DR. SEWARD'S DIARY-cont.
For a while
sheer anger mastered me. It
was as if he had during
her life struck Lucy on the face.
I smote the table hard and rose
up as I said to him, "Dr. Van
Helsing, are you mad?"
He raised his
head and looked at me, and
somehow the tenderness
of his face calmed me at once. "Would
I were!" he said. "Madness were
easy to bear compared with truth
like this. Oh, my friend, whey,
think you, did I go so far round,
why take so long to tell so simple
a thing? Was it because I hate
you and have hated you all my
life? Was it because I wished
to give you pain? Was it that
I wanted, no so late, revenge
for that time when you saved
my life, and from a fearful death?
Ah no!"
"Forgive me," said
I.
He went on, "My
friend, it was because I wished
to be gentle
in the breaking to you, for I
know you have loved that so sweet
lady. But even yet I do not expect
you to believe. It is so hard
to accept at once any abstract
truth, that we may doubt such
to be possible when we have always
believed the `no' of it. It is
more hard still to accept so
sad a concrete truth, and of
such a one as Miss Lucy. Tonight
I go to prove it. Dare you come
with me?"
This staggered me. A man does
not like to prove such a truth,
Byron excepted from the catagory,
jealousy.
"And prove
the very truth he most abhorred."
He saw my hesitation,
and spoke, "The
logic is simple, no madman's
logic this time, jumping from
tussock to tussock in a misty
bog. If it not be true, then
proof will be relief. At worst
it will not harm. If it be true!
Ah, there is the dread. Yet every
dread should help my cause, for
in it is some need of belief.
Come, I tell you what I propose.
First, that we go off now and
see that child in the hospital.
Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital,
where the papers say the child
is, is a friend of mine, and
I think of yours since you were
in class at Amsterdam. He will
let two scientists see his case,
if he will not let two friends.
We shall tell him nothing, but
only that we wish to learn. And
then . . ."
"And then?"
He took a key
from his pocket and held it
up. "And then we
spend the night, you and I, in
the churchyard where Lucy lies.
This is the key that lock the
tomb. I had it from the coffin
man to give to Arthur."
My heart sank within me, for
I felt that there was some fearful
ordeal before us. I could do
nothing, however, so I plucked
up what heart I could and said
that we had better hasten, as
the afternoon was passing.
We found the
child awake. It had had a sleep
and taken some
food, and altogether was going
on well. Dr, Vincent took the
bandage from its throat, and
showed us the punctures. There
was no mistaking the similarity
to those which had been on Lucy's
throat. They were smaller, and
the edges looked fresher, that
was all. We asked Vincent to
what he attributed them, and
he replied that it must have
been a bite of some animal, perhaps
a rat, but for his own part,
he was inclined to think it was
one of the bats which are so
numerous on the northern heights
of London. "Out of so many harmless
ones," he said, "there may be
some wild specimen from the South
of a more malignant species.
Some sailor may have brought
one home, and it managed to escape,
or even from the Zoological Gardens
a young one may have got loose,
or one be bred there from a vampire.
These things do occur, you, know.
Only ten days ago a wolf got
out, and was, I believe, traced
up in this direction. For a week
after, the children were playing
nothing but Red Riding Hood on
the Heath and in every alley
in the place until this `bloofer
lady' scare came along, since
then it has been quite a gala
time with them. Even this poor
little mite, when he woke up
today, asked the nurse if he
might go away. When she asked
him why he wanted to go, he said
he wanted to play with the `bloofer
lady'."
"I hope," said Van Helsing, "that
when you are sending the child
home you will caution its parents
to keep strict watch over it.
These fancies to stray are most
dangerous, and if the child were
to remain out another night,
it would probably be fatal. But
in any case I suppose you will
not let it away for some days?"
"Certainly
not, not for a week at least,
longer if the wound
is not healed."
Our visit to the hospital took
more time than we had reckoned
on, and the sun had dipped before
we came out. When Van Helsing
saw how dark it was, he said,
"There is not
hurry. It is more late than
I thought. Come,
let us seek somewhere that we
may eat, and then we shall go
on our way."
We dined at `Jack Straw's Castle'
along with a little crowd of
bicyclists and others who were
genially noisy. About ten o'clock
we started from the inn. It was
then very dark, and the scattered
lamps made the darkness greater
when we were once outside their
individual radius. The Professor
had evidently noted the road
we were to go, for he went on
unhesitatingly, but, as for me,
I was in quite a mixup as to
locality. As we went further,
we met fewer and fewer people,
till at last we were somewhat
surprised when we met even the
patrol of horse police going
their usual suburban round. At
last we reached the wall of the
churchyard, which we climbed
over. With some little difficulty,
for it was very dark, and the
whole place seemed so strange
to us, we found the Westenra
tomb. The Professor took the
key, opened the creaky door,
and standing back, politely,
but quite unconsciously, motioned
me to precede him. There was
a delicious irony in the offer,
in the courtliness of giving
preference on such a ghastly
occasion. My companion followed
me quickly, and cautiously drew
the door to, after carefully
ascertaining that the lock was
a falling, and not a spring one.
In the latter case we should
have been in a bad plight. Then
he fumbled in his bag, and taking
out a matchbox and a piece of
candle, proceeded to make a light.
The tomb in the daytime, and
when wreathed with fresh flowers,
had looked grim and gruesome
enough, but now, some days afterwards,
when the flowers hung lank and
dead, their whites turning to
rust and their greens to browns,
when the spider and the beetle
had resumed their accustomed
dominance, when the time-discolored
stone, and dust-encrusted mortar,
and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished
brass, and clouded silver-plating
gave back the feeble glimmer
of a candle, the effect was more
miserable and sordid than could
have been imagined. It conveyed
irresistibly the idea that life,
animal life, was not the only
thing which could pass away.
Van Helsing went about his
work systematically. Holding
his candle so that he could read
the coffin plates, and so holding
it that the sperm dropped in
white patches which congealed
as they touched the metal, he
made assurance of Lucy's coffin.
Another search in his bag, and
he took out a turnscrew.
"What are you going to do?" I
asked.
"To open the
coffin. You shall yet be convinced."
Straightway he began taking
out the screws, and finally lifted
off the lid, showing the casing
of lead beneath. The sight was
almost too much for me. It seemed
to be as much an affront to the
dead as it would have been to
have stripped off her clothing
in her sleep whilst living. I
actually took hold of his hand
to stop him.
He only said, "You shall see,"and
again fumbling in his bag took
out a tiny fret saw. Striking
the turnscrew through the lead
with a swift downward stab, which
made me wince, he made a small
hole, which was, however, big
enough to admit the point of
the saw. I had expected a rush
of gas from the week-old corpse.
We doctors, who have had to study
our dangers, have to become accustomed
to such things, and I drew back
towards the door. But the Professor
never stopped for a moment. He
sawed down a couple of feet along
one side of the lead coffin,
and then across, and down the
other side. Taking the edge of
the loose flange, he bent it
back towards the foot of the
coffin, and holding up the candle
into the aperture, motioned to
me to look.
I drew near
and looked. The coffin was
empty. It was certainly
a surprise to me, and gave me
a considerable shock, but Van
Helsing was unmoved. He was now
more sure than ever of his ground,
and so emboldened to proceed
in his task."Are you satisfied
now, friend John?" he asked.
I felt all
the dogged argumentativeness
of my nature awake within me
as I answered him, "I am satisfied
that Lucy's body is not in that
coffin, but that only proves
one thing."
"And what is
that, friend John?"
"That it is
not there."
"That is good logic," he said, "so
far as it goes. But how do you,
how can you, account for it not
being there?"
"Perhaps a body-snatcher," I
suggested. "Some of the undertaker's
people may have stolen it." I
felt that I was speaking folly,
and yet it was the only real
cause which I could suggest.
The Professor
sighed. "Ah well!" he
said," we must have more proof.
Come with me."
He put on the
coffin lid again, gathered
up all his things and
placed them in the bag, blew
out the light, and placed the
candle also in the bag. We opened
the door, and went out. Behind
us he closed the door and locked
it. He handed me the key, saying, "Will
you keep it? You had better be
assured."
I laughed,
it was not a very cheerful
laugh, I am bound to
say, as I motioned him to keep
it. "A key is nothing," I said, "thee
are many duplicates, and anyhow
it is not difficult to pick a
lock of this kind."
He said nothing, but put the
key in his pocket. Then he told
me to watch at one side of the
churchyard whilst he would watch
at the other.
I took up my place behind a
yew tree, and I saw his dark
figure move until the intervening
headstones and trees hid it from
my sight. It was a lonely vigil.
Just after I had taken my place
I heard a distant clock strike
twelve, and in time came one
and two. I was chilled and unnerved,
and angry with the Professor
for taking me on such an errand
and with myself for coming. I
was too cold and too sleepy to
be keenly observant, and not
sleepy enough to betray my trust,
so altogether I had a dreary,
miserable time.
Suddenly, as
I turned round, I thought I
saw something like
a white streak, moving between
two dark yew trees at the side
of the churchyard farthest from
the tomb. At the same time a
dark mass moved from the Professor's
side of the ground, and hurriedly
went towards it. Then I too moved,
but I had to go round headstones
and railed-off tombs, and I stumbled
over graves. The sky was overcast,
and somewhere far off an early
cock crew. A little ways off,
beyond a line of scattered juniper
trees, which marked the pathway
to the church, a white dim figure
flitted in the direction of the
tomb. The tomb itself was hidden
by trees, and I could not see
where the figure had disappeared.
I heard the rustle of actual
movement where I had first seen
the white figure, and coming
over, found the Professor holding
in his arms a tiny child. When
he saw me he held it out to me,
and said, "Are you satisfied
now?"
"No," I said,
in a way that I felt was aggressive.
"Do you not
see the child?"
"Yes, it is
a child, but who brought it
here? And is it wounded?"
"We shall see,"said
the Professor, and with one
impulse we took
our way out of the churchyard,
he carrying the sleeping child.
When we had got some little
distance away, we went into a
clump of trees, and struck a
match, and looked at the child's
throat. It was without a scratch
or scar of any kind.
"Was I right?" I
asked triumphantly.
"We were just in time," said
the Professor thankfully.
We had now to decide what we
were to do with the child, and
so consulted about it. If we
were to take it to a police station
we should have to give some account
of our movements during the night.
At least, we should have had
to make some statement as to
how we had come to find the child.
So finally we decided that we
would take it to the Heath, and
when we heard a policeman coming,
would leave it where he could
not fail to find it. We would
then seek our way home as quickly
as we could. All fell out well.
At the edge of Hampstead Heath
we heard a policeman's heavy
tramp, and laying the child on
the pathway, we waited and watched
until he saw it as he flashed
his lantern to and fro. We heard
his exclamation of astonishment,
and then we went away silently.
By good chance we got a cab near
the `Spainiards,' and drove to
town.
I cannot sleep, so I make this
entry. But I must try to get
a few hours' sleep, as Van Helsing
is to call for me at noon. He
insists that I go with him on
another expedition.
27 September.--It was two o'clock
before we found a suitable opportunity
for our attempt. The funeral
held at noon was all completed,
and the last stragglers of the
mourners had taken themselves
lazily away, when, looking carefully
from behind a clump of alder
trees, we saw the sexton lock
the gate after him. We knew that
we were safe till morning did
we desire it, but the Professor
told me that we should not want
more than an hour at most. Again
I felt that horrid sense of the
reality of things, in which any
effort of imagination seemed
out of place, and I realized
distinctly the perils of the
law which we were incurring in
our unhallowed work. Besides,
I felt it was all so useless.
Outrageous as it was to open
a leaden coffin, to see if a
woman dead nearly a week were
really dead, it now seemed the
height of folly to open the tomb
again, when we knew, from the
evidence of our own eyesight,
that the coffin was empty. I
shrugged my shoulders, however,
and rested silent, for Van Helsing
had a way of going on his own
road, no matter who remonstrated.
He took the key, opened the vault,
and again courteously motioned
me to precede. The place was
not so gruesome as last night,
but oh, how unutterably mean
looking when the sunshine streamed
in. Van Helsing walked over to
Lucy's coffin, and I followed.
He bent over and again forced
back the leaden flange, and a
shock of surprise and dismay
shot through me.
There lay Lucy, seemingly just
as we had seen her the night
before her funeral. She was,
if possible, more radiantly beautiful
than ever, and I could not believe
that she was dead. The lips were
red, nay redder than before,
and on the cheeks was a delicate
bloom.
"Is this a juggle?" I
said to him.
"Are you convinced now?" said
the Professor, in response, and
as he spoke he put over his hand,
and in a way that made me shudder,
pulled back the dead lips and
showed the white teeth. "See," he
went on,"they are even sharper
than before. With this and this," and
he touched one of the canine
teeth and that below it, "the
little children can be bitten.
Are you of belief now, friend
John?"
Once more argumentative
hostility woke within me. I
could not accept
such an overwhelming idea as
he suggested. So, with an attempt
to argue of which I was even
at the moment ashamed, I said, "She
may have been placed here since
last night."
"Indeed? That
is so, and by whom?"
"I do not know.
Someone has done it."
"And yet she
has been dead one week. Most
peoples in that
time would not look so."
I had no answer for this, so
was silent. Van Helsing did not
seem to notice my silence. At
any rate, he showed neither chagrin
nor triumph. He was looking intently
at the face of the dead woman,
raising the eyelids and looking
at the eyes, and once more opening
the lips and examining the teeth.
Then he turned to me and said,
"Here, there is one thing which
is different from all recorded.
Here is some dual life that is
not as the common. She was bitten
by the vampire when she was in
a trance, sleep-walking, oh,
you start. You do not know that,
friend John, but you shall know
it later, and in trance could
he best come to take more blood.
In trance she dies, and in trance
she is Un-Dead, too. So it is
that she differ from all other.
Usually when the Un-Dead sleep
at home," as he spoke he made
a comprehensive sweep of his
arm to designate what to a vampire
was `home', "their face show
what they are, but this so sweet
that was when she not Un-Dead
she go back to the nothings of
the common dead. There is no
malign there, see, and so it
make hard that I must kill her
in her sleep."
This turned my blood cold,
and it began to dawn upon me
that I was accepting Van Helsing's
theories. But if she were really
dead, what was there of terror
in the idea of killing her?
He looked up
at me, and evidently saw the
change in my face, for
he said almost joyously, "Ah,
you believe now?"
I answered, "Do
not press me too hard all at
once. I am willing
to accept. How will you do this
bloody work?"
"I shall cut
off her head and fill her mouth
with garlic, and
I shall drive a stake through
her body."
It made me shudder to think
of so mutilating the body of
the woman whom I had loved. And
yet the feeling was not so strong
as I had expected. I was, in
fact, beginning to shudder at
the presence of this being, this
Un-Dead, as Van Helsing called
it, and to loathe it. Is it possible
that love is all subjective,
or all objective?
I waited a considerable time
for Van Helsing to begin, but
he stood as if wrapped in thought.
Presently he closed the catch
of his bag with a snap, and said,
"I have been
thinking, and have made up
my mind as to what
is best. If I did simply follow
my inclining I would do now,
at this moment, what is to be
done. But there are other things
to follow, and things that are
thousand times more difficult
in that them we do not know.
This is simple. She have yet
no life taken, though that is
of time, and to act now would
be to take danger from her forever.
But then we may have to want
Arthur, and how shall we tell
him of this? If you, who saw
the wounds on Lucy's throat,
and saw the wounds so similar
on the child's at the hospital,
if you, who saw the coffin empty
last night and full today with
a woman who have not change only
to be more rose and more beautiful
in a whole week, after she die,
if you know of this and know
of the white figure last night
that brought the child to the
churchyard, and yet of your own
senses you did not believe, how
then, can I expect Arthur, who
know none of those things, to
believe?
"He doubted
me when I took him from her
kiss when she was
dying. I know he has forgiven
me because in some mistaken idea
I have done things that prevent
him say goodbye as he ought,
and he may think that in some
more mistaken idea this woman
was buried alive, and that in
most mistake of all we have killed
her. He will then argue back
that it is we, mistaken ones,
that have killed her by our ideas,
and so he will be much unhappy
always. Yet he never can be sure,
and that is the worst of all.
And he will sometimes think that
she he loved was buried alive,
and that will paint his dreams
with horrors of what she must
have suffered, and again, he
will think that we may be right,
and that his so beloved was,
after all, an Un-Dead. No! I
told him once, and since then
I learn much. Now, since I know
it is all true, a hundred thousand
times more do I know that he
must pass through the bitter
waters to reach the sweet. He,
poor fellow, must have one hour
that will make the very face
of heaven grow black to him,
then we can act for good all
round and send him peace. My
mind is made up. Let us go. You
return home for tonight to your
asylum, and see that all be well.
As for me, I shall spend the
night here in this churchyard
in my own way. Tomorrow night
you will come to me to the Berkeley
Hotel at ten of the clock. I
shall send for Arthur to come
too, and also that so fine young
man of America that gave his
blood. Later we shall all have
work to do. I come with you so
far as Piccadilly and there dine,
for I must be back here before
the sun set."
So we locked the tomb and came
away, and got over the wall of
the churchyard, which was not
much of a task, and drove back
to Piccadilly.
NOTE LEFT BY VAN HELSING IN
HIS PORTMANTEAU, BERKELEY HOTEL
DIRECTED TO JOHN SEWARD, M. D.
(Not Delivered)
27 September
"Friend John,
"I write this
in case anything should happen.
I go alone to
watch in that churchyard. It
pleases me that the Un-Dead,
Miss Lucy, shall not leave tonight,
that so on the morrow night she
may be more eager. Therefore
I shall fix some things she like
not, garlic and a crucifix, and
so seal up the door of the tomb.
She is young as Un-Dead, and
will heed. Moreover, these are
only to prevent her coming out.
They may not prevail on her wanting
to get in, for then the Un-Dead
is desperate, and must find the
line of least resistance, whatsoever
it may be. I shall be at hand
all the night from sunset till
after sunrise, and if there be
aught that may be learned I shall
learn it. For Miss Lucy or from
her, I have no fear, but that
other to whom is there that she
is Un-Dead, he have not the power
to seek her tomb and find shelter.
He is cunning, as I know from
Mr. Jonathan and from the way
that all along he have fooled
us when he played with us for
Miss Lucy's life, and we lost,
and in many ways the Un-Dead
are strong. He have always the
strength in his hand of twenty
men, even we four who gave our
strength to Miss Lucy it also
is all to him. Besides, he can
summon his wolf and I know not
what. So if it be that he came
thither on this night he shall
find me. But none other shall,
until it be too late. But it
may be that he will not attempt
the place. There is no reason
why he should. His hunting ground
is more full of game than the
churchyard where the Un-Dead
woman sleeps, and the one old
man watch.
"Therefore
I write this in case . . .
Take the papers that
are with this, the diaries of
Harker and the rest, and read
them, and then find this great
Un-Dead, and cut off his head
and burn his heart or drive a
stake through it, so that the
world may rest from him.
"If it be so,
farewell.
"VAN HELSING."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
28 September.--It is wonderful
what a good night's sleep will
do for one. Yesterday I was almost
willing to accept Van Helsing's
monstrous ideas, but now they
seem to start out lurid before
me as outrages on common sense.
I have no doubt that he believes
it all. I wonder if his mind
can have become in any way unhinged.
Surely there must be some rational
explanation of all these mysterious
things. Is it possible that the
Professor can have done it himself?
He is so abnormally clever that
if he went off his head he would
carry out his intent with regard
to some fixed idea in a wonderful
way. I am loathe to think it,
and indeed it would be almost
as great a marvel as the other
to find that Van Helsing was
mad, but anyhow I shall watch
him carefully. I may get some
light on the mystery.
29 September.--Last
night, at a little before ten
o'clock,
Arthur and Quincey came into
Van Helsing's room. He told us
all what he wanted us to do,
but especially addressing himself
to Arthur, as if all our wills
were centered in his. He began
by saying that he hoped we would
all come with him too, "for," he
said, "there is a grave duty
to be done there. You were doubtless
surprised at my letter?" This
query was directly addressed
to Lord Godalming. "I was. It
rather upset me for a bit. There
has been so much trouble around
my house of late that I could
do without any more. I have been
curious, too, as to what you
mean.
"Quincey and
I talked it over, but the more
we talked, the more
puzzled we got, till now I can
say for myself that I'm about
up a tree as to any meaning about
anything."
"Me too," said
Quincey Morris laconically.
"Oh," said the Professor, "then
you are nearer the beginning,
both of you, than friend John
here, who has to go a long way
back before he can even get so
far as to begin."
It was evident that he recognized
my return to my old doubting
frame of mind without my saying
a word. Then, turning to the
other two, he said with intense
gravity,
"I want your
permission to do what I think
good this night.
It is, I know, much to ask, and
when you know what it is I propose
to do you will know, and only
then how much. Therefore may
I ask that you promise me in
the dark, so that afterwards,
though you may be angry with
me for a time, I must not disguise
from myself the possibility that
such may be, you shall not blame
yourselves for anything."
"That's frank anyhow," broke
in Quincey. "I'll answer for
the Professor. I don't quite
see his drift, but I swear he's
honest, and that's good enough
for me."
"I thank you, Sir," said Van
Helsing proudly. "I have done
myself the honor of counting
you one trusting friend, and
such endorsement is dear to me." He
held out a hand, which Quincey
took.
Then Arthur
spoke out, "Dr.
Van Helsing, I don't quite like
to `buy a pig in a poke', as
they say in Scotland, and if
it be anything in which my honour
as a gentleman or my faith as
a Christian is concerned, I cannot
make such a promise. If you can
assure me that what you intend
does not violate either of these
two, then I give my consent at
once, though for the life of
me, I cannot understand what
you are driving at."
"I accept your limitation," said
Van Helsing, "and all I ask of
you is that if you feel it necessary
to condemn any act of mine, you
will first consider it well and
be satisfied that it does not
violate your reservations."
"Agreed!" said Arthur. "That
is only fair. And now that the
pourparlers are over, may I ask
what it is we are to do?"
"I want you
to come with me, and to come
in secret, to the
churchyard at Kingstead."
Arthur's face fell as he said
in an amazed sort of way,
"Where poor
Lucy is buried?"
The Professor bowed.
Arthur went
on, "And when there?"
"To enter the
tomb!"
Arthur stood
up. "Professor,
are you in earnest, or is it
some monstrous joke? Pardon me,
I see that you are in earnest." He
sat down again, but I could see
that he sat firmly and proudly,
as one who is on his dignity.
There was silence until he asked
again, "And when in the tomb?"
"To open the
coffin."
"This is too much!" he said,
angrily rising again. "I am willing
to be patient in all things that
are reasonable, but in this,
this desecration of the grave,
of one who . . ." He fairly choked
with indignation.
The Professor
looked pityingly at him."If I could spare you
one pang, my poor friend," he
said, "God knows I would. But
this night our feet must tread
in thorny paths, or later, and
for ever, the feet you love must
walk in paths of flame!"
Arthur looked
up with set white face and
said, "Take care, sir,
take care!"
"Would it not be well to hear
what I have to say?" said Van
Helsing. "And then you will at
least know the limit of my purpose.
Shall I go on?"
"That's fair enough," broke
in Morris.
After a pause
Van Helsing went on, evidently
with an effort, "Miss
Lucy is dead, is it not so? Yes!
Then there can be no wrong to
her. But if she be not dead.
. ."
Arthur jumped
to his feet, "Good
God!" he cried. "What do you
mean? Has there been any mistake,
has she been buried alive?"He
groaned in anguish that not even
hope could soften.
"I did not
say she was alive, my child.
I did not think it.
I go no further than to say that
she might be Un-Dead."
"Un-Dead! Not
alive! What do you mean? Is
this all a nightmare,
or what is it?"
"There are
mysteries which men can only
guess at, which
age by age they may solve only
in part. Believe me, we are now
on the verge of one. But I have
not done. May I cut off the head
of dead Miss Lucy?"
"Heavens and earth, no!" cried
Arthur in a storm of passion. "Not
for the wide world will I consent
to any mutilation of her dead
body. Dr. Van Helsing, you try
me too far. What have I done
to you that you should torture
me so? What did that poor, sweet
girl do that you should want
to cast such dishonor on her
grave? Are you mad, that you
speak of such things, or am I
mad to listen to them? Don't
dare think more of such a desecration.
I shall not give my consent to
anything you do. I have a duty
to do in protecting her grave
from outrage, and by God, I shall
do it!"
Van Helsing
rose up from where he had all
the time been seated,
and said, gravely and sternly, "My
Lord Godalming, I too, have a
duty to do, a duty to others,
a duty to you, a duty to the
dead, and by God, I shall do
it! All I ask you now is that
you come with me, that you look
and listen, and if when later
I make the same request you do
not be more eager for its fulfillment
even than I am, then, I shall
do my duty, whatever it may seem
to me. And then, to follow your
Lordship's wishes I shall hold
myself at your disposal to render
an account to you, when and where
you will." His voice broke a
little, and he went on with a
voice full of pity.
"But I beseech you, do not
go forth in anger with me. In
a long life of acts which were
often not pleasant to do, and
which sometimes did wring my
heart, I have never had so heavy
a task as now. Believe me that
if the time comes for you to
change your mind towards me,
one look from you will wipe away
all this so sad hour, for I would
do what a man can to save you
from sorrow. Just think. For
why should I give myself so much
labor and so much of sorrow?
I have come here from my own
land to do what I can of good,
at the first to please my friend
John, and then to help a sweet
young lady, whom too, I come
to love. For her, I am ashamed
to say so much, but I say it
in kindness, I gave what you
gave, the blood of my veins.
I gave it, I who was not, like
you, her lover, but only her
physician and her friend. I gave
her my nights and days, before
death, after death, and if my
death can do her good even now,
when she is the dead Un-Dead,
she shall have it freely." He
said this with a very grave,
sweet pride, and Arthur was much
affected by it.
He took the
old man's hand and said in
a broken voice, "Oh,
it is hard to think of it, and
I cannot understand, but at least
I shall go with you and wait." |