questions till the time comes."
The old Professor stood up as he said solemnly,"And you are
right. There will be pain for us all, but it will not be all pain,
nor will this pain be the last. We and you too, you most of all,
dear boy, will have to pass through the bitter water before we
reach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and
do our duty, and all will be well!"
I slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did
not go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patroling the
house, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her
coffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent through the
odor of lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the
night.
MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL
22 September.—In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping. It
seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much
between then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away
and no news of him, and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a
solicitor, a partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins
dead and buried, and Jonathan with another attack that may harm
him. Some day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty
in my shorthand, see what unexpected prosperity does for us, so it
may be as well to freshen it up again with an exercise anyhow.
The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only
ourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends of his
from Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir
John Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society.
Jonathan and I stood hand in hand, and we felt that our best and
dearest friend was gone from us.
We came back to town quietly, taking a bus to Hyde Park Corner.
Jonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a
while, so we sat down. But there were very few people there, and it
was sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made
us think of the empty chair at home. So we got up and walked downus think of the empty chair at home. So we got up and walked down
Piccadilly. Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to
in the old days before I went to school. I felt it very improper,
for you can't go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum
to other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a
bit. But it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know
anybody who saw us, and we didn't care if they did, so on we
walked. I was looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel
hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's, when I felt Jonathan
clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his
breath, "My God!"
I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous
fit may upset him again. So I turned to him quickly, and asked him
what it was that disturbed him.
He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in
terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a
beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also
observing the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he
did not see either of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face
was not a good face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual,and big
white teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so
red, were pointed like an animal's. Jonathan kept staring at him,
till I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill,
he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was
disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much
about it as he did, "Do you see who it is?"
"No, dear," I said. "I don't know him, who is it?" His answer
seemed to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not
know that it was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking. "It is the man
himself!"
The poor dear was evidently terrified at something, very greatly
terrified. I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to
support him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man camesupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man came
out of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who
then drove off. Th e dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when
the carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction,
and hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as
if to himself,
"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if
this be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!" He
was distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on
the subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I
drew away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a
little further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green
Park. It was a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat
in a shady place. After a few minutes' staring at nothing,
Jonathan's eyes closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his
head on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so
did not disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said
to me quite cheerfully,
"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so
rude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere."
He had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in
his illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him
of. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or
continue some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I
shall do more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of
his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the
parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know,
forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.
Later.—A sad home-coming in every way, the house empty of the
dear soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and dizzy
under a slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van
Helsing, whoever he may be. "You will be grieved to hear that Mrs.