them to some books on her table. Then she took up my two and placed them with her own, and put by her writing materials, after which, the instant the door had closed behind her, 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 Frau Leutner, Varna. The third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Frauen 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 resume my book before the Countess, holding still another letter in her hand, entered the room. She 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 she 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,' she finished her speech in a gruesome way, for she motioned with her hands as if she 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 around 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 she 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 she 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 Countess' 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 Countess' head coming out from the window. I did not see the face, but I knew the woman by the neck and the movement of her back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had had some 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 woman when she is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole woman slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over the dreadful abyss, face down with her cloak spreading out around her 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 woman is this, or what manner of creature, is it in the semblance of woman? 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 I have seen the count go out in her lizard fashion. She moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet down, and a good deal to the left. She vanished into some hole or window. When her 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 she 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 Countess' room. I must watch should her 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 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 an 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 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 Countess, 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 sir sat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, his ill-spelt love letter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is the 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 Countess is the least dreadful to me, that to her alone I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve her 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 she 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 Countess' mysterious warning frightened me at the time. It frightens me more not when I think of it, for in the future she has a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what she may say!

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Countess' warning came into my mind, but I took 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 tonight to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle pectorals 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 men, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming when I saw 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 Countess, and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed to be almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The others was fair, as fair as can be, with great masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know his 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 Minas' eyes and cause his 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 waterglasses when played on by a cunning hand. The fair boy shook his head coquettishly, and the other two urged his on.

One said, 'Go on! You are first, and we shall follow. Yours is the right to begin.'

The other added, 'She is young and strong. There are kisses for us all.'

I lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. The fair boy advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement of his breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as his 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 boy went on his knees, and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as he arched his neck he actually licked his 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 his head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then he paused, and I could hear the churning sound of his tongue as it licked his teeth and lips, and I 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 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 Countess, and of her being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily I saw her strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair man 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. Her eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell fire blazed behind them. Her 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 her arm, she hurled the man from her, and then motioned to the others, as though she 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 in the room she said,

'How dare you touch her, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on her when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This woman belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with her, or you'll have to deal with me.'

The fair boy, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer her. 'You yourself never loved. You never love!'On this the other men 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 Countess 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 her you shall kiss her at your will. Now go! Go! I must awaken her, for there is work to be done.'

'Are we to have nothing tonight?'said one of them, with a low laugh, as he pointed to the bag which she had thrown upon the floor, and which moved as though there were some living thing within it. For answer she nodded her head. One of the men jumped forward and opened it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a half smothered child. The men 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 4

Joanna Harker's Journal Continued

I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Countess 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 rigorously 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, for 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 Countess carried me here and undressed me, she must have been hurried in her task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery to her which she would not have brooked. She 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 men, 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 Countess 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 Countess whilst I am so absolutely in her power. And to refuse would be to excite her suspicion and to arouse her anger. She knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to her. My only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in her eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when she hurled that fair man from her. She explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends. And she assured me with so much impressiveness that she 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 her would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with her views, and asked her what dates I should put on the letters.

She 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 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 her 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 to 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. Minas' is in shorthand, and I simply ask Ms. Hawkins to communicate with him. To his I have explained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten his to death were I to expose my heart to him. Should the letters not carry, then the Countess 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 woman who took them pressed them to her heart and bowed, and then put them in her cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, and began to read. As the Countess did not come in, I have written here . . .

The Countess has come. She sat down beside me, and said in her smoothest voice as she 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 Peta Hawkins. The other,'--here she caught sight of the strange symbols as she opened the envelope, and the dark look came into her face, and her 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 she calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed.

Then she 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?'She 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 her in silence. When she 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 Countess came quietly into the room, her coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. She was very courteous and very cheery in her manner, and seeing that I had been sleeping, she said, 'So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure of talk tonight, 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 papers 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 awhile, 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 crackling 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 a Slovak, with her wide 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 agonized 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 her horse's head. Shortly afterwards, I heard the crackling of their whips die away in the distance.

24 June.--Last night the Countess left me early, and locked herself into her 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 Countess, 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 Countess' window. I drew back and watched carefully, and saw the whole woman emerge. It was a new shock to me to find that she had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here, and slung over her shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the men take away. There could be no doubt as to her quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is her new scheme of evil, that she will allow others to see me, as they think, so that she may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which she 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 Countess' 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 moats 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. Nay, 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 three ghostly men 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 Countess' 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 man. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered between the bars.

There, indeed, was a man with dishevelled hair, holding his hands over him heart as one distressed with running. He was leaning against the corner of the gateway. When he saw my face at the window he threw himself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace, 'Monster, give me my child!'

He threw himself on his knees, and raising up his hands, cried the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then he tore his hair and beat his breast, and abandoned himself to all the violences of extravagant emotion. Finally, he threw himself forward, and though I could not see him, I could hear the beating of his naked hands against the door.

Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of the Countess calling in her harsh, metallic whisper. Her 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 man, and the howling of the wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

I could not pity him, for I knew now what had become of his child, and he was better dead.

What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thing of night, gloom, and fear?

25 June.--No woman knows till she has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to her 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 vaporous 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 Countess in the daylight. Can it be that she sleeps when others wake, that she may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into her 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 her body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen her myself crawl from her window. Why should not I imitate her, and go in by her 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 woman's death is not a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Goodbye, Minas, if I fail. Goodbye, my faithful friend and second mother. Goodbye, all, and last of all Minas!

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 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 know pretty well the direction and distance of the Countess' 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 Countess, 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 ajar, 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 a search 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! She was either dead or asleep. I could not say which, for 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 her, and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. She 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 she might have the keys on her, 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 Countess' room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried to think.

29 June.--Today is the date of my last letter, and the Countess has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw her leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As she went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy her. But I fear that no weapon wrought along by woman's hand would have any effect on her. I dared not wait to see her return, for I feared to see those weird brothers. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell asleep.

I was awakened by the Countess, who looked at me as grimly as a woman could look as she said, 'Tomorrow, 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. Tomorrow 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 her, and determined to test her sincerity. Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in connection with such a monster, so I asked her point-blank, 'Why may I not go tonight?'

'Because, dear lady, my coachwoman and horses are away on a mission.'

'But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.'

She smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick behind her smoothness. She said, 'and your baggage?'

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

The Countess 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, she, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly she stopped. 'Hark!'

Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as if the sound sprang up at the rising of her hand, just as the music of a great orchestra seems to leap under the baton of the conductor. After a pause of a moment, she proceeded, in her 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 than that to struggle at the moment against the Countess was useless. With such allies as these at her command, I could do nothing.

But still the door continued slowly to open, and only the Countess' 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 Countess, and as the last chance I cried out, 'Shut the door! I shall wait till morning.' and I covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment.

With one sweep of her powerful arm, the Countess 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 Countess Dracula was her kissing her hand to me, with a red light of triumph in her 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 Countess.

'Back! Back to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! Tonight is mine. Tomorrow 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 men 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? Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Lady, help me, and those to whom I am dear!

30 June.--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 she 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 cockcrow, and I felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I opened the door and ran down 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 threw 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 Countess.

Then a wild desire took me to obtain the key at any risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall again, and gain the Countess' room. She 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 Countess' 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 Countess, but looking as if her youth had been half restored. 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 down 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. She lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with her repletion.

I shuddered as I bent over to touch her, 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 war 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 Countess. 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 she might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate her 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 workwomen 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 upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyze 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, blood-stained 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 Countess 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 Countess' 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 was 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, the chains rattle. There is a grinding of the key in the lock. I can hear the key withdrawn, 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 horrible men. Faugh! Minas is a man, 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 the cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and her children still walk with earthly feet!

At least God's mercy is better than that of those monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a woman may sleep, as a woman. Goodbye, all. Minas!
CHAPTER 5

LETTER FROM MR MINAS MURRAY TO MR LUCAS WESTENRA

9 May.

My dearest Lucas,

Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmaster 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 Joanna's studies, and I have been practicing shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall be able to be useful to Joanna, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what she wants to say in this way and write it out for her on the typewriter, at which also I am practicing very hard.

She and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and she is keeping a stenographic journal of her 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 Joanna 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 sir journalists do, interviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice, 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 Joanna from Transylvania. She is well, and will be returning in about a week. I am longing to hear all her news. It must be nephew to see strange countries. I wonder if we, I mean Joanna and I, shall ever see them together. There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Goodbye.

Your loving

Minas

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 woman???

LETTER, LUCAS WESTENRA TO MINAS MURRAY

17, Chatham Street

Wednesday

My dearest Minas,

I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad correspondent. I wrote 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 great deal to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired woman, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop. Someone has evidently been telling tales.

That was Ms. Holmwood. She often comes to see us, and she and Mamma get on very well together, they have so many things to talk about in common.

We met some time ago a woman that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Joanna. She is an excellent parti, being handsome, well off, and of good birth. She is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! She is only nine-and twenty, and she has an immense lunatic asylum all under her own care. Ms. Holmwood introduced her to me, and she called here to see us, and often comes now. I think she is one of the most resolute women I ever saw, and yet the most calm. She seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what a wonderful power she must have over her patients. She has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts. She tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself she 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.

She says that I afford her 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. Artemis says that every day.

There, it is all out, Minas, 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, Minas, couldn't you guess? I love her. I am blushing as I write, for although I think she loves me, she has not told me so in words. But, oh, Minas, I love her. I love her! 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. Minas, pray for my happiness.

Lucas

P.S.--I need not tell you this is a secret. Goodnight again. L.

LETTER, LUCAS WESTENRA TO MINAS MURRAY

24 May

My dearest Minas,

Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It was so nephew 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 today, not a real proposal, and today I 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, Minas, 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, Minas dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married men, 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, Joanna. You will tell her, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Artemis. A man ought to tell his wife everything. Don't you think so, dear? And I must be fair. Women like men, certainly their husbands, to be quite as fair as they are. And men, 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 her, Dr. Joan Seward, the lunatic asylum woman, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. She was very cool outwardly, but was nervous all the same. She had evidently been schooling herself as to all sorts of little things, and remembered them, but she almost managed to sit down on her silk hat, which women don't generally do when they are cool, and then when she wanted to appear at ease she kept playing with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. She spoke to me, Minas, very straightforwardly. She told me how dear I was to her, though she had known me so little, and what her life would be with me to help and cheer her. She was going to tell me how unhappy she would be if I did not care for her, but when she saw me cry she said she was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then she broke off and asked if I could love her in time, and when I shook my head her hands trembled, and then with some hesitation she asked me if I cared already for any one else. She put it very nicely, saying that she did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a man's heart was free a woman might have hope. And then, Minas, I felt a sort of duty to tell her that there was some one. I only told her that much, and then she stood up, and she looked very strong and very grave as she took both my hands in her and said she hoped I would be happy, and that If I ever wanted a friend I must count her one of my best.

Oh, Minas dear, I can't help crying, and you must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nephew 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 she may say at the moment, you are passing out of her life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel so miserable, though I am so happy.

Evening.

Artemis 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. She is such a nephew fellow, an American from Texas, and she looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that she has been to so many places and has such adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when he had such a stream poured in his ear, even by a black woman. I suppose that we men are such cowards that we think a woman will save us from fears, and we marry her. I know now what I would do if I were a woman and wanted to make a boy love me. No, I don't, for there was Ms. Morris telling us her stories, and Artemis never told any, and yet . . .

My dear, I am somewhat previous. Ms. Quincy P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a woman always does find a boy alone. No, she doesn't, for Artemis tried twice to make a chance, and I helping her all I could, I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you beforehand that Ms. Morris doesn't always speak slang, that is to say, she never does so to strangers or before them, for she is really well educated and has exquisite manners, but she found out that it amused me to hear her talk American slang, and whenever I was present, and there was no one to be shocked, she said such funny things. I am afraid, my dear, she has to invent it all, for it fits exactly into whatever else she 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 Artemis likes it, as I have never heard her use any as yet.

Well, Ms. Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy and jolly as she could, but I could see all the same that she was very nervous. She took my hand in hers, and said ever so sweetly . . .

'Mister Lucas, 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 woman that is you will go join them seven young men 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, she did look so good humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse her 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 she said that she had spoken in a light manner, and she hoped that if she had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, and occasion for her, I would forgive her. She really did look serious when she was saying it, and I couldn't help feeling a sort of exultation that she was number Two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say a word she began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying her very heart and soul at my feet. She looked so earnest over it that I shall never again think that a woman must be playful always, and never earnest, because she is merry at times. I suppose she saw something in my face which checked her, for she suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved her for if I had been free . . .

'Lucas, you are an honest hearted boy, 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 Minas, why are women so noble when we men are so little worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great hearted, true gentlewoman. 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 boy marry three women, or as many as want him, 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 Ms. Morris' brave eyes, and I told her out straight . . .

'Yes, there is some one I love, though she has not told me yet that she even loves me.'I was right to speak to her so frankly, for quite a light came into her face, and she put out both her hands and took mine, I think I put them into hers, and said in a hearty way . . .

'That's my brave boy. It's better worth being late for a chance of winning you than being in time for any other boy 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 her happiness, well, she'd better look for it soon, or she'll have to deal with me. Little boy, your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that's rarer than a lover, it's more selfish 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, or you could not love her, hasn't spoken yet.'

That quite won me, Minas, for it was brave and sweet of her, and noble too, to a rival, wasn't it? And she so sad, so I leant over and kissed her.

She stood up with my two hands in hers, and as she looked down into my face, I am afraid I was blushing very much, she said, 'Little boy, 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 goodbye.'

She wrung my hand, and taking up her 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 woman like that be made unhappy when there are lots of boys about who would worship the very ground she 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 . . .

Lucas

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 her coming into the room till both her arms were round me, and she 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 Her goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a wife, and such a friend.

Goodbye.

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY (Kept in phonograph)

25 May.--Ebb tide in appetite today. 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 amongst the patients. I picked out one who has afforded me a study of much interest. She is so quaint that I am determined to understand her as well as I can. Today I seemed to get nearer than ever before to the heart of her mystery.

I questioned her more fully than I had ever done, with a view to making myself mistress of the facts of her hallucination. In my manner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keep her to the point of her 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! 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, age 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 woman, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish women 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, QUINCY P. MORRIS TO HON. ARTEMIS HOLMOOD

25 May.

My dear Art,

We've told yarns by the campfire 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 campfire tomorrow night? I have no hesitation in asking you, as I know a certain sir is engaged to a certain dinner party, and that you are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at the Korea, Jacky Seward. She'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 woman in all the wide world, who has won the noblest heart that God has made and 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,

Quincy P. Morris

TELEGRAM FROM ARTEMIS HOLMWOOD TO QUINCY P. MORRIS

26 May

Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both your ears tingle.

Art
CHAPTER 6

MINAS MURRAY'S JOURNAL

24 July. Whitby.--Lucas 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 boy 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 sir 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 often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing now, with my book on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old women who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but sit 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 seawall runs along outside of it. On the near side, the seawall 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 nephew 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 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 woman about this. She is coming this way . . .

She is a funny old woman. She must be awfully old, for her face is gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. She tells me that she is nearly a hundred, and that she was a sailor in the Greenland fishing fleet when Waterloo was fought. She is, I am afraid, a very sceptical person, for when I asked her about the bells at sea and the White Sir at the abbey she said very brusquely,

'I wouldn't fash masel' about them, mister. 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 nephew young sir like you. Them feet-folks from York and Leeds that be always eatin' cured herrin's and 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 she would be a good person to learn interesting things from, so I asked her if she would mind telling me something about the whale fishing in the old days. She was just settling herself to begin when the clock struck six, whereupon she laboured to get up, and said,

'I must gang ageeanwards home now, mister. 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, and mister, I lack belly-timber sairly by the clock.'

She hobbled away, and I could see her hurrying, as well as she could, down the steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead from the town 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. Lucas went out, visiting with his mother, and as they were only duty calls, I did not go.

1 August.--I came up here an hour ago with Lucas, and we had a most interesting talk with my old friend and the two others who always come and join her. She is evidently the Lady Oracle of them, and I should think must have been in her time a most dictatorial person.

She will not admit anything, and down faces everybody. If she can't out-argue them she bullies them, and then takes their silence for agreement with her views.

Lucas was looking sweetly pretty in his white lawn frock. He has got a beautiful colour since he has been here.

I noticed that the old women did not lose any time in coming and sitting near his when we sat down. He is so sweet with old people, I think they all fell in love with his on the spot. Even my old woman succumbed and did not contradict him, but gave me double share instead. I got her on the subject of the legends, and she 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 and nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guests an' bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy men a'belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome berk-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 tombstones. 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' trying' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was, some of them trimmlin' an' dithering, with their hands that dozzened an' slippery from lyin' in the sea that they can't even keep their gurp o' them.'

I could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way in which she looked round for the approval of her cronies that she was 'showing off,' so I put in a word to keep her going.

'Oh, Ms. 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 kirkgarth.'

I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite understand her dialect. I knew it had something to do with the church.

She went on, 'and you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that be haped here, snod an' snog?' I assented again. 'Then that be just where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these laybeds that be toom as old Dun's 'baccabox on Friday night.'

She nudged one of her 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, mistress mariner, murdered by pirates off the coast of Andres, April, 1854, age 30.'When I came back Ms. Swales went on,

'Who brought her home, I wonder, to hap her here? Murdered off the coast of Andres! An' you consated her body lay under! Why, I could name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above,' she pointed northwards, 'or where the currants 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 Lowery, I knew her mother, lost in the Lively off Greenland in '20, or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777, or Joan Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a year later, or old Joan Rawlings, whose grandmother sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do ye think that all these women will have to make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums aboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' and 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 aurora borealis.' This was evidently local pleasantry, for the old woman cackled over it, and her 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, mister.'

'To please their relatives, I suppose.'

'To please their relatives, you suppose!'This she 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?'

She 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-stone,' she said.

The letters were upside down to me from where I sat, but Lucas was more opposite to them, so he 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 was erected by her sorrowing mother to his dearly beloved daughter. 'He was the only daughter of her mother, and he was a widow.' Really, Ms. Swales, I don't see anything very funny in that!'He spoke his comment very gravely and somewhat severely.

'Ye don't see aught funny! Ha-ha! But that's because ye don't gawm the sorrowin' mothers was a hell-cat that hated her because she was acrewk'd, a regular lamiter she was, an' she hated his so that she committed suicide in order that he mightn't get an insurance he put on her life. She blew nigh the top of her head off with an old musket that they had for scarin' crows with. 'Twarn't for crows then, for it brought the clegs and the dowps to her. That's the way she fell off the rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've often heard her say masel' that she hoped she'd go to hell, for her mothers was so pious that he'd be sure to go to heaven, an' she didn't want to addle where he was. Now isn't that stean at any rate,' she hammered it with her stick as she spoke, 'a pack of lies? And won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' ut the grees with the tompstean balanced on her hump, and asks to be took as evidence!'

I did not know what to say, but Lucas turned the conversation as he 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 lad sittin' on her 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, and I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!' and off she hobbled.

Lucas and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that we took hands as we sat, and he told me all over again about Artemis and their coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for I haven't heard from Joanna 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 Joanna. 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 to the abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behind me, and there is a clatter of donkeys' 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 Joanna is and if she is thinking of me! I wish she were here.

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

5 June.--The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I get to understand the woman. She has certain qualities very largely developed, selfishness, secrecy, and purpose.

I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. She seems to have some settled scheme of her own, but what it is I do not know. Her redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, she has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine she is only abnormally cruel. Her pets are of odd sorts.

Just now her hobby is catching flies. She has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, she did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in simple seriousness. She 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 her.

18 June.--He has turned her mind now to spiders, and has got several very big fellows in a box. She keeps feeding them her flies, and the number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although she has used half her food in attracting more flies from outside to her room.

1 July.--His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as her flies, and today I told her that she must get rid of them.

She looked very sad at this, so I said that she must some of them, at all events. She cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave her the same time as before for reduction.

She disgusted me much while with her, for when a horrid blowfly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, she caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between her finger and thumb, and before I knew what she was going to do, put it in her mouth and ate it.

I scolded her for it, but she argued quietly that it was very good and very wholesome, that it was life, strong life, and gave life to her. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must watch how she gets rid of her spiders.

She has evidently some deep problem in her mind, for she keeps a little notebook in which she is always jotting down something. Whole maids 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 she were focussing some account, as the auditors put it.

8 July.--There is a method in her 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 sister.

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 she has parted with some of her pets and got a new one.

She has managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. Her means of taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished. Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for she still brings in the flies by tempting them with her food.

19 July--We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of sparrows, and her flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I came in she ran to me and said she wanted to ask me a great favour, a very, very great favour. And as she spoke, she fawned on me like a dog.

I asked her what it was, and she said, with a sort of rapture in her voice and bearing, 'A kitten, a nephew, 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 her pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not care that her pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and spiders. So I said I would see about it, and asked her if she would not rather have a cat than a kitten.

Her eagerness betrayed her as she 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. Her face fell, and I could see a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meant killing. The woman is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test her with her present craving and see how it will work out, then I shall know more.

10 pm.--I have visited her again and found her sitting in a corner brooding. When I came in she threw herself on her knees before me and implored me to let her have a cat, that her salvation depended upon it.

I was firm, however, and told her that she could not have it, whereupon she went without a word, and sat down, gnawing her fingers, in the corner where I had found her. I shall see her in the morning early.

20 July.--Visited Renfield very early, before attendant went her rounds. Found her up and humming a tune. She was spreading out her sugar, which she had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning her fly catching again, and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace.

I looked around for her birds, and not seeing them, asked her where they were. She replied, without turning round, that they had all flown away. There were a few feathers about the room and on her pillow a drop of blood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report to me if there were anything odd about her during the day.

11 am.--The attendant has just been to see me to say that Renfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of feathers. 'My belief is, doctor,' she said, 'that she has eaten her birds, and that she just took and ate them raw!'

11 pm.--I gave Renfield a strong opiate tonight, enough to make even her sleep, and took away her pocketbook 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 her, and call her a zoophagous (life-eating) maniac. What she desires is to absorb as many lives as she can, and she has laid herself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. She 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 her later steps?

It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It might be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Women sneered at vivisection, and yet look at its results today! 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 woman reasoned. Lunatics always do within their own scope. I wonder at how many lives she values a woman, or if at only one. She has closed the account most accurately, and today 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 shall be until the Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance to profit or loss.

Oh, Lucas, Lucas, 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 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.

MINAS 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 Lucas and about Joanna. I had not heard from Joanna for some time, and was very concerned, but yesterday dear Ms. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from her. I had written asking her if she had heard, and she said the enclosed had just been received. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that she is just starting for home. That is not like Joanna. I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy.

Then, too, Lucas, although he is so well, has lately taken to his old habit of walking in his sleep. His mother has spoken to me about it, and we have decided that I am to lock the door of our room every night.

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, he is naturally anxious about Lucas, and he tells me that his wife, Lucas's mother, had the same habit, that she would get up in the night and dress herself and go out, if she were not stopped.

Lucas is to be married in the autumn, and he is already planning out his dresses and how his house is to be arranged. I sympathise with him, for I do the same, only Joanna and I will start in life in a very simple way, and shall have to try to make both ends meet.

Ms. Holmwood, she is the Hon. Artemis Holmwood, only daughter of Lady Godalming, is coming up here very shortly, as soon as she can leave town, for her mother is not very well, and I think dear Lucas is counting the moments till she comes.

He wants to take her up in the seat on the churchyard cliff and show her the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting which disturbs him. He will be all right when she arrives.

27 July.--No news from Joanna. I am getting quite uneasy about her, though why I should I do not know, but I do wish that she would write, if it were only a single line.

Lucas walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by his moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so hot that he cannot get cold. But still, the anxiety and the perpetually being awakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and wakeful myself. Thank God, Lucas's health keeps up. Ms. Holmwood has been suddenly called to Ring to see her mother, who has been taken seriously ill. Lucas frets at the postponement of seeing her, but it does not touch his looks. He is a trifle stouter, and his cheeks are a lovely rose-pink. He has lost the anemic look which he had. I pray it will all last.

3 August.--Another week gone by, and no news from Joanna, not even to Ms. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope she is not ill. She surely would have written. I look at that last letter of hers, but somehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like her, and yet it is her writing. There is no mistake of that.

Lucas has not walked much in his sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration about his which I do not understand, even in his sleep he seems to be watching me. He 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 Joanna since that last letter. I must only pray to God for patience.

Lucas 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.

Today is a gray day, and the sun as I write is hidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is gray except the green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it, gray earthy rock, gray clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the gray sea, into which the sandpoints stretch like gray figures. 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 gray mist. All vastness, the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and there is a 'brool' over the sea that sounds like some passage 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 Ms. Swales. She is making straight for me, and I can see, by the way she lifts her hat, that she wants to talk.

I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old woman. When she sat down beside me, she said in a very gentle way, 'I want to say something to you, mister.'

I could see she was not at ease, so I took her poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked her to speak fully.

So she said, leaving her 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, and that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lady love ye, mister, 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 woman to expect. And I'm so nigh it that the Aud Woman is already whettin' her scythe. Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin' about it all at once. The chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound her trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my deary!'--for she saw that I was crying--'if she should come this very night I'd not refuse to answer her 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!' she 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'. Lady, make me answer cheerful, when my call comes!' she held up her arms devoutly, and raised her hat. Her mouth moved as though she were praying. After a few minutes' silence, she got up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said goodbye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me very much.

I was glad when the coastguard came along, with her spyglass under her arm. She stopped to talk with me, as she always does, but all the time kept looking at a strange ship.

'I can't make him out,' she said. 'He's a Russian, by the look of him. But he's knocking about in the queerest way. He doesn't know his mind a bit. He 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! He is steered mighty strangely, for he doesn't mind the hand on the wheel, changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of him before this time tomorrow.'
CHAPTER 7

CUTTING FROM 'THE DAILYGRAPH', 8 AUGUST

(PASTED IN MINAS MURRAY'S JOURNAL)

From a correspondent.

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 neighborhood 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 the commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of 'stallions tails' high in the sky to the northwest. 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 below 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 her mind then and there that her 'cobble' or her '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 his officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst he remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal his to reduce sail in the face of his danger. Before the night shut down he was seen with sails idly flapping as he 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 dischord 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 realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each over-topping 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 women kept their feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would have 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 came thick and fast, followed by such 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 seabird. 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 onrushing 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 the 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 realized the terrible danger in which he now was.

Between his 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 he 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, 'he 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 gray pall, and left available to women 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 women 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 searchlight followed him, and a shudder ran through all who saw him, 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 the 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 woman! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched himself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many storms into the southeast 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, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in 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 aboard. The women 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 she 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 Draw-bridge 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 seawoman 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 woman was simply fastened by her 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 had dragged her to and fro, so that the cords with which she 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 woman must have been dead for quite two days.

In her 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 woman must have tied up her own hands, fastening the knots with her 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 right 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, her property being held in contravention of the statues 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 steerswoman has been reverently removed from the place where she held her honourable watch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating. Crowds are scattering backward, 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 his way so miraculously into harbour in the storm.

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 Russian from Varna, and is called the Demeter. He 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, Ms. S.F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and took formal possession of the goods consigned to her.

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 today 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 other 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 its mistress' 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 women. The greatest interest, however, is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was today 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 transcript, simply omitting technical details of seawomanship and supercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been seized with some kind of mania before she 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. Women all steady fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong. They only told her there was SOMETHING, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck her. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.

On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew, Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not go to bunk. Women more downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but would not say more than there was SOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared some trouble ahead.

On 17 July, yesterday, one of the women, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that she thought there was a strange woman aboard the ship. She said that in her watch she had been sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm, when she saw a tall, thin woman, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and disappear. She followed cautiously, but when she got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. She was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay it, I shall today search the 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 women, said she would engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let her take the helm, while the rest began a 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 woman could hide. Women 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. Women seem to have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised women 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 the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last night another woman lost, disappeared. Like the first, she came off her watch and was not seen again. Women 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 she or the women 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. Women 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 women 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 tonight, as crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one except steerswoman. 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, awakened by mate telling me that both woman of watch and steerswoman 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 women. Her stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly against herself. Women are beyond fear, working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, she 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 she heard cry and ran, but no sign of woman on watch. One more gone. Lady, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting she saw North Foreland, just as she heard the woman 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 woman 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, she rushed up on deck in her flannels. She looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear her reason has given way. She came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with her 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 woman, 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 she spoke she took the knife and drove it savagely into space. Then she 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 her finger on her lip, she went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave the helm. I saw her come out on deck again with a tool bosom and lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. She is mad, stark, raving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop her. She can't hurt those big boxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as harmless a thing as she 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 her knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good for her, there came up the hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck she came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman, with her eyes rolling and her face convulsed with fear. 'Save me! Save me!' she cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. Her horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice she said, 'You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. She 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 her, she sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw herself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the women one by one, and now she has followed them herself. 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 woman. To die like a sailor in blue water, no woman 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 She, 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 She 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 women 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 her duty . . .

Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to adduce, and whether or not the woman herself committed the murders there is now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the captain is simply a hero, and she is to be given a public funeral. Already it is arranged that her 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 she 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 her 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, she would, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the funeral, and so will end this one more 'mystery of the sea'.

MINAS MURRAY'S JOURNAL

8 August.--Lucas 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, Lucas did not wake, but he got up twice and dressed himself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and managed to undress him without waking him, and got his back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as his will is thwarted in any physical way, his intention, if there be any, disappears, and he yields himself almost exactly to the routine of his 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 mouth of the harbour, like a bullying woman going through a crowd. Somehow I felt glad that Joanna was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is she on land or sea? Where is she, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about her. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything!

10 August.--The funeral of the poor sea captain today 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. Lucas 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 near our seat so that we stood on it, when the time came and saw everything.

Poor Lucas seemed much upset. He was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that his dreaming at night is telling on him. He is quite odd in one thing. He will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness, or if there be, he does not understand it himself.

There is an additional cause in that poor Ms. Swales was found dead this morning on our seat, her neck being broken. She 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 her face that the women said made them shudder. Poor dear old woman!

Lucas is so sweet and sensitive that he feels influences more acutely than other people do. Just now he was quite upset by a little thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals.

One of the women who came up here often to look for the boats was followed by her dog. The dog is always with her. They are both quiet persons, and I never saw the woman angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would not come to its mistress, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and howling. Its mistress 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 fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hair bristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war path.

Finally the woman 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 began to 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.

Lucas was full of pity, too, but he did not attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly fear that he is of too super sensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. He will be dreaming of this tonight, I am sure. The whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by a dead woman, her 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 his dreams.

I think it will be best for his to go to bed tired out physically, so I shall take his for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood's Bay and back. He ought not to have much inclination for sleep-walking then.
CHAPTER 8

MINAS 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. Lucas, 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 the 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. Women 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.

Lucas was really tired, and we intended to creep off to bed as soon as we could. The young curate came in, however, and Westenra asked her to stay for supper. Lucas 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 hard they may be pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired.

Lucas is asleep and breathing softly. He has more colour in his cheeks than usual, and looks, oh so sweet. If Ms. Holmwood fell in love with his seeing his only in the drawing room, I wonder what she would say if she saw his now. Some of the 'New Men' writers will some day start an idea that women and men should be allowed to see each other asleep before proposing or accepting. But I suppose the 'New Men' won't condescend in future to accept. He will do the proposing himself. And a nephew job he will make of it too! There's some consolation in that. I am so happy tonight, because dear Lucas seems better. I really believe he has turned the corner, and that we are over him troubles with dreaming. I should be quite happy if I only knew if Joanna . . . God bless and keep her.

11 August.--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 agonizing 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 Lucas's bed. I stole across and felt for him. The bed was empty. I lit a match and found that he was not in the room. The door was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake his mother, who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some clothes and got ready to look for him. As I was leaving the room it struck me that the clothes he wore might give me some clue to his dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house, dress outside. Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places. 'Thank God,' I said to myself, 'he cannot be far, as he is only in his nightdress.'

I ran downstairs and looked in the sitting room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other 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 Lucas must have gone out as he was. There was no time to think of what might happen. A vague over-mastering 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 Lucas 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 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 woman 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 Lucas'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, 'Lucas! Lucas!' and something raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes.

Lucas 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 him. When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly that I could see Lucas half reclining with his head lying over the back of the seat. He was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living thing about.

When I bent over him I could see that he was still asleep. His lips were parted, and he was breathing, not softly as usual with him, but in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get his lungs full at every breath. As I came close, he put up his hand in his sleep and pulled the collar of his nightdress close around him, as though he felt the cold. I flung the warm shawl over him, and drew the edges tight around his neck, for I dreaded lest he should get some deadly chill from the night air, unclad as he was. I feared to wake his all at once, so, in order to have my hands free to help him, I fastened the shawl at his throat with a big safety pin. But I must have been clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked him with it, for by-and-by, when his breathing became quieter, he put his hand to his throat again and moaned. When I had his carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on his feet, and then began very gently to wake him.

At first he did not respond, but gradually he became more and more uneasy in his sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At last, as time was passing fast, and for many other reasons, I wished to get his home at once, I shook his forcibly, till finally he opened his eyes and awoke. He did not seem surprised to see me, as, of course, he did not realize all at once where he was.

Lucas always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when his body must have been chilled with cold, and his mind somewhat appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, he did not lose his grace. He trembled a little, and clung to me. When I told his to come at once with me home, he rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucas noticed me wince. He 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 woman, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front of us. But we hid in a door till she 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 sometimes I thought I should faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucas, not only for his health, lest he should suffer from the exposure, but for his 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 his into bed. Before falling asleep he asked, even implored, me not to say a word to any one, even his mother, about his sleep-walking adventure.

I hesitated at first, to promise, but on thinking of the state of his father's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret him, and think too, of how such a story might become distorted, nay, 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. Lucas is sleeping soundly. The reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea . . .

Same day, noon.--All goes well. Lucas slept till I woke his and seemed not to have even changed his side. The adventure of the night does not seem to have harmed him, on the contrary, it has benefited him, for he looks better this morning than he has done for weeks. I was sorry to notice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt him. Indeed, it might have been serious, for the skin of his 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 his nightdress was a drop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, he laughed and petted me, and said he 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, Westenra driving by the road and Lucas and I walking by the cliff-path and joining his at the gate. I felt a little sad myself, for I could not but feel how absolutely happy it would have been had Joanna 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. Lucas seems more restful than he 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 tonight.

12 August.--My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night I was wakened by Lucas trying to get out. He seemed, even in his 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. Lucas woke, too, and I was glad to see, was even better than on the previous morning. All his old gaiety of manner seemed to have come back, and he came and snuggled in beside me and told me all about Artemis. I told his how anxious I was about Joanna, and then he tried to comfort me. Well, he succeeded somewhat, for, though sympathy can't alter facts, it can 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 Lucas 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 Lucas had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully. He did not stir again all night.

14 August.--On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucas seems to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard to get him away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea or dinner. This afternoon he 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 Lucas murmured as if to himself . . .

'Her 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 Lucas well without seeming to stare at him, and saw that he was in a half dreamy state, with an odd look on his face that I could not quite make out, so I said nothing, but followed his eyes. He appeared to be looking over at our own seat, whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was quite 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 Lucas's attention to the peculiar effect, and he became himself with a start, but he looked sad all the same. It may have been that he was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to it, so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucas had a headache and went early to bed. I saw his 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 Joanna. 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 Lucas's head leaning out. I opened my handkerchief and waved it. He 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 Lucas with his head lying up against the side of the window sill and his eyes shut. He was fast asleep, and by him, seated on the window sill, was something that looked like a good-sized bird. I was afraid he might get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room he was moving back to his bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily. He was holding his hand to his throat, as though to protect if from the cold.

I did not wake him, but tucked his up warmly. I have taken care that the door is locked and the window securely fastened.

He looks so sweet as he sleeps, but he is paler than is his wont, and there is a drawn, haggard look under his eyes which I do not like. I fear he is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it is.

15 August.--Rose later than usual. Lucas was languid and tired, and slept on after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at breakfast. Artemis's mother is better, and wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucas is full of quiet joy, and his mother is glad and sorry at once. Later on in the day he told me the cause. He is grieved to lose Lucas as his very own, but he is rejoiced that he is soon to have some one to protect him. Poor dear, sweet lady! He confided to me that he has got his death warrant. He has not told Lucas, and made me promise secrecy. His doctor told his that within a few months, at most, he must die, for his heart is weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock would be almost sure to kill him. Ah, we were wise to keep from his the affair of the dreadful night of Lucas'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 Joanna, and Lucas seems to be growing weaker, whilst his father's hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucas's fading away as he is doing. He eats well and sleeps well, and enjoys the fresh air, but all the time the roses in his cheeks are fading, and he gets weaker and more languid day by day. At night I hear his gasping as if for air.

I keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at night, but he gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open window. Last night I found his leaning out when I woke up, and when I tried to wake his I could not.

He was in a faint. When I managed to restore him, he was weak as water, and cried silently between long, painful struggles for breath. When I asked his how he came to be at the window he shook his head and turned away.

I trust his feeling ill may not be from that unlucky prick of the safety-pin. I looked at his throat just now as he 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, SAMANTHA F. BILLINGTON & DAUGHTER, SOLICITORS WHITBY, TO MISSES. 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 diagrams enclosed. Your agent will easily recognize the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion. The goods leave by the train at 9:30 tonight, and will be due at King's Cross at 4:30 tomorrow 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, 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 her entering the house by means of her 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, MISSES. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON, TO MISSES. BILLINGTON & DAUGHTER, WHITBY.

21 August.

'Dear Sirs,--We beg to acknowledge 10 pounds received and to return cheque of 1 pound, 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.'

MINAS MURRAY'S JOURNAL.

18 August.--I am happy today, and write sitting on the seat in the churchyard. Lucas is ever so much better. Last night he slept well all night, and did not disturb me once.

The roses seem coming back already to his cheeks, though he is still sadly pale and wan-looking. If he were in any way anemic I could understand it, but he is not. He is in gay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticence seems to have passed from him, and he has just reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of that night, and that it was here, on this very seat, I found his asleep.

As he told me he tapped playfully with the heel of his boot on the stone slab and said,

'My poor little feet didn't make much noise then! I daresay poor old Ms. Swales would have told me that it was because I didn't want to wake up Geordie.'

As he was in such a communicative humour, I asked his if he had dreamed at all that night.

Before he answered, that sweet, puckered look came into his forehead, which Artemis, I call her Artemis from his habit, says she loves, and indeed, I don't wonder that she does. Then he went on in a half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to himself.

'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 women, 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 agonizing 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 he began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I listened to his breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought it better not to keep his mind on the subject, so we drifted on to another subject, and Lucas was like his old self again. When we got home the fresh breeze had braced his up, and his pale cheeks were really more rosy. His mother rejoiced when he saw him, and we all spent a very happy evening together.

19 August.--Joy, joy, joy! Although not all joy. At last, news of Joanna. The dear fellow has been ill, that is why she did not write. I am not afraid to think it or to say it, now that I know. Ms. Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote herself, oh so kindly. I am to leave in the morning and go over to Joanna, and to help to nurse her if necessary, and to bring her home. Ms. 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 chest , where it lies. It is of Joanna, and must be near my heart, for she is in my heart. My journey is all mapped out, and my luggage ready. I am only taking one change of dress. Lucas will 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 Joanna, my wife. The letter that she has seen and touched must comfort me till we meet.

LETTER, BROTHER AGATHON, HOSPITAL OF ST. JOSEPH AND STE. MARY BUDA-PESTH, TO MASTER M. MURRAY

12 August,

'Dear Sir.

'I write by desire of Ms. Joanna Harker, who is herself not strong enough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. She has been under our care for nearly six weeks, suffering from a violent brain fever. She wishes me to convey her love, and to say that by this post I write for her to Ms. Peta Hawkins, Exeter, to say, with her dutiful respects, that she is sorry for her delay, and that all of her work is completed. She will require some few weeks' rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. She wishes me to say that she has not sufficient money with her, and that she would like to pay for her staying here, so that others who need shall not be wanting for help.

'Believe me,

'Yours, with sympathy and all blessings. Sister Agathon

'P.S.--My patient being asleep, I open this to let you know something more. She has told me all about you, and that you are shortly to be her husband. All blessings to you both! She has had some fearful shock, so says our doctor, and in her delirium her ravings have been dreadful, of wolves and poison and blood, of ghosts and demons, and I fear to say of what. Be careful of her always that there may be nothing to excite her of this kind for a long time to come. The traces of such an illness as her do not lightly die away. We should have written long ago, but we knew nothing of her friends, and there was nothing on her, nothing that anyone could understand. She came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard was told by the station mistress there that she rushed into the station shouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from her violent demeanour that she was English, they gave her a ticket for the furthest station on the way thither that the train reached.

'Be assured that she is well cared for. She has won all hearts by her sweetness and gentleness. She is truly getting on well, and I have no doubt will in a few weeks be all herself. But be careful of her 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 she began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does when setting. The attendant was struck by her manner, and knowing my interest in her, encouraged her to talk. She is usually respectful to the attendant and at times servile, but tonight, the woman tells me, she was quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with her at all.

All she would say was, 'I don't want to talk to you. You don't count now. The mistress is at hand.'

The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which has seized her. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong woman with homicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous. The combination is a dreadful one.

At nine o'clock I visited her myself. Her attitude to me was the same as that to the attendant. In her sublime self-feeling the difference between myself and the attendant seemed to her as nothing. It looks like religious mania, and she will soon think that she herself is God.

These infinitesimal distinctions between woman and woman 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 women only knew!

For half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in greater and greater degree. I did not pretend to be watching her, but I kept strict observation all the same. All at once that shifty look came into her 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. She became quite quiet, and went and sat on the edge of her bed resignedly, and looked into space with lack-luster eyes.

I thought I would find out if her apathy were real or only assumed, and tried to lead her to talk of her pets, a theme which had never failed to excite her attention.

At first she 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 her hobby and the notebook is filling up with columns of small figures.)

To this she 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.'

She would not explain herself, but remained obstinately seated on her bed all the time I remained with her.

I am weary tonight and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucas, and how different things might have been. If I don't sleep at once, chloral, the modern Morpheus! I must be careful not to let it grow into a habit. No, I shall take none tonight! I have thought of Lucas, and I shall not dishonour his by mixing the two. If need be, tonight 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 her might work out dangerously with strangers.

The attendant was waiting for me. She said she had seen her not ten minutes before, seemingly asleep in her bed, when she had looked through the observation trap in the door. Her attention was called by the sound of the window being wrenched out. She ran back and saw her feet disappear through the window, and had at once sent up for me. She was only in her night gear, and cannot be far off.

The attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where she should go than to follow her, as she might lose sight of her whilst getting out of the building by the door. She is a bulky woman, and couldn't get through the window.

I am thin, so, with her 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 women 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 her. On the far side of the house I found her pressed close against the old iron-bound oak door of the chapel.

She was talking, apparently to some one, but I was afraid to go near enough to hear what she was saying, lest I might frighten her, and she should run off.

Chasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing to following a naked lunatic, when the fit of escaping is upon her! After a few minutes, however, I could see that she did not take note of anything around her, and so ventured to draw nearer to her, the more so as my women had now crossed the wall and were closing her in. I heard her say . . .

'I am here to do your bidding, Mistress. 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 Mistress, in your distribution of good things?'

She is a selfish old beggar anyhow. She thinks of the loaves and fishes even when she believes her is in a real Presence. Her manias make a startling combination. When we closed in on her she fought like a tiger. She is immensely strong, for she was more like a wild beast than a woman.

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 her strength and her danger in good time. With strength and determination like hers, she might have done wild work before she was caged.

She is safe now, at any rate. Jacky Sheppard herself couldn't get free from the strait waistcoat that keeps her restrained, and she's chained to the wall in the padded room.

Her cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are more deadly still, for she means murder in every turn and movement.

Just now she spoke coherent words for the first time. 'I shall be patient, Mistress. 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 tonight.
CHAPTER 9

LETTER, MINAS HARKER TO LUCAS WESTENRA

Buda-Pesth, 24 August.

'My dearest Lucas,

'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 Hamburg, 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 Joanna, 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 her dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in her face has vanished. She is only a wreck of herself, and she does not remember anything that has happened to her for a long time past. At least, she wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask.

'She has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax her poor brain if she were to try to recall it. Agathon, who is a good creature and a born nurse, tells me that she wanted his to tell me what they were, but he would only cross himself, and say he would never tell. That the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a nurse through his vocation should hear them, he should respect his trust.

'He is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when he saw I was troubled, he opened up the subject my poor dear raved about, added, 'I can tell you this much, my dear. That it was not about anything which she has done wrong herself, and you, as her husband to be, have no cause to be concerned. She has not forgotten you or what she owes to you. Her 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 boy. The idea of my being jealous about Joanna! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other man was a cause for trouble. I am now sitting by her bedside, where I can see her face while she sleeps. She is waking!

'When she woke she asked me for her coat, as she wanted to get something from the pocket. I asked Sister Agatha, and he brought all her things. I saw amongst them was her notebook, and was going to ask her to let me look at it, for I knew that I might find some clue to her trouble, but I suppose she must have seen my wish in my eyes, for she sent me over to the window, saying she wanted to be quite alone for a moment.

'Then she called me back, and she said to me very solemnly, 'Wilhelminas', I knew then that she was in deadly earnest, for she has never called me by that name since she asked me to marry her, 'You know, dear, my ideas of the trust between wife and husband. 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 real of the dreaming of a madman. You know I 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, Wilhelminas, 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.' She fell back exhausted, and I put the book under her pillow, and kissed her. I have asked Agathon to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am waiting his reply . . .'

'He 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 Joanna awakes.'

'Lucas, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, very happy. Joanna woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and she sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. She answered her 'I will' firmly and strong. I could hardly speak. My heart was so full that even those words seemed to choke me.

'The dear brothers 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 brothers had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucas, it is the first time I have written the words 'my husband'--left me alone with my wife, I took the book from under her 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 wife, and told her 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 her own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty. Then she took my hand in hers, and oh, Lucas, it was the first time she took her wife's hand, and said that it was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that she 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 she cannot think of time yet, and I shall not wonder if at first she mixes up not only the month, but the year.

'Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell her that I was the happiest man in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give her 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 she kissed me, and drew me to her with her poor weak hands, it was like a solemn pledge between us.

'Lucas 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 husband, 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 wind, 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. Goodbye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Joanna is waking. I must attend my husband!

'Your ever-loving Minas Harker.'

LETTER, LUCAS WESTENRA TO MINAS HARKER.

Whitby, 30 August.

'My dearest Minas,

'Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your own home with your wife. I wish you were coming home soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Joanna. 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. Artemis says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Artemis is here. We have such walks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing together, and I love her more than ever. She tells me that she loves me more, but I doubt that, for at first she told me that she couldn't love me more than she did then. But this is nonsense. There she is, calling to me. So no more just at present from your loving,

'Lucas.

'P.S.--Father sends his love. He seems better, poor dear.

'P.P.S.--We are to be married on 28 September.'

DR. SEWARDS DIARY

20 August.--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. She has now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from her passion. For the first week after her attack she was perpetually violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, she grew quiet, and kept murmuring to herself. '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 her. She was still in the strait waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gone from her face, and her eyes had something of their old pleading. I might almost say, cringing, softness. I was satisfied with her present condition, and directed her 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, she 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 disassociated even in the mind of this poor madman from the others, but all the same I do not follow her thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in common with her, so that we are, as it were, to stand together. Or has she to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well being is needful to Him? I must find out later on. Tonight she will not speak. Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt her.

She 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 her. The attendant tells me that she was quiet until just before dawn, and that then she began to get uneasy, and at length violent, until at last she fell into a paroxysm which exhausted her so that she 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 tonight play sane wits against mad ones. She escaped before without our help. Tonight she shall escape with it. We shall give her a chance, and have the women ready to follow in case they are required.

23 August.--'The expected always happens.'How well Disraeli knew life. Our bird when she 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 her bonds for a few hours each day. I have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut her in the padded room, when once she is quiet, until the hour before sunrise. The poor soul's body will enjoy the relief even if her 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 she dashed out past her and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow. Again she went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found her in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When she saw me she became furious, and had not the attendants seized her in time, she would have tried to kill me. As we were holding her a strange thing happened. She suddenly redoubled her 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 moonlight sky, except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel 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 her calm, and shall not forget this night.

LUCAS WESTENRA'S DIARY

Hillingham, 24 August.--I must imitate Minas, and keep writing things down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it will be. I wish he 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 Artemis came to lunch she looked quite grieved when she saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in father's room tonight. I shall make an excuse to try.

25 August.--Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my proposal. He seems not too well himself, and doubtless he 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 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 to be getting air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Artemis comes, or else I know she will be miserable to see me so.

LETTER, ARTEMIS TO DR. SEWARD

'Albemarle Hotel, 31 August

'My dear Jacky,

'I want you to do me a favour. Lucas is ill, that is he has no special disease, but he looks awful, and is getting worse every day. I have asked his if there is any cause, I not dare to ask his mother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about his son in his present state of health would be fatal. Westenra has confided to me that his doom is spoken, disease of the heart, though poor Lucas does not know it yet. I am sure that there is something preying on my dear boy's mind. I am almost distracted when I think of him. To look at his gives me a pang. I told his I should ask you to see him, and though he demurred at first, I know why, old fellow, he finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for his sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham tomorrow, two o'clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion in Westenra, and after lunch Lucas will take an opportunity of being alone with you. I am filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as I can after you have seen him. Do not fail!

'Artemis.'

TELEGRAM, ARTEMIS HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD

1 September

'Am summoned to see my mother, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fully by tonight's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.'

LETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTEMIS HOLMWOOD

2 September

'My dear old fellow,

'With regard to Mister 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 his appearance. He is woefully different from what he was when I saw his 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 Mister Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. His mothers was present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that he was trying all he knew to mislead his mother and prevent his from being anxious. I have no doubt he guesses, if he 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 Westenra went to lie down, and Lucas was left with me. We went into his boudoir, and till we got there his gaiety remained, for the servants were coming and going.

'As soon as the door was closed, however, the mask fell from his face, and he sank down into a chair with a great sigh, and hid his eyes with his hand. When I saw that his high spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of his reaction to make a diagnosis.

'He said to me very sweetly, 'I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I reminded his that a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were grievously anxious about him. He caught on to my meaning at once, and settled that matter in a word. 'Tell Artemis everything you choose. I do not care for myself, but for her!' So I am quite free.

'I could easily see that he was somewhat bloodless, but I could not see the usual anemic signs, and by the chance, I was able to test the actual quality of his blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cord gave way, and he cut his 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 give 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.

'He complains of difficulty breathing satisfactorily at times, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten him, but regarding which he can remember nothing. He says that as a child, he used to walk in his sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back, and that once he walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, where Mister Murray found him. But he 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 mistress, Professor Van Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the world. I have asked her to come over, and as you told me that all things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to her who you are and your relations to Mister 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 him.

'Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal reason, so no matter on what ground she comes, we must accept her wishes. She is a seemingly arbitrary woman, this is because she knows what she is talking about better than any one else. She is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of her day, and she has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats, these form her equipment for the noble work that she is doing for mankind, work both in theory and practice, for her views are as wide as her all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence in her. I have asked her to come at once. I shall see Mister Westenra tomorrow again. He is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may not alarm his mother by too early a repetition of my call.

'Yours always.'

Joan Seward

LETTER, ABRIANNA VAN HELSING, MD, DPh, D. Lit, ETC, ETC, TO DR. SEWARD

2 September.

'My good Friend,

'When I 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 she call me to aid those she 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 her when she wants my aids and you call for them than all her great fortune could do. But it is pleasure added to do for her, your friend, it is to you that I come. Have near at hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young sir not too late on tomorrow, 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 goodbye, my friend Joan.

'Van Helsing.'

LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTEMIS HOLMWOOD

3 September

'My dear Art,

'Van Helsing has come and gone. She came on with me to Hillingham, and found that, by Lucas's discretion, his mothers was lunching out, so that we were alone with him.

'Van Helsing made a very careful examination of the patient. She is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for of course I was not present all the time. She is, I fear, much concerned, but says she must think. When I told her of our friendship and how you trust to me in the matter, she said, 'You must tell her all you think. Tell her 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 she meant by that, for she was very serious. This was when we had come back to town, and she was having a cup of tea before starting on her return to Amsterdam. She would not give me any further clue. You must not be angry with me, Art, because her very reticence means that all her brains are working for his good. She will speak plainly enough when the time comes, be sure. So I told her I would simply write an account of our visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special article for THE DAILY TELEGRAPH. She seemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts of London were not quite so bad as they used to be when she was a student here. I am to get her report tomorrow if she can possibly make it. In any case I am to have a letter.

'Well, as to the visit, Lucas was more cheerful than on the day I first saw him, and certainly looked better. He had lost something of the ghastly look that so upset you, and his breathing was normal. He was very sweet to the Professor (as he always is), and tried to make her feel at ease, though I could see the poor boy was making a hard struggle for it.

'I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quick look under her bushy brows that I knew of old. Then she began to chat of all things except ourselves and diseases and with such an infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucas's pretense of animation merge into reality. Then, without any seeming change, she brought the conversation gently round to her visit, and suavely said,

''My dear young mister, I have the so great pleasure because you are so 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 she snapped her fingers at me and went on. 'But you and I shall show them how wrong they are. How can she,' and she pointed at me with the same look and gesture as that with which she pointed me out in her class, on, or rather after, a particular occasion which she never fails to remind me of, 'know anything of a young ladies? She has her madmen 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! She has no husband nor son, 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 her 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. She 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 his are in no way anemic. I have asked his to send me his page, that I may ask just one or two questions, that so I may not chance to mister nothing. I know well what he will say. And yet there is cause. There is always cause for everything. I must go back home and think. You must send me the telegram every day, and if there be cause I shall come again. The disease, for not to be well is a disease, interest me, and the sweet, young dear, he interest me too. He charm me, and for him, if not for you or disease, I come.'

'As I tell you, she 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 mother 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 mother, and you are right to stick to it. But if need be, I shall send you word to come at once to Lucas, 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 her. She had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time. Just before the stroke of noon she began to grow restless. The attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the women came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon she became so violent that it took all their strength to hold her. In about five minutes, however, she began to get more quiet, and finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state she has remained up to now. The attendant tells me that her 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 her. 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-begone look in her 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 her, and found her seemingly as happy and contented as she used to be. She was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of her capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the ridges of padding. When she saw me, she came over and apologized for her bad conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to her own room, and to have her notebook again. I thought it well to humour her, so she is back in her room with the window open. She has the sugar of her tea spread out on the window sill, and is reaping quite a harvest of flies. She is not now eating them, but putting them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of her room to find a spider. I tried to get her to talk about the past few days, for any clue to her thoughts would be of immense help to me, but she would not rise. For a moment or two she looked very sad, and said in a sort of far away voice, as though saying it rather to herself than to me.

'All over! All over! She has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I do it myself!'Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, she said, 'Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little more sugar? I think it would be very 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 her a double supply, and left her as happy a woman as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom her mind.

Midnight.--Another change in her. I had been to see Mister 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 her yelling. As her 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 realize 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 her just as the sun was going down, and from her window saw the red disc sink. As it sank she became less and less frenzied, and just as it dipped she slid from the hands that held her, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes she stood up quite calmly and looked around her. I signalled to the attendants not to hold her, for I was anxious to see what she would do. She went straight over to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar. Then she took her fly box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box. Then she shut the window, and crossing over, sat down on her bed. All this surprised me, so I asked her, 'Are you going to keep flies any more?'

'No,' said she. 'I am sick of all that rubbish!' she certainly is a wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of her mind or of the cause of her sudden passion. Stop. There may be a clue after all, if we can find why today her 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 today.'

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 10

LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTEMIS HOLMWOOD

6 September

'My dear Art,

'My news today is not so good. Lucas this morning had gone back a bit. There is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it. Westenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucas, and has consulted me professionally about him. I took advantage of the opportunity, and told his that my old mistress, Van Helsing, the great specialist, was coming to stay with me, and that I would put his in her charge conjointly with myself. So now we can come and go without alarming his unduly, for a shock to his would mean sudden death, and this, in Lucas's weak condition, might be disastrous to him. We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor 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,'

Joan Seward

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

7 September.--The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at Liverpool Street was, 'Have you said anything to our young friend, to lover of him?'

'No,' I said. 'I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my telegram. I wrote her a letter simply telling her that you were coming, as Mister Westenra was not so well, and that I should let her know if need be.'

'Right, my friend,' she said. 'Quite right! Better she not know as yet. Perhaps she will never know. I pray so, but if it be needed, then she shall know all. And, my good friend Joan, let me caution you. You deal with the madmen. All women 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.'She touched me on the heart and on the forehead, and then touched herself 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.'She looked at me and said, 'My friend Joan, when the corn is grown, even before it has ripened, while the milk of its mother earth is in her, and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint her with her gold, the husbandman she pull the ear and rub her between her rough hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to you, 'Look! She's good corn, she will make a good crop when the time comes.''

I did not see the application and told her so. For reply she reached over and took my ear in her hand and pulled it playfully, as she used long ago to do at lectures, and said, 'The good husbandman tell you so then because she knows, but not till then. But you do not find the good husbandman dig up her planted corn to see if she 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 Joan? I have sown my corn, and Nature has his work to do in making it sprout, if she sprout at all, there's some promise, and I wait till the ear begins to swell.'She broke off, for she evidently saw that I understood. Then she went on gravely, 'You were always a careful student, and your case book was ever more full than the rest. 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 practice, let me tell you that this case of our dear mister is one that may be, mind, I say may be, of such interest to us and others that all the rest may not make her kick the beam, as your people 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 Lucas's symptoms, the same as before, but infinitely more marked, she looked very grave, but said nothing. She took with her a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, 'the ghastly paraphernalia of our beneficial trade,'as she once called, in one of her lectures, the equipment of a professor of the healing craft.

When we were shown in, Westenra met us. He was alarmed, but not nearly so much as I expected to find him. Nature in one of his beneficient 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 his son to whom he is so attached, do not seem to reach him. 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 root for its causes than we have knowledge of.

I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and set down a rule that he should not be present with Lucas, or think of his illness more than was absolutely required. He assented readily, so readily that I saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van Helsing and I were shown up to Lucas's room. If I was shocked when I saw his yesterday, I was horrified when I saw his today.

He was ghastly, chalkily pale. The red seemed to have gone even from his lips and gums, and the bones of his face stood out prominently. His breathing was painful to see or hear. Van Helsing's face grew set as marble, and her eyebrows converged till they almost touched over her nose. Lucas 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 she stepped quickly along the passage to the next door, which was open. Then she pulled me quickly in with her and closed the door. 'My god!' she said. 'This is dreadful. There is not time to be lost. He will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart's action as it should be. There must be a 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 her, and as we were going there was a knock at the hall door. When we reached the hall, the page had just opened the door, and Artemis was stepping quickly in. She rushed up to me, saying in an eager whisper,

'Jacky, 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 gentlewoman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you, lady, for coming.'

When first the Professor's eye had lit upon her, she had been angry at her interruption at such a time, but now, as she took in her stalwart proportions and recognized the strong young womanhood which seemed to emanate from her, her eyes gleamed. Without a pause she said to her as she held out her hand,

'Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear mister. He is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that.'For she suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. 'You are to help him. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is your best help.'

'What can I do?'asked Artemis hoarsely. 'Tell me, and I shall do it. My life is his, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for him.'

The Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from old knowledge detect a trace of its origin in her answer.

'My young lady, I do not ask so much as that, not the last!'

'What shall I do?'There was fire in her eyes, and her open nostrils quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped her on the shoulder.

'Come!' she said. 'You are a woman, and it is a woman we want. You are better than me, better than my friend Joan.'Artemis looked bewildered, and the Professor went on by explaining in a kindly way.

'Young mister is bad, very bad. He wants blood, and blood he must have or die. My friend Joan 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 her. Joan was to give her blood, as she is the more young and strong than me.'--Here Artemis 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 so bright than yours!'

Artemis turned to her and said, 'If you only knew how gladly I would die for his you would understand . . .'She stopped with a sort of choke in her voice.

'Good girl!' said Van Helsing. 'In the not-so-far-off you will be happy that you have done all for his you love. Come now and be silent. You shall kiss his once before it is done, but then you must go, and you must leave at my sign. Say no word to e. You know how it is with him. There must be no shock, any knowledge of this would be one. Come!'

We all went up to Lucas's room. Artemis by direction remained outside. Lucas turned his head and looked at us, but said nothing. He was not asleep, but he was simply too weak to make the effort. His eyes spoke to us, that was all.

Van Helsing took some things from her bag and laid them on a little table out of sight. Then she mixed a narcotic, and coming over to the bed, said cheerily, 'Now, little mister, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like a good child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. Yes.'He had made the effort with success.

It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact, marked the extent of his weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep began to flicker in his eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic began to manifest its potency, and he fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor was satisfied, she called Artemis into the room, and bade her strip off her coat. Then she added, 'You may take that one little kiss whiles I bring over the table. Friend Joan, help to me!' so neither of us looked whilst she bent over him.

Van Helsing, turning to me, said, 'She 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 Lucas's cheeks, and through Artemis's growing pallor the joy of her face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Artemis, strong woman as she was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain Lucas's system must have undergone that what weakened Artemis only partially restored him.

But the Professor's face was set, and she stood watch in hand, and with her eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Artemis. I could hear my own heart beat. Presently, she said in a soft voice, 'Do not stir an instant. It is enough. You attend her. I will look to him.'

When all was over, I could see how much Artemis was weakened. I dressed the wound and took her arm to bring her away, when Van Helsing spoke without turning round, the woman seems to have eyes in the back of her head, 'The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which she shall have presently.' and as she had now finished her operation, she adjusted the pillow to the patient's head. As she did so the narrow black velvet band which he seems always to wear round his throat, buckled with an old diamond buckle which his lover had given him, was dragged a little up, and showed a red mark on his throat.

Artemis 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. She said nothing at the moment, but turned to me, saying, 'Now take down our brave young lover, give her of the port wine, and let her lie down a while. She must then go home and rest, sleep much and eat much, that she may be recruited of what she has so given to her love. She must not stay here. Hold a moment! I may take it, lady, that you are anxious of result. Then bring it with you, that in all ways the operation is successful. You have saved his life this time, and you can go home and rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tell his all when he is well. He shall love you none the less for what you have done. Goodbye.'

When Artemis had gone I went back to the room. Lucas was sleeping gently, but his breathing was stronger. I could see the counterpane move as his breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking at him intently. The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor in a whisper, 'What do you make of that mark on his 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 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 it formed, for such a thing could not be. The whole bed would have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the boy must have lost to leave such a pallor as he 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 tonight,' she said 'There are books and things there which I want. You must remain here all night, and you must not let your sight pass from him.'

'Shall I have a nurse?' I asked.

'We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night. See that he is well fed, and that nothing disturbs him. 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!' she answered, as she hurried out. She came back a moment later and put her head inside the door and said with a warning finger held up, 'Remember, he is your charge. If you leave him, and harm befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter!'

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--CONTINUED

8 September.--I sat up all night with Lucas. The opiate worked itself off towards dusk, and he waked naturally. He looked a different being from what he had been before the operation. His spirits even were good, and he was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of the absolute prostration which he had undergone. When I told Westenra that Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit up with him, he almost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out his son's renewed strength and excellent spirits. I was firm, however, and made preparations for my long vigil. When his page had prepared his for the night I came in, having in the meantime had supper, and took a seat by the bedside.

He did not in any way make objection, but looked at me gratefully whenever I caught his eye. After a long spell he seemed sinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull himself together and shook it off. It was apparent that he did not want to sleep, so I tackled the subject at once.

'You do not want 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 boy, you may sleep tonight. I am here watching you, and I can promise that nothing will happen.'

'Ah, I can trust you!'he said.

I seized the opportunity, and said, 'I promise 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 he gave a deep sigh of relief, and sank back, asleep.

All night long I watched by him. He never stirred, but slept on and on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. His lips were slightly parted, and his breast rose and fell with the regularity of a pendulum. There was a smile on his face, and it was evident that no bad dreams had come to disturb his peace of mind.

In the early morning his page came, and I left his in his care and took myself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a short wire to Van Helsing and to Artemis, 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. She 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 tonight, as it might be well to be at hand, and stating that she 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. Lucas was up and in cheerful spirits. When he shook hands with me he looked sharply in my face and said,

'No sitting up tonight 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. Lucas came with me, and, enlivened by his charming presence, I made an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than excellent port. Then Lucas took me upstairs, and showed me a room next his own, where a cozy fire was burning.

'Now,'he 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 dog tired, and could not have sat up had I tried. So, on his renewing his promise to call me if he should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything.

LUCAS WESTENRA'S DIARY

9 September.--I feel so happy tonight. 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 Artemis feels very, very close to me. I seem to feel her 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 she can wander where she wills. I know where my thoughts are. If only Artemis 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 tonight I shall not fear to sleep, since she is close at hand and within call. Thank everybody for being so good to me. Thank God! Goodnight Artemis.

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 him, or rather when he left me,' I answered.

'Come, let us see,' she 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 her 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 she moved back, and her exclamation of horror, 'Gott in Himmel!'needed no enforcement from her agonized face. She raised her hand and pointed to the bed, and her iron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees begin to tremble.

There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucas, 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 her foot to stamp in anger, but the instinct of her life and all the long years of habit stood to her, and she put it down again softly.

'Quick!' she said. 'Bring the brandy.'

I flew to the dining room, and returned with the decanter. She wetted the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm and wrist and heart. She felt his heart, and after a few moments of agonizing 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 Artemis here now. I have to call on you yourself this time, friend Joan.'As she spoke, she was dipping into her bag, and producing the instruments of 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,' she said. 'But I fear that with growing strength he may wake, and that would make danger, oh, so much danger. But I shall precaution take. I shall give hypodermic injection of morphia.'She proceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out her intent.

The effect on Lucas 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 woman knows, till she experiences it, what it is to feel her own lifeblood drawn away into the veins of the man she loves.

The Professor watched me critically. 'That will do,' she said. 'Already?' I remonstrated. 'You took a great deal more from Art.' To which she smiled a sad sort of smile as she replied,

'She is his lover, his fiance. You have work, much work to do for his and for others, and the present will suffice.'

When we stopped the operation, she attended to Lucas, whilst I applied digital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, while I waited her leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick. By and by she bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine for myself. As I was leaving the room, she 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 her. It would at once frighten her and enjealous her, too. There must be none. So!'

When I came back she 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 her 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 Lucas had made such a retrograde movement, and how he could have been drained of so much blood with no sign any where 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 his throat and the ragged, exhausted appearance of their edges, tiny though they were.

Lucas slept well into the day, and when he woke he was fairly well and strong, though not nearly so much so as the day before. When Van Helsing had seen him, she went out for a walk, leaving me in charge, with strict injunctions that I was not to leave his for a moment. I could hear her voice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest telegraph office.

Lucas chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that anything had happened. I tried to keep his amused and interested. When his mother came up to see him, he 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 husband to nurse and look after you a bit, that you do!'As he spoke, Lucas turned crimson, though it was only momentarily, for his poor wasted veins could not stand for long an unwonted drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as he turned imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my finger on my lips. With a sigh, he sank back amid his 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 tonight, and I shall sit up with little mister myself. You and I must watch the case, and we must have none other to know. I have grave reasons. No, do not ask me. Think what you will. Do not fear to think even the most not-improbable. Goodnight.'

In the hall two of the pages came to me, and asked if they or either of them might not sit up with Mister Lucas. They implored me to let them, and when I said it was Dr. Van Helsing's wish that either she or I should sit up, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with the 'foreign gentlewoman'. I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it is because I am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on Lucas's account, that their devotion was manifested. For over and over again have I seen similar instances of man'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 Lucas much better. Shortly after I had arrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor. She opened it with much impressment, assumed, of course, and showed a great bundle of white flowers.

'These are for you, Mister Lucas,' she said.

'For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!'

'Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are medicines.'Here Lucas 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 Artemis what woes she may have to endure in seeing so much beauty that she so loves so much distort. Aha, my pretty mister, that bring the so nephew nose all straight again. This is medicinal, but you do not know how. I put her in your window, I make pretty wreath, and hang her round your neck, so 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 Conquistadores sought for in the Floridas, and find her all too late.'

Whilst she was speaking, Lucas had been examining the flowers and smelling them. Now he 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 her sternness, her iron jaw set and her bushy eyebrows meeting,

'No trifling with me! I never jest! There is grim purpose in what 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 Lucas scared, as he might well be, she went on more gently, 'Oh, little mister, 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 a while. Come with me, friend Joan, 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 her 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 pharmacopeia that I ever heard of. First she fastened up the windows and latched them securely. Next, taking a handful of the flowers, she 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 she 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 she would say that you were working some spell to keep out an evil spirit.'

'Perhaps I am!' she answered quietly as she began to make the wreath which Lucas was to wear round his neck.

We then waited whilst Lucas made his toilet for the night, and when he was in bed she came and herself fixed the wreath of garlic round his neck. The last words she said to his were,

'Take care you do not disturb it, and even if the room feel close, do not tonight open the window or the door.'

'I promise,' said Lucas. '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, 'Tonight 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. Tomorrow in the morning early you call for me, and we come together to see our pretty mister, so much more strong for my 'spell' which I have work. Ho, ho!'

She 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 11

LUCAS WESTENRA'S DIARY

12 September.--How good they all are to me. I quite love that dear Dr. Van Helsing. I wonder why she was so anxious about these flowers. She positively frightened me, she was so fierce. And yet she must have been right, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dread being alone tonight, 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 sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and 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 tonight, hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia in the play, with 'virgin crants and maiden strewments.' I never liked garlic before, but tonight it is delightful! There is peace in its smell. I feel sleep coming already. Goodnight, 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 her bag, which she always brings with her 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 like 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 Westenra coming out of the morning room. He is always an early riser. He greeted us warmly and said,

'You will be glad to know that Lucas is better. The dear child is still asleep. I looked into his room and saw him, but did not go in, lest I should disturb him.' The Professor smiled, and looked quite jubilant. She rubbed her hands together, and said, 'Aha! I thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working.'

To which he replied, 'You must not take all the credit to yourself, doctor. Lucas'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 his room. He was sleeping soundly, so soundly that even my coming did not wake him. But the room was awfully stuffy. There were a lot of those horrible, strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and he had actually a bunch of them round his neck. I feared that the heavy odour would be too much for the dear child in his 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 him, I am sure.'

He moved off into his boudoir, where he usually breakfasted early. As he had spoken, I watched the Professor's face, and saw it turn ashen gray. She had been able to retain her self-command whilst the poor sir was present, for she knew his state and how mischievous a shock would be. She actually smiled on his as she held open the door for his to pass into his room. But the instant he had disappeared she 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. She raised her hands over her head in a sort of mute despair, and then beat her palms together in a helpless way. Finally she sat down on a chair, and putting her hands before her face, began to sob, with loud, dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking of her heart.

Then she raised her arms again, as though appealing to the whole universe. 'God! God! God!' she said. 'What have we done, what has this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate amongst us still, send down from 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 he think, does such thing as lose his son body and soul, and we must not tell him, we must not even warn him, or he die, then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!'

Suddenly she jumped to her feet. 'Come,' she said, 'come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not. We must fight her all the same.'She went to the hall door for her bag, and together we went up to Lucas's room.

Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the bed. This time she did not start as she looked on the poor face with the same awful, waxen pallor as before. She wore a look of stern sadness and infinite pity.

'As I expected,' she murmured, with that hissing inspiration of her which meant so much. Without a word she 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 recognized the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but she stopped me with a warning hand. 'No!' she said. 'Today you must operate. I shall provide. You are weakened already.'As she spoke she took off her coat and rolled up her shirtsleeve.

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 herself and rested.

Presently she took an opportunity of telling Westenra that he must not remove anything from Lucas's room without consulting her. That the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of their odour was a part of the system of cure. Then she took over the care of the case herself, saying that she would watch this night and the next, and would send me word when to come.

After another hour Lucas waked from his sleep, fresh and bright and seemingly not much the worse for his 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.

LUCAS 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 nightstallion, 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 spells 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 from 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. Tonight Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as she 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 Father's sake, and dear Artemis'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 her chair a lot of the time. I found her 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. Thomasina Bilder lives in one of the cottages in the enclosure behind the elephant house, and was just sitting down to her tea when I found her. Thomasina and her husband 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 she called business until the supper was over, and we were all satisfied. Then when the table was cleared, and she had lit her pipe, she said,

'Now, Sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You'll excoose me refoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjucts 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 her into a talkative humor.

''Ittin' of them over the 'ead with a pole is one way. Scratchin' of their ears in 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 of the pole part afore I chucks in their dinner, but I waits till they've 'ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the ear scratchin'. Mind you,' she added philosophically, 'there's a deal of the same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here's you a-comin' and arskin' of me questions about my business, and I that grump-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 offence did I tell yer to go to 'ell?'

'You did.'

'An' when you said you'd report me for usin' 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 of his tea-cake in me, an' rinsed me out with his bloomin' old teapot, and I've lit hup, you may scratch my ears for all you're worth, and won't even get 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 gray ones that came from Norway to Jamrach's, which we bought off her four years ago. She was a nephew 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 men.'

'Don't you mind her, Sir!'broke in Tom, with a cheery laugh. ''E's got mindin' the animiles so long that blest if she 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 she wanted to get out. There wasn't much people about that day, and close at hand was only one woman, a tall, thin chap, with a 'ook nose and a pointed locks, with a few white hairs runnin' through it. She had a 'ard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to her, for it seemed as if it was 'im as they was hirritated at. She 'ad white kid gloves on 'is 'ands, and she 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 she give 'isself. She didn't get angry, as I 'oped she would, but she 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 her. 'They always like 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 she let me stroke her ears same as ever. That there woman kem over, and blessed but if she didn't put in her hand and stroke the old wolf's ears too!

''Tyke care,' says I. 'Bersicker is quick.'

''Never mind,' she says. I'm used to 'em!'

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

''Nom,' says she, 'not exactly in the business, but I 'ave made pets of several.' And with that she lifts her '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 she sees a big gray dog comin' out through the garding 'edges. At least, so she says, but I don't give much for it myself, for if she did 'e never said a word about it to her 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 she remembered seein' anything. My own belief was that the 'armony 'ad got into her 'ead.'

'Now, Ms. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape of the wolf?'

'Well, Sir,' she 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 woman 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 she wanted to get out.'

From the hearty way that both Thomasina and her husband 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 Thomasina, but I thought I knew a surer way to her heart, so I said, 'Now, Ms. Bilder, we'll consider that first half-sovereign worked off, and this sister of her is waiting to be claimed when you've told me what you think will happen.'

'Right y'are, Sir,' she said briskly. 'Ye'll excoose me, I know, for a-chaffin' of ye, but the old man 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 she was a-gallopin' northward faster than a horse could go, but I don't believe her, 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 storybook, 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 she's somewhere round the Park a'hidin' an' a'shiverin' of, and if she thinks at all, wonderin' where she is to get her breakfast from. Or maybe she's got down some area and is in a coal cellar. My eye, won't some cook get a rum start when he sees her green eyes a-shinin' at him out of the dark! If she can't get food she's bound to look for it, and mayhap she may chance to light on a butcher's shop in time. If she doesn't, and some nursemaid goes out walkin' or 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 her the half-sovereign, when something came bobbing up against the window, and Ms. Bilder's face doubled its natural length with surprise.

'God bless me!' she said. 'If there ain't old Bersicker come back by 'isself!'

She 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 her husband thought any more of the wolf than I should of a dog. The animal itself was a peaceful and well-behaved as that mother of all picture-wolves, Red Riding Hood's quondam friend, whilst moving his confidence in masquerade.

The whole scene was a unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos. The wicked wolf that for a half a day had paralyzed London and set all the children in town shivering in their shoes, was there in a sort of penitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of vulpine prodigal daughter. Old Bilder examined her all over with most tender solicitude, and when she had finished with her 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 her 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.'

She took the wolf and locked her 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 today 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 Lucas, had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst open, and in rushed my patient, with her face distorted with passion. I was thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting of her own accord into the Superintendent's study is almost unknown.

Without an instant's notice she made straight at me. She had a dinner knife in her hand, and as I saw she was dangerous, I tried to keep the table between us. She was too quick and too strong for me, however, for before I could get my balance she had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather severely.

Before she could strike again, however, I got in my right hand and she was sprawling on her 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 her, her employment positively sickened me. She was lying on her belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood which had fallen from my wounded wrist. She 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 Lucas's illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over excited and weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep. Tonight 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 Hilllingham tonight. 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 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 Lucas's phonograph.

MEMORANDUM LEFT BY LUCAS 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 Minas 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 she would be, so that I might have called her. I tried to sleep, but I 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, he came in and sat by me. He said to me even more sweetly and softly than his wont,

'I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you were all right.'

I feared he might catch cold sitting there, and asked his to come in and sleep with me, so he came into bed, and lay down beside me. He did not take off his dressing gown, for he said he would only stay a while and then go back to his own bed. As he lay there in my arms, and I in his the flapping and buffeting came to the window again. He was startled and a little frightened, and cried out, 'What is that?'

I tried to pacify him, and at last succeeded, and he lay quiet. But I could hear his poor dear heart still beating terribly. After a while there was the 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 gray wolf.

Mother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help him. Amongst other things, he clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. For a second or two he sat up, pointing at the wolf, and there was a strange and horrible gurgling in his throat. Then he fell over, as if struck with lightning, and his 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 her head back, and a whole myriad of little specks seems 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 simoon in the desert. I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear Father's poor body, which seemed to grow cold already, for his 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 neighbourhood 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 pages, 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 him, 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 each have a glass of wine. The door flew open for an instant and closed again. The pages shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining room, and I laid what flowers I had on my dear father'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 pages 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 Father'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 him, 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. Goodbye, dear Artemis, if I should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!
CHAPTER 12

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 Lucas or his 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 round us? Was it indeed a house of death to which I had come, too late? I know that minutes, even seconds of delay, might mean hours of danger to Lucas, if he 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 she saw me, she gasped out, 'Then it was you, and just arrived. How is he? Are we too late? Did you not get my telegram?'

I answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only got her telegram early in the morning, and had not a minute in coming here, and that I could not make any one in the house hear me. She paused and raised her hat as she said solemnly, 'Then I fear we are too late. God's will be done!'

With her usual recuperative energy, she 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 her 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 her. 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 men 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 she said, 'We can attend to them later.' Then we ascended to Lucas'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 men, Lucas and his mother. The latter lay farthest in, and he was covered with a white sheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the drought through the broken window, showing the drawn, white, face, with a look of terror fixed upon it. By his side lay Lucas, with face white and still more drawn. The flowers which had been round his neck we found upon his father's chest , and his 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, her head almost touching poor Lucas's breast. Then she gave a quick turn of her head, as of one who listens, and leaping to her feet, she 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 pages 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. She rubbed the brandy, as on another occasion, on his lips and gums and on his wrists and the palms of his hands. She 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 him. He will need be heated before we can do anything more.'

I went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three of the men. The fourth was only a young boy, and the drug had evidently affected his more strongly so I lifted his on the sofa and let his 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 if they delayed they would sacrifice Mister Lucas. 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 Lucas out as he was and placed his in it. Whilst we were busy chafing his limbs there was a knock at the hall door. One of the pages ran off, hurried on some more clothes, and opened it. Then he returned and whispered to us that there was a gentlewoman who had come with a message from Ms. Holmwood. I bade his simply tell her that she must wait, for we could see no one now. He went away with the message, and, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about her.

I never saw in all my experience the Professor work in such deadly earnest. I knew, as she knew, that it was a stand-up fight with death, and in a pause told her so. She answered me in a way that I did not understand, but with the sternest look that her face could wear.

'If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let his fade away into peace, for I see no light in life over him horizon.'She went on with her 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. Lucas's heart beat a trifle more audibly to the stethoscope, and his lungs had a perceptible movement. Van Helsing's face almost beamed, and as we lifted his from the bath and rolled his in a hot sheet to dry his she said to me, 'The first gain is ours! Check to the King!'

We took Lucas into another room, which had by now been prepared, and laid his in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down his throat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief round his throat. He was still unconscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than, we had ever seen him.

Van Helsing called in one of the men, and told his to stay with his and not to take his eyes off his till we returned, and then beckoned me out of the room.

'We must consult as to what is to be done,' she said as we descended the stairs. In the hall she opened the dining room door, and we passed in, she closing the door carefully behind her. The shutters had been opened, but the blinds were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette of death which the British man 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. She was evidently torturing her mind about something, so I waited for an instant, and she 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 boy's life won't be worth an hour's purchase. You are exhausted already. I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those men, even if they would have courage to submit. What are we to do for some one who will open her veins for him?'

'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 Quincy Morris.

Van Helsing started angrily at the first sound, but her face softened and a glad look came into her eyes as I cried out, 'Quincy Morris!' and rushed towards her with outstretched hands.

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

'I guess Art is the cause.'

She 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 Lucas 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 her hand, looking her straight in the eyes as she said, 'A brave woman's blood is the best thing on this earth when a man is in trouble. You're a woman and no mistake. Well, the devil may work against us for all she's worth, but God sends us women when we want them.'

Once again we went through that ghastly operation. I have not the heart to go through with the details. Lucas had got a terrible shock and it told on his more than before, for though plenty of blood went into his veins, his body did not respond to the treatment as well as on the other occasions. His 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 sub-cutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and with good effect. His faint became a profound slumber. The Professor watched whilst I went downstairs with Quincy Morris, and sent one of the pages to pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting.

I left Quincy 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 Lucas now was. When I came softly in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or two of note paper in her hand. She had evidently read it, and was thinking it over as she sat with her hand to her brow. There was a look of grim satisfaction in her face, as of one who has had a doubt solved. She handed me the paper saying only, 'It dropped from Lucas's breast when we carried his to the bath.'

When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a pause asked her, 'In God's name, what does it all mean? Was he, or is he, 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 her 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 me 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 Lucas, if nothing else did. I know, and you know, and the other doctor who attended his knows, that Westenra had disease of the heart, and we can certify that he 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 Joan! Well thought of! Truly Mister Lucas, if he be sad in the foes that beset him, is at least happy in the friends that love him. One, two, three, all open their veins for him, besides one old woman. Ah, yes, I know, friend Joan. I am not blind! I love you all the more for it! Now go.'

In the hall I met Quincy Morris, with a telegram for Artemis telling her that Westenra was dead, that Lucas also had been ill, but was now going on better, and that Van Helsing and I were with him. I told her where I was going, and she hurried me out, but as I was going said,

'When you come back, Jacky, 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 Quincy was waiting for me. I told her I would see her as soon as I knew about Lucas, and went up to his room. He was still sleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from her seat at his side. From her putting her finger to her lips, I gathered that she expected his to wake before long and was afraid of fore-stalling nature. So I went down to Quincy and took her 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, she said to me, 'Jacky 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 boy and wanted to marry him, but although that's all past and gone, I can't help feeling anxious about his all the same. What is it that's wrong with him? The Dutchman, and a fine old fellow she 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 she were exhausted. Now I know well that you medical women speak in camera, and that a woman 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 she went on.

'I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did today. Is not that so?'

'That's so.'

'And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw her four days ago down at her own place she looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so quick since I was on the Pampas and had a stallion that I was fond of go to grass all in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had got at him in the night, and what with her gorge and the vein left open, there wasn't enough blood in his to let his stand up, and I had to put a bullet through him as he lay. Jacky, if you may tell me without betraying confidence, Artemis was the first, is not that so?'

As she spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. She was in a torture of suspense regarding the man she loved, and her utter ignorance of the terrible mystery which seemed to surround his intensified her pain. Her very heart was bleeding, and it took all the womanhood of her, and there was a royal lot of it, too, to keep her from breaking down. I paused before answering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the Professor wished kept secret, but already she 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, Jacky Seward, that that poor pretty creature that we all love has had put into his veins within that time the blood of four strong women. Woman alive, his whole body wouldn't hold it.' Then coming close to me, she 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 Lucas being properly watched. But these shall not occur again. Here we stay until all be well, or ill.'

Quincy held out her hand. 'Count me in,' she said. 'You and the Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I'll do it.'

When he woke late in the afternoon, Lucas's first movement was to feel in his 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 he should be alarmed. His eyes then lit on Van Helsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then he looked round the room, and seeing where he was, shuddered. He gave a loud cry, and put his poor thin hands before his pale face.

We both understood what was meant, that he had realized to the full his father's death. So we tried what we could to comfort him. Doubtless sympathy eased his somewhat, but he was very low in thought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for a long time. We told his that either or both of us would now remain with his all the time, and that seemed to comfort him. Towards dusk he fell into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep he took the paper from his breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped over and took the pieces from him. All the same, however, he went on with the action of tearing, as though the material were still in his hands. Finally he lifted his hands and opened them as though scattering the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and her brows gathered as if in thought, but she said nothing.

19 September.--All last night he slept fitfully, being always afraid to sleep, and something weaker when he woke from it. The Professor and I took in turns to watch, and we never left his for a moment unattended. Quincy Morris said nothing about her intention, but I knew that all night long she patrolled round and round the house.

When the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor Lucas's strength. He was hardly able to turn his head, and the little nourishment which he could take seemed to do his no good. At times he slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in him, between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep he looked stronger, although more haggard, and his breathing was softer. His open mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the teeth, which looked positively longer and sharper than usual. When he woke the softness of his eyes evidently changed the expression, for he looked his own self, although a dying one. In the afternoon he asked for Artemis, and we telegraphed for her. Quincy went off to meet her at the station.

When she 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 she saw him, Artemis was simply choking 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. Artemis's presence, however, seemed to act as a stimulant. He rallied a little, and spoke to her more brightly than he had done since we arrived. She too pulled herself together, and spoke as cheerily as she could, so that the best was made of everything.

It is now nearly one o'clock, and she and Van Helsing are sitting with him. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am entering this on Lucas's phonograph. Until six o'clock they are to try to rest. I fear that tomorrow will end our watching, for the shock has been too great. The poor child cannot rally. God help us all.

LETTER MINAS HARKER TO LUCAS WESTENRA

(Unopened by her)

17 September

My dearest Lucas,

'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 wife back all right. When we arrived at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though she had an attack of gout, Ms. Hawkins. She took us to her house, where there were rooms for us all nephew and comfortable, and we dined together. After dinner Ms. 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, Lucas dear, as Joanna and the old woman 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 out against the old yellow stone of the cathedral, and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and cawing and chattering and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of rooks--and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging things and housekeeping. Joanna and Ms. Hawkins are busy all day, for now that Joanna is a partner, Ms. Hawkins wants to tell her all about the clients.

'How is your dear mother getting on? I wish 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 Joanna wants looking after still. She is beginning to put some flesh on her bones again, but she was terribly weakened by the long illness. Even now she sometimes starts out of her sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax her back to her 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 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. Joanna asks me to send her '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 she loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses of the verb, I send you simply her 'love' instead. Goodbye, my dearest Lucas, and blessings on you.

'Yours,

'Minas Harker'

REPORT FROM PATRICIA HENNESSEY, MD, MRCSLK, QCPI, ETC, ETC, TO JOAN SEWARD, MD

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. She 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 women made a call at the empty house whose grounds abut on ours, the house to which, you will remember, the patient twice ran away. The women 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 she passed the window of Renfield's room, the patient began to rate her from within, and called her all the foul names she could lay her tongue to. The woman, who seemed a decent fellow enough, contented herself by telling her to 'shut up for a foul-mouthed beggar', whereon our woman accused her of robbing her and wanting to murder her and said that she would hinder her if she were to swing for it. I opened the window and signed to the woman not to notice, so she contented herself after looking the place over and making up her mind as to what kind of place she had got to by saying, 'Lor' bless yer, lady, 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 she asked her way civilly enough, and I told her where the gate of the empty house was. She went away followed by threats and curses and revilings from our woman. I went down to see if I could make out any cause for her anger, since she is usually such a well-behaved woman, and except her violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred. I found her, to my astonishment, quite composed and most genial in her manner. I tried to get her to talk of the incident, but she blandly asked me questions as to what I meant, and led me to believe that she was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of her cunning, for within half an hour I heard of her again. This time she had broken out through the window of her room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to follow me, and ran after her, for I feared she 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 women were wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if with violent exercise. Before I could get up to her, the patient rushed at them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began to knock her head against the ground. If I had not seized her just at the moment, I believe she would have killed the woman there and then. The other fellow jumped down and struck her over the head with the butt end of her heavy whip. It was a horrible blow, but she did not seem to mind it, but seized her also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no lightweight, and the others were both burly women. At first she was silent in her fighting, but as we began to mistress her, and the attendants were putting a strait waistcoat on her, she began to shout, 'I'll frustrate them! They shan't rob me! They shan't murder me by inches! I'll fight for my Lady and Mistress!' and all sorts of similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable difficulty that they got her back to the house and put her in the padded room. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set it all right, and she 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 her. 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 labors of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after a stiff glass of strong 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: Jacky Smollet, of Dudding's Rents, Queen George's Road, Great Walworth, and Thomasina Snelling, Peta Farley's Row, Guide Court, Bethnal Green. They are both in the employment of Harris & Daughters, 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,

'Patricia Hennessey.'

LETTER, MINAS HARKER TO LUCAS WESTENRA (Unopened by her)

18 September

'My dearest Lucas,

'Such a sad blow has befallen us. Ms. Hawkins has died very suddenly. Some may not think it so sad for us, but we had both come to so love her that it really seems as though we had lost a mother. I never knew either mother or mother, so that the dear old woman's death is a real blow to me. Joanna is greatly distressed. It is not only that she feels sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear, good woman who has befriended her all her life, and now at the end has treated her like her own daughter and left her a fortune which to people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond the dream of avarice, but Joanna feels it on another account. She says the amount of responsibility which it puts upon her makes her nervous. She begins to doubt herself. I try to cheer her up, and my belief in her helps her to have a belief in herself. But it is here that the grave shock that she experienced tells upon her the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as hers, a nature which enabled her by our dear, good friend's aid to rise from clerk to mistress 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 Lucas dear, I must tell someone, for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Joanna tries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread coming up to London, as we must do that day after tomorrow, for poor Ms. Hawkins left in her will that she was to be buried in the grave with her mother. As there are no relations at all, Joanna 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

'Minas Harker'

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

20 September.--Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry tonight. 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 she has been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late, Lucas's mother and Artemis's mother, and now . . . Let me get on with my work.

I duly relieved Van Helsing in her watch over Lucas. We wanted Artemis to go to rest also, but she refused at first. It was only when I told her that we should want her to help us during the day, and that we must not all break down for want of rest, lest Lucas should suffer, that she agreed to go.

Van Helsing was very kind to her. 'Come, my child,' she 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.'

Artemis went off with her, casting back a longing look on Lucas's face, which lay in his pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. He lay quite still, and I looked around 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, her purpose of using the garlic. The whole of the window sashes reeked with it, and round Lucas's neck, over the silk handkerchief which Van Helsing made his keep on, was a rough chaplet of the same odorous flowers.

Lucas was breathing somewhat stertorously, and his face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. His 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 beside him, and presently he 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 around, 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 Lucas had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic flowers from his throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and sat watching him.

Presently he woke, and I gave his food, as Van Helsing had prescribed. He took but a little, and that languidly. There did not seem to be with his now the unconscious struggle for life and strength that had hitherto so marked his illness. It struck me as curious that the moment he became conscious he pressed the garlic flowers close to him. It was certainly odd that whenever he got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, he put the flowers from him, but that when he waked he clutched them close. There was no possibility of making any mistake about this, for in the long hours that followed, he had many spells of sleeping and waking and repeated both actions many times.

At six o'clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Artemis had then fallen into a doze, and she mercifully let her sleep on. When she saw Lucas's face I could hear the hissing indraw of breath, and she said to me in a sharp whisper. 'Draw up the blind. I want light!'Then she bent down, and, with her face almost touching Lucas's, examined his carefully. She removed the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief from his throat. As she did so she started back and I could hear her ejaculation, 'Mein Gott!'as it was smothered in her 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 him, with her face at its sternest. Then she turned to me and said calmly, 'He is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark me, whether he dies conscious or in his sleep. Wake that poor girl, and let her come and see the last. She trusts us, and we have promised her.'

I went to the dining room and waked her. She was dazed for a moment, but when she saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges of the shutters she thought she was late, and expressed her fear. I assured her that Lucas was still asleep, but told her as gently as I could that both Van Helsing and I feared that the end was near. She covered her face with her hands, and slid down on her knees by the sofa, where she remained, perhaps a minute, with her head buried, praying, whilst her shoulders shook with grief. I took her by the hand and raised her up. 'Come,' I said, 'my dear old fellow, summon all your fortitude. It will be best and easiest for him.'

When we came into Lucas's room I could see that Van Helsing had, with her usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making everything look as pleasing as possible. She had even brushed Lucas's hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into the room he opened his eyes, and seeing her, whispered softly, 'Artemis! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!'

She was stooping to kiss him, when Van Helsing motioned her back. 'No,' she whispered, 'not yet! Hold his hand, it will comfort his more.'

So Artemis took his hand and knelt beside him, and he looked his best, with all the soft lines matching the angelic beauty of his eyes. Then gradually his eyes closed, and he sank to sleep. For a little bit his breast heaved softly, and his breath came and went like a tired child's.

And then insensibly there came the strange change which I had noticed in the night. His 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 he opened his eyes, which were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice, such as I had never heard from his lips, 'Artemis! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!'

Artemis bent eagerly over to kiss him, but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me, had been startled by his voice, swooped upon her, and catching her by the neck with both hands, dragged her back with a fury of strength which I never thought she could have possessed, and actually hurled her almost across the room.

'Not on your life!' she said, 'not for your living soul and his!' and she stood between them like a lion at bay.

Artemis was so taken aback that she did not for a moment know what to do or say, and before any impulse of violence could seize her she realized the place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting.

I kept my eyes fixed on Lucas, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm as of rage flit like a shadow over him face. The sharp teeth clamped together. Then his eyes closed, and he breathed heavily.

Very shortly after he opened his eyes in all their softness, and putting out his poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great brown one, drawing it close to him, he kissed it. 'My true friend,'he said, in a faint voice, but with untellable pathos, 'My true friend, and hers! Oh, guard her, and give me peace!'

'I swear it!' she said solemnly, kneeling beside his and holding up her hand, as one who registers an oath. Then she turned to Artemis, and said to her, 'Come, my child, take his hand in yours, and kiss his on the forehead, and only once.'

Their eyes met instead of their lips, and so they parted. Lucas's eyes closed, and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, took Artemis's arm, and drew her away.

And then Lucas's breathing became stertorous again, and all at once it ceased.

'It is all over,' said Van Helsing. 'He is dead!'

I took Artemis by the arm, and led her away to the drawing room, where she sat down, and covered her face with her 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 Lucas, and her face was sterner than ever. Some change had come over him body. Death had given back part of his beauty, for his 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 his dying whilst he slept, and sleeping when he died.'

I stood beside Van Helsing, and said, 'Ah well, poor boy, there is peace for his at last. It is the end!'

She turned to me, and said with grave solemnity, 'Not so, alas! Not so. It is only the beginning!'

When I asked her what she meant, she only shook her head and answered, 'We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see.'
CHAPTER 13

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--cont.

The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucas and his mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that her staff was afflicted, or blessed, with something of her own obsequious suavity. Even the man who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to me, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when he had come out from the death chamber,

'He makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to attend on him. It's not too much to say that he 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 Artemis had to be back the next day to attend at her mother'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. She insisted upon looking over Lucas's papers herself. I asked her why, for I feared that she, being a foreigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and so might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble.

She 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 her to avoid. There may be papers more, such as this.'

As she spoke she took from her pocket book the memorandum which had been in Lucas's breast, and which he had torn in his sleep.

'When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Westenra, seal all his papers, and write her tonight. For me, I watch here in the room and in Mister Lucas's old room all night, and I myself search for what may be. It is not well that his 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 Westenra's solicitor and had written to her. 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 Joan? I am free, and if I may, my service is to you.'

'Have you got what you looked for?' I asked.

To which she 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 lass tomorrow evening, and, with her sanction, I shall use some.'

When we had finished the work in hand, she said to me, 'and now, friend Joan, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you and I, and rest to recuperate. Tomorrow we shall have much to do, but for the tonight there is no need of us. Alas!'

Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucas. The undertaker had certainly done her 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 candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucas's loveliness had come back to his 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. She had not loved his as I had, and there was no need for tears in her eyes. She said to me, 'Remain till I return,' and left the room. She 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 she took from her neck, inside her collar, a little gold crucifix, and placed it over the mouth. She 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, she entered, and at once began to speak.

'Tomorrow 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 what you think. Let me tell you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off his head and take out his 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 Joan, that you loved him, and I have not forgotten it for is I that shall operate, and you must not help. I would like to do it tonight, but for Artemis I must not. She will be free after her mother's funeral tomorrow, and she will want to see him, to see it. Then, when he 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 boy is dead. Why mutilate his poor body without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing to gain by it, no good to him, to us, to science, to human knowledge, why do it? Without such it is monstrous.'

For answer she put her hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite tenderness, 'Friend Joan, 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. Joan, 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 woman, 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 Artemis kiss her love, though he was dying, and snatched her away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw how he thanked me, with his so beautiful dying eyes, his voice, too, so weak, and he kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not hear me swear promise to him, that so he closed his 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 Joan. 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!' she paused a moment and went on solemnly, 'Friend Joan, 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 her hand, and promised her. I held my door open as she went away, and watched her go to her room and close the door. As I stood without moving, I saw one of the pages pass silently along the passage, he had his back to me, so did not see me, and go into the room where Lucas 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 boy putting aside the terrors which he naturally had of death to go watch alone by the bier of the master whom he 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. She came over to my bedside and said, 'You need not trouble about the knives. We shall not do it.'

'Why not?' I asked. For her solemnity of the night before had greatly impressed me.

'Because,' she said sternly, 'it is too late, or too early. See!'Here she 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 man who robbed the dead and the living. His punishment will surely come, but not through me. He knew not altogether what he did, and thus unknowing, he only stole. Now we must wait.'She 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, Ms. Marquand, of Wholeman, Daughters, Marquand & Lidderdale. She was very genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all cares as to details. During lunch she told us that Westenra had for some time expected sudden death from his heart, and had put his affairs in absolute order. She informed us that, with the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucas's mother 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 Artemis Holmwood. When she had told us so much she went on,

'Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave his son either penniless or not so free as he should be to act regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into collision, for he asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out his 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 his wishes. For by his predeceasing his son the latter would have come into possession of the property, and, even had he only survived his mother by five minutes, his property would, in case there were no will, and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case, have been treated at his decease as under intestacy. In which case Lady 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.'

She was a good fellow, but her rejoicing at the one little part, in which she was officially interested, of so great a tragedy, was an object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.

She did not remain long, but said she would look in later in the day and see Lady Godalming. Her 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. Artemis 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 son lay in it. The undertaker, true to her craft, had made the best display she could of her 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 Lady Godalming was coming very soon, it would be less harrowing to her feelings to see all that was left of her fiancee quite alone.

The undertaker seemed shocked at her own stupidity and exerted herself to restore things to the condition in which we left them the night before, so that when Artemis came such shocks to her feelings as we could avoid were saved.

Poor fellow! She looked desperately sad and broken. Even her stalwart womanhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of her much-tried emotions. She had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly attached to her mother, and to lose her, and at such a time, was a bitter blow to her. With me she was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing she was sweetly courteous. But I could not help seeing that there was some constraint with her. The professor noticed it too, and motioned me to bring her upstairs. I did so, and left her at the door of the room, as I felt she would like to be quite alone with him, but she took my arm and led me in, saying huskily,

'You loved his too, old fellow. He told me all about it, and there was no friend had a closer place in his heart than you. I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for him. I can't think yet . . .'

Here she suddenly broke down, and threw her arms round my shoulders and laid her head on my breast, crying, 'Oh, Jacky! Jacky! 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 her as well as I could. In such cases women 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 woman's heart. I stood still and silent till her sobs died away, and then I said softly to her, 'Come and look at him.'

Together we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from his face. God! How beautiful he was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing his loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat. And as for Artemis, she fell to trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At last, after a long pause, she said to me in a faint whisper, 'Jacky, is he really dead?'

I assured her 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 become softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty, that this was especially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged suffering. I seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at his lovingly and long, she turned aside. I told her that that must be goodbye, as the coffin had to be prepared, so she went back and took his dead hand in her and kissed it, and bent over and kissed his forehead. She came away, fondly looking back over her shoulder at his as she came.

I left her in the drawing room, and told Van Helsing that she had said goodbye, so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker's women to proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When she came out of the room again I told her of Artemis's question, and she 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 she said, 'Lady . . .'but Artemis interrupted her.

'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 girl, to love you, as Artemis.'

Artemis held out her hand, and took the old woman's warmly. 'Call me what you will,' she 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.'She paused a moment, and went on, 'I know that he 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.'

She 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 herself shone through. Then you shall bless me from first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others, and for his dear sake to whom I swore to protect.'

'and indeed, indeed, sir,' said Artemis warmly. 'I shall in all ways trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are Jacky's friend, and you were his. You shall do what you like.'

The Professor cleared her throat a couple of times, as though about to speak, and finally said, 'May I ask you something now?'

'Certainly.'

'You know that Westenra left you all his 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 Mister Lucas's papers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which, be sure, he 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 his 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 is a hard thing that I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucas's sake?'

Artemis spoke out heartily, like her 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 she 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, dear girl, 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 Artemis's room that night. Van Helsing did not go to bed at all. She went to and fro, as if patroling the house, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucas lay in his coffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent through the odour of lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the night.

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

22 September.--In the train to Exeter. Joanna 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, Joanna away and no news of her, and now, married to Joanna, Joanna a solicitor, a partner, rich, mistress of her business, Ms. Hawkins dead and buried, and Joanna with another attack that may harm her. Some day she 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 her from Exeter, her London agent, and a gentlewoman representing Lady Joan Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society. Joanna 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. Joanna 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. Joanna was holding me by the arm, the way she used to in the 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 Joanna, and she was my wife, 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 boy, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's, when I felt Joanna clutch my arm so tight that she hurt me, and she said under her breath, 'My God!'

I am always anxious about Joanna, for I fear that some nervous fit may upset her again. So I turned to her quickly, and asked her what it was that disturbed her.

She was very pale, and her eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, she gazed at a tall, thin woman, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed locks, who was also observing the pretty boy. She was looking at his so hard that she did not see either of us, and so I had a good view of her. Her face was not a good face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and big white teeth, that looked all the whiter because her lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's. Joanna kept staring at her, till I was afraid she would notice. I feared she might take it ill, she looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Joanna why she was disturbed, and she answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much about it as she did, 'Do you see who it is?'

'No, dear,' I said. 'I don't know her, who is it?' Her answer seemed to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if she did not know that it was me, Minas, to whom she was speaking. 'It is the woman herself!'

The poor dear was evidently terrified at something, very greatly terrified. I do believe that if she had not had me to lean on and to support her she would have sunk down. She kept staring. A woman came out of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the sir, who then drove off. The dark woman kept her eyes fixed on him, and when the carriage moved up Piccadilly she followed in the same direction, and hailed a hansom. Joanna kept looking after her, and said, as if to herself,

'I believe it is the Countess, but she has grown young. My God, if this be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!' she was distressing herself so much that I feared to keep her mind on the subject by asking her any questions, so I remained silent. I drew away quietly, and she, 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, Joanna's eyes closed, and she went quickly into a sleep, with her head on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for her, so did not disturb her. In about twenty minutes she woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully,

'Why, Minas, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere.'

She had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in her illness she had forgotten all that this episode had reminded her of. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must not ask her, for fear I shall do more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of her journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Joanna, you will, I know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.

Later.--A sad homecoming in every way, the house empty of the dear soul who was so good to us. Joanna still pale and dizzy under a slight relapse of her malady, and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever she may be. 'You will be grieved to hear that Westenra died five days ago, and that Lucas died the day before yesterday. They were both buried today.'

Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Westenra! Poor Lucas! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Artemis, to have lost such a sweetness out of her life! God help us all to bear our troubles.

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-CONT.

22 September.--It is all over. Artemis has gone back to Ring, and has taken Quincy Morris with her. What a fine fellow is Quincy! I believe in my heart of hearts that she suffered as much about Lucas's death as any of us, but she bore herself through it like a moral Viking. If America can go on breeding women like that, he will be a power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to her journey. She goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says she returns tomorrow night, that she only wants to make some arrangements which can only be made personally. She is to stop with me then, if she can. She says she has work to do in London which may take her some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even her iron strength. All the time of the burial she was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on herself. When it was all over, we were standing beside Artemis, who, poor fellow, was speaking of her part in the operation where her blood had been transfused to her Lucas's veins. I could see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Artemis was saying that she felt since then as if they two had been really married, and that he was her husband in the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Artemis and Quincy went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage she gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. She has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only her sense of humor asserting itself under very terrible conditions. She laughed till she cried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge. And then she cried, till she laughed again, and laughed and cried together, just as a man does. I tried to be stern with her, as one is to a man under the circumstances, but it had no effect. Women and men are so different in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when her face grew grave and stern again I asked her why her mirth, and why at such a time. Her reply was in a way characteristic of her, for it was logical and forceful and mysterious. She said,

'Ah, you don't comprehend, friend Joan. 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 she come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not true laughter. No! She is a queen, and she come when and how she like. She ask no person, she choose no time of suitability. She say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young boy. I give my blood for him, though I am old and worn. I give my time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want that he may have all. And yet I can laugh at his very grave, laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon his coffin and say 'Thud, thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood from my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor girl, that dear girl, so of the age of mine own girl had I been so blessed that she live, and with her hair and eyes the same.

'There, you know now why I love her so. And yet when she say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart yearn to her as to no other woman, not even you, friend Joan, for we are more level in experiences than mother and daughter, yet even at such a moment Queen Laugh she 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 she carry with her to my cheek. Oh, friend Joan, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when Queen Laugh come, she make them all dance to the tune she play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all dance together to the music that she make with that smileless mouth of her. And believe me, friend Joan, that she is good to come, and kind. Ah, we women and men 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 Queen Laugh she come like the sunshine, and she ease off the strain again, and we bear to go on with our labor, what it may be.'

I did not like to wound her by pretending not to see her idea, but as I did not yet understand the cause of her laughter, I asked her. As she answered me her face grew stern, and she said in quite a different tone,

'Oh, it was the grim irony of it all, this so lovely sir garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if he were truly dead, he laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of his kin, laid there with the mother who loved him, and whom he loved, and that sacred bell going 'Toll! Toll! Toll!' so sad and slow, and those holy women, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the maid, and all of us with the bowed head. And all for what? He 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 expression makes it a harder puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor Art and her trouble? Why her heart was simply breaking.'

'Just so. Said she not that the transfusion of her blood to his veins had made his truly her bride?'

'Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for her.'

'Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend Joan. If so that, then what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet page is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor husband dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful wife 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 her for saying such things. She laid her hand on my arm, and said,

'Friend Joan, 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 heart then when I want to laugh, if you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you could do so now, when Queen Laugh have pack up her crown, and all that is to her, for she 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 her 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. Lucas lies in the tomb of his 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 if 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 WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY

The neighborhood 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 Man,'or 'The Man 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 bloke.'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 neighborhood that, as the first child missed gave as her reason for being away that a 'bloofer bloke'had asked her 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 bloke'is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturists might, she 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 bloke'should be the popular role at these al fresco performances. Our correspondent naively says that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly 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 lookout for straying children, especially when very young, in and around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dog which may be about.

THE WESTMINSTER 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 bloke'.
CHAPTER 14

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

23 September.--Joanna is better after a bad night. I am so glad that she has plenty of work to do, for that keeps her mind off the terrible things, and oh, I am rejoiced that she is not now weighed down with the responsibility of her new position. I knew she would be true to herself, and now how proud I am to see my Joanna rising to the height of her advancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come upon her. She will be away all day till late, for she said she could not lunch at home. My household work is done, so I shall take her 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 Joanna's upset me so. Poor dear! How she must have suffered, whether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truth in it at all. Did she get her brain fever, and then write all those terrible things, or had she some cause for it all? I suppose I shall never know, for I dare not open the subject to her. And yet that woman we saw yesterday! She seemed quite certain of her, poor fellow! I suppose it was the funeral upset her and sent her mind back on some train of thought.

She believes it all herself. I remember how on our wedding day she 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 Countess was coming to London. If it should be, and she came to London, with its 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 Joanna may not be upset, for I can speak for her and never let her be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Joanna quite gets over the nervousness she may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask her questions and find out things, and see how I may comfort her.

LETTER, VAN HELSING TO M. HARKER

24 September

(Confidence)

'Dear Sir,

'I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I sent to you sad news of Mister Lucas Westenra's death. By the kindness of Lady Godalming, I am empowered to read his 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 him. Oh, Minass, 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. Joan Seward and of Lady Godalming (that was Artemis of Mister Lucas). 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. I have read your letters to poor Lucas, and know how good you are and how your wife suffer. So I pray you, if it may be, enlighten her not, least it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.

'VAN HELSING'

TELEGRAM, M. HARKER TO VAN HELSING

25 September.--Come today by quarter past ten train if you can catch it. Can see you any time you call.

'WILHELMINAS HARKER'

MINAS 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 Joanna's sad experience, and as she attended poor dear Lucas in his last illness, she can tell me all about him. That is the reason of her coming. It is concerning Lucas and his sleep-walking, and not about Joanna. 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 Lucas. That habit came back to the poor dear, and that awful night on the cliff must have made his ill. I had almost forgotten in my own affairs how ill he was afterwards. He must have told her of his sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that I knew all about it, and now she wants me to tell her what I know, so that she may understand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Westenra. I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it even a negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucas. 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 Joanna 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 herself, and that nothing will occur to upset her. It is two o'clock, and the doctor will be here soon now. I shall say nothing of Joanna's journal unless she asks me. I am so glad I have typewritten out my own journal, so that, in case she asks about Lucas, I can hand it to her. 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 Joanna's journal first, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dear Joanna! How she must have suffered. Please the good God, all this may not upset her again. I shall try to save her from it. But it may be even a consolation and a help to her, terrible though it be and awful in its consequences, to know for certain that her eyes and ears and brain did not deceive her, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt which haunts her, that when the doubt is removed, no matter which, waking or dreaming, may prove the truth, she will be more satisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a good woman as well as a clever one if she is Artemis's friend and Dr. Seward's, and if they brought her all the way from Holland to look after Lucas. I feel from having seen her that she is good and kind and of a noble nature. When she comes tomorrow I shall ask her about Joanna. 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. Joanna's friend on 'The Exeter News'told her that memory is 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 she came towards me, a woman of medium weight, strongly built, with her shoulders set back over a broad, deep bosom and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise of the head strikes me 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 woman's moods. She said to me,

'Harker, is it not?' I bowed assent.

'That was Mister Minas Murray?'Again I assented.

'It is Minas Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear child Lucas Westenra. Minas, it is on account of the dead that I come.'

'Sir,' I said, 'you could have no better claim on me than that you were a friend and helper of Lucas Westenra.' and I held out my hand. She took it and said tenderly,

'Oh, Minas, I know that the friend of that poor little boy must be good, but I had yet to learn . . .'She finished her speech with a courtly bow. I asked her what it was that she wanted to see me about, so she at once began.

'I have read your letters to Mister Lucas. Forgive me, but I had to begin to inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you were with his at Whitby. He sometimes kept a diary, you need not look surprised, Minas. It was begun after you had left, and was an imitation of you, and in that diary he traces by inference certain things to a sleep-walking in which he puts down that you saved him. 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 can remember.'

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

'Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not 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, Minas, I well be grateful. You will do me much favour.'

I could not resist the temptation of mystifying her a bit, I suppose it is some taste of the original apple that remains still in our mouths, so I handed her the shorthand diary. She took it with a grateful bow, and said, 'May I read it?'

'If you wish,' I answered as demurely as I could. She opened it, and for an instant her face fell. Then she stood up and bowed.

'Oh, you so clever man!' she said. 'I knew long that Ms. Joanna was a woman of much thankfulness, but see, her husband have all the good things. And will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me? Alas! I know not the shorthand.'

By this time my little joke was over, and I was almost ashamed. So I took the typewritten copy from my work basket and handed it to her.

'Forgive me,' I said. 'I could not help it, but I had been thinking that it was of dear Lucas that you wished to ask, and so that you might not have time 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.'

She took it and her eyes glistened. 'You are so good,' she 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.'

She bowed and settled herself in a chair with her back to the light, and became so absorbed in the papers, whilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that she might not be disturbed. When I came back, I found her walking hurriedly up and down the room, her face all ablaze with excitement. She rushed up to me and took me by both hands.

'Oh, Minas,' she said, 'how can I say what I owe to you? This paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am dazed, I am dazzled, 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 man. e,' she said this very solemnly, 'if ever Abrianna 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 a happy life and a good life, and your wife will be blessed in you.'

'But, doctor, you praise me too much, and you do not know me.'

'Not know you, I, who am old, and who have studied all my life women and men, I who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to her and all that follow from her! 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 Lucas of your marriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Minas, good men tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read. And we women who wish to know have in us something of angels' eyes. Your wife is noble nature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your wife, tell me of her. Is she quite well? Is all that fever gone, and is she strong and hearty?'

I saw here an opening to ask her about Joanna, so I said, 'She was almost recovered, but she has been greatly upset by Ms. Hawkins death.'

She interrupted, 'Oh, yes. I know. I know. I have read your last two letters.'

I went on, 'I suppose this upset her, for when we were in town on Thursday last she had a sort of shock.'

'A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That is not good. What kind of shock was it?'

'She thought she saw some one who recalled something terrible, something which led to her brain fever.' and here the whole thing seemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Joanna, the horror which she experienced, the whole fearful mystery of her 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 her, and implored her to make my wife well again. She took my hands and raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me. She held my hand in hers, 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 Joan 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 men still left to make life happy, good men, 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 wife suffer, she suffer within the range of my study and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do all for her that I can, all to make her life strong and manly, and your life a happy one. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious. wife Joanna would not like to see you so pale, and what she like not where she love, is not to her good. Therefore for her sake you must eat and smile. You have told me about Lucas, and so now we shall not speak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter tonight, 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 wife Joanna'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, she said to me, 'and now tell me all about her.'

When it came to speaking to this great learned woman, I began to fear that she would think me a weak fool, and Joanna a madman, that journal is all so strange, and I hesitated to go on. But she was so sweet and kind, and she had promised to help, and I trusted her, 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 wife. 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.'

She reassured me by her manner as well as her words when she said, 'Oh, my dear, if you only know 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 may 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 Joanna's. It is the copy of her journal when abroad, and all that happened. I 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,' she said as I gave her the papers. 'I shall in the morning, as soon as I can, come to see you and your wife, if I may.'

'Joanna will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunch with us and see her then. You could catch the quick 3:34 train, which will leave you at Paddington before eight.'She was surprised at my knowledge of the trains offhand, but she does not know that I have made up all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Joanna in case she is in a hurry.

So she took the papers with her and went away, and I sit here thinking, thinking I don't know what.

LETTER (by hand), VAN HELSING TO MR. HARKER

25 September, 6 o'clock

'Dear Minas,

'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 her and you there is no dread. She is a noble fellow, and let me tell you from experience of women, that one who would do as she did in going down that wall and to that room, aye, and going a second time, is not one to be injured in permanence by a shock. Her brain and her heart are all right, this I swear, before I have even seen her, so be at rest. I shall have much to ask her of other things. I am blessed that today I come to see you, for I have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzled, dazzled more than ever, and I must think.

'Yours the most faithful,

'Abrianna Van Helsing.'

LETTER, MR. 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 woman, that monster, be really in London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had a wire from Joanna, saying that she leaves by the 6:25 tonight from Launceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall have no fear tonight. 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,

'Minas Harker.'

JOANNA 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 Minas had supper ready, and when we had supped he told me of Van Helsing's visit, and of his having given her the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious he has been about me. He showed me in the doctor's letter that all I wrote down was true. It seems to have made a new woman 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 Countess. She has succeeded after all, then, in her design in getting to London, and it was she I saw. She has got younger, and how? Van Helsing is the woman to unmask her and hunt her out, if she is anything like what Minas says. We sat late, and talked it over. Minas is dressing, and I shall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring her over.

She was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room where she was, and introduced myself, she took me by the shoulder, and turned my face round to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny,

'But Minas told me you were ill, that you had had a shock.'

It was so funny to hear my husband called ' Minas' by this kindly, strong-faced old woman. I smiled, and said, 'I was ill, I have had a shock, but you have cured me already.'

'and how?'

'By your letter to Minas 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.'

She seemed pleased, and laughed as she said, 'So! You are a physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with so much pleasure coming to you to breakfast, and, oh, lady, you will pardon praise from an old woman, but you are blessed in your husband.'

I would listen to her go on praising Minas for a day, so I simply nodded and stood silent.

'He is one of God's men, fashioned by Her own hand to show us women and other men 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, lady . . . I have read all the letters to poor Mister Lucas, 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 she was so earnest and so kind that it made me quite choky.

'and now,' she 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,' she 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 her to the station. When we were parting she said, 'Perhaps you will come to town if I send for you, and take Minas too.'

'We shall both come when you will,' I said.

I had got her 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, she was turning them over. Her eyes suddenly seemed to catch something in one of them, 'The Westminster Gazette', I knew it by the colour, and she grew quite white. She read something intently, groaning to herself, 'Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon! So soon!'I do not think she remembered me at the moment. Just then the whistle blew, and the train moved off. This recalled her to herself, and she leaned out of the window and waved her hand, calling out, 'Love to Minas. 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 record. Until this afternoon I had no cause to think of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as she ever was. She was already well ahead with her fly business, and she had just started in the spider line also, so she had not been of any trouble to me. I had a letter from Artemis, written on Sunday, and from it I gather that she is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincy Morris is with her, and that is much of a help, for she herself is a bubbling well of good spirits. Quincy wrote me a line too, and from her I hear that Artemis is beginning to recover something of her 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 Lucas 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 she knows, too, but she will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. She went to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. Today she came back, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock, and thrust last night's 'Westminster Gazette'into my hand.

'What do you think of that?'she asked as she stood back and folded her arms.

I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what she meant, but she 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 puncture wounds on their throats. An idea struck me, and I looked up.

'Well?'she said.

'It is like poor Lucas's.'

'and what do you make of it?'

'Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injured his has injured them.'I did not quite understand her answer.

'That is true indirectly, but not directly.'

'How do you mean, Professor?' I asked. I was a little inclined to take her 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 her face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our despair about poor Lucas, had she 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 Joan, that you have no suspicion as to what poor Lucas died of, not after all the hints given, not only by events, but by me?'

'Of nervous prostration following a great loss or waste of blood.'

'and how was the blood lost or wasted?' I shook my head.

She stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on, 'You are a clever woman, friend Joan. 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 contemplated by women's eyes, because they know, or think they know, some things which other women 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 materialization. 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.'

She smiled as she 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 she is no more, into the very soul of the patient that she influence. No? Then, friend Joan, 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 a student of the brain, how you accept hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my friend, that there are things done today in electrical science which would have been deemed unholy by the very woman who discovered electricity, who would themselves not so long before 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 Lucas, with four women's blood in his poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had he live one more day, we could save him. 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 women, 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, she 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 out 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, and 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 women, white as even Mister Lucas was?'

'Good God, Professor!'I said, starting up. 'Do you mean to tell me that Lucas was bitten by such a bat, and that such a thing is here in London in the nineteenth century?'

She waved her hand for silence, and went on, 'Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of women, why the elephant goes on and on till she have sees dynasties, and why the parrot never die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Can you tell me why women believe in all ages and places that there are women and men 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 her since the youth of the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make herself to die and have been buried, and her grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then women 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 her. I was getting bewildered. She so crowded on my mind her list of nature's eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that she was teaching me some lesson, as long ago she used to do in her study at Amsterdam. But she used them to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of thought in mind all the time. But now I was without her help, yet I wanted to follow her, 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 madman, and not a sane one, follows an idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a midst, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without knowing where I am going.'

'That is a good image,' she 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 woman. She meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of truth check the rush of the big truth, like a small rock does a railway truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep her, and we value her, but all the same we must not let her think herself all the truth in the universe.'

'Then you want me not to let some previous conviction inure 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 holes in Mister Lucas?'

'I suppose so.'

She 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.

She threw herself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed her elbows on the table, covering her face with her hands as she spoke.

'They were made by Mister Lucas!'
CHAPTER 15

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--cont.

For a while sheer anger mastered me. It was as if she had during his life struck Lucas on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to her, 'Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?'

She raised her head and looked at me, and somehow the tenderness of her face calmed me at once. 'Would I were!' she 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 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.

She 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 Mister Lucas. Tonight I go to prove it. Dare you come with me?'

This staggered me. A woman does not like to prove such a truth, Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.

'And prove the very truth she most abhorred.'

She 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 not be true, then proof will be relief. At worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread. Yet every 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 a friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. She will let two scientists see her case, if she will not let two friends. We shall tell her nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And then . . .'

'Aand then?'

She took a key from her pocket and held it up. 'and then we spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucas lies. This is the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin woman to give to Artemis.'

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 altogethers 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 Lucas's throat. They were smaller, and the edges looked fresher, that was all. We asked Vincent to what she attributed them, and she replied that it must have been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat, but for her own part, she was inclined to think it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern heights of London. 'Out of so many harmless ones,' she said, 'there may be some 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 bloke' scare came along, since then it has been quite a gala time with them. Even this poor little mite, when she woke up today, asked the nurse if she might go away. When he asked her why she wanted to go, she said she wanted to play with the 'bloofer bloke'.'

'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, she said,

'There is not 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 'Jacky 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 she went on unhesitatingly, but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup 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 churchyard, 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 her. 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 she fumbled in her bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the daytime, 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 the 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 her work systematically. Holding her candle so that she could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, she made assurance of Lucas's coffin. Another search in her bag, and she took out a turnscrew.

'What are you going to do?' I asked.

'To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.'

Straightway she 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 his clothing in his sleep whilst living. I actually took hold of her hand to stop her.

She only said, 'You shall see,' and again fumbling in her bag took out a tiny fret saw. Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, she 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. She 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, she 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. She was now more sure than ever of her ground, and so emboldened to proceed in her task. 'Are you satisfied now, friend Joan?'she asked.

I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as I answered her, 'I am satisfied that Lucas's body is not in that coffin, but that only proves one thing.'

'And what is that, friend Joan?'

'That it is not there.'

'That is good logic,' she 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!' she said, 'we must have more proof. Come with me.'

She put on the coffin lid again, gathered up all her 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 she closed the door and locked it. She 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 her to keep it. 'A key is nothing,' I said, 'there are many duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of this kind.'

She said nothing, but put the key in her pocket. Then she told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst she would watch at the other.

I took up my place behind a yew tree, and I saw her 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 ways 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 had disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the Professor holding in her arms a tiny child. When she saw me she 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?'

'We shall see,' said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way out of the churchyard, she 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 she 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 she saw it as she flashed her lantern to and fro. We heard her exclamation of astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a cab near the 'Spainiards,' 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. She insists that I go with her 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 her. We knew 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 realized 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 man 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 her own road, no matter who remonstrated. She 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 Lucas's coffin, and I followed. She bent over and again forced back the leaden flange, and a shock of surprise and dismay shot through me.

There lay Lucas, seemingly just as we had seen his the night before his funeral. He was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever, and I could not believe that he 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 her.

'Are you convinced now?'said the Professor, in response, and as she spoke she put over her hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the dead lips and showed the white teeth. 'See,' she went on, 'they are even sharper than before. With this and this,' and she touched one of the canine teeth and that below it, 'the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend Joan?'

Once more argumentative hostility woke within me. I could not accept such an overwhelming idea as she suggested. So, with an attempt to argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said, 'He may have been placed here since last night.'

'Indeed? That is so, and by whom?'

'I do not know. Someone has done it.'

'And yet he 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, she showed neither chagrin nor triumph. She was looking intently at the face of the dead man, raising the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and examining the teeth. Then she 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. He was bitten by the vampire when he was in a trance, sleep-walking, oh, you start. You do not know that, friend Joan, but you shall know it later, and in trance could she best come to take more blood. In trance he dies, and in trance he is UnDead, too. So it is that he differ from all other. Usually when the UnDead sleep at home,'as she spoke she made a comprehensive sweep of her arm to designate what to a vampire was 'home', 'their face show what they are, but this so sweet that was when he not UnDead he go back to the nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard that I must kill his in his sleep.'

This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's theories. But if he were really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing him?

She looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for she 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 his head and fill his mouth with garlic, and I shall drive a stake through his body.'

It made me shudder to think of so mutilating the body of the man 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 UnDead, 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 she stood as if wrapped in thought. Presently she closed the catch of her 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. He have yet no life taken, though that is of time, and to act now would be to take danger from his forever. But then we may have to want Artemis, and how shall we tell her of this? If you, who saw the wounds on Lucas'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 today with a man who have not change only to be more rose and more beautiful in a whole week, after he 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 Artemis, who know none of those things, to believe?

'She doubted me when I took her from his kiss when he was dying. I know she has forgiven me because in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent her say goodbye as she ought, and she may think that in some more mistaken idea this man was buried alive, and that in most mistake of all we have killed him. She will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that have killed his by our ideas, and so she will be much unhappy always. Yet she never can be sure, and that is the worst of all. And she will sometimes think that he she loved was buried alive, and that will paint her dreams with horrors of what he must have suffered, and again, she will think that we may be right, and that her so beloved was, after all, an UnDead. No! I told her once, and since then I learn much. Now, since I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that she must pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. She, poor fellow, must have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to her, then we can act for good all round and send her peace. My mind is made up. Let us go. You return home for tonight 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. Tomorrow night you will come to me to the Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Artemis to come too, and also that so fine young woman of America that gave her 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 JOAN SEWARD, M. D. (Not Delivered)

27 September

'Friend Joan,

'I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in that churchyard. It pleases me that the UnDead, Mister Lucas, shall not leave tonight, that so on the morrow night he may be more eager. Therefore I shall fix some things he like not, garlic and a crucifix, and so seal up the door of the tomb. He is young as UnDead, and will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent his coming out. They may not prevail on his wanting to get in, for then the UnDead 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 sunrise, and if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Mister Lucas or from him, I have no fear, but that other to whom is there that he is UnDead, she have not the power to seek his tomb and find shelter. She is cunning, as I know from Ms. Joanna and from the way that all along she have fooled us when she played with us for Mister Lucas's life, and we lost, and in many ways the UnDead are strong. She have always the strength in her hand of twenty women, even we four who gave our strength to Mister Lucas it also is all to her. Besides, she can summon her wolf and I know not what. So if it be that she came thither on this night she shall find me. But none other shall, until it be too late. But it may be that she will not attempt the place. There is no reason why she should. Her hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the UnDead man sleeps, and the one old woman 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 UnDead, and cut off her head and burn her heart or drive a stake through it, so that the world may rest from her.

'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 she believes it all. I wonder if her 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 herself? She is so abnormally clever that if she went off her head she would carry out her intent with regard to some fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loathe 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 her carefully. I may get some light on the mystery.

29 September.--Last night, at a little before ten o'clock, Artemis and Quincy came into Van Helsing's room. She told us all what she wanted us to do, but especially addressing herself to Artemis, as if all our wills were centred in hers. She began by saying that she hoped we would all come with her too, 'for,' she said, 'there is a grave duty to be done there. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?'This query was directly addressed to Lady 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.

'Quincy 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 Quincy Morris laconically.

'Oh,' said the Professor, 'then you are nearer the beginning, both of you, than friend Joan here, who has to go a long way back before she can even get so far as to begin.'

It was evident that she recognized my return to my old doubting frame of mind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, she 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 Quincy. 'I'll answer for the Professor. I don't quite see her drift, but I swear she'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.'She held out a hand, which Quincy took.

Then Artemis 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 gentlewoman 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 Artemis. '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.'

Artemis's face fell as she said in an amazed sort of way,

'Where poor Lucas is buried?'

The Professor bowed.

Artemis went on, 'and when there?'

'To enter the tomb!'

Artemis stood up. 'Professor, are you in earnest, or is it some monstrous joke? Pardon me, I see that you are in earnest.'She sat down again, but I could see that she sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on her dignity. There was silence until she asked again, 'and when in the tomb?'

'To open the coffin.'

'This is too much!' she 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 . . .'She fairly choked with indignation.

The Professor looked pityingly at her. 'If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,' she 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!'

Artemis looked up with set white face and said, 'Take care, lady, 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, 'Mister Lucas is dead, is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to him. But if he be not dead . . .'

Artemis jumped to her feet, 'Good God!' she cried. 'What do you mean? Has there been any mistake, has he been buried alive?'She groaned in anguish that not even hope could soften.

'I did not say he was alive, my child. I did not think it. I go no further than to say that he might be UnDead.'

'UnDead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightstallion, or what is it?'

'There are mysteries which women 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 Mister Lucas?'

'Heavens and earth, no!'cried Artemis in a storm of passion. 'Not for the wide world will I consent to any mutilation of his 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 boy do that you should want to cast such dishonour on his grave? Are you mad, that you speak of such things, or am I mad to listen to them? Don't dare think more of such a desecration. I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a duty to do in protecting his grave from outrage, and by God, I shall do it!'

Van Helsing rose up from where she had all the time been seated, and said, gravely and sternly, 'My Lady 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 fulfillment even than I am, then, I shall do my duty, whatever it may seem to me. And then, to follow your Ladyship's wishes I shall hold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where you will.'Her voice broke a little, and she 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 woman can to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so much labor 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 Joan, and then to help a sweet young sir, whom too, I come to love. For him, 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, his lover, but only his physician and his friend. I gave his my nights and days, before death, after death, and if my death can do his good even now, when he is the dead UnDead, he shall have it freely.'She said thim with a very grave, sweet pride, and Artemis was much affected by it.

She took the old woman'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 16

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--cont.

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 dents of the heavy clouds that scudded across the sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly in front as she led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I looked well at Artemis, for I feared the proximity to a place laden with so sorrowful a memory would upset her, but she bore herself well. I took it that the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant to her grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural hesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by entering first herself. The rest of us followed, and she closed the door. She then lit a dark lantern and pointed to a coffin. Artemis stepped forward hesitatingly. Van Helsing said to me, 'You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Mister Lucas 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.'

She took her screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Artemis looked on, very pale but silent. When the lid was removed she stepped forward. She evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or at any rate, had not thought of it. When she saw the rent in the lead, the blood rushed to her face for an instant, but as quickly fell away again, so that she remained of a ghastly whiteness. She 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 Quincy 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 or touched him. 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 daytime and he lay there. Did he not, friend Joan?

'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 UnDead can move. I waited here all 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 UnDead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last night there was no exodus, so tonight 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 she shut the dark slide of her lantern, 'now to the outside.'She opened the door, and we filed out, she coming last and locking the door behind her.

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 woman's life. How sweet it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay. How humanizing 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 her own way was solemn and overcome. Artemis 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. Quincy Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a woman who accepts all things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all she has at stake. Not being able to smoke, she cut herself a good-sized plug of tobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, she was employed in a definite way. First she took from her bag a mass of what looked like thin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white napkin. Next she took out a double handful of some whitish stuff, like dough or putty. She crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into the mass between her hands. This she 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 her what it was that she was doing. Artemis and Quincy drew near also, as they too were curious.

She answered, 'I am closing the tomb so that the UnDead may not enter.'

'and is that stuff you have there going to do it?'

'It is.'

'What is that which you are using?'This time the question was by Artemis. Van Helsing reverently lifted her hat as she 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 her 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 Artemis. 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, big, aching, void, and then from the Professor a keen 'S-s-s-s!' she 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 man, 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 she 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 Artemis, as we recognized the features of Lucas Westenra. Lucas 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 her gesture, we all advanced too. The four of us ranged in a line before the door of the tomb. Van Helsing raised her lantern and drew the slide. By the concentrated light that fell on Lucas's face we could see that the lips were crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over him chin and stained the purity of his lawn death-robe.

We shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that even Van Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Artemis was next to me, and if I had not seized her arm and held her up, she would have fallen.

When Lucas, I call the thing that was before us Lucas because it bore his shape, saw us he drew back with an angry snarl, such as a cat gives when taken unawares, then his eyes ranged over us. Lucas's eyes in form and colour, but Lucas'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 he then to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight. As he looked, his 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, he flung to the ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to now he had clutched strenuously to his 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 Artemis. When he advanced to her with outstretched arms and a wanton smile she fell back and hid her face in her hands.

He still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous grace, said, 'Come to me, Artemis. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my wife, come!'

There was something diabolically sweet in his tones, something of the tinkling of glass when struck, which rang through the brains even of us who heard the words addressed to another.

As for Artemis, she seemed under a spell, moving her hands from her face, she opened wide her arms. He was leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held between them her little golden crucifix. He recoiled from it, and, with a suddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past her as if to enter the tomb.

When within a foot or two of the door, however, he stopped, as if arrested by some irresistible force. Then he turned, and his face was shown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now no quiver from Van Helsing's 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 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, he remained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of his means of entry.

Van Helsing broke the silence by asking Artemis, 'Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?'

'Do as you will, friend. Do as you will. There can be no horror like this ever any more.' and she groaned in spirit.

Quincy and I simultaneously moved towards her, and took her arms. We could hear the click of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down. Coming close to the tomb, she began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred emblem which she had placed there. We all looked on with horrified amazement as we saw, when she stood back, the man, with a corporeal body as real at that moment as our own, pass 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, she lifted the child and said, 'Come now, my friends. We can do no more till tomorrow. 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 locks the gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do, but not like this of tonight. As for this little one, she is not much harmed, and by tomorrow night she shall be well. We shall leave her where the police will find her, as on the other night, and then to home.'

Coming close to Artemis, she said, 'My friend Artemis, you have had a sore trial, but after, when you 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 over-much. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me.'

Artemis and Quincy came home with me, and we tried to cheer each other on the way. We had left behind 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, Artemis, Quincy 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, Artemis wore black, for she was in deep mourning, but the rest of us wore it by instinct. We got to the graveyard 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 her little black bag, had with her 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. She unlocked the door, and we entered, closing it behind us. Then she took from her bag the lantern, which she lit, and also two wax candles, which, when lighted, she stuck by melting their own ends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to work by. When she again lifted the lid off Lucas's coffin we all looked, Artemis trembling like an aspen, and saw that the corpse 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 Lucas's shape without his soul. I could see even Artemis's face grow hard as she looked. Presently she said to Van Helsing, 'Is this really Lucas's body, or only a demon in his shape?'

'It is his body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you shall see his as he was, and is.'

He seemed like a nightstallion of Lucas as he lay there, the pointed teeth, the blood stained, voluptuous mouth, which made one shudder to see, the whole carnal and unspirited appearance, seeming like a devilish mockery of Lucas's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with her usual methodicalness, began taking the various contents from her bag and placing them ready for use. First she took out a soldering iron and some plumbing solder, and then small oil lamp, which gave out, when lit in a corner of the tomb, gas which burned at a fierce heat with a blue flame, then her operating knives, which she 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 Artemis and Quincy 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 UnDead. 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 Undead become themselves Undead, 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 Artemis, if you had met that kiss which you know of before poor Lucas die, or again, last night when you open your arms to him, you would in time, when you had died, have become nosferatu, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and would for all time make more of those Un-Deads that so have filled us with horror. The career of this so unhappy dear sir is but just begun. Those children whose blood he sucked are not as yet so much the worse, but if he lives on, UnDead, more and more they lose their blood and by his power over them they come to him, and so he draw their blood with that so wicked mouth. But if he die in truth, then all cease. The tiny wounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their play unknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when this now UnDead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor sir whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, he shall take his place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for his that shall strike the blow that sets his 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 him to the stars. It was the hand of her that loved his best, the hand that of all he would himself have chosen, had it been to his to choose?' Tell me if there be such a one amongst us?'

We all looked at Artemis. She saw too, what we all did, the infinite kindness which suggested that her should be the hand which would restore Lucas to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory. She stepped forward and said bravely, though her hand trembled, and her 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 her shoulder, and said, 'Brave lass. A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be driven through him. It well 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 Artemis hoarsely. 'Tell me what I am to do.'

'Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place to the point over the heart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer for the dead, I shall read her, 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 UnDead pass away.'

Artemis took the stake and the hammer, and when once her mind was set on action her hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened her missal and began to read, and Quincy and I followed as well as we could.

Artemis placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could see its dint in the white flesh. Then she struck with all her 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 Artemis never faltered. She looked like a figure of Thor as her 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. Her 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 Artemis's hand. She reeled and would have fallen had we not caught her. The great drops of sweat sprang from her forehead, and her breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain on her, and had she not been forced to her task by more than human considerations she could never have gone through with it. For a few minutes we were so taken up with her 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 Artemis rose, for she had been seated on the ground, and came and looked too, and then a glad strange light broke over her 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 his destruction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucas as we had seen his in life, with his 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 his 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 for ever.

Van Helsing came and laid her hand on Artemis's shoulder, and said to her, 'and now, Artemis my friend, dear lass, am I not forgiven?'

The reaction of the terrible strain came as she took the old woman's hand in hers, and raising it to her lips, pressed it, and said, 'Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one his soul again, and me peace.'She put her hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying her head on her breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood unmoving.

When she raised her head Van Helsing said to her, 'and now, my child, you may kiss him. Kiss his dead lips if you will, as he would have you to, if for his to choose. For he is not a grinning devil now, not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer he is the devil's UnDead. He is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!'

Artemis bent and kissed him, and then we sent her and Quincy 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 she gave the key to Artemis.

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 her out. I have clues which we can follow, but it is a long task, and a difficult one, 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 bitter end?'

Each in turn, we took her 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 Joan. 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 Joan, you come with me home, for I have much to consult you about, and you can help me. Tonight I leave for Amsterdam, but shall return tomorrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first I shall have much to say, so that you may know what 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 17

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--cont.

When we arrived at the Berkely Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram waiting for her.

'Am coming up by train. Joanna at Whitby. Important news. Minas Harker.'

The Professor was delighted. 'Ah, that wonderful Minas,' she said, 'pearl among men! He arrive, but I cannot stay. He must go to your house, friend Joan. You must meet his at the station. Telegraph his en route so that he may be prepared.'

When the wire was dispatched she had a cup of tea. Over it she told me of a diary kept by Joanna Harker when abroad, and gave me a typewritten copy of it, as also of Harker's diary at Whitby. 'Take these,' she said, 'and study them well. When I have returned you will be mistress 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 today. What is here told,' she laid her hand heavily and gravely on the packet of papers as she spoke, 'may be the beginning of the end to you and me and many another, or it may sound the knell of the UnDead 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 a diary of all these so strange things, is it not so? Yes! Then we shall go through all these together when we meet.'She then made ready for her departure and shortly 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, lest I might mister my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty looking boy stepped up to me, and after a quick glance said, 'Dr. Seward, is it not?'

'and you are Harker!'I answered at once, whereupon he held out his hand.

'I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucas, but . . .'He stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread his face.

The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for it was a tacit answer to his own. I got his 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 a bedroom prepared at once for Harker.

In due time we arrived. He knew, of course, that the place was a lunatic asylum, but I could see that he was unable to repress a shudder when we entered.

He told me that, if he might, he would come presently to my study, as he had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my phonograph diary whilst I await him. 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 his interested in something, so that I may have an opportunity of reading them. He does not know how precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten him. Here he is!

MINAS 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 her talking with some one. As, however, she had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at the door, and on her calling out, 'Come in,' I entered.

To my intense surprise, there was no one with her. She was quite alone, and on the table opposite hers 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 someone with you.'

'Oh,' she replied with a smile, 'I was only entering my diary.'

'Your diary?' I asked her in surprise.

'Yes,' she answered. 'I keep it in this.' As she spoke she laid her 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,' she replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in train for speaking. Then she paused, and a troubled look overspread her face.

'The fact is,' she 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 . . .' She stopped, and I tried to help her out of her embarrassment.

'You helped to attend dear Lucas at the end. Let me hear how he died, for all that I know of him, I shall be very grateful. He was very, very dear to me.'

To my surprise, she answered, with a horrorstruck look in her face, 'Tell you of his death? Not for the wide world!'

'Why not?' I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.

Again she paused, and I could see that she was trying to invent an excuse. At length, she stammered out, 'You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of the diary.'

Even while she was speaking an idea dawned upon her, and she 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 she grimaced. 'I gave myself away that time!' she 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 Lucas 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.'

She grew to a positively deathly pallor as she 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 a great batch of typewriting on the table. Her eyes caught the look in mine, and without her thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel she realized 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.'

She is certainly a woman of noble nature. Poor dear Lucas was right about her. She 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 Lucas told you of me. He 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.'

She carried the phonograph herself 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 Joanna Harker and that other of her husband that I let the time run on without thinking. Harker was not down when the page came to announce dinner, so I said, 'He is possibly tired. Let dinner wait an hour,' and I went on with my work. I had just finished Harker's diary, when he came in. He looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and his 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 by 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,'he 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. He laid his 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 Lucas'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 Lucas was beset, and how his terrible doom was being wrought out. Joanna and I have been working day and night since Professor Van Helsing saw us. She is gone to Whitby to get more information, and she will be here tomorrow 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.'

He looked at me so appealingly, and at the same time manifested such courage and resolution in his bearing, that I gave in at once to his 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 have so far traveled on the road to poor Lucas'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.'

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

29 September.--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to her study. She brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took a 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 she very thoughtfully took a chair, with her 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 Lucas's death, 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 she jumped up with a horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case bottle from the 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 Lucas was at last 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 Joanna'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 she comes. I have sent a telegram to Joanna to come on here when she arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything, and I think that if we get all of our material ready, and have every item put in chronological order, we shall have done much.

'You tell me that Lady Godalming and Ms. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell them when they come.'

She accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventeenth cylinder. I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done with the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about her work of going her round of the patients. When she had finished she came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful she is. The world seems full of good women, even if there are monsters in it.

Before I left her I remembered what Joanna put in her diary of the Professor's perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station at Exeter, so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps her newspapers, I borrowed the files of 'The Westminster 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, had helped us to understand the terrible events at Whitby when Countess 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. She got her wife's wire just before starting. She is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from her face, and full of energy. If this journal be true, and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be, she is also a woman of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading her account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of womanhood, but hardly the quiet, businesslike gentlewoman who came here today.

LATER.--After lunch Harker and her husband 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. 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. She is now reading her wife's transcript 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 Countess' 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 transcript. Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucas! Stop! That way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collecting material. She says that by dinner time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. She thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto she has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the Countess. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing that Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have found the dates otherwise.

I found Renfield sitting placidly in her room with her hands folded, smiling benignly. At the moment she seemed as sane as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with her on a lot of subjects, all of which she treated naturally. She then, of her own accord, spoke of going home, a subject she has never mentioned to my knowledge during her sojourn here. In fact, she spoke quite confidently of getting her discharge at once. I believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of her outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for her after a brief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those out-breaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the Countess. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that her instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay. She is herself zoophagous, and in her wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house she 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 her too deep with questions. She might begin to think, and then . . . So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of hers, so I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after her, and to have a strait waistcoat ready in case of need.

JOANATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL

29 September, in train to London.--When I received Ms. Billington's courteous message that she would give me any information in her 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 Countess' to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nephew lass, met me at the station, and brought me to her mother's house, where they had decided that I must spend the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality, give a guest everything and leave her to do as she likes. They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Ms. Billington had ready in her 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 Countess' table before I knew of her diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and with precision. She seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which might be placed by accident in the way of her intentions being carried out. To use an Americanism, she had 'taken no chances', and the absolute accuracy with which her instructions were fulfilled was simply the logical result of her 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 the letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply. Of both these I got copies. This was all the information Ms. Billington could give me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs Officers and the harbour mistress, who kindly put me in communication with the women who had actually received the boxes. Their tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add to the simple description 'fifty cases of common earth', 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 gentlewoman 'such like as like 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, forever and adequately, this source of reproach.

30 September.--The station mistress was good enough to give me a line to her old companion the station mistress at King's Cross, so that when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask her about the arrival of the boxes. She, 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 ex post facto manner.

From thence I went to Carter Paterson'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 women 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' women were able to supplement the paucity of the written words with a few more details. These were, I shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and 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 women 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 old chapel, 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 her, but if she knew what I know, she would, I think have raised her terms.

Of one thing I am now satisfied. That all those boxes which arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have since been removed, as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.

Later.--Minas and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers into order.

MINAS 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 her old wound might act detrimentally on Joanna. I saw her leave for Whitby with as brave a face as could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has, however, done her good. She was never so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said, she is true grit, and she improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. She came back full of life and hope and determination. We have got everything in order for tonight. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity anything so hunted as the Countess. That is just it. This thing is not human, not even a beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucas's death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.

Later.--Lady Godalming and Ms. Morris arrived earlier than we expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Joanna with her, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it brought back all poor dear Lucas's hopes of only a few months ago. Of course they had heard Lucas speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van Helsing, too, had been quite 'blowing my trumpet', as Ms. Morris expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all about the proposals they made to Lucas. 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 on affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucas's death, his 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 wife and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lady Godalming got her and turned it over, it does make a pretty good pile, she said, 'Did you write all this, Harker?'

I nodded, and she 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 woman humble to the last hour of her life. Besides, I know you loved my Lucas . . .'

Here she turned away and covered her face with her hands. I could hear the tears in her voice. Ms. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on her shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is something in a man's nature that makes a woman free to break down before his and express her feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to her womanhood. For when Lady Godalming found herself alone with me she sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside her and took her hand. I hope she didn't think it forward of me, and that if she ever thinks of it afterwards she never will have such a thought. There I wrong her. I know she never will. She is too true a gentlewoman. I said to her, for I could see that her heart was breaking, 'I loved dear Lucas, and I know what he was to you, and what you were to him. He and I were like brothers, and now he is gone, will you not let me be like a brother 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 Lucas's sake?'

In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed to me that all that she had of late been suffering in silence found a vent at once. She grew quite hysterical, and raising her open hands, beat her palms together in a perfect agony of grief. She stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down her cheeks. I felt an infinite pity for her, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob she laid her head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst she shook with emotion.

We men 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 woman's head resting on me, as though it were that of a baby that some day may lie on my chest , and I stroked her hair as though she were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.

After a little bit her sobs ceased, and she raised herself with an apology, though she made no disguise of her emotion. She told me that for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, she had been unable to speak with any one, as a woman must speak in her time of sorrow. There was no man whose sympathy could be given to her, or with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which her sorrow was surrounded, she could speak freely.

'I know now how I suffered,' she said, as she dried her eyes, 'but I do not know even yet, and none other can ever know, how much your sweet sympathy has been to me today. 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 sister, will you not, for all our lives, for dear Lucas's sake?'

'For dear Lucas's sake,' I said as we clasped hands. 'Ay, and for your own sake,' she added, 'for if a woman's esteem and gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won mine today. If ever the future should bring to you a time when you need a woman'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.'

She was so earnest, and her sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would comfort her, so I said, 'I promise.'

As I came along the corridor I saw Ms. Morris looking out of a window. She turned as she heard my footsteps. 'How is Art?'she said. Then noticing my red eyes, she went on, 'Ah, I see you have been comforting her. Poor old fellow! She needs it. No one but a man can help a woman when she is in trouble of the heart, and she had no one to comfort her.'

She bore her own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for her. I saw the manuscript in her hand, and I knew that when she read it she would realize how much I knew, so I said to her, '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 why I speak.'

She saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to her lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed her. The tears rose in her eyes, and there was a momentary choking in her throat. She said quite calmly, 'Little boy, you will never forget that true hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!'Then she went into the study to her friend.

'Little boy!'The very words she had used to Lucas, and, oh, but she proved herself a friend.
CHAPTER 18

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 had not yet returned from her visit to the carriers' women, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. 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, Harker said,

'Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Ms. Renfield. Do let me see her. What you have said of her in your diary interests me so much!'

He looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse him, and there was no possible reason why I should, so I took him with me. When I went into the room, I told the woman that a sir would like to see her, to which she simply answered, 'Why?'

'He is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it,' I answered.

'Oh, very well,' she said, 'let his come in, by all means, but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place.'

Her method of tidying was peculiar, she simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop her. It was quite evident that she feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When she had got through her disgusting task, she said cheerfully, 'Let the sir come in,' and sat down on the edge of her bed with her head down, but with her eyelids raised so that she could see his as he entered. For a moment I thought that she might have some homicidal intent. I remembered how quiet she had been just before she attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I could seize her at once if she attempted to make a spring at him.

He 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. He walked over to her, smiling pleasantly, and held out his hand.

'Good evening, Ms. Renfield,' said he. 'You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you.'She made no immediate reply, but eyed his all over intently with a set frown on her face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt, then to my intense astonishment she said, 'You're not the boy the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for he's dead.'

Harker smiled sweetly as he replied, 'Oh no! I have a wife of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr. Seward, or she me. I am Harker.'

'Then what are you doing here?'

'My wife 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 Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in, 'How did you know I wanted to marry anyone?'

Her reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which she turned her eyes from Harker to me, instantly turning them back again, 'What an asinine question!'

'I don't see that at all, Ms. Renfield,' said Harker, at once championing me.

She replied to him with as much courtesy and respect as she had shown contempt to me, 'You will, of course, understand, Harker, that when a woman is so loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding her is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by her household and her friends, but even by her 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 elenche.'

I positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet lunatic, the most pronounced of her type that I had ever met with, talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished gentlewoman. I wonder if it was Harker's presence which had touched some chord in her memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due to his unconscious influence, he must have some rare gift or power.

We continued to talk for some time, and seeing that she was seemingly quite reasonable, he ventured, looking at me questioningly as he began, to lead her to her favourite topic. I was again astonished, for she addressed herself to the question with the impartiality of the completest sanity. She even took herself as an example when she mentioned certain things.

'Why, I myself am an instance of a woman 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 her for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of her life through the medium of her blood, relying of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, 'For the blood is the life.' Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarized 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 her eat up her 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 Harker that it was time to leave.

He came at once, after saying pleasantly to Ms. Renfield, 'Goodbye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself.'

To which, to my astonishment, she replied, 'Goodbye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May She bless and keep you!'

When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the girls behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than she has been since Lucas first took ill, and Quincy is more like her own bright self than she has been for many a long day.

Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a girl. She saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying, 'Ah, friend Joan, 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. Minas is with you? Yes. And his so fine wife? And Artemis and my friend Quincy, they are with you, too? Good!'

As I drove to the house I told her of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Harker's suggestion, at which the Professor interrupted me.

'Ah, that wonderful Minas! He has woman's brain, a brain that a woman should have were she much gifted, and a man's heart. The good God fashioned his for a purpose, believe me, when She made that so good combination. Friend Joan, up to now fortune has made that man of help to us, after tonight he must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that he run a risk so great. We women are determined, nay, are we not pledged, to destroy this monster? But it is no part for a man. Even if he be not harmed, his heart may fail his in so much and so many horrors and hereafter he may suffer, both in waking, from his nerves, and in sleep, from his dreams. And, besides, he is young man and not so long married, there may be other things to think of some time, if not now. You tell me he has wrote all, then he must consult with us, but tomorrow he say goodbye to this work, and we go alone.'

I agreed heartily with her, and then I told her what we had found in her absence, that the house which Dracula had bought was the very next one to my own. She was amazed, and a great concern seemed to come on her.

'Oh that we had known it before!' she said, 'for then we might have reached her in time to save poor Lucas. 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 she fell into a silence that lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for dinner she said to Harker, 'I am told, Minas, by my friend Joan that you and your wife have put up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment.'

'Not up to this moment, Professor,'he 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.'

Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from his pockets, he said, 'Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It is my record of today. 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 wife love you the more, and all us, your friends, more honour you, as well as more esteem and love.'He 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.

MINAS 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 her as she came into the room. She made me sit next to her on her right, and asked me to act as secretary. Joanna sat next to me. Opposite us were Lady Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Ms. Morris, Lady 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 she 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 known to you something of the history of this woman, 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 trained myself to keep an open mind, I could not have believed until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. 'See! See! I prove, I prove.' Alas! Had I known at first what now I know, nay, had I even guess at her, one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love him. 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 she sting once. She is only stronger, and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of herself so strong in person as twenty women, she is of cunning more than mortal, for her cunning be the growth of ages, she have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as her etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that she can come nigh to are for her at command; she is brute, and more than brute; she is devil in callous, and the heart of her is not; she can, within her range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder; she can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, she can grow and become small; and she can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to destroy her? How shall we find her 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 she must surely win, and then where end we? Life is nothings, I heed her not. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as her, that we henceforward become foul things of the night like her, without heart or conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us forever are the gates of heaven shut, for who shall open them to us again? We go on for all time abhorred by all, a blot on the face of God's sunshine, an arrow in the side of Him who died for woman. 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 her sunshine, her fair places, her song of birds, her music and her love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow, but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?'

Whilst she was speaking, Joanna had taken my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming her when I saw her hand stretch out, but it was life to me to feel its touch, so strong, so self reliant, so resolute. A brave woman's hand can speak for itself, it does not even need a man's love to hear its music.

When the Professor had done speaking my wife looked in my eyes, and I in hers, there was no need for speaking between us.

'I answer for Minas and myself,' she said.

'Count me in, Professor,' said Ms. Quincy Morris, laconically as usual.

'I am with you,' said Lady Godalming, 'for Lucas's sake, if for no other reason.'

Dr. Seward simply nodded.

The Professor stood up and, after laying her golden crucifix on the table, held out her hand on either side. I took her right hand, and Lady Godalming her left, Joanna held my right with her left and stretched across to Ms. 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 her limitations and her cure, rest for the moment on the same base. For, let me tell you, she is known everywhere that women have been. In old Greece, in old Rome, she flourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in the Chermosese, and in China, so far from us in all ways, there even is she, and the peoples for her at this day. She 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, she can flourish when that she can fatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst us that she can even grow younger, that her vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when her special pabulum is plenty.

'But she cannot flourish without this diet, she eat not as others. Even friend Joanna, who lived with her for weeks, did never see her eat, never! She throws no shadow, she make in the mirror no reflect, as again Joanna observe. She has the strength of many of her hand, witness again Joanna when she shut the door against the wolves, and when she help her from the diligence too. She can transform herself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in Whitby, when she tear open the dog, she can be as bat, as Minas saw her on the window at Whitby, and as friend Joan saw her fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincy saw her at the window of Mister Lucas.

'She can come in mist which she create, that noble ship's captain proved her of this, but, from what we know, the distance she can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round herself.

'She come on moonlight rays as elemental dust, as again Joanna saw those brothers in the castle of Dracula. She become so small, we ourselves saw Mister Lucas, ere he was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door. She can, when once she find her 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. She 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.

'She can do all these things, yet she is not free. Nay, she is even more prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in her cell. She cannot go where she lists, she who is not of nature has yet to obey some of nature's laws, why we know not. She may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid her to come, though afterwards she can come as she please. Her power ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the day.

'Only at certain times can she have limited freedom. If she be not at the place whither she is bound, she can only change herself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These things we are told, and in this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus, whereas she can do as she will within her limit, when she have her earth-home, her coffin-home, her hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when she went to the grave of the suicide at Whitby, still at other time she can only change when the time come. It is said, too, that she can only pass running water at the slack or the flood of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict her that she has no power, as the garlic that we know of, and as for things sacred, as this symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them she is nothing, but in their presence she take her 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 her coffin keep her that she move not from it, a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill her so that she be true dead, and as for the stake through her, 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 her to her coffin and destroy her, if we obey what we know. But she is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make her record, and from all the means that are, she tell me of what she has been. She must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won her name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkeyland. If it be so, then was she no common woman, for in that time, and for centuries after, she was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the daughters of the 'land beyond the forest.' That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with her to her 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 her secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as her due. In the records are such words as 'stregoica' warlock, '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 women and good men, 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 Ms. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and she 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 Joanna 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 me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look today, 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 women all jumped to their feet, Lady Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As she did so we heard Ms. Morris' voice without, 'Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it.'

A minute later she came in and said, 'It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, 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 them, 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 she took her seat, and the Professor began to resume her statement.

'We must trace each of these boxes, and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in her lair, or we must, so to speak, sterilize the earth, so that no more she can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find her in her form of woman between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with her when she is at her most weak.

'and now for you, Minas, this night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part tonight, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are women 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 women, even Joanna, 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.

Ms. Morris resumed the discussion, 'As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at her house right now. Time is everything with her, 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 man can sleep when those he loves are in danger! I shall lie down, and pretend to sleep, lest Joanna have added anxiety about me when she 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 her at once, as she had something of the utmost importance to say to me. I told the messenger to say that I would attend to her wishes in the morning, I was busy just at the moment.

The attendant added, 'She seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen her so eager. I don't know but what, if you don't see her soon, she will have one of her violent fits.'I knew the woman would not have said thim 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 Joan,' said the Professor. 'Her case in your diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like to see her, and especial when her mind is disturbed.'

'May I come also?'asked Lady Godalming.

'Me too?'said Quincy Morris. 'May I come?'said Harker. I nodded, and we all went down the passage together.

We found her in a state of considerable excitement, but far more rational in her speech and manner than I had ever seen her. There was an unusual understanding of herself, which was unlike anything I had ever met with in a lunatic, and she took it for granted that her reasons would prevail with others entirely sane. We all five went into the room, but none of the others at first said anything. Her request was that I would at once release her from the asylum and send her home. This she backed up with arguments regarding her complete recovery, and adduced her own existing sanity.

'I appeal to your friends,' she said, 'they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgement 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 woman's manner, so much of the habit of equality, that I at once made the introduction, 'Lady Godalming, Professor Van Helsing, Ms. Quincy Morris, of Texas, Ms. Joanna Harker, Ms. Renfield.'

She shook hands with each of them, saying in turn, 'Lady Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your mother at the Windham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that she is no more. She was a woman loved and honoured by all who knew her, and in her youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronized on Derby night. Ms. 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 woman say of her pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionized therapeutics by her discovery of the continuous evolution of brain matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit her to one of a class. You, gentlewomen, 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 women 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.'She 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 woman's character and history, that her reason had been restored, and I felt under a strong impulse to tell her that I was satisfied as to her sanity, and would see about the necessary formalities for her 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 she appeared to be improving very rapidly, that I would have a longer chat with her in the morning, and would then see what I could do in the direction of meeting her wishes.

This did not at all satisfy her, for she 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.'

She looked at me keenly, and seeing the negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinized them closely. Not meeting any sufficient response, she 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 she 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 spring from the highest sense of duty.

'Could you look, lady, 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 she looked at us all keenly. I had a growing conviction that this sudden change of her entire intellectual method was but yet another phase of her madness, and so determined to let her go on a little longer, knowing from experience that she would, like all lunatics, give herself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at her with a look of utmost intensity, her bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed concentration of her look. She 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 tonight? 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 her own risk and on her own responsibility, the privilege you seek.'

She shook her head sadly, and with a look of poignant regret on her face. The Professor went on, 'Come, lady, 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.'

She still shook her head as she 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 mistress 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. Goodnight.'

As, however, I got near the door, a new change came over the patient. She moved towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared that she was about to make another homicidal attack. My fears, however, were groundless, for she held up her two hands imploringly, and made her petition in a moving manner. As she saw that the very excess of her emotion was militating against her, by restoring us more to our old relations, she became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing, and saw my conviction reflected in her eyes, so I became a little more fixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to her that her efforts were unavailing. I had previously seen something of the same constantly growing excitement in her when she had to make some request of which at the time she had thought much, such for instance, as when she wanted a cat, and I was prepared to see the collapse into the same sullen acquiescence on this occasion.

My expectation was not realized, for when she found that her appeal would not be successful, she got into quite a frantic condition. She threw herself on her knees, and held up her hands, wringing them in plaintive supplication, and poured forth a torrent of entreaty, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, and her 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 gaol, 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, woman? 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 woman fighting for her 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 she would get, and so would bring on a fit, so I took her by the hand and raised her 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.'

She suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments. Then, without a word, she rose and moving over, sat down on the side of the bed. The collapse had come, as on former occasions, just as I had expected.

When I was leaving the room, last of our party, she 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 tonight.'
CHAPTER 19

JOANNA 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 Minas so absolutely strong and well. I am so glad that he consented to hold back and let us women do the work. Somehow, it was a dread to me that he was in this fearful business at all, but now that his work is done, and that it is due to his energy and brains and foresight that the whole story is put together in such a way that every point tells, he may well feel that his part is finished, and that he can henceforth leave the rest to us. We were, I think, all a little upset by the scene with Ms. Renfield. When we came away from her room we were silent till we got back to the study.

Then Ms. Morris said to Dr. Seward, 'Say, Jacky, if that woman wasn't attempting a bluff, she is about the sanest lunatic I ever saw. I'm not sure, but I believe that she had some serious purpose, and if she had, it was pretty rough on her not to get a chance.'

Lady Godalming and I were silent, but Dr. Van Helsing added, 'Friend Joan, you know more 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 her free. But we live and learn, and in our present task we must take no chance, as my friend Quincy 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 woman had been an ordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting her, but she seems so mixed up with the Countess in an indexy kind of way that I am afraid of doing anything wrong by helping her fads. I can't forget how she prayed with almost equal fervor for a cat, and then tried to tear my throat out with her teeth. Besides, she called the Countess 'lord and master', and she may want to get out to help her in some diabolical way. That horrid thing has the wolves and the rats and her own kind to help her, so I suppose she isn't above trying to use a respectable lunatic. She 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 woman.'

The Professor stepped over, and laying her hand on her shoulder, said in her grave, kindly way, 'Friend Joan, 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?'

Lady Godalming had slipped away for a few minutes, but now she returned. She held up a little silver whistle as she 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 her bag and took out a lot of things, which she laid on the step, sorting them into four little groups, evidently one for each. Then she 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 she has the strength of twenty women, and that, though our necks or our windpipes are of the common kind, and therefore breakable or crushable, her are not amenable to mere strength. A stronger woman, or a body of women more strong in all than her, can at certain times hold her, but they cannot hurt her as we can be hurt by her. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from her touch. Keep this near your heart.'As she spoke she lifted a little silver crucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to her, 'put these flowers round your neck,'here she 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 so 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 she put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the others was similarly equipped.

'Now,' she said, 'friend Joan, where are the skeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break house by the window, as before at Mister Lucas'.'

Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, her mechanical dexterity as a surgeon standing her in good stead. Presently she 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 Mister 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!' she said, crossing herself as she 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 someone 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.

She turned to me and said, 'You know this place, Joanna. 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 she turned her 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 ever expected such an odour as we encountered. None of the others had met the Countess at all at close quarters, and when I had seen her she was either in the fasting stage of her existence in her rooms or, when she was bloated 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, how 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, the 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 bosom s 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 Lady 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 Countess' evil face, the ridge of the nose, the red eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for a moment, for, as Lady Godalming said, 'I thought I saw a face, but it was only the shadows,' and resumed her inquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction, and stepped into the passage. There was no sign of anyone, 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 her. 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 she was examining. We all followed her 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 Lady 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, she turned the key in the lock, drew the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking her little silver whistle from her pocket, she 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.

Lady Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying her in, placed her on the floor. The instant her feet touched the ground she seemed to recover her courage, and rushed at her natural enemies. They fled before her so fast that before she had shaken the life out of a score, the other dogs, who had by now been lifted 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 her pocket when she had done.

'So far,' she 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 Minas or troubling his waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and sounds and smells of horror which he 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 Countess' command are yet themselves not amenable to her spiritual power, for look, these rats that would come to her call, just as from her castle top she summon the wolves to your going and to that poor father's cry, though they come to her, they run pell-mell from the so little dogs of my friend Artemis. We have other matters before us, other dangers, other fears, and that monster . . . She has not used her power over the brute world for the only or the last time tonight. So be it that she 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 herself, after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.

I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Minas asleep, breathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. He looks paler than usual. I hope the meeting tonight has not upset him. I am truly thankful that he is to be left out of our future work, and even of our deliberations. It is too great a strain for a man 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 his to hear, and yet to conceal them from his might be worse than to tell his if once he suspected that there was any concealment. Henceforth our work is to be a sealed book to him, till at least such time as we can tell his 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 tomorrow I shall keep dark over tonight's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that has happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb him.

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 Minas must have felt its exhaustion, for though I slept till the sun was high, I was awake before him, and had to call two or three times before he awoke. Indeed, he was so sound asleep that for a few seconds he 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. He complained a little of being tired, and I let his 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 labor, and the sooner the matter is attended to the better. I shall look up Thomasina Snelling today.

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

1 October.--It was towards noon when I was awakened by the Professor walking into my room. She 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 her mind.

After going over the adventure of the night she suddenly said, 'Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit her 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 so sound.'

I had some work to do which pressed, so I told her that if she would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have to keep her waiting, so I called an attendant and gave her the necessary instructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned her against getting any false impression from my patient.

'But,' she answered, 'I want her to talk of herself and of her delusion as to consuming live things. She said to Minas, as I see in your diary of yesterday, that she had once had such a belief. Why do you smile, friend Joan?'

'Excuse me,' I said, 'but the answer is here.'I laid my hand on the typewritten matter. 'When our sane and learned lunatic made that very statement of how she used to consume life, her mouth was actually nauseous with the flies and spiders which she had eaten just before Harker entered the room.'

Van Helsing smiled in turn. 'Good!' she said. 'Your memory is true, friend Joan. 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?'she asked politely as she 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 her!'

'Well?'

'I fear that she does not appraise me at much. Our interview was short. When I entered her room she was sitting on a stool in the centre, with her elbows on her knees, and her face was the picture of sullen discontent. I spoke to her as cheerfully as I could, and with such a measure of respect as I could assume. She made no reply whatever. 'Don't you know me?' I asked. Her 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 she say, but sat in her implacable sullenness as indifferent to me as though I had not been in 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 Minas. Friend Joan, it does rejoice me unspeakable that he is no more to be pained, no more to be worried with our terrible things. Though we shall much mister his help, it is better so.'

'I agree with you with all my heart,' I answered earnestly, for I did not want her to weaken in this matter. 'Harker is better out of it. Things are quite bad enough for us, all women of the world, and who have been in many tight places in our time, but it is no place for a man, and if he had remained in touch with the affair, it would in time infallibly have wrecked him.'

So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Harker and Harker, Quincy 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 tonight.

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

1 October.--It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am today, after Joanna's full confidence for so many years, to see her manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all. This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though Joanna was late too, she was the earlier. She spoke to me before she went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but she never mentioned a word of what had happened in the visit to the Countess' house. And yet she must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose it must have distressed her 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 she 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 women.

That has done me good. Well, some day Joanna will tell me all. And lest it should ever be that she should think for a moment that I kept anything from her, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if she has feared of my trust I shall show it to her, with every thought of my heart put down for her dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and low-spirited today. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible excitement.

Last night I went to bed when the women 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 Joanna 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 Lucas would be with us now. He hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if he hadn't come there in the day time with me he wouldn't have walked in his sleep. And if he hadn't gone there at night and asleep, that monster couldn't have destroyed his as she 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 Joanna, for if she knew that I had been crying twice in one morning . . . I, who never cried on my own account, and whom she has never caused to shed a tear, the dear fellow would fret her heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I do feel weepy, she shall never see it. I suppose it is just one of the lessons that we poor men 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 Ms. 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 woman was more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a word she said, I could in some way recognize in her tones some passionate entreaty on her part. Then there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that the attendants were dealing with her. 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 Joanna woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a little time to realize where I was, and that it was Joanna 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 Joanna to come back. I was very anxious about her, 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 gaslight which I had left lit for Joanna, but turned down, came only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which had evidently grown thicker and poured into the room. Then 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 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 Lucas told me of in his 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 Joanna had seen those awful men growing into reality through 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. Tonight I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If I do not, I shall tomorrow 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 Joanna coming to bed, but the sleep has not refreshed me, for today I feel terribly weak and spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing. In the afternoon, Ms. Renfield asked if she might see me. Poor woman, she was very gentle, and when I came away she kissed my hand and bade God bless me. Some way it affected me much. I am crying when I think of her. This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful. Joanna would be miserable if she knew I had been crying. She and the others were out till 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 Joanna's manner that she 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. She very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which she 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 20

JOANNA HARKER'S JOURNAL

1 October, evening.--I found Thomasina Snelling in her house at Bethnal Green, but unhappily she was not in a condition to remember anything. The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to her had proved too much, and she had begun too early on her expected debauch. I learned, however, from her husband, who seemed a decent, poor soul, that she was only the assistant of Smollet, who of the two mates was the responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Ms. Joseph Smollet at home and in her shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a saucer. She is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable type of workwoman, and with a headpiece of her own. She remembered all about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog-eared notebook, which she produced from some mysterious receptacle about the seat of her trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick, half-obliterated pencil, she gave me the destinations of the boxes. There were, she said, six in the cartload which she took from Carfax and left at 197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which she deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of her over London, these places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later she might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that she could not mean to confine herself to two sides of London. She was now fixed on the far east on 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 her 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 her if she could tell us if any other boxes had been taken from Carfax.

She replied, 'Well guv'nor, you've treated me very 'an'some', I had given her half a sovereign, 'an I'll tell yer all I know. I heard a woman by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are an' 'Ounds, in Pincher's Alley, as 'ow she an' her mate 'ad 'ad a rare dusty job in a old 'ouse at Purfleet. 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 she could tell me where to find her. I told her that if she could get me the address it would be worth another half sovereign to her. So she gulped down the rest of her tea and stood up, saying that she was going to begin the search then and there.

At the door she 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 she ain't like to be in a way to tell ye much tonight. Sam is a rare one when she 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 tonight. But ye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', 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 he 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 tonight, and I want to sleep. Minas is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale. His eyes look as though he had been crying. Poor dear, I've no doubt it frets his to be kept in the dark, and it may make his 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 his nerve broken. The doctors were quite right to insist on his 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 his under any circumstances. Indeed, It may not be a hard task, after all, for he himself has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of the Countess or her doings ever since we told him 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 Minas. He looked heavy and sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined not to wake him, but that when I should return from this new search, I would arrange for his going back to Exeter. I think he would be happier in our own home, with his daily tasks to interest him, than in being here amongst us and in ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told her 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. Ms. 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 woman who came to the door for the 'depite,' she shook her 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,' she 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 Ms. Bloxam, who had slept off the remains of her beer on the previous night at Corcoran's, had left for her work at Poplar at five o'clock that morning. She could not tell me where the place of work was situated, but she 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 workwomen were having their dinner. One of them 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. She was sent for on my suggestion that I was willing to pay her days wages to her foreman for the privilege of asking her a few questions on a private matter. She was a smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had promised to pay for her information and given her an earnest, she told me that she 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 her for this purpose.

I asked her if she could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to which she replied, 'Well, guv'nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few door 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 in if both houses were empty?'

'There was the old party what engaged me a waitin' in the 'ouse at Purfleet. She 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curse me, but she was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' her a old feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would think she 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 upend mine anyhow, an' I'm no chicken, neither.'

'How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?' I asked.

'She was there too. She must 'a started off and got there afore me, for when I rung of the bell she kem an' opened the door 'isself an' 'elped me 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 her, '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, she 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 her information, I started off for Piccadilly. I had gained a new painful experience. The Countess could, it was evident, handle the earth boxes herself. If so, time was precious, for now that she had achieved a certain amount of distribution, she could, by choosing her 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 ownership 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 around 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 she heard it had lately been taken, but she couldn't say from whom. She told me, however, that up to very lately there had been a notice board of 'For Sale'up, and that perhaps Mitchell, Daughters, & Candy the house agents could tell me something, as she thought she 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 her 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, Daughters, & Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office in Sackville Street.

The gentlewoman 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 she called a 'mansion,'was sold, she considered my business as concluded. When I asked who had purchased it, she opened her 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 she paused longer, and raised her eyebrows still more. 'It is sold, sir,'was again her laconic reply.

'Surely,' I said, 'you do not mind letting me know so much.'

'But I do mind,' she answered. 'The affairs of their clients are absolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Daughters, & Candy.'

This was manifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no use arguing with her. I thought I had best meet her on her own ground, so I said, 'Your clients, lady, are happy in having so resolute a guardian of their confidence. I am myself a professional woman.'

Here I handed her my card. 'In this instance I am not prompted by curiosity, I act on the part of Lady Godalming, who wishes to know something of the property which was, she understood, lately for sale.'

These words put a different complexion on affairs. She said, 'I would like to oblige you if I could, Ms. Harker, and especially would I like to oblige her lordship. We once carried out a small matter of renting some chambers for her when she was the honourable Artemis Holmwood. If you will let me have her lordship's address I will consult the House on the subject, and will, in any case, communicate with her lordship by tonight's post. It will be a pleasure if we can so far deviate from our rules as to give the required information to her lordship.'

I wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so I thanked her, 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. Minas was looking tired and pale, but he made a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful. It wrung my heart to think that I had had to keep anything from his and so caused his inquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of his 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 him out of our grim task. He seems somehow more reconciled, or else the very subject seems to have become repugnant to him, for when any accidental allusion is made he 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 him.

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 Minas to his room and left his to go to bed. The dear boy was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung to me as though he 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 Joanna. 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 her real death.'

We all sat silent awhile and all at once Ms. Morris spoke, 'Say! How are we going to get into that house?'

'We got into the other,'answered Lady 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.'

Lady Godalming's brows contracted, and she stood up and walked about the room. By-and-by she stopped and said, turning from one to another of us, 'Quincy'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 Countess' key basket.'

As nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be at least advisable to wait till Lady 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. Minas sleeps soundly and his breathing is regular. His forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though he thinks even in his sleep. He is still too pale, but does not look so haggard as he did this morning. Tomorrow will, I hope, mend all this. He will be himself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy!

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

1 October.--I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. Her moods change so rapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as they always mean something more than her own well-being, they form a more than interesting study. This morning, when I went to see her after her repulse of Van Helsing, her manner was that of a woman commanding destiny. She was, in fact, commanding destiny, subjectively. She did not really care for any of the things of mere earth, she 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 her, 'What about the flies these times?'

She smiled on me in quite a superior sort of way, such a smile as would have become the face of Malvolio, as she answered me, 'The fly, my dear lady, has one striking feature. It's 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 her analogy to its utmost logically, so I said quickly, 'Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?'

Her madness foiled her reason, and a puzzled look spread over her face as, shaking her head with a decision which I had but seldom seen in her.

She said, 'Oh, no, oh no! I want no souls. Life is all I want.'Here she 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 her on. 'Then you command life. You are a god, I suppose?'

She 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 Her 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 she walked with God.'

I could not see the analogy, but did not like to admit it, so I harked back to what she 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 her.

The effort succeeded, for an instant she unconsciously relapsed into her old servile manner, bent low before me, and actually fawned upon me as she 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 . . .'

She suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over her 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 her insanity she saw some antagonism in me, for she at once fell back on the last refuge of such as she, a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the present it was useless to speak to her. She was sulky, and so I came away.

Later in the day she sent for me. Ordinarily I would not have come without special reason, but just at present I am so interested in her that I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to have anything to help pass the time. Harker is out, following up clues, and so are Lady Godalming and Quincy. Van Helsing sits in my study poring over the record prepared by the Harkers. She seems to think that by accurate knowledge of all details she will light up on some clue. She does not wish to be disturbed in the work, without cause. I would have taken her with me to see the patient, only I thought that after her last repulse she might not care to go again. There was also another reason. Renfield might not speak so freely before a third person as when she and I were alone.

I found her sitting in the middle of the floor on her stool, a pose which is generally indicative of some mental energy on her part. When I came in, she said at once, as though the question had been waiting on her 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.

She did not reply for a moment but looked all around her, and up and down, as though she expected to find some inspiration for an answer.

'I don't want any souls!' she said in a feeble, apologetic way. The matter seemed preying on her 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 her, so I followed it up, 'A nephew time you'll have some time when you're flying out here, with the souls of thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats buzzing and twittering and moaning all around you. You've got their lives, you know, and you must put up with their souls!'

Something seemed to affect her imagination, for she put her fingers to her ears and shut her eyes, screwing them up tightly just as a small girl does when her 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 she was undergoing some process of mental disturbance, and knowing how her past moods had interpreted things seemingly foreign to herself, I thought I would enter into her mind as well as I could and go with her.

The first step was to restore confidence, so I asked her, speaking pretty loud so that she would hear me through her closed ears, 'Would you like some sugar to get your flies around again?'

She seemed to wake up all at once, and shook her head. With a laugh she replied, 'Not much! Flies are poor things, after all!'After a pause she 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 . . .'She stopped suddenly as though reminded of a forbidden topic.

'So, so!'I thought to myself, 'this is the second time she has suddenly stopped at the word 'drink'. What does it mean?'

Renfield seemed herself aware of having made a lapse, for she 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 woman to eat molecules with a pair of chopsticks, as to try to interest me about the less 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 an elephant?'

'What ridiculous nonsense you are talking?'She was getting too wide awake, so I thought I would press her hard.

'I wonder,' I said reflectively, 'what an elephant's soul is like!'

The effect I desired was obtained, for she at once fell from her high-horse and became a child again.

'I don't want an elephant's soul, or any soul at all!' she said. For a few moments she sat despondently. Suddenly she jumped to her feet, with her eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral excitement. 'To hell with you and your souls!' she shouted. 'Why do you plague me about souls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain, to distract me already, without thinking of souls?'

She looked so hostile that I thought she was in for another homicidal fit, so I blew my whistle.

The instant, however, that I did so she 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!'

She 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 she 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 her in this mood, and so I came away. There is certainly something to ponder over in this woman'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 she dreads being haunted by their souls.

Logically all these things point one way! She has assurance of some kind that she will acquire some higher life.

She dreads the consequence, the burden of a soul. Then it is a human life she looks to!

And the assurance . . .?

Merciful God! The Countess has been to her, and there is some new scheme of terror afoot!

Later.--I went after my round to Van Helsing and told her my suspicion. She grew very grave, and after thinking the matter over for a while asked me to take her to Renfield. I did so. As we came to the door we heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as she used to do in the time which now seems so long ago.

When we entered we saw with amazement that she had spread out her sugar as of old. The flies, lethargic with the autumn, were beginning to buzz into the room. We tried to make her talk of the subject of our previous conversation, but she would not attend. She went on with her singing, just as though we had not been present. She had got a scrap of paper and was folding it into a notebook. We had to come away as ignorant as we went in.

Her is a curious case indeed. We must watch her tonight.

LETTER, MITCHELL, DAUGHTERS & CANDY TO LADY GODALMING.

'1 October.

'My Lady,

'We are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. We beg, with regard to the desire of your Ladyship, expressed by Ms. 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 Ms. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser is a foreign nobleman, Countess de Ville, who effected the purchase herself paying the purchase money in notes 'over the counter,' if your Ladyship will pardon us using so vulgar an expression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever of her.

'We are, my Lady,

'Your Ladyship's humble servants,

'MITCHELL, DAUGHTERS & CANDY.'

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

2 October.--I placed a woman in the corridor last night, and told her to make an accurate note of any sound she might hear from Renfield's room, and gave her instructions that if there should be anything strange she was to call me. After dinner, when we had all gathered round the fire in the study, 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 her 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. She was sleeping soundly, her heart rose and fell with regular respiration.

This morning the woman on duty reported to me that a little after midnight she was restless and kept saying her prayers somewhat loudly. I asked her if that was all. She replied that it was all she heard. There was something about her manner, so suspicious that I asked her point blank if she had been asleep. She denied sleep, but admitted to having 'dozed'for a while. It is too bad that women cannot be trusted unless they are watched.

Today Harker is out following up her clue, and Art and Quincy 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 sterilize all the imported earth between sunrise and sunset. We shall thus catch the Countess at her 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 warlock 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 tomorrow may be the beginning of the end. I wonder if Renfield's quiet has anything to do with this. Her moods have so followed the doings of the Countess, that the coming destruction of the monster may be carried to her some subtle way. If we could only get some hint as to what passed in her mind, between the time of my argument with her today and her resumption of fly-catching, it might afford us a valuable clue. She is now seemingly quiet for a spell . . . Is she? That wild yell seemed to come from her room . . .

The attendant came bursting into my room and told me that Renfield had somehow met with some accident. She had heard her yell, and when she went to her found her lying on her face on the floor, all covered with blood. I must go at once . . .
CHAPTER 21

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

3 October.--Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as well as I can remember, 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 her lying on the floor on her left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move her, it became at once apparent that she had received some terrible injuries. There seemed none of the 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 her over, 'I think, lady, her back is broken. See, both her right arm and leg and the whole side of her face are paralysed.'How such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. She seemed quite bewildered, and her brows were gathered in as she said, 'I can't understand the two things. She could mark her face like that by beating her own head on the floor. I saw a young man do it once at the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on him. And I suppose she might have broken her neck by falling out of bed, if she got in an awkward kink. But for the life of me I can't imagine how the two things occurred. If her back was broke, she couldn't beat her head, and if her face was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks of it.'

I said to her, 'Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask her to kindly come here at once. I want her without an instant's delay.'

The woman ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in her dressing gown and slippers, appeared. When she saw Renfield on the ground, she looked keenly at her a moment, and then turned to me. I think she recognized my thought in my eyes, for she said very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant, 'Ah, a sad accident! She 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 she had suffered some terrible injury.

Van Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with her a surgical case. She had evidently been thinking and had her mind made up, for almost before she looked at the patient, she whispered to me, 'Send the attendant away. We must be alone with her when she becomes conscious, after the operation.'

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 woman 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 her 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 she was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Artemis and Quincy in pajamas and slippers; the former spoke, 'I heard your woman call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell her of an accident. So I woke Quincy or rather called for her as she 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 tomorrow 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 Quincy saw the attitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, she said softly, 'My God! What has happened to her? Poor, poor devil!'

I told her briefly, and added that we expected she would recover consciousness after the operation, for a short time, at all events. She went at once and sat down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside her. 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 she felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreaded the words Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think. But the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of women who have heard the death watch. The poor woman's breathing came in uncertain gasps. Each instant she seemed as though she would open her eyes and speak, but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and she 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 agonizing. 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. She might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor and caught her eyes fixed on mine. Her face was sternly set as she spoke, 'There is no time to lose. Her 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 she 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 her bosom . Suddenly her eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued for a few moments, then it was softened into a glad surprise, and from her lips came a sigh of relief. She moved convulsively, and as she 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.'

She tried to turn her head, but even with the effort her 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, Ms. Renfield.'

As she heard the voice her face brightened, through its mutilation, and she 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 . . .'

She stopped and seemed fainting. I called quietly to Quincy, 'The brandy, it is in my study, quick!' she 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 her poor injured brain had been working in the interval, for when she was quite conscious, she looked at me piercingly with an agonized confusion which I shall never forget, and said, 'I must not deceive myself. It was no dream, but all a grim reality.' Then her eyes roved round the room. As they caught sight of the two figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed she went on, 'If I were not sure already, I would know from them.'

For an instant her eyes closed, not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though she were bringing all her faculties to bear. When she opened them she said, hurriedly, and with more energy than she 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 realized where I was. I heard the dogs bark behind our house, but not where She was!'

As she spoke, Van Helsing's eyes never blinked, but her hand came out and met mine and gripped it hard. She did not, however, betray herself. She nodded slightly and said, 'Go on,' In a low voice.

Renfield proceeded. 'She came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen her often before, but she was solid then, not a ghost, and her eyes were fierce like a woman's when angry. She was laughing with her red mouth, the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when she turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't ask her to come in at first, though I knew she wanted to, just as she had wanted all along. Then she began promising me things, not in words but by doing them.'

She was interrupted by a word from the Professor, 'How?'

'By making them happen. Just as she 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 cross-bones on their backs.'

Van Helsing nodded to her as she whispered to me unconsciously, 'The Acherontia Atropos of the Sphinges, what you call the 'Death's-head Moth'?'

The patient went on without stopping, 'Then she 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 her, for I wanted to see what she could do. Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in Her house. She beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and She raised her 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 She moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red, like Her only smaller. She held up her hand, and they all stopped, and I thought she 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, Lady and Mistress!' The rats were all gone, but She slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide, just as the Moon himself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in all his size and splendour.'

Her voice was weaker, so I moistened her lips with the brandy again, and she continued, but it seemed as though her memory had gone on working in the interval for her story was further advanced. I was about to call her back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me, 'Let her go on. Do not interrupt her. She cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at all if once she lost the thread of her thought.'

She proceeded, 'All day I waited to hear from her, but she did not send me anything, not even a blowfly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with her. When she did slide in through the window, though it was shut, and did not even knock, I got mad with her. She sneered at me, and her white face looked out of the mist with her red eyes gleaming, and she went on as though she owned the whole place, and I was no one. She didn't even smell the same as she went by me. I couldn't hold her. I thought that, somehow, Harker had come into the room.'

The two women sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behind her so that she could not see them, but where they could hear better. They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered. Her face, however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without noticing, 'When Harker came in to see me this afternoon he wasn't the same. It was like tea after the teapot has been watered.'Here we all moved, but no one said a word.

She went on, 'I didn't know that he was here till he spoke, and he didn't look the same. I don't care for the pale people. I like them with lots of blood in them, and his all seemed to have run out. I didn't think of it at the time, but when he went away I began to think, and it made me mad to know that She had been taking the life out of him.'I could feel that the rest quivered, as I did; but we remained otherwise still. 'So when She came tonight 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 She felt it too, for She 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 his life, till I saw Her eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water. She slipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, She 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.'

Her voice was becoming fainter and her breath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively.

'We know the worst now,' she said. 'She is here, and we know her 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 Countess' house. The Professor had her ready, and as we met in the corridor she pointed to them significantly as she 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 dear Minas should suffer!' she stopped, her voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in my own heart.

Outside the Harkers' door we paused. Art and Quincy held back, and the latter said, 'Should we disturb him?'

'We must,' said Van Helsing grimly. 'If the door be locked, I shall break it in.'

'May it not frighten his 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 tonight. Friend Joan, 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!'

She turned the handle as she 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 her as she gathered herself 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 Joanna Harker, her 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 her husband. By his side stood a tall, thin woman, clad in black. Her face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognized the Countess, in every way, even to the scar on her forehead. With her left hand she held both Harker's hands, keeping them away with his arms at full tension. Her right hand gripped his by the back of the neck, forcing his face down on her chest . His white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the woman's bare bosom which was shown by her 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 Countess turned her face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. Her 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, clamped together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw her victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, she turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained her feet, and was holding towards her the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Countess suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucas had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back she 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 Quincy'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 Harker, who by this time had drawn his 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 he lay in his helpless attitude and disarray. His face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared his lips and cheeks and chin. From his throat trickled a thin stream of blood. His eyes were mad with terror. Then he put before his face his poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Countess' 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 him body, whilst Art, after looking at his face for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room.

Van Helsing whispered to me, 'Joanna is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing with poor Minas for a few moments till he recovers himself. I must wake her!'

She dipped the end of a towel in cold water and with it began to flick her on the face, her husband all the while holding his face between his 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 Quincy Morris run across the lawn and hide herself in the shadow of a great yew tree. It puzzled me to think why she was doing this. But at the instant I heard Harker's quick exclamation as she woke to partial consciousness, and turned to the bed. On her face, as there might well be, was a look of wild amazement. She seemed dazed for a few seconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon her all at once, and she started up.

Her husband was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to her with his arms stretched out, as though to embrace her. Instantly, however, he drew them in again, and putting his elbows together, held his hands before his face, and shuddered till the bed beneath his 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? Minas, dear what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! Has it come to this!' and, raising herself to her knees, she beat her hands wildly together. 'Good God help us! Help him! Oh, help him!'

With a quick movement she jumped from bed, and began to pull on her clothes, all the woman in her awake at the need for instant exertion. 'What has happened? Tell me all about it!' she cried without pausing. 'Dr. Van Helsing, you love Minas, I know. Oh, do something to save him. It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard him while I look for her!'

Her husband, through his terror and horror and distress, saw some sure danger to her. Instantly forgetting his own grief, he seized hold of her and cried out.

'No! No! Joanna, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough tonight, God knows, without the dread of her harming you. You must stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!'His expression became frantic as he spoke. And, she yielding to him, he pulled her down sitting on the bedside, and clung to her fiercely.

Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up her 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 tonight, and we must be calm and take counsel together.'

He shuddered and was silent, holding down his head on his husband's breast. When he raised it, her white nightrobe was stained with blood where his lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in the neck had sent forth drops. The instant he saw it he drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs.

'Unclean, unclean! I must touch her or kiss her no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now her worst enemy, and whom she may have most cause to fear.'

To this she spoke out resolutely, 'Nonsense, Minas. 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!'

She put out her arms and folded his to her breast. And for a while he lay there sobbing. She looked at us over him bowed head, with eyes that blinked damply above her quivering nostrils. Her mouth was set as steel.

After a while his sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then she said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried her 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 her exactly what had happened and she listened with seeming impassiveness, but her nostrils twitched and her eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Countess had held her husband in that terrible and horrid position, with his mouth to the open wound in her 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, Quincy and Godalming knocked at the door. They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at me questioningly. I understood her to mean if we were to take advantage of their coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy wife and husband from each other and from themselves. So on nodding acquiescence to her she asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lady Godalming answered.

'I could not see her anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though she had been there, she had gone. She had, however . . .'She stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure on the bed.

Van Helsing said gravely, 'Go on, friend Artemis. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell freely!'

So Art went on, 'She had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, she 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!'

Her face lit for a moment, but fell again as she went on. 'I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of her. I looked into Renfield's room, but there was no trace there except . . .'Again she paused.

'Go on,' said Harker hoarsely. So she bowed her head and moistening her lips with her tongue, added, 'except that the poor fellow is dead.'

Harker raised his head, looking from one to the other of us he 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 Quincy, have you any to tell?'

'A little,' she answered. 'It may be much eventually, but at present I can't say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Countess would go when she left the house. I did not see her, but I saw a bat rise from Renfield's window, and flap westward. I expected to see her in some shape go back to Carfax, but she evidently sought some other lair. She will not be back tonight, for the sky is reddening in the east, and the dawn is close. We must work tomorrow!'

She said the latter words through her 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 her hand tenderly on Harker's head, 'and now, Minas, poor dear, dear, Minas, 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 sir shivered, and I could see the tension of his nerves as he clasped his wife closer to his and bent his head lower and lower still on her breast. Then he raised his head proudly, and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in hers, and after stooping and kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that of his wife, who held her other arm thrown round his protectingly. After a pause in which he was evidently ordering his thoughts, he 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.'His wife involuntarily groaned as he turned to her 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. Joanna coming in had not waked me, for she 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 Joanna, but found that she slept so soundly that it seemed as if it was she who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake her. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me. Beside the bed, as if she had stepped out of the mist, or rather as if the mist had turned into her figure, for it had entirely disappeared, stood a tall, thin woman, all in black. I knew her 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 her forehead where Joanna had struck her. For an instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was paralyzed. In the pause she spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing as she spoke to Joanna.

''Silence! If you make a sound I shall take her and dash her brains out before your very eyes.' I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, she placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as she 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 her. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when her touch is on her victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! She placed her reeking lips upon my throat!'His wife groaned again. He clasped her hand harder, and looked at her pityingly, as if she 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 she took her foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!' The remembrance seemed for a while to overpower him, and he drooped and would have sunk down but for his husband's sustaining arm. With a great effort he recovered himself and went on.

'Then she spoke to me mockingly, 'and so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these women to hunt me and frustrate me in my design! 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 she pulled open her shirt, and with her long sharp nails opened a vein in her breast. When the blood began to spurt out, she took my hands in one of hers, 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 to 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 he is dear!'Then he began to rub his lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.

As he was telling his terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken, and everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet; but over her 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 today on no more miserable house in all the great round of its daily course.
CHAPTER 22

JOANNA 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 Minas or me anywhere worse than we are today. However, we must trust and hope. Poor Minas told me just now, with the tears running down his 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 she and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to the room below they had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a heap. Her 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 she had heard anything. She said that she had been sitting down, she confessed to half dozing, when she 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 she entered the room she found her lying on the floor, face down, just as the doctors had seen her. Van Helsing asked if she had heard 'voices'or 'a voice,' and she said she could not say. That at first it had seemed to her as if there were two, but as there was no one in the room it could have been only one. She 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 she 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, she thought that on the attendant's evidence she 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 Minas should be in full confidence. That nothing of any sort, no matter how painful, should be kept from him. He himself agreed as to its wisdom, and it was pitiful to see his so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a depth of despair.

'There must be no concealment,'he 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 his fixedly as he spoke, and said, suddenly but quietly, 'But dear Minas, are you not afraid. Not for yourself, but for others from yourself, after what has happened?'

His face grew set in its lines, but his eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr as he answered, 'Ah no! For my mind is made up!'

'To what?'she asked gently, whilst we were all very still, for each in our own way we had a sort of vague idea of what he meant.

His answer came with direct simplicity, as though he was 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?'she asked, hoarsely.

'I would. If there were no friend who loved me, who would save me such a pain, and so desperate an effort!' He looked at her meaningly as he spoke.

She was sitting down, but now she rose and came close to his and put her hand on his head as she 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 she seemed choked, and a great sob rose in her throat. She 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 your own. Until the other, who has fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must not die. For if she is still with the quick Undead, your death would make you even as she is. No, you must live! You must struggle and strive to live, though death would seem a boon unspeakable. You must fight Death herself, though she 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 he grew more calm and turning to her said sweetly, but oh so sorrowfully, as he held out his 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 Her good time, this horror may have passed away from me.'

He was so good and brave that we all felt that our hearts were strengthened to work and endure for him, and we began to discuss what we were to do. I told his that he 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 he had done before. He 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,' she said, 'that at our meeting after our visit to Carfax we decided not to do anything with the earth boxes that lay there. Had we done so, the Countess 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 she does not know our intentions. Nay, more, in all probability, she does not know that such a power exists to us as can sterilize her lairs, so that she 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. Today 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 she now has. She is confined within the limitations of her earthly envelope. She cannot melt into thin air nor disappear through cracks or chinks or crannies. If she go through a doorway, she must open the door like a mortal. And so we have this day to hunt out all her lairs and sterilize them. So we shall, if we have not yet catch her and destroy her, drive her 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 Minas' life and happiness were flying from us, since whilst we talked action was impossible. But Van Helsing held up her hand warningly.

'Nay, friend Joanna,' she 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 Countess may have many houses which she has bought. Of them she will have deeds of purchase, keys and other things. She will have paper that she write on. She will have her book of cheques. There are many belongings that she must have somewhere. Why not in this place so central, so quiet, where she come and go by the front or the back at all hours, 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 Artemis call, in her 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 she wished to delay she 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 in. And think there was to you no conscience of the housebreaker, what would you do?'

'I should get a respectable locksmith, and set her to work to pick the lock for me.'

'and your police, they would interfere, would they not?'

'Oh no! Not if they knew the woman was properly employed.'

'Then,' she looked at me as keenly as she spoke, 'all that is in doubt is the conscience of the employer, and the belief of your policemen as to whether or not that employer has a good conscience or a bad one. Your police must indeed be zealous women and clever, oh so clever, in reading the heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter. No, no, my friend Joanna, you go take the lock off a hundred empty houses 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 gentlewoman who owned a so fine house in London, and when she went for months of summer to Switzerland and lock up her house, some burglar come and broke window at back and got in. Then she went and made open the shutters in front and walk out and in through the door, before the very eyes of the police. Then she have an auction in that house, and advertise it, and put up big notice. And when the day come she sell off by a great auctioneer all the goods of that other woman who own them. Then she go to a builder, and she sell her that house, making an agreement that she pull it down and take all away within a certain time. And your police and other authority help her all they can. And when that owner come back from her holiday in Switzerland she find only an empty hole where her 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 such things would be done were we indeed owners of the house.'

I could not but see how right she was and the terrible despair of Minas' face became relaxed in 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.'

Lady Godalming stood up. 'I can be of some use here,' she 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 purpose? It seems to me that we ought to take cabs when we go south or east. And even leave them somewhere near the neighbourhood we are going to.'

'Friend Quincy is right!' said the Professor. 'Her 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.'

Minas took a growing interest in everything and I was rejoiced to see that the exigency of affairs was helping his to forget for a time the terrible experience of the night. He was very, very pale, almost ghastly, and so thin that his lips were drawn away, showing his teeth in somewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last, lest it should give his needless pain, but it made my blood run cold in my veins to think of what had occurred with poor Lucas when the Countess had sucked his 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 Countess' lair close at hand. In case she should find it out too soon, we should thus be still ahead of her in our work of destruction. And her presence in her purely material shape, and at her 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 Lady Godalming and Quincy found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End and destroyed them. It was possible, if not likely, the Professor urged, that the Countess might appear in Piccadilly during the day, and that if so we might be able to cope with her then and there. At any rate, we might be able to follow her 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 Minas. I thought that my mind was made up on the subject, but Minas would not listen to my objection. He said that there might be some law matter in which I could be useful. That amongst the Countess' 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 Countess' extraordinary power. I had to give in, for Minas' resolution was fixed. He said that it was the last hope for his that we should all work together.

'As for me,' he 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 She 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 Countess may come to Piccadilly earlier than we think.'

'Not so!' said Van Helsing, holding up her hand.

'But why?' I asked.

'Do you forget,' she said, with actually a smile, 'that last night she banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?'

Did I forget! Shall I ever . . . can I ever! Can any of us ever forget that terrible scene! Minas struggled hard to keep his brave countenance, but the pain overmastered his and he put his hands before his face, and shuddered whilst he moaned. Van Helsing had not intended to recall his frightful experience. She had simply lost sight of his and his part in the affair in her intellectual effort.

When it struck her what she said, she was horrified at her thoughtlessness and tried to comfort him.

'Oh, Minas,' she said, 'dear, dear, Minas, 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?'She bent low beside his as she spoke.

He took her hand, and looking at her through his 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 Minas 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 her.

'Then it is well. Now, Minas, 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 She 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 Daughter, and . . .'

There was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to hear. As she had placed the Wafer on Minas' 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 his the significance of the fact as quickly as his nerves received the pain of it, and the two so overwhelmed his that his overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful scream.

But the words to his thought came quickly. The echo of the scream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came the reaction, and he sank on his knees on the floor in an agony of abasement. Pulling his beautiful hair over him face, as the leper of old her mantle, he 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 his in an agony of helpless grief, and putting my arms around held his 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 she was in some way inspired, and was stating things outside herself.

'It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God herself see fit, as She most surely shall, on the Judgement Day, to redress all wrongs of the earth and of Her children that She has placed thereon. And oh, Minas, 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 Her Daughter did in obedience to Her Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments of Her good pleasure, and that we ascend to Her bidding as that other through stripes and shame. Through tears and blood. Through doubts and fear, and all that makes the difference between God and woman.'

There was hope in her words, and comfort. And they made for resignation. Minas and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each took one of the old woman'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 women pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the head of his whom, each in her 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 Minas, 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 Minas must be a vampire in the end, then he 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 her, 'and now, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We must sterilize this earth, so sacred of holy memories, that she has brought from a far distant land for such fell use. She has chosen this earth because it has been holy. Thus we defeat her with her own weapon, for we make it more holy still. It was sanctified to such use of woman, now we sanctify it to God.'

As she spoke she took from her bag a screwdriver 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 her box a piece of the Sacred Wafer she laid it reverently on the earth, and then shutting down the lid began to screw it home, we aiding her as she 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. It may be that with all the others we can be so successful, then the sunset of this evening may shine of Minas' 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 Minas. I waved my hand to him, and nodded to tell that our work there was successfully accomplished. He nodded in reply to show that he understood. The last I saw, he was waving his 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 Lady Godalming said to me, 'Quincy 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 she 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 Jacky 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 lookout 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 out and strolled into the Green Park. My heart beat as I saw the house on which so much of our hope was centred, 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 Lady Godalming and Morris. And down from the box descended a thick-set working woman with her rush-woven basket of tools. Morris paid the cabman, who touched her hat and drove away. Together the two ascended the steps, and Lady Godalming pointed out what she wanted done. The workwoman took off her 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 woman kneeling down placed her bag beside her. After searching through it, she took out a selection of tools which she proceeded to lay beside her in orderly fashion. Then she stood up, looked in the keyhole, blew into it, and turning to her employers, made some remark. Lady Godalming smiled, and the woman lifted a good sized bunch of keys. Selecting one of them, she began to probe the lock, as if feeling her way with it. After fumbling about for a bit she tried a second, and then a third. All at once the door opened under a slight push from her, and she 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 workwoman come out and bring her bag. Then she held the door partly open, steadying it with her knees, whilst she fitted a key to the lock. This she finally handed to Lady Godalming, who took out her purse and gave her something. The woman touched her hat, took her bag, put on her coat and departed. Not a soul took the slightest notice of the whole transaction.

When the woman had fairly gone, we three crossed the street and knocked at the door. It was immediately opened by Quincy Morris, beside whom stood Lady 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 Countess 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 Countess 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 bosom s. 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 Countess was not at present in the house, and we proceeded to search for any of her 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 Countess. 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, Lady Godalming and Quincy 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 Countess.
CHAPTER 23

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

3 October.--The time seemed terribly long whilst we were waiting for the coming of Godalming and Quincy Morris. The Professor tried to keep our minds active by using them all the time. I could see her beneficent purpose, by the side glances which she threw from time to time at Harker. The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to see. Last night she was a frank, happy-looking woman, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. Today she is a drawn, haggard old woman, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of her face. Her energy is still intact. In fact, she is like a living flame. This may yet be her salvation, for if all go well, it will tide her over the despairing period. She 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 her . . . !

The Professor knows this well enough, and is doing her best to keep her mind active. What she 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 her out. All through there are signs of her advance. Not only of her power, but of her knowledge of it. As I learned from the researches of my friend Arminius of Buda-Pesth, she was in life a most wonderful woman. Soldier, statesman, and alchemist--which latter was the highest development of the science knowledge of her time. She had a mighty brain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that knew no fear and no remorse. She dared even to attend the Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of her time that she did not essay.

'Well, in her the brain powers survived the physical death. Though it would seem that memory was not all complete. In some faculties of mind she has been, and is, only a child. But she is growing, and some things that were childish at the first are now of woman's stature. She is experimenting, and doing it well. And if it had not been that we have crossed her path she would be yet, she may be yet if we fail, the mother 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 she experimenting? The knowledge may help us to defeat her!'

'She has all along, since her coming, been trying her power, slowly but surely. That big child-brain of her is working. Well for us, it is as yet a child-brain. For had she dared, at the first, to attempt certain things she would long ago have been beyond our power. However, she means to succeed, and a woman who has centuries before her can afford to wait and to go slow. Festina lente may well be her 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 her hand tenderly on her shoulder as she spoke, 'Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of late, this monster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How she has been making use of the zoophagous patient to effect her entry into friend Joan's home. For your Vampire, though in all afterwards she can come when and how she will, must at the first make entry only when asked thereto by an inmate. But these are not her most important experiments. Do we not see how at the first all these so great boxes were moved by others. She knew not then but that must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of hers was growing, and she began to consider whether she might not herself move the box. So she began to help. And then, when she found that this be all right, she try to move them all alone. And so she progress, and she scatter these graves of her. And none but she know where they are hidden.

'She may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So that only she use them in the night, or at such time as she can change her form, they do her equal well, and none may know these are her hiding place! But, my child, do not despair, this knowledge came to her just too late! Already all of her lairs but one be sterilize as for her. And before the sunset this shall be so. Then she have no place where she can move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we might be sure. Is there not more at stake for us than for her? Then why not be more careful than her? By my clock it is one hour and already, if all be well, friend Artemis and Quincy are on their way to us. Today 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 we were speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall door, the double postman's knock of the telegraph girl. We all moved out to the hall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up her hand to us to keep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The girl handed in a dispatch. The Professor closed the door again, and after looking at the direction, opened it and read aloud.

'Look out for D. She has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards the South. She seems to be going the round and may want to see you: Minas.'

There was a pause, broken by Joanna Harker's voice, 'Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet!'

Van Helsing turned to her quickly and said, 'God will act in Her own way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoice as yet. For what we wish for at the moment may be our own undoings.'

'I care for nothing now,' she 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 she may purchase, does not keep faith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your pain and your devotion to that dear Minas. Think you, how his pain would be doubled, did he but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of us, we are all devoted to this cause, and today shall see the end. The time is coming for action. Today this Vampire is limit to the powers of woman, and till sunset she may not change. It will take her time to arrive here, see it is twenty minutes past one, and there are yet some times before she can hither come, be she never so quick. What we must hope for is that my Lady Artemis and Quincy arrive first.'

About half an hour after we had received 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 gentlewomen, 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 Lady Godalming and Quincy 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 her!'We were silent for a minute, and then Quincy said, 'There's nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, she doesn't turn up by five o'clock, we must start off. For it won't do to leave Harker alone after sunset.'

'She will be here before long now,' said Van Helsing, who had been consulting her pocketbook. 'Nota bene, in 's telegram she went south from Carfax. That means she went to cross the river, and she could only do so at slack of tide, which should be something before one o'clock. That she went south has a meaning for us. She is as yet only suspicious, and she went from Carfax first to the place where she would suspect interference least. You must have been at Bermondsey only a short time before her. That she is not here already shows that she went to Mile End next. This took her some time, for she 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!' she held up a warning hand as she 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, Quincy Morris had always been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Artemis and I had been accustomed to obey her implicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to be renewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the room, she 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 Quincy 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 nightstallion slowness. The slow, careful steps came along the hall. The Countess was evidently prepared for some surprise, at least she feared it.

Suddenly with a single bound she leaped into the room. Winning a way past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay her. There was something so pantherlike in the movement, something so unhuman, that it seemed to sober us all from the shock of her coming. The first to act was Harker, who with a quick movement, threw herself before the door leading into the room in the front of the house. As the Countess saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed over her face, showing the eyeteeth long and pointed. But the evil smile as quickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. Her expression again changed as, with a single impulse, we all advanced upon her. It was a pity that we had not some better organized 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 she had ready her great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at her. The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Countess' leap back saved her. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorn through her heart. As it was, the point just cut the cloth of her coat, making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank notes and a stream of gold fell out. The expression of the Countess' face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though I saw her 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 that I saw 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 Countess' face. Her waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast of her 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 she swept under Harker's arm, ere her blow could fall, and grasping a handful of the money from the floor, dashed across the room, threw herself at the window. Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass, she 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 her spring unhurt from the ground. She, rushing up the steps, crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open the stable door. There she 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, she passed quickly through the door, and we heard the rusty bolt creak as she fastened it behind her. A door beyond opened and shut. The first of us to speak was the Professor. Realizing the difficulty of following her through the stable, we moved toward the hall.

'We have learnt something . . . much! Notwithstanding her brave words, she fears us. She fears time, she fears want! For if not, why she hurry so? Her very tone betray her, or my ears deceive. Why take that money? You follow quick. You are hunters of the wild beast, and understand it so. For me, I make sure that nothing here may be of use to her, if so that she returns.'

As she spoke she put the money remaining in her pocket, took the title deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and swept the remaining things into the open fireplace, where she set fire to them with a match.

Godalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker had lowered herself from the window to follow the Countess. She had, however, bolted the stable door, and by the time they had forced it open there was no sign of her. Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry at the back of the house. But the mews was deserted and no one had seen her depart.

It was now late in the afternoon, and sunset was not far off. We had to recognize that our game was up. With heavy hearts we agreed with the Professor when she said, 'Let us go back to Minas. Poor, poor dear Minas. All we can do just now is done, and we can there, at least, protect him. 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 she spoke as bravely as she could to comfort Harker. The poor fellow was quite broken down, now and again she gave a low groan which she could not suppress. She was thinking of her husband.

With sad hearts we came back to my house, where we found Harker waiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which did honour to his bravery and unselfishness. When he saw our faces, his own became as pale as death. For a second or two his eyes were closed as if he were in secret prayer.

And then he said cheerfully, 'I can never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling!'

As he spoke, he took his husband's grey head in his hands and kissed it.

'Lay your poor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear! God will protect us if She so will it in Her good intent.' The poor fellow groaned. There was no place for words in her 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 Harker everything which had passed. And although he grew snowy white at times when danger had seemed to threaten his wife, and red at others when her devotion to his was manifested, he listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to the part where Harker had rushed at the Countess so recklessly, he clung to his husband's arm, and held it tight as though his clinging could protect her from any harm that might come. He said nothing, however, till the narration was all done, and matters had been brought up to the present time.

Then without letting go his husband's hand he stood up amongst us and spoke. Oh, that I could give any idea of the scene. Of that sweet, sweet, good, good man in all the radiant beauty of his youth and animation, with the red scar on his forehead, of which he was conscious, and which we saw with grinding of our teeth, remembering whence and how it came. His loving kindness against our grim hate. His tender faith against all our fears and doubting. And we, knowing that so far as symbols went, he with all his goodness and purity and faith, was outcast from God.

'Joanna,'he said, and the word sounded like music on his lips it was so full of love and tenderness, 'Joanna 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 Lucas so that the true Lucas 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 her joy when she, too, is destroyed in her worser part that her better part may have spiritual immortality. You must be pitiful to her, too, though it may not hold your hands from her destruction.'

As he spoke I could see his husband's face darken and draw together, as though the passion in her were shriveling her being to its core. Instinctively the clasp on her wife's hand grew closer, till her knuckles looked white. He did not flinch from the pain which I knew he must have suffered, but looked at her with eyes that were more appealing than ever.

As he stopped speaking she leaped to her feet, almost tearing her hand from his as she spoke.

'May God give her into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of her which we are aiming at. If beyond it I could send her soul forever 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, Joanna, my wife, 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 wife, 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 wail of a very loving and sorely stricken woman. Oh, God, let these poor white hairs go in evidence of what she has suffered, who all her life has done no wrong, and on whom so many sorrows have come.'

We women were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and we wept openly. He wept, too, to see that his sweeter counsels had prevailed. His wife flung herself on her knees beside him, and putting her arms round him, hid her face in the folds of his 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 Harker that he might rest in peace. He tried to school himself to the belief, and manifestly for his 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, Quincy, 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 Quincy, so the rest of us shall be off to bed as soon as we can.

Godalming has already turned in, for her is the second watch. Now that my work is done I, too, shall go to bed.

JOANNA 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 Countess alone knew where it was. If she chooses to lie hidden, she 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 man who was all perfection, that one is my poor wronged darling. I loved his a thousand times more for his 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! Minas is sleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what his dreams might be like, with such terrible memories to ground them in. He has not been so calm, within my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there came over him 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 his 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 tomorrow to think of, and there is no rest for me until . . .

Later--I must have fallen asleep, for I was awakened by Minas, who was sitting up in bed, with a startled look on his face. I could see easily, for we did not leave the room in darkness. He had placed a warning hand over my mouth, and now he 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 Ms. Morris, wide awake. She raised a warning hand for silence as she 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!'

Her look and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back and told Minas. He sighed and positively a shadow of a smile stole over him poor, pale face as he put his arms round me and said softly, 'Oh, thank God for good brave women!'With a sigh he 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 Minas. 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.

He said to me hurriedly, 'Go, call the Professor. I want to see her at once.'

'Why?' I asked.

'I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and matured without my knowing it. She must hypnotize 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, she sprang to her feet.

'Is anything wrong?'she asked, in alarm.

'No,' I replied. 'But Minas wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at once.'

'I will go,' she said, and hurried into the Professor's room.

Two or three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room in her dressing gown, and Ms. Morris and Lady Godalming were with Dr. Seward at the door asking questions. When the Professor saw Minas a smile, a positive smile ousted the anxiety of her face.

She rubbed her hands as she said, 'Oh, my dear Minas, this is indeed a change. See! Friend Joanna, we have got our dear Minas, as of old, back to us today!'Then turning to him, she said cheerfully, 'and what am I to do for you? For at this hour you do not want me for nothing.'

'I want you to hypnotize me!'he 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 she motioned his to sit up in bed.

Looking fixedly at him, she commenced to make passes in front of him, from over the top of his head downward, with each hand in turn. Minas gazed at her 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 his eyes closed, and he sat, stock still. Only by the gentle heaving of his chest could one know that he was alive. The Professor made a few more passes and then stopped, and I could see that her forehead was covered with great beads of perspiration. Minas opened his eyes, but he did not seem the same man. There was a far-away look in his eyes, and his voice had a sad dreaminess which was new to me. Raising her hand to impose silence, the Professor motioned to me to bring the others in. They came on tiptoe, closing the door behind them, and stood at the foot of the bed, looking on. Minas 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 his 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. Minas sat rigid, and the Professor stood staring at his fixedly.

The rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The room was growing lighter. Without taking her eyes from Minas' 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 he were interpreting something. I have heard his use the same tone when reading his 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 women 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 ratchet.'

'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 her hands on Minas' shoulders, and laid his head down softly on his pillow. He 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 him.

'Have I been talking in my sleep?' was all he said. He seemed, however, to know the situation without telling, though he was eager to know what he had told. The Professor repeated the conversation, and he said, 'Then there is not a moment to lose. It may not be yet too late!'

Ms. Morris and Lady 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 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 women, since 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 Countess' mind, when she seize that money, though Joanna's so fierce knife put her in the danger that even she dread. She meant escape. Hear me, ESCAPE! She saw that with but one earth box left, and a pack of women following like dogs after a fox, this London was no place for her. She have take her last earth box on board a ship, and she leave the land. She think to escape, but no! We follow her. Tally Ho! As friend Artemis would say when she put on her red frock! Our old fox is wily. Oh! So wily, and we must follow with wile. I, too, am wily and I think her mind in a little while. In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there are between us which she do not want to pass, and which she could not if she 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 us. Let us take bath, and dress, and have breakfast which we all need, and which we can eat comfortably since she be not in the same land with us.'

Minas looked at her appealingly as he asked, 'But why need we seek her further, when she is gone away from us?'

She took his hand and patted it as she replied, 'Ask me nothing as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all questions.' She would say no more, and we separated to dress.

After breakfast Minas repeated his question. She looked at his gravely for a minute and then said sorrowfully, 'Because my dear, dear Minas, now more than ever must we find her even if we have to follow her to the jaws of Hell!'

He grew paler as he asked faintly, 'Why?'

'Because,' she answered solemnly, 'she can live for centuries, and you are but mortal man. Time is now to be dreaded, since once she put that mark upon your throat.'

I was just in time to catch his as he fell forward in a faint.
CHAPTER 24

DR. SEWARD'S PHONOGRAPH DIARY

SPOKEN BY VAN HELSING

This to Joanna Harker.

You are to stay with your dear Minas. 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 his today. This is your best and most holiest office. This day nothing can find her here.

Let me tell you that so you will know what we four know already, for I have tell them. She, our enemy, have gone away. She have gone back to her Castle in Transylvania. I know it so well, as if a great hand of fire wrote it on the wall. She have prepare for this in some way, and that last earth box was ready to ship somewheres. For this she took the money. For this she hurry at the last, lest we catch her before the sun go down. It was her last hope, save that she might hide in the tomb that she think poor Mister Lucas, being as she thought like her, keep open to her. But there was not of time. When that fail she make straight for her last resource, her last earth-work I might say did I wish double entente. She is clever, oh so clever! She know that her game here was finish. And so she decide she go back home. She find ship going by the route she came, and she 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 Minas with new hope. For it will be hope when you think it over, that all is not lost. This very creature that we pursue, she take hundreds of years to get so far as London. And yet in one day, when we know of the disposal of her we drive her out. She is finite, though she 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 wife of Minas. This battle is but begun and in the end we shall win. So sure as that God sits on high to watch over Her children. Therefore be of much comfort till we return.

VAN HELSING.

JOANNA HARKER'S JOURNAL

4 October.--When I read to Minas, Van Helsing's message in the phonograph, the poor boy brightened up considerably. Already the certainty that the Countess is out of the country has given his comfort. And comfort is strength to him. For my own part, now that her 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. Minas and I fear to be idle, so we have been over all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality seem greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There is something of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting. Minas says that perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It may be! I shall try to think as he 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.

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

5 October, 5 P.M.--Our meeting for report. Present: Professor Van Helsing, Lady Godalming, Dr. Seward, Ms. Quincy Morris, Joanna Harker, Minas Harker.

Dr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day to discover on what boat and whither bound Countess Dracula made her escape.

'As I knew that she wanted to get back to Transylvania, I felt sure that she must go by the Danube mouth, or by somewhere in the Black Sea, since by that way she 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. She was in sailing ship, since Minas 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 Lady 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. He is the Czar Cathmor, and he sail from Doolittle's Wharf for Varna, and thence to other ports and up the Danube. 'So!' said I, 'this is the ship whereon is the Countess.' So off we go to Doolittle's Wharf, and there we find a woman in an office. From her we inquire of the goings of the Czar Cathmor. She swear much, and she red face and loud of voice, but she good fellow all the same. And when Quincy give her something from her pocket which crackle as she roll it up, and put it in a so small bag which she have hid deep in her clothing, she still better fellow and humble servant to us. She come with us, and ask many women 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 woman so hurry. A tall woman, thin and pale, with high nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning. That she be all in black, except that she have a hat of straw which suit not her or the time. That she scatter her money in making quick inquiry as to what ship sails for the Black Sea and for where. Some took her to the office and then to the ship, where she will not go aboard but halt at shore end of gangplank, and ask that the captain come to her. The captain come, when told that she will be pay well, and though she swear much at the first she agree to term. Then the thin woman go and some one tell her where horse and cart can be hired. She go there and soon she come again, herself driving cart on which a great box. This she herself lift down, though it take several to put it on truck for the ship. She give much talk to captain as to how and where her box is to be place. But the captain like it not and swear at her in many tongues, and tell her that if she like she can come and see where it shall be. But she say 'no,' that she come not yet, for that she have much to do. Whereupon the captain tell her that she had better be quick, with blood, for that her ship will leave the place, of blood, before the turn of the tide, with blood. Then the thin woman smile and say that of course she must go when she think fit, but she will be surprise if she go quite so soon. The captain swear again, polyglot, and the thin woman make her bow, and thank her, and say that she will so far intrude on her kindness as to come aboard before the sailing. Final the captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues, tell her that she doesn't want no Frenchmen, with bloom upon them and also with blood, in her ship, with blood on his also. And so, after asking where she might purchase ship forms, she departed.

'No one knew where she 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 Czar Cathmor 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 him. The captain swore polyglot, very polyglot, polyglot with bloom and blood, but she could do nothing. The water rose and rose, and she began to fear that she would lose the tide altogether. She was in no friendly mood, when just at full tide, the thin woman came up the gangplank again and asked to see where her box had been stowed. Then the captain replied that she wished that she and her box, old and with much bloom and blood, were in hell. But the thin woman 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. She must have come off by herself, for none notice her. Indeed they thought not of her, 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 her usual polyglot, and was more than ever full of picturesque, when on questioning other mariners who were on movement up and down the river that hour, she 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. He was then, when they told us, well out to sea.

'And so, my dear Minas, it is that we have to rest for a time, for our enemy is on the sea, with the fog at her command, on her way to the Danube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go he never so quick. And when we start to go on land more quick, and we meet her there. Our best hope is to come on her when in the box between sunrise and sunset. For then she can make no struggle, and we may deal with her as we should. There are days for us, in which we can make ready our plan. We know all about where she 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 her credentials. And so our merchant friend will have done her part. When she ask if there be any wrong, for that so, she 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 her if she were certain that the Countess had remained on board the ship. She replied, 'We have the best proof of that, your own evidence, when in the hypnotic trance this morning.'

I asked her again if it were really necessary that they should pursue the Countess, for oh! I dread Joanna leaving me, and I know that she would surely go if the others went. She answered in growing passion, at first quietly. As she went on, however, she 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 her so long a mistress amongst women.

'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 she find herself, and in the short time when as yet she was only as a body groping her so small measure in darkness and not knowing. All this have I told these others. You, my dear Minas, will learn it in the phonograph of my friend Joan, or in that of your wife. I have told them how the measure of leaving her own barren land, barren of peoples, and coming to a new land where life of woman teems till they are like the multitude of standing corn, was the work of centuries. Were another of the Undead, like her, to try to do what she has done, perhaps not all the centuries of the world that have been, or that will be, could aid her. With this one, all the forces of nature that are occult and deep and strong must have worked together in some wonderous way. The very place, where she have been alive, Undead 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 herself were from the first some great qualities. In a hard and warlike time she was celebrate that she have more iron nerve, more subtle brain, more braver heart, than any woman. In her some vital principle have in strange way found their utmost. And as her body keep strong and grow and thrive, so her brain grow too. All thim without that diabolic aid which is surely to her. For it have to yield to the powers that come from, and are, symbolic of good. And now this is what she is to us. She have infect you, oh forgive me, my dear, that I must say such, but it is for good of you that I speak. She infect you in such wise, that even if she do no more, you have only to live, to live in your own old, sweet way, and so in time, death, which is of woman's common lot and with God's sanction, shall make you like to her. 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 women for whom Her Daughter die, will not be given over to monsters, whose very existence would defame Him. She 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.'

She paused and I said, 'But will not the Countess take her rebuff wisely? Since she has been driven from England, will she not avoid it, as a tiger does the village from which she has been hunted?'

'Aha!' she said, 'your simile of the tiger good, for me, and I shall adopt her. Your maneater, as they of India call the tiger who has once tasted blood of the human, care no more for the other prey, but prowl unceasing till she get her. This that we hunt from our village is a tiger, too, a maneater, and she never cease to prowl. Nay, in herself she is not one to retire and stay afar. In her life, her living life, she go over the Turkey frontier and attack her enemy on her own ground. She be beaten back, but did she stay? No! She come again, and again, and again. Look at her persistence and endurance. With the child-brain that was to her she have long since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. What does she do? She find out the place of all the world most of promise for her. Then she deliberately set herself down to prepare for the task. She find in patience just how is her strength, and what are her powers. She study new tongues. She learn new social life, new environment of old ways, the politics, the law, the finance, the science, the habit of a new land and a new people who have come to be since she was. Her glimpse that she have had, whet her appetite only and enkeen her desire. Nay, it help her to grow as to her brain. For it all prove to her how right she was at the first in her surmises. She have done this alone, all alone! From a ruin tomb in a forgotten land. What more may she not do when the greater world of thought is open to her. She that can smile at death, as we know her. 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 she 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 women believe not even what they see, the doubting of wise women would be her greatest strength. It would be at once her sheath and her armor, and her weapons to destroy us, her 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. Tomorrow, 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 tonight. 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 arose 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 Harker's forehead that I was brought back to reality. Even now, when I am gravely revolving the matter, it is almost impossible to realize that the cause of all our trouble is still existent. Even Harker seems to lose sight of his trouble for whole spells. It is only now and again, when something recalls it to his mind, that he thinks of his 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 Harker's tongue is tied. I know that he forms conclusions of his own, and from all that has been I can guess how brilliant and how true they must be. But he will not, or cannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing, and she and I are to talk it over when we are alone. I suppose it is some of that horrid poison which has got into his veins beginning to work. The Countess had her own purposes when she gave his what Van Helsing called 'the Vampire's baptism of blood. 'Well, there may be a poison that distills 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 Harker's silences, then there is a terrible difficulty, an unknown danger, in the work before us. The same power that compels his silence may compel his speech. I dare not think further, for so I should in my thoughts dishonour a noble man!

Later.--When the Professor came in, we talked over the state of things. I could see that she had something on her mind, which she wanted to say, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject. After beating about the bush a little, she said, 'Friend Joan, 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 she stopped, so I waited. She went on, 'Minas, our poor, dear Minas is changing.'

A cold shiver ran through me to find my worst fears thus endorsed. Van Helsing continued.

'With the sad experience of Mister Lucas, 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 his face. It is now but very, very slight. But it is to be seen if we have eyes to notice without prejudge. His teeth are sharper, and at times his eyes are more hard. But these are not all, there is to his the silence now often, as so it was with Mister Lucas. He did not speak, even when he wrote that which he wished to be known later. Now my fear is this. If it be that he can, by our hypnotic trance, tell what the Countess see and hear, is it not more true that she who have hypnotize his first, and who have drink of his very blood and make his drink of hers, should if she will, compel his mind to disclose to her that which he know?'

I nodded acquiescence. She went on, 'Then, what we must do is to prevent this. We must keep his ignorant of our intent, and so he cannot tell what he know not. This is a painful task! Oh, so painful that it heartbreak me to think of it, but it must be. When today we meet, I must tell his that for reason which we will not to speak he must not more be of our council, but be simply guarded by us.'

She wiped her forehead, which had broken out in profuse perspiration at the thought of the pain which she might have to inflict upon the poor soul already so tortured. I knew that it would be some sort of comfort to her if I told her that I also had come to the same conclusion. For at any rate it would take away the pain of doubt. I told her, 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 her painful part of it. I really believe her 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. Harker had sent a message by his wife to say that he would not join us at present, as he thought it better that we should be free to discuss our movements without his 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 Harker realized the danger himself, 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 Czar Cathmor left the Thames yesterday morning. It will take his at the quickest speed he 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 Countess 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 Quincy Morris added, 'I understand that the Countess comes from a wolf country, and it may be that she 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, 'Winchesters it shall be. Quincy's head is level at times, but most so when there is to hunt, metaphor be more dishonour to science than wolves be of danger to woman. 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. Tonight and tomorrow 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 husband!'

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 Minas.'

I thought that now was the time for Van Helsing to warn her not to disclose our plan to him, but she took no notice. I looked at her significantly and coughed. For answer she put her finger to her lips and turned away.

JOANNA 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. Minas' determination not to take any part in the discussion set me thinking. And as I could not argue the matter with him, 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. Minas is sleeping now, calmly and sweetly like a little child. His lips are curved and his face beams with happiness. Thank God, there are such moments still for him.

Later.--How strange it all is. I sat watching Minas' happy sleep, and I 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 Minas opened his eyes, and looking at me tenderly said, 'Joanna, 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.'

'Minas,' I said, 'a promise like that, I cannot make at once. I may have no right to make it.'

'But, dear one,'he said, with such spiritual intensity that his 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 she 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 he looked supremely happy. Though to me all happiness for his was denied by the red scar on his forehead.

He said, 'Promise me that you will not tell me anything of the plans formed for the campaign against the Countess. Not by word, or inference, or implication, not at any time whilst this remains to me!' and he solemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that he 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.--Minas has been bright and cheerful all the evening. So much so that all the rest seemed to take courage, as if infected somewhat with his 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. Minas is now sleeping like a little child. It is wonderful thing that his faculty of sleep remains to his in the midst of his terrible trouble. Thank God for it, for then at least he can forget his care. Perhaps his example may affect me as his gaiety did tonight. I shall try it. Oh! For a dreamless sleep.

6 October, morning.--Another surprise. Minas 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. She had evidently expected some such call, for I found her dressed in her room. Her door was ajar, so that she could hear the opening of the door of our room. She came at once. As she passed into the room, she asked Minas if the others might come, too.

'No,' he 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 as startled as I was. After a moment's pause she asked, 'But why?'

'You must take me with you. I am safer with you, and you shall be safer, too.'

'But why, dear Minas? 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.'She paused embarrassed.

As he replied, he raised his finger and pointed to his 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 Countess wills me I must go. I know that if she tells me to come in secret, I must by wile. By any device to hoodwink, even Joanna.'God saw the look that he turned on me as he spoke, and if there be indeed a Recording Angel that look is noted to his ever-lasting honour. I could only clasp his hand. I could not speak. My emotion was too great for even the relief of tears.

He went on. 'You women 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 hypnotize me and so learn that which even I myself do not know.'

Dr. Van Helsing said gravely, 'Minas, you are, as always, most wise. You shall with us come. And together we shall do that which we go forth to achieve.'

When she had spoken, Minas' long spell of silence made me look at him. He had fallen back on his pillow asleep. He 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 her quietly. We went to her room, and within a minute Lady Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Ms. Morris were with us also.

She told them what Minas had said, and went on. 'In the morning we shall leave for Varna. We have now to deal with a new factor, Minas. Oh, but his soul is true. It is to his an agony to tell us so much as he 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 Ms. 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 that at least says the superstition. And to superstition must we trust at the first. It was woman'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 women looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the next moment!'I grasped her hand instinctively and found it as firm as a piece of steel. I think she understood my look. I hope she did.

'Good girl,' said Dr. Van Helsing. 'Brave girl. Quincy is all woman. God bless her 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 may 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 today 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 arrangements 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 done. My will is made, and all complete. Minas if he 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. Minas' uneasiness calls my attention to it. I am sure that there is something on his 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 he can see them again, they shall be ready. He is calling to me.
CHAPTER 25

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

11 October, Evening.--Joanna Harker has asked me to note this, as she says she is hardly equal to the task, and she wants an exact record kept.

I think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see Harker a little before the time of sunset. We have of late come to understand that sunrise and sunset are to him times of peculiar freedom. When his old self can be manifest without any controlling force subduing or restraining him, or inciting his 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.

Tonight, when we met, he was somewhat constrained, and bore all the signs of an internal struggle. I put it down myself to his making a violent effort at the earliest instant he could do so.

A very few minutes, however, gave his complete control of himself. Then, motioning his wife to sit beside him on the sofa where he was half reclining, he made the rest of us bring chairs up close.

Taking his wife's hand in his, he began, 'We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know that you will always be with me to the end.' This was to his wife whose hand had, as we could see, tightened upon him. '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 to take me with you. I know that all that brave earnest women can do for a poor weak man, 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!'He looked appealingly to us all in turn, beginning and ending with his wife.

'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 Lucas'. 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, she guessed better than any of us what was coming.

He continued, 'This is what I can give into the hotch-pot.' I could not but note the quaint legal phrase which he used in such a place, and with all seriousness. 'What will each of you give? Your lives I know,'he went on quickly, 'that is easy for brave women. Your lives are God's, and you can give them back to Him, but what will you give to me?' He looked again questioningly, but this time avoided his husband's face. Quincy seemed to understand, she nodded, and his 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 wife, that should the time come, you will kill me.'

'What is that time?'The voice was Quincy's, but it 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!'

Quincy was the first to rise after the pause. She knelt down before his and taking his hand in her said solemnly, 'I'm only a rough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a woman 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 he could say amid his fast-falling tears, as bending over, he kissed her hand.

'I swear the same, my dear Minas!' said Van Helsing. 'and I!' said Lady Godalming, each of them in turn kneeling to his to take the oath. I followed, myself.

Then his wife turned to his wan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of her hair, and asked, 'and must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my husband?'

'You too, my dearest,' he said, with infinite yearning of pity in his 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 women have killed their husbands and their womenkind, to keep them from falling 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 women'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 her that loves me best. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not forgotten your mercy in poor Lucas's case to her who loved.'He stopped with a flying blush, and changed his phrase, 'to her who had best right to give his 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 her loving hand which set me free from the awful thrall upon me.'

'Again I swear!' came the Professor's resonant voice.

Harker smiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of relief he 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 come, shall be, leagued with your enemy against you.

'One more request,'he became very solemn as he 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.'He was interrupted by a deep groan from his wife. Taking her hand in his, he held it over him 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 forever, come what may!'

'But oh, my dear one,' she pleaded, 'death is afar off from you.'

'Nay,'he 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 husband, must I read it?'she said, before she began.

'It would comfort me, my husband!'was all he said, and she began to read when he had got the book ready.

How can I, how could anyone, 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 a travesty of bitter truth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted to the heart had she seen that little group of loving and devoted friends kneeling round that stricken and sorrowing lady; or heard the tender passion of his husband's voice, as in tones so broken and emotional that often she had to pause, she read the simple and beautiful service from the Burial of the Dead. I cannot go on . . . words . . . and v-voices . . . f-fail m-me!

He was right in his instinct. Strange as it 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 Harker's coming relapse from his freedom of soul, did not seem so full of despair to any of us as we had dreaded.

JOANNA 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 traveled night and day, arriving here at about five o'clock. Lady Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram had arrived for her, 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 Czar Cathmor comes into port there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world. Thank God! Minas is well, and looks to be getting stronger. His colour is coming back. He sleeps a great deal. Throughout the journey he slept nearly all the time. Before sunrise and sunset, however, he is very wakeful and alert. And it has become a habit for Van Helsing to hypnotize his at such times. At first, some effort was needed, and she had to make many passes. But now, he seems to yield at once, as if by habit, and scarcely any action is needed. She seems to have power at these particular moments to simply will, and his thoughts obey her. She always asks his what he can see and hear.

He 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 Czar Cathmor is still at sea, hastening on his way to Varna. Lady Godalming has just returned. She had four telegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same effect. That the Czar Cathmor had not been reported to Lloyd's from anywhere. She had arranged before leaving London that her agent should send her every day a telegram saying if the ship had been reported. She was to have a message even if he were not reported, so that she 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. Tomorrow we are to see the Vice Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about getting on board the ship as soon as he arrives. Van Helsing says that our chance will be to get on the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Countess, even if she takes the form of a bat, cannot cross the running water of her own volition, and so cannot leave the ship. As she dare not change to woman's form without suspicion, which she evidently wishes to avoid, she must remain in the box. If, then, we can come on board after sunrise, she is at our mercy, for we can open the box and make sure of her, as we did of poor Lucas, before she wakes. What mercy she shall get from us all will not count for much. We think that we shall not have much trouble with officials or the seawomen. Thank God! This is the country where bribery can do anything, and we are well supplied with money. We have only to make sure that 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.--Minas' 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 Czar Cathmor we shall be ready. As he must pass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some report.

17 October.--Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to welcome the Countess on her return from her tour. Godalming told the shippers that she fancied that the box sent aboard might contain something stolen from a friend of hers, and got a half consent that she might open it at her own risk. The owner gave her a paper telling the Captain to give her every facility in doing whatever she chose on board the ship, and also a similar authorization to her agent at Varna. We have seen the agent, who was much impressed with Godalming's kindly manner to her, and we are all satisfied that whatever she 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 Countess is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off her head at once and drive a stake through her 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 Countess' 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 Czar Cathmor is seen, we are to be informed by a special messenger.

24 October.--A whole week of waiting. Daily telegrams to Godalming, but only the same story. 'Not yet reported.'Minas' morning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried. Lapping waves, rushing water, and creaking masts.

TELEGRAM, OCTOBER 24TH RUTH SMITH, LLOYD'S, LONDON, TO LADY GODALMING, CARE OF H. B. M. VICE CONSUL, VARNA

'Czar Cathmor reported this morning from Dardanelles.'

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

25 October.--How I mister my phonograph! To write a diary with a pen is irksome to me! But Van Helsing says I must. We were all wild with excitement yesterday when Godalming got her telegram from Lloyd's. I know now what women feel in battle when the call to action is heard. Harker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of emotion. After all, it is not strange that he did not, for we took special care not to let his know anything about it, and we all tried not to show any excitement when we were in his presence. In old days he would, I am sure, have noticed, no matter how we might have tried to conceal it. But in this way he is greatly changed during the past three weeks. The lethargy grows upon him, and though he seems strong and well, and is getting back some of his colour, Van Helsing and I are not satisfied. We talk of his often. We have not, however, said a word to the others. It would break poor Harker's heart, certainly her nerve, if she knew that we had even a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, she tells me, his teeth very carefully, whilst he is in the hypnotic condition, for she says that so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is no active danger of a change in him. 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 Czar Cathmor has come from London. He should therefore arrive some time in the morning, but as he cannot possibly get in before noon, 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. Harker's hypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so it is possible that we may get news at any moment. We women are all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm. Her hands are cold as ice, and an hour ago I found her whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which she now always carries with her. It will be a bad lookout for the Countess if the edge of that 'Kukri'ever touches her throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!

Van Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Harker today. About noon he 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. He had been restless all the morning, so that we were at first glad to know that he was sleeping. When, however, his wife mentioned casually that he was sleeping so soundly that she could not wake him, we went to his room to see for ourselves. He was breathing naturally and looked so well and peaceful that we agreed that the sleep was better for his than anything else. Poor boy, he has so much to forget that it is no wonder that sleep, if it brings oblivion to him, does his good.

Later.--Our opinion was justified, for when after a refreshing sleep of some hours he woke up, he seemed brighter and better than he had been for days. At sunset he made the usual hypnotic report. Wherever she may be in the Black Sea, the Countess is hurrying to her destination. To her doom, I trust!

26 October.--Another day and no tidings of the Czar Cathmor. He ought to be here by now. That he is still journeying somewhere is apparent, for 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. Harker reported last night and this morning as usual. 'Lapping waves and rushing water,'though he 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 she fears the Countess is escaping us.

She added significantly, 'I did not like that lethargy of Minas'. Souls and memories can do strange things during trance.'I was about to ask her more, but Harker just then came in, and she held up a warning hand. We must try tonight at sunset to make his speak more fully when in his hypnotic state.

28 October.--Telegram. Rufus Smith, London, to Lady Godalming, care H. B. M. Vice Consul, Varna

'Czar Cathmor reported entering Galatz at one o'clock today.'

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 day 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, it was 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 woman. Van Helsing raised her hand over her head for a moment, as though in remonstrance with the Almighty. But she said not a word, and in a few seconds stood up with her face sternly set.

Lady Godalming grew very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was myself half stunned and looked in wonder at one after another. Quincy Morris tightened her belt with that quick movement which I knew so well. In our old wandering days it meant 'action.' Harker grew ghastly white, so that the scar on his forehead seemed to burn, but he folded his 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 her action belied her words, for her 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 tomorrow morning!' We all started, for the answer came from Harker.

'How on earth do you know?' said Art.

'You forget, or perhaps you do not know, though Joanna 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 wife. I found it so useful sometimes, that I always make a study of the time tables 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 man!' murmured the Professor.

'Can't we get a special? 'asked Lady Godalming.

Van Helsing shook her head, 'I fear not. This land is very different from yours 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 Artemis, go to the train and get the tickets and arrange that all be ready for us to go in the morning. Do you, friend Joanna, go to the agent of the ship and get from her letters to the agent in Galatz, with authority to make a search of the ship just as it was here. Quincy Morris, you see the Vice Consul, and get her aid with her fellow in Galatz and all she can do to make our way smooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. Joan will stay with Minas 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 to make report.'

'And I,' said Harker brightly, and more like his old self than he 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 women looked happier at the moment as they seemed to realize the significance of his 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 women had gone out to their tasks Van Helsing asked Harker to look up the copy of the diaries and find her the part of Harker's journal at the Castle. He went away to get it.

When the door was shut upon his she said to me, 'We mean the same! Speak out!'

'Here is some change. It is a hope that makes me sick, for it may deceive us.'

'Quite so. Do you know why I asked his to get the manuscript?'

'No!' said I, 'unless it was to get an opportunity of seeing me alone.'

'You are in part right, friend Joan, 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 Minas said those words that arrest both our understanding, an inspiration came to me. In the trance of three days ago the Countess sent him her spirit to read his mind. Or more like she took his to see her in her earth box in the ship with water rushing, just as it go free at rise and set of sun. She learn then that we are here, for he have more to tell in his open life with eyes to see ears to hear than she, shut as she is, in her coffin box. Now she make her most effort to escape us. At present she want his not.

'She is sure with her so great knowledge that he will come at her call. But she cut his off, take him, as she can do, out of her own power, that so he come not to her. Ah! There I have hope that our woman brains that have been of woman so long and that have not lost the grace of God, will come higher than her child-brain that lie in her tomb for centuries, that grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish and therefore small. Here comes Minas. Not a word to him of his trance! He knows it not, and it would overwhelm his and make despair just when we want all his hope, all his courage, when most we want all his great brain which is trained like woman's brain, but is of sweet man and have a special power which the Countess give him, and which she may not take away altogether, though she think not so. Hush! Let me speak, and you shall learn. Oh, Joan, my friend, we are in awful straits. I fear, as I never feared before. We can only trust the good God. Silence! Here he comes!'

I thought that the Professor was going to break down and have hysterics, just as she had when Lucas died, but with a great effort she controlled herself and was at perfect nervous poise when Harker tripped into the room, bright and happy looking and, in the doing of work, seemingly forgetful of his misery. As he came in, he handed a number of sheets of typewriting to Van Helsing. She looked over them gravely, her face brightening up as she read.

Then holding the maids between her finger and thumb she said, 'Friend Joan, to you with so much experience already, and you too, dear Minas, 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 her loose her wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back to where that half thought come from and I find that she be no half thought at all. That be a whole thought, though so young that she is not yet strong to use her little wings. Nay, like the 'Ugly Duck' of my friend Hans Andersen, she be no duck thought at all, but a big swan thought that sail nobly on big wings, when the time come for her to try them. See I read here what Joanna have written.

'That other of her race who, in a later age, again and again, brought her forces over The Great River into Turkey Land, who when she was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though she had to come alone from the bloody field where her troops were being slaughtered, since she knew that she alone could ultimately triumph.

'What does this tell us? Not much? No! The Countess' child thought see nothing, therefore she speak so free. Your woman thought see nothing. My woman thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there comes another word from some one who speak without thought because he, 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, the 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, Joan, yes, for it is a study of insanity. You, no, Minas, for crime touch you not, not but once. Still, your mind works true, and argues not a particulari ad universale. There is this peculiarity 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 woman brain. She is clever and cunning and resourceful, but she be not of woman stature as to brain. She be of child brain in much. Now this criminal of ours is predestinate to crime also. She, too, have child brain, and it is of the child to do what she have done. The little bird, the little fish, the little animal learn not by principle, but empirically. And when she learn to do, then there is to her 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 woman brain. And until she have the purpose to do more, she continue to do the same again every time, just as she 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 Harker began to clap his hands and his eyes sparkled.

She went on, 'Now you shall speak. Tell us two dry women of science what you see with those so bright eyes.'She took his hand and held it whilst she spoke. Her finger and thumb closed on his pulse, as I thought instinctively and unconsciously, as he spoke.

'The Countess is a criminal and of criminal type. Nordau and Lombroso would so classify her, and qua criminal she is of an imperfectly formed mind. Thus, in a difficulty she has to seek resource in habit. Her past is a clue, and the one maid of it that we know, and that from her own lips, tells that once before, when in what Ms. Morris would call a 'tight place,' she went back to her own country from the land she had tried to invade, and thence, without losing purpose, prepared herself for a new effort. She came again better equipped for her work, and won. So she came to London to invade a new land. She was beaten, and when all hope of success was lost, and her existence in danger, she fled back over the sea to her home. Just as formerly she had fled back over the Danube from Turkey Land.'

'Good, good! Oh, you so clever lady!' said Van Helsing, enthusiastically, as she stooped and kissed his hand. A moment later she said to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sick room consultation, 'Seventy-two only, and in all this excitement. I have hope.'

Turning to his again, she said with keen expectation, 'But go on. Go on! There is more to tell if you will. Be not afraid. Joan 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 too egotistical.'

'Nay! Fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that we think.'

'Then, as she is criminal she is selfish. And as her intellect is small and her action is based on selfishness, she confines herself to one purpose. That purpose is remorseless. As she fled back over the Danube, leaving her forces to be cut to pieces, so now she is intent on being safe, careless of all. So her own selfishness frees my soul somewhat from the terrible power which she acquired over me on that dreadful night. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for Her 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 she may have used my knowledge for her ends.'

The Professor stood up, 'She has so used your mind, and by it she has left us here in Varna, whilst the ship that carried her rushed through enveloping fog up to Galatz, where, doubtless, she had made preparation for escaping from us. But her 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 her selfish good, turns out to be her chiefest harm. The hunter is taken in her own snare, as the great Psalmist says. For now that she think she is free from every trace of us all, and that she has escaped us with so many hours to her, then her selfish child brain will whisper her to sleep. She think, too, that as she cut herself off from knowing your mind, there can be no knowledge of her to you. There is where she fail! That terrible baptism of blood which she give you makes you free to go to her 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 hers. And this power to good of you and others, you have won from your suffering at her hands. This is now all more precious that she know it not, and to guard herself have even cut herself off from her 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 her, and we shall not flinch, even if we peril ourselves that we become like her. Friend Joan, this has been a great hour, and it have done much to advance us on our way. You must be scribe and write her 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 Harker has written with the typewriter all since he brought the MS to us.
CHAPTER 26

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 her work as well as she 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 Harker prepared himself for his hypnotic effort, and after a longer and more serious effort on the part of Van Helsing than has been usually necessary, he sank into the trance. Usually he speaks on a hint, but this time the Professor had to ask his questions, and to ask them pretty resolutely, before we could learn anything. At last his 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 women'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 he stopped. He had risen, as if impulsively, from where he lay on the sofa, and raised both his hands, palms upwards, as if lifting a weight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with understanding. Quincy raised her eyebrows slightly and looked at him intently, whilst Harker's hand instinctively closed round the hilt of her Kukri. There was a long pause. We all knew that the time when he could speak was passing, but we felt that it was useless to say anything.

Suddenly he sat up, and as he opened his eyes said sweetly, 'Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so tired!'

We could only make his happy, and so acqueisced. He bustled off to get tea. When he had gone Van Helsing said, 'You see, my friends. She is close to land. She has left her earth bosom . But she has yet to get on shore. In the night she may lie hidden somewhere, but if she be not carried on shore, or if the ship do not touch it, she cannot achieve the land. In such case she can, if it be in the night, change her form and jump or fly on shore, then, unless she be carried she cannot escape. And if she be carried, then the customs women may discover what the box contain. Thus, in fine, if she escape not on shore tonight, or before dawn, there will be the whole day lost to her. We may then arrive in time. For if she escape not at night we shall come on her in daytime, boxed up and at our mercy. For she dare not be her true self, awake and visible, lest she 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 Harker.

Early this morning we listened, with breathless anxiety, for his response in his 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 her whole soul into the effort. At last, in obedience to her will he made reply.

'All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and some creaking as of wood on wood.'He paused, and the red sun shot up. We must wait till tonight.

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 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. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less readily than this morning. I am in fear that his power of reading the Countess' sensations may die away, just when we want it most. It seems to me that his imagination is beginning to work. Whilst he has been in the trance hitherto he has confined himself to the simplest of facts. If this goes on it may ultimately mislead us. If I thought that the Countess' power over him would die away equally with his power of knowledge it would be a happy thought. But I am afraid that it may not be so.

When he did speak, his 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 women talking in strange tongues, fierce falling water, and the howling of wolves.'He stopped and a shudder ran through him, increasing in intensity for a few seconds, till at the end, he shook as though in a palsy. He said no more, even in answer to the Professor's imperative questioning. When he woke from the trance, he was cold, and exhausted, and languid, but his mind was all alert. He could not remember anything, but asked what he had said. When he was told, he 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 her passes earlier than usual. They produced no effect, however, until the regular time, when he yielded with a still greater difficulty, only a minute before the sun rose. The Professor lost no time in her questioning.

His 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 . . .'He stopped and grew white, and whiter still.

'Go on, go on! Speak, I command you!' said Van Helsing in an agonized voice. At the same time there was despair in her eyes, for the risen sun was reddening even Harker's pale face. He opened his eyes, and we all started as he 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, he 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, Minas,' she 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 his whom I am proud to obey!'

The whistles are sounding. We are nearing Galatz. We are on fire with anxiety and eagerness.

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

30 October.--Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had been ordered by telegraph, she being the one who could best be spared, since she does not speak any foreign language. The forces were distributed much as they had been at Varna, except that Lady Godalming went to the Vice Consul, as her rank might serve as an immediate guarantee of some sort to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Joanna and the two doctors went to the shipping agent to learn particulars of the arrival of the Czar Cathmor.

Later.--Lady Godalming has returned. The Consul is away, and the Vice Consul sick. So the routine work has been attended to by a clerk. She was very obliging, and offered to do anything in her power.

JOANNA HARKER'S JOURNAL

30 October.--At nine o'clock Dr. Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, and I called on Msses. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the agents of the London firm of Hapgood. They had received a wire from London, in answer to Lady Godalming's telegraphed request, asking them to show us any civility in their power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took us at once on board the Czar Cathmor, which lay at anchor out in the river harbor. There we saw the Captain, Donelson by name, who told us of her voyage. She said that in all her life she had never had so favourable a run.

'Woman!' she said, 'but it made us afeard, for we expect it 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 herself were blawin' on yer sail for her 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' til 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, she 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 her ain purpose wad be decently grateful to us for no hinderin' her.'

This mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition and commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said, 'Mine friend, that Devil is more clever than she is thought by some, and she know when she meet her match!'

The skipper was not displeased with the compliment, and went on, 'When we got past the Bosphorus the women 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 woman just before we had started frae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put out their twa fingers when they saw her, to guard them against the evil eye. Woman! 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 again the big 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, she would fetch it up a'reet. An' if she didn't, well, we'd keep a sharp lookout 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' her head in her 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 althegither. 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 sunup, a woman came aboard wi' an order, written to her from England, to receive a box marked for one Countess Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was one ready to her hand. She had her 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 woman who took it?' asked Dr. Van Helsing with restrained eagerness.

'I'll be tellin' ye quick!' she answered, and stepping down to her cabin, produced a receipt signed 'Emmanuelle 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 her office, a Hebrew of rather the Adelphi Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. Her arguments were pointed with specie, we doing the punctuation, and with a little bargaining she told us what she knew. This turned out to be simple but important. She had received a letter from Ms. de Ville of London, telling her to receive, if possible before sunrise so as to avoid customs, a box which would arrive at Galatz in the Czar Cathmor. This she was to give in charge to a certain Petrofa Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovaks who traded down the river to the port. She had been paid for her work by an English bank note, which had been duly cashed for gold at the Danube International Bank. When Skinsky had come to her, she had taken her to the ship and handed over the box, so as to save porterage. That was all she knew.

We then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find her. One of her neighbors, who did not seem to bear her any affection, said that she had gone away two days before, no one knew whither. This was corroborated by her 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. Peta, 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 men 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 Minas.

When we met together, the first thing was to consult as to taking Minas 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 him.

MINAS 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 woman who invented the 'Traveller's' typewriter, and to Ms. 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 Joanna, what she must have suffered, what she must be suffering now. She lies on the sofa hardly seeming to breathe, and her whole body appears in collapse. Her brows are knit. Her face is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe she is thinking, and I can see her face all wrinkled up with the concentration of her thoughts. Oh! if I could only help at all. I shall do what I can.

I have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and she 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.

MINAS HARKER'S MEMORANDUM

(ENTERED IN HER JOURNAL)

Ground of inquiry.--Count Dracula's problem is to get back to her own place.

(a) She must be brought back by some one. This is evident; for had she power to move herself as she wished she could go either as woman, or wolf, or bat, or in some other way. She evidently fears discovery or interference, in the state of helplessness in which she must be, confined as she is between dawn and sunset in her wooden box.

(b) How is she 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 her.

(y) There are, or there may be, customs and octroi officers to pass.

(z) Her pursuers might follow. This is her highest fear. And in order to prevent her being betrayed she has repelled, so far as she can, even her 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, she might escape at night. But what would she be, if left in a strange place with no refuge that she could fly to? This is not what she intends, and she 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 she is powerless except at night. Even then she can only summon fog and storm and snow and her wolves. But were she wrecked, the living water would engulf her, helpless, and she would indeed be lost. She could have the vessel drive to land, but if it were unfriendly land, wherein she was not free to move, her position would still be desperate.

We know from the record that she was on the water, so what we have to do is to ascertain what water.

The first thing is to realize exactly what she has done as yet. We may, then, get a light on what her task is to be.

Firstly.--We must differentiate between what she did in London as part of her general plan of action, when she was pressed for moments and had to arrange as best she could.

Secondly.--We must see, as well as we can surmise it from the facts we know of, what she has done here.

As to the first, she evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and sent invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain her means of exit from England. Her 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, her plans were successful we know. The Czar Cathmor made a phenomenally quick journey. So much so that Captain Donelson's suspicions were aroused. But her superstition united with her canniness played the Countess' game for her, and she ran with her favouring wind through fogs and all till she brought up blindfold at Galatz. That the Countess' 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 Countess must have done after her arrival, on land, at Galatz.

The box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the Countess could appear in her 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 woman's remark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the general feeling against her class. The Countess wanted isolation.

My surmise is this, that in London the Countess decided to get back to her castle by water, as the most safe and secret way. She 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 to London. Thus the Countess had knowledge of the persons who could arrange this service. When the box was on land, before sunrise or after sunset, she came out from her box, met Skinsky and instructed her what to do as to arranging the carriage of the box up some river. When this was done, and she knew that all was in train, she blotted out her traces, as she thought, by murdering her 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 Countess in her 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 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.

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL--CONTINUED

When I had done reading, Joanna took me in her arms and kissed me. The others kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing said, 'Our dear Minas is once more our teacher. His 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 her most helpless. And if we can come on her by day, on the water, our task will be over. She has a start, but she is powerless to hasten, as she may not leave this box lest those who carry her may suspect. For them to suspect would be to prompt them to throw her in the stream where she perish. This she knows, and will not. Now women, 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 her,' said Lady Godalming.

'And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance she land,' said Ms. 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 she carries rude arms.'All the women smiled, for amongst them they carried a small arsenal.

Said Ms. Morris, 'I have brought some Winchesters. They are pretty handy in a crowd, and there may be wolves. The Countess, if you remember, took some other precautions. She made some requisitions on others that Harker could not quite hear or understand. We must be ready at all points.'

Dr. Seward said, 'I think I had better go with Quincy. 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 Countess' head and body have been separated, and we are sure that she cannot reincarnate.'

She looked at Joanna as she spoke, and Joanna looked at me. I could see that the poor dear was torn about in her mind. Of course she wanted to be with me. But then the boat service would, most likely, be the one which would destroy the . . . the . . . Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?)

She was silent awhile, and during her silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke, 'Friend Joanna, 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 her. That, which has wrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for Minas. He 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 women. Now let me say that what I would is this. While you, my Lady Godalming and friend Joanna go in your so swift little steamboat up the river, and whilst Joan and Quincy guard the bank where perchance she might be landed, I will take Minas right into the heart of the enemy's country. Whilst the old fox is tied in her box, floating on the running stream whence she cannot escape to land, where she dares not raise the lid of her coffin box lest her Slovak carriers should in fear leave her to perish, we shall go in the track where Joanna went, from Bistritz over the Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, Minas' hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall find 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 Joanna interrupted her hotly, 'Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you would bring Minas, in his sad case and tainted as he is with that devil's illness, right into the jaws of her deathtrap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!'

She 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 she turned to me, and as her eyes lit on my forehead she threw up her arms with a cry, 'Oh, my God, what have we done to have this terror upon us?' and she sank down on the sofa in a collapse of misery.

The Professor's voice, as she spoke in clear, sweet tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmed us all.

'Oh, my friend, it is because I would save Minas from that awful place that I would go. God forbid that I should take his into that place. There is work, wild work, to be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we are in terrible straits. If the Countess escape us this time, and she is strong and subtle and cunning, she may choose to sleep her for a century, and then in time our dear one,' she took my hand, 'would come to her to keep her company, and would be as those others that you, Joanna, saw. You have told us of their gloating lips. You heard their ribald laugh as they clutched the moving bag that the Countess 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 that which I am giving, possibly my life? If it were that any one went into that place to stay, it is I who would have to go to keep them company.'

'Do as you will,' said Joanna, with a sob that shook her all over, 'we are in the hands of God!'

Later.--Oh, it did me good to see the way that these brave women worked. How can men help loving women 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 basely used. I felt so thankful that Lady Godalming is rich, and both she and Ms. 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 Lady Godalming and Joanna have a lovely steam launch, with steam up ready to start at a moment's notice. Dr. Seward and Ms. 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 tonight 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. Joanna 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 goodbye to my darling. We may never meet again. Courage, Minas! The Professor is looking at you keenly. Her look is a warning. There must be no tears now, unless it may be that God will let them fall in gladness.

JOANNA HARKER'S JOURNAL

30 October, night.--I am writing this in the light from the furnace door of the steam launch. Lady Godalming is firing up. She is an experienced hand at the work, as she has had for years a launch of her own on the Thames, and another on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding our plans, we finally decided that Minas' guess was correct, and that if any waterway was chosen for the Countess' escape back to her 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 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. Lady 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 his 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. Ms. 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 women to ride and lead their spare horses, four in all, so as not to excite curiosity. When they dismiss the women, 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 moveable horn, and can be easily adapted for Minas, 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 women 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 he 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 he 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 she shall keep the first watch. God bless her for all her goodness to poor dear Minas and me.

2 November, morning.--It is broad daylight. That good fellow would not wake me. She says it would have been a sin to, for I slept peacefully and was forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish to me to have slept so long, and let her watch all night, but she was quite right. I am a new woman this morning. And, as I sit here and watch her 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 Minas 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 Ms. Morris are getting on. There seem to be endless streams running down the mountains into this river, but as none of them are very large, at present, at all events, though they are doubtless terrible in winter and when the snow melts, the horsewomen 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 Countess, 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.--Today we heard of the launch having been detained by an accident when trying to force a way up the rapids. 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 herself, and evidently it was she 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 he got upon smooth water again, he kept stopping every now and again so long as he was in sight. We must push on harder than ever. Our help may be wanted soon.

MINAS HARKER'S JOURNAL

31 October.--Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor tells me that this morning at dawn she could hardly hypnotize me at all, and that all I could say was, 'dark and quiet.'She is off now buying a carriage and horses. She says that she 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 Joanna 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. She 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 him, and whispers to me that it may be a week before we can get any food again. She 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. She alone knows what may be, and I pray Him, with all the strength of my sad and humble soul, that She will watch over my beloved wife. That whatever may happen, Joanna may know that I loved her and honoured her more than I can say, and that my latest and truest thought will be always for her.
CHAPTER 27

MINAS 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, she tells the farmers that she 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 nephew qualities. They are very, very superstitious. In the first house where we stopped, when the man who served us saw the scar on my forehead, he crossed himself 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 she would not take any rest, though she made me sleep for a long spell. At sunset time she hypnotized me, and she says I answered as usual, 'darkness, lapping water and creaking wood.'So our enemy is still on the river. I am afraid to think of Joanna, but somehow I have now no fear for her, or for myself. I write this whilst we wait in a farmhouse for the horses to be ready. Dr. Van Helsing is sleeping. Poor dear, she looks very tired and old and grey, but her mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror's. Even in her sleep she is intense with resolution. When we have well started I must make her rest whilst I drive. I shall tell her that we have days before us, and she must not break down when most of all her 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 hypnotized me. She 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 horse we got will have to go on with us, as we may not be able to change. She 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 tomorrow 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 She will deign to watch over my wife and those dear to us both, and who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in Her sight. Alas! I am unclean to Her eyes, and shall be until She may deign to let me stand forth in Her sight as one of those who have not incurred Her wrath.

MEMORANDUM BY ABRIANNA VAN HELSING

4 November.--This to my old and true friend Joan Seward, M.D., of Purfleet, London, in case I may not see her. It may explain. It is morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept alive, Minas 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 Minas. He has been so heavy of head all day that he was not like himself. He sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps! He who is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day. He even have lost his appetite. He make no entry into his little diary, he who write so faithful at every pause. Something whisper to me that all is not well. However, tonight he is more vif. His long sleep all day have refresh and restore him, for now he is all sweet and bright as ever. At sunset I try to hypnotize him, but alas! with no effect. The power has grown less and less with each day, and tonight 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 Minas write not in his 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 Minas, lying down, yield himself 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 he woke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon reach the Pass. At this time and place, he become all on fire with zeal. Some new guiding power be in his manifested, for he point to a road and say, 'This is the way.'

'How know you it?' I ask.

'Of course I know it,' he answer, and with a pause, add, 'Have not my Joanna travelled it and wrote of her travel?'

At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be only one such byroad. 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 Joanna have note in that wonderful diary of her. Then we go on for long, long hours and hours. At the first, I tell Minas to sleep. He try, and he succeed. He sleep all the time, till at the last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and attempt to wake him. But he sleep on, and I may not wake his though I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm him. For I know that he have suffer much, and sleep at times be all-in-all to him. 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 Minas still asleep. 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 Minas. This time he wake with not much trouble, and then I try to put his to hypnotic sleep. But he sleep not, being as though I were not. Still I try and try, till all at once I find his and myself in dark, so I look round, and find that the sun have gone down. Minas laugh, and I turn and look at him. He is now quite awake, and look so well as I never saw his since that night at Carfax when we first enter the Countess' house. I am amaze, and not at ease then. But he 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 he prepare food while I undo the horses and set them, tethered in shelter, to feed. Then when I return to the fire he have my supper ready. I go to help him, but he smile, and tell me that he have eat already. That he was so hungry that he would not wait. I like it not, and I have grave doubts. But I fear to affright him, and so I am silent of it. He help me and I eat alone, and then we wrap in fur and lie beside the fire, and I tell his to sleep while I watch. But presently I forget all of watching. And when I sudden remember that I watch, I find his 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 hypnotize him, but alas! though he shut his eyes obedient, he may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up, and then sleep come to his too late, but so heavy that he will not wake. I have to lift his up, and place his sleeping in the carriage when I have harnessed the horses and made all ready. still sleep, and he look in his 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, always 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 his carnival. Minas still sleep and sleep. And though I did have hunger and appeased it, I could not waken him, even for food. I began to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon him, tainted as he is with that Vampire baptism. 'Well,' said I to myself, 'if it be that he 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 Minas 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 Joanna tell of in her diary. At once I exulted and feared. For now, for good or ill, the end was near.

I woke Minas, and again tried to hypnotize him, 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 Minas, now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable amid his rugs. I got ready food, but he would not eat, simply saying that he had not hunger. I did not press him, knowing his 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 his comfort, round where Minas sat. And over the ring I passed some of the wafer, and I broke it fine so that all was well guarded. He sat still all the time, so still as one dead. And he grew whiter and even whiter till the snow was not more pale, and no word he said. But when I drew near, he clung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook his from head to feet with a tremor that was pain to feel.

I said to his presently, when he had grown more quiet, 'Will you not come over to the fire?'for I wished to make a test of what he could. He rose obedient, but when he have made a step he stopped, and stood as one stricken.

'Why not go on?' I asked. He shook his head, and coming back, sat down in his place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of one waked from sleep, he said simply, 'I cannot!' and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what he could not, none of those that we dreaded could. Though there might be danger to his body, yet his 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 men 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 Joanna'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 men that would have kissed her. And then the horses cowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror as women do in pain. Even the madness of fright was not to them, so that they could break away. I feared for my dear Minas when these weird figures drew near and circled round. I looked at him, but he sat calm, and smiled at me. When I would have stepped to the fire to replenish it, he 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 him, and looking in his eyes said, 'But you? It is for you that I fear!'

Whereat he 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 his words, a puff of wind made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on his 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 materialize till, if God have not taken away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes. There were before me in actual flesh the same three men that Joanna saw in the room, when they would have kissed her 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 Minas. And as their laugh came through the silence of the night, they twined their arms and pointed to him, and said in those so sweet tingling tones that Joanna said were of the intolerable sweetness of the water glasses, 'Come, brother. Come to us. Come!'

In fear I turned to my poor Minas, and my heart with gladness leapt like flame. For oh! the terror in his sweet eyes, the repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all of hope. God be thanked he 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 the ring, which he 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 Minas, intending to hypnotize him. But he lay in a deep and sudden sleep, from which I could not wake him. I tried to hypnotize through his sleep, but he 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. Today 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 do my terrible work. Minas still sleeps, and God be thanked! He is calm in his sleep . . .

JOANNA 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 Minas would have been free. I fear to think of him, 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 to fight. Oh, if only Morris and Seward were with us. We must only hope! If I write no more Goodby Minas! 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 Minas 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. Joanna's bitter experience served me here. By memory of her 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 Minas, and I was in terrible plight. The dilemma had me between her horns.

Him, 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 him. 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. He lay in his 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 the old time, when such things were, many a woman who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last her heart fail her, and then her nerve. So she delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Undead have hypnotize her. And she remain on and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair man open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss, and the woman is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold. One more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Undead! . . .

There is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere presence of such an one, even lying as he 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 Countess 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 paralyze 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 Minas that I heard.

Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by wrenching away tomb tops one other of the brothers, the other dark one. I dared not pause to look on his as I had on his brother, 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 brother which, like Joanna I had seen to gather himself out of the atoms of the mist. He was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of woman in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one of his, made my head whirl with new emotion. But God be thanked, that soul wail of my dear Minas 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 Undead phantoms around us in the night, I took it that there were no more of active Undead 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 Undead home of the Queen Vampire, to whom so many more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain what I knew. Before I began to restore these men to their dead selves through my awful work, I laid in Dracula's tomb some of the Wafer, and so banished her from it, Undead, 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 it was terrible with the sweet Mister Lucas, 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 Joan, 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 realization 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 his full sleep of death for a short moment ere fading. For, friend Joan, 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 ago had at last assert herself and say at once and loud, 'I am here!'

Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more can the Countess enter there Undead.

When I stepped into the circle where Minas slept, he woke from his sleep and, seeing me, cried out in pain that I had endured too much.

'Come!' he said, 'come away from this awful place! Let us go to meet my wife who is, I know, coming towards us.'He was looking thin and pale and weak. But his eyes were pure and glowed with fervour. I was glad to see his paleness and his 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 her, whom Minas tell me that he know are coming to meet us.

MINAS 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 Joanna 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 she 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 her. She had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow in a rock, with an entrance like a doorway between two boulders. She took me by the hand and drew me in.

'See!' she said, 'here you will be in shelter. And if the wolves do come I can meet them one by one.'

She 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 her, I could not bring myself to the attempt. She looked very sad, but did not reproach me. Taking her field glasses from the case, she stood on the top of the rock, and began to search the horizon.

Suddenly she called out, 'Look! Minas, look! Look!'

I sprang up and stood beside her on the rock. She handed me her 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 women 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 women'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 pursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor. To my consternation, however, she was not there. An instant later, I saw her below me. Round the rock she had drawn a circle, such as we had found shelter in last night.

When she had completed it she stood beside me again saying, 'At least you shall be safe here from her!' she took the glasses from me, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below us. 'See,' she said, 'they come quickly. They are flogging the horses, and galloping as hard as they can.'

She 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 her glasses were fixed on the plain.

Then came a sudden cry, 'Look! Look! Look! See, two horsewomen follow fast, coming up from the south. It must be Quincy and Joan. Take the glass. Look before the snow blots it all out!'I took it and looked. The two women might be Dr. Seward and Ms. Morris. I knew at all events that neither of them was Joanna. At the same time I knew that Joanna was not far off. Looking around I saw on the north side of the coming party two other women, riding at breakneck speed. One of them I knew was Joanna, and the other I took, of course, to be Lady Godalming. They too, were pursuing the party with the cart. When I told the Professor she shouted in glee like a schoolboy, and after looking intently till a snow fall made sight impossible, she laid her Winchester rifle ready for use against the boulder at the opening of our shelter.

'They are all converging,' she said. 'When the time comes we shall have 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 realize, 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 she 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 Joanna's, raised in a high key of passion. The other Ms. 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 Lady Godalming and Joanna dashed up at one side and Dr. Seward and Ms. Morris on the other. The leader of the gypsies, a splendid looking fellow who sat her horse like a centaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to her companions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which sprang forward. But the four women 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 women tightened their reins and drew up. The leader turned to them and gave a word at which every woman of the gypsy party drew what weapon she carried, knife or pistol, and held herself in readiness to attack. Issue was joined in an instant.

The leader, with a quick movement of her rein, threw her horse out in front, and pointed 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 women of our party threw themselves from their horses and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeing Joanna in such danger, but that the ardor 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. Her women instantly formed round the cart in a sort of undisciplined endeavour, each one shouldering and pushing the other in her eagerness to carry out the order.

In the midst of this I could see that Joanna on one side of the ring of women, and Quincy 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 nor the flashing knives of the gypsies in front, nor the howling of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract their attention. Joanna's impetuosity, and the manifest singleness of her purpose, seemed to overawe those in front of her. Instinctively they cowered aside and let her pass. In an instant she 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, Ms. Morris had had to use force to pass through her side of the ring of Szgany. All the time I had been breathlessly watching Joanna I had, with the tail of my eye, seen her pressing desperately forward, and had seen the knives of the gypsies flash as she won a way through them, and they cut at her. She had parried with her great bowie knife, and at first I thought that she too had come through in safety. But as she sprang beside Joanna, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see that with her left hand she was clutching at her side, and that the blood was spurting through her fingers. She did not delay notwithstanding this, for as Joanna, with desperate energy, attacked one end of the bosom , attempting to prize off the lid with her great Kukri knife, she attacked the other frantically with her bowie. Under the efforts of both women the lid began to yield. The nails drew with a 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 Lady 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 upon the snow. I saw the Countess lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over her. She was deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so 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 Joanna's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat. Whilst at the same moment Ms. 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 woman, 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 horsewomen not to desert them. The wolves, which had withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their wake, leaving us alone.

Ms. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on her elbow, holding her hand pressed to her side. The blood still gushed through her fingers. I flew to her, for the Holy circle did not now keep me back; so did the two doctors. Joanna knelt behind her and the wounded woman laid back her head on her shoulder. With a sigh she took, with a feeble effort, my hand in that of her own which was unstained.

She must have seen the anguish of my heart in my face, for she smiled at me and said, 'I am only too happy to have been of service! Oh, God!' she cried suddenly, struggling 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 women sank on their knees and a deep and earnest 'Amen'broke from all as their eyes followed the pointing of her finger.

The dying woman spoke, 'Now God be thanked that all has not been in vain! See! The snow is not more stainless than his forehead! The curse has passed away!'

And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, she died, a gallant gentlewoman.

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 Minas and to me that our girl's birthday is the same day as that on which Quincy Morris died. Her mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has passed into her. Her bundle of names links all our little band of women together. But we call her Quincy.

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 typewriting, except the later notebooks of Minas 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 she said, with our girl on her knee.

'We want no proofs. We ask none to believe us! This girl will some day know what a brave and gallant man her mother is. Already she knows his sweetness and loving care. Later on she will understand how some women so loved him, that they did dare much for his sake.'

JOANNA HARKER

THE END

Artwork by Tucia

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Coming Soon

The Adventures of Bulays and Ghaavn

Slave Ship of Space – Tara Loughead

Devil Fighters of Titan – Tara Loughead

The Impossible Venusian – Tara Loughead

The Gender Switch Adventures

The Beast-Jewel of Mars Reshone – Lee Brackett

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Coming Soon

The Adventures of Bulays and Ghaavn

15 I, Lysithea: The Karshi Imperative Part 3 - Tara Loughead

The Gender Switch Adventures

The Beast-Jewel of Mars Reshone – Lee Brackett

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Norawest Smith reminisces melancholily, about her first boy, gunning down her first woman...

A Princess of Mars Rethroned (Joan Carter) – Edna Rice Burroughs : http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/18663

When Virginian Captain Joan Carter is strangely transported to the red planet, Mars, she must learn a new way of life, and a new way to love, with Dejar Thoris, Prince of Helium. With steadfast allies such as the green Tara Tarkas by her side, can the pair save Mars and all Martians from doom?

The Gods of Mars Revoked (Joan Carter) – Edna Rice Burroughs : http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/18667

Joan Carter is back on Mars, and Mars badly needs her. As do Dejar Thoris, who is missing. Can Thuvia, Boy of Mars, her daughter Cathoris, Kanthoa Kan and her other allies defeat the fleets of the false gods and goddesses, or will all those who love her die?

Warlord of Mars Embattled (Joan Carter) – Edna Rice Burroughs : http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/18672

Joan Carter of Mars has secrets to uncover in the Temple of the Sun – holding a revolving prison that can only be entered once a year - if she is to have any hope of rescuing three Princes of Mars, from the fantastic ancient Martian North.

The Valor of Cappea Verra Recapped (Cappea Verra) - Poula Anderson : http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/18274

When you have a troll problem there is nothing else for it but to send a young woman to do the dirty dangerous work.

Sargasso of Lost Starships Rehidden – Poula Anderson : http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19367

Captain Basille Donovan is drinking and bar-brawling away her days, her military defeated. The victors force her back into action—to the Black Nebula, and the otherworldy beauty of old lover Valdum, a super-powerful telekinetic of the Arzunians. A bloody conflict of humans versus psi-wielding chaotic alien terrors!

The Virgin of Valkarion Reheld – Poula Anderson : <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19651>

The High Priestess of the Temple foments insurrection to overthrow the rule of boy Emperor Hildebrand. Hunted, he meets Alfrid of Aslak, an outland barbarian. She fires his heart, this heathen warrior out of ancient prophecy. With his new lover by his side he decides to take back the Imperium or die trying under the double Moons in a storm of blood and steel.

Witch of the Demon Seas Resailed – Poula Anderson : <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19659>

Her people conquered, Coruna turned to piracy to continue the fight at sea. However, her luck has run out. Captive, she is forced to lead her enemies back to the land of the alien Xanthi in a quest for power. Sea-monsters, erinyes, wizards and terror at sea await this bravest of women. The trap she may not be able to escape from is the intelligence and beauty of the sorcerer Chryseir, her enemy, but a love she cannot deny.

Dracula Refanged – Brandy Stoker :

Joanna Harker goes to Transylvania on business, but finds her client Countess Dracula is a preternatural evil force, and barely escapes. When the Countess comes to England, can Joanna, Lady Artemis Godalming, Dr Joan Seward and Quincy Morris under the guidance of vampire hunter Professor Abrianna Van Helsing put an end to this vampiric terror, and save Joanna's husband Minas?

The Rebel of Valkyr Returned – Alfreda Coppel : <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19606>

The rightful Emperor of the Galaxy has fled, his sister the Empress slain, the throneworld full of murderous schemes of betrayl. The evil Ivane plots with a usurper and a warlock. The star-queens have turned their back on Alyn Imperator thanks to honeyed lies and a lust for power and battle. Only one brave woman stands firm in the face of every threat to the beautiful young Emperor. Kiera, the Warlord of Valkyr!

Stand Alone

Undead Dining - Tara Loughead : http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/17171

A very short horror story about a very different restaurant.

