{"id":29,"date":"2019-02-25T20:46:59","date_gmt":"2019-02-25T20:46:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/dracula\/chapter\/dracula-5\/"},"modified":"2019-02-26T18:10:50","modified_gmt":"2019-02-26T18:10:50","slug":"5","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/chapter\/5\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter 5 - Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra","rendered":"Chapter 5 – Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra"},"content":{"raw":"
\r\n\r\n9 May.\r\n\r\nMy dearest Lucy,\r\n\r\nForgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply\r\noverwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is\r\nsometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the sea,\r\nwhere we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.\r\nI have been working very hard lately, because I want to keep up\r\nwith Jonathan's studies, and I have been practicing shorthand very\r\nassiduously. When we are married I shall be able to be useful to\r\nJonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what\r\nhe wants to say in this way and write it out for him on the\r\ntypewriter, at which also I am practicing very hard.\r\n\r\nHe and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping\r\na stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I\r\nshall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of those\r\ntwo-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but\r\na sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel\r\ninclined.\r\n\r\nI do not suppose there will be much of interest to other people,\r\nbut it is not intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day\r\nif there is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an\r\nexercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do,\r\ninterviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember\r\nconversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can\r\nremember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day.\r\n\r\nHowever, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans when\r\nwe meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from\r\nTransylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I\r\nam longing to hear all his news. It must be nice to see strange\r\ncountries. I wonder if we, I mean Jonathan and I, shall ever see\r\nthem together. There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Goodbye. Your\r\nloving Mina\r\n\r\nTell me all the news when you write. You have not told me\r\nanything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall,\r\nhandsome, curly-haired man.???\r\n\r\nLETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY\r\n\r\n17, Chatham Street\r\n\r\nWednesday\r\n\r\nMy dearest Mina,\r\n\r\nI must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad\r\ncorrespondent. I wrote you twice since we parted, and your last\r\nletter was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you.\r\nThere is really nothing to interest you.\r\n\r\nTown is very pleasant just now, and we go a great deal to\r\npicture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the\r\ntall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at\r\nthe last Pop. Someone has evidently been telling tales.\r\n\r\nThat was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and\r\nMamma get on very well together, they have so many things to talk\r\nabout in common.\r\n\r\nWe met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you\r\nwere not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellant parti,\r\nbeing handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and\r\nreally clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty, and he has\r\nan immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood\r\nintroduced him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes\r\nnow. I think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet\r\nthe most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what\r\na wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious\r\nhabit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read\r\none's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter\r\nmyself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my\r\nglass.\r\n\r\nDo you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you\r\nit is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well\r\nfancy if you have never tried it.\r\n\r\nHe says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I\r\nhumbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest\r\nin dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.\r\nThat is slang again, but never mind. Arthur says that every\r\nday.\r\n\r\nThere, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to each\r\nother since we were children. We have slept together and eaten\r\ntogether, and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have\r\nspoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I\r\nlove him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves\r\nme, he has not told me so in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him. I\r\nlove him! There, that does me good.\r\n\r\nI wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as\r\nwe used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not\r\nknow how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I\r\nshould tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I do so\r\nwant to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all\r\nthat you think about it. Mina, pray for my happiness.\r\n\r\nLucy\r\n\r\nP. S.\u2014I need not tell you this is a secret. Goodnight again.\r\nL.\r\n\r\nLETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY\r\n\r\n24 May\r\n\r\nMy dearest Mina,\r\n\r\nThanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It\r\nwas so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy. My\r\ndear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.\r\nHere am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a\r\nproposal till today, not a real proposal, and today I had three.\r\nJust fancy! Three proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel\r\nsorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh,\r\nMina, I am so happy that I don't know what to do with myself. And\r\nthree proposals! But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the\r\ngirls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas, and\r\nimagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first\r\nday at home they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain!\r\nYou and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down\r\nsoon soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I\r\nmust tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear,\r\nfrom every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him,\r\nbecause I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A\r\nwoman ought to tell her husband everything. Don't you think so,\r\ndear? And I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to\r\nbe quite as fair as they are. And women, I am afraid, are not\r\nalways quite as fair as they should be.\r\n\r\nWell, my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told you of\r\nhim, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic asylum man, with the strong jaw\r\nand the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous\r\nall the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all\r\nsorts of little things, and remembered them, but he almost managed\r\nto sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally do when they\r\nare cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing\r\nwith a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,\r\nMina, very straightfordwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,\r\nthough he had known me so little, and what his life would be with\r\nme to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he\r\nwould be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said\r\nhe was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he\r\nbroke off and asked if I could love him in time, and when I shook\r\nmy head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked\r\nme if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely,\r\nsaying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but\r\nonly to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have\r\nhope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there\r\nwas some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and\r\nhe looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in\r\nhis and said he hoped I would be happy, and that If I ever wanted a\r\nfriend I must count him one of my best.\r\n\r\nOh, Mina dear, I can't help crying, and you must excuse this\r\nletter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice and\r\nall that sort of thing, but it isn't at all a happy thing when you\r\nhave to see a poor fellow, whom you know loves you honestly, going\r\naway and looking all broken hearted, and to know that, no matter\r\nwhat he may say at the moment, you are passing out of his life. My\r\ndear, I must stop here at present, I feel so miserable, though I am\r\nso happy.\r\n\r\nEvening.\r\n\r\nArthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I\r\nleft off, so I can go on telling you about the day.\r\n\r\nWell, my dear, number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice\r\nfellow, and American from Texas, and he looks so young and so fresh\r\nthat it seems almost impossible that he has been to so many places\r\nand has such adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when she\r\nhad such a stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I suppose\r\nthat we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us\r\nfrom fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were\r\na man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was\r\nMr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and\r\nyet\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\nMy dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincy P. Morris found me\r\nalone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he\r\ndoesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him\r\nall I could, I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you\r\nbeforehand that Mr. Morris doesn't always speak slang, that is to\r\nsay, he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really\r\nwell educated and has exquisite manners, but he found out that it\r\namused me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was\r\npresent, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such funny\r\nthings. I am afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for it fits\r\nexactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way slang\r\nhas. I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang. I do not\r\nknow if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as\r\nyet.\r\n\r\nWell, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy and\r\njolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was very\r\nnervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so\r\nsweetly\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\n\"Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the fixin's\r\nof your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man\r\nthat is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when\r\nyou quit. Won't you just hitch up along-side of me and let us go\r\ndown the long road together, driving in double harness?\"\r\n\r\nWell, he did look so hood humoured and so jolly that it didn't\r\nseem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward. So I\r\nsaid, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of\r\nhitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he\r\nsaid that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he\r\nhad made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, and\r\noccasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did look serious\r\nwhen he was saying it, and I couldn't help feeling a sort of\r\nexultation that he was number Two in one day. And then, my dear,\r\nbefore I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of\r\nlovemaking, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so\r\nearnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be\r\nplayful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I\r\nsuppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he\r\nsuddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I\r\ncould have loved him for if I had been free\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\n\"Lucy, you are an honest hearted girl, I know. I should not be\r\nhere speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean\r\ngrit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like\r\none good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care\r\nfor? And if there is I'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again,\r\nbut will be, if you will let me, a very faithful friend.\"\r\n\r\nMy dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little\r\nworthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great hearted,\r\ntrue gentleman. I burst into tears, I am afraid, my dear, you will\r\nthink this a very sloppy letter in more ways than one, and I really\r\nfelt very badly.\r\n\r\nWhy can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want\r\nher, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not\r\nsay it. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to\r\nlook into Mr. Morris' brave eyes, and I told him out\r\nstraight\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\n\"Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet\r\nthat he even loves me.\" I was right to speak to him so frankly, for\r\nquite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands and\r\ntook mine, I think I put them into his, and said in a hearty\r\nway\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\n\"That's my brave girl. It's better worth being late for a chance\r\nof winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world.\r\nDon't cry, my dear. If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack, and I\r\ntake it standing up. If that other fellow doesn't know his\r\nhappiness, well, he'd better look for it soon, or he'll have to\r\ndeal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have made me a\r\nfriend, and that's rarer than a lover, it's more selfish anyhow. My\r\ndear, I'm going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and\r\nKingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss? It'll be something to\r\nkeep off the darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like,\r\nfor that other good fellow, or you could not love him, hasn't\r\nspoken yet.\"\r\n\r\nThat quite won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet of him, and\r\nnoble too, to a rival, wasn't it? And he so sad, so I leant over\r\nand kissed him.\r\n\r\nHe stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down into\r\nmy face, I am afraid I was blushing very much, he said, \"Little\r\ngirl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if these things\r\ndon't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet\r\nhonesty to me, and goodbye.\" He wrung my hand, and taking up his\r\nhat, went straight out of the room without looking back, without a\r\ntear or a quiver or a pause, and I am crying like a baby.\r\n\r\nOh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots\r\nof girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I know\r\nI would if I were free, only I don't want to be free My dear, this\r\nquite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at\r\nonce, after telling you of it, and I don't wish to tell of the\r\nnumber Three until it can be all happy. Ever your loving\u00a0\u2026\r\nLucy\r\n\r\nP. S.\u2014Oh, about number Three, I needn't tell you of number\r\nThree, need I? Besides, it was all so confused. It seemed only a\r\nmoment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round\r\nme, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know\r\nwhat I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to\r\nshow that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in\r\nsending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.\r\n\r\nGoodbye.\r\n\r\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY (Kept in phonograph)\r\n\r\n25 May.\u2014Ebb tide in appetite today. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so\r\ndiary instead. since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty\r\nfeeling. Nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be\r\nworth the doing. As I knew that the only cure for this sort of\r\nthing was work, I went amongst the patients. I picked out one who\r\nhas afforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I am\r\ndetermined to understand him as well as I can. Today I seemed to\r\nget nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.\r\n\r\nI questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to\r\nmaking myself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my\r\nmanner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I\r\nseemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness, a thing\r\nwhich I avoid with the patients as I would the mouth of hell.\r\n\r\n(Mem., Under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of\r\nhell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price! If there be\r\nanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it\r\nafterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so,\r\ntherefore\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\nR. M, Renfield, age 59. Sanguine temperament, great physical\r\nstrength, morbidly excitable, periods of gloom, ending in some\r\nfixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine\r\ntemperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a\r\nmentally-accomplished finish, a possibly dangerous man, probably\r\ndangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an\r\narmour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of on this\r\npoint is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is\r\nbalanced with the centrifugal. When duty, a cause, etc., is the\r\nfixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident of a\r\nseries of accidents can balance it.\r\n\r\nLETTER, QUINCEY P. MORRIS TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD\r\n\r\n25 May.\r\n\r\nMy dear Art,\r\n\r\nWe've told yarns by the campfire in the prairies, and dressed\r\none another's wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas, and\r\ndrunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be\r\ntold, and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be\r\ndrunk. Won't you let this be at my campfire tomorrow night? I have\r\nno hesitation in asking you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to\r\na certain dinner party, and that you are free. There will only be\r\none other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack Seward. He's coming, too,\r\nand we both want to mingle our weeps over the wine cup, and to\r\ndrink a health with all our hearts to the happiest man in all the\r\nwide world, who has won the noblest heart that God has made and\r\nbest worth winning. We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving\r\ngreeting, and a health as true as your own right hand. We shall\r\nboth swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep to a certain\r\npair of eyes. Come!\r\n\r\nYours, as ever and always,\r\n\r\nQuincey P. Morris\r\n\r\nTELEGRAM FROM ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO QUINCEY P. MORRIS\r\n\r\n26 May\r\n\r\nCount me in every time. I bear messages which will make both\r\nyour ears tingle.\r\n\r\nArt\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n","rendered":"
\n

9 May.<\/p>\n

My dearest Lucy,<\/p>\n

Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply
\noverwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is
\nsometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the sea,
\nwhere we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.
\nI have been working very hard lately, because I want to keep up
\nwith Jonathan’s studies, and I have been practicing shorthand very
\nassiduously. When we are married I shall be able to be useful to
\nJonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what
\nhe wants to say in this way and write it out for him on the
\ntypewriter, at which also I am practicing very hard.<\/p>\n

He and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping
\na stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I
\nshall keep a diary in the same way. I don’t mean one of those
\ntwo-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but
\na sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel
\ninclined.<\/p>\n

I do not suppose there will be much of interest to other people,
\nbut it is not intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day
\nif there is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an
\nexercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do,
\ninterviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember
\nconversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can
\nremember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day.<\/p>\n

However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans when
\nwe meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from
\nTransylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I
\nam longing to hear all his news. It must be nice to see strange
\ncountries. I wonder if we, I mean Jonathan and I, shall ever see
\nthem together. There is the ten o’clock bell ringing. Goodbye. Your
\nloving Mina<\/p>\n

Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me
\nanything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall,
\nhandsome, curly-haired man.???<\/p>\n

LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY<\/p>\n

17, Chatham Street<\/p>\n

Wednesday<\/p>\n

My dearest Mina,<\/p>\n

I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad
\ncorrespondent. I wrote you twice since we parted, and your last
\nletter was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you.
\nThere is really nothing to interest you.<\/p>\n

Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a great deal to
\npicture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the
\ntall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at
\nthe last Pop. Someone has evidently been telling tales.<\/p>\n

That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and
\nMamma get on very well together, they have so many things to talk
\nabout in common.<\/p>\n

We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you
\nwere not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellant parti,
\nbeing handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and
\nreally clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty, and he has
\nan immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood
\nintroduced him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes
\nnow. I think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet
\nthe most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what
\na wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious
\nhabit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read
\none’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter
\nmyself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my
\nglass.<\/p>\n

Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you
\nit is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well
\nfancy if you have never tried it.<\/p>\n

He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I
\nhumbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest
\nin dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.
\nThat is slang again, but never mind. Arthur says that every
\nday.<\/p>\n

There, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to each
\nother since we were children. We have slept together and eaten
\ntogether, and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have
\nspoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I
\nlove him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves
\nme, he has not told me so in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him. I
\nlove him! There, that does me good.<\/p>\n

I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as
\nwe used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not
\nknow how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I
\nshould tear up the letter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so
\nwant to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all
\nthat you think about it. Mina, pray for my happiness.<\/p>\n

Lucy<\/p>\n

P. S.\u2014I need not tell you this is a secret. Goodnight again.
\nL.<\/p>\n

LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY<\/p>\n

24 May<\/p>\n

My dearest Mina,<\/p>\n

Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It
\nwas so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy. My
\ndear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.
\nHere am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a
\nproposal till today, not a real proposal, and today I had three.
\nJust fancy! Three proposals in one day! Isn’t it awful! I feel
\nsorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh,
\nMina, I am so happy that I don’t know what to do with myself. And
\nthree proposals! But, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell any of the
\ngirls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas, and
\nimagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first
\nday at home they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain!
\nYou and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down
\nsoon soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I
\nmust tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear,
\nfrom every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him,
\nbecause I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A
\nwoman ought to tell her husband everything. Don’t you think so,
\ndear? And I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to
\nbe quite as fair as they are. And women, I am afraid, are not
\nalways quite as fair as they should be.<\/p>\n

Well, my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told you of
\nhim, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic asylum man, with the strong jaw
\nand the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous
\nall the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all
\nsorts of little things, and remembered them, but he almost managed
\nto sit down on his silk hat, which men don’t generally do when they
\nare cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing
\nwith a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,
\nMina, very straightfordwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,
\nthough he had known me so little, and what his life would be with
\nme to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he
\nwould be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said
\nhe was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he
\nbroke off and asked if I could love him in time, and when I shook
\nmy head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked
\nme if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely,
\nsaying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but
\nonly to know, because if a woman’s heart was free a man might have
\nhope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there
\nwas some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and
\nhe looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in
\nhis and said he hoped I would be happy, and that If I ever wanted a
\nfriend I must count him one of my best.<\/p>\n

Oh, Mina dear, I can’t help crying, and you must excuse this
\nletter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice and
\nall that sort of thing, but it isn’t at all a happy thing when you
\nhave to see a poor fellow, whom you know loves you honestly, going
\naway and looking all broken hearted, and to know that, no matter
\nwhat he may say at the moment, you are passing out of his life. My
\ndear, I must stop here at present, I feel so miserable, though I am
\nso happy.<\/p>\n

Evening.<\/p>\n

Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I
\nleft off, so I can go on telling you about the day.<\/p>\n

Well, my dear, number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice
\nfellow, and American from Texas, and he looks so young and so fresh
\nthat it seems almost impossible that he has been to so many places
\nand has such adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when she
\nhad such a stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I suppose
\nthat we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us
\nfrom fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were
\na man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don’t, for there was
\nMr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and
\nyet\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincy P. Morris found me
\nalone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he
\ndoesn’t, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him
\nall I could, I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you
\nbeforehand that Mr. Morris doesn’t always speak slang, that is to
\nsay, he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really
\nwell educated and has exquisite manners, but he found out that it
\namused me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was
\npresent, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such funny
\nthings. I am afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for it fits
\nexactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way slang
\nhas. I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang. I do not
\nknow if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as
\nyet.<\/p>\n

Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy and
\njolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was very
\nnervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so
\nsweetly\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

“Miss Lucy, I know I ain’t good enough to regulate the fixin’s
\nof your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man
\nthat is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when
\nyou quit. Won’t you just hitch up along-side of me and let us go
\ndown the long road together, driving in double harness?”<\/p>\n

Well, he did look so hood humoured and so jolly that it didn’t
\nseem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward. So I
\nsaid, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of
\nhitching, and that I wasn’t broken to harness at all yet. Then he
\nsaid that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he
\nhad made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, and
\noccasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did look serious
\nwhen he was saying it, and I couldn’t help feeling a sort of
\nexultation that he was number Two in one day. And then, my dear,
\nbefore I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of
\nlovemaking, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so
\nearnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be
\nplayful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I
\nsuppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he
\nsuddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I
\ncould have loved him for if I had been free\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

“Lucy, you are an honest hearted girl, I know. I should not be
\nhere speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean
\ngrit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like
\none good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care
\nfor? And if there is I’ll never trouble you a hair’s breadth again,
\nbut will be, if you will let me, a very faithful friend.”<\/p>\n

My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little
\nworthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great hearted,
\ntrue gentleman. I burst into tears, I am afraid, my dear, you will
\nthink this a very sloppy letter in more ways than one, and I really
\nfelt very badly.<\/p>\n

Why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want
\nher, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not
\nsay it. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to
\nlook into Mr. Morris’ brave eyes, and I told him out
\nstraight\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

“Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet
\nthat he even loves me.” I was right to speak to him so frankly, for
\nquite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands and
\ntook mine, I think I put them into his, and said in a hearty
\nway\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

“That’s my brave girl. It’s better worth being late for a chance
\nof winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world.
\nDon’t cry, my dear. If it’s for me, I’m a hard nut to crack, and I
\ntake it standing up. If that other fellow doesn’t know his
\nhappiness, well, he’d better look for it soon, or he’ll have to
\ndeal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have made me a
\nfriend, and that’s rarer than a lover, it’s more selfish anyhow. My
\ndear, I’m going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and
\nKingdom Come. Won’t you give me one kiss? It’ll be something to
\nkeep off the darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like,
\nfor that other good fellow, or you could not love him, hasn’t
\nspoken yet.”<\/p>\n

That quite won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet of him, and
\nnoble too, to a rival, wasn’t it? And he so sad, so I leant over
\nand kissed him.<\/p>\n

He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down into
\nmy face, I am afraid I was blushing very much, he said, “Little
\ngirl, I hold your hand, and you’ve kissed me, and if these things
\ndon’t make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet
\nhonesty to me, and goodbye.” He wrung my hand, and taking up his
\nhat, went straight out of the room without looking back, without a
\ntear or a quiver or a pause, and I am crying like a baby.<\/p>\n

Oh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots
\nof girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I know
\nI would if I were free, only I don’t want to be free My dear, this
\nquite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at
\nonce, after telling you of it, and I don’t wish to tell of the
\nnumber Three until it can be all happy. Ever your loving\u00a0\u2026
\nLucy<\/p>\n

P. S.\u2014Oh, about number Three, I needn’t tell you of number
\nThree, need I? Besides, it was all so confused. It seemed only a
\nmoment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round
\nme, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don’t know
\nwhat I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to
\nshow that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in
\nsending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.<\/p>\n

Goodbye.<\/p>\n

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY (Kept in phonograph)<\/p>\n

25 May.\u2014Ebb tide in appetite today. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so
\ndiary instead. since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty
\nfeeling. Nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be
\nworth the doing. As I knew that the only cure for this sort of
\nthing was work, I went amongst the patients. I picked out one who
\nhas afforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I am
\ndetermined to understand him as well as I can. Today I seemed to
\nget nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.<\/p>\n

I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to
\nmaking myself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my
\nmanner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I
\nseemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness, a thing
\nwhich I avoid with the patients as I would the mouth of hell.<\/p>\n

(Mem., Under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of
\nhell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price! If there be
\nanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it
\nafterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so,
\ntherefore\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

R. M, Renfield, age 59. Sanguine temperament, great physical
\nstrength, morbidly excitable, periods of gloom, ending in some
\nfixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine
\ntemperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a
\nmentally-accomplished finish, a possibly dangerous man, probably
\ndangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an
\narmour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of on this
\npoint is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is
\nbalanced with the centrifugal. When duty, a cause, etc., is the
\nfixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident of a
\nseries of accidents can balance it.<\/p>\n

LETTER, QUINCEY P. MORRIS TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD<\/p>\n

25 May.<\/p>\n

My dear Art,<\/p>\n

We’ve told yarns by the campfire in the prairies, and dressed
\none another’s wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas, and
\ndrunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be
\ntold, and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be
\ndrunk. Won’t you let this be at my campfire tomorrow night? I have
\nno hesitation in asking you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to
\na certain dinner party, and that you are free. There will only be
\none other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack Seward. He’s coming, too,
\nand we both want to mingle our weeps over the wine cup, and to
\ndrink a health with all our hearts to the happiest man in all the
\nwide world, who has won the noblest heart that God has made and
\nbest worth winning. We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving
\ngreeting, and a health as true as your own right hand. We shall
\nboth swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep to a certain
\npair of eyes. Come!<\/p>\n

Yours, as ever and always,<\/p>\n

Quincey P. Morris<\/p>\n

TELEGRAM FROM ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO QUINCEY P. MORRIS<\/p>\n

26 May<\/p>\n

Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both
\nyour ears tingle.<\/p>\n

Art<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"menu_order":5,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-29","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/29","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/29\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":99,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/29\/revisions\/99"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/29\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=29"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=29"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=29"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=29"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}