"Oh, Madam Mina, I knew that the friend of that poor lily girl must begood, but I had yet to learn----" He finished his speech with a courtlybow. I asked him what it was that he wanted to see me about, so he atonce began:--
"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I
had to beginto inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that you werewith her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary--you need not looksurprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you left, and was made inimitation of you--and in that diary she traces by inference certainthings to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her. Ingreat perplexity then I come to you, and ask you out of your so muchkindness to tell me all of it that you remember."
"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it."
"Ah, then you have a good memory for facts, for details? It is notalways so with young ladies."
"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to youif you like."
"Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me much favour." Icould not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit--I suppose itis some of the taste of the original apple that remains still in ourmouths--so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with a gratefulbow, and said:--
"May I read it?"
"If you wish," I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it, and forthe instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.
"Oh, you so clever woman!" he said. "I long knew that Mr. Jonathan wasa man of much thankfulness; but see, his wife have all the good things.And will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it forme? Alas! I know not the shorthand." By this time my little joke wasover, and I was almost ashamed; so I took the typewritten copy from mywork-basket and handed it to him.
"Forgive me," I said: "I could not help it; but I had been thinkingthat it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you mightnot have to wait--not on my account, but because I know your time mustbe precious--I have written it out on the typewriter for you."
He took it, and his eyes glistened. "You are so good," he said. "And mayI read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I have read."
"By all means," I said, "read it over whilst I order lunch; and then youcan ask me questions whilst we eat." He bowed and settled himself in achair with his back to the light, and became absorbed in the papers,whilst I went to see after lunch, chiefly in order that he might not bedisturbed. When I came back I found him walking hurriedly up and downthe room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me andtook me by both hands.
"Oh, Madam Mina," he said, "how can I say what I owe to you? This paperis as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with somuch light; and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But thatyou do not, cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you soclever woman. Madam"--he said this very solemnly--"if ever Abraham VanHelsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know.It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as afriend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for youand those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights;you are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, andyour husband will be blessed in you."
"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and--and you do not know me."
"Not know you--I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men andwomen; I, who have made my speciality the brain and all that belongsto him and all that follow from him! And I have read your diary thatyou have so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth inevery line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of yourmarriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam Mina, good women tellall their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things thatangels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something ofangels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, foryou trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And yourhusband--tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone,and is he strong and hearty?" I saw here an opening to ask him aboutJonathan, so I said:--
"He has almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr.Hawkins's death." He interrupted:--
"Oh yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two letters." I wenton:--
"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last hehad a sort of shock."
"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kindof shock was it?"
"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, somethingwhich led to his brain fever." And here the whole thing seemed tooverwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror which heexperienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear thathas been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I suppose Iwas hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands tohim, and implored him to make my husband well again. He took my handsand raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me; he held myhand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness:--
"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have nothad much time for friendships; but since I have been summoned to hereby my friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen suchnobility that I feel more than ever--and it has grown with my advancingyears--the loneliness of my life. Believe me, then, that I come herefull of respect for you, and you have given me hope--hope, not in whatI am seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make lifehappy--good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson forthe children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of someuse to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of mystudy and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do _all_ for himthat I can--all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happyone. Now you must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious.Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and what he likenot where he love, is not to his good. Therefore for his sake you musteat and smile. You have told me all about Lucy, and so now we shall notspeak of it, lest it distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for Iwant to think over what you have told me, and when I have thought I willask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will tell me of husbandJonathan's trouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat now;afterwards you shall tell me all."
After lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he said to me:--
"And now tell me all about him." When it came to speaking to this great,learned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, andJonathan a madman--that journal is all so strange--and I hesitated togo on. But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and Itrusted him, so I said:--
"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must notlaugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort offever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that Ihave even half believed some very strange things." He reassured me byhis manner as well as his words when he said:--
"Oh, my dear, if you only knew how strange is the matter regarding whichI am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think littleof any one's belief, no matter how strange it be. I have tried to keepan open mind; and it is not the ordinary things of life that could closeit, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things thatmake one doubt if they be mad or sane."
"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times! You have taken a weight offmy mind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read. It islong, but I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my trouble andJonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad, and all thathappened. I dare not say anything of it; you will read for yourself andjudge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and tellme what you think."
"I promise," he said as I gave him the papers; "I shall in the morning,so soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I may."
"Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to lunchwith us and see him then; you could catch the quick 3.34 train, whichwill leave you at Paddington before eight." He was surprised at myknowledge of the trains offhand, but he does not know that I have madeup all the trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan incase he is in a hurry.
So he took th