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He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed

them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the

bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and

locked it. He handed me the key, saying: "Will you keep it? You had

better be assured." I laughed--it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am

bound to say--as I motioned him to keep it. "A key is nothing," I said;

"there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock

of that kind." He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he

told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at

the other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark

figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my

sight.

 

It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant

clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and

unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand

and with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly

observant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had

a dreary, miserable time.

 

Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white

streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard

farthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the

Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I

too moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I

stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an

early cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered

juniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim

figure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden

by trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the

rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and

coming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When

he saw me he held it out to me, and said:--

 

"Are you satisfied now?"

 

"No," I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.

 

"Do you not see the child?"

 

"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?" I

asked.

 

"We shall see," said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way

out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.

 

When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of

trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was

without a scratch or scar of any kind.

 

"Was I right?" I asked triumphantly.

 

"We were just in time," said the Professor thankfully.

 

We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consulted

about it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have to

give some account of our movements during the night; at least, we should

have had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child.

So finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we

heard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find

it; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out

well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy

tramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until

he saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation

of astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a

cab near the "Spaniards," and drove to town.

 

I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours'

sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shall

go with him on another expedition.

 

* * * * *

 

_27 September._--It was two o'clock before we found a suitable

opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed,

and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily

away, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder-trees, we saw

the sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe till

morning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we should not

want more than an hour at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the

reality of things, in which any effort of imagination seemed out of

place; and I realised distinctly the perils of the law which we were

incurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless.

Outrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead

nearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to

open the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own

eyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however,

and rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road,

no matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again

courteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as

last night, but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine

streamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's coffin, and I followed.

He bent over and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock

of surprise and dismay shot through me.

 

There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before her

funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever; and I

could not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than

before; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.

 

"Is this a juggle?" I said to him.

 

"Are you convinced now?" said the Professor in response, and as he spoke

he put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the

dead lips and showed the white teeth.

 

"See," he went on, "see, they are even sharper than before. With this

and this"--and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below

it--"the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend

John?" Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I _could_ not

accept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with an attempt to

argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said:--

 

"She may have been placed here since last night."

 

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

 

"I do not know. Some one has done it."

 

"And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would not

look so." I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not

seem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor

triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raising

the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and

examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said:--

 

"Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here is

some dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampire

when she was in a trance, sleep-walking--oh, you start; you do not know

that, friend John, but you shall know it all later--and in trance could

he best come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance she

is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually when

the Un-Dead sleep at home"--as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of

his arm to designate what to a vampire was "home"--"their face show what

they are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to

the nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so

it make hard that I must kill her in her sleep." This turned my blood

cold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's

theories; but if she were really dead, what was there of terror in the

idea of killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in

my face, for he said almost joyously:--

 

"Ah, you believe now?"

 

I answered: "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to

accept. How will you do this bloody work?"

 

"I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shall

drive a stake through her body." It made me shudder to think of so

mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling

was not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to

shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing

called it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective,

or all objective?

 

I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood as

if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with a

snap, and said:--

 

"I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If I

did simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this moment, what is

to be done; but there are other things to follow, and things that are

thousand times more difficult in that them we do not know. This is

simple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time; and to act

now would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we may have to

want Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the

wounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at

the hospital; if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and full

to-day with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and more

beautiful in a whole week, after she die--if you know of this and know

of the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard,

and yet of your own senses you did not believe, how, then, can I expect

Arthur, who know none of those things, to believe? He doubted me when I

took him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me

because in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say

good-bye as he ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken idea

this woman was buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we have

killed her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that

have killed her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet

he never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he will

sometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint

his dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, he

will think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all,

an Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since

I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he

must pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow,

must have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to

him; then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My mind is

made up. Let us go. You return home for to-night to your asylum, and see

that all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this

churchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to the

Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too,

and also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we

shall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and

there dine, for I must be back here before the sun set."

 

So we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of the

churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly.

 

 

_Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley Hotel directed to

John Seward, M. D._

 

(Not delivered.)

 

"_27 September._

 

"Friend John,--

 

"I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in

that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not

leave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager.

Therefore I shall fix some things she like not--garlic and a

crucifix--and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead,

and will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out; they

may not prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead is

desperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may

be. I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after the sunrise,

and if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss

Lucy or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there that

she is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find shelter.

He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all

along he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and

we lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the

strength in his hand of twenty men; even we four who gave our strength

to Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and

I know not what. So if it be that he come thither on this night he shall

find me; but none other shall--until it be too late. But it may be that

he will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; his

hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the

Un-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch.

 

"Therefore I write this in case.... Take the papers that are with this,

the diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find this

great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stake

through it, so that the world may rest from him.

 

"If it be so, farewell.

 

"VAN HELSING."

 

_Dr. Seward's Diary._

 

_28 September._--It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will do for

one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's monstrous

ideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on

common sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his

mind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be _some_

rational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible that

the Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that

if he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to

some fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loath to think it, and indeed

it would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van

Helsing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some

light on the mystery.

 

* * * * *

 

_29 September, morning._.... Last night, at a little before ten o'clock,

Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room; he told us all that he

wanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all

our wills were centred in his. He began by saying that he hoped we would

all come with him too, "for," he said, "there is a grave duty to be done

there. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?" This query was

directly addressed to Lord Godalming.

 

"I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble

around my house of late that I could do without any more. I have been

curious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but the

more we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself

that I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything."

 

"Me too," said Quincey Morris laconically.

 

"Oh," said the Professor, "then you are nearer the beginning, both of

you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can

even get so far as to begin."

 

It was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame of

mind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he said

with intense gravity:--

 

"I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I

know, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you will

know, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me

in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a

time--I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may

be--you shall not blame yourselves for anything."

 

"That's frank anyhow," broke in Quincey. "I'll answer for the Professor.

I don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and that's good

enough for me."

 

"I thank you, sir," said Van Helsing proudly. "I have done myself the

honour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear

to me." He held out a hand, which Quincey took.

 

Then Arthur spoke out:--

 

"Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as they

say in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentleman

or my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise.

If you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either of

these two, then I give my consent at once; though for the life of me, I

cannot understand what you are driving at."

 

"I accept your limitation," said Van Helsing, "and all I ask of you is

that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will first

consider it well and be satisfied that it does not violate your

reservations."

 

"Agreed!" said Arthur; "that is only fair. And now that the

_pourparlers_ are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?"

 

"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the churchyard at

Kingstead."

 

Arthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:--

 

"Where poor Lucy is buried?" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on: "And

when there?"

 

"To enter the tomb!" Arthur stood up.

 

"Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon me,

I see that you are in earnest." He sat down again, but I could see that

he sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was

silence until he asked again:--

 

"And when in the tomb?"

 

"To open the coffin."

 

"This is too much!" he said, angrily rising again. "I am willing to be

patient in all things that are reasonable; but in this--this desecration

of the grave--of one who----" He fairly choked with indignation. The

Professor looked pityingly at him.

 

"If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend," he said, "God knows I

would. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, and

for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!"

 

Arthur looked up with set white face and said:--

 

"Take care, sir, take care!"

 

"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?" said Van Helsing.

"And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go

on?"

 

"That's fair enough," broke in Morris.

 

After a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:--

 

"Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to

her. But if she be not dead----"

 

Arthur jumped to his feet.

 

"Good God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Has there been any mistake; has

she been buried alive?" He groaned in anguish that not even hope could

soften.

 

"I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go no

further than to say that she might be Un-Dead."

 

"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or what

is it?"

 

"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they

may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But

I have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?"

 

"Heavens and earth, no!" cried Arthur in a storm of passion. "Not for

the wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr.

Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you that you should

torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want to

cast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad that speak such things, or

am I mad to listen to them? Don't dare to think more of such a

desecration; I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a

duty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do

it!"

 

Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated, and

said, gravely and sternly:--

 

"My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty

to you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask you

now is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if when

later I make the same request you do not be more eager for its

fulfilment even than I am, then--then I shall do my duty, whatever it

may seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship's wishes I shall

hold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where

you will." His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of

pity:--

 

"But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life of

acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring

my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that if

the time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one look from

you will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man can

to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so

much of labour and so much of sorrow? I have come here from my own land

to do what I can of good; at the first to please my friend John, and

then to help a sweet young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her--I

am ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness--I gave what you

gave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, her

lover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nights

and days--before death, after death; and if my death can do her good

even now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely." He

said this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected

by it. He took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice:--

 

"Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at least I

shall go with you and wait."

 

 

CHAPTER XVI

 

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--_continued_

 

 

It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the

churchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional gleams

of moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded across

the sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly

in front as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I looked

well at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a place laden with so

sorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore himself well. I took it

that the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant

to his grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural

hesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by

entering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door.

He then lit a dark lantern and pointed to the coffin. Arthur stepped

forward hesitatingly; Van Helsing said to me:--

 

"You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that

coffin?"

 

"It was." The Professor turned to the rest saying:--

 

"You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me." He

took his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Arthur

looked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he stepped

forward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or,

at any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead,

the blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell away

again, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness; he was still silent.

Van Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in and

recoiled.

 

The coffin was empty!

 

For several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken by

Quincey Morris:--

 

"Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I wouldn't ask

such a thing ordinarily--I wouldn't so dishonour you as to imply a

doubt; but this is a mystery that goes beyond any honour or dishonour.

Is this your doing?"

 

"I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not removed nor

touched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend Seward and

I came here--with good purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, which

was then sealed up, and we found it, as now, empty. We then waited, and

saw something white come through the trees. The next day we came here in

day-time, and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?"

 

"Yes."

 

"That night we were just in time. One more so small child was missing,

and we find it, thank God, unharmed amongst the graves. Yesterday I came

here before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited here

all the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most probable

that it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic,

which the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last

night there was no exodus, so to-night before the sundown I took away my

garlic and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But

bear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me

outside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be.

So"--here he shut the dark slide of his lantern--"now to the outside."

He opened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking the

door behind him.

 

Oh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of

that vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passing

gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing and

passing--like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life; how sweet it was

to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay; how

humanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to

hear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Each