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When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I
heard a whispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened.
Unless my ears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count:
«Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come.
Wait! Have patience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is
yours!» There was a low, sweet ripple of laughter, and in a
rage I threw open the door, and saw without the three terrible
women licking their lips. As I appeared they all joined in a hor-
rible laugh, and ran away.
I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It
is then so near the end? To-morrow! to-morrow! Lord, help me,
and those to whom I am dear!
30 June, morning. These may be the last words I ever write
in this diary. I slept till just before the clawn, and when I woke
threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came
he should find me ready.
48 Dracula
At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the
morning had come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I
felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I opened my door and ran
down to the hall. I had seen that the door was unlocked, and now
escape was before me. With hands that trembled with eagerness,
I unhooked the chains and drew back the massive bolts.
But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled,
and pulled, at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it
rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been
locked after I left the Count.
Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and
I determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain
the Count’s room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the
happier choice of evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east
window, and scrambled down the wall, as before, into the
Count’s room. It was empty, but that was as I expected. I could
not see a key anywhere, but the heap of gold remained. I went
through the door in the corner and down the winding stair and
along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now well enough
where to find the monster I sought.
The great box was in the same place, close against the wall,
but the lid fras laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails
ready in their places to be hammered home. I knew I must
reach the 6ody for the key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back
against foe wall; and then I saw something which filled my very
soul with horror. There lay the Count, but looking as if his
youtA had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache
were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the
white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder
than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which
trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin
and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst
swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated.
It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged
with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his reple-
tion. I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense
in me revolted at the contact; but I had to search, or I was lost.
The coming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar
way to those horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign
could I find of the key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count.
There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to
drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to
London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongs t
Jonathan Marker’s Journal 49
its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new
and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the help-
less. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon
me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal wea-
pon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been
using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge
downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned,
and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk
horror. The sight seemed to paralyse me, and the shovel turned
in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep
gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across
the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught
the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid
thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated
face, blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would
have held its own in the nethermost hell.
I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my
brain seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling grow-
ing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung
by merry voices coming closer, and through their song the roll-
ing of heavy wheels and the cracking of whips; the Szgany and
the Slovaks of whom the Count had spoken were coming. With
a last look around and at the box which contained the vile body,
I ran from the place and gained the Count’s room, determined
to rush out at the moment the door should be opened. With
strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of
the key in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door.
There must have been some other means of entry, or some one
had a key for one of the locked doors. Then there came the sound
of many feet tramping and dying away in some passage which
sent up a clanging echo. I turned to run down again towards
the vault, where I might find the new entrance; but at the mo-
ment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the door
to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from
the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it
was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom
jvas closing round me more closely.
As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramp-
ing feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubt-
less the boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound of
hammering; it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the
heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with many other idle
feet coming behind them.
5O Dracula
The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of
the key in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another
door opens and shuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.
Hark! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of
heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany
as they pass into the distance.
I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina
is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of
the Pit!
I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the
castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some
of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from
this dreadful place.
And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest
train! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where
the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!
At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters,
and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep
as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!
CHAPTER V
Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra.
«9 May.
«My dearest Lucy,
«Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply
overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress
is sometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the
sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in
the air. I have been working very hard lately, because I want to
keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I have been practising
shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall be
able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough
I can take down what he wants to say in this way and write it
out for him on the typewriter, at which also I am practising very
hard. He and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is
keeping a stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I
am with you I shall keep a diary in the same way. I don’t mean
one of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-
corner diaries, but a sort of journal which I can write in whenever
I feel inclined. I do not suppose there will be much of interest
to other people; but it is not intended for them. I may show it to
Jonathan some day if there is in it anything worth sharing, but
it is really an exercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady
journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying
to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice,
one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during
a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans
when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan
from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a
week. I am longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see
strange countries. I wonder if we I mean Jonathan and I
shall ever see them together. There is the ten o’clock bell ring-
ing. Good-bye.
«Your loving
«MlNA.
«Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me
anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall,
handsome, curly-haired man???»
32 Dracula
Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.
«17, Chatham Street,
«Wednesday.
«My dearest Mina,
«I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad corre-
spondent. I wrote to you twice since we parted, and your last letter
was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is
really nothing to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now,
and we go a good deal to picture-galleries and for walks and
rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it
was the one who was with me at the last Pop. Some one has
evidently been telling tales. That was Mr. Holmwood. He often
comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very well together;
they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some
time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not al-
ready engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being hand-
some, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever.
Just fancy! He is only nine-and- twenty, and he has an immense
lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced
him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I
think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the
most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what
a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a
curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to
read one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I
flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from
my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? / do, and I
can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble
than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that
I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think
I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to
be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore. That is
slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day. There,
it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other since
we were children; we have slept together and eaten together, and
laughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I
would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love
him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me,
he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love
him; I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with
you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I
would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing
Letters, Etc. 53
this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the let-
ter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let
me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it.
Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; and,
Mina, pray for my happiness.
«LUCY.
«P.S. I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.
JL.
Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.
«24 May.
«My dearest Mina,
«Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter.
It was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.
«My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old prov-
erbs are. Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet
I never had a proposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day
I have had three. Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day!
Isn’t it awful! I feel sorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the
poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so happy that I don’t know what
to do with myself. And three proposals! But, for goodness’ sake,
don’t tell any of the girls, or they would be getting all sorts of
extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injured and slighted
if in their very first day at home they did not get six at least.
Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged
and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married wo-
men, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three,
but you must keep it a secret, dear, from every one, except, of
course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I would, if I were
in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A woman ought to tell her
husband everything don’t you think so, dear? and I must be
fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to be quite as fair
as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not always quite as fair
as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came just before
lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum
man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very
cool outwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently
been schooling himself as to all sorts of little things, and re-
membered them; but he almost managed to sit down on his silk
hat, which men don’t generally do when they are cool, and then
when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing with a lancet
in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,, Mina,
54 Dracula
very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,
though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with
me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy
he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry
he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present
trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could. love him in time;
and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with
some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else.
He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my
confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman’s
heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt
a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told
him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong
and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped
I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count
him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can’t help crying: and you
must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is
all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn’t at all a happy
thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you know
loves you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted,
and to know that, no matter what he may say at the moment,
you are passing quite out of his life. My dear, I must stop here
aL present, I feel so miserable, though I am so happy.
11 Evening.
«Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when
I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear,
number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an Ameri-
can from Texas, and he looks so youug and so fresh that it seems
almost impossible that he has been to so many places and has
had such adventures. I sympathise with poor Desdemona when
she had such a dangerous stream poured in her ear, even by a
black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards that we
think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know
now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl
love me. No, I don’t, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his
stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet My dear, I am
somewhat previous. Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone.
It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn’t,
for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I
could; I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you before-
hand that Mr. Morris doesn’t always speak slang that is to
say, he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really
Letters, Etc. 55
well educated and has exquisite manners but he f ouna out that
it amused me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I
was present, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such
funny things. I air afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for
it fits exactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way
slang has. I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do
not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any
as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as
happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he
was very nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so
sweetly:
«' Miss Lucy, I know I ain’t good enough to regulate the fixin’s
of your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that
is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when
you quit. Won’t you just hitch up alongside of me and let us go
down the long road together, driving in double harness?»
«Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it
didn’t seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward;
so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of
hitching, and that I wasn’t broken to harness at all yet. Then
he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that
if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, 1
an occasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did look
serious when he was saying it, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit
serious too I know, Mina, you will think me a horrid flirt
though I couldn’t help feeling a sort of exultation that he was
number two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say
a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making,
laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest
over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful
always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I sup-
pose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he
suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I
could have loved him for if I had been free:
««Lucy, you are an honest-hearted girl, I know. I should not
be here speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean
grit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like
one good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care
for? And if there is I’ll never trouble you a hair’s breadth again,
but will be, if you will let me,» a very faithful friend.»
«M} dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are
so little worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this
great- aearted, true gentleman. 1 burst into tears I am afraid.
56 Dracula
my dear, you will think this a very sloppy letter in more ways
than one and I really felt very badly. Why can’t they let a girl
marry three men, or as many. as want her, and save all t\iis
trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it. I am glad to
say that, though I was crying, I was able to look into Mr. Mor-
ris’s brave eyes, and I told him out straight:
««Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet
that he even loves me. ' I was right to speak to him so frankly,
for quite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands
and took mine I think I put them into his and said in a hearty
way:
«« That’s my brave girl. It’s better worth being late for a
chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl in
the world. Don’t cry, my dear. If it’s for me, I’m a hard nut to
crack; and I take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn’t
know his happiness, well, he’d better look for it soon, or he’ll
have to deal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have
made me a friend, and that’s rarer than a lover; it’s more un-
selfish anyhow. My dear, I’m going to have a pretty lonely
walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won’t you give me one
kiss? It’ll be something to keep off the darkness now and then.
You can, you know, if you like, for that other good fellow he
must be a good fellow, my dear, and a fine fellow, or you could
not love him hasn’t spoken yet. 7 That quite won me, Mina,
for it was brave and sweet of him, and noble, too, to a rival
wasn’t it? and he so sad; so I leant over and kissed him.
He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down
into my face I am afraid I was blushing very much he
said:
««Little girl, I hold your hand, and you’ve kissed me, and if
these things don’t make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you
for your sweet honesty to me, and good-bye. ' He wrung my hand,
and taking up his hat, went straight out of the room without
looking back, without a tear or a quiver or a pause; and JL*am
cryiifg like a baby. Oh, why must a man like that be made un-
happy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the
very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free only I
don’t want to be free. My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel
I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it;
and I don’t wish to tell of the number three until it crji be all
happy.
«Ever your loving
«I. UCY.
Letters, Etc. 57
«P.S. Oh, about number Three I needn’t tell you of num-
ber Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only
a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were
round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I
don’t know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the
future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His good*
ness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and
such a friend.
«Good-bye.»
Dr. Seward’s Diary.
(Kept in phonograph)
25 M ay. Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot rest,
so diary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of
empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient impor-
tance to be worth the doing. … As I knew that the only cure
