few happy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it
does rejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no
more to be worried with our terrible things. Though we shall much
miss her help, it is better so."
"I agree with you with all my heart," I answered earnestly, for
I did not want him to weaken in this matter. "Mrs. Harker is better
out of it. Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the
world, and who have been in many tight places in our time, but it
is no place for a woman, and if she had remained in touch with the
affair, it would in time infallibly have wrecked her."
So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker,
Quincey and Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth
boxes. I shall finish my round of work and we shall meet
tonight.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
1 October.—It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am
today, after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see
him manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of
all. This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and
though Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me
before he went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never
mentioned a word of what had happened in the visit to the Count's
house. And yet he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor
dear fellow! I suppose it must have distressed him even more than
it did me. They all agreed that it was best that I should not be
drawn further into this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think
that he keeps anything from me! And now I am crying like a silly
fool, when I know it comes from my husband's great love and from
the good, good wishes of those other strong men.
That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all.
And lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I
kept anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if
he has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with everyhe has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every
thought of my heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel
strangely sad and low-spirited today. I suppose it is the reaction
from the terrible excitement.
Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because
they told me to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of
devouring anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been
ever since Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like
a horrible tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some
destined end. Everything that one does seems, no matter how right
it me be, to bring on the very thing which is most to be deplored.
If I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us
now. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and
if she hadn't come there in the day time with me she wouldn't have
walked in her sleep. And if she hadn't gone there at night and
asleep, that monster couldn't have destroyed her as he did. Oh, why
did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder what has
come over me today. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew
that I had been crying twice in one morning … I, who never
cried on my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a
tear, the dear fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold
face on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose
it is just one of the lessons that we poor women have to
learn …
I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember
hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds,
like praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room,
which is somewhere under this. And then there was silence over
everything, silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up
and looked out of the window. All was dark and silent, the black
shadows thrown by the moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of
their own. Not a thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim
and fixed as death or fate, so that a thin streak of whiteand fixed as death or fate, so that a thin streak of white
mist,that crept with almost imperceptible slowness across the grass
towards the house, seemed to have a sentience and a vitality of its
own. I think that the digression of my thoughts must have done me
good, for when I got back to bed I found a lethargy creeping over
me. I lay a while, but could not quite sleep, so I got out and
looked out of the window again. The mist was spreading, and was now
close up to the house, so that I could see it lying thick against
the wall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor
man was more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a
word he said, I could in some way recognize in his tones some
passionate entreaty on his part. Then there was the sound of a
struggle, and I knew that the attendants were dealing with him. I
was so frightened that I crept into bed, and pulled the clothes
over my head, putting my fingers in my ears. I was not then a bit
sleepy, at least so I thought, but I must have fallen asleep, for
except dreams, I do not remember anything until the morning, when
Jonathan woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a little
time to realize where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was
bending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical
of the way that waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in,
dreams.
I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come
back. I was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act, my
feet, and my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing
could proceed at the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and
thought. Then it began to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and
dank, and cold. I put back the clothes from my face, and found, to
my surprise, that all was dim around. The gaslight which I had left
lit for Jonathan, but turned down, came only like a tiny red spark
through the fog, which had evidently grown thicker and poured into
the room. Then it occurred to me that I had shut the window before