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of a child: "That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian!" I could

not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself away that time!" he

said. "But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months

past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particular

part of it in case I wanted to look it up?" By this time my mind was

made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have

something to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, and

I said boldly:--

 

"Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my

typewriter." He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:--

 

"No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that terrible

story!"

 

Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought,

and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something or

some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of typewriting on

the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his thinking,

followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised my meaning.

 

"You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers--my own

diary and my husband's also, which I have typed--you will know me

better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in

this cause; but, of course, you do not know me--yet; and I must not

expect you to trust me so far."

 

He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right about

him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged in

order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and

said:--

 

"You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know you.

But I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you long

ago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May I make

the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them--the

first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not horrify

you; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready. In the

meantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be better

able to understand certain things." He carried the phonograph himself up

to my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something

pleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true love

episode of which I know one side already....

 

 

_Dr. Seward's Diary._

 

_29 September._--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan

Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without

thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce

dinner, so I said: "She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour," and

I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary, when

she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes were

flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have had

cause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied me; and

now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, went

straight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:--

 

"I greatly fear I have distressed you."

 

"Oh, no, not distressed me," she replied, "but I have been more touched

than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but it is

cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart.

It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No one must hear them

spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out the

words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as

I did."

 

"No one need ever know, shall ever know," I said in a low voice. She

laid her hand on mine and said very gravely:--

 

"Ah, but they must!"

 

"Must! But why?" I asked.

 

"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear Lucy's

death and all that led to it; because in the struggle which we have

before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have all

the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the

cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to know;

but I can see that there are in your record many lights to this dark

mystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain

point; and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7 September,

how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought

out. Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van

Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he

will be here to-morrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us;

working together and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than

if some of us were in the dark." She looked at me so appealingly, and at

the same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing,

that I gave in at once to her wishes. "You shall," I said, "do as you

like in the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible

things yet to learn of; but if you have so far travelled on the road to

poor Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the

dark. Nay, the end--the very end--may give you a gleam of peace. Come,

there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us;

we have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learn

the rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask--if there be anything

which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were

present."

 

 

_Mina Harker's Journal._

 

_29 September._--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. He

brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter. He

placed me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I

could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in case

I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with his

back to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. I

put the forked metal to my ears and listened.

 

When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and--and all that followed, was

done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of a

fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a

horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a

cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restored

me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through all

the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear, dear Lucy

was at 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 Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I could not have

believed. As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got out of my

difficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off my

typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:--

 

"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing

when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when

he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything,

and I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every item

put in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me that

Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell him

when they come." He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I

began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder. I used

manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done with

all the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went about

his work of going his round of the patients; when he had finished he

came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely

whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of

good men--even if there _are_ monsters in it. Before I left him I

remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor's

perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station at

Exeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the

files of "The 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, helped us to understand the

terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look

through the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new

light. I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.

 

 

_Dr. Seward's Diary._

 

_30 September._--Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got his

wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can

judge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true--and

judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be--he is also a man

of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a

remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was

prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,

business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

 

* * * * *

 

_Later._--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,

and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They

are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in

chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got

the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the

carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife's

typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here it

is....

 

Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be

the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues

from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters

relating to the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh,

if we had only had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy!

Stop; that way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and is again

collating his material. He says that by dinner-time they will be

able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the

meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of

index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet,

but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing

that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have

found the dates otherwise....

 

I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands

folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any

one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of

subjects, all of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own

accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my

knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite

confidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe that, had I

not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of

his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a

brief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All

those outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the

Count. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that

his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph?

Stay; he is himself zooephagous, and in his wild ravings outside the

chapel door of the deserted house he always spoke of "master." This

all seems confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came

away; my friend is just a little too sane at present to make it

safe to probe him too deep with questions. He might begin to think,

and then--! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of his; so

I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after him, and to

have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need.

 

 

_Jonathan Harker's Journal._

 

_29 September, in train to London._--When I received Mr. Billington's

courteous message that he would give me any information in his power I

thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, such

inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo

of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal

with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and

brought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I must

stay the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality:

give a guest everything, and leave him free to do as he likes. They all

knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had

ready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes.

It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I had

seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.

Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and

with precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which

might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carried

out. To use an Americanism, he had "taken no chances," and the absolute

accuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled, was simply the

logical result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it:

"Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes."

Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of both of

these I got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could

give me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs

officers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of the

strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in local

tradition; but no one could add to the simple description "Fifty cases

of common earth." I then saw the station-master, who kindly put me in

communication with the men who had actually received the boxes. Their

tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add except that

the boxes were "main and mortal heavy," and that shifting them was dry

work. One of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn't any

gentleman "such-like as yourself, squire," to show some sort of

appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in a rider

that the thirst then generated was such that even the time which had

elapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took care

before leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source of

reproach.

 

* * * * *

 

_30 September._--The station-master was good enough to give me a line to

his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so that when I

arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival of

the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the proper

officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original

invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here

limited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was

compelled to deal with the result in an _ex post facto_ manner.

 

From thence I went on to Carter 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 men who did the teaming

were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending

also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with the

delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeing

exactly; the carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of the

written words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connected

almost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequent

thirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity,

through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying, at a

later period, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked:--

 

"That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but it

ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick in

the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of yer bones;

an' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave smelled ole

Jerusalem in it. But the ole 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 him; but if he knew what

I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.

 

Of one thing I am now satisfied: that _all_ the boxes which arrived at

Whitby from Varna in the _Demeter_ were safely deposited in the old

chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have

since been removed--as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.

 

I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax when

Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a good

deal.

 

* * * * *

 

_Later._--Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers

into order.

 

 

_Mina Harker's Journal_

 

_30 September._--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.

It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had:

that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act

detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a

face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,

however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never

so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good

Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under

strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and

hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. I

feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any

thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not

human--not even beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's

death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in

one's heart.

 

* * * * *

 

_Later._--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we

expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with

him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it

brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of

course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van

Helsing, too, has been quite "blowing my trumpet," as Mr. Morris

expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all

about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to

say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so they

had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over, and

came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to post

them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that

they had been at Lucy's death--her real death--and that I need not fear

to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I

could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband

and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order.

I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming got

his and turned it over--it does make a pretty good pile--he said:--

 

"Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"

 

I nodded, and he went on:--

 

"I don't quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good and

kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all

I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I have

had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humble

to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy--"

Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear

the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid

a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the

room. I suppose there is something in woman's nature that makes a man

free to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or

emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when

Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and

gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I

hope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it

afterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I

_know_ he never will--he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I

could see that his heart was breaking:--

 

"I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were to

her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not let

me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have

had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can

help in your affliction, won't you let me be of some little service--for

Lucy's sake?"

 

In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed

to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a

vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat

his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat

down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite

pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his

head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with

emotion.

 

We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above

smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big

sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby

that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he

were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.

 

After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an

apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for

days and nights past--weary days and sleepless nights--he had been

unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of

sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with

whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was

surrounded, he could speak freely. "I know now how I suffered," he said,

as he dried his eyes, "but I do not know even yet--and none other can

ever know--how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shall

know better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful

now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be

like a brother, will you not, for all our lives--for dear Lucy's sake?"

 

"For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands. "Ay, and for your

own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever worth

the winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bring

to you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you will not call

in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the

sunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that you

will let me know." He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that

I felt it would comfort him, so I said:--

 

"I promise."

 

As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window.

He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?" he said. Then noticing

my red eyes, he went on: "Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poor

old fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is in

trouble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him."

 

He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw the

manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realise

how much I knew; so I said to him:--

 

"I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me

be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You

will know, later on, why I speak." He saw that I was in earnest, and

stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed

but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I

bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a

momentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:--

 

"Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so long

as ever you live!" Then he went into the study to his friend.

 

"Little girl!"--the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he

proved himself a friend!

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII

 

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

 

 

_30 September._--I got home at five o'clock, and found that Godalming

and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript

of the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wife

had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the

carriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave

us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I

have lived in it, this old house seemed like _home_. When we had

finished, Mrs. Harker said:--

 

"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr.

Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary

interests me so much!" She looked so appealing and so pretty that I

could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so

I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a

lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: "Why?"

 

"She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it," I

answered. "Oh, very well," he said; "let her come in, by all means; but

just wait a minute till I tidy up the place." His method of tidying was

peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes