Part 3 out of 9
and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun,
low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness. The red
light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed
to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a
while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself . . .
"His red eyes again! They are just the same." It was such an odd
expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I
slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare
at her, and saw that she was in a half dreamy state, with an odd look
on her face that I could not quite make out, so I said nothing, but
followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat,
whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was quite a little startled
myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes
like burning flames, but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red
sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary's Church behind our
seat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the
refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I
called Lucy's attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herself
with a start, but she looked sad all the same. It may have been that
she was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to
it, so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache
and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little
I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet
sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home, it was then
bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the
Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen, I threw a glance
up at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I opened my
handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any movement
whatever. Just then, the moonlight crept round an angle of the
building, and the light fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy
with her head lying up against the side of the window sill and her eyes
shut. She was fast asleep, and by her, seated on the window sill, was
something that looked like a good-sized bird. I was afraid she might
get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she was
moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily. She was
holding her hand to her throat, as though to protect if from the cold.
I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly. I have taken care that
the door is locked and the window securely fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps, but she is paler than is her wont,
and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like.
I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it
15 August.--Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired, and
slept on after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at
breakfast. Arthur's father is better, and wants the marriage to come
off soon. Lucy is full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad and sorry
at once. Later on in the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to
lose Lucy as her very own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon to have
some one to protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She confided to me
that she has got her death warrant. She has not told Lucy, and made me
promise secrecy. Her doctor told her that within a few months, at
most, she must die, for her heart is weakening. At any time, even now,
a sudden shock would be almost sure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to
keep from her the affair of the dreadful night of Lucy's sleep-walking.
17 August.--No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart to
write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our
happiness. No news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker,
whilst her mother's hours are numbering to a close. I do not
understand Lucy's fading away as she is doing. She eats well and
sleeps well, and enjoys the fresh air, but all the time the roses in
her cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more languid day by day.
At night I hear her gasping as if for air.
I keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at night, but
she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open window.
Last night I found her leaning out when I woke up, and when I tried to
wake her I could not.
She was in a faint. When I managed to restore her, she was weak as
water, and cried silently between long, painful struggles for breath.
When I asked her how she came to be at the window she shook her head
and turned away.
I trust her feeling ill may not be from that unlucky prick of the
safety-pin. I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep, and the
tiny wounds seem not to have healed. They are still open, and, if
anything, larger than before, and the edges of them are faintly white.
They are like little white dots with red centres. Unless they heal
within a day or two, I shall insist on the doctor seeing about them.
LETTER, SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON, SOLICITORS WHITBY,
TO MESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON.
"Dear Sirs,--Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great
Northern Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near
Purfleet, immediately on receipt at goods station King's Cross. The
house is at present empty, but enclosed please find keys, all of
which are labelled.
"You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form the
consignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of the
house and marked 'A' on rough diagrams enclosed. Your agent will
easily recognize the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the
mansion. The goods leave by the train at 9:30 tonight, and will be
due at King's Cross at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon. As our client
wishes the delivery made as soon as possible, we shall be obliged by
your having teams ready at King's Cross at the time named and
forthwith conveying the goods to destination. In order to obviate
any delays possible through any routine requirements as to payment
in your departments, we enclose cheque herewith for ten pounds,
receipt of which please acknowledge. Should the charge be less than
this amount, you can return balance, if greater, we shall at once
send cheque for difference on hearing from you. You are to leave
the keys on coming away in the main hall of the house, where the
proprietor may get them on his entering the house by means of his
"Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business courtesy
in pressing you in all ways to use the utmost expedition.
"We are, dear Sirs,
SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON"
LETTER, MESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON,
TO MESSRS. BILLINGTON & SON, WHITBY.
"Dear Sirs,--We beg to acknowledge 10 pounds received and to return
cheque of 1 pound, 17s, 9d, amount of overplus, as shown in
receipted account herewith. Goods are delivered in exact accordance
with instructions, and keys left in parcel in main hall, as
"We are, dear Sirs,
Pro CARTER, PATERSON & CO."
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL.
18 August.--I am happy today, and write sitting on the seat in the
churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well
all night, and did not disturb me once.
The roses seem coming back already to her cheeks, though she is still
sadly pale and wan-looking. If she were in any way anemic I could
understand it, but she is not. She is in gay spirits and full of life
and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticence seems to have passed from
her, and she has just reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of
that night, and that it was here, on this very seat, I found her
As she told me she tapped playfully with the heel of her boot on the
stone slab and said,
"My poor little feet didn't make much noise then! I daresay poor old
Mr. Swales would have told me that it was because I didn't want to wake
As she was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if she had
dreamed at all that night.
Before she answered, that sweet, puckered look came into her forehead,
which Arthur, I call him Arthur from her habit, says he loves, and
indeed, I don't wonder that he does. Then she went on in a
half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to herself.
"I didn't quite dream, but it all seemed to be real. I only wanted to
be here in this spot. I don't know why, for I was afraid of something,
I don't know what. I remember, though I suppose I was asleep, passing
through the streets and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by,
and I leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling. The
whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all howling at once, as
I went up the steps. Then I had a vague memory of something long and
dark with red eyes, just as we saw in the sunset, and something very
sweet and very bitter all around me at once. And then I seemed sinking
into deep green water, and there was a singing in my ears, as I have
heard there is to drowning men, and then everything seemed passing away
from me. My soul seemed to go out from my body and float about the
air. I seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under
me, and then there was a sort of agonizing feeling, as if I were in an
earthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw you
do it before I felt you."
Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I
listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought it
better not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to another
subject, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got home the
fresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really more
rosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a very
happy evening together.
19 August.--Joy, joy, joy! Although not all joy. At last, news of
Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill, that is why he did not write.
I am not afraid to think it or to say it, now that I know. Mr. Hawkins
sent me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh so kindly. I am to leave
in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if
necessary, and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it would not be a
bad thing if we were to be married out there. I have cried over the
good Sister's letter till I can feel it wet against my bosom, where it
lies. It is of Jonathan, and must be near my heart, for he is in my
heart. My journey is all mapped out, and my luggage ready. I am only
taking one change of dress. Lucy will bring my trunk to London and
keep it till I send for it, for it may be that . . . I must write no
more. I must keep it to say to Jonathan, my husband. The letter that
he has seen and touched must comfort me till we meet.
LETTER, SISTER AGATHA, HOSPITAL OF ST. JOSEPH AND
STE. MARY BUDA-PESTH, TO MISS WILLHELMINA MURRAY
"I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strong
enough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and St.
Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six
weeks, suffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey
his love, and to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter
Hawkins, Exeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is sorry
for his delay, and that all of his work is completed. He will
require some few weeks' rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but
will then return. He wishes me to say that he has not sufficient
money with him, and that he would like to pay for his staying here,
so that others who need shall not be wanting for help.
"Yours, with sympathy
and all blessings.
"P.S.--My patient being asleep, I open this to let you know
something more. He has told me all about you, and that you are
shortly to be his wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some
fearful shock, so says our doctor, and in his delirium his ravings
have been dreadful, of wolves and poison and blood, of ghosts and
demons, and I fear to say of what. Be careful of him always that
there may be nothing to excite him of this kind for a long time to
come. The traces of such an illness as his do not lightly die away.
We should have written long ago, but we knew nothing of his friends,
and there was nothing on him, nothing that anyone could understand.
He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard was told by the
station master there that he rushed into the station shouting for a
ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour that he was
English, they gave him a ticket for the furthest station on the way
thither that the train reached.
"Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all hearts by his
sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on well, and I have
no doubt will in a few weeks be all himself. But be careful of him
for safety's sake. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste.
Mary, many, many, happy years for you both."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
19 August.--Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night. About
eight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does
when setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and knowing my
interest in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to
the attendant and at times servile, but tonight, the man tells me, he
was quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with him at all.
All he would say was, "I don't want to talk to you. You don't count
now. The master is at hand."
The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which
has seized him. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong man
with homicidal and religious mania at once might be dangerous. The
combination is a dreadful one.
At nine o'clock I visited him myself. His attitude to me was the same
as that to the attendant. In his sublime self-feeling the difference
between myself and the attendant seemed to him as nothing. It looks
like religious mania, and he will soon think that he himself is God.
These infinitesimal distinctions between man and man are too paltry for
an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves away! The real
God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall. But the God created from human
vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, if men
For half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in greater and
greater degree. I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept
strict observation all the same. All at once that shifty look came
into his eyes which we always see when a madman has seized an idea, and
with it the shifty movement of the head and back which asylum
attendants come to know so well. He became quite quiet, and went and
sat on the edge of his bed resignedly, and looked into space with
I thought I would find out if his apathy were real or only assumed, and
tried to lead him to talk of his pets, a theme which had never failed
to excite his attention.
At first he made no reply, but at length said testily, "Bother them
all! I don't care a pin about them."
"What?" I said. "You don't mean to tell me you don't care about
spiders?" (Spiders at present are his hobby and the notebook is filling
up with columns of small figures.)
To this he answered enigmatically, "The Bride maidens rejoice the eyes
that wait the coming of the bride. But when the bride draweth nigh,
then the maidens shine not to the eyes that are filled."
He would not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on his
bed all the time I remained with him.
I am weary tonight and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucy, and
how different things might have been. If I don't sleep at once,
chloral, the modern Morpheus! I must be careful not to let it grow
into a habit. No, I shall take none tonight! I have thought of Lucy,
and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need be, tonight
shall be sleepless.
Later.--Glad I made the resolution, gladder that I kept to it. I had
lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice, when the
night watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say that Renfield
had escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once. My patient
is too dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas of his
might work out dangerously with strangers.
The attendant was waiting for me. He said he had seen him not ten
minutes before, seemingly asleep in his bed, when he had looked through
the observation trap in the door. His attention was called by the
sound of the window being wrenched out. He ran back and saw his feet
disappear through the window, and had at once sent up for me. He was
only in his night gear, and cannot be far off.
The attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where he should
go than to follow him, as he might lose sight of him whilst getting out
of the building by the door. He is a bulky man, and couldn't get
through the window.
I am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet foremost, and as we
were only a few feet above ground landed unhurt.
The attendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and had taken a
straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As I got through the
belt of trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which separates
our grounds from those of the deserted house.
I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men
immediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in case our
friend might be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the
wall, dropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield's figure
just disappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him. On
the far side of the house I found him pressed close against the old
iron-bound oak door of the chapel.
He was talking, apparently to some one, but I was afraid to go near
enough to hear what he was saying, lest I might frighten him, and he
should run off.
Chasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing to following a naked
lunatic, when the fit of escaping is upon him! After a few minutes,
however, I could see that he did not take note of anything around him,
and so ventured to draw nearer to him, the more so as my men had now
crossed the wall and were closing him in. I heard him say . . .
"I am here to do your bidding, Master. I am your slave, and you will
reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped you long and afar
off. Now that you are near, I await your commands, and you will not
pass me by, will you, dear Master, in your distribution of good
He is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves and fishes
even when he believes his is in a real Presence. His manias make a
startling combination. When we closed in on him he fought like a
tiger. He is immensely strong, for he was more like a wild beast than
I never saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before, and I hope I
shall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his strength and
his danger in good time. With strength and determination like his, he
might have done wild work before he was caged.
He is safe now, at any rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get free
from the strait waistcoat that keeps him restrained, and he's chained
to the wall in the padded room.
His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are more
deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement.
Just now he spoke coherent words for the first time. "I shall be
patient, Master. It is coming, coming, coming!"
So I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to sleep, but this
diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep tonight.
LETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA
Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
"My dearest Lucy,
"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened
since we parted at the railway station at Whitby.
"Well, my dear, I got to Hull all right, and caught the boat to
Hamburg, and then the train on here. I feel that I can hardly
recall anything of the journey, except that I knew I was coming to
Jonathan, and that as I should have to do some nursing, I had better
get all the sleep I could. I found my dear one, oh, so thin and
pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear
eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has
vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember
anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At least,
he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask.
"He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor
brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good
creature and a born nurse, tells me that he wanted her to tell me
what they were, but she would only cross herself, and say she would
never tell. That the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God,
and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she
should respect her trust.
"She is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw I was
troubled, she opened up the subject my poor dear raved about, added,
'I can tell you this much, my dear. That it was not about anything
which he has done wrong himself, and you, as his wife to be, have no
cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to
you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can
"I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my poor
dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of my
being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I
felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other woman was
a cause for trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can
see his face while he sleeps. He is waking!
"When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get
something from the pocket. I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought
all his things. I saw amongst them was his notebook, and was was
going to ask him to let me look at it, for I knew that I might find
some clue to his trouble, but I suppose he must have seen my wish in
my eyes, for he sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to be
quite alone for a moment.
"Then he called me back, and he said to me very solemnly,
'Wilhelmina', I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has
never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him, 'You
know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife. There
should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and
when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I
do not know if it was real of the dreaming of a madman. You know I
had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I
do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our
marriage.' For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as
the formalities are complete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to
share my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it
if you will, but never let me know unless, indeed, some solemn duty
should come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake,
sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted, and I put the
book under his pillow, and kissed him. I have asked Sister Agatha
to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am
waiting her reply . . ."
"She has come and told me that the Chaplain of the English mission
church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as
soon after as Jonathan awakes."
"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very,
very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was
ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered
his 'I will' firmly and strong. I could hardly speak. My heart was
so full that even those words seemed to choke me.
"The dear sisters were so kind. Please, God, I shall never, never
forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities I have taken
upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the chaplain
and the sisters had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucy, it is
the first time I have written the words 'my husband'--left me alone
with my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped
it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue
ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with
sealing wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed
it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it
so, and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our
lives that we trusted each other, that I would never open it unless
it were for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty.
Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy, it was the first time he
took his wife's hand, and said that it was the dearest thing in all
the wide world, and that he would go through all the past again to
win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to have said a part of the
past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I shall not wonder if at
first he mixes up not only the month, but the year.
"Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was
the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to
give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these
went my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear,
when he kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it
was like a solemn pledge between us.
"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only
because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are,
very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide
when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life.
I want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife,
whither duty has led me, so that in your own married life you too
may be all happy, as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life
may be all it promises, a long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind,
no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for
that can never be, but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am
now. Goodbye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and perhaps,
write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking. I
must attend my husband!
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA HARKER.
Whitby, 30 August.
"My dearest Mina,
"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your
own home with your husband. I wish you were coming home soon enough
to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan.
It has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am
full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have
quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out
of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at night.
Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that
Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, and rides, and
rowing, and tennis, and fishing together, and I love him more than
ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at
first he told me that he couldn't love me more than he did then.
But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. So no more just
at present from your loving,
"P.S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.
"P.P.S.--We are to be married on 28 September."
DR. SEWARDS DIARY
20 August.--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has
now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his
passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually
violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and
kept murmuring to himself. "Now I can wait. Now I can wait."
The attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at
him. He was still in the strait waistcoat and in the padded room, but
the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had something
of their old pleading. I might almost say, cringing, softness. I was
satisfied with his present condition, and directed him to be relieved.
The attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my wishes without
It was a strange thing that the patient had humour enough to see their
distrust, for, coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while
looking furtively at them, "They think I could hurt you! Fancy me
hurting you! The fools!"
It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself disassociated
even in the mind of this poor madman from the others, but all the same
I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in
common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together. Or
has he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well being is
needful to Him? I must find out later on. Tonight he will not speak.
Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt
He will only say, "I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to
think of now, and I can wait. I can wait."
After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quiet
until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at
length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhausted
him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.
. . . Three nights has the same thing happened, violent all day then
quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the
cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence which came
and went. Happy thought! We shall tonight play sane wits against mad
ones. He escaped before without our help. Tonight he shall escape
with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow
in case they are required.
23 August.--"The expected always happens." How well Disraeli knew
life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all our
subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved one
thing, that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall
in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have
given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded
room, when once he is quiet, until the hour before sunrise. The poor
soul's body will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate
it. Hark! The unexpected again! I am called. The patient has once
Later.--Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the
attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past
him and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to
follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we
found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door.
When he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized
him in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a
strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then
as suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see
nothing. Then I caught the patient's eye and followed it, but could
trace nothing as it looked into the moonlight sky, except a big bat,
which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the west. Bats
usually wheel about, but this one seemed to go straight on, as if it
knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.
The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said, "You
needn't tie me. I shall go quietly!" Without trouble, we came back
to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and
shall not forget this night.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
Hillingham, 24 August.--I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things
down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it
will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last
night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps
it is the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and
horrid to me, for I can remember nothing. But I am full of vague
fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he
looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to
be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother's room tonight. I
shall make an excuse to try.
25 August.--Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my
proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to
worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while, but when
the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been
falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the
window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I
must have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember
them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and
my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I
don't seem to be getting air enough. I shall try to cheer up when
Arthur comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me so.
LETTER, ARTHUR TO DR. SEWARD
"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August
"My dear Jack,
"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill, that is she has no
special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every
day. I have asked her if there is any cause, I not dare to ask her
mother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter in
her present state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has
confided to me that her doom is spoken, disease of the heart, though
poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am sure that there is something
preying on my dear girl's mind. I am almost distracted when I think
of her. To look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should ask
you to see her, and though she demurred at first, I know why, old
fellow, she finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I
know, old friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to
ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham
tomorrow, two o'clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion in Mrs.
Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of being
alone with you. I am filled with anxiety, and want to consult with
you alone as soon as I can after you have seen her. Do not fail!
TELEGRAM, ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD
"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write
me fully by tonight's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary."
LETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
"My dear old fellow,
"With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you know at
once that in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or
any malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means
satisfied with her appearance. She is woefully different from what
she was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I
did not have full opportunity of examination such as I should wish.
Our very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even medical
science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you exactly
what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure, your own
conclusions. I shall then say what I have done and propose doing.
"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was
present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying
all she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from being
anxious. I have no doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what
need of caution there is.
"We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful,
we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real
cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and
Lucy was left with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got
there her gaiety remained, for the servants were coming and going.
"As soon as the door was closed, however, the mask fell from her
face, and she sank down into a chair with a great sigh, and hid her
eyes with her hand. When I saw that her high spirits had failed, I
at once took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis.
"She said to me very sweetly, 'I cannot tell you how I loathe
talking about myself.' I reminded her that a doctor's confidence
was sacred, but that you were grievously anxious about her. She
caught on to my meaning at once, and settled that matter in a word.
'Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for myself, but
for him!' So I am quite free.
"I could easily see that she was somewhat bloodless, but I could not
see the usual anemic signs, and by the chance, I was able to test
the actual quality of her blood, for in opening a window which was
stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken
glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident
chance, and I secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed
"The qualitative analysis give a quite normal condition, and shows,
I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In other
physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for
anxiety, but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to the
conclusion that it must be something mental.
"She complains of difficulty breathing satisfactorily at times, and
of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but
regarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child,
she used to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit
came back, and that once she walked out in the night and went to
East Cliff, where Miss Murray found her. But she assures me that of
late the habit has not returned.
"I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of. I have
written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of
Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in
the world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that
all things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who
you are and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow,
is in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to
do anything I can for her.
"Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal
reason, so no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his
wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, this is because he knows
what he is talking about better than any one else. He is a
philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced
scientists of his day, and he has, I believe, an absolutely open
mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and
indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from
virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats,
these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for
mankind, work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide
as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may
know why I have such confidence in him. I have asked him to come at
once. I shall see Miss Westenra tomorrow again. She is to meet me
at the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by too early a
repetition of my call.
LETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING, MD, DPh, D. Lit, ETC, ETC, TO DR. SEWARD
"My good Friend,
"When I received your letter I am already coming to you. By good
fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who
have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who
have trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those
he holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from
my wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that
our other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when
he wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune
could do. But it is pleasure added to do for him, your friend, it
is to you that I come. Have near at hand, and please it so arrange
that we may see the young lady not too late on tomorrow, for it is
likely that I may have to return here that night. But if need be I
shall come again in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till
then goodbye, my friend John.
LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
"My dear Art,
"Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to Hillingham,
and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was lunching out,
so that we were alone with her.
"Van Helsing made a very careful examination of the patient. He is
to report to me, and I shall advise you, for of course I was not
present all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned, but says he
must think. When I told him of our friendship and how you trust to
me in the matter, he said, 'You must tell him all you think. Tell
him him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am
not jesting. This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.' I
asked what he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when
we had come back to town, and he was having a cup of tea before
starting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not give me any
further clue. You must not be angry with me, Art, because his very
reticence means that all his brains are working for her good. He
will speak plainly enough when the time comes, be sure. So I told
him I would simply write an account of our visit, just as if I were
doing a descriptive special article for THE DAILY TELEGRAPH. He
seemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts of London were not
quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. I am to
get his report tomorrow if he can possibly make it. In any case I
am to have a letter.
"Well, as to the visit, Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I
first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something
of the ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal.
She was very sweet to the Professor (as she always is), and tried to
make him feel at ease, though I could see the poor girl was making a
hard struggle for it.
"I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quick look
under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to
chat of all things except ourselves and diseases and with
such an infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucy's
pretense of animation merge into reality. Then, without
any seeming change, he brought the conversation gently round
to his visit, and suavely said,
"'My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you are
so much beloved. That is much, my dear, even were there that which
I do not see. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that
you were of a ghastly pale. To them I say "Pouf!"' And he snapped
his fingers at me and went on. 'But you and I shall show them how
wrong they are. How can he,' and he pointed at me with the same
look and gesture as that with which he pointed me out in his class,
on, or rather after, a particular occasion which he never fails to
remind me of, 'know anything of a young ladies? He has his madmen
to play with, and to bring them back to happiness, and to those that
love them. It is much to do, and, oh, but there are rewards in that
we can bestow such happiness. But the young ladies! He has no wife
nor daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to the young, but
to the old, like me, who have known so many sorrows and the causes
of them. So, my dear, we will send him away to smoke the cigarette
in the garden, whiles you and I have little talk all to ourselves.'
I took the hint, and strolled about, and presently the professor
came to the window and called me in. He looked grave, but said, 'I
have made careful examination, but there is no functional cause.
With you I agree that there has been much blood lost, it has been
but is not. But the conditions of her are in no way anemic. I have
asked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two
questions, that so I may not chance to miss nothing. I know well
what she will say. And yet there is cause. There is always cause
for everything. I must go back home and think. You must send me
the telegram every day, and if there be cause I shall come again.
The disease, for not to be well is a disease, interest me, and the
sweet, young dear, she interest me too. She charm me, and for her,
if not for you or disease, I come.'
"As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were
alone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern
watch. I trust your poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible
thing to you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position
between two people who are both so dear to you. I know your idea of
duty to your father, and you are right to stick to it. But if need
be, I shall send you word to come at once to Lucy, so do not be
over-anxious unless you hear from me."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
4 September.--Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.
He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time.
Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The
attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately
the men came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of
noon he became so violent that it took all their strength to hold him.
In about five minutes, however, he began to get more quiet, and
finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained
up to now. The attendant tells me that his screams whilst in the
paroxysm were really appalling. I found my hands full when I got in,
attending to some of the other patients who were frightened by him.
Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds disturbed
even me, though I was some distance away. It is now after the dinner
hour of the asylum, and as yet my patient sits in a corner brooding,
with a dull, sullen, woe-begone look in his face, which seems rather
to indicate than to show something directly. I cannot quite
Later.--Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in on
him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be.
He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his
capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the ridges
of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologized for his bad
conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to
his own room, and to have his notebook again. I thought it well to
humour him, so he is back in his room with the window open. He has
the sugar of his tea spread out on the window sill, and is reaping
quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them
into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his
room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few
days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me, but
he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said
in a sort of far away voice, as though saying it rather to himself
than to me.
"All over! All over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless
I do it myself!" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he
said, "Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little
more sugar? I think it would be very good for me."
"And the flies?" I said.
"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies, therefore I like
it." And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen do
not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a
man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.
Midnight.--Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra,
whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at
our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him
yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it
better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the
wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights
and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds
even as on foul water, and to realize all the grim sternness of my own
cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own
desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was
going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he
became less and less frenzied, and just as it dipped he slid from the
hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful,
however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for
within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked around him. I
signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was anxious to see
what he would do. He went straight over to the window and brushed out
the crumbs of sugar. Then he took his fly box, and emptied it
outside, and threw away the box. Then he shut the window, and
crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked
him, "Are you going to keep flies any more?"
"No," said he. "I am sick of all that rubbish!" He certainly is a
wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of his
mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop. There may be a
clue after all, if we can find why today his paroxysms came on at high
noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the
sun at periods which affects certain natures, as at times the moon
does others? We shall see.
TELEGRAM. SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"4 September.--Patient still better today."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"5 September.--Patient greatly improved. Good appetite, sleeps
naturally, good spirits, colour coming back."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"6 September.--Terrible change for the worse. Come at once.
Do not lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till
have seen you."
LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
"My dear Art,
"My news today is not so good. Lucy this morning had gone back a
bit. There is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it.
Mrs. Westenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucy, and has
consulted me professionally about her. I took advantage of the
opportunity, and told her that my old master, Van Helsing, the great
specialist, was coming to stay with me, and that I would put her in
his charge conjointly with myself. So now we can come and go
without alarming her unduly, for a shock to her would mean sudden
death, and this, in Lucy's weak condition, might be disastrous to
her. We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor fellow,
but, please God, we shall come through them all right. If any need
I shall write, so that, if you do not hear from me, take it for
granted that I am simply waiting for news, In haste,
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
7 September.--The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at
Liverpool Street was, "Have you said anything to our young friend, to
lover of her?"
"No," I said. "I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my
telegram. I wrote him a letter simply telling him that you were
coming, as Miss Westenra was not so well, and that I should let him
know if need be."
"Right, my friend," he said. "Quite right! Better he not know as
yet. Perhaps he will never know. I pray so, but if it be needed,
then he shall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution you.
You deal with the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the other,
and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with
God's madmen too, the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen
what you do nor why you do it. You tell them not what you think. So
you shall keep knowledge in its place, where it may rest, where it may
gather its kind around it and breed. You and I shall keep as yet what
we know here, and here." He touched me on the heart and on the
forehead, and then touched himself the same way. "I have for myself
thoughts at the present. Later I shall unfold to you."
"Why not now?" I asked. "It may do some good. We may arrive at some
decision." He looked at me and said, "My friend John, when the corn is
grown, even before it has ripened, while the milk of its mother earth
is in him, and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint him with his
gold, the husbandman he pull the ear and rub him between his rough
hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to you, 'Look! He's
good corn, he will make a good crop when the time comes.'"
I did not see the application and told him so. For reply he reached
over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully, as he used
long ago to do at lectures, and said, "The good husbandman tell you so
then because he knows, but not till then. But you do not find the
good husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow. That is
for the children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it
as of the work of their life. See you now, friend John? I have sown
my corn, and Nature has her work to do in making it sprout, if he
sprout at all, there's some promise, and I wait till the ear begins to
swell." He broke off, for he evidently saw that I understood. Then he
went on gravely, "You were always a careful student, and your case
book was ever more full than the rest. And I trust that good habit
have not fail. Remember, my friend, that knowledge is stronger than
memory, and we should not trust the weaker. Even if you have not kept
the good practice, let me tell you that this case of our dear miss is
one that may be, mind, I say may be, of such interest to us and others
that all the rest may not make him kick the beam, as your people say.
Take then good note of it. Nothing is too small. I counsel you, put
down in record even your doubts and surmises. Hereafter it may be of
interest to you to see how true you guess. We learn from failure, not
When I described Lucy's symptoms, the same as before, but infinitely
more marked, he looked very grave, but said nothing. He took with him
a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, "the ghastly
paraphernalia of our beneficial trade," as he once called, in one of
his lectures, the equipment of a professor of the healing craft.
When we were shown in, Mrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed, but not
nearly so much as I expected to find her. Nature in one of her
beneficient moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to
its own terrors. Here, in a case where any shock may prove fatal,
matters are so ordered that, from some cause or other, the things not
personal, even the terrible change in her daughter to whom she is so
attached, do not seem to reach her. It is something like the way dame
Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some insensitive
tissue which can protect from evil that which it would otherwise harm
by contact. If this be an ordered selfishness, then we should pause
before we condemn any one for the vice of egoism, for there may be
deeper root for its causes than we have knowledge of.
I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and set down
a rule that she should not be present with Lucy, or think of her
illness more than was absolutely required. She assented readily, so
readily that I saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van
Helsing and I were shown up to Lucy's room. If I was shocked when I
saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her today.
She was ghastly, chalkily pale. The red seemed to have gone even from
her lips and gums, and the bones of her face stood out prominently.
Her breathing was painful to see or hear. Van Helsing's face grew set
as marble, and his eyebrows converged till they almost touched over his
nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did not seem to have strength to
speak, so for a while we were all silent. Then Van Helsing beckoned
to me, and we went gently out of the room. The instant we had closed
the door he stepped quickly along the passage to the next door, which
was open. Then he pulled me quickly in with him and closed the door.
"My god!" he said. "This is dreadful. There is not time to be lost.
She will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart's action as it
should be. There must be a transfusion of blood at once. Is it you
"I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me."
"Then get ready at once. I will bring up my bag. I am prepared."
I went downstairs with him, and as we were going there was a knock at
the hall door. When we reached the hall, the maid had just opened the
door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to me, saying
in an eager whisper,
"Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your letter, and
have been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran down here to see
for myself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful
to you, sir, for coming."
When first the Professor's eye had lit upon him, he had been angry at
his interruption at such a time, but now, as he took in his stalwart
proportions and recognized the strong young manhood which seemed to
emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said to him as
he held out his hand,
"Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss. She
is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that." For he
suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. "You are
to help her. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is
your best help."
"What can I do?" asked Arthur hoarsely. "Tell me, and I shall do it.
My life is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for
The Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from old
knowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer.
"My young sir, I do not ask so much as that, not the last!"
"What shall I do?" There was fire in his eyes, and his open nostrils
quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him on the shoulder.
"Come!" he said. "You are a man, and it is a man we want. You are
better than me, better than my friend John." Arthur looked bewildered,
and the Professor went on by explaining in a kindly way.
"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must
have or die. My friend John and I have consulted, and we are about to
perform what we call transfusion of blood, to transfer from full veins
of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his
blood, as he is the more young and strong than me."--Here Arthur took
my hand and wrung it hard in silence.--"But now you are here, you are
more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of
thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our blood so bright than
Arthur turned to him and said, "If you only knew how gladly I would
die for her you would understand . . ." He stopped with a sort of
choke in his voice.
"Good boy!" said Van Helsing. "In the not-so-far-off you will be
happy that you have done all for her you love. Come now and be
silent. You shall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must
go, and you must leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame. You know
how it is with her. There must be no shock, any knowledge of this
would be one. Come!"
We all went up to Lucy's room. Arthur by direction remained outside.
Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but said nothing. She was not
asleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort. Her eyes
spoke to us, that was all.
Van Helsing took some things from his bag and laid them on a little
table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and coming over to the
bed, said cheerily, "Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink
it off, like a good child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is
easy. Yes." She had made the effort with success.
It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact, marked
the extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep began
to flicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic began to
manifest its potency, and she fell into a deep sleep. When the
Professor was satisfied, he called Arthur into the room, and bade him
strip off his coat. Then he added, "You may take that one little kiss
whiles I bring over the table. Friend John, help to me!" So neither
of us looked whilst he bent over her.
Van Helsing, turning to me, said, "He is so young and strong, and of
blood so pure that we need not defibrinate it."
Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed
the operation. As the transfusion went on, something like life seemed
to come back to poor Lucy's cheeks, and through Arthur's growing
pallor the joy of his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I
began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur,
strong man as he was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain
Lucy's system must have undergone that what weakened Arthur only
partially restored her.
But the Professor's face was set, and he stood watch in hand, and with
his eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Arthur. I could hear my
own heart beat. Presently, he said in a soft voice, "Do not stir an
instant. It is enough. You attend him. I will look to her."
When all was over, I could see how much Arthur was weakened. I
dressed the wound and took his arm to bring him away, when Van Helsing
spoke without turning round, the man seems to have eyes in the back of
his head, "The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which he
shall have presently." And as he had now finished his operation, he
adjusted the pillow to the patient's head. As he did so the narrow
black velvet band which she seems always to wear round her throat,
buckled with an old diamond buckle which her lover had given her, was
dragged a little up, and showed a red mark on her throat.
Arthur did not notice it, but I could hear the deep hiss of indrawn
breath which is one of Van Helsing's ways of betraying emotion. He
said nothing at the moment, but turned to me, saying, "Now take down
our brave young lover, give him of the port wine, and let him lie down
a while. He must then go home and rest, sleep much and eat much, that
he may be recruited of what he has so given to his love. He must not
stay here. Hold a moment! I may take it, sir, that you are anxious
of result. Then bring it with you, that in all ways the operation is
successful. You have saved her life this time, and you can go home
and rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tell her all
when she is well. She shall love you none the less for what you have
When Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy was sleeping
gently, but her breathing was stronger. I could see the counterpane
move as her breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking at
her intently. The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked
the Professor in a whisper, "What do you make of that mark on her
"What do you make of it?"
"I have not examined it yet," I answered, and then and there proceeded
to loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein there were two
punctures, not large, but not wholesome looking. There was no sign of
disease, but the edges were white and worn looking, as if by some
trituration. It at once occurred to me that that this wound, or
whatever it was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood.
But I abandoned the idea as soon as it formed, for such a thing could
not be. The whole bed would have been drenched to a scarlet with the
blood which the girl must have lost to leave such a pallor as she had
before the transfusion.
"Well?" said Van Helsing.
"Well," said I. "I can make nothing of it."
The Professor stood up. "I must go back to Amsterdam tonight," he
said "There are books and things there which I want. You must remain
here all night, and you must not let your sight pass from her."
"Shall I have a nurse?" I asked.
"We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night. See
that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not
sleep all the night. Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall be
back as soon as possible. And then we may begin."
"May begin?" I said. "What on earth do you mean?"
"We shall see!" he answered, as he hurried out. He came back a moment
later and put his head inside the door and said with a warning finger
held up, "Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and harm
befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter!"
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY--CONTINUED
8 September.--I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate worked itself
off towards dusk, and she waked naturally. She looked a different
being from what she had been before the operation. Her spirits even
were good, and she was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see
evidences of the absolute prostration which she had undergone. When I
told Mrs. Westenra that Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit
up with her, she almost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her
daughter's renewed strength and excellent spirits. I was firm,
however, and made preparations for my long vigil. When her maid had
prepared her for the night I came in, having in the meantime had
supper, and took a seat by the bedside.
She did not in any way make objection, but looked at me gratefully
whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she seemed sinking off
to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself together and shook
it off. It was apparent that she did not want to sleep, so I tackled
the subject at once.
"You do not want to sleep?"
"No. I am afraid."
"Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave for."
"Ah, not if you were like me, if sleep was to you a presage of
"A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?"
"I don't know. Oh, I don't know. And that is what is so terrible.
All this weakness comes to me in sleep, until I dread the very
"But, my dear girl, you may sleep tonight. I am here watching you,
and I can promise that nothing will happen."
"Ah, I can trust you!" she said.
I seized the opportunity, and said, "I promise that if I see any
evidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once."
"You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to me. Then I will
sleep!" And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief, and
sank back, asleep.
All night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but slept on and
on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. Her lips
were slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity
of a pendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident that
no bad dreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.
In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and took
myself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a short
wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent
result of the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears, took
me all day to clear off. It was dark when I was able to inquire about
my zoophagous patient. The report was good. He had been quite quiet
for the past day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing at
Amsterdam whilst I was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at
Hillingham tonight, as it might be well to be at hand, and stating
that he was leaving by the night mail and would join me early in the
9 September.--I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to
Hillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my
brain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral
exhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook
hands with me she looked sharply in my face and said,
"No sitting up tonight for you. You are worn out. I am quite well
again. Indeed, I am, and if there is to be any sitting up, it is I
who will sit up with you."
I would not argue the point, but went and had my supper. Lucy came
with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I made an excellent
meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than excellent port.
Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room next her own, where a
cozy fire was burning.
"Now," she said. "You must stay here. I shall leave this door open
and my door too. You can lie on the sofa for I know that nothing
would induce any of you doctors to go to bed whilst there is a patient
above the horizon. If I want anything I shall call out, and you can
come to me at once."
I could not but acquiesce, for I was dog tired, and could not have sat
up had I tried. So, on her renewing her promise to call me if she
should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
9 September.--I feel so happy tonight. I have been so miserably weak,
that to be able to think and move about is like feeling sunshine after
a long spell of east wind out of a steel sky. Somehow Arthur feels
very, very close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me. I
suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn
our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength
give love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he
wills. I know where my thoughts are. If only Arthur knew! My dear,
my dear, your ears must tingle as you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh,
the blissful rest of last night! How I slept, with that dear, good
Dr. Seward watching me. And tonight I shall not fear to sleep, since
he is close at hand and within call. Thank everybody for being so
good to me. Thank God! Goodnight Arthur.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
10 September.--I was conscious of the Professor's hand on my head, and
started awake all in a second. That is one of the things that we
learn in an asylum, at any rate.
"And how is our patient?"
"Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me," I answered.
"Come, let us see," he said. And together we went into the room.
The blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, whilst Van
Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the bed.
As I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the room, I
heard the Professor's low hiss of inspiration, and knowing its rarity,
a deadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over he moved back,
and his exclamation of horror, "Gott in Himmel!" needed no enforcement
from his agonized face. He raised his hand and pointed to the bed,
and his iron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees begin to
There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, more horribly
white and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were white, and the
gums seemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we sometimes see
in a corpse after a prolonged illness.
Van Helsing raised his foot to stamp in anger, but the instinct of his
life and all the long years of habit stood to him, and he put it down
"Quick!" he said. "Bring the brandy."
I flew to the dining room, and returned with the decanter. He wetted
the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm and wrist and
heart. He felt her heart, and after a few moments of agonizing
"It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our work is
undone. We must begin again. There is no young Arthur here now. I
have to call on you yourself this time, friend John." As he spoke, he
was dipping into his bag, and producing the instruments of
transfusion. I had taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt sleeve.
There was no possibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of
one; and so, without a moment's delay, we began the operation.
After a time, it did not seem a short time either, for the draining
away of one's blood, no matter how willingly it be given, is a
terrible feeling, Van Helsing held up a warning finger. "Do not
stir," he said. "But I fear that with growing strength she may wake,
and that would make danger, oh, so much danger. But I shall
precaution take. I shall give hypodermic injection of morphia." He
proceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out his intent.
The effect on Lucy was not bad, for the faint seemed to merge subtly
into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal pride that
I could see a faint tinge of colour steal back into the pallid cheeks
and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is to feel
his own lifeblood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves.
The Professor watched me critically. "That will do," he said.
"Already?" I remonstrated. "You took a great deal more from Art." To
which he smiled a sad sort of smile as he replied,
"He is her lover, her fiance. You have work, much work to do for her
and for others, and the present will suffice."
When we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, whilst I applied
digital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, while I waited his
leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick. By and
by he bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine
for myself. As I was leaving the room, he came after me, and half
"Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should turn
up unexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once frighten
him and enjealous him, too. There must be none. So!"
When I came back he looked at me carefully, and then said, "You are
not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie on your sofa, and rest
awhile, then have much breakfast and come here to me."
I followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise they were. I
had done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my strength. I
felt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of the amazement at
what had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa, however, wondering over
and over again how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement, and how
she could have been drained of so much blood with no sign any where to
show for it. I think I must have continued my wonder in my dreams,
for, sleeping and waking my thoughts always came back to the little
punctures in her throat and the ragged, exhausted appearance of their
edges, tiny though they were.
Lucy slept well into the day, and when she woke she was fairly well
and strong, though not nearly so much so as the day before. When Van
Helsing had seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me in charge,
with strict injunctions that I was not to leave her for a moment. I
could hear his voice in the hall, asking the way to the nearest
Lucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that
anything had happened. I tried to keep her amused and interested.
When her mother came up to see her, she did not seem to notice any
change whatever, but said to me gratefully,
"We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, but you really
must now take care not to overwork yourself. You are looking pale
yourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a bit, that you
do!" As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only
momentarily, for her poor wasted veins could not stand for long an
unwonted drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as
she turned imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid my
finger on my lips. With a sigh, she sank back amid her pillows.
Van Helsing returned in a couple of hours, and presently said to me:
"Now you go home, and eat much and drink enough. Make yourself
strong. I stay here tonight, and I shall sit up with little miss
myself. You and I must watch the case, and we must have none other to
know. I have grave reasons. No, do not ask me. Think what you will.
Do not fear to think even the most not-improbable. Goodnight."
In the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if they or either
of them might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They implored me to let
them, and when I said it was Dr. Van Helsing's wish that either he or
I should sit up, they asked me quite piteously to intercede with
the 'foreign gentleman'. I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps
it is because I am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on
Lucy's account, that their devotion was manifested. For over and over
again have I seen similar instances of woman's kindness. I got back
here in time for a late dinner, went my rounds, all well, and set this
down whilst waiting for sleep. It is coming.
11 September.--This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. Found Van
Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better. Shortly after I
had arrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the Professor. He
opened it with much impressment, assumed, of course, and showed a
great bundle of white flowers.
"These are for you, Miss Lucy," he said.
"For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!"
"Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are medicines."
Here Lucy made a wry face. "Nay, but they are not to take in a
decoction or in nauseous form, so you need not snub that so charming
nose, or I shall point out to my friend Arthur what woes he may have
to endure in seeing so much beauty that he so loves so much distort.
Aha, my pretty miss, that bring the so nice nose all straight again.
This is medicinal, but you do not know how. I put him in your window,
I make pretty wreath, and hang him round your neck, so you sleep well.
Oh, yes! They, like the lotus flower, make your trouble forgotten.
It smell so like the waters of Lethe, and of that fountain of youth
that the Conquistadores sought for in the Floridas, and find him all
Whilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the flowers and
smelling them. Now she threw them down saying, with half laughter,
and half disgust,
"Oh, Professor, I believe you are only putting up a joke on me. Why,
these flowers are only common garlic."
To my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and said with all his sternness,
his iron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting,
"No trifling with me! I never jest! There is grim purpose in what I
do, and I warn you that you do not thwart me. Take care, for the sake
of others if not for your own." Then seeing poor Lucy scared, as she
might well be, he went on more gently, "Oh, little miss, my dear, do
not fear me. I only do for your good, but there is much virtue to you
in those so common flowers. See, I place them myself in your room. I
make myself the wreath that you are to wear. But hush! No telling to
others that make so inquisitive questions. We must obey, and silence
is a part of obedience, and obedience is to bring you strong and well
into loving arms that wait for you. Now sit still a while. Come with
me, friend John, and you shall help me deck the room with my garlic,
which is all the way from Haarlem, where my friend Vanderpool raise
herb in his glass houses all the year. I had to telegraph yesterday,
or they would not have been here."
We went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The Professor's
actions were certainly odd and not to be found in any pharmacopeia
that I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows and latched
them securely. Next, taking a handful of the flowers, he rubbed them
all over the sashes, as though to ensure that every whiff of air that
might get in would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp
he rubbed all over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at each
side, and round the fireplace in the same way. It all seemed
grotesque to me, and presently I said, "Well, Professor, I know you
always have a reason for what you do, but this certainly puzzles me.
It is well we have no sceptic here, or he would say that you were
working some spell to keep out an evil spirit."
"Perhaps I am!" he answered quietly as he began to make the wreath
which Lucy was to wear round her neck.
We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and when she
was in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of garlic round her
neck. The last words he said to her were,
"Take care you do not disturb it, and even if the room feel close, do
not tonight open the window or the door."
"I promise," said Lucy. "And thank you both a thousand times for all
your kindness to me! Oh, what have I done to be blessed with such
As we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van Helsing said,
"Tonight I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want, two nights of travel,
much reading in the day between, and much anxiety on the day to
follow, and a night to sit up, without to wink. Tomorrow in the
morning early you call for me, and we come together to see our pretty
miss, so much more strong for my 'spell' which I have work. Ho, ho!"
He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two
nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror.
It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my
friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
12 September.--How good they all are to me. I quite love that dear
Dr. Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about these flowers.
He positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must have
been right, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not
dread being alone tonight, and I can go to sleep without fear. I
shall not mind any flapping outside the window. Oh, the terrible
struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late, the pain of
sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown
horrors as it has for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives
have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes
nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am
tonight, hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia in the play, with
'virgin crants and maiden strewments.' I never liked garlic before,
but tonight it is delightful! There is peace in its smell. I feel
sleep coming already. Goodnight, everybody.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
13 September.--Called at the Berkeley and found Van Helsing, as usual,
up to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel was waiting. The
Professor took his bag, which he always brings with him now.
Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at Hillingham
at eight o'clock. It was a lovely morning. The bright sunshine and
all the fresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the completion of
nature's annual work. The leaves were turning to all kinds of
beautiful colours, but had not yet begun to drop from the trees. When
we entered we met Mrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room. She
is always an early riser. She greeted us warmly and said,
"You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is
still asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go in,
lest I should disturb her." The Professor smiled, and looked quite
jubilant. He rubbed his hands together, and said, "Aha! I thought I
had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working."
To which she replied, "You must not take all the credit to yourself,
doctor. Lucy's state this morning is due in part to me."
"How do you mean, ma'am?" asked the Professor.
"Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went into
her room. She was sleeping soundly, so soundly that even my coming
did not wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There were a lot
of those horrible, strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and she
had actually a bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the heavy
odour would be too much for the dear child in her weak state, so I took
them all away and opened a bit of the window to let in a little fresh
air. You will be pleased with her, I am sure."
She moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted early.
As she had spoken, I watched the Professor's face, and saw it turn
ashen gray. He had been able to retain his self-command whilst the
poor lady was present, for he knew her state and how mischievous a
shock would be. He actually smiled on her as he held open the door
for her to pass into her room. But the instant she had disappeared he
pulled me, suddenly and forcibly, into the dining room and closed the
Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down. He
raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and then
beat his palms together in a helpless way. Finally he sat down on a
chair, and putting his hands before his face, began to sob, with loud,
dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking of his heart.
Then he raised his arms again, as though appealing to the whole
universe. "God! God! God!" he said. "What have we done, what has
this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate
amongst us still, send down from the pagan world of old, that such
things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing, and
all for the best as she think, does such thing as lose her daughter
body and soul, and we must not tell her, we must not even warn her, or
she die, then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers
of the devils against us!"
Suddenly he jumped to his feet. "Come," he said, "come, we must see and
act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not.
We must fight him all the same." He went to the hall door for his
bag, and together we went up to Lucy's room.
Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the
bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face with
the same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern
sadness and infinite pity.
"As I expected," he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his
which meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and
then began to set out on the little table the instruments for yet
another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognized
the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a
warning hand. "No!" he said. "Today you must operate. I shall
provide. You are weakened already." As he spoke he took off his coat
and rolled up his shirtsleeve.
Again the operation. Again the narcotic. Again some return of colour
to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep. This
time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested.
Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she
must not remove anything from Lucy's room without consulting him.
That the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of
their odour was a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the
care of the case himself, saying that he would watch this night and
the next, and would send me word when to come.
After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright and
seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.
What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit of
life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own brain.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
17 September.--Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong
again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through
some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful
sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a
dim half remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing,
darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present
distress more poignant. And then long spells of oblivion, and the
rising back to life as a diver coming up through a great press of
water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad
dreaming seems to have passed away. The noises that used to frighten
me out of my wits, the flapping against the windows, the distant
voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I
know not where and commanded me to do I know not what, have all
ceased. I go to bed now without any fear of sleep. I do not even try
to keep awake. I have grown quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful
arrives for me every day from Haarlem. Tonight Dr. Van Helsing is
going away, as he has to be for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not be
watched. I am well enough to be left alone.
Thank God for Mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our
friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for
last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I
found him asleep twice when I awoke. But I did not fear to go to
sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something flapped almost
angrily against the window panes.
THE PALL MALL GAZETTE 18 September.
THE ESCAPED WOLF PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER
INTERVIEW WITH THE KEEPER IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS
After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and perpetually
using the words 'PALL MALL GAZETTE' as a sort of talisman, I managed
to find the keeper of the section of the Zoological Gardens in which
the wolf department is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the
cottages in the enclosure behind the elephant house, and was just
sitting down to his tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are
hospitable folk, elderly, and without children, and if the specimen
I enjoyed of their hospitality be of the average kind, their lives
must be pretty comfortable. The keeper would not enter on what he
called business until the supper was over, and we were all
satisfied. Then when the table was cleared, and he had lit his
pipe, he said,
"Now, Sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You'll excoose
me refoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjucts afore meals. I gives
the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their
tea afore I begins to arsk them questions."
"How do you mean, ask them questions?" I queried, wishful to get him
into a talkative humor.
"'Ittin' of them over the 'ead with a pole is one way. Scratchin' of
their ears in another, when gents as is flush wants a bit of a show-
orf to their gals. I don't so much mind the fust, the 'ittin of the
pole part afore I chucks in their dinner, but I waits till they've
'ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the
ear scratchin'. Mind you," he added philosophically, "there's a
deal of the same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here's you
a-comin' and arskin' of me questions about my business, and I that
grump-like that only for your bloomin' 'arf-quid I'd 'a' seen you
blowed fust 'fore I'd answer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic
like if I'd like you to arsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me
questions. Without offence did I tell yer to go to 'ell?"
"An' when you said you'd report me for usin' obscene language that
was 'ittin' me over the 'ead. But the 'arf-quid made that all
right. I weren't a-goin' to fight, so I waited for the food, and
did with my 'owl as the wolves and lions and tigers does. But, lor'
love yer 'art, now that the old 'ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-
cake in me, an' rinsed me out with her bloomin' old teapot, and I've
lit hup, you may scratch my ears for all you're worth, and won't
even get a growl out of me. Drive along with your questions. I
know what yer a-comin' at, that 'ere escaped wolf."
"Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me how
it happened, and when I know the facts I'll get you to say what you
consider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole affair
"All right, guv'nor. This 'ere is about the 'ole story.
That 'ere wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three gray
ones that came from Norway to Jamrach's, which we bought
off him four years ago. He was a nice well-behaved wolf,
that never gave no trouble to talk of. I'm more surprised
at 'im for wantin' to get out nor any other animile in the
place. But, there, you can't trust wolves no more nor women."
"Don't you mind him, Sir!" broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery
laugh. "'E's got mindin' the animiles so long that blest
if he ain't like a old wolf 'isself! But there ain't no
'arm in 'im."
"Well, Sir, it was about two hours after feedin' yesterday when I
first hear my disturbance. I was makin' up a litter in the monkey
house for a young puma which is ill. But when I heard the yelpin'
and 'owlin' I kem away straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin' like
a mad thing at the bars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn't
much people about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a
tall, thin chap, with a 'ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few
white hairs runnin' through it. He had a 'ard, cold look and red
eyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him, for it seemed as if it
was 'im as they was hirritated at. He 'ad white kid gloves on 'is
'ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says, 'Keeper,
these wolves seem upset at something.'
"'Maybe it's you,' says I, for I did not like the airs as he
give 'isself. He didn't get angry, as I 'oped he would, but
he smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white,
sharp teeth. 'Oh no, they wouldn't like me,' 'e says.
"'Ow yes, they would,' says I, a-imitatin' of him. 'They
always like a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea
time, which you 'as a bagful.'
"Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us
a-talkin' they lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker
he let me stroke his ears same as ever. That there man kem
over, and blessed but if he didn't put in his hand and stroke
the old wolf's ears too!
"'Tyke care,' says I. 'Bersicker is quick.'
"'Never mind,' he says. I'm used to 'em!'
"'Are you in the business yourself?' I says, tyking off my
'at, for a man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good
friend to keepers.
"'Nom,' says he, 'not exactly in the business, but I 'ave made pets
of several.' And with that he lifts his 'at as perlite as a lord,
and walks away. Old Bersicker kep' a-lookin' arter 'im till 'e was
out of sight, and then went and lay down in a corner and wouldn't
come hout the 'ole hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as the moon
was hup, the wolves here all began a-'owling. There warn't nothing
for them to 'owl at. There warn't no one near, except some one that
was evidently a-callin' a dog somewheres out back of the gardings in
the Park road. Once or twice I went out to see that all was right,
and it was, and then the 'owling stopped. Just before twelve
o'clock I just took a look round afore turnin' in, an', bust me, but
when I kem opposite to old Bersicker's cage I see the rails broken
and twisted about and the cage empty. And that's all I know for
"Did any one else see anything?"
"One of our gard'ners was a-comin' 'ome about that time from a
'armony, when he sees a big gray dog comin' out through the garding
'edges. At least, so he says, but I don't give much for it myself,
for if he did 'e never said a word about it to his missis when 'e
got 'ome, and it was only after the escape of the wolf was made
known, and we had been up all night a-huntin' of the Park for
Bersicker, that he remembered seein' anything. My own belief was
that the 'armony 'ad got into his 'ead."
"Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape
of the wolf?"
"Well, Sir," he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, "I think I
can, but I don't know as 'ow you'd be satisfied with the theory."
"Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the animals from
experience, can't hazard a good guess at any rate, who is even to
"Well then, Sir, I accounts for it this way. It seems to me that
'ere wolf escaped--simply because he wanted to get out."
From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the
joke I could see that it had done service before, and that the whole
explanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn't cope in
badinage with the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to
his heart, so I said, "Now, Mr. Bilder, we'll consider that first
half-sovereign worked off, and this brother of his is waiting to be
claimed when you've told me what you think will happen."
"Right y'are, Sir," he said briskly. "Ye'll excoose me, I
know, for a-chaffin' of ye, but the old woman here winked at
me, which was as much as telling me to go on."
"Well, I never!" said the old lady.
"My opinion is this: that 'ere wolf is a'idin' of, somewheres. The
gard'ner wot didn't remember said he was a-gallopin' northward
faster than a horse could go, but I don't believe him, for, yer see,
Sir, wolves don't gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein' built
that way. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay when
they gets in packs and does be chivyin' somethin' that's more
afeared than they is they can make a devil of a noise and chop it
up, whatever it is. But, Lor' bless you, in real life a wolf is
only a low creature, not half so clever or bold as a good dog, and
not half a quarter so much fight in 'im. This one ain't been used
to fightin' or even to providin' for hisself, and more like he's
somewhere round the Park a'hidin' an' a'shiverin' of, and if he
thinks at all, wonderin' where he is to get his breakfast from. Or
maybe he's got down some area and is in a coal cellar. My eye,
won't some cook get a rum start when she sees his green eyes
a-shinin' at her out of the dark! If he can't get food he's bound to
look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher's shop
in time. If he doesn't, and some nursemaid goes out walkin' or orf
with a soldier, leavin' of the hinfant in the perambulator--well,
then I shouldn't be surprised if the census is one babby the less.
I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came bobbing up
against the window, and Mr. Bilder's face doubled its natural length
"God bless me!" he said. "If there ain't old Bersicker come back by
He went to the door and opened it, a most unnecessary proceeding it
seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never looks
so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between
us. A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished