The time seemed terrible long whilst we were waiting for
the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The Professor tried to keep
our minds active by using them all the time. I could see his beneficent
purpose, by the side glances which he threw from time to time at Harker.
The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to see.
Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful
face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn,
haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning
eyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in
fact, he is like a living flame. This may yet be his salvation, for, if
all go well, it will tide him over the despairing period; he will then,
in a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life. Poor fellow, I
thought my own trouble was bad enough, but his----! The Professor knows
this well enough, and is doing his best to keep his mind active. What he
