DRACULA
PART 12
CHAPTER
XII
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
18
September.—I drove at once to
Hillingham and arrived early. Keeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue
alone. I knocked gently and rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to
disturb Lucy or her mother, and hoped to only bring a servant to the door.
After a while, finding no response, I knocked and rang again; still no answer.
I cursed the laziness of the servants that they should lie abed at such an
hour—for it was now ten o’clock—and so rang and knocked again, but more
impatiently, but still without response. Hitherto I had blamed only the
servants, but now a terrible fear began to assail me. Was this desolation but
another link in the chain of doom which seemed drawing tight around us? Was it
indeed a house of death to which I had come, too late? I knew that minutes,
even seconds of delay, might mean hours of danger to Lucy, if she had had again
one of those frightful relapses; and I went round the house to try if I could
find by chance an entry anywhere.
I could
find no means of ingress. Every window and door was fastened and locked, and I
returned baffled to the porch. As I did so, I heard the rapid pit-pat of a
swiftly driven horse’s feet. They stopped at the gate, and a few seconds later
I met Van Helsing running up the avenue. When he saw me, he gasped out:—
“Then it
was you, and just arrived. How is she? Are we too late? Did you not get my
telegram?”
I answered
as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only got his telegram early in
the morning, and had not lost a minute in coming here, and that I could not
make any one in the house hear me. He paused and raised his hat as he said
solemnly:—
“Then I
fear we are too late. God’s will be done!” With his usual recuperative energy,
he went on: “Come. If there be no way open to get in, we must make one. Time is
all in all to us now.”
We went
round to the back of the house, where there was a kitchen window. The Professor
took a small surgical saw from his case, and handing it
to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded the window. I attacked them at
once and had very soon cut through three of them. Then with a long, thin knife
we pushed back the fastening of the sashes and opened the window. I helped the
Professor in, and followed him. There was no one in the kitchen or in the
servants’ rooms, which were close at hand. We tried all the rooms as we went
along, and in the dining-room, dimly lit by rays of light through the shutters,
found four servant-women lying on the floor. There was no need to think them dead,
for their stertorous breathing and the acrid smell of laudanum in the room left
no doubt as to their condition. Van Helsing and I looked at each other, and as
we moved away he said: “We can attend to them later.” Then we ascended to
Lucy’s room. For an instant or two we paused at the door to listen, but there
was no sound that we could hear. With white faces and trembling hands, we
opened the door gently, and entered the room.
How shall
I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two women, Lucy and her mother. The
latter lay farthest in, and she was covered with a white sheet, the edge of
which had been blown back by the draught through the broken window, showing the
drawn, white face, with a look of terror fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy,
with face white and still more drawn. The flowers which had been round her neck
we found upon her mother’s bosom, and her throat was bare, showing the two
little wounds which we had noticed before, but looking horribly white and
mangled. Without a word the Professor bent over the bed, his head almost
touching poor Lucy’s breast; then he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one
who listens, and leaping to his feet, he cried out to me:—
“It is not
yet too late! Quick! quick! Bring the brandy!”
I flew
downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell and taste it, lest it,
too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry which I found on the table. The
maids were still breathing, but more restlessly, and I fancied that the
narcotic was wearing off. I did not stay to make sure, but returned to Van
Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on another occasion, on her lips and gums and
on her wrists and the palms of her hands. He said to me:—
“I can do
this, all that can be at the present. You go wake those maids. Flick them in the
face with a wet towel, and flick them hard. Make them get heat and fire and a
warm bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold as that beside her. She will need
be heated before we can do anything more.”
I went at
once, and found little difficulty in waking three of the women. The fourth was
only a young girl, and the drug had evidently affected her more strongly, so I
lifted her on the sofa and let her sleep. The others were dazed at first, but
as remembrance came back to them they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner.
I was stern with them, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that
one life was bad enough to lose, and that if they delayed they would sacrifice
Miss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying, they went about their way, half clad as they
were, and prepared fire and water. Fortunately, the kitchen and boiler fires
were still alive, and there was no lack of hot water. We got a bath and carried
Lucy out as she was and placed her in it. Whilst we were busy chafing her limbs
there was a knock at the hall door. One of the maids ran off, hurried on some
more clothes, and opened it. Then she returned and whispered to us that there
was a gentleman who had come with a message from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her
simply tell him that he must wait, for we could see no one now. She went away
with the message, and, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about him.
I never
saw in all my experience the Professor work in such deadly earnest. I knew—as
he knew—that it was a stand-up fight with death, and in a pause told him so. He
answered me in a way that I did not understand, but with the sternest look that
his face could wear:—
“If that
were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let her fade away into peace,
for I see no light in life over her horizon.” He went on with his work with, if
possible, renewed and more frenzied vigour.
Presently
we both began to be conscious that the heat was beginning to be of some effect.
Lucy’s heart beat a trifle more audibly to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a
perceptible movement. Van Helsing’s face almost beamed, and as we lifted her
from the bath and rolled her in a hot sheet to dry her he said to me:—
“The first
gain is ours! Check to the King!”
We took
Lucy into another room, which had by now been prepared, and laid her in bed and
forced a few drops of brandy down her throat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied a
soft silk handkerchief round her throat. She was still unconscious, and was
quite as bad as, if not worse than, we had ever seen her.
Van
Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay with her and not to
take her eyes off her till we returned, and then beckoned me out of the room.
“We must
consult as to what is to be done,” he said as we descended the stairs. In the
hall he opened the dining-room door, and we passed in, he closing the door
carefully behind him. The shutters had been opened, but the blinds were already
down, with that obedience to the etiquette of death which the British woman of
the lower classes always rigidly observes. The room was, therefore, dimly dark.
It was, however, light enough for our purposes. Van Helsing’s sternness was
somewhat relieved by a look of perplexity. He was evidently torturing his mind
about something, so I waited for an instant, and he spoke:—
“What are
we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must have another transfusion
of blood, and that soon, or that poor girl’s life won’t be worth an hour’s
purchase. You are exhausted already; I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those
women, even if they would have courage to submit. What are we to do for some
one who will open his veins for her?”
“What’s
the matter with me, anyhow?”
The voice
came from the sofa across the room, and its tones brought relief and joy to my
heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris. Van Helsing started angrily at
the first sound, but his face softened and a glad look came into his eyes as I
cried out: “Quincey Morris!” and rushed towards him with outstretched hands.
“What
brought you here?” I cried as our hands met.
“I guess
Art is the cause.”
He handed
me a telegram:—
“Have not
heard from Seward for three days, and am terribly anxious. Cannot leave. Father
still in same condition. Send me word how Lucy is. Do not delay.—Holmwood.”
“I think I
came just in the nick of time. You know you have only to tell me what to do.”
Van
Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking him straight in the eyes as
he said:—
“A brave
man’s blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble. You’re
a man and no mistake. Well, the devil may work against us for all he’s worth,
but God sends us men when we want them.”
Once again
we went through that ghastly operation. I have not the heart to go through with
the details. Lucy had got a terrible shock and it told on her more than before,
for though plenty of blood went into her veins, her body did not respond to the
treatment as well as on the other occasions. Her struggle back into life was
something frightful to see and hear. However, the action
of both heart and lungs improved, and Van Helsing made a subcutaneous injection
of morphia, as before, and with good effect. Her faint became a profound
slumber. The Professor watched whilst I went downstairs with Quincey Morris,
and sent one of the maids to pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting. I left
Quincey lying down after having a glass of wine, and told the cook to get ready
a good breakfast. Then a thought struck me, and I went back to the room where
Lucy now was. When I came softly in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or two of
note-paper in his hand. He had evidently read it, and was thinking it over as
he sat with his hand to his brow. There was a look of grim satisfaction in his
face, as of one who has had a doubt solved. He handed me the paper saying only:
“It dropped from Lucy’s breast when we carried her to the bath.”
When I had
read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and after a pause asked him: “In
God’s name, what does it all mean? Was she, or is she, mad; or what sort of
horrible danger is it?” I was so bewildered that I did not know what to say
more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took the paper, saying:—
“Do not
trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall know and understand
it all in good time; but it will be later. And now what is it that you came to
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 Lucy, if
nothing else did. I know, and you know, and the other doctor who attended her
knows, that Mrs. Westenra had disease of the heart, and we can certify that she
died of it. Let us fill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself
to the registrar and go on to the undertaker.”
“Good, oh
my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she be sad in the foes
that beset her, is at least happy in the friends that love her. One, two,
three, all open their veins for her, besides one old man. Ah yes, I know,
friend John; I am not blind! I love you all the more for it! Now go.”
In the
hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur telling him that Mrs.
Westenra was dead; that Lucy also had been ill, but was now going on better;
and that Van Helsing and I were with her. I told him where I was going, and he
hurried me out, but as I was going said:—
“When you
come back, Jack, may I have two words with you all to
ourselves?” I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty about the
registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come up in the evening
to measure for the coffin and to make arrangements.
When I got
back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him I would see him as soon as I knew
about Lucy, and went up to her room. She was still sleeping, and the Professor
seemingly had not moved from his seat at her side. From his putting his finger
to his lips, I gathered that he expected her to wake before long and was afraid
of forestalling nature. So I went down to Quincey and took him into the
breakfast-room, where the blinds were not drawn down, and which was a little
more cheerful, or rather less cheerless, than the other rooms. When we were
alone, he said to me:—
“Jack
Seward, I don’t want to shove myself in anywhere where I’ve no right to be; but
this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girl and wanted to marry her;
but, although that’s all past and gone, I can’t help feeling anxious about her all
the same. What is it that’s wrong with her? The Dutchman—and a fine old fellow
he is; I can see that—said, that time you two came into the room, that you must
have another transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were
exhausted. Now I know well that you medical men speak in camera, and
that a man must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this
is no common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that so?”
“That’s
so,” I said, and he went on:—
“I take it
that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did to-day. Is not that
so?”
“That’s
so.”
“And I
guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at his own place he
looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so quick since I was on the
Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass all in a night. One of
those big bats that they call vampires had got at her in the night, and what
with his gorge and the vein left open, there wasn’t enough blood in her to let
her stand up, and I had to put a bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you
may tell me without betraying confidence, Arthur was the first, is not that
so?” As he spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a torture
of suspense regarding the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the
terrible mystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His very
heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of
him—and there was a royal lot of it, too—to keep him from breaking down. I
paused before answering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the
Professor wished kept secret; but already he knew so much, and guessed so much,
that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answered in the same
phrase: “That’s so.”
“And how
long has this been going on?”
“About ten
days.”
“Ten days!
Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor pretty creature that we all love has
had put into her veins within that time the blood of four strong men. Man
alive, her whole body wouldn’t hold it.” Then, coming close to me, he spoke in
a fierce half-whisper: “What took it out?”
I shook my
head. “That,” I said, “is the crux. Van Helsing is simply frantic about it, and
I am at my wits’ end. I can’t even hazard a guess. There has been a series of
little circumstances which have thrown out all our calculations as to Lucy
being properly watched. But these shall not occur again. Here we stay until all
be well—or ill.” Quincey held out his hand. “Count me in,” he said. “You and
the Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
When she
woke late in the afternoon, Lucy’s first movement was to feel in her breast,
and, to my surprise, produced the paper which Van Helsing had given me to read.
The careful Professor had replaced it where it had come from, lest on waking
she should be alarmed. Her eye then lit on Van Helsing and on me too, and
gladdened. Then she looked around the room, and seeing where she was,
shuddered; she gave a loud cry, and put her poor thin hands before her pale
face. We both understood what that meant—that she had realised to the full her
mother’s death; so we tried what we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy
eased her somewhat, but she was very low in thought and spirit, and wept
silently and weakly for a long time. We told her that either or both of us
would now remain with her all the time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards
dusk she fell into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep
she took the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped over
and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on with the
action of tearing, as though the material were still in her hands; finally she
lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering the fragments. Van
Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as if in thought, but he said
nothing.
19
September.—All last night she slept
fitfully, being always afraid to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from
it. The Professor and I took it in turns to watch, and we never left her for a
moment unattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew
that all night long he patrolled round and round the house.
When the
day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor Lucy’s strength. She
was hardly able to turn her head, and the little nourishment which she could
take seemed to do her no good. At times she slept, and both Van Helsing and I
noticed the difference in her, between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she
looked stronger, although more haggard, and her breathing was softer; her open
mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the teeth, which thus looked
positively longer and sharper than usual; when she woke the softness of her
eyes evidently changed the expression, for she looked her own self, although a
dying one. In the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him.
Quincey went off to meet him at the station.
When he
arrived it was nearly six o’clock, and the sun was setting full and warm, and
the red light streamed in through the window and gave more colour to the pale
cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was simply 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. Arthur’s presence, however, seemed to
act as a stimulant; she rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than
she had done since we arrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke as
cheerily as he could, so that the best was made of everything.
It was now
nearly one o’clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting with her. I am to
relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am entering this on Lucy’s
phonograph. Until six o’clock they are to try to rest. I fear that to-morrow
will end our watching, for the shock has been too great; the poor child cannot
rally. God help us all.
Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy
Westenra.
(Unopened by her.)
(Unopened by her.)
“17 September.
“My dearest Lucy,—
“It seems an
age since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. You will pardon me, I
know, for all my faults when you have read all my budget
of news. Well, I got my husband back all right; when we arrived at Exeter there
was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he had an attack of gout, Mr.
Hawkins. He took us to his house, where there were rooms for us all nice and
comfortable, and we dined together. After dinner Mr. Hawkins said:—
“ ‘My
dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every blessing
attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with love and pride,
seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here with me. I have left to
me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in my will I have left you
everything.’ I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our
evening was a very, very happy one.
“So here
we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both my bedroom and the
drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedral close, with their great
black stems standing out against the old yellow stone of the cathedral and I
can hear the rooks overhead cawing and cawing 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. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day;
for, now that Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about
the clients.
“How is
your dear mother getting on? I 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
Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to put some flesh on his
bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the long illness; even now he
sometimes starts out of his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling
until I can coax him back to his usual placidity. However, thank God, these
occasions grow less frequent as the days go on, and they will in time pass away
altogether, I trust. And now I have told you my news, let me ask yours. When
are you to be married, and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what
are you to wear, and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all
about it, dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which
interests you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send his
‘respectful duty,’ but I do not think that is good enough from the junior
partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you love me, and
he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses of the verb, I send
you simply his ‘love’ instead. Good-bye, my dearest Lucy, and all blessings on
you.
“Yours,
“Mina Harker.”
“Mina Harker.”
Report
from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I., etc., etc., to
John Seward, M. D.
“20 September.
“My dear Sir,—
“In
accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the conditions of everything
left in my charge.... With regard to patient, Renfield, there is more to say.
He has had another outbreak, which might have had a dreadful ending, but which,
as it fortunately happened, was unattended with any unhappy results. This
afternoon a carrier’s cart with two men made a call at the empty house whose
grounds abut on ours—the house to which, you will remember, the patient twice
ran away. The men stopped at our gate to ask the porter their way, as they were
strangers. I was myself looking out of the study window, having a smoke after
dinner, and saw one of them come up to the house. As he passed the window of
Renfield’s room, the patient began to rate him from within, and called him all
the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who seemed a decent fellow
enough, contented himself by telling him to “shut up for a foul-mouthed
beggar,” whereon our man accused him of robbing him and wanting to murder him
and said that he would hinder him if he were to swing for it. I opened the
window and signed to the man not to notice, so he contented himself after
looking the place over and making up his mind as to what kind of a place he had
got to by saying: ‘Lor’ bless yer, sir, I wouldn’t mind what was said to me in
a bloomin’ madhouse. I pity ye and the guv’nor for havin’ to live in the house
with a wild beast like that.’ Then he asked his way civilly enough, and I told
him where the gate of the empty house was; he went away, followed by threats
and curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I could make out
any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and
except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred. I found him, to
my astonishment, quite composed and most genial in his manner. I tried to get
him to talk of the incident, but he blandly asked me questions as to what I
meant, and led me to believe that he was completely oblivious of the affair. It
was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning, for
within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through
the window of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the
attendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on some
mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same cart
which had passed before coming down the road, having on it some great wooden
boxes. The men were wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if
with violent exercise. Before I could get up to him the patient rushed at them,
and pulling one of them off the cart, began to knock his head against the
ground. If I had not seized him just at the moment I believe he would have
killed the man there and then. The other fellow jumped down and struck him over
the head with the butt-end of his heavy whip. It was a terrible blow; but he
did not seem to mind it, but seized him also, and struggled with the three of
us, pulling us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light weight,
and the others were both burly men. At first he was silent in his fighting; but
as we began to master him, and the attendants were putting a strait-waistcoat
on him, he began to shout: ‘I’ll frustrate them! They shan’t rob me! they shan’t
murder me by inches! I’ll fight for my Lord and Master!’ and all sorts of
similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable difficulty that they
got him back to the house and put him in the padded room. One of the
attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set it all right; and he is
going on well.
“The two
carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for damages, and
promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Their threats were,
however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology for the defeat of the two
of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it had not been for the way their
strength had been spent in carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart
they would have made short work of him. They gave as another reason for their
defeat the extraordinary state of drouth to which they had been reduced by the
dusty nature of their occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene
of their labours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their
drift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, and with
each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore that they
would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of meeting so ‘bloomin’
good a bloke’ as your correspondent. I took their names and addresses, in case
they might be needed. They are as follows:—Jack Smollet, of Dudding’s Rents,
King George’s Road, Great Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley’s Row,
Guide Court, Bethnal Green. They are both in the employment of Harris &
Sons, Moving and Shipment Company, Orange Master’s Yard, Soho.
“I shall
report to you any matter of interest occurring here, and shall wire you at once
if there is anything of importance.
“Believe me, dear Sir,
“Yours faithfully,
“Patrick Hennessey.”
“Yours faithfully,
“Patrick Hennessey.”
Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy
Westenra.
(Unopened by her.)
(Unopened by her.)
“18 September.
“My dearest Lucy,—
“Such a
sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly. Some may not
think it so sad for us, but we had both come to so love him that it really
seems as though we had lost a father. I never knew either father or mother, so
that the dear old man’s death is a real blow to me. Jonathan is greatly
distressed. It is not only that he feels sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear,
good man who has befriended him all his life, and now at the end has treated
him like his own son and left him a fortune which to people of our modest
bringing up is wealth beyond the dream of avarice, but Jonathan feels it on
another account. He says the amount of responsibility which it puts upon him
makes him nervous. He begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and my
belief in him helps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that
the grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard
that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature which enabled
him by our dear, good friend’s aid to rise from clerk to master in a few
years—should be so injured that the very essence of its strength is gone.
Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles in the midst of your own
happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one, for the strain of keeping up a
brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here that
I can confide in. I dread coming up to London, as we must do the day after
to-morrow; for poor Mr. Hawkins left in his will that he was to be buried in
the grave with his father. As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will have
to be chief mourner. I shall try to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a
few minutes. Forgive me for troubling you. With all blessings,
“Your loving
“Mina Harker.”
“Mina Harker.”
20
September.—Only resolution and habit
can let me make an entry to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too
sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care
if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he
has been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late—Lucy’s mother and
Arthur’s father, and now.... Let me get on with my work.
I duly
relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wanted Arthur to go to rest
also, but he refused at first. It was only when I told him that we should want
him to help us during the day, and that we must not all break down for want of
rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he agreed to go. Van Helsing was very kind
to him. “Come, my child,” he said; “come with me. You are sick and weak, and
have had much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength
that we know of. You must not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears
and alarms. Come to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are
two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will be
comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we sleep.”
Arthur went off with him, casting back a longing look on Lucy’s face, which lay
in her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She lay quite still, and I looked
round the room to see that all was as it should be. I could see that the
Professor had carried out in this room, as in the other, his purpose of using
the garlic; the whole of the window-sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy’s
neck, over the silk handkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a
rough chaplet of the same odorous flowers. Lucy was breathing somewhat
stertorously, and her face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale
gums. Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than
they had been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the
canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest. I sat down by her, and
presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort of dull
flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly, and peeped out
by the corner of the blind. There was a full moonlight, and I could see that
the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled round—doubtless attracted by
the light, although so dim—and every now and again struck the window with its
wings. When I came back to my seat, I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and
had torn away the garlic flowers from her throat. I
replaced them as well as I could, and sat watching her.
Presently
she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing had prescribed. She took but a
little, and that languidly. There did not seem to be with her now the
unconscious struggle for life and strength that had hitherto so marked her
illness. It struck me as curious that the moment she became conscious she
pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It was certainly odd that whenever she
got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the
flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close. There was no
possibility of making any mistake about this, for in the long hours that
followed, she had many spells of sleeping and waking and repeated both actions
many times.
At six
o’clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then fallen into a doze, and
he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw Lucy’s face I could hear the
sissing indraw of his breath, and he said to me in a sharp whisper: “Draw up
the blind; I want light!” Then he bent down, and, with his face almost touching
Lucy’s, examined her carefully. He removed the flowers and lifted the silk
handkerchief from her throat. As he did so he started back, and I could hear
his ejaculation, “Mein Gott!” as it was smothered in his throat. I bent over
and looked, too, and as I noticed some queer chill came over me.
The wounds
on the throat had absolutely disappeared.
For fully
five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his face at its sternest.
Then he turned to me and said calmly:—
“She is
dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark me, whether
she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and let him come and
see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him.”
I went to the
dining-room and waked him. He was dazed for a moment, but when he saw the
sunlight streaming in through the edges of the shutters he thought he was late,
and expressed his fear. I assured him that Lucy was still asleep, but told him
as gently as I could that both Van Helsing and I feared that the end was near.
He covered his face with his hands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa,
where he remained, perhaps a minute, with his head buried, praying, whilst his
shoulders shook with grief. I took him by the hand and raised him up. “Come,” I
said, “my dear old fellow, summon all your fortitude: it will be best and
easiest for her.”
When we
came into Lucy’s room I could see that Van Helsing had,
with his usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making everything
look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy’s hair, so that it lay
on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into the room she opened
her eyes, and seeing him, whispered softly:—
“Arthur!
Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!” He was stooping to kiss her, when Van
Helsing motioned him back. “No,” he whispered, “not yet! Hold her hand; it will
comfort her more.”
So Arthur
took her hand and knelt beside her, and she looked her best, with all the soft
lines matching the angelic beauty of her eyes. Then gradually her eyes closed,
and she sank to sleep. For a little bit her breast heaved softly, and her
breath came and went like a tired child’s.
And then
insensibly there came the strange change which I had noticed in the night. Her
breathing grew stertorous, the mouth opened, and the pale gums, drawn back,
made the teeth look longer and sharper than ever. In a sort of sleep-waking,
vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which were now dull and hard at
once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice, such as I had never heard from her
lips:—
“Arthur!
Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!” Arthur bent eagerly over to
kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me, had been startled by
her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by the neck with both hands,
dragged him back with a fury of strength which I never thought he could have
possessed, and actually hurled him almost across the room.
“Not for
your life!” he said; “not for your living soul and hers!” And he stood between
them like a lion at bay.
Arthur was
so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what to do or say; and before
any impulse of violence could seize him he realised the place and the occasion,
and stood silent, waiting.
I kept my
eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm as of rage flit like
a shadow over her face; the sharp teeth champed together. Then her eyes closed,
and she breathed heavily.
Very
shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and putting out her
poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing’s great brown one; drawing it to her,
she kissed it. “My true friend,” she said, in a faint voice, but with
untellable pathos, “My true friend, and his! Oh, guard him, and give me peace!”
“I swear
it!” he said solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding up his hand, as one who
registers an oath. Then he turned to Arthur, and said to him: “Come, my child,
take her hand in yours, and kiss her on the forehead, and only once.”
Their eyes
met instead of their lips; and so they parted.
Lucy’s
eyes closed; and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, took Arthur’s arm,
and drew him away.
And then
Lucy’s breathing became stertorous again, and all at once it ceased.
“It is all
over,” said Van Helsing. “She is dead!”
I took
Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where he sat down, and
covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way that nearly broke me down to
see.
I went
back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor Lucy, and his face was
sterner than ever. Some change had come over her body. Death had given back
part of her beauty, for her brow and cheeks had recovered some of their flowing
lines; even the lips had lost their deadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no
longer needed for the working of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of
death as little rude as might be.
“We
thought her dying whilst she slept,
And sleeping when she died.”
And sleeping when she died.”
I stood
beside Van Helsing, and said:—
“Ah, well,
poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!”
He turned
to me, and said with grave solemnity:—
“Not so;
alas! not so. It is only the beginning!”
When I
asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:—
To be
continued
