Atlas Nightshade

Day 24

"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 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. It is a mercy that we have found out his strength and

his danger in good time. With strength and determination like his, 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 awful, 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--coming!"

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.

CHAPTER IX

_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._

"_Buda-Pesth, 24 August._

"My dearest Lucy,--

"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we

parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hull

all right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I

feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I

knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some

nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one,

oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out

of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his

face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not

remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At

least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had some

terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to try

to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse,

tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I

wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself,

and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the

secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear

them, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the

next day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject again,

and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved

about, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about

anything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be,

have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes

to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can

treat of.' I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my

poor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of

_my_ being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I

felt a thrill of joy through me when I _knew_ that no other woman was a

cause of trouble. 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--for I knew then that I might find some clue to his

trouble--but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sent

me over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment.

Then he called me back, and when I came he had his hand over the

note-book, and he said to me very solemnly:--

"'Wilhelmina'--I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has

never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him--'you know,

dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no

secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to

think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it

was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain

fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to

know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.' For, my

dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the formalities are

complete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is

the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me

know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to

the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell

back exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. I

have asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this

afternoon, and am waiting her reply....

* * * * *

"She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English mission

church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soon

after as Jonathan awakes....

* * * * *

"Lucy, the time has come and gone. 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, propped up with pillows. He answered his 'I will' firmly

and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even those

words seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, I

shall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities

I have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the

chaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucy, it

is the first time I have written the words 'my husband'--left me alone

with my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it

up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon

which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax,

and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it

to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would

be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each

other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake

or for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh,

Lucy, it was the first time he took _his wife's_ hand, and said that it

was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go

through all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to

have said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I

shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the

year.

"Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was the

happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give him

except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my love

and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me,

and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemn

pledge between us....

"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only because

it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear to

me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came from

the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now,

and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so that

in your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear,

please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day of

sunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must

not wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be

_always_ as happy as I am _now_. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this at

once, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan

is waking--I must attend to my husband!

"Your ever-loving

"MINA HARKER."

_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker._

"_Whitby, 30 August._

"My dearest Mina,--

"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your own

home with your husband. I wish you could be coming home soon enough to

stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan; it has

quite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of

life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given

up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for a

week, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am getting

fat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have such

walks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing

together; and I love him more than ever. He _tells_ me that he loves me

more, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn't love me

more than he did then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me.

So no more just at present from your loving

"LUCY.

"P. S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear. "P. P.

S.--We are to be married on 28 September."

_Dr. Seward's Diary._

_20 August._--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has

now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion.

For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then one

night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to

himself: "Now I can wait; now I can wait." The attendant came to tell

me, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in the

strait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gone

from his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading--I might

almost say, "cringing"--softness. I was satisfied with his present

condition, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesitated,

but finally carried out my wishes without protest. It was a strange

thing that the patient had humour enough to see their distrust, for,

coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while looking

furtively at them:--

"They think I could hurt you! Fancy _me_ hurting _you_! The fools!"

It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociated

even in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same I

do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in

common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or has

he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needful

to him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not speak. Even the

offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him. He will

only say: "I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to think of now,

and I can wait; I can wait."

After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quiet

until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at

length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhausted

him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.