Reading Help DRACULA by Bram Stoker Ch.13-27
woman, and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in `
` time infallibly have wrecked her." `
` `
` So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker, Quincey `
` and Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth boxes. I `
` shall finish my round of work and we shall meet tonight. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL `
` `
` 1 October.--It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am today, `
` after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see him `
` manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all. `
` This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though `
` Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he `
` went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a `
` word of what had happened in the visit to the Count's house. And yet `
` he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I `
` suppose it must have distressed him even more than it did me. They `
` all agreed that it was best that I should not be drawn further into `
` this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think that he keeps `
` anything from me! And now I am crying like a silly fool, when I know `
` it comes from my husband's great love and from the good, good wishes `
` of those other strong men. `
` `
` That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all. And `
` lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept `
` anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has `
` feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my `
` heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and `
` low-spirited today. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible `
` excitement. `
` `
` Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because they `
` told me to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of devouring `
` anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been ever since `
` Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like a horrible `
` tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some destined end. `
` Everything that one does seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring `
` on the very thing which is most to be deplored. If I hadn't gone to `
` Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us now. She hadn't taken `
` to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if she hadn't come there `
` in the day time with me she wouldn't have walked in her sleep. And if `
` she hadn't gone there at night and asleep, that monster couldn't have `
` destroyed her as he did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, `
` crying again! I wonder what has come over me today. I must hide it `
` from Jonathan, for if he knew that I had been crying twice in one `
` morning . . . I, who never cried on my own account, and whom he has `
` never caused to shed a tear, the dear fellow would fret his heart out. `
` I shall put a bold face on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see `
` it. I suppose it is just one of the lessons that we poor women have `
` to learn . . . `
` `
` I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember `
` hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like `
` praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which is `
` somewhere under this. And then there was silence over everything, `
` silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out `
` of the window. All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by `
` the moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a `
` thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or `
` fate, so that a thin streak of white mist, that crept with almost `
` imperceptible slowness across the grass towards the house, seemed to `
` have a sentience and a vitality of its own. I think that the `
` digression of my thoughts must have done me good, for when I got back `
` to bed I found a lethargy creeping over me. I lay a while, but could `
` not quite sleep, so I got out and looked out of the window again. The `
` mist was spreading, and was now close up to the house, so that I could `
` see it lying thick against the wall, as though it were stealing up to `
` the windows. The poor man was more loud than ever, and though I could `
` not distinguish a word he said, I could in some way recognize in his `
` tones some passionate entreaty on his part. Then there was the sound `
` of a struggle, and I knew that the attendants were dealing with him. `
` I was so frightened that I crept into bed, and pulled the clothes over `
` my head, putting my fingers in my ears. I was not then a bit sleepy, `
` at least so I thought, but I must have fallen asleep, for except `
` dreams, I do not remember anything until the morning, when Jonathan `
` woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a little time to `
` realize where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was bending over me. `
` My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical of the way that `
` waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in, dreams. `
` `
` I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come back. I `
` was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act, my feet, and `
` my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could proceed at `
` the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began `
` to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put `
` back the clothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was `
` dim around. The gaslight which I had left lit for Jonathan, but `
` turned down, came only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which `
` had evidently grown thicker and poured into the room. Then it `
` occurred to me that I had shut the window before I had come to bed. I `
` would have got out to make certain on the point, but some leaden `
` lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even my will. I lay still and `
` endured, that was all. I closed my eyes, but could still see through `
` my eyelids. (It is wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how `
` conveniently we can imagine.) The mist grew thicker and thicker and I `
` could see now how it came in, for I could see it like smoke, or with `
` the white energy of boiling water, pouring in, not through the window, `
` but through the joinings of the door. It got thicker and thicker, `
` till it seemed as if it became concentrated into a sort of pillar of `
` cloud in the room, through the top of which I could see the light of `
` the gas shining like a red eye. Things began to whirl through my `
` brain just as the cloudy column was now whirling in the room, and `
` through it all came the scriptural words "a pillar of cloud by day and `
` of fire by night." Was it indeed such spiritual guidance that was `
` coming to me in my sleep? But the pillar was composed of both the day `
` and the night guiding, for the fire was in the red eye, which at the `
` thought got a new fascination for me, till, as I looked, the fire `
` divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like two red eyes, `
` such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on the `
` cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's Church. `
` Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan had `
` seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling mist `
` in the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all became `
` black darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was `
` to show me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist. `
` `
` I must be careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's reason if `
` there were too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. `
` Seward to prescribe something for me which would make me sleep, only `
` that I fear to alarm them. Such a dream at the present time would `
` become woven into their fears for me. Tonight I shall strive hard to `
` sleep naturally. If I do not, I shall tomorrow night get them to give `
` me a dose of chloral, that cannot hurt me for once, and it will give `
` me a good night's sleep. Last night tired me more than if I had not `
` slept at all. `
` `
` `
` 2 October 10 P.M.--Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must have `
` slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed, but the `
` sleep has not refreshed me, for today I feel terribly weak and `
` spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down `
` dozing. In the afternoon, Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor `
` man, he was very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and `
` bade God bless me. Some way it affected me much. I am crying when I `
` think of him. This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful. `
` Jonathan would be miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the `
` others were out till dinner time, and they all came in tired. I did `
` what I could to brighten them up, and I suppose that the effort did me `
` good, for I forgot how tired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, `
` and all went off to smoke together, as they said, but I knew that they `
` wanted to tell each other of what had occurred to each during the day. `
` I could see from Jonathan's manner that he had something important to `
` communicate. I was not so sleepy as I should have been, so before `
` they went I asked Dr. Seward to give me a little opiate of some kind, `
` as I had not slept well the night before. He very kindly made me up a `
` sleeping draught, which he gave to me, telling me that it would do me `
` no harm, as it was very mild . . . I have taken it, and am waiting for `
` sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope I have not done wrong, for as `
` sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes: that I may have been `
` foolish in thus depriving myself of the power of waking. I might want `
` it. Here comes sleep. Goodnight. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER 20 `
` `
` `
` JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL `
` `
` 1 October, evening.--I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal `
` Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything. `
` The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him `
` had proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected `
` debauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor `
` soul, that he was only the assistant of Smollet, who of the two mates `
` was the responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. `
` Joseph Smollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out `
` of a saucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, `
` reliable type of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He `
` remembered all about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful `
` dog-eared notebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle `
` about the seat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries `
` in thick, half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the `
` boxes. There were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from `
` Carfax and left at 197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and `
` another six which he deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then `
` the Count meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, `
` these places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he `
` might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this was `
` done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to two `
` sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east on the northern `
` shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the south. The north `
` and west were surely never meant to be left out of his diabolical `
` scheme, let alone the City itself and the very heart of fashionable `
` London in the south-west and west. I went back to Smollet, and asked `
` him if he could tell us if any other boxes had been taken from Carfax. `
` `
` He replied, "Well guv'nor, you've treated me very 'an'some", I had `
` given him half a sovereign, "an I'll tell yer all I know. I heard a `
` man by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are an' 'Ounds, `
` in Pincher's Alley, as 'ow he an' his mate 'ad 'ad a rare dusty job in `
` a old 'ouse at Purfleet. There ain't a many such jobs as this 'ere, `
` an' I'm thinkin' that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut." `
` `
` I asked if he could tell me where to find him. I told him that if he `
`
` time infallibly have wrecked her." `
` `
` So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker, Quincey `
` and Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth boxes. I `
` shall finish my round of work and we shall meet tonight. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL `
` `
` 1 October.--It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am today, `
` after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see him `
` manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all. `
` This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though `
` Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he `
` went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a `
` word of what had happened in the visit to the Count's house. And yet `
` he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I `
` suppose it must have distressed him even more than it did me. They `
` all agreed that it was best that I should not be drawn further into `
` this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think that he keeps `
` anything from me! And now I am crying like a silly fool, when I know `
` it comes from my husband's great love and from the good, good wishes `
` of those other strong men. `
` `
` That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all. And `
` lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept `
` anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has `
` feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my `
` heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and `
` low-spirited today. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible `
` excitement. `
` `
` Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because they `
` told me to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of devouring `
` anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been ever since `
` Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like a horrible `
` tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some destined end. `
` Everything that one does seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring `
` on the very thing which is most to be deplored. If I hadn't gone to `
` Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us now. She hadn't taken `
` to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if she hadn't come there `
` in the day time with me she wouldn't have walked in her sleep. And if `
` she hadn't gone there at night and asleep, that monster couldn't have `
` destroyed her as he did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, `
` crying again! I wonder what has come over me today. I must hide it `
` from Jonathan, for if he knew that I had been crying twice in one `
` morning . . . I, who never cried on my own account, and whom he has `
` never caused to shed a tear, the dear fellow would fret his heart out. `
` I shall put a bold face on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see `
` it. I suppose it is just one of the lessons that we poor women have `
` to learn . . . `
` `
` I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember `
` hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like `
` praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which is `
` somewhere under this. And then there was silence over everything, `
` silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out `
` of the window. All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by `
` the moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a `
` thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or `
` fate, so that a thin streak of white mist, that crept with almost `
` imperceptible slowness across the grass towards the house, seemed to `
` have a sentience and a vitality of its own. I think that the `
` digression of my thoughts must have done me good, for when I got back `
` to bed I found a lethargy creeping over me. I lay a while, but could `
` not quite sleep, so I got out and looked out of the window again. The `
` mist was spreading, and was now close up to the house, so that I could `
` see it lying thick against the wall, as though it were stealing up to `
` the windows. The poor man was more loud than ever, and though I could `
` not distinguish a word he said, I could in some way recognize in his `
` tones some passionate entreaty on his part. Then there was the sound `
` of a struggle, and I knew that the attendants were dealing with him. `
` I was so frightened that I crept into bed, and pulled the clothes over `
` my head, putting my fingers in my ears. I was not then a bit sleepy, `
` at least so I thought, but I must have fallen asleep, for except `
` dreams, I do not remember anything until the morning, when Jonathan `
` woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a little time to `
` realize where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was bending over me. `
` My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical of the way that `
` waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in, dreams. `
` `
` I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come back. I `
` was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act, my feet, and `
` my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could proceed at `
` the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began `
` to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put `
` back the clothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was `
` dim around. The gaslight which I had left lit for Jonathan, but `
` turned down, came only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which `
` had evidently grown thicker and poured into the room. Then it `
` occurred to me that I had shut the window before I had come to bed. I `
` would have got out to make certain on the point, but some leaden `
` lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even my will. I lay still and `
` endured, that was all. I closed my eyes, but could still see through `
` my eyelids. (It is wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how `
` conveniently we can imagine.) The mist grew thicker and thicker and I `
` could see now how it came in, for I could see it like smoke, or with `
` the white energy of boiling water, pouring in, not through the window, `
` but through the joinings of the door. It got thicker and thicker, `
` till it seemed as if it became concentrated into a sort of pillar of `
` cloud in the room, through the top of which I could see the light of `
` the gas shining like a red eye. Things began to whirl through my `
` brain just as the cloudy column was now whirling in the room, and `
` through it all came the scriptural words "a pillar of cloud by day and `
` of fire by night." Was it indeed such spiritual guidance that was `
` coming to me in my sleep? But the pillar was composed of both the day `
` and the night guiding, for the fire was in the red eye, which at the `
` thought got a new fascination for me, till, as I looked, the fire `
` divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like two red eyes, `
` such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on the `
` cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's Church. `
` Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan had `
` seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling mist `
` in the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all became `
` black darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was `
` to show me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist. `
` `
` I must be careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's reason if `
` there were too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. `
` Seward to prescribe something for me which would make me sleep, only `
` that I fear to alarm them. Such a dream at the present time would `
` become woven into their fears for me. Tonight I shall strive hard to `
` sleep naturally. If I do not, I shall tomorrow night get them to give `
` me a dose of chloral, that cannot hurt me for once, and it will give `
` me a good night's sleep. Last night tired me more than if I had not `
` slept at all. `
` `
` `
` 2 October 10 P.M.--Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must have `
` slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed, but the `
` sleep has not refreshed me, for today I feel terribly weak and `
` spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down `
` dozing. In the afternoon, Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor `
` man, he was very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and `
` bade God bless me. Some way it affected me much. I am crying when I `
` think of him. This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful. `
` Jonathan would be miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the `
` others were out till dinner time, and they all came in tired. I did `
` what I could to brighten them up, and I suppose that the effort did me `
` good, for I forgot how tired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, `
` and all went off to smoke together, as they said, but I knew that they `
` wanted to tell each other of what had occurred to each during the day. `
` I could see from Jonathan's manner that he had something important to `
` communicate. I was not so sleepy as I should have been, so before `
` they went I asked Dr. Seward to give me a little opiate of some kind, `
` as I had not slept well the night before. He very kindly made me up a `
` sleeping draught, which he gave to me, telling me that it would do me `
` no harm, as it was very mild . . . I have taken it, and am waiting for `
` sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope I have not done wrong, for as `
` sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes: that I may have been `
` foolish in thus depriving myself of the power of waking. I might want `
` it. Here comes sleep. Goodnight. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER 20 `
` `
` `
` JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL `
` `
` 1 October, evening.--I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal `
` Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything. `
` The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to him `
` had proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected `
` debauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor `
` soul, that he was only the assistant of Smollet, who of the two mates `
` was the responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr. `
` Joseph Smollet at home and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out `
` of a saucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, `
` reliable type of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He `
` remembered all about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful `
` dog-eared notebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle `
` about the seat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries `
` in thick, half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the `
` boxes. There were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from `
` Carfax and left at 197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and `
` another six which he deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then `
` the Count meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, `
` these places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he `
` might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this was `
` done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to two `
` sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east on the northern `
` shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the south. The north `
` and west were surely never meant to be left out of his diabolical `
` scheme, let alone the City itself and the very heart of fashionable `
` London in the south-west and west. I went back to Smollet, and asked `
` him if he could tell us if any other boxes had been taken from Carfax. `
` `
` He replied, "Well guv'nor, you've treated me very 'an'some", I had `
` given him half a sovereign, "an I'll tell yer all I know. I heard a `
` man by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are an' 'Ounds, `
` in Pincher's Alley, as 'ow he an' his mate 'ad 'ad a rare dusty job in `
` a old 'ouse at Purfleet. There ain't a many such jobs as this 'ere, `
` an' I'm thinkin' that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut." `
` `
` I asked if he could tell me where to find him. I told him that if he `
`