CHAPTER VIII
MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL
Same day, 11 o'clock p. m.-Oh, but I am tired ! If it
were not that I had made my diary a duty I should not
open it to-night. We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while,
was in gay spirits, owing, I think, to some dear cows who
came nosing towards us in a field close to the lighthouse,
and frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot
everything except, of course, personal fear, and it seemed
to wipe the slate clean and give us a fresh start. We had a
capital "severe tea" at Robin Hood's Bay in a sweet little
old- fashioned inn, with a bow-window right over the sea-
weed-covered rocks of the strand . I believe we should have
shocked the "New Woman" with our appetites . Men are
more tolerant, bless them ! Then we walked home with
some, or rather many, stoppages to rest, and with our
hearts full of a constant dread of wild bulls . Lucy was
really tired, and we intended to creep off to bed as soon as
we could. The young curate came in, however, and Mrs.
Westenra asked him to stay for supper. Lucy and I had
both a fight for it with the dusty miller ; I know it was a
hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that
some day the bishops must get together and see about
breeding up a new class of curates, who don't take supper,
no matter how they may be pressed to, and who will know
when girls are tired . Lucy is asleep and breathing softly.
She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and looks,
oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her see-
ing her only in the drawing- room, I wonder what he would
say if he saw her now. Some of the "New Women"
writers will some day start an idea that men and women
should be allowed to see each other asleep before propos-
ing or accepting. But I suppose the New Woman won't
98MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 99
condescend in future to accept ; she will do the proposing
herself. And a nice job she will make of it, too ! There's
some consolation in that . I am so happy to-night, because
dear Lucy seems better. I really believe she has turned the
corner, and that we are over her troubles with dreaming.
I should be quite happy if I only knew if Jonathan . . .
God bless and keep him.
II August, 3 a. m. -Diary again . No sleep now, so I
may as well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had
such an adventure, such an agonising experience. I fell
asleep as soon as I had closed my diary. ... Suddenly I
became broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of
fear upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around
me. The room was dark, so I could not see Lucy's bed ; I
stole across and felt for her. The bed was empty. I lit a
match and found that she was not in the room. The door
was shut, but not locked, as I had left it . I feared to wake
her mother, who has been more than usually ill lately, so
threw on some clothes and got ready to look for her. As
I was leaving the room it struck me that the clothes she
wore might give me some clue to her dreaming intention.
Dressing-gown would mean house ; dress, outside . Dress-
ing-gown and dress were both in their places. "Thank
God, " I said to myself, "she cannot be far, as she is only
in her nightdress. " I ran downstairs and looked in the
sitting-room. Not there ! Then I looked in all the other
open rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fear chill-
ing my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found
it open. It was not wide open, but the catch of the lock
had not caught. The people of the house are careful to lock
the door every night, so I feared that Lucy must have
gone out as she was. There was no time to think of what
might happen ; a vague, overmastering fear obscured all
details. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock
was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was
not a soul in sight. I ran along the North Terrace, but
could see no sign of the white figure which I expected . At
the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across
the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear-I don't100 DRACULA
know which-of seeing Lucy in our favourite seat. There
was a bright full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds,
which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of
light and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or two
I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St.
Mary's Church and all around it . Then as the cloud passed
I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view ; and
as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-
cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became
gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not
disappointed, for there, on our favourite seat, the silver
light of the moon struck a half- reclining figure, snowy
white. The coming of the cloud was too quick for me to
see much, for shadow shut down on light almost imme-
diately ; but it seemed to me as though something dark
stood behind the seat where the white figure shone, and
bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could
not tell ; I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew
down the steep steps to the pier and along by the fish-
market to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the
East Cliff. The town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I
see ; I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness of
poor Lucy's condition . The time and distance seemed end-
less, and my knees trembled and my breath came laboured
as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must have
gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were
weighted with lead, and as though every joint in my body
were rusty. When I got almost to the top I could see the
seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to
distinguish it even through the spells of shadow. There was
undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the
half-reclining white figure. I called in fright, "Lucy!
Lucy!" and something raised a head, and from where I
was I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy
did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the church-
yard. As I entered, the church was between me and the
seat, and for a minute of so I lost sight of her. When I
came in view again the cloud had passed, and the moon-
light struck so brilliantly that I could see Lucy half re-
clining with her head lying over the back of the seat. SheMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL ΙΟΙ
was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living
thing about .
When I bent over her I could see that she was still
asleep. Her lips were parted , and she was breathing-not
softly as usual with her, but in long, heavy gasps, as
though striving to get her lungs full at every breath. As I
came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the
collar of her nightdress close around her throat. Whilst
she did so there came a little shudder through her, as
though she felt the cold . I flung the warm shawl over her,
and drew the edges tight round her neck, for I dreaded
lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air,
unclad as she was. I feared to wake her all at once, so, in
order to have my hands free that I might help her, I fas-
tened the shawl at her throat with a big safety-pin ; but I
must have been clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or
pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathing
became quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and
moaned. When I had her carefully wrapped up I put my
shoes on her feet, and then began very gently to wake her.
At first she did not respond ; but gradually she became
more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing
occasionally. At last, as time was passing fast, and, for
many other reasons, I wished to get her home at once, I
shook her more forcibly, till finally she opened her eyes
and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as, of
course, she did not realise all at once where she was. Lucy
always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her
body must have been chilled with cold, and her mind some-
what appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night,
she did not lose her grace. She trembled a little, and clung
to me ; when I told her to come at once with me home she
rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we
passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed
me wince. She stopped and wanted to insist upon my tak-
ing my shoes ; but I would not . However, when we got to
the pathway outside the churchyard, where there was a
puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my
feet with mud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that102 DRACULA
as we went home, no one, in case we should meet ony one,
should notice my bare feet .
Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting
a soul. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober,
passing along a street in front of us ; but we hid in a door
till he had disappeared up an opening such as there are
here, steep little closes, or "wynds," as they call them in
Scotland. My heart beat so loud all the time that some-
times I thought I should faint. I was filled with anxiety
about Lucy, not only for her health, lest she should suffer
from the exposure, but for her reputation in case the
story should get wind. When we got in, and had washed
our feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together,
I tucked her into bed. Before falling asleep she asked-
even implored-me not to say a word to any one, even her
mother, about her sleep-walking adventure. I hesitated at
first to promise ; but on thinking of the state of her
mother's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing
would fret her, and thinking, too, of how such a story
might become distorted-nay, infallibly would-in case it
should leak out, I thought it wiser to do so. I hope I did
right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied to my
wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is
sleeping soundly ; the reflex of the dawn is high and far
over the sea..
Same day, noon.-All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke
her and seemed not to have even changed her side. The
adventure of the night does not seem to have harmed her ;
on the contrary, it has benefited her, for she looks better
this morning than she has done for weeks. I was sorry to
notice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her.
Indeed, it might have been serious, for the skin of her
throat was pierced. I must have pinched up a piece of loose
skin and have transfixed it, for there are two little red
points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress
was a drop of blood. When I apologised and was con-
cerned about it, she laughed and petted me, and said she
did not even feel it . Fortunately it cannot leave a scar, as
it is so tiny.MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 103
Same day, night. We passed a happy day. The air was
clear, and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We
took our lunch to Mulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driv-
ing by the road and Lucy and I walking by the cliff-path
and joining her at the gate. I felt a little sad myself, for
I could not but feel how absolutely happy it would have
been had Jonathan been with me. But there ! I must only
be patient. In the evening we strolled in the Casino Ter-
race, and heard some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie,
and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than she
has been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall
lock the door and secure the key the same as before ,
though I do not expect any trouble to-night.
12 August. My expectations were wrong, for twice
during the night I was wakened by Lucy trying to get
out. She seemed , even in her sleep, to be a little impa-
tient at finding the door shut, and went back to bed under
a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard the
birds chirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too,
and, I was glad to see, was even better than on the previous
morning. All her old gaiety of manner seemed to have
come back, and she came and snuggled in beside me and
told me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I was
about Jonathan, and then she tried to comfort me. Well,
she succeeded somewhat, for, though sympathy can't alter
facts, it can help to make them more bearable.
13 August.-Another quiet day, and to bed with the
key on my wrist as before. Again I awoke in the night,
and found Lucy sitting up in bed, still asleep, pointing to
the window. I got up quietly, and pulling aside the blind ,
looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and the soft effect
of the light over the sea and sky-merged together in one
great, silent mystery-was beautiful beyond words. Be-
tween me and the moonlight flitted a great bat , coming and
going in great whirling circles. Once or twice it came
quite close, but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me,
and flitted away across the harbour towards the abbey.
When I came back from the window Lucy had lain down104 DRACULA
again, and was sleeping peacefully. She did not stir again
all night.
14 August. On the East Cliff, reading and writing all
day. Lucy seems to have become as much in love with the
spot as I am, and it is hard to get her away from it when
it is time to come home for lunch or tea or dinner. This
afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming
home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up
from the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as
we generally do. The setting sun, low down in the sky,
was just dropping behind Kettleness ; the red light was
thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and
seemed to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We
were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as
if to herself : -
"His red eyes again ! They are just the same." It was
such an odd expression, coming apropos of nothing, that
it quite startled me. I slewed round a little , so as to see
Lucy well without seeming to stare at her, and saw that she
was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd look on her face
that I could not quite make out ; so I said nothing, but
followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our
own seat, whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was
a little startled myself , for it seemed for an instant as if
the stranger had great eyes like burning flames ; but a
second look dispelled the illusion . The red sunlight was
shining on the windows of St. Mary's Church behind our
seat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change
in the refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the
light moved. I called Lucy's attention to the peculiar effect,
and she became herself with a start, but she looked sad
all the same ; it may have been that she was thinking of
that terrible night up there. We never refer to it ; so I said
nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache
and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for
a little stroll myself ; I walked along the cliffs to the west-
ward, and was full of sweet sadness, for I was thinking of
Jonathan. When coming home-it was then bright moon-MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL IOJ
light, so bright that, though the front of our part of the
Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen-
I threw a glance up at our window, and saw Lucy's head
leaning out. I thought that perhaps she was looking out
for me, so I opened my handkerchief and waved it. She
did not notice or make any movement whatever. Just then
the moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the
light fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy with
her head lying up against the side of the window-sill and
her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, and by her, seated, on
the window- sill, was something that looked like a good..
sized bird. I was afraid she might get a chill, so I ran up
stairs, but as I came into the room she was moving back
to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily ; she was
holding her hand to her throat, as though to protect it
from cold.
I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly ; I have
taken care that the door is locked and the window securely
fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps ; but she is paler than
is her wont, and there is a drawn, haggard look under her
eyes which I do not like . I fear she is fretting about some-
thing. I wish I could find out what it is.
15 August.- Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid
and tired, and slept on after we had been called . We had
a happy surprise at breakfast. Arthur's father is better,
and wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucy is full of
quiet joy, and her mother is glad and sorry at once. Later
on in the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to lose
Lucy as her very own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon
to have some one to protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady !
She confided to me that she has got her death- warrant.
She has not told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy ; her
doctor told her that within a few months, at most, she
must die, for her heart is weakening. At any time, even
now, a sudden shock would be almost sure to kill her. Ah,
we were wise to keep from her the affair of the dreadful
night of Lucy's sleep- walking .106 DRACULA
17 August.- No diary for two whole days. I have not
had the heart to write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems
to be coming over our happiness. No news from Jonathan,
and Lucy seems to be growing weaker, whilst her mother's
hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy's
fading away as she is doing. She eats well and sleeps
well, and enjoys the fresh air ; but all the time the roses in
her cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more
languid day by day ; at night I hear her gasping as if for
air. I keep the key of our door always fastened to my
wrist at night, but she gets up and walks about the room,
and sits at the open window. Last night I found her lean-
ing out when I woke up, and when I tried to wake her I
could not ; she was in a faint . When I managed to re-
store her she was as weak as water, and cried silently be-
tween long, painful struggles for breath. When I asked her
how she came to be at the window she shook her head and
turned away. I trust her feeling ill may not be from that
unlucky prick of the safety- pin. I looked at her throat just
now as she lay asleep, and the tiny wounds seem not to
have healed . They are still open, and, if anything, larger
than before, and the edges of them are faintly white. They
are like little white dots with red centres. Unless they heal
within a day or two, I shall insist on the doctor seeing
about them.
Letter, Samuel F. Billington & Son, Solicitors, Whitby, to
Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co. , London.
"Dear Sirs, - "17 August.
" Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great
Northern Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax,
near Purfleet, immediately on receipt at goods station
King's Cross. The house is at present empty, but enclosed
please find keys, all of which are labelled.
"You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number,
which form the consignment, in the partially ruined build-
ing forming part of the house and marked ' A' on rough
diagram enclosed. Your agent will easily recognise theMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 107
locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion. The
goods leave by the train at 9:30 to-night, and will be due
at King's Cross at 4:30 to- morrow afternoon . As our
client wishes the delivery made as soon as possible, we
shall be obliged by your having teams ready at King's
Cross at the time named and forthwith conveying the
goods to destination. In order to obviate any delays pos-
sible through any routine requirements as to payment in
your departments, we enclose cheque herewith for ten
pounds ( £ 10) , receipt of which please acknowledge.
Should the charge be less than this amount, you can re-
turn balance ; if greater, we shall at once send cheque for
difference on hearing from you . You are to leave the keys
on coming away in the main hall of the house, where the
proprietor may get them on his entering the house by
means of his duplicate key.
" Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of busi-
nes courtesy in pressing you in all ways to use the utmost
expedition.
" We are, dear Sirs
" Faithfully yours,
"SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON. "
Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, ro
Messrs. Billington & Son, Whitby.
"21 August.
"Dear Sirs, -
" We beg to acknowledge £ 10 received and to return
cheque £ 1 17s. 9d, amount of overplus, as shown in
receipted account herewith. Goods are delivered in exac
accordance with instructions, and keys left in parcel in
main hall, as directed. " We are, dear ~ rs,
" Yours respectfully.
" Pro CARTER, PATERSON & Co."
Mina Murray's Journal.
18 August. I am happy to-day, and write sitting on the
seat in the churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last108 DRACULA
night she slept well all night, and did not disturb me once.
The roses seem coming back already to her cheeks , though
she is still sadly pale and wan- looking. If she were in any
way anæmic I could understand it, but she is not. She is
in gay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness . All the
morbid reticence seems to have passed from her, and she
has just reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of
that night, and that it was here, on this very seat, I found
her asleep. As she told me she tapped playfully with the
heel of her boot on the stone slab and said :-
"My poor little feet didn't make much noise then ! I
daresay poor old Mr. Swales would have told me that it
was because I didn't want to wake up Geordie. " As she
was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if she
had dreamed at all that night. Before she answered, that
sweet, puckered look came into her forehead, which
Arthur I call him Arthur from her habit- says he loves ;
and, indeed, I don't wonder that he does. Then she went
on in a half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall
it to herself : —
"I didn't quite dream ; but it all seemed to be real. I only
wanted to be here in this spot-I don't know why, for I
was afraid of something-I don't know what. I remember,
though I suppose I was asleep, passing through the streets
and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by, and I
leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling
-the whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all
howling at once- -as I went up the steps . Then I had a
vague memory of something long and dark with red eyes,
just as we saw in the sunset, and something very sweet
and very bitter all around me at once ; and then I seemed
sinking into deep green water, and there was a singing in
my ears, as I have heard there is to drowning men ; and
then everything seemed passing away from me ; my soul
seemed to go out from my body and float about the air.
I seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was
right under me, and then there was a sort of agonising
feeling, as if I were in an earthquake, and I came back and
found you shaking my body. I saw you do it before I felt
you. "MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 109
Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to
me, and I listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like
it, and thought it better not to keep her mind on the sub-
ject, so we drifted on to other subjects, and Lucy was like
her old self again. When we got home the fresh breeze
had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really more
rosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all
spent a very happy evening together.
19 August. -Joy, joy, joy ! although not all joy. At last,
news of Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill ; that is
why he did not write. I am not afraid to think it or say
it , now that I know. Mr. Hawkins sent me on the letter,
and wrote himself , oh, so ' kindly. I am to leave in the
morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him
if necessary, and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it
would not be a bad thing if we were to be married out
there. I have cried over the good Sister's letter till I can
feel it wet against my bosom, where it lies . It is of Jona-
than, and must be next my heart, for he is in my heart.
My journey is all mapped out, and my luggage ready. I
am only taking one change of dress ; Lucy will bring my
trunk to London and keep it till I send for it, for it may
be that •
I must write no more ; I must keep it to say
to Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has seen and
touched must comfort me till we meet.
Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste.
Mary, Buda-Pesth , to Miss Wilhelmina Murray.
" 12 August.
"Dear Madam, -
"I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is him-
self not strong enough to write, though progressing well,
thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been
under our care for nearly six weeks, suffering from a vio-
lent brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love, and to
say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Haw-
kins, Exeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is
sorry for his delay, and that all of his work is completed.
He will require some few weeks' rest in our sanatorium in110 DRACULA
the hills, but will then return. He wishes me to say that he
has not sufficient money with him, and that he would like
to pay for his staying here, so that others who need shall
not be wanting for help. "Believe me,
" Yours, with sympathy and all blessings,
"SISTER AGATHA.
"P. S. -My patient being asleep, I open this to let you
know something more. He has told me all about you, and
that you are shortly to be his wife. All blessings to you
both ! He has had some fearful shock-so says our doc-
tor-and in his delirium his ravings have been dreadful ;
of wolves and poison and blood ; of ghosts and demons ;
and I fear to say of what. Be careful with him always that
there may be nothing to excite him of this kind for a long
time to come ; the traces of such an illness as his do not
lightly die away. We should have written long ago, but
we knew nothing of his friends, and there was on him
nothing that any one could understand . He came in the
train from Klausenburg, and the guard was told by the
station-master there that he rushed into the station shout-
ing for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent de-
meanour that he was English, they gave him a ticket for
the furthest station on the way thither that the train
reached.
"Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all
hearts by his sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting
on well, and I have no doubt will in a few weeks be all
himself. But be careful of him for safety's sake. There are,
I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, many, many,
happy years for you both. "
Dr. Seward's Diary. 1
19 August. Strange and sudden change in Renfield last
night. About eight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff
about as a dog does when setting . The attendant was
struck by his manner, and knowing my interest in him, en-
couraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the atten-
dant and at times servile ; but to-night, the man tells me,MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL III
he was quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with
him at all. All he would say was : -
"I don't want to talk to you : you don't count now ; the
Master is at hand. "
The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious
mania which has seized him. If so, we must look out for
squalls, for a strong man with homicidal and religious .
mania at once might be dangerous. The combination is a
dreadful one. At nine o'clock I visited him myself. His
attitude to me was the same as that to the attendant ; in his
sublime self- feeling the difference between myself and
attendant seemed to him as nothing. It looks like religious
mania, and he will soon think that he himself is God. These
infinitesimal distinctions between man and man are too
paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give
themselves away ! The real God taketh heed lest a spar-
row fall ; but the God created from human vanity sees no
difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, if men
only knew !
For half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited
in greater and greater degree. I did not pretend to be
watching him, but I kept strict observation all the same.
All at once that shifty look came into his eyes which we
always see when a madman has seized an idea, and with it
the shifty movement of the head and back which asylum
attendants come to know so well . He became quite quiet,
and went and sat on the edge of his bed resignedly, and
looked into space with lack-lustre eyes. I thought I would
find out if his apathy were real or only assumed, and tried
to lead him to talk of his pets , a theme which had never
failed to excite his attention. At first he made no reply, but
at length said testily : -
"Bother them all ! I don't care a pin about them."
" What ?" I said. " You don't mean to tell me you don't
care about spiders ?" ( Spiders at present are his hobby and
the note-book is filling up with columns of small figures. )
To this he answered enigmatically :—
"The bride-maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the com-
ing of the bride ; but when the bride draweth nigh, then
the maidens shine not to the eyes that are filled ."112 DRACULA
He would not explain himself, but remained obstinately
seated on his bed all the time I remained with him.
I am weary to- night and low in spirits. I cannot but
think of Lucy, and how different things might have been.
If I don't sleep at once, chloral, the modern Morpheus-
C2 HCl3 O. H₂ O ! I must be careful not to let it grow into
a habit. No, I shall take none to-night ! I have thought of
Lucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If
need be, to-night shall be sleepless. . . .
Later. -Glad I made the resolution ; gladder that I kept
to it. I had lain tossing about, and had heard the clock
strike only twice, when the night-watchman came to me,
sent up from the ward, to say that Renfield had escaped . I
threw on my clothes and ran down at once ; my patient is
too dangerous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas
of his might work out dangerously with strangers. The
attendant was waiting for me. He said he had seen him
not ten minutes before, seemingly asleep in his bed, when
he had looked through the observation-trap in the door.
His attention was called by the sound of the window being
wrenched out. He ran back and saw his feet disappear
through the window, and had at once sent up for me. He
was only in his night-gear, and cannot be far off. The
attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where
he should go than to follow him, as he might lose sight of
him whilst getting out of the building by the door. He is
a bulky man, and couldn't get through the window. I am
thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet foremost, and,
as we were only a few feet above ground, landed unhurt.
The attendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and
had taken a straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could.
As I got through the belt of trees I saw a white figure
scale the high wall which separates our grounds from those
of the deserted house.
I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or
four men immediately and follow me into the grounds of
Carfax, in case our friend might be dangerous. I got a
ladder myself, and crossing the wall, dropped down on the
other side. I could see Renfield's figure just disappearingMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL 113
behind the angle of the house, so I ran after him. On the
far side of the house I found him pressed close against the
old ironbound oak door of the chapel. He was talking, ap-
parently to some one, but I was afraid to go near enough
to hear what he was saying, lest I might frighten him,
and he should run off. Chasing an errant swarm of bees
is nothing to following a naked lunatic, when ' the fit of
escaping is upon him ! After a few minutes, however, I
could see that he did not take note of anything around
him, and so ventured to draw nearer to him-the more
so as my men had now crossed the wall and were closing
him in. I heard him say :-
"I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your
slave, and You will reward me, for I shall be faithful. I
have worshipped You long and afar off. Now that You are
near, I await Your commands, and You will not pass me
by, will you, dear Master, in Your distribution of good
things ?"
He is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the
loaves and fishes even when he believes he is in a Real
Presence. His manias make a startling combination. When
we closed in on him he fought like a tiger. He is im
mensely strong, for he was more like a wild beast than a
man. I never saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage
before ; and I hope I shall not again. It is a mercy that we
have found out his strength and his danger in good time.
With strength and determination like this , he might have
done wild work before he was caged. He is safe now at
any rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get free from the
strait- waistcoat that keeps him restrained , and he's chained
to the wall in the padded room. His cries are at times aw-
ful, but the silences that follow are more deadly still , for
he means murder in every turn and movement.
Just now he spoke coherent words for the first time : -
" I shall be patient, Master. It is coming-coming-com-
ing! "
So I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to
sleep, but this diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get
some sleep to-night.