red as ever. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no
breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him, and tried to
find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain there
long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few
hours. By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes
here and there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but
when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead
though they were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of
me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the
Count’s room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall.
Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and
tried to think..
46 Dracula
2Q June. To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count
has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him
leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he
went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some
lethal weapon, that I might destroy him; but I fear that no wea-
pon wrought alone by man’s hand would have any effect on him.
I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see those
weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I
fell asleep.
I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as
a man can look as he said:
«To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your
beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end
that we may never meet. Your letter home has been despatched;
to-morrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your
journey. In the morning come the Szgany, who have some la-
bours of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they
have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you
to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence froir Bukovina to Bis-
tritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle
Dracula.» I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity.
Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in
connection with such a monster, so asked him point-blank:
«Why may I not go to-night?»
«Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a
mission.»
«But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once.»
He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there
was some trick behind his smoothness. He said*
«And your baggage?»
«I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.»»
The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which
made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real:
«You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for
its spirit is that which rules our boyars: «Welcome the coming;
speed the parting guest. ' Come with me, my dear young friend.
Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will,
though sad am I at your going, and that you so suddenly desire
it. Come!» With a stately gravity, he, with the lamp, preceded
me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he stopped.
«Hark!»
Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was al-
most as if the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just
Jonathan Marker’s Journal 47
as the music of a great orchestra seems to leap under the baton
of the conductor. After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in
his stately way, to the door, drew back the ponderous bolts,
unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw it open.
To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked. Sus-
piciously, I looked all round, but could see no key of any kind.
As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without
grew louder and angrier; their red jaws, with champing teeth,
and their blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through
the opening door. I knew then that to struggle at the moment
against the Count was useless. With such allies as these at his
command, I could do nothing. But still the door continued slowly
to open, and only the Count’s body stood in the gap. Suddenly it
struck me that this might be the moment and means of my
doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instiga-
tion. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough
for the Count, and as a last chance I cried out:
«Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!» and covered my
face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment.
With one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count threw the door
shut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed through the hall
as they shot back into their places.
In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or
two I went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula
was his kissing his hand to me; with a red light of triumph in
his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.
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