{"features":[{"feature_idx":0,"name":"text","type":{"dtype":"string","_type":"Value"}},{"feature_idx":1,"name":"prompt","type":{"dtype":"string","_type":"Value"}},{"feature_idx":2,"name":"completion","type":{"dtype":"string","_type":"Value"}}],"rows":[{"row_idx":70,"row":{"text":"Chapter: The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy and\nher mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly\nformalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were\nafflicted--or blessed--with something of his own obsequious suavity.\nEven the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to\nme, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out\nfrom the death-chamber:--\n\n\"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to\nattend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our\nestablishment!\"\n\nI noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible from\nthe disordered state of things in the household. There were no relatives\nat hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend at his\nfather's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should have been\nbidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon\nourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's\npapers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a\nforeigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and\nso might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:--\n\n\"I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But\nthis is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided the\ncoroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more--such\nas this.\"\n\nAs he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had been\nin Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.\n\n\"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs.\nWestenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watch\nhere in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and I myself\nsearch for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go into\nthe hands of strangers.\"\n\nI went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had found\nthe name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had written to\nhim. All the poor lady's papers were in order; explicit directions\nregarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the\nletter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room,\nsaying:--\n\n\"Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Have you got what you looked for?\" I asked, to which he replied:--\n\n\"I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I\nhave, all that there was--only some letters and a few memoranda, and a\ndiary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present say\nnothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with\nhis sanction, I shall use some.\"\n\nWhen we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:--\n\n\"And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you\nand I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, but\nfor the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!\"\n\nBefore turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had\ncertainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small\n_chapelle ardente_. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,\nand death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the\nwinding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and\nturned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the tall\nwax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy's\nloveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had passed,\ninstead of leaving traces of \"decay's effacing fingers,\" had but\nrestored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes\nthat I was looking at a corpse.\n\nThe Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, and\nthere was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: \"Remain till I\nreturn,\" and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic\nfrom the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, and\nplaced the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then he\ntook from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and\nplaced it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we\ncame away.\n\nI was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the\ndoor, he entered, and at once began to speak:--\n\n\"To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem\nknives.\"\n\n\"Must we make an autopsy?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell you\nnow, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out\nher heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with\nno tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that make\nthe rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John, that\nyou loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shall\noperate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but for\nArthur I must not; he will be free after his father's funeral to-morrow,\nand he will want to see her--to see _it_. Then, when she is coffined\nready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall\nunscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation: and then replace\nall, so that none know, save we alone.\"\n\n\"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor body\nwithout need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing\nto gain by it--no good to her, to us, to science, to human\nknowledge--why do it? Without such it is monstrous.\"\n\nFor answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite\ntenderness:--\n\n\"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the more\nbecause it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burden\nthat you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that you\nshall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasant\nthings. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet\ndid you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err--I am but\nman; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you\nsend for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay\nhorrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love--though she was\ndying--and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw\nhow she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so\nweak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not\nhear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!\n\n\"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for many\nyears trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things so\nstrange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend\nJohn. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is\nnot perhaps well. And if I work--as work I shall, no matter trust or no\ntrust--without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel,\noh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!\" He paused a\nmoment and went on solemnly: \"Friend John, there are strange and\nterrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to\na good end. Will you not have faith in me?\"\n\nI took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away,\nand watched him go into his room and close the door. As I stood without\nmoving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the passage--she had\nher back towards me, so did not see me--and go into the room where Lucy\nlay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so grateful\nto those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girl\nputting aside the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch\nalone by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay\nmight not be lonely till laid to eternal rest....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when Van\nHelsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside and\nsaid:--\n\n\"You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatly\nimpressed me.\n\n\"Because,\" he said sternly, \"it is too late--or too early. See!\" Here he\nheld up the little golden crucifix. \"This was stolen in the night.\"\n\n\"How, stolen,\" I asked in wonder, \"since you have it now?\"\n\n\"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from the\nwoman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surely\ncome, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thus\nunknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.\"\n\nHe went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a\nnew puzzle to grapple with.\n\nThe forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr.\nMarquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genial\nand very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all\ncares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for\nsome time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs\nin absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certain\nentailed property of Lucy's father's which now, in default of direct\nissue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate,\nreal and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had\ntold us so much he went on:--\n\n\"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and\npointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either\npenniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial\nalliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into\ncollision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out\nher wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We were\nright in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should\nhave proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.\nFrankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form of\ndisposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her\nwishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have come\ninto possession of the property, and, even had she only survived her\nmother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no\nwill--and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case--have been\ntreated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming,\nthough so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and the\ninheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just\nrights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure\nyou, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced.\"\n\nHe was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part--in which\nhe was officially interested--of so great a tragedy, was an\nobject-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.\n\nHe did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day and\nsee Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort to\nus, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostile\ncriticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o'clock, so\na little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in\nvery truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker,\ntrue to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and\nthere was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits at\nonce. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,\nexplaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would be\nless harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his _fiancee_\nquite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and\nexerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left them\nthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings\nas we could avoid were saved.\n\nPoor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwart\nmanhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of his\nmuch-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly\nattached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was a\nbitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he\nwas sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was some\nconstraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me to\nbring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as I\nfelt he would like to be quite alone with her, but he took my arm and\nled me in, saying huskily:--\n\n\"You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and there was\nno friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I don't know how to\nthank you for all you have done for her. I can't think yet....\"\n\nHere he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my shoulders and\nlaid his head on my breast, crying:--\n\n\"Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do! The whole of life seems gone from me\nall at once, and there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.\"\n\nI comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need much\nexpression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the\nshoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man's\nheart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said\nsoftly to him:--\n\n\"Come and look at her.\"\n\nTogether we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from her face.\nGod! how beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing her\nloveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for Arthur, he\nfell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At\nlast, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:--\n\n\"Jack, is she really dead?\"\n\nI assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest--for I felt\nthat such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment longer than\nI could help--that it often happened that after death faces became\nsoftened and even resolved into their youthful beauty; that this was\nespecially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged\nsuffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, after\nkneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly and\nlong, he turned aside. I told him that that must be good-bye, as the\ncoffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took her dead hand in his\nand kissed it, and bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away,\nfondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he came.\n\nI left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that he had said\ngood-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker's men\nto proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When he\ncame out of the room again I told him of Arthur's question, and he\nreplied:--\n\n\"I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment myself!\"\n\nWe all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying to make\nthe best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner-time; but\nwhen we had lit our cigars he said--\n\n\"Lord----\"; but Arthur interrupted him:--\n\n\"No, no, not that, for God's sake! not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir:\nI did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is so\nrecent.\"\n\nThe Professor answered very sweetly:--\n\n\"I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you\n'Mr.,' and I have grown to love you--yes, my dear boy, to love you--as\nArthur.\"\n\nArthur held out his hand, and took the old man's warmly.\n\n\"Call me what you will,\" he said. \"I hope I may always have the title of\na friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you for\nyour goodness to my poor dear.\" He paused a moment, and went on: \"I know\nthat she understood your goodness even better than I do; and if I was\nrude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so--you remember\"--the\nProfessor nodded--\"you must forgive me.\"\n\nHe answered with a grave kindness:--\n\n\"I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust such\nviolence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not--that you\ncannot--trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be\nmore times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot--and may\nnot--and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust\nshall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as\nthough the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me from\nfirst to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others and for her\ndear sake to whom I swore to protect.\"\n\n\"And, indeed, indeed, sir,\" said Arthur warmly, \"I shall in all ways\ntrust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are\nJack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like.\"\n\nThe Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though about to\nspeak, and finally said:--\n\n\"May I ask you something now?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?\"\n\n\"No, poor dear; I never thought of it.\"\n\n\"And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you will. I\nwant you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's papers and\nletters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which,\nbe sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took them\nbefore we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touch\nthem--no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep\nthem, if I may; even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep them\nsafe. No word shall be lost; and in the good time I shall give them back\nto you. It's a hard thing I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for\nLucy's sake?\"\n\nArthur spoke out heartily, like his old self:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I\nam doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you\nwith questions till the time comes.\"\n\nThe old Professor stood up as he said solemnly:--\n\n\"And you are right. There will be pain for us all; but it will not be\nall pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too--you most of\nall, my dear boy--will have to pass through the bitter water before we\nreach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our\nduty, and all will be well!\"\n\nI slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did not go to\nbed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house, and was\nnever out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn with\nthe wild garlic flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose,\na heavy, overpowering smell into the night.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_22 September._--In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping.\n\nIt seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much\nbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away and\nno news of him; and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, a\npartner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, and\nJonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some day he may ask me\nabout it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my shorthand--see what\nunexpected prosperity does for us--so it may be as well to freshen it up\nagain with an exercise anyhow....\n\nThe service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselves\nand the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter, his\nLondon agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, the\nPresident of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand in\nhand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us....\n\nWe came back to town quietly, taking a 'bus to Hyde Park Corner.\nJonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a while, so\nwe sat down; but there were very few people there, and it was\nsad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us think\nof the empty chair at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly.\nJonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old days\nbefore I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can't go on\nfor some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without the\npedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, and he\nwas my husband, and we didn't know anybody who saw us--and we didn't\ncare if they did--so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautiful\ngirl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's,\nwhen I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said\nunder his breath: \"My God!\" I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I\nfear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to him\nquickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.\n\nHe was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and\nhalf in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and\nblack moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty\ngirl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us,\nand so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it was\nhard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all\nthe whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's.\nJonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I\nfeared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked\nJonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that\nI knew as much about it as he did: \"Do you see who it is?\"\n\n\"No, dear,\" I said; \"I don't know him; who is it?\" His answer seemed to\nshock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it was\nto me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:--\n\n\"It is the man himself!\"\n\nThe poor dear was evidently terrified at something--very greatly\nterrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to\nsupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out of\nthe shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then drove\noff. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage\nmoved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a\nhansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself:--\n\n\"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be\nso! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!\" He was\ndistressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on the\nsubject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew him\naway quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little\nfurther, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It was\na hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place.\nAfter a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes closed, and he\nwent quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought it\nwas the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twenty\nminutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:--\n\n\"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude.\nCome, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere.\" He had evidently forgotten\nall about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that\nthis episode had reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing into\nforgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must\nnot ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehow\nlearn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I\nmust open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will,\nI know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--A sad home-coming in every way--the house empty of the dear\nsoul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slight\nrelapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever he\nmay be:--\n\n\"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, and\nthat Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day.\"\n\nOh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor\nLucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have\nlost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear our\ntroubles.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_22 September._--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has\ntaken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe\nin my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's death as any\nof us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America\ncan go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the world\nindeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his\njourney. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returns\nto-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements which can\nonly be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he says\nhe has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poor old\nfellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even his\niron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, putting\nsome terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we were\nstanding beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in\nthe operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins; I\ncould see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was\nsaying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married\nand that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of\nthe other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went\naway together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The\nmoment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of\nhysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted\nthat it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very\nterrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down\nthe blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried,\ntill he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman\ndoes. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the\ncircumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different in\nmanifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grew\ngrave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time.\nHis reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical and\nforceful and mysterious. He said:--\n\n\"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad,\nthough I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But\nno more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come\njust the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your\ndoor and say, 'May I come in?' is not the true laughter. No! he is a\nking, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no\ntime of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my\nheart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, though\nI am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my other\nsufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very\ngrave--laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her\ncoffin and say 'Thud! thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood\nfrom my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy--that dear boy, so of\nthe age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his\nhair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yet\nwhen he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my\nfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man--not even to you, friend\nJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son--yet even\nat such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear,\n'Here I am! here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of\nthe sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is\na strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and\ntroubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the\ntune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and\ntears that burn as they fall--all dance together to the music that he\nmake with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that\nhe is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn\ntight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and,\nlike the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain\nbecome too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the\nsunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with\nour labour, what it may be.\"\n\nI did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as I\ndid not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As he\nanswered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different\ntone:--\n\n\"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all--this so lovely lady garlanded with\nflowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she\nwere truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely\nchurchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the mother\nwho loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going 'Toll!\ntoll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the white\ngarments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time\ntheir eyes never on the page; and all of us with the bowed head. And all\nfor what? She is dead; so! Is it not?\"\n\n\"Well, for the life of me, Professor,\" I said, \"I can't see anything to\nlaugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle\nthan before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor\nArt and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking.\"\n\n\"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had\nmade her truly his bride?\"\n\n\"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.\"\n\n\"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then\nwhat about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist,\nand me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though\nno wits, all gone--even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife,\nam bigamist.\"\n\n\"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!\" I said; and I did\nnot feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laid\nhis hand on my arm, and said:--\n\n\"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others\nwhen it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust.\nIf you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh;\nif you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so\nnow, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him--for\nhe go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time--maybe you would\nperhaps pity me the most of all.\"\n\nI was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.\n\n\"Because I know!\"\n\nAnd now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness will\nsit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her\nkin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming\nLondon; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill,\nand where wild flowers grow of their own accord.\n\nSo I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever begin\nanother. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with\ndifferent people and different themes; for here at the end, where the\nromance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my\nlife-work, I say sadly and without hope,\n\n                        \"FINIS.\"\n\n\n_\"The Westminster Gazette,\" 25 September._\n\n                          A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.\n\n\nThe neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with a\nseries of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what\nwas known to the writers of headlines as \"The Kensington Horror,\" or\n\"The Stabbing Woman,\" or \"The Woman in Black.\" During the past two or\nthree days several cases have occurred of young children straying from\nhome or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In all\nthese cases the children were too young to give any properly\nintelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses\nis that they had been with a \"bloofer lady.\" It has always been late in\nthe evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions the\nchildren have not been found until early in the following morning. It is\ngenerally supposed in the neighbourhood that, as the first child missed\ngave as his reason for being away that a \"bloofer lady\" had asked him to\ncome for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as\noccasion served. This is the more natural as the favourite game of the\nlittle ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A\ncorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots pretending to\nbe the \"bloofer lady\" is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturists\nmight, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by comparing the\nreality and the picture. It is only in accordance with general\nprinciples of human nature that the \"bloofer lady\" should be the popular\nrole at these _al fresco_ performances. Our correspondent naively says\nthat even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of\nthese grubby-faced little children pretend--and even imagine\nthemselves--to be.\n\nThere is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some of\nthe children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been\nslightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such as might be\nmade by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much importance\nindividually, would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them has\na system or method of its own. The police of the division have been\ninstructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying children, especially\nwhen very young, in and around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dog\nwhich may be about.\n\n\n               _\"The Westminster Gazette,\" 25 September._\n\n                            _Extra Special._\n\n                         THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR.\n\n                         ANOTHER CHILD INJURED.\n\n                         _The \"Bloofer Lady.\"_\n\nWe have just received intelligence that another child, missed last\nnight, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze bush at the\nShooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is, perhaps, less\nfrequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in the\nthroat as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and\nlooked quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the common\nstory to tell of being lured away by the \"bloofer lady.\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA: From Dr. Seward's diary; the September 22nd entry of Mina Harker's journal; the September 22nd entry of Dr. Seward's diary; and two articles from the Westminster Gazette, dated September 25th. Lucy and Mrs. Westenra are to be buried together. Van Helsing takes possession of Lucy's diary, and the two doctors deal with the logistics of the burial and the Westenras' papers. Lucy's body has been dressed and prepared by the undertaker and his staff, and if anything looks more beautiful than ever. Van Helsing seems disturbed by this phenomenon, and he puts garlic flowers around the bed and the body. He also puts a crucifix over Lucy's mouth. He tells Seward that the next day they are going to decapitate her and stuff her mouth with garlic. But the next morning, Van Helsing reports to Seward that the crucifix was stolen and consequently they will have to wait before doing anything. Seward cannot understand Van Helsing's actions, but he trusts him. Arthur Holmwood is the beneficiary of the Westenras' estate. When he arrives, heartbroken and in deep pain, Van Helsing and he affirm that they are friends. Van Helsing asks to read Lucy's diary, and Arthur gives his permission. Mina and Jonathan are in London when Jonathan sees the Count. Suddenly he seems to remember somethinghe is horrified, saying that the Count is here and is now grown young, but he is so upset that he passes out and on waking can remember nothing. Disturbed by these bouts of forgetfulness, Mina resolves to open Jonathan's diary and read it for his own sake. But that night, they arrive home to find a telegram informing them of the deaths of Lucy and Mrs. Westenra. Meanwhile, as Seward reports in what he believes will be his last diary entry, Lucy is buried and Van Helsing is going to Amsterdam for a brief visit. Newspaper reports show that a number of children have temporarily gone missing in the same area where Lucy was buried. The children claim to have played with a \"bloofer lady. They return with small bite wounds on their necks.\n\n","prompt":"Chapter: The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy and\nher mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly\nformalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were\nafflicted--or blessed--with something of his own obsequious suavity.\nEven the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to\nme, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out\nfrom the death-chamber:--\n\n\"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to\nattend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our\nestablishment!\"\n\nI noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible from\nthe disordered state of things in the household. There were no relatives\nat hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend at his\nfather's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should have been\nbidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon\nourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's\npapers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a\nforeigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and\nso might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:--\n\n\"I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But\nthis is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided the\ncoroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more--such\nas this.\"\n\nAs he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had been\nin Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.\n\n\"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs.\nWestenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watch\nhere in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and I myself\nsearch for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go into\nthe hands of strangers.\"\n\nI went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had found\nthe name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had written to\nhim. All the poor lady's papers were in order; explicit directions\nregarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the\nletter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room,\nsaying:--\n\n\"Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Have you got what you looked for?\" I asked, to which he replied:--\n\n\"I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I\nhave, all that there was--only some letters and a few memoranda, and a\ndiary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present say\nnothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with\nhis sanction, I shall use some.\"\n\nWhen we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:--\n\n\"And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you\nand I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, but\nfor the to-night there is no need of us. Alas!\"\n\nBefore turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had\ncertainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small\n_chapelle ardente_. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,\nand death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the\nwinding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and\nturned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us, the tall\nwax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy's\nloveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had passed,\ninstead of leaving traces of \"decay's effacing fingers,\" had but\nrestored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes\nthat I was looking at a corpse.\n\nThe Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, and\nthere was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: \"Remain till I\nreturn,\" and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic\nfrom the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, and\nplaced the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then he\ntook from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and\nplaced it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we\ncame away.\n\nI was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the\ndoor, he entered, and at once began to speak:--\n\n\"To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem\nknives.\"\n\n\"Must we make an autopsy?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell you\nnow, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out\nher heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with\nno tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that make\nthe rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John, that\nyou loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shall\noperate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but for\nArthur I must not; he will be free after his father's funeral to-morrow,\nand he will want to see her--to see _it_. Then, when she is coffined\nready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall\nunscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation: and then replace\nall, so that none know, save we alone.\"\n\n\"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor body\nwithout need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing\nto gain by it--no good to her, to us, to science, to human\nknowledge--why do it? Without such it is monstrous.\"\n\nFor answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite\ntenderness:--\n\n\"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the more\nbecause it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burden\nthat you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that you\nshall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasant\nthings. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet\ndid you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err--I am but\nman; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you\nsend for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay\nhorrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love--though she was\ndying--and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw\nhow she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so\nweak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not\nhear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!\n\n\"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for many\nyears trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things so\nstrange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend\nJohn. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is\nnot perhaps well. And if I work--as work I shall, no matter trust or no\ntrust--without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart and feel,\noh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be!\" He paused a\nmoment and went on solemnly: \"Friend John, there are strange and\nterrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to\na good end. Will you not have faith in me?\"\n\nI took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away,\nand watched him go into his room and close the door. As I stood without\nmoving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along the passage--she had\nher back towards me, so did not see me--and go into the room where Lucy\nlay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare, and we are so grateful\nto those who show it unasked to those we love. Here was a poor girl\nputting aside the terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch\nalone by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay\nmight not be lonely till laid to eternal rest....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when Van\nHelsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside and\nsaid:--\n\n\"You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatly\nimpressed me.\n\n\"Because,\" he said sternly, \"it is too late--or too early. See!\" Here he\nheld up the little golden crucifix. \"This was stolen in the night.\"\n\n\"How, stolen,\" I asked in wonder, \"since you have it now?\"\n\n\"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from the\nwoman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surely\ncome, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thus\nunknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.\"\n\nHe went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a\nnew puzzle to grapple with.\n\nThe forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr.\nMarquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genial\nand very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all\ncares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for\nsome time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs\nin absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certain\nentailed property of Lucy's father's which now, in default of direct\nissue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate,\nreal and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had\ntold us so much he went on:--\n\n\"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and\npointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either\npenniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial\nalliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into\ncollision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out\nher wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We were\nright in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should\nhave proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.\nFrankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form of\ndisposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her\nwishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have come\ninto possession of the property, and, even had she only survived her\nmother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no\nwill--and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case--have been\ntreated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming,\nthough so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and the\ninheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just\nrights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure\nyou, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced.\"\n\nHe was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part--in which\nhe was officially interested--of so great a tragedy, was an\nobject-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.\n\nHe did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day and\nsee Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort to\nus, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostile\ncriticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o'clock, so\na little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in\nvery truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker,\ntrue to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and\nthere was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits at\nonce. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,\nexplaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would be\nless harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his _fiancee_\nquite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and\nexerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left them\nthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings\nas we could avoid were saved.\n\nPoor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwart\nmanhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of his\nmuch-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly\nattached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was a\nbitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he\nwas sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was some\nconstraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me to\nbring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as I\nfelt he would like to be quite alone with her, but he took my arm and\nled me in, saying huskily:--\n\n\"You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and there was\nno friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I don't know how to\nthank you for all you have done for her. I can't think yet....\"\n\nHere he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my shoulders and\nlaid his head on my breast, crying:--\n\n\"Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do! The whole of life seems gone from me\nall at once, and there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.\"\n\nI comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need much\nexpression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the\nshoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man's\nheart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said\nsoftly to him:--\n\n\"Come and look at her.\"\n\nTogether we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from her face.\nGod! how beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing her\nloveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for Arthur, he\nfell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At\nlast, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:--\n\n\"Jack, is she really dead?\"\n\nI assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest--for I felt\nthat such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment longer than\nI could help--that it often happened that after death faces became\nsoftened and even resolved into their youthful beauty; that this was\nespecially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged\nsuffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, after\nkneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly and\nlong, he turned aside. I told him that that must be good-bye, as the\ncoffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took her dead hand in his\nand kissed it, and bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away,\nfondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he came.\n\nI left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that he had said\ngood-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker's men\nto proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When he\ncame out of the room again I told him of Arthur's question, and he\nreplied:--\n\n\"I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment myself!\"\n\nWe all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying to make\nthe best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner-time; but\nwhen we had lit our cigars he said--\n\n\"Lord----\"; but Arthur interrupted him:--\n\n\"No, no, not that, for God's sake! not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir:\nI did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is so\nrecent.\"\n\nThe Professor answered very sweetly:--\n\n\"I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you\n'Mr.,' and I have grown to love you--yes, my dear boy, to love you--as\nArthur.\"\n\nArthur held out his hand, and took the old man's warmly.\n\n\"Call me what you will,\" he said. \"I hope I may always have the title of\na friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you for\nyour goodness to my poor dear.\" He paused a moment, and went on: \"I know\nthat she understood your goodness even better than I do; and if I was\nrude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so--you remember\"--the\nProfessor nodded--\"you must forgive me.\"\n\nHe answered with a grave kindness:--\n\n\"I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust such\nviolence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not--that you\ncannot--trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be\nmore times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot--and may\nnot--and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust\nshall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as\nthough the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me from\nfirst to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others and for her\ndear sake to whom I swore to protect.\"\n\n\"And, indeed, indeed, sir,\" said Arthur warmly, \"I shall in all ways\ntrust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are\nJack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like.\"\n\nThe Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though about to\nspeak, and finally said:--\n\n\"May I ask you something now?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?\"\n\n\"No, poor dear; I never thought of it.\"\n\n\"And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you will. I\nwant you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's papers and\nletters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which,\nbe sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took them\nbefore we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touch\nthem--no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep\nthem, if I may; even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep them\nsafe. No word shall be lost; and in the good time I shall give them back\nto you. It's a hard thing I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for\nLucy's sake?\"\n\nArthur spoke out heartily, like his old self:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I\nam doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you\nwith questions till the time comes.\"\n\nThe old Professor stood up as he said solemnly:--\n\n\"And you are right. There will be pain for us all; but it will not be\nall pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too--you most of\nall, my dear boy--will have to pass through the bitter water before we\nreach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our\nduty, and all will be well!\"\n\nI slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did not go to\nbed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house, and was\nnever out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn with\nthe wild garlic flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose,\na heavy, overpowering smell into the night.\n\n\n_Mina Harker's Journal._\n\n_22 September._--In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping.\n\nIt seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much\nbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away and\nno news of him; and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, a\npartner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, and\nJonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some day he may ask me\nabout it. Down it all goes. I am rusty in my shorthand--see what\nunexpected prosperity does for us--so it may be as well to freshen it up\nagain with an exercise anyhow....\n\nThe service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselves\nand the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter, his\nLondon agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, the\nPresident of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand in\nhand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us....\n\nWe came back to town quietly, taking a 'bus to Hyde Park Corner.\nJonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a while, so\nwe sat down; but there were very few people there, and it was\nsad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us think\nof the empty chair at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly.\nJonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old days\nbefore I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can't go on\nfor some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without the\npedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, and he\nwas my husband, and we didn't know anybody who saw us--and we didn't\ncare if they did--so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautiful\ngirl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's,\nwhen I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said\nunder his breath: \"My God!\" I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I\nfear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to him\nquickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.\n\nHe was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and\nhalf in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and\nblack moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty\ngirl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us,\nand so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it was\nhard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all\nthe whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's.\nJonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I\nfeared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked\nJonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that\nI knew as much about it as he did: \"Do you see who it is?\"\n\n\"No, dear,\" I said; \"I don't know him; who is it?\" His answer seemed to\nshock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it was\nto me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:--\n\n\"It is the man himself!\"\n\nThe poor dear was evidently terrified at something--very greatly\nterrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to\nsupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out of\nthe shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then drove\noff. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage\nmoved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a\nhansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself:--\n\n\"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be\nso! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!\" He was\ndistressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on the\nsubject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew him\naway quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little\nfurther, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It was\na hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place.\nAfter a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes closed, and he\nwent quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought it\nwas the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twenty\nminutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:--\n\n\"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude.\nCome, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere.\" He had evidently forgotten\nall about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that\nthis episode had reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing into\nforgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must\nnot ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehow\nlearn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I\nmust open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will,\nI know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--A sad home-coming in every way--the house empty of the dear\nsoul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slight\nrelapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever he\nmay be:--\n\n\"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, and\nthat Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day.\"\n\nOh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor\nLucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have\nlost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear our\ntroubles.\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_22 September._--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has\ntaken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe\nin my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's death as any\nof us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America\ncan go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the world\nindeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his\njourney. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returns\nto-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements which can\nonly be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he says\nhe has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poor old\nfellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even his\niron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, putting\nsome terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over, we were\nstanding beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in\nthe operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins; I\ncould see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was\nsaying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married\nand that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of\nthe other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went\naway together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The\nmoment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of\nhysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted\nthat it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very\nterrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down\nthe blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried,\ntill he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman\ndoes. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the\ncircumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different in\nmanifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grew\ngrave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time.\nHis reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical and\nforceful and mysterious. He said:--\n\n\"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad,\nthough I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But\nno more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come\njust the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your\ndoor and say, 'May I come in?' is not the true laughter. No! he is a\nking, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no\ntime of suitability. He say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my\nheart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, though\nI am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my other\nsufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very\ngrave--laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her\ncoffin and say 'Thud! thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood\nfrom my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy--that dear boy, so of\nthe age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his\nhair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yet\nwhen he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my\nfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man--not even to you, friend\nJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son--yet even\nat such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear,\n'Here I am! here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bring some of\nthe sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is\na strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and\ntroubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the\ntune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and\ntears that burn as they fall--all dance together to the music that he\nmake with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that\nhe is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn\ntight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and,\nlike the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain\nbecome too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the\nsunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with\nour labour, what it may be.\"\n\nI did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as I\ndid not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As he\nanswered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different\ntone:--\n\n\"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all--this so lovely lady garlanded with\nflowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she\nwere truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely\nchurchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the mother\nwho loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going 'Toll!\ntoll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the white\ngarments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time\ntheir eyes never on the page; and all of us with the bowed head. And all\nfor what? She is dead; so! Is it not?\"\n\n\"Well, for the life of me, Professor,\" I said, \"I can't see anything to\nlaugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle\nthan before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor\nArt and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking.\"\n\n\"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had\nmade her truly his bride?\"\n\n\"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.\"\n\n\"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then\nwhat about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist,\nand me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though\nno wits, all gone--even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife,\nam bigamist.\"\n\n\"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!\" I said; and I did\nnot feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laid\nhis hand on my arm, and said:--\n\n\"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others\nwhen it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust.\nIf you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh;\nif you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so\nnow, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him--for\nhe go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time--maybe you would\nperhaps pity me the most of all.\"\n\nI was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.\n\n\"Because I know!\"\n\nAnd now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness will\nsit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her\nkin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming\nLondon; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill,\nand where wild flowers grow of their own accord.\n\nSo I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever begin\nanother. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with\ndifferent people and different themes; for here at the end, where the\nromance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my\nlife-work, I say sadly and without hope,\n\n                        \"FINIS.\"\n\n\n_\"The Westminster Gazette,\" 25 September._\n\n                          A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.\n\n\nThe neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with a\nseries of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what\nwas known to the writers of headlines as \"The Kensington Horror,\" or\n\"The Stabbing Woman,\" or \"The Woman in Black.\" During the past two or\nthree days several cases have occurred of young children straying from\nhome or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In all\nthese cases the children were too young to give any properly\nintelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses\nis that they had been with a \"bloofer lady.\" It has always been late in\nthe evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions the\nchildren have not been found until early in the following morning. It is\ngenerally supposed in the neighbourhood that, as the first child missed\ngave as his reason for being away that a \"bloofer lady\" had asked him to\ncome for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as\noccasion served. This is the more natural as the favourite game of the\nlittle ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A\ncorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots pretending to\nbe the \"bloofer lady\" is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturists\nmight, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by comparing the\nreality and the picture. It is only in accordance with general\nprinciples of human nature that the \"bloofer lady\" should be the popular\nrole at these _al fresco_ performances. Our correspondent naively says\nthat even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of\nthese grubby-faced little children pretend--and even imagine\nthemselves--to be.\n\nThere is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some of\nthe children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been\nslightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem such as might be\nmade by a rat or a small dog, and although of not much importance\nindividually, would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them has\na system or method of its own. The police of the division have been\ninstructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying children, especially\nwhen very young, in and around Hampstead Heath, and for any stray dog\nwhich may be about.\n\n\n               _\"The Westminster Gazette,\" 25 September._\n\n                            _Extra Special._\n\n                         THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR.\n\n                         ANOTHER CHILD INJURED.\n\n                         _The \"Bloofer Lady.\"_\n\nWe have just received intelligence that another child, missed last\nnight, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze bush at the\nShooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is, perhaps, less\nfrequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny wound in the\nthroat as has been noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and\nlooked quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the common\nstory to tell of being lured away by the \"bloofer lady.\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA:","completion":" From Dr. Seward's diary; the September 22nd entry of Mina Harker's journal; the September 22nd entry of Dr. Seward's diary; and two articles from the Westminster Gazette, dated September 25th. Lucy and Mrs. Westenra are to be buried together. Van Helsing takes possession of Lucy's diary, and the two doctors deal with the logistics of the burial and the Westenras' papers. Lucy's body has been dressed and prepared by the undertaker and his staff, and if anything looks more beautiful than ever. Van Helsing seems disturbed by this phenomenon, and he puts garlic flowers around the bed and the body. He also puts a crucifix over Lucy's mouth. He tells Seward that the next day they are going to decapitate her and stuff her mouth with garlic. But the next morning, Van Helsing reports to Seward that the crucifix was stolen and consequently they will have to wait before doing anything. Seward cannot understand Van Helsing's actions, but he trusts him. Arthur Holmwood is the beneficiary of the Westenras' estate. When he arrives, heartbroken and in deep pain, Van Helsing and he affirm that they are friends. Van Helsing asks to read Lucy's diary, and Arthur gives his permission. Mina and Jonathan are in London when Jonathan sees the Count. Suddenly he seems to remember somethinghe is horrified, saying that the Count is here and is now grown young, but he is so upset that he passes out and on waking can remember nothing. Disturbed by these bouts of forgetfulness, Mina resolves to open Jonathan's diary and read it for his own sake. But that night, they arrive home to find a telegram informing them of the deaths of Lucy and Mrs. Westenra. Meanwhile, as Seward reports in what he believes will be his last diary entry, Lucy is buried and Van Helsing is going to Amsterdam for a brief visit. Newspaper reports show that a number of children have temporarily gone missing in the same area where Lucy was buried. The children claim to have played with a \"bloofer lady. They return with small bite wounds on their necks.\n\n"},"truncated_cells":[]},{"row_idx":71,"row":{"text":"Chapter: _23 September_.--Jonathan is better after a bad night. I am so glad that\nhe has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the terrible\nthings; and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed down with the\nresponsibility of his new position. I knew he would be true to himself,\nand now how proud I am to see my Jonathan rising to the height of his\nadvancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come upon\nhim. He will be away all day till late, for he said he could not lunch\nat home. My household work is done, so I shall take his foreign journal,\nand lock myself up in my room and read it....\n\n\n_24 September_.--I hadn't the heart to write last night; that terrible\nrecord of Jonathan's upset me so. Poor dear! How he must have suffered,\nwhether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truth\nin it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all those\nterrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shall\nnever know, for I dare not open the subject to him.... And yet that man\nwe saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him.... Poor fellow! I\nsuppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind back on some\ntrain of thought.... He believes it all himself. I remember how on our\nwedding-day he said: \"Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back to\nthe bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane.\" There seems to be\nthrough it all some thread of continuity.... That fearful Count was\ncoming to London.... If it should be, and he came to London, with his\nteeming millions.... There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we must\nnot shrink from it.... I shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriter\nthis very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be ready for other\neyes if required. And if it be wanted; then, perhaps, if I am ready,\npoor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can speak for him and never let\nhim be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Jonathan quite gets\nover the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask him\nquestions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him.\n\n\n_Letter, Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._\n\n\"_24 September._\n\n(_Confidence_)\n\n\"Dear Madam,--\n\n\"I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I\nsent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's death. By the kindness of\nLord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I am\ndeeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I find\nsome letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how you\nlove her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is\nfor others' good that I ask--to redress great wrong, and to lift much\nand terrible troubles--that may be more great than you can know. May it\nbe that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and\nof Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private\nfor the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if\nyou tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your\npardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good\nyou are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be,\nenlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.\n\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Telegram, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._\n\n\"_25 September._--Come to-day by quarter-past ten train if you can catch\nit. Can see you any time you call.\n\n\"WILHELMINA HARKER.\"\n\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL.\n\n_25 September._--I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the time\ndraws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect that\nit will throw some light upon Jonathan's sad experience; and as he\nattended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all about\nher. That is the reason of his coming; it is concerning Lucy and her\nsleep-walking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the real\ntruth now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of my\nimagination and tinges everything with something of its own colour. Of\ncourse it is about Lucy. That habit came back to the poor dear, and that\nawful night on the cliff must have made her ill. I had almost forgotten\nin my own affairs how ill she was afterwards. She must have told him\nof her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that I knew all about\nit; and now he wants me to tell him what she knows, so that he may\nunderstand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Mrs.\nWestenra; I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it even\na negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope, too, Dr. Van\nHelsing will not blame me; I have had so much trouble and anxiety of\nlate that I feel I cannot bear more just at present.\n\nI suppose a cry does us all good at times--clears the air as other rain\ndoes. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that upset me, and\nthen Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a whole day\nand night, the first time we have been parted since our marriage. I do\nhope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and that nothing will\noccur to upset him. It is two o'clock, and the doctor will be here soon\nnow. I shall say nothing of Jonathan's journal unless he asks me. I am\nso glad I have type-written out my own journal, so that, in case he asks\nabout Lucy, I can hand it to him; it will save much questioning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how it\nall makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be all\npossible, or even a part of it? If I had not read Jonathan's journal\nfirst, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dear\nJonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all this may\nnot upset him again. I shall try to save him from it; but it may be even\na consolation and a help to him--terrible though it be and awful in its\nconsequences--to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain did\nnot deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt\nwhich haunts him; that when the doubt is removed, no matter\nwhich--waking or dreaming--may prove the truth, he will be more\nsatisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a\ngood man as well as a clever one if he is Arthur's friend and Dr.\nSeward's, and if they brought him all the way from Holland to look after\nLucy. I feel from having seen him that he _is_ good and kind and of a\nnoble nature. When he comes to-morrow I shall ask him about Jonathan;\nand then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a good\nend. I used to think I would like to practise interviewing; Jonathan's\nfriend on \"The Exeter News\" told him that memory was everything in such\nwork--that you must be able to put down exactly almost every word\nspoken, even if you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare\ninterview; I shall try to record it _verbatim_.\n\nIt was half-past two o'clock when the knock came. I took my courage _a\ndeux mains_ and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the door, and\nannounced \"Dr. Van Helsing.\"\n\nI rose and bowed, and he came towards me; a man of medium weight,\nstrongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and\na neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise\nof the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; the\nhead is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face,\nclean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile\nmouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive\nnostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and the\nmouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost\nstraight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart;\nsuch a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it,\nbut falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set\nwidely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man's moods. He\nsaid to me:--\n\n\"Mrs. Harker, is it not?\" I bowed assent.\n\n\"That was Miss Mina Murray?\" Again I assented.\n\n\"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear\nchild Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I said, \"you could have no better claim on me than that you were\na friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.\" And I held out my hand. He took\nit and said tenderly:--\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must be\ngood, but I had yet to learn----\" He finished his speech with a courtly\nbow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he at\nonce began:--\n\n\"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to begin\nto inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you were\nwith her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary--you need not look\nsurprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was in\nimitation of you--and in that diary she traces by inference certain\nthings to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. In\ngreat perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so much\nkindness to tell me all of it that you can remember.\"\n\n\"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always\nso with young ladies.\"\n\n\"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to you\nif you like.\"\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour.\" I\ncould not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit--I suppose it is\nsome of the taste of the original apple that remains still in our\nmouths--so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a grateful\nbow, and said:--\n\n\"May I read it?\"\n\n\"If you wish,\" I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and for\nan instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.\n\n\"Oh, you so clever woman!\" he said. \"I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a\nman of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things.\nAnd will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me?\nAlas! I know not the shorthand.\" By this time my little joke was over,\nand I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from my\nworkbasket and handed it to him.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" I said: \"I could not help it; but I had been thinking that\nit was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might not\nhave time to wait--not on my account, but because I know your time must\nbe precious--I have written it out on the typewriter for you.\"\n\nHe took it and his eyes glistened. \"You are so good,\" he said. \"And may\nI read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" I said, \"read it over whilst I order lunch; and then you\ncan ask me questions whilst we eat.\" He bowed and settled himself in a\nchair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers,\nwhilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be\ndisturbed. When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down\nthe room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and\ntook me by both hands.\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said, \"how can I say what I owe to you? This paper\nis as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so\nmuch light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that\nyou do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so\nclever woman. Madam\"--he said this very solemnly--\"if ever Abraham Van\nHelsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know.\nIt will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as a\nfriend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you\nand those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights;\nyou are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, and\nyour husband will be blessed in you.\"\n\n\"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and--and you do not know me.\"\n\n\"Not know you--I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men and\nwomen; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to\nhim and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary that you\nhave so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in every\nline. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your\nmarriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell\nall their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that\nangels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something of\nangels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for\nyou trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your\nhusband--tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, and\nis he strong and hearty?\" I saw here an opening to ask him about\nJonathan, so I said:--\n\n\"He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins's\ndeath.\" He interrupted:--\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters.\" I went\non:--\n\n\"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he\nhad a sort of shock.\"\n\n\"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind of\na shock was it?\"\n\n\"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something\nwhich led to his brain fever.\" And here the whole thing seemed to\noverwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which he\nexperienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that\nhas been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose I\nwas hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands to\nhim, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my hands\nand raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held my\nhand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:--\n\n\"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not\nhad much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to here by\nmy friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen such\nnobility that I feel more than ever--and it has grown with my advancing\nyears--the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come here\nfull of respect for you, and you have given me hope--hope, not in what I\nam seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life\nhappy--good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for\nthe children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some\nuse to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my\nstudy and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do _all_ for him\nthat I can--all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy\none. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious.\nHusband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he like not\nwhere he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eat\nand smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall not\nspeak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for I\nwant to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I\nwill ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me of\nhusband Jonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat\nnow; afterwards you shall tell me all.\"\n\nAfter lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:--\n\n\"And now tell me all about him.\" When it came to speaking to this great\nlearned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and\nJonathan a madman--that journal is all so strange--and I hesitated to go\non. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I\ntrusted him, so I said:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must not\nlaugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort of\nfever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that I\nhave even half believed some very strange things.\" He reassured me by\nhis manner as well as his words when he said:--\n\n\"Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which\nI am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think little\nof any one's belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keep\nan open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close\nit, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that\nmake one doubt if they be mad or sane.\"\n\n\"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off my\nmind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It is long,\nbut I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble and\nJonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all that\nhappened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself and\njudge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tell\nme what you think.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" he said as I gave him the papers; \"I shall in the morning,\nso soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may.\"\n\n\"Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunch\nwith us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34 train, which\nwill leave you at Paddington before eight.\" He was surprised at my\nknowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know that I have made\nup all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan in\ncase he is in a hurry.\n\nSo he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here\nthinking--thinking I don't know what.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._\n\n\"_25 September, 6 o'clock._\n\n\"Dear Madam Mina,--\n\n\"I have read your husband's so wonderful diary. You may sleep without\ndoubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is _true_! I will pledge my\nlife on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no\ndread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men,\nthat one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that\nroom--ay, and going a second time--is not one to be injured in\npermanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this I\nswear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much to\nask him of other things. I am blessed that to-day I come to see you, for\nI have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzle--dazzle more\nthan ever, and I must think.\n\n\"Yours the most faithful,\n\n\"ABRAHAM VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._\n\n\"_25 September, 6:30 p. m._\n\n\"My dear Dr. Van Helsing,--\n\n\"A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken a great weight\noff my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things there are in\nthe world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster, be really\nin London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had a\nwire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 to-night from\nLaunceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall have no fear\nto-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with us, please come\nto breakfast at eight o'clock, if this be not too early for you? You can\nget away, if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring\nyou to Paddington by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that,\nif I do not hear, you will come to breakfast.\n\n\"Believe me,\n\n\"Your faithful and grateful friend,\n\n\"MINA HARKER.\"\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_26 September._--I thought never to write in this diary again, but the\ntime has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, and\nwhen we had supped she told me of Van Helsing's visit, and of her having\ngiven him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has been\nabout me. She showed me in the doctor's letter that all I wrote down was\ntrue. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the doubt as to the\nreality of the whole thing that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and in\nthe dark, and distrustful. But, now that I _know_, I am not afraid, even\nof the Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in his design in getting\nto London, and it was he I saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing\nis the man to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything like what\nMina says. We sat late, and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and I\nshall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over....\n\nHe was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room where he\nwas, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and turned my\nface round to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny:--\n\n\"But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had a shock.\" It was\nso funny to hear my wife called \"Madam Mina\" by this kindly,\nstrong-faced old man. I smiled, and said:--\n\n\"I _was_ ill, I _have_ had a shock; but you have cured me already.\"\n\n\"And how?\"\n\n\"By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and then everything\ntook a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to trust, even the\nevidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust, I did not know\nwhat to do; and so had only to keep on working in what had hitherto been\nthe groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I mistrusted\nmyself. Doctor, you don't know what it is to doubt everything, even\nyourself. No, you don't; you couldn't with eyebrows like yours.\" He\nseemed pleased, and laughed as he said:--\n\n\"So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with\nso much pleasure coming to you to breakfast; and, oh, sir, you will\npardon praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife.\" I\nwould listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply nodded\nand stood silent.\n\n\"She is one of God's women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men and\nother women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its\nlight can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an\negoist--and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so sceptical and\nselfish. And you, sir--I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy,\nand some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days from the\nknowing of others; but I have seen your true self since last night. You\nwill give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all our\nlives.\"\n\nWe shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it made me quite\nchoky.\n\n\"And now,\" he said, \"may I ask you for some more help? I have a great\ntask to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help me here.\nCan you tell me what went before your going to Transylvania? Later on I\nmay ask more help, and of a different kind; but at first this will do.\"\n\n\"Look here, sir,\" I said, \"does what you have to do concern the Count?\"\n\n\"It does,\" he said solemnly.\n\n\"Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 10:30 train, you\nwill not have time to read them; but I shall get the bundle of papers.\nYou can take them with you and read them in the train.\"\n\nAfter breakfast I saw him to the station. When we were parting he\nsaid:--\n\n\"Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take Madam Mina\ntoo.\"\n\n\"We shall both come when you will,\" I said.\n\nI had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the previous\nnight, and while we were talking at the carriage window, waiting for the\ntrain to start, he was turning them over. His eyes suddenly seemed to\ncatch something in one of them, \"The Westminster Gazette\"--I knew it by\nthe colour--and he grew quite white. He read something intently,\ngroaning to himself: \"Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon! so soon!\" I do not\nthink he remembered me at the moment. Just then the whistle blew, and\nthe train moved off. This recalled him to himself, and he leaned out of\nthe window and waved his hand, calling out: \"Love to Madam Mina; I shall\nwrite so soon as ever I can.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_26 September._--Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a week\nsince I said \"Finis,\" and yet here I am starting fresh again, or rather\ngoing on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no cause to\nthink of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as\nhe ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business; and he had\njust started in the spider line also; so he had not been of any trouble\nto me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it I\ngather that he is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with\nhim, and that is much of a help, for he himself is a bubbling well of\ngood spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear that\nArthur is beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as to\nthem all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to my\nwork with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I might\nfairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becoming\ncicatrised. Everything is, however, now reopened; and what is to be the\nend God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows,\ntoo, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He\nwent to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he came\nback, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock,\nand thrust last night's \"Westminster Gazette\" into my hand.\n\n\"What do you think of that?\" he asked as he stood back and folded his\narms.\n\nI looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant; but he\ntook it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being decoyed\naway at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I reached a\npassage where it described small punctured wounds on their throats. An\nidea struck me, and I looked up. \"Well?\" he said.\n\n\"It is like poor Lucy's.\"\n\n\"And what do you make of it?\"\n\n\"Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injured\nher has injured them.\" I did not quite understand his answer:--\n\n\"That is true indirectly, but not directly.\"\n\n\"How do you mean, Professor?\" I asked. I was a little inclined to take\nhis seriousness lightly--for, after all, four days of rest and freedom\nfrom burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one's spirits--but\nwhen I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our\ndespair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.\n\n\"Tell me!\" I said. \"I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to\nthink, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to\nwhat poor Lucy died of; not after all the hints given, not only by\nevents, but by me?\"\n\n\"Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste of blood.\"\n\n\"And how the blood lost or waste?\" I shook my head. He stepped over and\nsat down beside me, and went on:--\n\n\"You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and your wit is bold;\nbut you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears\nhear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to\nyou. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand,\nand yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? But\nthere are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men's\neyes, because they know--or think they know--some things which other men\nhave told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to\nexplain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to\nexplain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs,\nwhich think themselves new; and which are yet but the old, which pretend\nto be young--like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do not\nbelieve in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor\nin astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in\nhypnotism----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said. \"Charcot has proved that pretty well.\" He smiled as he\nwent on: \"Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then you\nunderstand how it act, and can follow the mind of the great\nCharcot--alas that he is no more!--into the very soul of the patient\nthat he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you\nsimply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion\nbe a blank? No? Then tell me--for I am student of the brain--how you\naccept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my\nfriend, that there are things done to-day in electrical science which\nwould have been deemed unholy by the very men who discovered\nelectricity--who would themselves not so long before have been burned\nas wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it that\nMethuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred and\nsixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her poor\nveins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, we\ncould have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do\nyou know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the\nqualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me\nwhy, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived\nfor centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew,\ntill, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can\nyou tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that\ncome at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their\nveins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang\non the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant\nnuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that\nit is hot, flit down on them, and then--and then in the morning are\nfound dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?\"\n\n\"Good God, Professor!\" I said, starting up. \"Do you mean to tell me that\nLucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here in London\nin the nineteenth century?\" He waved his hand for silence, and went\non:--\n\n\"Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of\nmen; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; and\nwhy the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint?\nCan you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are\nsome few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men and\nwomen who cannot die? We all know--because science has vouched for the\nfact--that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of\nyears, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of\nthe world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die\nand have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the\ncorn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men\ncome and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian\nfakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?\" Here\nI interrupted him. I was getting bewildered; he so crowded on my mind\nhis list of nature's eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my\nimagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching me\nsome lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; but\nhe used then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of\nthought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet I\nwanted to follow him, so I said:--\n\n\"Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so\nthat I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going in\nmy mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one, follows an\nidea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a mist, jumping\nfrom one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without\nknowing where I am going.\"\n\n\"That is good image,\" he said. \"Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is\nthis: I want you to believe.\"\n\n\"To believe what?\"\n\n\"To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard once\nof an American who so defined faith: 'that faculty which enables us to\nbelieve things which we know to be untrue.' For one, I follow that man.\nHe meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of\ntruth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railway\ntruck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value\nhim; but all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth in\nthe universe.\"\n\n\"Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure the\nreceptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read\nyour lesson aright?\"\n\n\"Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now\nthat you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to\nunderstand. You think then that those so small holes in the children's\nthroats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\" He stood up and said solemnly:--\n\n\"Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! but alas! no. It is worse,\nfar, far worse.\"\n\n\"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?\" I cried.\n\nHe threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed his\nelbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke:--\n\n\"They were made by Miss Lucy!\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA: Includes the September 23rd and September 24th entries of Mina Harker's journal; a letter from Van Helsing to Mina Harker, dated September 24th; a telegram from Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing, dated September 25th; letters between Van Helsing and Mrs. Harker, dated September 25th; the September 26th entry of Jonathan Harker's journal; and the September 26th entry of Dr. Seward's diary. Mina reads Jonathan's journal, and is troubled by the contents. She believes that the writings in the journal may have been influenced by the brain fever, but she is not sure. She decides to transcribe it , so that it might be made intelligible to others if the need arises. Van Helsing, who has read Mina's letters to Lucy, visits Mina to ask questions about the events leading up to Lucy's death. Mina is impressed by the doctor, and she gives him Jonathan's journal. Van Helsing reads it and comes to see the Harkers the next day. Jonathan's spirits are restored by Van Helsing's belief in him, and he is regaining his memories of the horrible events in Transylvania. Van Helsing praises Mina, her mind and her virtue, and he pledges friendship with Jonathan. He wants to ask questions to Jonathan about Transylvania at some point in the near future. As he is leaving by train, he sees the newspaper article on the \"bloofer lady\" and is horrified by how quickly the attacks have begun. Dr. Seward has reopened his diary. He reports that Renfield is back to his old business of flies and spiders. He meets with Van Helsing, who shows him the article about the wounded children and insinuates a connection between Lucy's death and the recent attacks. Seward is skeptical. Van Helsing launches into a long speech about the many unexplained phenomena in the world, urging him to open his mind. Seward guesses that whatever thing caused Lucy's death is now attacking children, which Van Helsing sadly denies. He tells Seward that the attacks were made by Lucy herself.\n\n","prompt":"Chapter: _23 September_.--Jonathan is better after a bad night. I am so glad that\nhe has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the terrible\nthings; and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed down with the\nresponsibility of his new position. I knew he would be true to himself,\nand now how proud I am to see my Jonathan rising to the height of his\nadvancement and keeping pace in all ways with the duties that come upon\nhim. He will be away all day till late, for he said he could not lunch\nat home. My household work is done, so I shall take his foreign journal,\nand lock myself up in my room and read it....\n\n\n_24 September_.--I hadn't the heart to write last night; that terrible\nrecord of Jonathan's upset me so. Poor dear! How he must have suffered,\nwhether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truth\nin it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all those\nterrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shall\nnever know, for I dare not open the subject to him.... And yet that man\nwe saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him.... Poor fellow! I\nsuppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind back on some\ntrain of thought.... He believes it all himself. I remember how on our\nwedding-day he said: \"Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back to\nthe bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane.\" There seems to be\nthrough it all some thread of continuity.... That fearful Count was\ncoming to London.... If it should be, and he came to London, with his\nteeming millions.... There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we must\nnot shrink from it.... I shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriter\nthis very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be ready for other\neyes if required. And if it be wanted; then, perhaps, if I am ready,\npoor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can speak for him and never let\nhim be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Jonathan quite gets\nover the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask him\nquestions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him.\n\n\n_Letter, Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._\n\n\"_24 September._\n\n(_Confidence_)\n\n\"Dear Madam,--\n\n\"I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I\nsent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's death. By the kindness of\nLord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I am\ndeeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I find\nsome letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how you\nlove her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is\nfor others' good that I ask--to redress great wrong, and to lift much\nand terrible troubles--that may be more great than you can know. May it\nbe that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and\nof Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private\nfor the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if\nyou tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your\npardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good\nyou are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be,\nenlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.\n\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Telegram, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._\n\n\"_25 September._--Come to-day by quarter-past ten train if you can catch\nit. Can see you any time you call.\n\n\"WILHELMINA HARKER.\"\n\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL.\n\n_25 September._--I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the time\ndraws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect that\nit will throw some light upon Jonathan's sad experience; and as he\nattended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me all about\nher. That is the reason of his coming; it is concerning Lucy and her\nsleep-walking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall never know the real\ntruth now! How silly I am. That awful journal gets hold of my\nimagination and tinges everything with something of its own colour. Of\ncourse it is about Lucy. That habit came back to the poor dear, and that\nawful night on the cliff must have made her ill. I had almost forgotten\nin my own affairs how ill she was afterwards. She must have told him\nof her sleep-walking adventure on the cliff, and that I knew all about\nit; and now he wants me to tell him what she knows, so that he may\nunderstand. I hope I did right in not saying anything of it to Mrs.\nWestenra; I should never forgive myself if any act of mine, were it even\na negative one, brought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope, too, Dr. Van\nHelsing will not blame me; I have had so much trouble and anxiety of\nlate that I feel I cannot bear more just at present.\n\nI suppose a cry does us all good at times--clears the air as other rain\ndoes. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that upset me, and\nthen Jonathan went away this morning to stay away from me a whole day\nand night, the first time we have been parted since our marriage. I do\nhope the dear fellow will take care of himself, and that nothing will\noccur to upset him. It is two o'clock, and the doctor will be here soon\nnow. I shall say nothing of Jonathan's journal unless he asks me. I am\nso glad I have type-written out my own journal, so that, in case he asks\nabout Lucy, I can hand it to him; it will save much questioning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Later._--He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how it\nall makes my head whirl round! I feel like one in a dream. Can it be all\npossible, or even a part of it? If I had not read Jonathan's journal\nfirst, I should never have accepted even a possibility. Poor, poor, dear\nJonathan! How he must have suffered. Please the good God, all this may\nnot upset him again. I shall try to save him from it; but it may be even\na consolation and a help to him--terrible though it be and awful in its\nconsequences--to know for certain that his eyes and ears and brain did\nnot deceive him, and that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt\nwhich haunts him; that when the doubt is removed, no matter\nwhich--waking or dreaming--may prove the truth, he will be more\nsatisfied and better able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a\ngood man as well as a clever one if he is Arthur's friend and Dr.\nSeward's, and if they brought him all the way from Holland to look after\nLucy. I feel from having seen him that he _is_ good and kind and of a\nnoble nature. When he comes to-morrow I shall ask him about Jonathan;\nand then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may lead to a good\nend. I used to think I would like to practise interviewing; Jonathan's\nfriend on \"The Exeter News\" told him that memory was everything in such\nwork--that you must be able to put down exactly almost every word\nspoken, even if you had to refine some of it afterwards. Here was a rare\ninterview; I shall try to record it _verbatim_.\n\nIt was half-past two o'clock when the knock came. I took my courage _a\ndeux mains_ and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the door, and\nannounced \"Dr. Van Helsing.\"\n\nI rose and bowed, and he came towards me; a man of medium weight,\nstrongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and\na neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The poise\nof the head strikes one at once as indicative of thought and power; the\nhead is noble, well-sized, broad, and large behind the ears. The face,\nclean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large, resolute, mobile\nmouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive\nnostrils, that seem to broaden as the big, bushy brows come down and the\nmouth tightens. The forehead is broad and fine, rising at first almost\nstraight and then sloping back above two bumps or ridges wide apart;\nsuch a forehead that the reddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it,\nbut falls naturally back and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set\nwidely apart, and are quick and tender or stern with the man's moods. He\nsaid to me:--\n\n\"Mrs. Harker, is it not?\" I bowed assent.\n\n\"That was Miss Mina Murray?\" Again I assented.\n\n\"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear\nchild Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I said, \"you could have no better claim on me than that you were\na friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.\" And I held out my hand. He took\nit and said tenderly:--\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must be\ngood, but I had yet to learn----\" He finished his speech with a courtly\nbow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he at\nonce began:--\n\n\"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to begin\nto inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you were\nwith her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary--you need not look\nsurprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was in\nimitation of you--and in that diary she traces by inference certain\nthings to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. In\ngreat perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so much\nkindness to tell me all of it that you can remember.\"\n\n\"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always\nso with young ladies.\"\n\n\"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to you\nif you like.\"\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour.\" I\ncould not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit--I suppose it is\nsome of the taste of the original apple that remains still in our\nmouths--so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a grateful\nbow, and said:--\n\n\"May I read it?\"\n\n\"If you wish,\" I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and for\nan instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.\n\n\"Oh, you so clever woman!\" he said. \"I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a\nman of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things.\nAnd will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me?\nAlas! I know not the shorthand.\" By this time my little joke was over,\nand I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from my\nworkbasket and handed it to him.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" I said: \"I could not help it; but I had been thinking that\nit was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might not\nhave time to wait--not on my account, but because I know your time must\nbe precious--I have written it out on the typewriter for you.\"\n\nHe took it and his eyes glistened. \"You are so good,\" he said. \"And may\nI read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" I said, \"read it over whilst I order lunch; and then you\ncan ask me questions whilst we eat.\" He bowed and settled himself in a\nchair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers,\nwhilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be\ndisturbed. When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down\nthe room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and\ntook me by both hands.\n\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said, \"how can I say what I owe to you? This paper\nis as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so\nmuch light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that\nyou do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so\nclever woman. Madam\"--he said this very solemnly--\"if ever Abraham Van\nHelsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know.\nIt will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as a\nfriend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you\nand those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights;\nyou are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, and\nyour husband will be blessed in you.\"\n\n\"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and--and you do not know me.\"\n\n\"Not know you--I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men and\nwomen; I, who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to\nhim and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary that you\nhave so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in every\nline. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your\nmarriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell\nall their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that\nangels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something of\nangels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for\nyou trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your\nhusband--tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, and\nis he strong and hearty?\" I saw here an opening to ask him about\nJonathan, so I said:--\n\n\"He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins's\ndeath.\" He interrupted:--\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters.\" I went\non:--\n\n\"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he\nhad a sort of shock.\"\n\n\"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind of\na shock was it?\"\n\n\"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something\nwhich led to his brain fever.\" And here the whole thing seemed to\noverwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which he\nexperienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that\nhas been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose I\nwas hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands to\nhim, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my hands\nand raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held my\nhand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:--\n\n\"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not\nhad much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to here by\nmy friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen such\nnobility that I feel more than ever--and it has grown with my advancing\nyears--the loneliness of my life. Believe, me, then, that I come here\nfull of respect for you, and you have given me hope--hope, not in what I\nam seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life\nhappy--good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for\nthe children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some\nuse to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my\nstudy and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do _all_ for him\nthat I can--all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy\none. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious.\nHusband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he like not\nwhere he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you must eat\nand smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall not\nspeak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for I\nwant to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I\nwill ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me of\nhusband Jonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat\nnow; afterwards you shall tell me all.\"\n\nAfter lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:--\n\n\"And now tell me all about him.\" When it came to speaking to this great\nlearned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and\nJonathan a madman--that journal is all so strange--and I hesitated to go\non. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I\ntrusted him, so I said:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must not\nlaugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort of\nfever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that I\nhave even half believed some very strange things.\" He reassured me by\nhis manner as well as his words when he said:--\n\n\"Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which\nI am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think little\nof any one's belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keep\nan open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close\nit, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that\nmake one doubt if they be mad or sane.\"\n\n\"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight off my\nmind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It is long,\nbut I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble and\nJonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all that\nhappened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself and\njudge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tell\nme what you think.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" he said as I gave him the papers; \"I shall in the morning,\nso soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may.\"\n\n\"Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunch\nwith us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3:34 train, which\nwill leave you at Paddington before eight.\" He was surprised at my\nknowledge of the trains off-hand, but he does not know that I have made\nup all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan in\ncase he is in a hurry.\n\nSo he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here\nthinking--thinking I don't know what.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker._\n\n\"_25 September, 6 o'clock._\n\n\"Dear Madam Mina,--\n\n\"I have read your husband's so wonderful diary. You may sleep without\ndoubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is _true_! I will pledge my\nlife on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no\ndread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men,\nthat one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that\nroom--ay, and going a second time--is not one to be injured in\npermanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this I\nswear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much to\nask him of other things. I am blessed that to-day I come to see you, for\nI have learn all at once so much that again I am dazzle--dazzle more\nthan ever, and I must think.\n\n\"Yours the most faithful,\n\n\"ABRAHAM VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n_Letter, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing._\n\n\"_25 September, 6:30 p. m._\n\n\"My dear Dr. Van Helsing,--\n\n\"A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken a great weight\noff my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things there are in\nthe world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster, be really\nin London! I fear to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had a\nwire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 to-night from\nLaunceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall have no fear\nto-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunching with us, please come\nto breakfast at eight o'clock, if this be not too early for you? You can\nget away, if you are in a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring\nyou to Paddington by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that,\nif I do not hear, you will come to breakfast.\n\n\"Believe me,\n\n\"Your faithful and grateful friend,\n\n\"MINA HARKER.\"\n\n\n_Jonathan Harker's Journal._\n\n_26 September._--I thought never to write in this diary again, but the\ntime has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, and\nwhen we had supped she told me of Van Helsing's visit, and of her having\ngiven him the two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has been\nabout me. She showed me in the doctor's letter that all I wrote down was\ntrue. It seems to have made a new man of me. It was the doubt as to the\nreality of the whole thing that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and in\nthe dark, and distrustful. But, now that I _know_, I am not afraid, even\nof the Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in his design in getting\nto London, and it was he I saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing\nis the man to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything like what\nMina says. We sat late, and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and I\nshall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over....\n\nHe was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room where he\nwas, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and turned my\nface round to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny:--\n\n\"But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had a shock.\" It was\nso funny to hear my wife called \"Madam Mina\" by this kindly,\nstrong-faced old man. I smiled, and said:--\n\n\"I _was_ ill, I _have_ had a shock; but you have cured me already.\"\n\n\"And how?\"\n\n\"By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and then everything\ntook a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to trust, even the\nevidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust, I did not know\nwhat to do; and so had only to keep on working in what had hitherto been\nthe groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I mistrusted\nmyself. Doctor, you don't know what it is to doubt everything, even\nyourself. No, you don't; you couldn't with eyebrows like yours.\" He\nseemed pleased, and laughed as he said:--\n\n\"So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with\nso much pleasure coming to you to breakfast; and, oh, sir, you will\npardon praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife.\" I\nwould listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply nodded\nand stood silent.\n\n\"She is one of God's women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men and\nother women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its\nlight can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an\negoist--and that, let me tell you, is much in this age, so sceptical and\nselfish. And you, sir--I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy,\nand some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days from the\nknowing of others; but I have seen your true self since last night. You\nwill give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all our\nlives.\"\n\nWe shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it made me quite\nchoky.\n\n\"And now,\" he said, \"may I ask you for some more help? I have a great\ntask to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help me here.\nCan you tell me what went before your going to Transylvania? Later on I\nmay ask more help, and of a different kind; but at first this will do.\"\n\n\"Look here, sir,\" I said, \"does what you have to do concern the Count?\"\n\n\"It does,\" he said solemnly.\n\n\"Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 10:30 train, you\nwill not have time to read them; but I shall get the bundle of papers.\nYou can take them with you and read them in the train.\"\n\nAfter breakfast I saw him to the station. When we were parting he\nsaid:--\n\n\"Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take Madam Mina\ntoo.\"\n\n\"We shall both come when you will,\" I said.\n\nI had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the previous\nnight, and while we were talking at the carriage window, waiting for the\ntrain to start, he was turning them over. His eyes suddenly seemed to\ncatch something in one of them, \"The Westminster Gazette\"--I knew it by\nthe colour--and he grew quite white. He read something intently,\ngroaning to himself: \"Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So soon! so soon!\" I do not\nthink he remembered me at the moment. Just then the whistle blew, and\nthe train moved off. This recalled him to himself, and he leaned out of\nthe window and waved his hand, calling out: \"Love to Madam Mina; I shall\nwrite so soon as ever I can.\"\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_26 September._--Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a week\nsince I said \"Finis,\" and yet here I am starting fresh again, or rather\ngoing on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no cause to\nthink of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as\nhe ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business; and he had\njust started in the spider line also; so he had not been of any trouble\nto me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it I\ngather that he is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with\nhim, and that is much of a help, for he himself is a bubbling well of\ngood spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear that\nArthur is beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as to\nthem all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to my\nwork with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I might\nfairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becoming\ncicatrised. Everything is, however, now reopened; and what is to be the\nend God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows,\ntoo, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He\nwent to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he came\nback, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock,\nand thrust last night's \"Westminster Gazette\" into my hand.\n\n\"What do you think of that?\" he asked as he stood back and folded his\narms.\n\nI looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant; but he\ntook it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being decoyed\naway at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I reached a\npassage where it described small punctured wounds on their throats. An\nidea struck me, and I looked up. \"Well?\" he said.\n\n\"It is like poor Lucy's.\"\n\n\"And what do you make of it?\"\n\n\"Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injured\nher has injured them.\" I did not quite understand his answer:--\n\n\"That is true indirectly, but not directly.\"\n\n\"How do you mean, Professor?\" I asked. I was a little inclined to take\nhis seriousness lightly--for, after all, four days of rest and freedom\nfrom burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one's spirits--but\nwhen I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our\ndespair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.\n\n\"Tell me!\" I said. \"I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to\nthink, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to\nwhat poor Lucy died of; not after all the hints given, not only by\nevents, but by me?\"\n\n\"Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste of blood.\"\n\n\"And how the blood lost or waste?\" I shook my head. He stepped over and\nsat down beside me, and went on:--\n\n\"You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and your wit is bold;\nbut you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears\nhear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to\nyou. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand,\nand yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? But\nthere are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men's\neyes, because they know--or think they know--some things which other men\nhave told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to\nexplain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to\nexplain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs,\nwhich think themselves new; and which are yet but the old, which pretend\nto be young--like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do not\nbelieve in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor\nin astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in\nhypnotism----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said. \"Charcot has proved that pretty well.\" He smiled as he\nwent on: \"Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then you\nunderstand how it act, and can follow the mind of the great\nCharcot--alas that he is no more!--into the very soul of the patient\nthat he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you\nsimply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion\nbe a blank? No? Then tell me--for I am student of the brain--how you\naccept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my\nfriend, that there are things done to-day in electrical science which\nwould have been deemed unholy by the very men who discovered\nelectricity--who would themselves not so long before have been burned\nas wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it that\nMethuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred and\nsixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her poor\nveins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, we\ncould have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do\nyou know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the\nqualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me\nwhy, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived\nfor centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew,\ntill, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can\nyou tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that\ncome at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their\nveins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang\non the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant\nnuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that\nit is hot, flit down on them, and then--and then in the morning are\nfound dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?\"\n\n\"Good God, Professor!\" I said, starting up. \"Do you mean to tell me that\nLucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here in London\nin the nineteenth century?\" He waved his hand for silence, and went\non:--\n\n\"Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of\nmen; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; and\nwhy the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint?\nCan you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are\nsome few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men and\nwomen who cannot die? We all know--because science has vouched for the\nfact--that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of\nyears, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of\nthe world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die\nand have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the\ncorn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men\ncome and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian\nfakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?\" Here\nI interrupted him. I was getting bewildered; he so crowded on my mind\nhis list of nature's eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my\nimagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching me\nsome lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; but\nhe used then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of\nthought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet I\nwanted to follow him, so I said:--\n\n\"Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so\nthat I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going in\nmy mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one, follows an\nidea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a mist, jumping\nfrom one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without\nknowing where I am going.\"\n\n\"That is good image,\" he said. \"Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is\nthis: I want you to believe.\"\n\n\"To believe what?\"\n\n\"To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard once\nof an American who so defined faith: 'that faculty which enables us to\nbelieve things which we know to be untrue.' For one, I follow that man.\nHe meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of\ntruth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railway\ntruck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value\nhim; but all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth in\nthe universe.\"\n\n\"Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure the\nreceptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read\nyour lesson aright?\"\n\n\"Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now\nthat you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to\nunderstand. You think then that those so small holes in the children's\nthroats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\" He stood up and said solemnly:--\n\n\"Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! but alas! no. It is worse,\nfar, far worse.\"\n\n\"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?\" I cried.\n\nHe threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed his\nelbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke:--\n\n\"They were made by Miss Lucy!\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA:","completion":" Includes the September 23rd and September 24th entries of Mina Harker's journal; a letter from Van Helsing to Mina Harker, dated September 24th; a telegram from Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing, dated September 25th; letters between Van Helsing and Mrs. Harker, dated September 25th; the September 26th entry of Jonathan Harker's journal; and the September 26th entry of Dr. Seward's diary. Mina reads Jonathan's journal, and is troubled by the contents. She believes that the writings in the journal may have been influenced by the brain fever, but she is not sure. She decides to transcribe it , so that it might be made intelligible to others if the need arises. Van Helsing, who has read Mina's letters to Lucy, visits Mina to ask questions about the events leading up to Lucy's death. Mina is impressed by the doctor, and she gives him Jonathan's journal. Van Helsing reads it and comes to see the Harkers the next day. Jonathan's spirits are restored by Van Helsing's belief in him, and he is regaining his memories of the horrible events in Transylvania. Van Helsing praises Mina, her mind and her virtue, and he pledges friendship with Jonathan. He wants to ask questions to Jonathan about Transylvania at some point in the near future. As he is leaving by train, he sees the newspaper article on the \"bloofer lady\" and is horrified by how quickly the attacks have begun. Dr. Seward has reopened his diary. He reports that Renfield is back to his old business of flies and spiders. He meets with Van Helsing, who shows him the article about the wounded children and insinuates a connection between Lucy's death and the recent attacks. Seward is skeptical. Van Helsing launches into a long speech about the many unexplained phenomena in the world, urging him to open his mind. Seward guesses that whatever thing caused Lucy's death is now attacking children, which Van Helsing sadly denies. He tells Seward that the attacks were made by Lucy herself.\n\n"},"truncated_cells":[]},{"row_idx":72,"row":{"text":"Chapter: For a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during her life\nstruck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to\nhim:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?\" He raised his head and looked at me, and\nsomehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. \"Would I were!\" he\nsaid. \"Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my\nfriend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell\nyou so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all\nmy life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted,\nnow so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from a\nfearful death? Ah no!\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said I. He went on:--\n\n\"My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you,\nfor I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do not\nexpect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstract\ntruth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have always\nbelieved the 'no' of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad a\nconcrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to prove\nit. Dare you come with me?\"\n\nThis staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byron\nexcepted from the category, jealousy.\n\n    \"And prove the very truth he most abhorred.\"\n\nHe saw my hesitation, and spoke:--\n\n\"The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from tussock\nto tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof will be relief;\nat worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread; yet\nvery dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come,\nI tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that child\nin the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the papers\nsay the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were\nin class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if he\nwill not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we\nwish to learn. And then----\"\n\n\"And then?\" He took a key from his pocket and held it up. \"And then we\nspend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is\nthe key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man to give to\nArthur.\" My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful\nordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what\nheart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon was\npassing....\n\nWe found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, and\naltogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its\nthroat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the\nsimilarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller,\nand the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what he\nattributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some\nanimal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to think\nthat it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern\nheights of London. \"Out of so many harmless ones,\" he said, \"there may\nbe some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some\nsailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even from\nthe Zooelogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred\nthere from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago\na wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a\nweek after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the\nHeath and in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare\ncame along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even\nthis poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he\nmight go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted\nto play with the 'bloofer lady.'\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Van Helsing, \"that when you are sending the child home\nyou will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies\nto stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another\nnight, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will\nnot let it away for some days?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is not\nhealed.\"\n\nOur visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, and\nthe sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it\nwas, he said:--\n\n\"There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek\nsomewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way.\"\n\nWe dined at \"Jack Straw's Castle\" along with a little crowd of\nbicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we\nstarted from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps\nmade the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual\nradius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he\nwent on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to\nlocality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at\nlast we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse\npolice going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall of\nthe churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty--for\nit was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us--we found\nthe Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door,\nand standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to\nprecede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the\ncourtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My\ncompanion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after\ncarefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring,\none. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he\nfumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle,\nproceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed\nwith fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some\ndays afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites\nturning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the\nbeetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured\nstone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished\nbrass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a\ncandle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been\nimagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life--animal life--was\nnot the only thing which could pass away.\n\nVan Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so\nthat he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm\ndropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he\nmade assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took\nout a turnscrew.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" I asked.\n\n\"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.\" Straightway he began\ntaking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the\ncasing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed\nto be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have\nstripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took\nhold of his hand to stop him. He only said: \"You shall see,\" and again\nfumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrew\nthrough the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he\nmade a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of\nthe saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We\ndoctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to\nsuch things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never\nstopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of\nthe lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the\nedge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the\ncoffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to\nlook.\n\nI drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.\n\nIt was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but\nVan Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground,\nand so emboldened to proceed in his task. \"Are you satisfied now, friend\nJohn?\" he asked.\n\nI felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as\nI answered him:--\n\n\"I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that only\nproves one thing.\"\n\n\"And what is that, friend John?\"\n\n\"That it is not there.\"\n\n\"That is good logic,\" he said, \"so far as it goes. But how do you--how\ncan you--account for it not being there?\"\n\n\"Perhaps a body-snatcher,\" I suggested. \"Some of the undertaker's people\nmay have stolen it.\" I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was\nthe only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. \"Ah\nwell!\" he said, \"we must have more proof. Come with me.\"\n\nHe put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed\nthem in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the\nbag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and\nlocked it. He handed me the key, saying: \"Will you keep it? You had\nbetter be assured.\" I laughed--it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am\nbound to say--as I motioned him to keep it. \"A key is nothing,\" I said;\n\"there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock\nof that kind.\" He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he\ntold me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at\nthe other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark\nfigure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my\nsight.\n\nIt was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant\nclock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and\nunnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand\nand with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly\nobservant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had\na dreary, miserable time.\n\nSuddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white\nstreak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard\nfarthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the\nProfessor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I\ntoo moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I\nstumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an\nearly cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered\njuniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim\nfigure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden\nby trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the\nrustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and\ncoming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When\nhe saw me he held it out to me, and said:--\n\n\"Are you satisfied now?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.\n\n\"Do you not see the child?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"We shall see,\" said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way\nout of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.\n\nWhen we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of\ntrees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was\nwithout a scratch or scar of any kind.\n\n\"Was I right?\" I asked triumphantly.\n\n\"We were just in time,\" said the Professor thankfully.\n\nWe had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consulted\nabout it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have to\ngive some account of our movements during the night; at least, we should\nhave had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child.\nSo finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we\nheard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find\nit; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out\nwell. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy\ntramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until\nhe saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation\nof astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a\ncab near the \"Spaniards,\" and drove to town.\n\nI cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours'\nsleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shall\ngo with him on another expedition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_27 September._--It was two o'clock before we found a suitable\nopportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed,\nand the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily\naway, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder-trees, we saw\nthe sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe till\nmorning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we should not\nwant more than an hour at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the\nreality of things, in which any effort of imagination seemed out of\nplace; and I realised distinctly the perils of the law which we were\nincurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless.\nOutrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead\nnearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to\nopen the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own\neyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however,\nand rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road,\nno matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again\ncourteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as\nlast night, but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine\nstreamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's coffin, and I followed.\nHe bent over and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock\nof surprise and dismay shot through me.\n\nThere lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before her\nfuneral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever; and I\ncould not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than\nbefore; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.\n\n\"Is this a juggle?\" I said to him.\n\n\"Are you convinced now?\" said the Professor in response, and as he spoke\nhe put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the\ndead lips and showed the white teeth.\n\n\"See,\" he went on, \"see, they are even sharper than before. With this\nand this\"--and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below\nit--\"the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend\nJohn?\" Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I _could_ not\naccept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with an attempt to\nargue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said:--\n\n\"She may have been placed here since last night.\"\n\n\"Indeed? That is so, and by whom?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Some one has done it.\"\n\n\"And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would not\nlook so.\" I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not\nseem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor\ntriumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raising\nthe eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and\nexamining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said:--\n\n\"Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here is\nsome dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampire\nwhen she was in a trance, sleep-walking--oh, you start; you do not know\nthat, friend John, but you shall know it all later--and in trance could\nhe best come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance she\nis Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually when\nthe Un-Dead sleep at home\"--as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of\nhis arm to designate what to a vampire was \"home\"--\"their face show what\nthey are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to\nthe nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so\nit make hard that I must kill her in her sleep.\" This turned my blood\ncold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's\ntheories; but if she were really dead, what was there of terror in the\nidea of killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in\nmy face, for he said almost joyously:--\n\n\"Ah, you believe now?\"\n\nI answered: \"Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to\naccept. How will you do this bloody work?\"\n\n\"I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shall\ndrive a stake through her body.\" It made me shudder to think of so\nmutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling\nwas not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to\nshudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing\ncalled it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective,\nor all objective?\n\nI waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood as\nif wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with a\nsnap, and said:--\n\n\"I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If I\ndid simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this moment, what is\nto be done; but there are other things to follow, and things that are\nthousand times more difficult in that them we do not know. This is\nsimple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time; and to act\nnow would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we may have to\nwant Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the\nwounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at\nthe hospital; if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and full\nto-day with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and more\nbeautiful in a whole week, after she die--if you know of this and know\nof the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard,\nand yet of your own senses you did not believe, how, then, can I expect\nArthur, who know none of those things, to believe? He doubted me when I\ntook him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me\nbecause in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say\ngood-bye as he ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken idea\nthis woman was buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we have\nkilled her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that\nhave killed her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet\nhe never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he will\nsometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint\nhis dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, he\nwill think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all,\nan Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since\nI know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he\nmust pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow,\nmust have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to\nhim; then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My mind is\nmade up. Let us go. You return home for to-night to your asylum, and see\nthat all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this\nchurchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to the\nBerkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too,\nand also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we\nshall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and\nthere dine, for I must be back here before the sun set.\"\n\nSo we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of the\nchurchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly.\n\n\n_Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley Hotel directed to\nJohn Seward, M. D._\n\n(Not delivered.)\n\n\"_27 September._\n\n\"Friend John,--\n\n\"I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in\nthat churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not\nleave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager.\nTherefore I shall fix some things she like not--garlic and a\ncrucifix--and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead,\nand will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out; they\nmay not prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead is\ndesperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may\nbe. I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after the sunrise,\nand if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss\nLucy or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there that\nshe is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find shelter.\nHe is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all\nalong he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and\nwe lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the\nstrength in his hand of twenty men; even we four who gave our strength\nto Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and\nI know not what. So if it be that he come thither on this night he shall\nfind me; but none other shall--until it be too late. But it may be that\nhe will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; his\nhunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the\nUn-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch.\n\n\"Therefore I write this in case.... Take the papers that are with this,\nthe diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find this\ngreat Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stake\nthrough it, so that the world may rest from him.\n\n\"If it be so, farewell.\n\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_28 September._--It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will do for\none. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's monstrous\nideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on\ncommon sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his\nmind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be _some_\nrational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible that\nthe Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that\nif he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to\nsome fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loath to think it, and indeed\nit would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van\nHelsing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some\nlight on the mystery.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 September, morning._.... Last night, at a little before ten o'clock,\nArthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room; he told us all that he\nwanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all\nour wills were centred in his. He began by saying that he hoped we would\nall come with him too, \"for,\" he said, \"there is a grave duty to be done\nthere. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?\" This query was\ndirectly addressed to Lord Godalming.\n\n\"I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble\naround my house of late that I could do without any more. I have been\ncurious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but the\nmore we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself\nthat I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" said Quincey Morris laconically.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the Professor, \"then you are nearer the beginning, both of\nyou, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can\neven get so far as to begin.\"\n\nIt was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame of\nmind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he said\nwith intense gravity:--\n\n\"I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I\nknow, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you will\nknow, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me\nin the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a\ntime--I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may\nbe--you shall not blame yourselves for anything.\"\n\n\"That's frank anyhow,\" broke in Quincey. \"I'll answer for the Professor.\nI don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and that's good\nenough for me.\"\n\n\"I thank you, sir,\" said Van Helsing proudly. \"I have done myself the\nhonour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear\nto me.\" He held out a hand, which Quincey took.\n\nThen Arthur spoke out:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as they\nsay in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentleman\nor my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise.\nIf you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either of\nthese two, then I give my consent at once; though for the life of me, I\ncannot understand what you are driving at.\"\n\n\"I accept your limitation,\" said Van Helsing, \"and all I ask of you is\nthat if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will first\nconsider it well and be satisfied that it does not violate your\nreservations.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" said Arthur; \"that is only fair. And now that the\n_pourparlers_ are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?\"\n\n\"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the churchyard at\nKingstead.\"\n\nArthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:--\n\n\"Where poor Lucy is buried?\" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on: \"And\nwhen there?\"\n\n\"To enter the tomb!\" Arthur stood up.\n\n\"Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon me,\nI see that you are in earnest.\" He sat down again, but I could see that\nhe sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was\nsilence until he asked again:--\n\n\"And when in the tomb?\"\n\n\"To open the coffin.\"\n\n\"This is too much!\" he said, angrily rising again. \"I am willing to be\npatient in all things that are reasonable; but in this--this desecration\nof the grave--of one who----\" He fairly choked with indignation. The\nProfessor looked pityingly at him.\n\n\"If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,\" he said, \"God knows I\nwould. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, and\nfor ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!\"\n\nArthur looked up with set white face and said:--\n\n\"Take care, sir, take care!\"\n\n\"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?\" said Van Helsing.\n\"And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go\non?\"\n\n\"That's fair enough,\" broke in Morris.\n\nAfter a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:--\n\n\"Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to\nher. But if she be not dead----\"\n\nArthur jumped to his feet.\n\n\"Good God!\" he cried. \"What do you mean? Has there been any mistake; has\nshe been buried alive?\" He groaned in anguish that not even hope could\nsoften.\n\n\"I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go no\nfurther than to say that she might be Un-Dead.\"\n\n\"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or what\nis it?\"\n\n\"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they\nmay solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But\nI have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?\"\n\n\"Heavens and earth, no!\" cried Arthur in a storm of passion. \"Not for\nthe wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr.\nVan Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you that you should\ntorture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want to\ncast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad that speak such things, or\nam I mad to listen to them? Don't dare to think more of such a\ndesecration; I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a\nduty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do\nit!\"\n\nVan Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated, and\nsaid, gravely and sternly:--\n\n\"My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty\nto you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask you\nnow is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if when\nlater I make the same request you do not be more eager for its\nfulfilment even than I am, then--then I shall do my duty, whatever it\nmay seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship's wishes I shall\nhold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where\nyou will.\" His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of\npity:--\n\n\"But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life of\nacts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring\nmy heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that if\nthe time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one look from\nyou will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man can\nto save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so\nmuch of labour and so much of sorrow? I have come here from my own land\nto do what I can of good; at the first to please my friend John, and\nthen to help a sweet young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her--I\nam ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness--I gave what you\ngave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, her\nlover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nights\nand days--before death, after death; and if my death can do her good\neven now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.\" He\nsaid this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected\nby it. He took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice:--\n\n\"Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at least I\nshall go with you and wait.\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA: Includes the September 26th and September 27th entries of Seward's diary; a note left by Van Helsing for Seward , dated September 27th; and the September 28th and September 29th entries of Seward's diary. Seward is doubtful of Van Helsing's theory, but he agrees to accompany him to examine one of the child victims. The wounds are nearly identical to the ones Lucy had, and the doctor tells them that the child asked, on waking, if he could go and \"play with the bloofer lady. That night, Seward and Van Helsing break into the Westenra family vault. Lucy's coffin is empty, but Seward remains unconvinced. They wait outside. Just before daybreak, a white figure is seen moving across the graveyard. Van Helsing finds a small child. They leave the child on a pathway for a policeman to find; the two men wait in the bushes until they are sure the child is safe. The next day, they break into the vault and find Lucy's body in the coffin. If anything, she looks more beautiful and radiant than ever. Van Helsing finally reveals to Seward, in explicit terms, that her death was caused by a vampire and she is now one of the undead. Although he wants to kill her now, he thinks it is best that Arthur learn of what has happened. He will use garlic and crucifix to keep Lucy in her tomb. After a night's sleep, Seward begins to doubt Van Helsing again. That day, Van Helsing tells Quincey and Arthur that they most go to the Westenra vault and open Lucy's tomb. He tells them that Lucy is now undead, and that he will have to decapitate her. Arthur is initially outraged, and refuses consent, but after an impassioned plea for trust from Van Helsing, he agrees to at least go to the tomb.\n\n","prompt":"Chapter: For a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during her life\nstruck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to\nhim:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?\" He raised his head and looked at me, and\nsomehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. \"Would I were!\" he\nsaid. \"Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my\nfriend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell\nyou so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all\nmy life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted,\nnow so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from a\nfearful death? Ah no!\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said I. He went on:--\n\n\"My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you,\nfor I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do not\nexpect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstract\ntruth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have always\nbelieved the 'no' of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad a\nconcrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to prove\nit. Dare you come with me?\"\n\nThis staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byron\nexcepted from the category, jealousy.\n\n    \"And prove the very truth he most abhorred.\"\n\nHe saw my hesitation, and spoke:--\n\n\"The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from tussock\nto tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof will be relief;\nat worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread; yet\nvery dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come,\nI tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that child\nin the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the papers\nsay the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were\nin class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if he\nwill not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we\nwish to learn. And then----\"\n\n\"And then?\" He took a key from his pocket and held it up. \"And then we\nspend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is\nthe key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man to give to\nArthur.\" My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful\nordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what\nheart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon was\npassing....\n\nWe found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, and\naltogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its\nthroat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the\nsimilarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller,\nand the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what he\nattributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some\nanimal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to think\nthat it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern\nheights of London. \"Out of so many harmless ones,\" he said, \"there may\nbe some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some\nsailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even from\nthe Zooelogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred\nthere from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago\na wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a\nweek after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the\nHeath and in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare\ncame along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even\nthis poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he\nmight go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted\nto play with the 'bloofer lady.'\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Van Helsing, \"that when you are sending the child home\nyou will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies\nto stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another\nnight, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will\nnot let it away for some days?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is not\nhealed.\"\n\nOur visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, and\nthe sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it\nwas, he said:--\n\n\"There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek\nsomewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way.\"\n\nWe dined at \"Jack Straw's Castle\" along with a little crowd of\nbicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we\nstarted from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps\nmade the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual\nradius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he\nwent on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to\nlocality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at\nlast we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse\npolice going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall of\nthe churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty--for\nit was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us--we found\nthe Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door,\nand standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to\nprecede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the\ncourtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My\ncompanion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after\ncarefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring,\none. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he\nfumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle,\nproceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed\nwith fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some\ndays afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites\nturning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the\nbeetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured\nstone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished\nbrass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a\ncandle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been\nimagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life--animal life--was\nnot the only thing which could pass away.\n\nVan Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so\nthat he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm\ndropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he\nmade assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took\nout a turnscrew.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" I asked.\n\n\"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.\" Straightway he began\ntaking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the\ncasing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed\nto be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have\nstripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took\nhold of his hand to stop him. He only said: \"You shall see,\" and again\nfumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrew\nthrough the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he\nmade a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of\nthe saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We\ndoctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to\nsuch things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never\nstopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of\nthe lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the\nedge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the\ncoffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to\nlook.\n\nI drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.\n\nIt was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but\nVan Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground,\nand so emboldened to proceed in his task. \"Are you satisfied now, friend\nJohn?\" he asked.\n\nI felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as\nI answered him:--\n\n\"I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that only\nproves one thing.\"\n\n\"And what is that, friend John?\"\n\n\"That it is not there.\"\n\n\"That is good logic,\" he said, \"so far as it goes. But how do you--how\ncan you--account for it not being there?\"\n\n\"Perhaps a body-snatcher,\" I suggested. \"Some of the undertaker's people\nmay have stolen it.\" I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was\nthe only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. \"Ah\nwell!\" he said, \"we must have more proof. Come with me.\"\n\nHe put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed\nthem in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the\nbag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and\nlocked it. He handed me the key, saying: \"Will you keep it? You had\nbetter be assured.\" I laughed--it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am\nbound to say--as I motioned him to keep it. \"A key is nothing,\" I said;\n\"there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock\nof that kind.\" He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he\ntold me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at\nthe other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark\nfigure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my\nsight.\n\nIt was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant\nclock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and\nunnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand\nand with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly\nobservant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had\na dreary, miserable time.\n\nSuddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white\nstreak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard\nfarthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the\nProfessor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I\ntoo moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I\nstumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an\nearly cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered\njuniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim\nfigure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden\nby trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the\nrustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and\ncoming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When\nhe saw me he held it out to me, and said:--\n\n\"Are you satisfied now?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.\n\n\"Do you not see the child?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"We shall see,\" said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way\nout of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.\n\nWhen we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of\ntrees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was\nwithout a scratch or scar of any kind.\n\n\"Was I right?\" I asked triumphantly.\n\n\"We were just in time,\" said the Professor thankfully.\n\nWe had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consulted\nabout it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have to\ngive some account of our movements during the night; at least, we should\nhave had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child.\nSo finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we\nheard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find\nit; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out\nwell. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy\ntramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until\nhe saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation\nof astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a\ncab near the \"Spaniards,\" and drove to town.\n\nI cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours'\nsleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shall\ngo with him on another expedition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_27 September._--It was two o'clock before we found a suitable\nopportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed,\nand the last stragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily\naway, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of alder-trees, we saw\nthe sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe till\nmorning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we should not\nwant more than an hour at most. Again I felt that horrid sense of the\nreality of things, in which any effort of imagination seemed out of\nplace; and I realised distinctly the perils of the law which we were\nincurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless.\nOutrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead\nnearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to\nopen the tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own\neyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however,\nand rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on his own road,\nno matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again\ncourteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as\nlast night, but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine\nstreamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's coffin, and I followed.\nHe bent over and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock\nof surprise and dismay shot through me.\n\nThere lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before her\nfuneral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever; and I\ncould not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than\nbefore; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.\n\n\"Is this a juggle?\" I said to him.\n\n\"Are you convinced now?\" said the Professor in response, and as he spoke\nhe put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the\ndead lips and showed the white teeth.\n\n\"See,\" he went on, \"see, they are even sharper than before. With this\nand this\"--and he touched one of the canine teeth and that below\nit--\"the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend\nJohn?\" Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I _could_ not\naccept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with an attempt to\nargue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said:--\n\n\"She may have been placed here since last night.\"\n\n\"Indeed? That is so, and by whom?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Some one has done it.\"\n\n\"And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would not\nlook so.\" I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not\nseem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor\ntriumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raising\nthe eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening the lips and\nexamining the teeth. Then he turned to me and said:--\n\n\"Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here is\nsome dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampire\nwhen she was in a trance, sleep-walking--oh, you start; you do not know\nthat, friend John, but you shall know it all later--and in trance could\nhe best come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance she\nis Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. Usually when\nthe Un-Dead sleep at home\"--as he spoke he made a comprehensive sweep of\nhis arm to designate what to a vampire was \"home\"--\"their face show what\nthey are, but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to\nthe nothings of the common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so\nit make hard that I must kill her in her sleep.\" This turned my blood\ncold, and it began to dawn upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's\ntheories; but if she were really dead, what was there of terror in the\nidea of killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in\nmy face, for he said almost joyously:--\n\n\"Ah, you believe now?\"\n\nI answered: \"Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to\naccept. How will you do this bloody work?\"\n\n\"I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shall\ndrive a stake through her body.\" It made me shudder to think of so\nmutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling\nwas not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to\nshudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing\ncalled it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective,\nor all objective?\n\nI waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood as\nif wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with a\nsnap, and said:--\n\n\"I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If I\ndid simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this moment, what is\nto be done; but there are other things to follow, and things that are\nthousand times more difficult in that them we do not know. This is\nsimple. She have yet no life taken, though that is of time; and to act\nnow would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we may have to\nwant Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? If you, who saw the\nwounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at\nthe hospital; if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and full\nto-day with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and more\nbeautiful in a whole week, after she die--if you know of this and know\nof the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard,\nand yet of your own senses you did not believe, how, then, can I expect\nArthur, who know none of those things, to believe? He doubted me when I\ntook him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven me\nbecause in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say\ngood-bye as he ought; and he may think that in some more mistaken idea\nthis woman was buried alive; and that in most mistake of all we have\nkilled her. He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that\nhave killed her by our ideas; and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet\nhe never can be sure; and that is the worst of all. And he will\nsometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint\nhis dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered; and again, he\nwill think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all,\nan Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now, since\nI know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he\nmust pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow,\nmust have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to\nhim; then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My mind is\nmade up. Let us go. You return home for to-night to your asylum, and see\nthat all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this\nchurchyard in my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to the\nBerkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too,\nand also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we\nshall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and\nthere dine, for I must be back here before the sun set.\"\n\nSo we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of the\nchurchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly.\n\n\n_Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau, Berkeley Hotel directed to\nJohn Seward, M. D._\n\n(Not delivered.)\n\n\"_27 September._\n\n\"Friend John,--\n\n\"I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in\nthat churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not\nleave to-night, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager.\nTherefore I shall fix some things she like not--garlic and a\ncrucifix--and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead,\nand will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out; they\nmay not prevail on her wanting to get in; for then the Un-Dead is\ndesperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may\nbe. I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after the sunrise,\nand if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss\nLucy or from her, I have no fear; but that other to whom is there that\nshe is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find shelter.\nHe is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all\nalong he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and\nwe lost; and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the\nstrength in his hand of twenty men; even we four who gave our strength\nto Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon his wolf and\nI know not what. So if it be that he come thither on this night he shall\nfind me; but none other shall--until it be too late. But it may be that\nhe will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should; his\nhunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the\nUn-Dead woman sleep, and the one old man watch.\n\n\"Therefore I write this in case.... Take the papers that are with this,\nthe diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find this\ngreat Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stake\nthrough it, so that the world may rest from him.\n\n\"If it be so, farewell.\n\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\n\n\n\n_Dr. Seward's Diary._\n\n_28 September._--It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will do for\none. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's monstrous\nideas; but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on\ncommon sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his\nmind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be _some_\nrational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is it possible that\nthe Professor can have done it himself? He is so abnormally clever that\nif he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to\nsome fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loath to think it, and indeed\nit would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van\nHelsing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some\nlight on the mystery.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 September, morning._.... Last night, at a little before ten o'clock,\nArthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room; he told us all that he\nwanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all\nour wills were centred in his. He began by saying that he hoped we would\nall come with him too, \"for,\" he said, \"there is a grave duty to be done\nthere. You were doubtless surprised at my letter?\" This query was\ndirectly addressed to Lord Godalming.\n\n\"I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble\naround my house of late that I could do without any more. I have been\ncurious, too, as to what you mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but the\nmore we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself\nthat I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" said Quincey Morris laconically.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the Professor, \"then you are nearer the beginning, both of\nyou, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can\neven get so far as to begin.\"\n\nIt was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame of\nmind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he said\nwith intense gravity:--\n\n\"I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I\nknow, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you will\nknow, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me\nin the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a\ntime--I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may\nbe--you shall not blame yourselves for anything.\"\n\n\"That's frank anyhow,\" broke in Quincey. \"I'll answer for the Professor.\nI don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and that's good\nenough for me.\"\n\n\"I thank you, sir,\" said Van Helsing proudly. \"I have done myself the\nhonour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear\nto me.\" He held out a hand, which Quincey took.\n\nThen Arthur spoke out:--\n\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as they\nsay in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a gentleman\nor my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise.\nIf you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either of\nthese two, then I give my consent at once; though for the life of me, I\ncannot understand what you are driving at.\"\n\n\"I accept your limitation,\" said Van Helsing, \"and all I ask of you is\nthat if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will first\nconsider it well and be satisfied that it does not violate your\nreservations.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" said Arthur; \"that is only fair. And now that the\n_pourparlers_ are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?\"\n\n\"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the churchyard at\nKingstead.\"\n\nArthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:--\n\n\"Where poor Lucy is buried?\" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on: \"And\nwhen there?\"\n\n\"To enter the tomb!\" Arthur stood up.\n\n\"Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon me,\nI see that you are in earnest.\" He sat down again, but I could see that\nhe sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There was\nsilence until he asked again:--\n\n\"And when in the tomb?\"\n\n\"To open the coffin.\"\n\n\"This is too much!\" he said, angrily rising again. \"I am willing to be\npatient in all things that are reasonable; but in this--this desecration\nof the grave--of one who----\" He fairly choked with indignation. The\nProfessor looked pityingly at him.\n\n\"If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,\" he said, \"God knows I\nwould. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, and\nfor ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!\"\n\nArthur looked up with set white face and said:--\n\n\"Take care, sir, take care!\"\n\n\"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?\" said Van Helsing.\n\"And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go\non?\"\n\n\"That's fair enough,\" broke in Morris.\n\nAfter a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:--\n\n\"Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to\nher. But if she be not dead----\"\n\nArthur jumped to his feet.\n\n\"Good God!\" he cried. \"What do you mean? Has there been any mistake; has\nshe been buried alive?\" He groaned in anguish that not even hope could\nsoften.\n\n\"I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go no\nfurther than to say that she might be Un-Dead.\"\n\n\"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or what\nis it?\"\n\n\"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they\nmay solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But\nI have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?\"\n\n\"Heavens and earth, no!\" cried Arthur in a storm of passion. \"Not for\nthe wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr.\nVan Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you that you should\ntorture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want to\ncast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad that speak such things, or\nam I mad to listen to them? Don't dare to think more of such a\ndesecration; I shall not give my consent to anything you do. I have a\nduty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do\nit!\"\n\nVan Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated, and\nsaid, gravely and sternly:--\n\n\"My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a duty\nto you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask you\nnow is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if when\nlater I make the same request you do not be more eager for its\nfulfilment even than I am, then--then I shall do my duty, whatever it\nmay seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship's wishes I shall\nhold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when and where\nyou will.\" His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of\npity:--\n\n\"But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life of\nacts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring\nmy heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that if\nthe time comes for you to change your mind towards me, one look from\nyou will wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man can\nto save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should I give myself so\nmuch of labour and so much of sorrow? I have come here from my own land\nto do what I can of good; at the first to please my friend John, and\nthen to help a sweet young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her--I\nam ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness--I gave what you\ngave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, her\nlover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nights\nand days--before death, after death; and if my death can do her good\neven now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.\" He\nsaid this with a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected\nby it. He took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice:--\n\n\"Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at least I\nshall go with you and wait.\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA:","completion":" Includes the September 26th and September 27th entries of Seward's diary; a note left by Van Helsing for Seward , dated September 27th; and the September 28th and September 29th entries of Seward's diary. Seward is doubtful of Van Helsing's theory, but he agrees to accompany him to examine one of the child victims. The wounds are nearly identical to the ones Lucy had, and the doctor tells them that the child asked, on waking, if he could go and \"play with the bloofer lady. That night, Seward and Van Helsing break into the Westenra family vault. Lucy's coffin is empty, but Seward remains unconvinced. They wait outside. Just before daybreak, a white figure is seen moving across the graveyard. Van Helsing finds a small child. They leave the child on a pathway for a policeman to find; the two men wait in the bushes until they are sure the child is safe. The next day, they break into the vault and find Lucy's body in the coffin. If anything, she looks more beautiful and radiant than ever. Van Helsing finally reveals to Seward, in explicit terms, that her death was caused by a vampire and she is now one of the undead. Although he wants to kill her now, he thinks it is best that Arthur learn of what has happened. He will use garlic and crucifix to keep Lucy in her tomb. After a night's sleep, Seward begins to doubt Van Helsing again. That day, Van Helsing tells Quincey and Arthur that they most go to the Westenra vault and open Lucy's tomb. He tells them that Lucy is now undead, and that he will have to decapitate her. Arthur is initially outraged, and refuses consent, but after an impassioned plea for trust from Van Helsing, he agrees to at least go to the tomb.\n\n"},"truncated_cells":[]},{"row_idx":73,"row":{"text":"Chapter: It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the\nchurchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional gleams\nof moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded across\nthe sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly\nin front as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I looked\nwell at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a place laden with so\nsorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore himself well. I took it\nthat the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant\nto his grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural\nhesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by\nentering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door.\nHe then lit a dark lantern and pointed to the coffin. Arthur stepped\nforward hesitatingly; Van Helsing said to me:--\n\n\"You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that\ncoffin?\"\n\n\"It was.\" The Professor turned to the rest saying:--\n\n\"You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me.\" He\ntook his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Arthur\nlooked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he stepped\nforward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or,\nat any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead,\nthe blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell away\nagain, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness; he was still silent.\nVan Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in and\nrecoiled.\n\nThe coffin was empty!\n\nFor several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken by\nQuincey Morris:--\n\n\"Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I wouldn't ask\nsuch a thing ordinarily--I wouldn't so dishonour you as to imply a\ndoubt; but this is a mystery that goes beyond any honour or dishonour.\nIs this your doing?\"\n\n\"I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not removed nor\ntouched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend Seward and\nI came here--with good purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, which\nwas then sealed up, and we found it, as now, empty. We then waited, and\nsaw something white come through the trees. The next day we came here in\nday-time, and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That night we were just in time. One more so small child was missing,\nand we find it, thank God, unharmed amongst the graves. Yesterday I came\nhere before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited here\nall the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most probable\nthat it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic,\nwhich the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last\nnight there was no exodus, so to-night before the sundown I took away my\ngarlic and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But\nbear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me\noutside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be.\nSo\"--here he shut the dark slide of his lantern--\"now to the outside.\"\nHe opened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking the\ndoor behind him.\n\nOh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of\nthat vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passing\ngleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing and\npassing--like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life; how sweet it was\nto breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay; how\nhumanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to\nhear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Each\nin his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, I\ncould see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the\nmystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to\nthrow aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing's conclusions. Quincey\nMorris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, and\naccepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has to\nstake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug of\ntobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a\ndefinite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like\nthin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white\nnapkin; next he took out a double-handful of some whitish stuff, like\ndough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into the\nmass between his hands. This he then took, and rolling it into thin\nstrips, began to lay them into the crevices between the door and its\nsetting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this, and being close,\nasked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near\nalso, as they too were curious. He answered:--\n\n\"I am closing the tomb, so that the Un-Dead may not enter.\"\n\n\"And is that stuff you have put there going to do it?\" asked Quincey.\n\"Great Scott! Is this a game?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"What is that which you are using?\" This time the question was by\nArthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered:--\n\n\"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence.\" It was an\nanswer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt individually\nthat in the presence of such earnest purpose as the Professor's, a\npurpose which could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it was\nimpossible to distrust. In respectful silence we took the places\nassigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the sight of any\none approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur. I had myself\nbeen apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror; and yet I,\nwho had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink\nwithin me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white; never did cypress, or\nyew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funereal gloom; never did tree\nor grass wave or rustle so ominously; never did bough creak so\nmysteriously; and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a\nwoeful presage through the night.\n\nThere was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and then from the\nProfessor a keen \"S-s-s-s!\" He pointed; and far down the avenue of yews\nwe saw a white figure advance--a dim white figure, which held something\ndark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a ray of\nmoonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in startling\nprominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of the grave.\nWe could not see the face, for it was bent down over what we saw to be a\nfair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a\nchild gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. We\nwere starting forward, but the Professor's warning hand, seen by us as\nhe stood behind a yew-tree, kept us back; and then as we looked the\nwhite figure moved forwards again. It was now near enough for us to see\nclearly, and the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold as ice,\nand I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognised the features of\nLucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how changed. The sweetness was\nturned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous\nwantonness. Van Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, we\nall advanced too; the four of us ranged in a line before the door of the\ntomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide; by the\nconcentrated light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips\nwere crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her\nchin and stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.\n\nWe shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that even\nVan Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and if I had\nnot seized his arm and held him up, he would have fallen.\n\nWhen Lucy--I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it bore her\nshape--saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a cat gives\nwhen taken unawares; then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy's eyes in form\nand colour; but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of\nthe pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant of my love\npassed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have\ndone it with savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholy\nlight, and the face became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God,\nhow it made me shudder to see it! With a careless motion, she flung to\nthe ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to now she had\nclutched strenuously to her breast, growling over it as a dog growls\nover a bone. The child gave a sharp cry, and lay there moaning. There\nwas a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur; when\nshe advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he fell\nback and hid his face in his hands.\n\nShe still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous grace,\nsaid:--\n\n\"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are\nhungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!\"\n\nThere was something diabolically sweet in her tones--something of the\ntingling of glass when struck--which rang through the brains even of us\nwho heard the words addressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed under\na spell; moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms. She\nwas leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held between\nthem his little golden crucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with a\nsuddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past him as if to enter\nthe tomb.\n\nWhen within a foot or two of the door, however, she stopped, as if\narrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her face was\nshown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now no\nquiver from Van Helsing's iron nerves. Never did I see such baffled\nmalice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by\nmortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throw\nout sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of\nthe flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the lovely,\nblood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks of\nthe Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death--if looks could\nkill--we saw it at that moment.\n\nAnd so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she remained\nbetween the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her means of\nentry. Van Helsing broke the silence by asking Arthur:--\n\n\"Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?\"\n\nArthur threw himself on his knees, and hid his face in his hands, as he\nanswered:--\n\n\"Do as you will, friend; do as you will. There can be no horror like\nthis ever any more;\" and he groaned in spirit. Quincey and I\nsimultaneously moved towards him, and took his arms. We could hear the\nclick of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down; coming close\nto the tomb, he began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred\nemblem which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrified\namazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporeal\nbody as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the interstice\nwhere scarce a knife-blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense of\nrelief when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of putty\nto the edges of the door.\n\nWhen this was done, he lifted the child and said:\n\n\"Come now, my friends; we can do no more till to-morrow. There is a\nfuneral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that. The\nfriends of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton lock\nthe gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do; but not like this of\nto-night. As for this little one, he is not much harm, and by to-morrow\nnight he shall be well. We shall leave him where the police will find\nhim, as on the other night; and then to home.\" Coming close to Arthur,\nhe said:--\n\n\"My friend Arthur, you have had a sore trial; but after, when you look\nback, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the bitter\nwaters, my child. By this time to-morrow you will, please God, have\npassed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not mourn\novermuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me.\"\n\nArthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each other\non the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired; so we all\nslept with more or less reality of sleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 September, night._--A little before twelve o'clock we three--Arthur,\nQuincey Morris, and myself--called for the Professor. It was odd to\nnotice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of\ncourse, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of\nus wore it by instinct. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, and\nstrolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that when the\ngravediggers had completed their task and the sexton under the belief\nthat every one had gone, had locked the gate, we had the place all to\nourselves. Van Helsing, instead of his little black bag, had with him a\nlong leather one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of\nfair weight.\n\nWhen we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out up\nthe road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed the\nProfessor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing it\nbehind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and also\ntwo wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their own\nends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to work\nby. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all looked--Arthur\ntrembling like an aspen--and saw that the body lay there in all its\ndeath-beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing but\nloathing for the foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her\nsoul. I could see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently\nhe said to Van Helsing:--\n\n\"Is this really Lucy's body, or only a demon in her shape?\"\n\n\"It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you all see her\nas she was, and is.\"\n\nShe seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth,\nthe bloodstained, voluptuous mouth--which it made one shudder to\nsee--the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like a\ndevilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with his usual\nmethodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and\nplacing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some\nplumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, when lit in\na corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with a blue\nflame; then his operating knives, which he placed to hand; and last a\nround wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches thick and about\nthree feet long. One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, and\nwas sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, such\nas in households is used in the coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. To\nme, a doctor's preparations for work of any kind are stimulating and\nbracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was\nto cause them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept their\ncourage, and remained silent and quiet.\n\nWhen all was ready, Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Before we do anything, let me tell you this; it is out of the lore and\nexperience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powers\nof the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the\ncurse of immortality; they cannot die, but must go on age after age\nadding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world; for all that\ndie from the preying of the Un-Dead becomes themselves Un-Dead, and prey\non their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening, like as the\nripples from a stone thrown in the water. Friend Arthur, if you had met\nthat kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die; or again, last night\nwhen you open your arms to her, you would in time, when you had died,\nhave become _nosferatu_, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and would\nall time make more of those Un-Deads that so have fill us with horror.\nThe career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those\nchildren whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if\nshe live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her\npower over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood with that\nso wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tiny\nwounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their plays\nunknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when\nthis now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor\nlady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by\nnight and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, she\nshall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will\nbe a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free.\nTo this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better\nright? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the\nnight when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it\nwas the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would\nherself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if there be\nsuch a one amongst us?\"\n\nWe all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the infinite\nkindness which suggested that his should be the hand which would restore\nLucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he stepped forward and\nsaid bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as\nsnow:--\n\n\"My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me\nwhat I am to do, and I shall not falter!\" Van Helsing laid a hand on his\nshoulder, and said:--\n\n\"Brave lad! A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be\ndriven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal--be not deceived in\nthat--but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more\nthan your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as though\nyou tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. Only\nthink that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we pray for\nyou all the time.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Arthur hoarsely. \"Tell me what I am to do.\"\n\n\"Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point over the\nheart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer for\nthe dead--I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others shall\nfollow--strike in God's name, that so all may be well with the dead that\nwe love and that the Un-Dead pass away.\"\n\nArthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on\naction his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened\nhis missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as well as we\ncould. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could\nsee its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his might.\n\nThe Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screech\ncame from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twisted\nin wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together till the\nlips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthur\nnever faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm\nrose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilst\nthe blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His\nface was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of it\ngave us courage so that our voices seemed to ring through the little\nvault.\n\nAnd then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the\nteeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. The\nterrible task was over.\n\nThe hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He reeled and would have fallen had\nwe not caught him. The great drops of sweat sprang from his forehead,\nand his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain\non him; and had he not been forced to his task by more than human\nconsiderations he could never have gone through with it. For a few\nminutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards the\ncoffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from one\nto the other of us. We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had\nbeen seated on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad,\nstrange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom of\nhorror that lay upon it.\n\nThere, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded\nand grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a\nprivilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in\nher life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that\nthere were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and\npain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth\nto what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay like\nsunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and\nsymbol of the calm that was to reign for ever.\n\nVan Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to\nhim:--\n\n\"And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?\"\n\nThe reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man's hand\nin his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:--\n\n\"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again,\nand me peace.\" He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying\nhis head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood\nunmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:--\n\n\"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as\nshe would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning\ndevil now--not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is\nthe devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!\"\n\nArthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out of the\ntomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake, leaving the point\nof it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth with\ngarlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid,\nand gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Professor locked\nthe door he gave the key to Arthur.\n\nOutside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and it\nseemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There was\ngladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselves\non one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy.\n\nBefore we moved away Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the most harrowing\nto ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find out the author\nof all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can\nfollow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and there is danger in\nit, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all\nof us--is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And do\nwe not promise to go on to the bitter end?\"\n\nEach in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then said the\nProfessor as we moved off:--\n\n\"Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven of\nthe clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that you\nknow not as yet; and I shall be ready to all our work show and our plans\nunfold. Friend John, you come with me home, for I have much to consult\nabout, and you can help me. To-night I leave for Amsterdam, but shall\nreturn to-morrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first I\nshall have much to say, so that you may know what is to do and to dread.\nThen our promise shall be made to each other anew; for there is a\nterrible task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare we\nmust not draw back.\"\n\nQ: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?\nA: Includes the September 29th morning and night entries of Dr. Seward's diary. That night, Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, Arthur, and Quincey Morris go to Lucy's tomb. As Van Helsing promised, it is empty. Van Helsing seals the Westenra vault with communion wafers and the four men hide and wait. After a while, a figure in white carrying a child appears. In the moonlight, it is unmistakably Lucyalthough far more cruel and wantonly sexual than she was in life. At Van Helsing's signal, the four men surround her. She urges Arthur to come to her, calling him \"my husband,\" and Arthur begins to move toward her as if under a spell. Van Helsing, crucifix in hand, intercedes. Lucy tries to enter her tomb but cannot. Van Helsing asks Arthur if he can proceed with what must be done, and Arthur grants him permission. Van Helsing then removes the Host from the vault door, after which Lucy slips through the tiny opening back into her tomb. The child is hurt but still alive, and as before, they leave him on a path for a policeman. The next day, they return. After they open the tomb, Van Helsing promises that if Lucy is killed, her soul will be free and with God. He also explains that anyone who dies as the hands of the undead become vampires themselves. Arthur takes the stake and hammer, and he stakes Lucy through the heart. As it happens, the body writhes and screams. After the deed is done, Lucy once again looks as she did in life. The sharp teeth are gone, and her face shows she is at peace. Arthur and Quincey leave the vault, and the two doctors decapitate Lucy and stuff her mouth with garlic. Van Helsing then urges the three men to help him: he wants to track down Dracula himself and destroy him. All four men swear solemnly to work together until Dracula is no more.\n\n","prompt":"Chapter: It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the\nchurchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional gleams\nof moonlight between the rents of the heavy clouds that scudded across\nthe sky. We all kept somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly\nin front as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I looked\nwell at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a place laden with so\nsorrowful a memory would upset him; but he bore himself well. I took it\nthat the very mystery of the proceeding was in some way a counteractant\nto his grief. The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural\nhesitation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by\nentering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door.\nHe then lit a dark lantern and pointed to the coffin. Arthur stepped\nforward hesitatingly; Van Helsing said to me:--\n\n\"You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that\ncoffin?\"\n\n\"It was.\" The Professor turned to the rest saying:--\n\n\"You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe with me.\" He\ntook his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the coffin. Arthur\nlooked on, very pale but silent; when the lid was removed he stepped\nforward. He evidently did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or,\nat any rate, had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead,\nthe blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell away\nagain, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness; he was still silent.\nVan Helsing forced back the leaden flange, and we all looked in and\nrecoiled.\n\nThe coffin was empty!\n\nFor several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken by\nQuincey Morris:--\n\n\"Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. I wouldn't ask\nsuch a thing ordinarily--I wouldn't so dishonour you as to imply a\ndoubt; but this is a mystery that goes beyond any honour or dishonour.\nIs this your doing?\"\n\n\"I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not removed nor\ntouched her. What happened was this: Two nights ago my friend Seward and\nI came here--with good purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, which\nwas then sealed up, and we found it, as now, empty. We then waited, and\nsaw something white come through the trees. The next day we came here in\nday-time, and she lay there. Did she not, friend John?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That night we were just in time. One more so small child was missing,\nand we find it, thank God, unharmed amongst the graves. Yesterday I came\nhere before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited here\nall the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was most probable\nthat it was because I had laid over the clamps of those doors garlic,\nwhich the Un-Dead cannot bear, and other things which they shun. Last\nnight there was no exodus, so to-night before the sundown I took away my\ngarlic and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But\nbear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me\noutside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be.\nSo\"--here he shut the dark slide of his lantern--\"now to the outside.\"\nHe opened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking the\ndoor behind him.\n\nOh! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of\nthat vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passing\ngleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing and\npassing--like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life; how sweet it was\nto breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay; how\nhumanising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to\nhear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Each\nin his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, I\ncould see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the\nmystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to\nthrow aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing's conclusions. Quincey\nMorris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, and\naccepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has to\nstake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug of\ntobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a\ndefinite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like\nthin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white\nnapkin; next he took out a double-handful of some whitish stuff, like\ndough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it into the\nmass between his hands. This he then took, and rolling it into thin\nstrips, began to lay them into the crevices between the door and its\nsetting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this, and being close,\nasked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near\nalso, as they too were curious. He answered:--\n\n\"I am closing the tomb, so that the Un-Dead may not enter.\"\n\n\"And is that stuff you have put there going to do it?\" asked Quincey.\n\"Great Scott! Is this a game?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"What is that which you are using?\" This time the question was by\nArthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered:--\n\n\"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence.\" It was an\nanswer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt individually\nthat in the presence of such earnest purpose as the Professor's, a\npurpose which could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it was\nimpossible to distrust. In respectful silence we took the places\nassigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the sight of any\none approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur. I had myself\nbeen apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror; and yet I,\nwho had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink\nwithin me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white; never did cypress, or\nyew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funereal gloom; never did tree\nor grass wave or rustle so ominously; never did bough creak so\nmysteriously; and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a\nwoeful presage through the night.\n\nThere was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and then from the\nProfessor a keen \"S-s-s-s!\" He pointed; and far down the avenue of yews\nwe saw a white figure advance--a dim white figure, which held something\ndark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a ray of\nmoonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in startling\nprominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of the grave.\nWe could not see the face, for it was bent down over what we saw to be a\nfair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a\nchild gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. We\nwere starting forward, but the Professor's warning hand, seen by us as\nhe stood behind a yew-tree, kept us back; and then as we looked the\nwhite figure moved forwards again. It was now near enough for us to see\nclearly, and the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold as ice,\nand I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognised the features of\nLucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how changed. The sweetness was\nturned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous\nwantonness. Van Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, we\nall advanced too; the four of us ranged in a line before the door of the\ntomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide; by the\nconcentrated light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips\nwere crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her\nchin and stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.\n\nWe shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that even\nVan Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and if I had\nnot seized his arm and held him up, he would have fallen.\n\nWhen Lucy--I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it bore her\nshape--saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a cat gives\nwhen taken unawares; then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy's eyes in form\nand colour; but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of\nthe pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant of my love\npassed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have\ndone it with savage delight. As she looked, her eyes blazed with unholy\nlight, and the face became wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God,\nhow it made me shudder to see it! With a careless motion, she flung to\nthe ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to now she had\nclutched strenuously to her breast, growling over it as a dog growls\nover a bone. The child gave a sharp cry, and lay there moaning. There\nwas a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur; when\nshe advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he fell\nback and hid his face in his hands.\n\nShe still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous grace,\nsaid:--\n\n\"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are\nhungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!\"\n\nThere was something diabolically sweet in her tones--something of the\ntingling of glass when struck--which rang through the brains even of us\nwho heard the words addressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed under\na spell; moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms. She\nwas leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang forward and held between\nthem his little golden crucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with a\nsuddenly distorted face, full of rage, dashed past him as if to enter\nthe tomb.\n\nWhen within a foot or two of the door, however, she stopped, as if\narrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her face was\nshown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp, which had now no\nquiver from Van Helsing's iron nerves. Never did I see such baffled\nmalice on a face; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again by\nmortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes seemed to throw\nout sparks of hell-fire, the brows were wrinkled as though the folds of\nthe flesh were the coils of Medusa's snakes, and the lovely,\nblood-stained mouth grew to an open square, as in the passion masks of\nthe Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face meant death--if looks could\nkill--we saw it at that moment.\n\nAnd so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, she remained\nbetween the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her means of\nentry. Van Helsing broke the silence by asking Arthur:--\n\n\"Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my work?\"\n\nArthur threw himself on his knees, and hid his face in his hands, as he\nanswered:--\n\n\"Do as you will, friend; do as you will. There can be no horror like\nthis ever any more;\" and he groaned in spirit. Quincey and I\nsimultaneously moved towards him, and took his arms. We could hear the\nclick of the closing lantern as Van Helsing held it down; coming close\nto the tomb, he began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred\nemblem which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrified\namazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporeal\nbody as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the interstice\nwhere scarce a knife-blade could have gone. We all felt a glad sense of\nrelief when we saw the Professor calmly restoring the strings of putty\nto the edges of the door.\n\nWhen this was done, he lifted the child and said:\n\n\"Come now, my friends; we can do no more till to-morrow. There is a\nfuneral at noon, so here we shall all come before long after that. The\nfriends of the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton lock\nthe gate we shall remain. Then there is more to do; but not like this of\nto-night. As for this little one, he is not much harm, and by to-morrow\nnight he shall be well. We shall leave him where the police will find\nhim, as on the other night; and then to home.\" Coming close to Arthur,\nhe said:--\n\n\"My friend Arthur, you have had a sore trial; but after, when you look\nback, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the bitter\nwaters, my child. By this time to-morrow you will, please God, have\npassed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not mourn\novermuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me.\"\n\nArthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each other\non the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired; so we all\nslept with more or less reality of sleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_29 September, night._--A little before twelve o'clock we three--Arthur,\nQuincey Morris, and myself--called for the Professor. It was odd to\nnotice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of\ncourse, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of\nus wore it by instinct. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, and\nstrolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that when the\ngravediggers had completed their task and the sexton under the belief\nthat every one had gone, had locked the gate, we had the place all to\nourselves. Van Helsing, instead of his little black bag, had with him a\nlong leather one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of\nfair weight.\n\nWhen we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out up\nthe road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed the\nProfessor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing it\nbehind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and also\ntwo wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their own\nends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient to work\nby. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all looked--Arthur\ntrembling like an aspen--and saw that the body lay there in all its\ndeath-beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing but\nloathing for the foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her\nsoul. I could see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently\nhe said to Van Helsing:--\n\n\"Is this really Lucy's body, or only a demon in her shape?\"\n\n\"It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you all see her\nas she was, and is.\"\n\nShe seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth,\nthe bloodstained, voluptuous mouth--which it made one shudder to\nsee--the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like a\ndevilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with his usual\nmethodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and\nplacing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some\nplumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, when lit in\na corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with a blue\nflame; then his operating knives, which he placed to hand; and last a\nround wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches thick and about\nthree feet long. One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, and\nwas sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, such\nas in households is used in the coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. To\nme, a doctor's preparations for work of any kind are stimulating and\nbracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was\nto cause them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept their\ncourage, and remained silent and quiet.\n\nWhen all was ready, Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Before we do anything, let me tell you this; it is out of the lore and\nexperience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powers\nof the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the\ncurse of immortality; they cannot die, but must go on age after age\nadding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world; for all that\ndie from the preying of the Un-Dead becomes themselves Un-Dead, and prey\non their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening, like as the\nripples from a stone thrown in the water. Friend Arthur, if you had met\nthat kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die; or again, last night\nwhen you open your arms to her, you would in time, when you had died,\nhave become _nosferatu_, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and would\nall time make more of those Un-Deads that so have fill us with horror.\nThe career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those\nchildren whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if\nshe live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her\npower over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood with that\nso wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the tiny\nwounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their plays\nunknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when\nthis now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor\nlady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by\nnight and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, she\nshall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will\nbe a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free.\nTo this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better\nright? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the\nnight when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it\nwas the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would\nherself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if there be\nsuch a one amongst us?\"\n\nWe all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the infinite\nkindness which suggested that his should be the hand which would restore\nLucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he stepped forward and\nsaid bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as\nsnow:--\n\n\"My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me\nwhat I am to do, and I shall not falter!\" Van Helsing laid a hand on his\nshoulder, and said:--\n\n\"Brave lad! A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be\ndriven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal--be not deceived in\nthat--but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more\nthan your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as though\nyou tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. Only\nthink that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we pray for\nyou all the time.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Arthur hoarsely. \"Tell me what I am to do.\"\n\n\"Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point over the\nheart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer for\nthe dead--I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others shall\nfollow--strike in God's name, that so all may be well with the dead that\nwe love and that the Un-Dead pass away.\"\n\nArthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on\naction his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened\nhis missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as well as we\ncould. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could\nsee its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his might.\n\nThe Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screech\ncame from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twisted\nin wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together till the\nlips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthur\nnever faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm\nrose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilst\nthe blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His\nface was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of it\ngave us courage so that our voices seemed to ring through the little\nvault.\n\nAnd then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the\nteeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. The\nterrible task was over.\n\nThe hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He reeled and would have fallen had\nwe not caught him. The great drops of sweat sprang from his forehead,\nand his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain\non him; and had he not been forced to his task by more than human\nconsiderations he could never have gone through with it. For a few\nminutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards the\ncoffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from one\nto the other of us. We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had\nbeen seated on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad,\nstrange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom of\nhorror that lay upon it.\n\nThere, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded\nand grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a\nprivilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in\nher life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that\nthere were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and\npain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth\nto what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay like\nsunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and\nsymbol of the calm that was to reign for ever.\n\nVan Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to\nhim:--\n\n\"And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?\"\n\nThe reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man's hand\nin his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:--\n\n\"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again,\nand me peace.\" He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying\nhis head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood\nunmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:--\n\n\"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as\nshe would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning\ndevil now--not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is\nthe devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!\"\n\nArthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out of the\ntomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake, leaving the point\nof it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth with\ngarlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid,\nand gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Professor locked\nthe door he gave the key to Arthur.\n\nOutside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and it\nseemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There was\ngladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselves\non one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy.\n\nBefore we moved away Van Helsing said:--\n\n\"Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the most harrowing\nto ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find out the author\nof all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can\nfollow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and there is danger in\nit, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all\nof us--is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And do\nwe not promise to go on to the bitter end?\"\n\nEach in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then said the\nProfessor as we moved off:--\n\n\"Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven of\nthe clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that you\nknow not as yet; and I shall be ready to a