me,
"Mrs. Harker, is it not?" I bowed assent.
"That was Miss Mina Murray?" Again I assented.
"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that
poor dear child Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the
dead that I come."
"Sir," I said, "you could have no better claim on me than that
you were a friend and helper of Lucy Westenra."And I held out my
hand. He took it and said tenderly,
"Oh, Madam Mina, I know that the friend of that poor little girl
must be good, but I had yet to learn … " He finished his
speech with a courtly bow. I asked him what it was that he wanted
to see me about, so he at once began.
"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to
begin to inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that
you were with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary, you need
not look surprised, Madam Mina. It was begun after you had left,
and was an imitation of you, and in that diary she traces by
inference certain things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down
that you saved her. In great perplexity then I come to you, and ask
you out of your so much kindness to tell me all of it that you can
remember."
"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it."
"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not
always so with young ladies."
"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it
to you if you like."
"Oh, Madam Mina, I well be grateful. You will do me much
favor."
I could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit, I
suppose it is some taste of the original apple that remains still
in our mouths, so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with
a grateful bow, and said, "May I read it?"
"If you wish," I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it,
and for an instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.
"Oh, you so clever woman!" he said. "I knew long that Mr.
Jonathan was a man of much thankfulness, but see, his wife have all
the good things. And will you not so much honor me and so help methe good things. And will you not so much honor me and so help me
as to read it for me? Alas! I know not the shorthand."
By this time my little joke was over, and I was almost ashamed.
So I took the typewritten copy from my work basket and handed it to
him.
"Forgive me," I said. "I could not help it, but I had been
thinking that it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so
that you might not have time to wait, not on my account, but
because I know your time must be precious, I have written it out on
the typewriter for you."
He took it and his eyes glistened. "You are so good," he said.
"And may I read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I
have read."
"By all means," I said. "read it over whilst I order lunch, and
then you can ask me questions whilst we eat."
He bowed and settled himself in a chair with his back to the
light, and became so absorbed in the papers, whilst I went to see
after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be disturbed. When I
came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down the room, his
face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and took me by
both hands.
"Oh, Madam Mina," he said, "how can I say what I owe to you?
This paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am dazed, I
am dazzled, with so much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the
light every time. But that you do not, cannot comprehend. Oh, but I
am grateful to you, you so clever woman. Madame," he said this very
solemnly, "if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or
yours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and
delight if I may serve you as a friend, as a friend, but all I have
ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you
love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights. You are
one of the lights. You will have a happy life and a good life, and
your husband will be blessed in you."
"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and you do not know
me."
"Not know you, I, who am old, and who have studied all my lifeme."
"Not know you, I, who am old, and who have studied all my life
men and women, I who have made my specialty the brain and all that
belongs to him and all that follow from him! And I have read your
diary that you have so goodly written for me, and which breathes
out truth in every line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to
poor Lucy of your marriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam
Mina, good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and
by minute, such things that angels can read. And we men who wish to
know have in us something of angels' eyes. Your husband is noble
nature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be
where there is mean nature. And your husband, tell me of him. Is he
quite well? Is all that fever gone, and is he strong and
hearty?"
I saw here an opening to ask him about Jonathan, so I said,"He
was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins
death."
He interrupted, "Oh, yes. I know. I know. I have read your last
two letters."
I went on, "I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town
on Thursday last he had a sort of shock."
"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That is not good. What
kind of shock was it?"
"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible,
something which led to his brain fever." And here the whole thing
seemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror
which he experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and
the fear that has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a
tumult. I suppose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees
and held up my hands to him, and implored him to make my husband
well again. He took my hands and raised me up, and made me sit on
the sofa, and sat by me. He held my hand in his, and said to me
with, oh, such infinite sweetness,
"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I
have not had much time for friendships, but since I have been
summoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good