{"id":37,"date":"2019-02-25T20:46:59","date_gmt":"2019-02-25T20:46:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/dracula\/chapter\/dracula-13\/"},"modified":"2019-02-26T01:23:22","modified_gmt":"2019-02-26T01:23:22","slug":"dracula-13","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/chapter\/dracula-13\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter 13 - Dr. Seward's Diary\u2014cont.","rendered":"Chapter 13 – Dr. Seward’s Diary\u2014cont."},"content":{"raw":"\r\n
\r\n\r\nThe funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that\r\nLucy and her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the\r\nghastly formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his\r\nstaff was afflicted, or blessed, with something of his own\r\nobsequious suavity. Even the woman who performed the last offices\r\nfor the dead remarked to me, in a confidential,\r\nbrother-professional way, when she had come out from the death\r\nchamber,\r\n\r\n\"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege\r\nto attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit\r\nto our establishment!\"\r\n\r\nI noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was\r\npossible from the disordered state of things in the household.\r\nThere were no relatives at hand, and as Arthur had to be back the\r\nnext day to attend at his father's funeral, we were unable to\r\nnotify any one who should have been bidden. Under the\r\ncircumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon ourselves to examine\r\npapers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's papers himself. I\r\nasked him why, for I feared that he, being a foreigner, might not\r\nbe quite aware of English legal requirements, and so might in\r\nignorance make some unnecessary trouble.\r\n\r\nHe answered me, \"I know, I know. You forget that I am a lawyer\r\nas well as a doctor. But this is not altogether for the law. You\r\nknew that, when you avoided the coroner. I have more than him to\r\navoid. There may be papers more, such as this.\"\r\n\r\nAs he spoke he took from his pocket book the memorandum which\r\nhad been in Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.\r\n\r\n\"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late\r\nMrs. Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him tonight. For me,\r\nI watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and\r\nI myself search for what may be. It is not well that her very\r\nthoughts go into the hands of strangers.\"\r\n\r\nI went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had\r\nfound the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had\r\nwritten to him. All the poor lady's papers were in order. Explicit\r\ndirections regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly\r\nsealed the letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into\r\nthe room, saying,\r\n\r\n\"Can I help you friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service\r\nis to you.\"\r\n\r\n\"Have you got what you looked for?\" I asked.\r\n\r\nTo which he replied, \"I did not look for any specific thing. I\r\nonly hoped to find, and find I have, all that there was, only some\r\nletters and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have them\r\nhere, and we shall for the present say nothing of them. I shall see\r\nthat poor lad tomorrow evening, and, with his sanction, I shall use\r\nsome.\"\r\n\r\nWhen we had finished the work in hand, he said to me, \"And now,\r\nfriend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you and I,\r\nand rest to recuperate. Tomorrow we shall have much to do, but for\r\nthe tonight there is no need of us. Alas!\"\r\n\r\nBefore turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker\r\nhad certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a\r\nsmall chapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white\r\nflowers, and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The\r\nend of the winding sheet was laid over the face. When the Professor\r\nbent over and turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty\r\nbefore us. The tall wax candles showing a sufficient light to note\r\nit well. All Lucy's loveliness had come back to her in death, and\r\nthe hours that had passed, instead of leaving traces of `decay's\r\neffacing fingers', had but restored the beauty of life, till\r\npositively I could not believe my eyes that I was looking at a\r\ncorpse.\r\n\r\nThe Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I\r\nhad, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me,\r\n\"Remain till I return,\" and left the room. He came back with a\r\nhandful of wild garlic from the box waiting in the hall, but which\r\nhad not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on\r\nand around the bed. Then he took from his neck, inside his collar,\r\na little gold crucifix, and placed it over the mouth. He restored\r\nthe sheet to its place, and we came away.\r\n\r\nI was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at\r\nthe door, he entered, and at once began to speak.\r\n\r\n\"Tomorrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of\r\npost-mortem knives.\"\r\n\r\n\"Must we make an autopsy?\" I asked.\r\n\r\n\"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not what you think. Let me\r\ntell you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head\r\nand take out her heart. Ah! You a surgeon, and so shocked! You,\r\nwhom I have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of\r\nlife and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not\r\nforget, my dear friend John, that you loved her, and I have not\r\nforgotten it for is I that shall operate, and you must not help. I\r\nwould like to do it tonight, but for Arthur I must not. He will be\r\nfree after his father's funeral tomorrow, and he will want to see\r\nher, to see it. Then, when she is coffined ready for the next day,\r\nyou and I shall come when all sleep. We shall unscrew the coffin\r\nlid, and shall do our operation, and then replace all, so that none\r\nknow, save we alone.\"\r\n\r\n\"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor\r\nbody without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem\r\nand nothing to gain by it, no good to her, to us, to science, to\r\nhuman knowledge, why do it? Without such it is monstrous.\"\r\n\r\nFor answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with\r\ninfinite tenderness, \"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart,\r\nand I love you the more because it does so bleed. If I could, I\r\nwould take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are\r\nthings that you know not, but that you shall know, and bless me for\r\nknowing, though they are not pleasant things. John, my child, you\r\nhave been my friend now many years, and yet did you ever know me to\r\ndo any without good cause? I may err, I am but man, but I believe\r\nin all I do. Was it not for these causes that you send for me when\r\nthe great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay horrified,\r\nwhen I would not let Arthur kiss his love, though she was dying,\r\nand snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw how\r\nshe thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too,\r\nso weak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did\r\nyou not hear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes\r\ngrateful? Yes!\r\n\r\n\"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for\r\nmany years trust me. You have believe me weeks past, when there be\r\nthings so strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a\r\nlittle, friend John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I\r\nthink, and that is not perhaps well. And if I work, as work I\r\nshall, no matter trust or no trust, without my friend trust in me,\r\nI work with heavy heart and feel, oh so lonely when I want all help\r\nand courage that may be!\" He paused a moment and went on solemnly,\r\n\"Friend John, there are strange and terrible days before us. Let us\r\nnot be two, but one, that so we work to a good end. Will you not\r\nhave faith in me?\"\r\n\r\nI took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he\r\nwent away, and watched him go to his room and close the door. As I\r\nstood without moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along\r\nthe passage, she had her back to me, so did not see me, and go into\r\nthe room where Lucy lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare,\r\nand we are so grateful to those who show it unasked to those we\r\nlove. Here was a poor girl putting aside the terrors which she\r\nnaturally had of death to go watch alone by the bier of the\r\nmistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay might not be lonely\r\ntill laid to eternal rest.\r\n\r\nI must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight\r\nwhen Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to\r\nmy bedside and said, \"You need not trouble about the knives. We\r\nshall not do it.\"\r\n\r\n\"Why not?\" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had\r\ngreatly impressed me.\r\n\r\n\"Because,\" he said sternly, \"it is too late, or too early. See!\"\r\nHere he held up the little golden crucifix.\r\n\r\n\"This was stolen in the night.\"\r\n\r\n\"How stolen,\"I asked in wonder,\"since you have it now?\"\r\n\r\n\"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it,\r\nfrom the woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment\r\nwill surely come, but not through me. She knew not altogether what\r\nshe did, and thus unknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.\" He\r\nwent away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a\r\nnew puzzle to grapple with.\r\n\r\nThe forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came,\r\nMr. Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was\r\nvery genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off\r\nour hands all cares as to details. During lunch he told us that\r\nMrs. Westenra had for some time expected sudden death from her\r\nheart, and had put her affairs in absolute order. He informed us\r\nthat, with the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy's\r\nfather which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a\r\ndistant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and personal,\r\nwas left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had told us so much\r\nhe went on,\r\n\r\n\"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary\r\ndisposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave\r\nher daughter either penniless or not so free as she should be to\r\nact regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter\r\nso far that we almost came into collision, for she asked us if we\r\nwere or were not prepared to carry out her wishes. Of course, we\r\nhad then no alternative but to accept. We were right in principle,\r\nand ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should have proved, by\r\nthe logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.\r\n\r\n\"Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form\r\nof disposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of\r\nher wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would\r\nhave come into possession of the property, and, even had she only\r\nsurvived her mother by five minutes, her property would, in case\r\nthere were no will, and a will was a practical impossibility in\r\nsuch a case, have been treated at her decease as under intestacy.\r\nIn which case Lord Godalming, though so dear a friend, would have\r\nhad no claim in the world. And the inheritors, being remote, would\r\nnot be likely to abandon their just rights, for sentimental reasons\r\nregarding an entire stranger. I assure you, my dear sirs, I am\r\nrejoiced at the result,perfectly rejoiced.\"\r\n\r\nHe was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part,\r\nin which he was officially interested, of so great a tragedy, was\r\nan object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic\r\nunderstanding.\r\n\r\nHe did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the\r\nday and see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain\r\ncomfort to us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread\r\nhostile criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at\r\nfive o'clock, so a little before that time we visited the death\r\nchamber. It was so in very truth, for now both mother and daughter\r\nlay in it. The undertaker, true to his craft, had made the best\r\ndisplay he could of his goods, and there was a mortuary air about\r\nthe place that lowered our spirits at once.\r\n\r\nVan Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,\r\nexplaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would\r\nbe less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his\r\nfiancee quite alone.\r\n\r\nThe undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and exerted\r\nhimself to restore things to the condition in which we left them\r\nthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his\r\nfeelings as we could avoid were saved.\r\n\r\nPoor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken. Even his\r\nstalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of\r\nhis much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and\r\ndevotedly attached to his father, and to lose him, and at such a\r\ntime, was a bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to\r\nVan Helsing he was sweetly courteous. But I could not help seeing\r\nthat there was some constraint with him. The professor noticed it\r\ntoo, and motioned me to bring him upstairs. I did so, and left him\r\nat the door of the room, as I felt he would like to be quite alone\r\nwith her, but he took my arm and led me in, saying huskily,\r\n\r\n\"You loved her too, old fellow. She told me all about it, and\r\nthere was no friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I\r\ndon't know how to thank you for all you have done for her. I can't\r\nthink yet\u00a0\u2026 \"\r\n\r\nHere he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my\r\nshoulders and laid his head on my breast, crying, \"Oh, Jack! Jack!\r\nWhat shall I do? The whole of life seems gone from me all at once,\r\nand there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.\"\r\n\r\nI comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not\r\nneed much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm\r\nover the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy\r\ndear to a man's heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died\r\naway, and then I said softly to him, \"Come and look at her.\"\r\n\r\nTogether we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from\r\nher face. God! How beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be\r\nenhancing her loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat. And\r\nas for Arthur, he fell to trembling, and finally was shaken with\r\ndoubt as with an ague. At last, after a long pause, he said to me\r\nin a faint whisper,\"Jack, is she really dead?\"\r\n\r\nI assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest, for\r\nI felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment\r\nlonger than I could help, that it often happened that after death\r\nfaces become softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty,\r\nthat this was especially so when death had been preceded by any\r\nacute or prolonged suffering. I seemed to quite do away with any\r\ndoubt, and after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking\r\nat her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I told him that that\r\nmust be goodbye, as the coffin had to be prepared, so he went back\r\nand took her dead hand in his and kissed it, and bent over and\r\nkissed her forehead. He came away, fondly looking back over his\r\nshoulder at her as he came.\r\n\r\nI left him in the drawing room, and told Van Helsing that he had\r\nsaid goodbye, so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the\r\nundertaker's men to proceed with the preperations and to screw up\r\nthe coffin. When he came out of the room again I told him of\r\nArthur's question, and he replied, \"I am not surprised. Just now I\r\ndoubted for a moment myself!\"\r\n\r\nWe all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying\r\nto make the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner\r\ntime, but when we had lit our cigars he said, \"Lord\u00a0\u2026 , but\r\nArthur interrupted him.\r\n\r\n\"No, no, not that, for God's sake! Not yet at any rate. Forgive\r\nme, sir. I did not mean to speak offensively. It is only because my\r\nloss is so recent.\"\r\n\r\nThe Professor answered very sweetly, \"I only used that name\r\nbecause I was in doubt. I must not call you `Mr.' and I have grown\r\nto love you, yes, my dear boy, to love you, as Arthur.\"\r\n\r\nArthur held out his hand, and took the old man's warmly. \"Call\r\nme what you will,\" he said. \"I hope I may always have the title of\r\na friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you\r\nfor your goodness to my poor dear.\" He paused a moment, and went\r\non, \"I know that she understood your goodness even better than I\r\ndo. And if I was rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted\r\nso, you remember,\"\u2014 the Professor nodded\u2014\"You must forgive me.\"\r\n\r\nHe answered with a grave kindness, \"I know it was hard for you\r\nto quite trust me then, for to trust such violence needs to\r\nunderstand, and I take it that you do not, that you cannot, trust\r\nme now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be more times\r\nwhen I shall want you to trust when you cannot, and may not, and\r\nmust not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust\r\nshall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as\r\nthough the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me\r\nfrom first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others,\r\nand for her dear sake to whom I swore to protect.\"\r\n\r\n\"And indeed, indeed, sir,\" said Arthur warmly. \"I shall in all\r\nways trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and\r\nyou are Jack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you\r\nlike.\"\r\n\r\nThe Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though\r\nabout to speak, and finally said, \"May I ask you something\r\nnow?\"\r\n\r\n\"Certainly.\"\r\n\r\n\"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, poor dear. I never thought of it.\"\r\n\r\n\"And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you\r\nwill. I want you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's\r\npapers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a\r\nmotive of which, be sure, she would have approved. I have them all\r\nhere. I took them before we knew that all was yours, so that no\r\nstrange hand might touch them, no strange eye look through words\r\ninto her soul. I shall keep them, if I may. Even you may not see\r\nthem yet, but I shall keep them safe. No word shall be lost, and in\r\nthe good time I shall give them back to you. It is a hard thing\r\nthat I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucy's sake?\"\r\n\r\nArthur spoke out heartily, like his old self, \"Dr. Van Helsing,\r\nyou may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I am doing\r\nwhat my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you with\r\nquestions till the time comes.\"\r\n\r\nThe old Professor stood up as he said solemnly,\"And you are\r\nright. There will be pain for us all, but it will not be all pain,\r\nnor will this pain be the last. We and you too, you most of all,\r\ndear boy, will have to pass through the bitter water before we\r\nreach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and\r\ndo our duty, and all will be well!\"\r\n\r\nI slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did\r\nnot go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patroling the\r\nhouse, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her\r\ncoffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent through the\r\nodor of lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the\r\nnight.\r\n\r\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\r\n\r\n22 September.\u2014In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping. It\r\nseems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much\r\nbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away\r\nand no news of him, and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a\r\nsolicitor, a partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins\r\ndead and buried, and Jonathan with another attack that may harm\r\nhim. Some day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty\r\nin my shorthand, see what unexpected prosperity does for us, so it\r\nmay be as well to freshen it up again with an exercise anyhow.\r\n\r\nThe service was very simple and very solemn. There were only\r\nourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends of his\r\nfrom Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir\r\nJohn Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society.\r\nJonathan and I stood hand in hand, and we felt that our best and\r\ndearest friend was gone from us.\r\n\r\nWe came back to town quietly, taking a bus to Hyde Park Corner.\r\nJonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a\r\nwhile, so we sat down. But there were very few people there, and it\r\nwas sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made\r\nus think of the empty chair at home. So we got up and walked down\r\nPiccadilly. Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to\r\nin the old days before I went to school. I felt it very improper,\r\nfor you can't go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum\r\nto other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a\r\nbit. But it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know\r\nanybody who saw us, and we didn't care if they did, so on we\r\nwalked. I was looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel\r\nhat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's, when I felt Jonathan\r\nclutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his\r\nbreath, \"My God!\"\r\n\r\nI am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous\r\nfit may upset him again. So I turned to him quickly, and asked him\r\nwhat it was that disturbed him.\r\n\r\nHe was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in\r\nterror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a\r\nbeaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also\r\nobserving the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he\r\ndid not see either of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face\r\nwas not a good face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual,and big\r\nwhite teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so\r\nred, were pointed like an animal's. Jonathan kept staring at him,\r\ntill I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill,\r\nhe looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was\r\ndisturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much\r\nabout it as he did, \"Do you see who it is?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, dear,\" I said. \"I don't know him, who is it?\" His answer\r\nseemed to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not\r\nknow that it was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking. \"It is the man\r\nhimself!\"\r\n\r\nThe poor dear was evidently terrified at something, very greatly\r\nterrified. I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to\r\nsupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man came\r\nout of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who\r\nthen drove off. Th e dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when\r\nthe carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction,\r\nand hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as\r\nif to himself,\r\n\r\n\"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if\r\nthis be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!\" He\r\nwas distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on\r\nthe subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I\r\ndrew away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a\r\nlittle further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green\r\nPark. It was a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat\r\nin a shady place. After a few minutes' staring at nothing,\r\nJonathan's eyes closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his\r\nhead on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so\r\ndid not disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said\r\nto me quite cheerfully,\r\n\r\n\"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so\r\nrude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere.\"\r\n\r\nHe had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in\r\nhis illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him\r\nof. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or\r\ncontinue some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I\r\nshall do more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of\r\nhis journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the\r\nparcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know,\r\nforgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.\r\n\r\nLater.\u2014A sad home-coming in every way, the house empty of the\r\ndear soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and dizzy\r\nunder a slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van\r\nHelsing, whoever he may be. \"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs.\r\nWestenra died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before\r\nyesterday. They were both buried today.\"\r\n\r\nOh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra!\r\nPoor Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor\r\nArthur, to have lost such a sweetness out of his life! God help us\r\nall to bear our troubles.\r\n\r\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY-CONT.\r\n\r\n22 September.\u2014It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and\r\nhas taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I\r\nbelieve in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's\r\ndeath as any of us, but he bore himself through it like a moral\r\nViking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a\r\npower in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest\r\npreparatory to his journey. He goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says\r\nhe returns tomorrow night, that he only wants to make some\r\narrangements which can only be made personally. He is to stop with\r\nme then, if he can. He says he has work to do in London which may\r\ntake him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the\r\npast week has broken down even his iron strength. All the time of\r\nthe burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on\r\nhimself. When it was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who,\r\npoor fellow, was speaking of his part in the operation where his\r\nblood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins. I could see Van\r\nHelsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying\r\nthat he felt since then as if they two had been really married, and\r\nthat she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word\r\nof the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and\r\nQuincey went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I\r\ncame on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way\r\nto a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it\r\nwas hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humor\r\nasserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he\r\ncried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us\r\nand misjudge. And then he cried, till he laughed again, and laughed\r\nand cried together, just as a woman does. I tried to be stern with\r\nhim, as one is to a woman under the circumstances, but it had no\r\neffect. Men and women are so different in manifestations of nervous\r\nstrength or weakness! Then when his face grew grave and stern again\r\nI asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time. His reply was in\r\na way characteristic of him, for it was logical and forceful and\r\nmysterious. He said,\r\n\r\n\"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am\r\nnot sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did\r\nchoke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the\r\nlaugh he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter\r\nwho knock at your door and say, `May I come in?' is not true\r\nlaughter. No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He\r\nask no person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, `I am\r\nhere.' Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet\r\nyoung girl. I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn. I\r\ngive my time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want\r\nthat she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave, laugh\r\nwhen the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and\r\nsay `Thud, thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood from my\r\ncheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy, that dear boy, so of the\r\nage of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with\r\nhis hair and eyes the same.\r\n\r\n\"There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say\r\nthings that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my\r\nfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man, not even you, friend\r\nJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son, yet\r\neven at such a moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow\r\nin my ear,`Here I am! Here I am!' till the blood come dance back\r\nand bring some of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek.\r\nOh, friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full\r\nof miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when King Laugh come,\r\nhe make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and\r\ndry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all\r\ndance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth\r\nof him. And believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and\r\nkind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain\r\nthat pull us different ways. Then tears come, and like the rain on\r\nthe ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too\r\ngreat, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and\r\nhe ease off the strain again, and we bear to go on with our labor,\r\nwhat it may be.\"\r\n\r\nI did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea,\r\nbut as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked\r\nhim. As he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a\r\ndifferent tone,\r\n\r\n\"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all,this so lovely lady\r\ngarlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by\r\none we wondered if she were truly dead, she laid in that so fine\r\nmarble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her\r\nkin, laid there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved,\r\nand that sacred bell going \"Toll! Toll! Toll!' so sad and slow, and\r\nthose holy men, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to\r\nread books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the page, and\r\nall of us with the bowed head. And all for what? She is dead, so!\r\nIs it not?\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, for the life of me, Professor,\" I said, \"I can't see\r\nanything to laugh at in all that. Why, your expression makes it a\r\nharder puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was\r\ncomic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart was\r\nsimply breaking.\"\r\n\r\n\"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her\r\nveins had made her truly his bride?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.\"\r\n\r\n\"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that,\r\nthen what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a\r\npolyandrist, and me,with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by\r\nChurch's law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful\r\nhusband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist.\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!\" I said, and\r\nI did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such\r\nthings. He laid his hand on my arm, and said,\r\n\r\n\"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to\r\nothers when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I\r\ncan trust. If you could have looked into my heart then when I want\r\nto laugh, if you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you\r\ncould do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all\r\nthat is to him, for he go far, far away from me, and for a long,\r\nlong time, maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all.\"\r\n\r\nI was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.\r\n\r\n\"Because I know!\"\r\n\r\nAnd now we are all scattered, and for many a long day loneliness\r\nwill sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb\r\nof her kin, a lordly death house in a lonely churchyard, away from\r\nteeming London, where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over\r\nHampstead Hill, and where wild flowers grow of their own\r\naccord.\r\n\r\nSo I can finish this diary, and God only knows if I shall ever\r\nbegin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to\r\ndeal with different people and different themes, for here at the\r\nend, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up\r\nthe thread of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope,\r\n\"FINIS\".\r\n\r\nTHE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY\r\n\r\nThe neighborhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with\r\na series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of\r\nwhat was known to the writers of headlines and \"The Kensington\r\nHorror,\" or \"The Stabbing Woman,\" or \"The Woman in Black.\" During\r\nthe past two or three days several cases have occurred of young\r\nchildren straying from home or neglecting to return from their\r\nplaying on the Heath. In all these cases the children were too\r\nyoung to give any properly intelligible account of themselves, but\r\nthe consensus of their excuses is that they had been with a\r\n\"bloofer lady.\" It has always been late in the evening when they\r\nhave been missed, and on two occasions the children have not been\r\nfound until early in the following morning. It is generally\r\nsupposed in the neighborhood that, as the first child missed gave\r\nas his reason for being away that a \"bloofer lady\" had asked him to\r\ncome for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as\r\noccasion served. This is the more natural as the favorite game of\r\nthe little ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A\r\ncorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots\r\npretending to be the \"bloofer lady\" is supremely funny. Some of our\r\ncaricaturists might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of\r\ngrotesque by comparing the reality and the picture. It is only in\r\naccordance with general principles of human nature that the\r\n\"bloofer lady\" should be the popular role at these al fresco\r\nperformances. Our correspondent naively says that even Ellen Terry\r\ncould not be so winningly attractive as some of these grubby-faced\r\nlittle children pretend, and even imagine themselves, to be.\r\n\r\nThere is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for\r\nsome of the children, indeed all who have been missed at night,\r\nhave been slightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem\r\nsuch as might be made by a rat or a small dog, and although of not\r\nmuch importance individually, would tend to show that whatever\r\nanimal inflicts them has a system or method of its own. The police\r\nof the division have been instructed to keep a sharp lookout for\r\nstraying children, especially when very young, in and around\r\nHampstead Heath, and for any stray dog which may be about.\r\n\r\nTHE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER EXTRA SPECIAL\r\n\r\nTHE HAMPSTEAD HORROR\r\n\r\nANOTHER CHILD INJURED\r\n\r\nTHE \"BLOOFER LADY\"\r\n\r\nWe have just received intelligence that another child, missed\r\nlast night, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze\r\nbush at the Shooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is\r\nperhaps, less frequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny\r\nwound in the throat as has been noticed in other cases. It was\r\nterribly weak, and looked quite emaciated. It too, when partially\r\nrestored, had the common story to tell of being lured away by the\r\n\"bloofer lady\".\r\n\r\n\r\n<\/div>","rendered":"
\n

The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that
\nLucy and her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the
\nghastly formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his
\nstaff was afflicted, or blessed, with something of his own
\nobsequious suavity. Even the woman who performed the last offices
\nfor the dead remarked to me, in a confidential,
\nbrother-professional way, when she had come out from the death
\nchamber,<\/p>\n

“She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It’s quite a privilege
\nto attend on her. It’s not too much to say that she will do credit
\nto our establishment!”<\/p>\n

I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was
\npossible from the disordered state of things in the household.
\nThere were no relatives at hand, and as Arthur had to be back the
\nnext day to attend at his father’s funeral, we were unable to
\nnotify any one who should have been bidden. Under the
\ncircumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon ourselves to examine
\npapers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy’s papers himself. I
\nasked him why, for I feared that he, being a foreigner, might not
\nbe quite aware of English legal requirements, and so might in
\nignorance make some unnecessary trouble.<\/p>\n

He answered me, “I know, I know. You forget that I am a lawyer
\nas well as a doctor. But this is not altogether for the law. You
\nknew that, when you avoided the coroner. I have more than him to
\navoid. There may be papers more, such as this.”<\/p>\n

As he spoke he took from his pocket book the memorandum which
\nhad been in Lucy’s breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.<\/p>\n

“When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late
\nMrs. Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him tonight. For me,
\nI watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy’s old room all night, and
\nI myself search for what may be. It is not well that her very
\nthoughts go into the hands of strangers.”<\/p>\n

I went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had
\nfound the name and address of Mrs. Westenra’s solicitor and had
\nwritten to him. All the poor lady’s papers were in order. Explicit
\ndirections regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly
\nsealed the letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into
\nthe room, saying,<\/p>\n

“Can I help you friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service
\nis to you.”<\/p>\n

“Have you got what you looked for?” I asked.<\/p>\n

To which he replied, “I did not look for any specific thing. I
\nonly hoped to find, and find I have, all that there was, only some
\nletters and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have them
\nhere, and we shall for the present say nothing of them. I shall see
\nthat poor lad tomorrow evening, and, with his sanction, I shall use
\nsome.”<\/p>\n

When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me, “And now,
\nfriend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you and I,
\nand rest to recuperate. Tomorrow we shall have much to do, but for
\nthe tonight there is no need of us. Alas!”<\/p>\n

Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker
\nhad certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a
\nsmall chapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white
\nflowers, and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The
\nend of the winding sheet was laid over the face. When the Professor
\nbent over and turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty
\nbefore us. The tall wax candles showing a sufficient light to note
\nit well. All Lucy’s loveliness had come back to her in death, and
\nthe hours that had passed, instead of leaving traces of `decay’s
\neffacing fingers’, had but restored the beauty of life, till
\npositively I could not believe my eyes that I was looking at a
\ncorpse.<\/p>\n

The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I
\nhad, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me,
\n“Remain till I return,” and left the room. He came back with a
\nhandful of wild garlic from the box waiting in the hall, but which
\nhad not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on
\nand around the bed. Then he took from his neck, inside his collar,
\na little gold crucifix, and placed it over the mouth. He restored
\nthe sheet to its place, and we came away.<\/p>\n

I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at
\nthe door, he entered, and at once began to speak.<\/p>\n

“Tomorrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of
\npost-mortem knives.”<\/p>\n

“Must we make an autopsy?” I asked.<\/p>\n

“Yes and no. I want to operate, but not what you think. Let me
\ntell you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head
\nand take out her heart. Ah! You a surgeon, and so shocked! You,
\nwhom I have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of
\nlife and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not
\nforget, my dear friend John, that you loved her, and I have not
\nforgotten it for is I that shall operate, and you must not help. I
\nwould like to do it tonight, but for Arthur I must not. He will be
\nfree after his father’s funeral tomorrow, and he will want to see
\nher, to see it. Then, when she is coffined ready for the next day,
\nyou and I shall come when all sleep. We shall unscrew the coffin
\nlid, and shall do our operation, and then replace all, so that none
\nknow, save we alone.”<\/p>\n

“But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor
\nbody without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem
\nand nothing to gain by it, no good to her, to us, to science, to
\nhuman knowledge, why do it? Without such it is monstrous.”<\/p>\n

For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with
\ninfinite tenderness, “Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart,
\nand I love you the more because it does so bleed. If I could, I
\nwould take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are
\nthings that you know not, but that you shall know, and bless me for
\nknowing, though they are not pleasant things. John, my child, you
\nhave been my friend now many years, and yet did you ever know me to
\ndo any without good cause? I may err, I am but man, but I believe
\nin all I do. Was it not for these causes that you send for me when
\nthe great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay horrified,
\nwhen I would not let Arthur kiss his love, though she was dying,
\nand snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw how
\nshe thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too,
\nso weak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did
\nyou not hear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes
\ngrateful? Yes!<\/p>\n

“Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for
\nmany years trust me. You have believe me weeks past, when there be
\nthings so strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a
\nlittle, friend John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I
\nthink, and that is not perhaps well. And if I work, as work I
\nshall, no matter trust or no trust, without my friend trust in me,
\nI work with heavy heart and feel, oh so lonely when I want all help
\nand courage that may be!” He paused a moment and went on solemnly,
\n“Friend John, there are strange and terrible days before us. Let us
\nnot be two, but one, that so we work to a good end. Will you not
\nhave faith in me?”<\/p>\n

I took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he
\nwent away, and watched him go to his room and close the door. As I
\nstood without moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along
\nthe passage, she had her back to me, so did not see me, and go into
\nthe room where Lucy lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare,
\nand we are so grateful to those who show it unasked to those we
\nlove. Here was a poor girl putting aside the terrors which she
\nnaturally had of death to go watch alone by the bier of the
\nmistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay might not be lonely
\ntill laid to eternal rest.<\/p>\n

I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight
\nwhen Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to
\nmy bedside and said, “You need not trouble about the knives. We
\nshall not do it.”<\/p>\n

“Why not?” I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had
\ngreatly impressed me.<\/p>\n

“Because,” he said sternly, “it is too late, or too early. See!”
\nHere he held up the little golden crucifix.<\/p>\n

“This was stolen in the night.”<\/p>\n

“How stolen,”I asked in wonder,”since you have it now?”<\/p>\n

“Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it,
\nfrom the woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment
\nwill surely come, but not through me. She knew not altogether what
\nshe did, and thus unknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.” He
\nwent away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a
\nnew puzzle to grapple with.<\/p>\n

The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came,
\nMr. Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was
\nvery genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off
\nour hands all cares as to details. During lunch he told us that
\nMrs. Westenra had for some time expected sudden death from her
\nheart, and had put her affairs in absolute order. He informed us
\nthat, with the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy’s
\nfather which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a
\ndistant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and personal,
\nwas left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had told us so much
\nhe went on,<\/p>\n

“Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary
\ndisposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave
\nher daughter either penniless or not so free as she should be to
\nact regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter
\nso far that we almost came into collision, for she asked us if we
\nwere or were not prepared to carry out her wishes. Of course, we
\nhad then no alternative but to accept. We were right in principle,
\nand ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should have proved, by
\nthe logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.<\/p>\n

“Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form
\nof disposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of
\nher wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would
\nhave come into possession of the property, and, even had she only
\nsurvived her mother by five minutes, her property would, in case
\nthere were no will, and a will was a practical impossibility in
\nsuch a case, have been treated at her decease as under intestacy.
\nIn which case Lord Godalming, though so dear a friend, would have
\nhad no claim in the world. And the inheritors, being remote, would
\nnot be likely to abandon their just rights, for sentimental reasons
\nregarding an entire stranger. I assure you, my dear sirs, I am
\nrejoiced at the result,perfectly rejoiced.”<\/p>\n

He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part,
\nin which he was officially interested, of so great a tragedy, was
\nan object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic
\nunderstanding.<\/p>\n

He did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the
\nday and see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain
\ncomfort to us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread
\nhostile criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at
\nfive o’clock, so a little before that time we visited the death
\nchamber. It was so in very truth, for now both mother and daughter
\nlay in it. The undertaker, true to his craft, had made the best
\ndisplay he could of his goods, and there was a mortuary air about
\nthe place that lowered our spirits at once.<\/p>\n

Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,
\nexplaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would
\nbe less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his
\nfiancee quite alone.<\/p>\n

The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and exerted
\nhimself to restore things to the condition in which we left them
\nthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his
\nfeelings as we could avoid were saved.<\/p>\n

Poor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken. Even his
\nstalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of
\nhis much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and
\ndevotedly attached to his father, and to lose him, and at such a
\ntime, was a bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to
\nVan Helsing he was sweetly courteous. But I could not help seeing
\nthat there was some constraint with him. The professor noticed it
\ntoo, and motioned me to bring him upstairs. I did so, and left him
\nat the door of the room, as I felt he would like to be quite alone
\nwith her, but he took my arm and led me in, saying huskily,<\/p>\n

“You loved her too, old fellow. She told me all about it, and
\nthere was no friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I
\ndon’t know how to thank you for all you have done for her. I can’t
\nthink yet\u00a0\u2026 ”<\/p>\n

Here he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my
\nshoulders and laid his head on my breast, crying, “Oh, Jack! Jack!
\nWhat shall I do? The whole of life seems gone from me all at once,
\nand there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.”<\/p>\n

I comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not
\nneed much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm
\nover the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy
\ndear to a man’s heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died
\naway, and then I said softly to him, “Come and look at her.”<\/p>\n

Together we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from
\nher face. God! How beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be
\nenhancing her loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat. And
\nas for Arthur, he fell to trembling, and finally was shaken with
\ndoubt as with an ague. At last, after a long pause, he said to me
\nin a faint whisper,”Jack, is she really dead?”<\/p>\n

I assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest, for
\nI felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment
\nlonger than I could help, that it often happened that after death
\nfaces become softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty,
\nthat this was especially so when death had been preceded by any
\nacute or prolonged suffering. I seemed to quite do away with any
\ndoubt, and after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking
\nat her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I told him that that
\nmust be goodbye, as the coffin had to be prepared, so he went back
\nand took her dead hand in his and kissed it, and bent over and
\nkissed her forehead. He came away, fondly looking back over his
\nshoulder at her as he came.<\/p>\n

I left him in the drawing room, and told Van Helsing that he had
\nsaid goodbye, so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the
\nundertaker’s men to proceed with the preperations and to screw up
\nthe coffin. When he came out of the room again I told him of
\nArthur’s question, and he replied, “I am not surprised. Just now I
\ndoubted for a moment myself!”<\/p>\n

We all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying
\nto make the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner
\ntime, but when we had lit our cigars he said, “Lord\u00a0\u2026 , but
\nArthur interrupted him.<\/p>\n

“No, no, not that, for God’s sake! Not yet at any rate. Forgive
\nme, sir. I did not mean to speak offensively. It is only because my
\nloss is so recent.”<\/p>\n

The Professor answered very sweetly, “I only used that name
\nbecause I was in doubt. I must not call you `Mr.’ and I have grown
\nto love you, yes, my dear boy, to love you, as Arthur.”<\/p>\n

Arthur held out his hand, and took the old man’s warmly. “Call
\nme 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
\nfor your goodness to my poor dear.” He paused a moment, and went
\non, “I know that she understood your goodness even better than I
\ndo. And if I was rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted
\nso, you remember,”\u2014 the Professor nodded\u2014”You must forgive me.”<\/p>\n

He answered with a grave kindness, “I know it was hard for you
\nto quite trust me then, for to trust such violence needs to
\nunderstand, and I take it that you do not, that you cannot, trust
\nme now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be more times
\nwhen I shall want you to trust when you cannot, and may not, and
\nmust 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
\nfrom first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others,
\nand for her dear sake to whom I swore to protect.”<\/p>\n

“And indeed, indeed, sir,” said Arthur warmly. “I shall in all
\nways trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and
\nyou are Jack’s friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you
\nlike.”<\/p>\n

The Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though
\nabout to speak, and finally said, “May I ask you something
\nnow?”<\/p>\n

“Certainly.”<\/p>\n

“You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?”<\/p>\n

“No, poor dear. I never thought of it.”<\/p>\n

“And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you
\nwill. I want you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy’s
\npapers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a
\nmotive of which, be sure, she would have approved. I have them all
\nhere. I took them before we knew that all was yours, so that no
\nstrange hand might touch them, no strange eye look through words
\ninto her soul. I shall keep them, if I may. Even you may not see
\nthem yet, but I shall keep them safe. No word shall be lost, and in
\nthe good time I shall give them back to you. It is a hard thing
\nthat I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucy’s sake?”<\/p>\n

Arthur spoke out heartily, like his old self, “Dr. Van Helsing,
\nyou may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I am doing
\nwhat my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you with
\nquestions till the time comes.”<\/p>\n

The old Professor stood up as he said solemnly,”And you are
\nright. There will be pain for us all, but it will not be all pain,
\nnor will this pain be the last. We and you too, you most of all,
\ndear boy, will have to pass through the bitter water before we
\nreach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and
\ndo our duty, and all will be well!”<\/p>\n

I slept on a sofa in Arthur’s room that night. Van Helsing did
\nnot go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patroling the
\nhouse, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her
\ncoffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent through the
\nodor of lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the
\nnight.<\/p>\n

MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL<\/p>\n

22 September.\u2014In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping. It
\nseems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much
\nbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away
\nand no news of him, and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a
\nsolicitor, a partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins
\ndead and buried, and Jonathan with another attack that may harm
\nhim. Some day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty
\nin my shorthand, see what unexpected prosperity does for us, so it
\nmay be as well to freshen it up again with an exercise anyhow.<\/p>\n

The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only
\nourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends of his
\nfrom Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir
\nJohn Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society.
\nJonathan and I stood hand in hand, and we felt that our best and
\ndearest friend was gone from us.<\/p>\n

We 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
\nwhile, so we sat down. But there were very few people there, and it
\nwas sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made
\nus think of the empty chair at home. So we got up and walked down
\nPiccadilly. Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to
\nin the old days before I went to school. I felt it very improper,
\nfor you can’t go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum
\nto other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a
\nbit. But it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn’t know
\nanybody who saw us, and we didn’t care if they did, so on we
\nwalked. I was looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel
\nhat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano’s, when I felt Jonathan
\nclutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his
\nbreath, “My God!”<\/p>\n

I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous
\nfit may upset him again. So I turned to him quickly, and asked him
\nwhat it was that disturbed him.<\/p>\n

He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in
\nterror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a
\nbeaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also
\nobserving the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he
\ndid not see either of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face
\nwas not a good face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual,and big
\nwhite teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so
\nred, were pointed like an animal’s. Jonathan kept staring at him,
\ntill I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill,
\nhe looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was
\ndisturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much
\nabout it as he did, “Do you see who it is?”<\/p>\n

“No, dear,” I said. “I don’t know him, who is it?” His answer
\nseemed to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not
\nknow that it was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking. “It is the man
\nhimself!”<\/p>\n

The 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
\nout of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who
\nthen drove off. Th e dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when
\nthe carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction,
\nand hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as
\nif to himself,<\/p>\n

“I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if
\nthis be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!” He
\nwas distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on
\nthe subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I
\ndrew away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a
\nlittle further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green
\nPark. It was a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat
\nin a shady place. After a few minutes’ staring at nothing,
\nJonathan’s eyes closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his
\nhead on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so
\ndid not disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said
\nto me quite cheerfully,<\/p>\n

“Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so
\nrude. Come, and we’ll have a cup of tea somewhere.”<\/p>\n

He had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in
\nhis illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him
\nof. I don’t like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or
\ncontinue some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I
\nshall do more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of
\nhis journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the
\nparcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know,
\nforgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.<\/p>\n

Later.\u2014A sad home-coming in every way, the house empty of the
\ndear soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and dizzy
\nunder a slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van
\nHelsing, whoever he may be. “You will be grieved to hear that Mrs.
\nWestenra died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before
\nyesterday. They were both buried today.”<\/p>\n

Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra!
\nPoor Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor
\nArthur, to have lost such a sweetness out of his life! God help us
\nall to bear our troubles.<\/p>\n

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY-CONT.<\/p>\n

22 September.\u2014It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and
\nhas taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I
\nbelieve in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy’s
\ndeath as any of us, but he bore himself through it like a moral
\nViking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a
\npower in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest
\npreparatory to his journey. He goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says
\nhe returns tomorrow night, that he only wants to make some
\narrangements which can only be made personally. He is to stop with
\nme then, if he can. He says he has work to do in London which may
\ntake him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the
\npast week has broken down even his iron strength. All the time of
\nthe burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on
\nhimself. When it was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who,
\npoor fellow, was speaking of his part in the operation where his
\nblood had been transfused to his Lucy’s veins. I could see Van
\nHelsing’s face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying
\nthat he felt since then as if they two had been really married, and
\nthat she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word
\nof the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and
\nQuincey went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I
\ncame on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way
\nto a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it
\nwas hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humor
\nasserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he
\ncried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us
\nand misjudge. And then he cried, till he laughed again, and laughed
\nand cried together, just as a woman does. I tried to be stern with
\nhim, as one is to a woman under the circumstances, but it had no
\neffect. Men and women are so different in manifestations of nervous
\nstrength or weakness! Then when his face grew grave and stern again
\nI asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time. His reply was in
\na way characteristic of him, for it was logical and forceful and
\nmysterious. He said,<\/p>\n

“Ah, you don’t comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am
\nnot sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did
\nchoke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the
\nlaugh he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter
\nwho knock at your door and say, `May I come in?’ is not true
\nlaughter. No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He
\nask no person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, `I am
\nhere.’ Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet
\nyoung girl. I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn. I
\ngive my time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want
\nthat she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave, laugh
\nwhen the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and
\nsay `Thud, thud!’ to my heart, till it send back the blood from my
\ncheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy, that dear boy, so of the
\nage of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with
\nhis hair and eyes the same.<\/p>\n

“There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say
\nthings that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my
\nfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man, not even you, friend
\nJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son, yet
\neven at such a moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow
\nin my ear,`Here I am! Here I am!’ till the blood come dance back
\nand bring some of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek.
\nOh, friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full
\nof miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when King Laugh come,
\nhe make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and
\ndry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all
\ndance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth
\nof him. And believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and
\nkind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain
\nthat pull us different ways. Then tears come, and like the rain on
\nthe ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too
\ngreat, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and
\nhe ease off the strain again, and we bear to go on with our labor,
\nwhat it may be.”<\/p>\n

I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea,
\nbut as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked
\nhim. As he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a
\ndifferent tone,<\/p>\n

“Oh, it was the grim irony of it all,this so lovely lady
\ngarlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by
\none we wondered if she were truly dead, she laid in that so fine
\nmarble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her
\nkin, laid there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved,
\nand that sacred bell going “Toll! Toll! Toll!’ so sad and slow, and
\nthose holy men, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to
\nread books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the page, and
\nall of us with the bowed head. And all for what? She is dead, so!
\nIs it not?”<\/p>\n

“Well, for the life of me, Professor,” I said, “I can’t see
\nanything to laugh at in all that. Why, your expression makes it a
\nharder puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was
\ncomic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart was
\nsimply breaking.”<\/p>\n

“Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her
\nveins had made her truly his bride?”<\/p>\n

“Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.”<\/p>\n

“Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that,
\nthen what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a
\npolyandrist, and me,with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by
\nChurch’s law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful
\nhusband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist.”<\/p>\n

“I don’t see where the joke comes in there either!” I said, and
\nI did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such
\nthings. He laid his hand on my arm, and said,<\/p>\n

“Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to
\nothers when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I
\ncan trust. If you could have looked into my heart then when I want
\nto laugh, if you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you
\ncould do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all
\nthat is to him, for he go far, far away from me, and for a long,
\nlong time, maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all.”<\/p>\n

I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.<\/p>\n

“Because I know!”<\/p>\n

And now we are all scattered, and for many a long day loneliness
\nwill sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb
\nof her kin, a lordly death house in a lonely churchyard, away from
\nteeming London, where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over
\nHampstead Hill, and where wild flowers grow of their own
\naccord.<\/p>\n

So I can finish this diary, and God only knows if I shall ever
\nbegin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to
\ndeal with different people and different themes, for here at the
\nend, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up
\nthe thread of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope,
\n“FINIS”.<\/p>\n

THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY<\/p>\n

The neighborhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with
\na series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of
\nwhat was known to the writers of headlines and “The Kensington
\nHorror,” or “The Stabbing Woman,” or “The Woman in Black.” During
\nthe past two or three days several cases have occurred of young
\nchildren straying from home or neglecting to return from their
\nplaying on the Heath. In all these cases the children were too
\nyoung to give any properly intelligible account of themselves, but
\nthe consensus of their excuses is that they had been with a
\n“bloofer lady.” It has always been late in the evening when they
\nhave been missed, and on two occasions the children have not been
\nfound until early in the following morning. It is generally
\nsupposed in the neighborhood that, as the first child missed gave
\nas 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 favorite game of
\nthe little ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A
\ncorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots
\npretending to be the “bloofer lady” is supremely funny. Some of our
\ncaricaturists might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of
\ngrotesque by comparing the reality and the picture. It is only in
\naccordance with general principles of human nature that the
\n“bloofer lady” should be the popular role at these al fresco
\nperformances. Our correspondent naively says that even Ellen Terry
\ncould not be so winningly attractive as some of these grubby-faced
\nlittle children pretend, and even imagine themselves, to be.<\/p>\n

There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for
\nsome of the children, indeed all who have been missed at night,
\nhave been slightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem
\nsuch as might be made by a rat or a small dog, and although of not
\nmuch importance individually, would tend to show that whatever
\nanimal inflicts them has a system or method of its own. The police
\nof the division have been instructed to keep a sharp lookout for
\nstraying children, especially when very young, in and around
\nHampstead Heath, and for any stray dog which may be about.<\/p>\n

THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER EXTRA SPECIAL<\/p>\n

THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR<\/p>\n

ANOTHER CHILD INJURED<\/p>\n

THE “BLOOFER LADY”<\/p>\n

We have just received intelligence that another child, missed
\nlast night, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze
\nbush at the Shooter’s Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is
\nperhaps, less frequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny
\nwound in the throat as has been noticed in other cases. It was
\nterribly weak, and looked quite emaciated. It too, when partially
\nrestored, had the common story to tell of being lured away by the
\n“bloofer lady”.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"menu_order":13,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-37","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/37","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":1,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/37\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":73,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/37\/revisions\/73"}],"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\/37\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=37"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=37"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=37"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=37"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}