DRACULA
PART 23
CHAPTER
XXIII
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
3
October.—The time seemed terrible
long whilst we were waiting for the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The
Professor tried to keep our minds active by using them all the time. I could
see his beneficent purpose, by the side glances which he threw from time to
time at Harker. The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to
see. Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face,
full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old
man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and
grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in fact, he is
like a living flame. This may yet be his salvation, for, if all go well, it
will tide him over the despairing period; he will then, in a kind of way, wake
again to the realities of life. Poor fellow, I thought my own trouble was bad
enough, but his——! The Professor knows this well enough, and is doing his best
to keep his mind active. What he has been saying was, under the circumstances,
of absorbing interest. So well as I can remember, here it is:—
“I have
studied, over and over again since they came into my hands, all the papers
relating to this monster; and the more I have studied, the greater seems the
necessity to utterly stamp him out. All through there are signs of his advance;
not only of his power, but of his knowledge of it. As I learned from the
researches of my friend Arminus of Buda-Pesth, he was in life a most wonderful
man. Soldier, statesman, and alchemist—which latter was the highest development
of the science-knowledge of his time. He had a mighty brain, a learning beyond
compare, and a heart that knew no fear and no remorse. He dared even to attend
the Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of his time that he did
not essay. Well, in him the brain powers survived the physical death; though it
would seem that memory was not all complete. In some faculties of mind he has
been, and is, only a child; but he is growing, and some things that were
childish at the first are now of man’s stature. He is experimenting, and doing
it well; and if it had not been that we have crossed his path he would be
yet—he may be yet if we fail—the father or furtherer of
a new order of beings, whose road must lead through Death, not Life.”
Harker
groaned and said, “And this is all arrayed against my darling! But how is he
experimenting? The knowledge may help us to defeat him!”
“He has
all along, since his coming, been trying his power, slowly but surely; that big
child-brain of his is working. Well for us, it is, as yet, a child-brain; for
had he dared, at the first, to attempt certain things he would long ago have
been beyond our power. However, he means to succeed, and a man who has centuries
before him can afford to wait and to go slow. Festina lente may well be
his motto.”
“I fail to
understand,” said Harker wearily. “Oh, do be more plain to me! Perhaps grief
and trouble are dulling my brain.”
The
Professor laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder as he spoke:—
“Ah, my
child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of late, this monster has been
creeping into knowledge experimentally. How he has been making use of the
zoöphagous patient to effect his entry into friend John’s home; for your
Vampire, though in all afterwards he can come when and how he will, must at the
first make entry only when asked thereto by an inmate. But these are not his
most important experiments. Do we not see how at the first all these so great
boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but that must be so. But all the
time that so great child-brain of his was growing, and he began to consider
whether he might not himself move the box. So he began to help; and then, when
he found that this be all-right, he try to move them all alone. And so he
progress, and he scatter these graves of him; and none but he know where they
are hidden. He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So that he only
use them in the night, or at such time as he can change his form, they do him
equal well; and none may know these are his hiding-place! But, my child, do not
despair; this knowledge come to him just too late! Already all of his lairs but
one be sterilise as for him; and before the sunset this shall be so. Then he
have no place where he can move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we
might be sure. Is there not more at stake for us than for him? Then why we not
be even more careful than him? By my clock it is one hour and already, if all
be well, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way to us. To-day is our day,
and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See! there are five of us
when those absent ones return.”
Whilst he
was speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall door, the double postman’s
knock of the telegraph boy. We all moved out to the hall with one impulse, and
Van Helsing, holding up his hand to us to keep silence, stepped to the door and
opened it. The boy handed in a despatch. The Professor closed the door again,
and, after looking at the direction, opened it and read aloud.
“Look out
for D. He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards
the South. He seems to be going the round and may want to see you: Mina.”
There was
a pause, broken by Jonathan Harker’s voice:—
“Now, God
be thanked, we shall soon meet!” Van Helsing turned to him quickly and said:—
“God will
act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoice as yet; for what
we wish for at the moment may be our undoings.”
“I care
for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the
face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!”
“Oh, hush,
hush, my child!” said Van Helsing. “God does not purchase souls in this wise;
and the Devil, though he may purchase, does not keep faith. But God is merciful
and just, and knows your pain and your devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think
you, how her pain would be doubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not
fear any of us, we are all devoted to this cause, and to-day shall see the end.
The time is coming for action; to-day this Vampire is limit to the powers of
man, and till sunset he may not change. It will take him time to arrive
here—see, it is twenty minutes past one—and there are yet some times before he
can hither come, be he never so quick. What we must hope for is that my Lord
Arthur and Quincey arrive first.”
About half
an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker’s telegram, there came a quiet,
resolute knock at the hall door. It was just an ordinary knock, such as is
given hourly by thousands of gentlemen, but it made the Professor’s heart and
mine beat loudly. We looked at each other, and together moved out into the
hall; we each held ready to use our various armaments—the spiritual in the left
hand, the mortal in the right. Van Helsing pulled back the latch, and, holding
the door half open, stood back, having both hands ready for action. The
gladness of our hearts must have shown upon our faces when on the step, close
to the door, we saw Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris. They came quickly in and
closed the door behind them, the former saying, as they moved along the hall:—
“It is all
right. We found both places; six boxes in each and we destroyed them all!”
“Destroyed?”
asked the Professor.
“For him!”
We were silent for a minute, and then Quincey said:—
“There’s
nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, he doesn’t turn up by five
o’clock, we must start off; for it won’t do to leave Mrs. Harker alone after
sunset.”
“He will
be here before long now,” said Van Helsing, who had been consulting his
pocket-book. “Nota bene, in Madam’s telegram he went south from Carfax,
that means he went to cross the river, and he could only do so at slack of
tide, which should be something before one o’clock. That he went south has a
meaning for us. He is as yet only suspicious; and he went from Carfax first to
the place where he would suspect interference least. You must have been at
Bermondsey only a short time before him. That he is not here already shows that
he went to Mile End next. This took him some time; for he would then have to be
carried over the river in some way. Believe me, my friends, we shall not have
long to wait now. We should have ready some plan of attack, so that we may
throw away no chance. Hush, there is no time now. Have all your arms! Be
ready!” He held up a warning hand as he spoke, for we all could hear a key
softly inserted in the lock of the hall door.
I could
not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which a dominant spirit
asserted itself. In all our hunting parties and adventures in different parts
of the world, Quincey Morris had always been the one to arrange the plan of
action, and Arthur and I had been accustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the
old habit seemed to be renewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the
room, he at once laid out our plan of attack, and, without speaking a word,
with a gesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing, Harker, and I were
just behind the door, so that when it was opened the Professor could guard it
whilst we two stepped between the incomer and the door. Godalming behind and
Quincey in front stood just out of sight ready to move in front of the window.
We waited in a suspense that made the seconds pass with nightmare slowness. The
slow, careful steps came along the hall; the Count was evidently prepared for
some surprise—at least he feared it.
Suddenly
with a single bound he leaped into the room, winning a way past us before any
of us could raise a hand to stay him. There was something so panther-like in
the movement—something so unhuman, that it seemed to
sober us all from the shock of his coming. The first to act was Harker, who,
with a quick movement, threw himself before the door leading into the room in
the front of the house. As the Count saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed
over his face, showing the eye-teeth long and pointed; but the evil smile as
quickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. His expression again
changed as, with a single impulse, we all advanced upon him. It was a pity that
we had not some better organised plan of attack, for even at the moment I
wondered what we were to do. I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons
would avail us anything. Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had
ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow
was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count’s leap back
saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorne through his heart.
As it was, the point just cut the cloth of his coat, making a wide gap whence a
bundle of bank-notes and a stream of gold fell out. The expression of the
Count’s face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though I
saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another stroke. Instinctively
I moved forward with a protective impulse, holding the Crucifix and Wafer in my
left hand. I felt a mighty power fly along my arm; and it was without surprise
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 Count’s
face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast of his burning eyes,
and the red scar on the forehead showed on the pallid skin like a palpitating
wound. The next instant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker’s arm, ere
his blow could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money from the floor,
dashed across the room, threw himself at the window. Amid the crash and glitter
of the falling glass, he tumbled into the flagged area below. Through the sound
of the shivering glass I could hear the “ting” of the gold, as some of the
sovereigns fell on the flagging.
We ran
over and saw him spring unhurt from the ground. He, rushing up the steps,
crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open the stable door. There he turned and
spoke to us:—
“You think
to baffle me, you—with your pale faces all in a row, like sheep in a butcher’s.
You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You think you have left me without a
place to rest; but I have more. My revenge is just begun! I spread it over
centuries, and time is on my side. Your girls that you
all love are mine already; and through them you and others shall yet be mine—my
creatures, to do my bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed. Bah!”
With a contemptuous sneer, he passed quickly through the door, and we heard the
rusty bolt creak as he fastened it behind him. A door beyond opened and shut.
The first of us to speak was the Professor, as, realising the difficulty of
following him through the stable, we moved toward the hall.
“We have
learnt something—much! Notwithstanding his brave words, he fears us; he fear
time, he fear want! For if not, why he hurry so? His very tone betray him, or
my ears deceive. Why take that money? You follow quick. You are hunters of wild
beast, and understand it so. For me, I make sure that nothing here may be of
use to him, if so that he return.” As he spoke he put the money remaining into his
pocket; took the title-deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and swept
the remaining things into the open fireplace, where he set fire to them with a
match.
Godalming
and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker had lowered himself from the
window to follow the Count. He had, however, bolted the stable door; and by the
time they had forced it open there was no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried
to make inquiry at the back of the house; but the mews was deserted and no one
had seen him depart.
It was now
late in the afternoon, and sunset was not far off. We had to recognise that our
game was up; with heavy hearts we agreed with the Professor when he said:—
“Let us go
back to Madam Mina—poor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we can do just now is done;
and we can there, at least, protect her. But we need not despair. There is but
one more earth-box, and we must try to find it; when that is done all may yet
be well.” I could see that he spoke as bravely as he could to comfort Harker.
The poor fellow was quite broken down; now and again he gave a low groan which
he could not suppress—he was thinking of his wife.
With sad
hearts we came back to my house, where we found Mrs. Harker waiting us, with an
appearance of cheerfulness which did honour to her bravery and unselfishness.
When she saw our faces, her own became as pale as death: for a second or two
her eyes were closed as if she were in secret prayer; and then she said
cheerfully:—
“I can
never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling!” As she spoke, she took her
husband’s grey head in her hands and kissed it—“Lay your
poor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear! God will protect us if
He so will it in His good intent.” The poor fellow groaned. There was no place
for words in his sublime misery.
We had a
sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it cheered us all up somewhat.
It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat of food to hungry people—for none of us
had eaten anything since breakfast—or the sense of companionship may have
helped us; but anyhow we were all less miserable, and saw the morrow as not
altogether without hope. True to our promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything
which had passed; and although she grew snowy white at times when danger had
seemed to threaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion to her was
manifested, she listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to the part
where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she clung to her husband’s
arm, and held it tight as though her clinging could protect him from any harm
that might come. She said nothing, however, till the narration was all done,
and matters had been brought right up to the present time. Then without letting
go her husband’s hand she stood up amongst us and spoke. Oh, that I could give
any idea of the scene; of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the
radiant beauty of her youth and animation, with the red scar on her forehead,
of which she was conscious, and which we saw with grinding of our
teeth—remembering whence and how it came; her loving kindness against our grim
hate; her tender faith against all our fears and doubting; and we, knowing that
so far as symbols went, she with all her goodness and purity and faith, was
outcast from God.
“Jonathan,”
she said, and the word sounded like music on her lips it was so full of love
and tenderness, “Jonathan dear, and you all my true, true friends, I want you
to bear something in mind through all this dreadful time. I know that you must
fight—that you must destroy even as you destroyed the false Lucy so that the
true Lucy might live hereafter; but it is not a work of hate. That poor soul
who has wrought all this misery is the saddest case of all. Just think what
will be his joy when he, too, is destroyed in his worser part that his better
part may have spiritual immortality. You must be pitiful to him, too, though it
may not hold your hands from his destruction.”
As she
spoke I could see her husband’s face darken and draw together, as though the
passion in him were shrivelling his being to its core. Instinctively the clasp
on his wife’s hand grew closer, till his knuckles looked
white. She did not flinch from the pain which I knew she must have suffered,
but looked at him with eyes that were more appealing than ever. As she stopped
speaking he leaped to his feet, almost tearing his hand from hers as he spoke:—
“May God
give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him
which we are aiming at. If beyond it I could send his soul for ever and ever to
burning hell I would do it!”
“Oh, hush!
oh, hush! in the name of the good God. Don’t say such things, Jonathan, my
husband; or you will crush me with fear and horror. Just think, my dear—I have
been thinking all this long, long day of it—that ... perhaps ... some day ...
I, too, may need such pity; and that some other like you—and with equal cause
for anger—may deny it to me! Oh, my husband! my husband, indeed I would have spared
you such a thought had there been another way; but I pray that God may not have
treasured your wild words, except as the heart-broken wail of a very loving and
sorely stricken man. Oh, God, let these poor white hairs go in evidence of what
he has suffered, who all his life has done no wrong, and on whom so many
sorrows have come.”
We men
were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and we wept openly. She
wept, too, to see that her sweeter counsels had prevailed. Her husband flung
himself on his knees beside her, and putting his arms round her, hid his face
in the folds of her dress. Van Helsing beckoned to us and we stole out of the
room, leaving the two loving hearts alone with their God.
Before
they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any coming of the Vampire,
and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest in peace. She tried to school
herself to the belief, and, manifestly for her husband’s sake, tried to seem
content. It was a brave struggle; and was, I think and believe, not without its
reward. Van Helsing had placed at hand a bell which either of them was to sound
in case of any emergency. When they had retired, Quincey, Godalming, and I
arranged that we should sit up, dividing the night between us, and watch over
the safety of the poor stricken lady. The first watch falls to Quincey, so the
rest of us shall be off to bed as soon as we can. Godalming has already turned
in, for his is the second watch. Now that my work is done I, too, shall go to
bed.
Jonathan Harker’s Journal.
3-4
October, close to midnight.—I thought
yesterday would never end. There was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort of blind belief that to wake would be to find things
changed, and that any change must now be for the better. Before we parted, we
discussed what our next step was to be, but we could arrive at no result. All
we knew was that one earth-box remained, and that the Count alone knew where it
was. If he chooses to lie hidden, he may baffle us for years; and in the
meantime!—the thought is too horrible, I dare not think of it even now. This I
know: that if ever there was a woman who was all perfection, that one is my
poor wronged darling. I love her a thousand times more for her sweet pity of
last night, a pity that made my own hate of the monster seem despicable. Surely
God will not permit the world to be the poorer by the loss of such a creature.
This is hope to me. We are all drifting reefwards now, and faith is our only
anchor. Thank God! Mina is sleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what
her dreams might be like, with such terrible memories to ground them in. She
has not been so calm, within my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while,
there came over her face a repose which was like spring after the blasts of
March. I thought at the time that it was the softness of the red sunset on her
face, but somehow now I think it has a deeper meaning. I am not sleepy myself,
though I am weary—weary to death. However, I must try to sleep; for there is
to-morrow to think of, and there is no rest for me until....
Later.—I must have fallen asleep, for I was awaked by Mina,
who was sitting up in bed, with a startled look on her face. I could see
easily, for we did not leave the room in darkness; she had placed a warning
hand over my mouth, and now she whispered in my ear:—
“Hush!
there is someone in the corridor!” I got up softly, and crossing the room,
gently opened the door.
Just
outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide awake. He raised a
warning hand for silence as he whispered to me:—
“Hush! go
back to bed; it is all right. One of us will be here all night. We don’t mean
to take any chances!”
His look
and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back and told Mina. She sighed and
positively a shadow of a smile stole over her poor, pale face as she put her
arms round me and said softly:—
“Oh, thank
God for good brave men!” With a sigh she sank back again to sleep. I write this
now as I am not sleepy, though I must try again.
4
October, morning.—Once again during
the night I was wakened by Mina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the
grey of the coming dawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas
flame was like a speck rather than a disc of light. She said to me hurriedly:—
“Go, call
the Professor. I want to see him at once.”
“Why?” I
asked.
“I have an
idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and matured without my knowing
it. He must hypnotise me before the dawn, and then I shall be able to speak. Go
quick, dearest; the time is getting close.” I went to the door. Dr. Seward was
resting on the mattress, and, seeing me, he sprang to his feet.
“Is
anything wrong?” he asked, in alarm.
“No,” I
replied; “but Mina wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at once.”
“I will
go,” he said, and hurried into the Professor’s room.
In two or
three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room in his dressing-gown, and Mr.
Morris and Lord Godalming were with Dr. Seward at the door asking questions.
When the Professor saw Mina a smile—a positive smile ousted the anxiety of his
face; he rubbed his hands as he said:—
“Oh, my
dear Madam Mina, this is indeed a change. See! friend Jonathan, we have got our
dear Madam Mina, as of old, back to us to-day!” Then turning to her, he said,
cheerfully: “And what am I do for you? For at this hour you do not want me for
nothings.”
“I want
you to hypnotise me!” she said. “Do it before the dawn, for I feel that then I
can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for the time is short!” Without a word
he motioned her to sit up in bed.
Looking
fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in front of her, from over the top
of her head downward, with each hand in turn. Mina gazed at him fixedly for a
few minutes, during which my own heart beat like a trip hammer, for I felt that
some crisis was at hand. Gradually her eyes closed, and she sat, stock still;
only by the gentle heaving of her bosom could one know that she was alive. The
Professor made a few more passes and then stopped, and I could see that his
forehead was covered with great beads of perspiration. Mina opened her eyes;
but she did not seem the same woman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, and
her voice had a sad dreaminess which was new to me. Raising his hand to impose
silence, the Professor motioned to me to bring the
others in. They came on tip-toe, closing the door behind them, and stood at the
foot of the bed, looking on. Mina appeared not to see them. The stillness was
broken by Van Helsing’s voice speaking in a low level tone which would not
break the current of her thoughts:—
“Where are
you?” The answer came in a neutral way:—
“I do not
know. Sleep has no place it can call its own.” For several minutes there was
silence. Mina sat rigid, and the Professor stood staring at her fixedly; the
rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The room was growing lighter; without
taking his eyes from Mina’s face, Dr. Van Helsing motioned me to pull up the
blind. I did so, and the day seemed just upon us. A red streak shot up, and a
rosy light seemed to diffuse itself through the room. On the instant the
Professor spoke again:—
“Where are
you now?” The answer came dreamily, but with intention; it were as though she
were interpreting something. I have heard her use the same tone when reading
her shorthand notes.
“I do not
know. It is all strange to me!”
“What do
you see?”
“I can see
nothing; it is all dark.”
“What do
you hear?” I could detect the strain in the Professor’s patient voice.
“The
lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves leap. I can hear them on
the outside.”
“Then you
are on a ship?” We all looked at each other, trying to glean something each
from the other. We were afraid to think. The answer came quick:—
“Oh, yes!”
“What else
do you hear?”
“The sound
of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is the creaking of a chain,
and the loud tinkle as the check of the capstan falls into the rachet.”
“What are
you doing?”
“I am
still—oh, so still. It is like death!” The voice faded away into a deep breath
as of one sleeping, and the open eyes closed again.
By this
time the sun had risen, and we were all in the full light of day. Dr. Van
Helsing placed his hands on Mina’s shoulders, and laid her head down softly on
her pillow. She lay like a sleeping child for a few moments, and then, with a
long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder to see us all around her. “Have I been
talking in my sleep?” was all she said. She seemed, however,
to know the situation without telling, though she was eager to know what she
had told. The Professor repeated the conversation, and she said:—
“Then
there is not a moment to lose: it may not be yet too late!” Mr. Morris and Lord
Godalming started for the door but the Professor’s calm voice called them
back:—
“Stay, my
friends. That ship, wherever it was, was weighing anchor whilst she spoke.
There are many ships weighing anchor at the moment in your so great Port of
London. Which of them is it that you seek? God be thanked that we have once
again a clue, though whither it may lead us we know not. We have been blind
somewhat; blind after the manner of men, since when we can look back we see
what we might have seen looking forward if we had been able to see what we
might have seen! Alas, but that sentence is a puddle; is it not? We can know
now what was in the Count’s mind, when he seize that money, though Jonathan’s
so fierce knife put him in the danger that even he dread. He meant escape. Hear
me, ESCAPE! He saw that with but one earth-box left, and a pack of men
following like dogs after a fox, this London was no place for him. He have take
his last earth-box on board a ship, and he leave the land. He think to escape,
but no! we follow him. Tally Ho! as friend Arthur would say when he put on his
red frock! Our old fox is wily; oh! so wily, and we must follow with wile. I,
too, am wily and I think his mind in a little while. In meantime we may rest
and in peace, for there are waters between us which he do not want to pass, and
which he could not if he would—unless the ship were to touch the land, and then
only at full or slack tide. See, and the sun is just rose, and all day to
sunset is to us. Let us take bath, and dress, and have breakfast which we all
need, and which we can eat comfortably since he be not in the same land with
us.” Mina looked at him appealingly as she asked:—
“But why need
we seek him further, when he is gone away from us?” He took her hand and patted
it as he replied:—
“Ask me
nothings as yet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all questions.” He would
say no more, and we separated to dress.
After
breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at her gravely for a minute and
then said sorrowfully:—
“Because
my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him even if we have
to follow him to the jaws of Hell!” She grew paler as she asked faintly:—
“Because,”
he answered solemnly, “he can live for centuries, and you are but mortal woman.
Time is now to be dreaded—since once he put that mark upon your throat.”
To be
continued
