prompt:
Chapter: "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 raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I
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 again,
and after saying that she could never mention what 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
treat of.' 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 of 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 that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him to
let me look at it--for I knew then 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 when I came he had his hand over the
note-book, 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 all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have 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 strongly. 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 very 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_. Good-bye, 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 to my husband!

"Your ever-loving

"MINA HARKER."

_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 could be 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

"LUCY.

"P. S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear. "P. P.
S.--We are to be married on 28 September."

_Dr. Seward's 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 protest. 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 dissociated
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. To-night he will not speak. Even the
offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him. 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 to-night play sane wits against mad ones. He
escaped before without our help; to-night 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 unexpected 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 an 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 more escaped.

       *       *       *       *       *

_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 moonlit sky except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and
ghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel and flit 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 to-night. I shall make an excuse and
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 then 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 ever to
get 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 Holmwood 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 do 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 to-morrow, 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 shall come in for tea, and we can go away together; 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!

"ARTHUR."

_Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward._

"_1 September._

"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fully
by to-night's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary."

_Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood._

"_2 September._

"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 all for him!' So I am quite free.

"I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could not see
the usual anaemic signs, and by a chance I was actually able to test the
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 them. The qualitative
analysis gives 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 in 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, but 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, an 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
to-morrow 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.

"Yours always,

"JOHN SEWARD."

_Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc., to Dr.
Seward._

"_2 September._

"My good Friend,--

"When I have 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 then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel, so that I may be near
to hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young lady not too
late on to-morrow, 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 good-bye, my friend John.

 "VAN HELSING."

_Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._

"_3 September._

"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 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 in London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was a
student here. I am to get his report to-morrow 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 that 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, ever 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 once he pointed me out to 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 madams 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 anaemic. I have
asked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question,
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 to me the telegram every day; and if
there be cause I shall come again. The disease--for not to be all 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._--Zooephagous 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 and 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 understand it.

       *       *       *       *       *

_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 nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges of
padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised 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 note-book 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 for 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 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 realise 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 not 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 to-day 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 to-day."

_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."

"_6 September._

"My dear Art,--

"My news to-day 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 old 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

Yours ever,

"JOHN SEWARD."

_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 the 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 shall 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 stopped and 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 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, and very
gravely:--

"You were always a careful student, and your case-book was ever more
full than the rest. You were only student then; now you are master, 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 practise, 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 peoples 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 from success!"

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 beneficent 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 laid 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 to-day. 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 no 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 transfusion of blood at once. Is
it you or me?"

"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 recognised the strong young manhood which
seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said to
him gravely 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
her." 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 nostril
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 not so bright than yours!" 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 done. Good-bye."

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 throat?"

"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 this wound, or whatever it
was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood; but I abandoned
the idea as soon as 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 to-night," he said. "There are books and
things there which I want. You must remain here all the 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 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. This was repeated several times, with greater effort
and with shorter pauses as the time moved on. It was apparent that she
did not want to sleep, so I tackled the subject at once:--

"You do not want to go 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 horror!"

"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 thought."

"But, my dear girl, you may sleep to-night. I am here watching you, and
I can promise that nothing will happen."

"Ah, I can trust you!" I seized the opportunity, and said: "I promise
you 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
zooephagous 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 to-night, 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 morning.

       *       *       *       *       *

_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 to-night 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 everything.

_Lucy Westenra's Diary._

_9 September._--I feel so happy to-night. 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 Arthur only 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 to-night 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!
Good-night, 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 agonised 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 tremble.

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 again softly. "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 agonising
suspense said:--

"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 for 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 life-blood 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, whilst 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
whispered:--

"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 anywhere 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 telegraph office.

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 such 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 to-night, 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 them; think what you will. Do not fear to think
even the most not-probable. Good-night."

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 that 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 too late."

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 all 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 awhile. 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 pharmacopoeia
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 to-night 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
friends?"

As we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van Helsing said:--

"To-night 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. To-morrow 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In a letter from Budapest, Mina tells Lucy that she has arrived safely and that she has found Jonathan Harker greatly changed. He is only a shadow of his former self, and he remembers very little of what has happened to him; he suffered a terrible shock, and his brain has a mental block against whatever caused his present condition. Sister Agatha, who has attended him, has told Mina that he raved and ranted about dreadful and unspeakable things, so dreadful that she often had "to cross herself." Sister Agatha maintains that "his fear is of great and horrible things, which no mortal can think of." Mina notices a notebook and wonders if she could look through it for some clue as to what happened; Jonathan tells her that he has had brain fever, and he thinks that the cause of the brain fever might be recorded in the notebook. However, he does not ever want to read the contents of the book himself. Thus he gives the journal to Mina and says that if she wants to read it she may, but he never wants to read it lest it cause some horror in their married life. Mina informs Lucy that she and Jonathan have decided to get married immediately, and, that very afternoon, the marriage ceremony was performed. As a wedding gift, Mina took the notebook, wrapped it, tied it, and sealed it in wax, using her wedding ring as the seal, saying that she would never open it unless it were for his -- Jonathan's -- sake. After reading her friend's letter, Lucy sends Mina a letter of congratulations, telling her that she herself is feeling quite healthy. Dr. Seward records in his diary that Renfield has now grown very quiet and often murmurs to himself, "Now I can wait, now I can wait." He does not speak to anyone, even when he is offered a kitten or a full grown cat as a pet. He responds, "I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to think of now." This has happened for three nights; now, Seward plans to arrange a way for Renfield to escape so that they can follow him. At an unexpected moment, however, Renfield escapes. The attendant follows him to Carfax, where he is again pressed against the old chapel door. When Renfield sees Dr. Seward, he tries to attack him, but is restrained. Renfield grows strangely calm, and Dr. Seward becomes aware that Renfield is staring at something in the moonlit sky. Upon following his gaze, Seward can see nothing, however, but an exceptionally large bat. Lucy Westenra, records in her diary that she has been dreaming, as she did earlier at Whitby . Also, she notes that her mother's health is declining. On the night of the 25th, she writes that she awoke around midnight to the sound of something scratching and flapping at the window. When she awoke in the morning, she was pale, and her throat pained her severely. Arthur Holmwood writes to Dr. Seward on the 31st of August, asking him to visit Lucy and examine her. Then, the next day, he telegrams Dr. Seward to inform him that he has been called to his father's bedside, where he wants Dr. Seward to contact him. On the 2nd of September, Dr. Seward writes to Arthur Holmwood that Lucy's health does not conform to any malady that he knows of, and that Lucy is somewhat reluctant to have him examine her completely. Dr. Seward is concerned about her "somewhat bloodless condition" because there are no signs of anemia. Lucy complains of difficulty in breathing, lethargic sleep, and dreams that frighten her. Dr. Seward is so concerned that he has sent for his old friend and master, the famous Professor Van Helsing of Amsterdam. The doctor is a profound philosopher, a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day. In a letter of response, Dr. Van Helsing tells Dr. Seward that his affairs will allow him to come immediately, and that he is happy to do Dr. Seward a favor since Dr. Seward once saved his life. Consequently, Dr. Seward is able to write to Arthur Holmwood on the 3rd of September that Dr. Van Helsing has already seen Lucy and that he too is concerned about her condition, yet he has not said what is wrong with Lucy, except that there is no apparent functional cause of her illness. However, Dr. Van Helsing insists that a telegram be sent to him every day in Amsterdam letting him know about Lucy's condition. In his diary, Dr. Seward notes that Renfield is often becoming violent at the stroke of noon and that he often howls like a wolf, disturbing the other patients. Later, the same day, he seems very contented, "catching flies and eating them." He has more sugar now and is reaping quite a harvest of flies, keeping them in a box as he did earlier. He asks for more sugar, which Dr. Seward promises to get for him. At midnight, Dr. Seward records another change in the patient. Visiting Renfield at sunset, he witnesses Renfield trying "to grab the sun" just as it sinks; then Renfield sinks to the floor. Rising, Renfield dusts the sugar and crumbs from his ledge, tosses all his flies out the window, and says, "I'm sick of all that rubbish." Dr. Seward wonders if the sun has any influence on Renfield's paroxysms of sudden passion." Dr. Seward sends telegrams on the 4th, 5th, and 6th of September to Dr. Van Helsing, the final one being a desperate plea for Dr. Van Helsing to visit Lucy, for her condition has become much worse. Seward then sends a letter to Arthur, telling him that Lucy's condition is worse and that Van Helsing is coming to attend her. Seward cannot tell Lucy's mother about the problem because of the old woman's heart condition. In his diary, Dr. Seward says that when Van Helsing arrived he was admonished to keep everything about this case a secret until they are certain about what is going on. Dr. Seward is anxious to know as much as possible about the case, but Van Helsing thinks that it is too premature to discuss it. When they reach Lucy's room, Dr. Seward is horrified by Lucy's ghastly pale, white face, the prominence of her bones, and her painful breathing. Observing Lucy's condition, Van Helsing frantically realizes that she must be given an immediate blood transfusion or she will die. Dr. Seward is prepared to give blood himself when Arthur suddenly arrives, volunteering that he will give "the last drop of blood in my body for her." While Dr. Van Helsing is administering the transfer of blood from Arthur to Lucy, he gives Lucy a narcotic to allow her to sleep. After awhile, the transfusion restores color to Lucy's face, while Arthur, meanwhile, grows paler and paler. During the transfusion, the scarf around Lucy's throat falls away, and Dr. Seward notices the red marks on Lucy's throat. Later, Van Helsing asks Seward what he thinks about the marks. As they examine the wounds, they notice that they occur "just over the external jugular vein . . . two punctures, not large, but not wholesome looking." There is no sign of disease, and Seward wonders if this is not how the blood is lost. Van Helsing has to leave, and so he orders Seward to stay all night and watch over Lucy. The next morning , Seward thinks Lucy looks better. He recalls the conversation of the evening before, when Lucy told him she did not like to go to sleep because "all that weakness comes to me in sleep." However, when Seward promised to stay with her all night, she slept soundly. Next day, Dr. Seward had to work all day at the asylum, and that night, the 9th of September, he was extremely exhausted by work and the lack of sleep. Therefore, when Lucy showed him a room next to hers, a room with a sofa, he instinctively stretched out and fell asleep. That night, Lucy recorded in her diary how safe she feels with Dr. Seward sleeping close by. Dr. Seward records in his diary that early on the morning of September 10th, he was awakened by the gentle hand of Dr. Van Helsing, and together they went to visit Lucy. They found her -- horribly white, with shrunken gums, lips pale and blue, and looking as though she were a corpse. Immediately, they realized that another transfusion would be essential. This time, Dr. Seward is the only person available for giving blood, and he does so, "for the woman he loved." Van Helsing reminds Seward that nothing is to be said of this. Again they examine the little punctures in her throat; the wounds now have a "ragged, exhausted appearance at their edges." In the afternoon, Van Helsing is with Lucy when the professor opens a large bundle. He opens it, hands Lucy the contents, and instructs Lucy to wear the flowers around her neck: Lucy, recognizing that "the flowers" are common garlic, thinks that he is joking. Van Helsing tells her that he is not joking; he says that the garlic is a special garlic, coming all the way from Haarlem . Dr. Seward skeptically observes all of this, wondering if Van Helsing is "working some spell to keep out an evil spirit." Van Helsing places other bits of garlic around the room, and when they leave he tells Dr. Seward that he will be able to sleep peacefully tonight since all is well.