Dracula
_30 September._--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.
It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had:
that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act
detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a
face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,
however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never
so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good
Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under
strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and
hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. I
feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any
thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not
human--not even beast. To read Dr. Seward’s account of poor Lucy’s
death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in
one’s heart.
* * * * *
_Later._--Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we
expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan with
him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it
brought back all poor dear Lucy’s hopes of only a few months ago. Of
course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van
Helsing, too, has been quite “blowing my trumpet,” as Mr. Morris
expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all
about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to
say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so they
had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter over, and
came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to post
them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward’s diary that
they had been at Lucy’s death--her real death--and that I need not fear
to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I
could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband
and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order.
I gave them each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming got
his and turned it over--it does make a pretty good pile--he said:--
“Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?”
I nodded, and he went on:--
“I don’t quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good and
kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically, that all
I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help you. I have
had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make a man humble
to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy--”
Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear
the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid
a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the
room. I suppose there is something in woman’s nature that makes a man
free to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or
emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when
Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and
gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I
hope he didn’t think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it
afterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I
_know_ he never will--he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I
could see that his heart was breaking:--
“I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were to
her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will you not let
me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have
had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can
help in your affliction, won’t you let me be of some little service--for
Lucy’s sake?”
In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed
to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a
vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open hands, beat
his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat
down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite
pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his
head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with
emotion.
We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above
smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big
sorrowing man’s head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby
that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he
were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.
After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an
apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for
days and nights past--weary days and sleepless nights--he had been
unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of
sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with
whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was
surrounded, he could speak freely. “I know now how I suffered,” he said,
as he dried his eyes, “but I do not know even yet--and none other can
ever know--how much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shall
know better in time; and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful
now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be
like a brother, will you not, for all our lives--for dear Lucy’s sake?”
“For dear Lucy’s sake,” I said as we clasped hands. “Ay, and for your
own sake,” he added, “for if a man’s esteem and gratitude are ever worth
the winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future should bring
to you a time when you need a man’s help, believe me, you will not call
in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the
sunshine of your life; but if it should ever come, promise me that you
will let me know.” He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that
I felt it would comfort him, so I said:--
“I promise.”
As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window.
He turned as he heard my footsteps. “How is Art?” he said. Then noticing
my red eyes, he went on: “Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poor
old fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a man when he is in
trouble of the heart; and he had no one to comfort him.”
He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw the
manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would realise
how much I knew; so I said to him:--
“I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me
be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You
will know, later on, why I speak.” He saw that I was in earnest, and
stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed
but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I
bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a
momentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:--
“Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so long
as ever you live!” Then he went into the study to his friend.
“Little girl!”--the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he
proved himself a friend!
CHAPTER XVIII
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
_30 September._--I got home at five o’clock, and found that Godalming
and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript
of the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wife
had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the
carriers’ men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave
us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I
have lived in it, this old house seemed like _home_. When we had
finished, Mrs. Harker said:--
“Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr.
Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary
interests me so much!” She looked so appealing and so pretty that I
could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so
I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a
lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: “Why?”
“She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it,” I
answered. “Oh, very well,” he said; “let her come in, by all means; but
just wait a minute till I tidy up the place.” His method of tidying was
peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes
before I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was
jealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgusting
task, he said cheerfully: “Let the lady come in,” and sat down on the
edge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so that
he could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought that he might
have some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been just
before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I
could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She
came into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command
the respect of any lunatic--for easiness is one of the qualities mad
people most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and
held out her hand.
“Good-evening, Mr. Renfield,” said she. “You see, I know you, for Dr.
Seward has told me of you.” He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all
over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one
of wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he
said:--
“You’re not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can’t be,
you know, for she’s dead.” Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:--
“Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever
saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.”
“Then don’t stay.”
“But why not?” I thought that this style of conversation might not be
pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:--
“How did you know I wanted to marry any one?” His reply was simply
contemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs.
Harker to me, instantly turning them back again:--
“What an asinine question!”
“I don’t see that at all, Mr. Renfield,” said Mrs. Harker, at once
championing me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as
he had shown contempt to me:--
“You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so
loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of
interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his
household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of
them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and
effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I
cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates
lean towards the errors of _non causa_ and _ignoratio elenchi_.” I
positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet
lunatic--the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met
with--talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished
gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker’s presence which had touched
some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any
way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or
power.
We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly
quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she