I looked at our window, and saw Lucy’s head. I thought that perhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice. Just then the light fell on the window. Lucy was asleep, and by her, was something that looked like a giant bird. I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she was lying in her bed, she was breathing heavily; and she was holding her hand to her throat.
I did not wake her. She looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than before. I fear she is fretting about something. What is it?
15 August. – Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired.
17 August. – No diary for two whole days. I did not want to write. No news from Jonathan, and Lucy is growing weaker. I do not understand why Lucy fades away. 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.[102] At night she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open window.
I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep, and the tiny wounds were not healed. They are still open, and 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.
18 August. – I am happy today. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well all night, and did not disturb me once. She is full of life and cheerfulness.
19 August. – Joy, joy, joy! Although not all joy. At last, news of Jonathan. He has been ill; that is why he did not write. I am not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. I shall leave in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and help to nurse him if necessary, and bring him home. I got a good Sister’s[103] letter! It is of Jonathan, and it must be next my heart, for he is in my heart. My journey is prepared, and my luggage is ready.
Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary,[104] Buda-Pesth, to Miss Wilhelmina Murray
12 August.
Dear Madam,
I write by desire[105] of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strong enough to write, but he is recovering, thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six weeks, he is suffering from a violent brain fever.[106] He is sorry for his delay, his work is completed. He will require some few weeks’ rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. He wishes me to say that he has not sufficient money with him. He would like to pay for his staying here.
Yours, with sympathy and all blessings,
Sister Agatha.
P. S. My patient is asleep, and I want to let you know something more. He has told me all about you, and that you agree to be his wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some fearful shock – so says our doctor – and his delirium is dreadful; of wolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and demons; and I fear to say of what. Be careful with him always. He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the station-master there said that he rushed into the station and shouted for a ticket for home. They gave him a ticket for the furthest station.
He has won all hearts by his sweetness and gentleness. I have no doubt he will in a few weeks recover completely. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, many, many, happy years for you both.
Dr. Seward’s Diary
19 August. – Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night. About eight o’clock he began to get excited and sniff about[107] as a dog does. The attendant encouraged him to talk. Renfield is usually respectful to the attendant; but tonight, the man tells me, he was quite haughty. All he said was, “I don’t want to talk to you: you are nothing for me now; I have my Master.”
The attendant thinks some sudden form of religious mania has seized him. If so, he might be dangerous. At nine o’clock I visited him myself. His attitude to me was the same as that to the attendant. It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think that he himself is God.
For half an hour or more Renfield was getting excited more and more. All at once he became quite quiet, and sat on the edge of his bed, and looked into space. I tried to lead him to talk of his pets. At first he made no reply, but after he said testily, “I don’t care about them.”
“What?” I said. “You don’t care about spiders?” (Spiders at present are his hobby.)
To this he answered enigmatically, “I don’t need them anymore.”
He did not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on his bed all the time I remained with him.
Later. – The night watchman[108] came to me and said that Renfield had escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at once; my patient is a very dangerous person. He was only in his night-gear,[109] and cannot go far.
The attendant told me that the patient had gone to the left, and had taken a straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. Soon I saw a white figure. I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men immediately and follow me, in case our friend might be dangerous. I could see Renfield’s figure just behind the angle of the deserted house, so I ran after him. He was talking to some one. After a few minutes, however, I could see that he did not see anything around him. I heard his words, “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. Now that You are near, I await Your commands!”
When we were trying to catch him he fought like a tiger. He is immensely 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. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are even more terrible. He spoke like this, “I shall be patient, Master. It is coming – coming – coming!”
I was too excited to sleep, but this diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep tonight.
Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra
24 August, Buda-Pesth.
My dearest Lucy,
I caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I found my poor Jonathan, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking! He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. He has had some terrible shock. Sister Agatha is a sweet, good soul.
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 that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him to let me look at it. I knew that I might find some clue to his trouble. But he sent me over to the window, and said he wanted to be quite alone for a moment. Then he called me back, and when I came he put his hand over the note-book, and he said to me very solemnly, “Wilhelmina, you know, dear: there must be no secret, no concealment between husband and wife. I have had a great shock, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to marry you as soon as possible, right here. Wilhelmina, here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you want, but never let me know.” He fell back exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. I have asked Sister Agatha to let our wedding be this afternoon, and I am waiting for her reply…
She has come and told me that they sent for the chaplain of the English mission church. We will marry in an hour, or as soon after as Jonathan awakes…
Lucy, 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,