Atlas Nightshade

Day 23

Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, to 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 exact accordance with instructions, and keys left in parcel

in main hall, as directed.

"We are, dear Sirs,

"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. Last 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."

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 subject, 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

Jonathan, 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 himself 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 violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love,

and to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Hawkins,

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 in 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 doctor--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

shouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent demeanour 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._

_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, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the

attendant and at times servile; but to-night, the man tells me, 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 sparrow 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 coming of the bride;

but when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyes

that are filled."

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--C_{2}HCl_{3}O. H_{2}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

disappearing 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, apparently 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:--