LETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY
WESTENRA
Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
"My dearest
Lucy,
"I know you
will be anxious to hear all
that has happened
since we parted at the railway
station at Whitby.
"Well, my dear,
I got to Hull all right, and
caught the boat
to Hamburg, and then the train
on here. I feel that I can hardly
recall anything of the journey,
except that I knew I was coming
to Jonathan, and that as I should
have to do some nursing, I had
better get all the sleep I could.
I found my dear one, oh, so thin
and pale and weaklooking. All
the resolution has gone out of
his dear eyes, and that quiet
dignity which I told you was
in his face has vanished. He
is only a wreck of himself, and
he does not remember anything
that has happened to him for
a long time past. At least, he
wants me to believe so, and I
shall never ask.
"He has had
some terrible shock, and I
fear it might tax his poor
brain if he were to try to recall
it. Sister Agatha, who is a good
creature and a born nurse, tells
me that he wanted her to tell
me what they were, but she would
only cross herself, and say she
would never tell. That the ravings
of the sick were the secrets
of God, and that if a nurse through
her vocation should hear them,
she should respect her trust..
"She is a sweet,
good soul, and the next day,
when she saw
I was troubled, she opened up
the subject my poor dear raved
about, added, `I can tell you
this much, my dear. That it was
not about anything which he has
done wrong himself, and you,
as his wife to be, have no cause
to be concerned. He has not forgotten
you or what he owes to you. His
fear was of great and terrible
things, which no mortal can treat
of.'
"I do believe
the dear soul thought I might
be jealous lest
my poor dear should have fallen
in love with any other girl.
The idea of my being jealous
about Jonathan! And yet, my dear,
let me whisper, I felt a thrill
of joy through me when I knew
that no other woman was a cause
for trouble. I am now sitting
by his bedside, where I can see
his face while he sleeps. He
is waking!
"When he woke
he asked me for his coat, as
he wanted to get
something from the pocket. I
asked Sister Agatha, and she
brought all his things. I saw
amongst them was his notebook,
and was was going to ask him
to let me look at it, for I knew
that I might find some clue to
his trouble, but I suppose he
must have seen my wish in my
eyes, for he sent me over to
the window, saying he wanted
to be quite alone for a moment.
"Then he called
me back, and he said to me
very solemnly,
`Wilhelmina', I knew then that
he was in deadly earnest, for
he has never called me by that
name since he asked me to marry
him, `You know, dear, my ideas
of the trust between husband
and wife. There should be no
secret, no concealment. I have
had a great shock, and when I
try to think of what it is I
feel my head spin round, and
I do not know if it was real
of the dreaming of a madman.
You know I had brain fever, and
that is to be mad. The secret
is here, and I do not want to
know it. I want to take up my
life here, with our marriage.'
For, my dear, we had decided
to be married as soon as the
formalities are complete. `Are
you willing, Wilhelmina, to share
my ignorance? Here is the book.
Take it and keep it, read it
if you will,but never let me
know unless, indeed, some solemn
duty should come upon me to go
back to the bitter hours, asleep
or awake, sane or mad, recorded
here.' He fell back exhausted,
and I put the book under his
pillow, and kissed him. have
asked Sister Agatha to beg the
Superior to let our wedding be
this afternoon, and am waiting
her reply . . ."
"She has come
and told me that the Chaplain
of the English mission
church has been sent for. We
are to be married in an hour,
or as soon after as Jonathan
awakes."
"Lucy, the
time has come and gone. I feel
very solemn, but
very, very happy. Jonathan woke
a little after the hour, and
all was ready, and he sat up
in bed, propped up with pillows.
He answered his `I will' firmly
and strong. I could hardly speak.
My heart was so full that even
those words seemed to choke me.
"The dear sisters
were so kind. Please, God,
I shall never, never
forget them, nor the grave and
sweet responsibilities I have
taken upon me. I must tell you
of my wedding present. When the
chaplain and the sisters had
left me alone with my husband--oh,
Lucy, it is the first time I
have written the words `my husband'--left
me alone with my husband, I took
the book from under his pillow,
and wrapped it up in white paper,
and tied it with a little bit
of pale blue ribbon which was
round my neck, and sealed it
over the knot with sealing wax,
and for my seal I used my wedding
ring. Then I kissed it and showed
it to my husband, and told him
that I would keep it so, and
then it would be an outward and
visible sign for us all our lives
that we trusted each other, that
I would never open it unless
it were for his own dear sake
or for the sake of some stern
duty. Then he took my hand in
his, and oh, Lucy, it was the
first time he took his wifes'
hand, and said that it was the
dearest thing in all the wide
world, and that he would go through
all the past again to win it,
if need be. The poor dear meant
to have said a part of the past,
but he cannot think of time yet,
and I shall not wonder if at
first he mixes up not only the
month, but the year.
"Well, my dear,
could I say? I could only tell
him that I
was the happiest woman in all
the wide world, and that I had
nothing to give him except myself,
my life, and my trust, and that
with these went my love and duty
for all the days of my life.
And, my dear, when he kissed
me, and drew me to him with his
poor weak hands, it was like
a solemn pledge between us.
"Lucy dear, do you know why
I tell you all this? It is not
only because it is all sweet
to me, but because you have been,
and are, very dear to me. It
was my privilege to be your friend
and guide when you came from
the schoolroom to prepare for
the world of life. I want you
to see now, and with the eyes
of a very happy wife, whither
duty has led me, so that in your
own married life you too may
be all happy, as I am. My dear,
please Almighty God, your life
may be all it promises, a long
day of sunshine, with no harsh
wind, no forgetting duty, no
distrust. I must not wish you
no pain, for that can never be,
but I do hope you will be always
as happy as I am now. Goodbye,
my dear. I shall post this at
once, and perhaps, write you
very soon again. I must stop,
for Jonathan is waking. I must
attend my husband! "Your ever-loving "Mina
Harker."
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA
HARKER.
Whitby, 30 August.
"My dearest
Mina,
"Oceans of love and millions
of kisses, and may you soon be
in your own home with your husband.
I wish you were coming home soon
enough to stay with us here.
The strong air would soon restore
Jonathan. It has quite restored
me. I have an appetite like a
cormorant, am full of life, and
sleep well. You will be glad
to know that I have quite given
up walking in my sleep. I think
I have not stirred out of my
bed for a week, that is when
I once got into it at night.
Arthur says I am getting fat.
By the way, I forgot to tell
you that Arthur is here. We have
such walks and drives, and rides,
and rowing, and tennis, and fishing
together, and I love him more
than ever. He tells me that he
loves me more, but I doubt that,
for at first he told me that
he couldn't love me more than
he did then. But this is nonsense.
There he is, calling to me. So
no more just at present from
your loving, "Lucy.
"P. S.--Mother
sends her love. She seems better,
poor dear.
"P. P.S.--We
are to be married on 28 September."
DR. SEWARDS DIARY
20 August.--The
case of Renfield grows even
more interesting.
He has now so far quieted that
there are spells of cessation
from his passion. For the first
week after his attack he was
perpetually violent. Then one
night, just as the moon rose,
he grew quiet, and kept murmuring
to himself. "Now I can wait.
Now I can wait."
The attendant came to tell
me, so I ran down at once to
have a look at him. He was still
in the strait waistcoat and in
the padded room, but the suffused
look had gone from his face,
and his eyes had something of
their old pleading. I might almost
say, cringing, softness. I was
satisfied with his present condition,
and directed him to be relieved.
The attendants hesitated, but
finally carried out my wishes
without protest.
It was a strange
thing that the patient had
humour enough
to see their distrust, for, coming
close to me, he said in a whisper,
all the while looking furtively
at them, "They think I could
hurt you! Fancy me hurting you!
The fools!"
It was soothing, somehow, to
the feelings to find myself disassociated
even in the mind of this poor
madman from the others, but all
the same I do not follow his
thought. Am I to take it that
I have anything in common with
him, so that we are, as it were,
to stand together. Or has he
to gain from me some good so
stupendous that my well being
is needful to Him? I must find
out later on. Tonight he will
not speak. Even the offer of
a kitten or even a full-grown
cat will not tempt him.
He will only
say, "I don't
take any stock in cats. I have
more to think of now, and I can
wait. I can wait."
After a while I left him. The
attendant tells me that he was
quiet until just before dawn,
and that then he began to get
uneasy, and at length violent,
until at last he fell into a
paroxysm which exhausted him
so that he swooned into a sort
of coma.
. . . Three nights has the
same thing happened, violent
all day then quiet from moonrise
to sunrise. I wish I could get
some clue to the cause. It would
almost seem as if there was some
influence which came and went.
Happy thought! We shall tonight
play sane wits against mad ones.
He escaped before without our
help. Tonight he shall escape
with it. We shall give him a
chance, and have the men ready
to follow in case they are required.
23 August.--"The expected always
happens." How well Disraeli knew
life. Our bird when he found
the cage open would not fly,
so all our subtle arrangements
were for nought. At any rate,
we have proved one thing, that
the spells of quietness last
a reasonable time. We shall in
future be able to ease his bonds
for a few hours each day. I have
given orders to the night attendant
merely to shut him in the padded
room, when once he is quiet,
until the hour before sunrise.
The poor soul's body will enjoy
the relief even if his mind cannot
appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected
again! I am called. The patient
has once more escaped.
Later.--Another night adventure.
Renfield artfully waited until
the attendant was entering the
room to inspect. Then he dashed
out past him and flew down the
passage. I sent word for the
attendants to follow. Again he
went into the grounds of the
deserted house, and we found
him in the same place, pressed
against the old chapel door.
When he saw me he became furious,
and had not the attendants seized
him in time, he would have tried
to kill me. As we sere holding
him a strange thing happened.
He suddenly redoubled his efforts,
and then as suddenly grew calm.
I looked round instinctively,
but could see nothing. Then I
caught the patient's eye and
followed it, but could trace
nothing as it looked into the
moonlight sky, except a big bat,
which was flapping its silent
and ghostly way to the west.
Bats usually wheel about, but
this one seemed to go straight
on, as if it knew where it was
bound for or had some intention
of its own.
The patient
grew calmer every instant,
and presently said, "You
needn't tie me. I shall go quietly!" Without
trouble, we came back to the
house. I feel there is something
ominous in his calm, and shall
not forget this night.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
Hillingham, 24 August.--I must
imitate Mina, and keep writing
things down. Then we can have
long talks when we do meet. I
wonder when it will be. I wish
she were with me again, for I
feel so unhappy. Last night I
seemed to be dreaming again just
as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it
is the change of air, or getting
home again. It is all dark and
horrid to me, for I can remember
nothing. But I am full of vague
fear, and I feel so weak and
worn out. When Arthur came to
lunch he looked quite grieved
when he saw me, and I hadn't
the spirit to try to be cheerful.
I wonder if I could sleep in
mother's room tonight. I shall
make an excuse to try.
25 August.--Another bad night.
Mother did not seem to take to
my proposal. She seems not too
well herself, and doubtless she
fears to worry me. I tried to
keep awake, and succeeded for
a while, but when the clock struck
twelve it waked me from a doze,
so I must have been falling asleep.
There was a sort of scratching
or flapping at the window, but
I did not mind it, and as I remember
no more, I suppose I must have
fallen asleep. More bad dreams.
I wish I could remember them.
This morning I am horribly weak.
My face is ghastly pale, and
my throat pains me. It must be
something wrong with my lungs,
for I don't seem to be getting
air enough. I shall try to cheer
up when Arthur comes, or else
I know he will be miserable to
see me so.
LETTER, ARTHUR TO DR. SEWARD
"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August "My
dear Jack,
"I want you to do me a favour.
Lucy is ill, that is she has
no special disease, but she looks
awful, and is getting worse every
day. I have asked her if there
is any cause, I not dare to ask
her mother, for to disturb the
poor lady's mind about her daughter
in her present state of health
would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra
has confided to me that her doom
is spoken, disease of the heart,
though poor Lucy does not know
it yet. I am sure that there
is something preying on my dear
girl's mind. I am almost distracted
when I think of her. To look
at her gives me a pang. I told
her I should ask you to see her,
and though she demurred at first,
I know why, old fellow, she finally
consented. It will be a painful
task for you, I know, old friend,
but it is for her sake, and I
must not hesitate to ask, or
you to act. You are to come to
lunch at Hillingham tomorrow,
two o'clock, so as not to arouse
any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra,
and after lunch Lucy will take
an opportunity of being alone
with you. I am filled with anxiety,
and want to consult with you
alone as soon as I can after
you have seen her. Do not fail! "Arthur." TELEGRAM,
ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD
1 September
"Am summoned
to see my father, who is worse.
Am writing. Write
me fully by tonight's post to
Ring. Wire me if necessary."
LETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTHUR
HOLMWOOD
2 September
"My dear old
fellow,
"With regard
to Miss Westenra's health I
hasten to let you know
at once that in my opinion there
is not any functal disturbance
or any malady that I know of.
At the same time, I am not by
any means satisfied with her
appearance. She is woefully different
from what she was when I saw
her last. Of course you must
bear in mind that I did not have
full opportunity of examination
such as I should wish. Our very
friendship makes a little difficulty
which not even medical science
or custom can bridge over. I
had better tell you exactly what
happened, leaving you to draw,
in a measure, your own conclusions.
I shall then say what I have
done and propose doing.
"I found Miss
Westenra in seemingly gay spirits.
Her mother was present,
and in a few seconds I made up
my mind that she was trying all
she knew to mislead her mother
and prevent her from being anxious.
I have no doubt she guesses,
if she does not know, what need
of caution there is.
"We lunched
alone, and as we all exerted
ourselves to be cheerful,
we got, as some kind of reward
for our labours, some real cheerfulness
amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra
went to lie down, and Lucy was
left with me. We went into her
boudoir, and till we got there
her gaiety remained, for the
servants were coming and going.
"As soon as
the door was closed, however,
the mask fell from her
face, and she sank down into
a chair with a great sigh, and
hid her eyes with her hand. When
I saw that her high spirits had
failed, I at once took advantage
of her reaction to make a diagnosis.
"She said to
me very sweetly, `I cannot
tell you how I loathe
talking about myself.' I reminded
her that a doctor's confidence
was sacred, but that you were
grievously anxious about her.
She caught on to my meaning at
once, and settled that matter
in a word. `Tell Arthur everything
you choose. I do not care for
myself, but for him!' So I am
quite free.
"I could easily
see that she was somewhat bloodless,
but I
could not see the usual anemic
signs, and by the chance ,I was
able to test the actual quality
of her blood, for in opening
a window which was stiff a cord
gave way, and she cut her hand
slightly with broken glass. It
was a slight matter in itself,
but it gave me an evident chance,
and I secured a few drops of
the blood and have analysed them.
"The qualitative
analysis give a quite normal
condition, and
shows, I should infer, in itself
a vigorous state of health. In
other physical matters I was
quite satisfied that there is
no need for anxiety, but as there
must be a cause somewhere, I
have come to the conclusion that
it must be something mental.
"She complains
of difficulty breathing satisfactorily
at times,
and of heavy, lethargic sleep,
with dreams that frighten her,
but regarding which she can remember
nothing. She says that as a child,
she used to walk in her sleep,
and that when in Whitby the habit
came back, and that once she
walked out in the night and went
to East Cliff, where Miss Murray
found her. But she assures me
that of late the habit has not
returned.
"I am in doubt,
and so have done the best thing
I know of.
I have written to my old friend
and master, Professor Van Helsing,
of Amsterdam, who knows as much
about obscure diseases as any
one in the world. I have asked
him to come over, and as you
told me that all things were
to be at your charge, I have
mentioned to him who you are
and your relations to Miss Westenra.
This, my dear fellow, is in obedience
to your wishes, for I am only
too proud and happy to do anything
I can for her.
"Van Helsing
would, I know, do anything
for me for a personal
reason, so no matter on what
ground he comes, we must accept
his wishes. He is a seemingly
arbitrary man, this is because
he knows what he is talking about
better than any one else. He
is a philosopher and a metaphysician,
and one of the most advanced
scientists of his day, and he
has, I believe, an absolutely
open mind. This, with an iron
nerve, a temper of the ice-brook,
and indomitable resolution, self-command,
and toleration exalted from virtues
to blessings, and the kindliest
and truest heart that beats,
these form his equipment for
the noble work that he is doing
for mankind, work both in theory
and practice, for his views are
as wide as his all-embracing
sympathy. I tell you these facts
that you may know why I have
such confidence in him. I have
asked him to come at once. I
shall see Miss Westenra tomorrow
again. She is to meet me at the
Stores, so that I may not alarm
her mother by too early a repetition
of my call.
"Yours always."
John Seward
LETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING,
MD, DPh, D. LiT, ETC, ETC, TO
DR. SEWARD
2 September.
"My good Friend,
"When I received
your letter I am already coming
to you. By
good fortune I can leave just
at once, without wrong to any
of those who have trusted me.
Were fortune other, then it were
bad for those who have trusted,
for I come to my friend when
he call me to aid those he holds
dear. Tell your friend that when
that time you suck from my wound
so swiftly the poison of the
gangrene from that knife that
our other friend, too nervous,
let slip, you did more for him
when he wants my aids and you
call for them than all his great
fortune could do. But it is pleasure
added to do for him, your friend,
it is to you that I come. Have
near at hand, and please it so
arrange that we may see the young
lady not too late on tomorrow,
for it is likely that I may have
to return here that night. But
if need be I shall come again
in three days, and stay longer
if it must. Till then goodbye,
my friend John.
"Van Helsing."
LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON.
ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
3 September
"My dear Art,
"Van Helsing
has come and gone. He came
on with me to Hillingham,
and found that, by Lucy's discretion,
her mother was lunching out,
so that we were alone with her.
"Van Helsing
made a very careful examination
of the patient. He
is to report to me, and I shall
advise you, for of course I was
not present all the time. He
is, I fear, much concerned, but
says he must think. When I told
him of our friendship and how
you trust to me in the matter,
he said, `You must tell him all
you think. Tell him him what
I think, if you can guess it,
if you will. Nay, I am not jesting.
This is no jest, but life and
death, perhaps more.' I asked
what he meant by that, for he
was very serious. This was when
we had come back to town, and
he was having a cup of tea before
starting on his return to Amsterdam.
He would not give me any further
clue. You must not be angry with
me, Art, because his very reticence
means that all his brains are
working for her good. He will
speak plainly enough when the
time comes, be sure. So I told
him I would simply write an account
of our visit, just as if I were
doing a descriptive special article
for THE DAILY TELEGRAPH. He seemed
not to notice, but remarked that
the smuts of London were not
quite so bad as they used to
be when he was a student here.
I am to get his report tomorrow
if he can possibly make it. In
any case I am to have a letter.
"Well, as to
the visit, Lucy was more cheerful
than on the
day I first saw her, and certainly
looked better. She had lost something
of the ghastly look that so upset
you, and her breathing was normal.
She was very sweet to the Professor
(as she always is),and tried
to make him feel at ease, though
I could see the poor girl was
making a hard struggle for it.
"I believe
Van Helsing saw it, too, for
I saw the quick
look under his bushy brows that
I knew of old. Then he began
to chat of all things except
ourselves and diseases and with
such an infinite geniality that
I could see poor Lucy's pretense
of animation merge into reality.
Then, without any seeming change,
he brought the conversation gently
round to his visit, and sauvely
said,
"`My dear young miss, I have
the so great pleasure because
you are so much beloved. That
is much, my dear, even were there
that which I do not see. They
told me you were down in the
spirit, and that you were of
a ghastly pale. To them I say "Pouf!" '
And he snapped his fingers at
me and went on. `But you and
I shall show them how wrong they
are. How can he', and he pointed
at me with the same look and
gesture as that with which he
pointed me out in his class,
on, or rather after, a particular
occasion which he never fails
to remind me of, `know anything
of a young ladies? He has his
madmen to play with, and to bring
them back to happiness, and to
those that love them. It is much
to do, and, oh, but there are
rewards in that we can bestow
such happiness. But the young
ladies! He has no wife nor daughter,
and the young do not tell themselves
to the young, but to the old,
like me, who have known so many
sorrows and the causes of them.
So, my dear, we will send him
away to smoke the cigarette in
the garden, whiles you and I
have little talk all to ourselves.'
I took the hint, and strolled
about, and presently the professor
came to the window and called
me in. He looked grave, but said,
` I have made careful examination,
but there is no functional cause.
With you I agree that there has
been much blood lost, it has
been but is not. But the conditions
of her are in no way anemic.
I have asked her to send me her
maid, that I may ask just one
or two questions, that so I may
not chance to miss nothing. I
know well what she will say.
And yet there is cause. There
is always cause for everything.
I must go back home and think.
You must send me the telegram
every day, and if there be cause
I shall come again. The disease,
for not to be well is a disease,
interest me, and the sweet, young
dear, she interest me too. She
charm me, and for her, if not
for you or disease, I come.'
"As I tell
you, he would not say a word
more, even when we
were alone. And so now, Art,
you know all I know. I shall
keep stern watch. I trust your
poor father is rallying. It must
be a terrible thing to you, my
dear old fellow, to be placed
in such a position between two
people who are both so dear to
you. I know your idea of duty
to your father, and you are right
to stick to it. But if need be,
I shall send you word to come
at once to Lucy, so do not be
over-anxious unless you hear
from me."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
4 September.--Zoophagous patient
still keeps up our interest in
him. He had only one outburst
and that was yesterday at an
unusual time. Just before the
stroke of noon he began to grow
restless. The attendant knew
the symptoms, and at once summoned
aid. Fortunately the men came
at a run, and were just in time,
for at the stroke of noon he
became so violent that it took
all their strength to hold him.
In about five minutes, however,
he began to get more quiet,and
finally sank into a sort of melancholy,
in which state he has remained
up to now. The attendant tells
me that his screams whilst in
the paroxysm were really appalling.
I found my hands full when I
got in, attending to some of
the other patients who were frightened
by him. Indeed, I can quite understand
the effect, for the sounds disturbed
even me, though I was some distance
away. It is now after the dinner
hour of the asylum, and as yet
my patient sits in a corner brooding,
with a dull, sullen, woe-begone
look in his face, which seems
rather to indicate than to show
something directly. I cannot
quite understand it.
Later.--Another change in my
patient. At five o'clock I looked
in on him, and found him seemingly
as happy and contented as he
used to be. He was catching flies
and eating them, and was keeping
note of his capture by making
nailmarks on the edge of the
door between the ridges of padding.
When he saw me, he came over
and apologized for his bad conduct,
and asked me in a very humble,
cringing way to be led back to
his own room, and to have his
notebook again. I thought it
well to humour him, so he is
back in his room with the window
open. He has the sugar of his
tea spread out on the window
sill, and is reaping quite a
harvest of flies. He is not now
eating them, but putting them
into a box, as of old, and is
already examining the corners
of his room to find a spider.
I tried to get him to talk about
the past few days, for any clue
to his thoughts would be of immense
help to me, but he would not
rise. For a moment or two he
looked very sad, and said in
a sort of far away voice, as
though saying it rather to himself
than to me.
"All over! All over! He has
deserted me. No hope for me now
unless I do it myself!" Then
suddenly turning to me in a resolute
way, he said,"Doctor, won't you
be very good to me and let me
have a little more sugar? I think
it would be very good for me."
"And the flies?" I
said.
"Yes! The flies like it, too,
and I like the flies, therefore
I like it."And there are people
who know so little as to think
that madmen do not argue. I procured
him a double supply, and left
him as happy a man as, I suppose,
any in the world. I wish I could
fathom his mind.
Midnight.--Another
change in him. I had been to
see Miss Westenra,
whom I found much better, and
had just returned, and was standing
at our own gate looking at the
sunset, when once more I heard
him yelling. As his room is on
this side of the house, I could
hear it better than in the morning.
It was a shock to me to turn
from the wonderful smoky beauty
of a sunset over London, with
its lurid lights and inky shadows
and all the marvellous tints
that come on foul clouds even
as on foul water, and to realize
all the grim sternness of my
own cold stone building, with
its wealth of breathing misery,
and my own desolate heart to
endure it all. I reached him
just as the sun was going down,
and from his window saw the red
disc sink. As it sank he became
less and less frenzied, and just
as it dipped he slid from the
hands that held him, an inert
mass, on the floor. It is wonderful,
however, what intellectual recuperative
power lunatics have, for within
a few minutes he stood up quite
calmly and looked around him.
I signalled to the attendants
not to hold him, for I was anxious
to see what he would do. He went
straight over to the window and
brushed out the crumbs of sugar.
Then he took his fly box, and
emptied it outside, and threw
away the box. Then he shut the
window, and crossing over, sat
down on his bed. All this surprised
me, so I asked him,"Are you going
to keep flies any more?"
"No," said he. "I am sick of
all that rubbish!" He certainly
is a wonderfully interesting
study. I wish I could get some
glimpse of his mind or of the
cause of his sudden passion.
Stop. There may be a clue after
all, if we can find why today
his paroxysms came on at high
noon and at sunset. Can it be
that there is a malign influence
of the sun at periods which affects
certain natures, as at times
the moon does others? We shall
see.
TELEGRAM. SEWARD, LONDON, TO
VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"4 September.--Patient
still better today."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO
VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"5 September.--Patient
greatly improved. Good appetite,
sleeps
naturally, good spirits, color
coming back."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO
VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"6 September.--Terrible
change for the worse. Come
at once.
Do not lose an hour. I hold over
telegram to Holmwood till have
seen you." |