No More Learning

Come; I am informed that your supper is ready. " He took my arm, and
we went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready
on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out on
his being away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and
chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening,
and the Count stayed with me, chatting and asking questions on every
conceivable subject, hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very
late indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under obligation to
meet my host's wishes in every way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep
yesterday had fortified me; but I could not help experiencing that
chill which comes over one at the coming of dawn, which is like, in its
way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death die
generally at the change to the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any
one who has, when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced
this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard
the crow of a cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the
clear morning air; Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said:--

"Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so
long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of
England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by
us," and, with a courtly bow, he left me.

I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little
to notice; my window opened into the courtyard; all I could see was
the warm grey quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and have
written of this day.

_8 May. _--I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting
too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first,
for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that
I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had
never come. It may be that this strange night-existence is telling on
me; but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I
could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak
with, and he! --I fear I am myself the only living soul within the
place. Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me to
bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am
lost. Let me say at once how I stand--or seem to.

I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I could
not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by the window,
and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder,
and heard the Count's voice saying to me, "Good morning. " I started,
for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the
glass covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself
slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the
Count's salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been
mistaken. This time there could be no error, for the man was close to
me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection
of him in the mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed; but there
was no sign of a man in it, except myself. This was startling, and,
coming on the top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase
that vague feeling of uneasiness which I always have when the Count is
near; but at that instant I saw that the cut had bled a little, and the
blood was trickling over my chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I
did so half round to look for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw
my face, his eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly
made a grab at my throat. I drew away, and his hand touched the string
of beads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him, for
the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it was ever
there.

"Take care," he said, "take care how you cut yourself. It is more
dangerous than you think in this country. " Then seizing the shaving
glass, he went on: "And this is the wretched thing that has done the
mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it! " and
opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung
out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones
of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very
annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case
or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.

When I went into the dining-room, breakfast was prepared; but I could
not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange
that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very
peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle.
I went out on the stairs and found a room looking towards the south.
The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every
opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible
precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet
without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of
green tree-tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm.
Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges
through the forests.

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view
I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and
bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there
an available exit.

The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!




CHAPTER III.

/Jonathan Harker's Journal/ (_continued_).


When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over
me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out
of every window I could find; but after a little the conviction of my
helplessness overpowered all other things. When I look back after a
few hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much
as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me
that I was helpless I sat down quietly--as quietly as I have ever done
anything in my life--and began to think over what was best to be done.
I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of
one thing only am I certain: that it is no use making my ideas known
to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done
it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only
deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see,
my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and
my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my
own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so,
I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through. I had hardly come
to this conclusion when I heard the great door below shut, and knew
that the Count had returned. He did not come at once into the library,
so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making the bed.
This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought--that
there were no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the
chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining-room,
I was assured of it; for if he does himself all these menial offices,
surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them. This gave me
a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, it must have been
the Count himself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here.
This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does it mean that he could
control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand in silence.
How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the coach had some
terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the
garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good, good
woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a
strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have
been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time
of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in
the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible
help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if it
may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind about
it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as
it may help me to understand. To-night he may talk of himself, if I
turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to
awake his suspicion.

_Midnight. _--I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a few
questions on Transylvanian history, and he warmed up to the subject
wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially
of battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This he
afterwards explained by saying that to a _boyar_ the pride of his house
and name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that their
fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always said "we,"
and spoke almost in the plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could
put down all he said exactly as he said it, for to me it was most
fascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of the country. He
grew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room pulling his great
white moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands as
though he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said which I
shall put down as nearly as I can; for it tells in its way the story of
his race:--

"We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood
of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here,
in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from
Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their
Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe,
ay, and of Asia and Africa, too, till the peoples thought that the
were-wolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found
the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame,
till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those
old witches, who, expelled from Scythia, had mated with the devils in
the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great
as Attila, whose blood is in these veins? " He held up his arms. "Is
it a wonder that we were a conquering race; that we were proud; that
when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured
his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that
when Arpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he
found us here when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas was
completed there? And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the
Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us
for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land;
ay, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as
the Turks say, 'water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless. ' Who more gladly
than we throughout the Four Nations received the 'bloody sword,' or at
its warlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was
redeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the
flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent;
who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube
and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe
was it that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his
people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it
not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in
a later age again and again brought his forces over the great river
into Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again,
and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where
his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could
ultimately triumph? They said that he thought only of himself. Bah!
what good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without
a brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of
Mohacs, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were
amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we were not
free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys--and the Dracula as their heart's
blood, their brains, and their swords--can boast a record that mushroom
growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The
warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of
dishonourable peace; and the glories of the great races are as a tale
that is told. "

It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (_Mem. _ this
diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for
everything has to break off at cock-crow--or like the ghost of Hamlet's
father. )

_12 May. _--Let me begin with facts--bare, meagre facts, verified
by books and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must
not confuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own
observation or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came from
his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and on the
doing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily over
books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over some of the
matters I had been examined in at Lincoln's Inn. There was a certain
method in the Count's inquires, so I shall try to put them down in
sequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me.

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors, or more.
I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not
be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as
only one could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to
militate against his interest. He seemed thoroughly to understand, and
went on to ask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one
man to attend, say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in
case local help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking
solicitor. I asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not by
any chance mislead him, so he said:--

"I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from
under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which is far
from London, buys for me through your good self my place at London.
Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange
that I have sought the services of one so far off from London instead
of some one resident there, that my motive was that no local interest
might be served save my wish only; and as one of London resident might,
perhaps, have some purpose of himself or friend to serve I went thus
afield to seek my agent, whose labours should be only to my interest.
Now, suppose I, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to
Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it
could with more ease be done by consigning to one in these ports? " I
answered that certainly it would be most easy, but that we solicitors
had a system of agency one for the other, so that local work could be
done locally on instruction from any solicitor, so that the client,
simply placing himself in the hands of one man, could have his wishes
carried out by him without further trouble.

"But," said he, "I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so? "

"Of course," I replied; "and such is often done by men of business, who
do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person. "

"Good! " he said, and then went on to ask about the means of making
consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of
difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be guarded
against. I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability,
and he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made
a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of
or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not
evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen
were wonderful. When he had satisfied himself on these points of which
he had spoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the books
available, he suddenly stood up and said:--

"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter
Hawkins, or to any other? " It was with some bitterness in my heart that
I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity
of sending letters to anybody.

"Then write now, my young friend," he said, laying a heavy hand on my
shoulder; "write to our friend and to any other; and say, if it will
please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now. "

"Do you wish me to stay so long? " I asked, for my heart grew cold at
the thought.

"I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master,
employer, what you will, engaged that some one should come on his
behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I
have not stinted. Is it not so? "

What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins's interest, not
mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count
Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing
which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it
I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his
mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them,
but in his own smooth, resistless way:--

"I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of
things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please
your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to
getting home to them. Is it not so? " As he spoke he handed me three
sheets of notepaper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest
foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet
smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red under-lip, I
understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I
wrote, for he would be able to read it. So I determined to write only
formal notes now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also
to Mina, for to her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle
the Count, if he did see it. When I had written my two letters I sat
quiet, reading a book whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring
as he wrote them to some books on his table. Then he took up my two
and placed them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after
which, the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and
looked at the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no
compunction in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I
should protect myself in every way I could.

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The
Crescent, Whitby; another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to
Coutts & Co. , London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth,
bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just
about to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I sank back in
my seat, having just had time to replace the letters as they had been
and to resume my book before the Count, holding still another letter
in his hand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and
stamped them carefully, and then, turning to me, said:--

"I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private
this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as you wish. " At the
door he turned, and after a moment's pause said:--

"Let me advise you, my dear young friend--nay, let me warn you with
all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any
chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has
many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely.
Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do,
then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will
then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then"----He
finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands
as if he were washing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to
whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible
net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing round me.

_Later. _--I endorse the last words written, but this time there is no
doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where he is
not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed--I imagine that
my rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain.

When he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not hearing
any sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where I could look
out towards the south. There was some sense of freedom in the vast
expanse, inaccessible though it was to me, as compared with the narrow
darkness of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I was
indeed in prison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air, though
it were of the night. I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence
tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and
am full of all sorts of horrible imaginings. God knows that there is
ground for any terrible fear in this accursed place! I looked out over
the beautiful expanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was
almost as light as day. In the soft light the distant hills became
melted, and the shadows in the valleys and gorges of velvety blackness.
The mere beauty seemed to cheer me; there was peace and comfort in
every breath I drew. As I leaned from the window my eye was caught by
something moving a storey below me, and somewhat to my left, where I
imagined, from the lie of the rooms, that the windows of the Count's
own room would look out. The window at which I stood was tall and deep,
stone-mullioned, and though weather-worn, was still complete; but it
was evidently many a day since the case had been there. I drew back
behind the stonework, and looked carefully out.

What I saw was the Count's head coming out from the window.
I did not
see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of his
back and arms. In any case, I could not mistake the hands which I had
had so many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested and
somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will interest
and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed
to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from
the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful
abyss, _face down_, with his cloak spreading out around him like
great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was
some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept
looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp
the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of
years, and by thus using every projection and inequality move downwards
with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the
semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering
me; I am in fear--in awful fear--and there is no escape for me; I am
encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of. . . .

_15 May. _--Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard
fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet down,
and a good deal to the left. He vanished into some hole or window. When
his head had disappeared I leaned out to try and see more, but without
avail--the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of sight. I
knew he had left the castle now, and thought to use the opportunity
to explore more than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to the
room, and taking a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all locked
as I had expected, and the locks were comparatively new; but I went
down the stone stairs to the hall where I had entered originally. I
found I could pull back the bolts easily enough and unhook the great
chains; but the door was locked, and the key was gone! That key must
be in the Count's room; I must watch should his door be unlocked, so
that I may get it and escape. I went on to make a thorough examination
of the various stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened
from them. One or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there
was nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with age and
moth-eaten. At last, however, I found one door at the top of a stairway
which, though it seemed to be locked, gave a little under pressure.
I tried it harder, and found that it was not really locked, but that
the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat,
and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which
I might not have again, so I exerted myself, and with many efforts
forced it back so that I could enter. I was now in a wing of the castle
further to the right than the rooms I knew and a story lower down. From
the windows I could see that the suite of rooms lay along to the south
of the castle, the windows of the end room looking out both west and
south. On the latter side, as well as to the former, there was a great
precipice. The castle was built on the corner of a great rock, so that
on three sides it was quite impregnable, and great windows were placed
here where sling, or bow, or culverin could not reach, and consequently
light and comfort, impossible to a position which had to be guarded,
were secured. To the west was a great valley, and then, rising far
away, great jagged mountain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer
rock studded with mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks
and crevices and crannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion
of the castle occupied in bygone days, for the furniture had more air
of comfort than any I had seen. The windows were curtainless, and the
yellow moonlight, flooding in through the diamond panes, enabled one to
see even colours, whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over
all and disguised in some measure the ravages of time and the moth. My
lamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I
was glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the
place which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, it was
better than living alone in the rooms which I had come to hate from the
presence of the Count, and after trying a little to school my nerves, I
found a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak
table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much
thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my
diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. It
is nineteenth century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my
senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have powers of their own
which mere "modernity" cannot kill.

_Later: the Morning of 16 May. _--God preserve my sanity, for to this I
am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past.
Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for: that I may
not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely
it is maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this
hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone
I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his
purpose. Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way
lies madness indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which
have puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant
when he made Hamlet say:--

"My tablets! quick, my tablets!
'Tis meet that I put it down," etc. ,

for now, feeling as though my own brain was unhinged or as if the shock
had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose.
The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

The Count's mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it frightens
me more now when I think of it, for in future he has a fearful hold
upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book
and pen in my pocket, I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came into my
mind, but I took a pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was
upon me, and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider. The
soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of
freedom which refreshed me. I determined not to return to-night to the
gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where of old ladies had sat and
sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for
their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great
couch out of its place near the corner, so that, as I lay, I could look
at the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of and uncaring
for the dust, composed myself for sleep.

I suppose I must have fallen asleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all
that followed was startlingly real--so real that now, sitting here in
the broad, full sunlight of the morning, I cannot in the least believe
that it was all sleep.

I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way since I
came into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight,
my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation of
dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by
their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming
when I saw them, for, though the moonlight was behind them, they threw
no shadow on the floor. They came close to me and looked at me for some
time and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline
noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed to
be almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The other was
fair, as fair as can be, with great, wavy masses of golden hair and
eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to
know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect
at the moment how or where. All three had brilliant white teeth, that
shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was
something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same
time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that
they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this
down, lest some day it should meet Mina's eyes and cause her pain;
but it is the truth. They whispered together, and then they all three
laughed--such a silvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound
never could have come through the softness of human lips. It was like
the intolerable, tingling sweetness of water-glasses when played on
by a cunning hand. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the
other two urged her on. One said:--

"Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to
begin. " The other added:--

"He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all. " I lay quiet,
looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation.
The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement
of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent
the same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter
underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.

I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly
under the lashes. The fair girl went on her knees and bent over me,
fairly gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both
thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually
licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the
moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped
the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went
below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my
throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her
tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath
on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one's flesh
does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer--nearer. I
could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the supersensitive
skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching
and pausing there. I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and
waited--waited with beating heart.

But at that instant another sensation swept through me as quick as
lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of his
being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily
I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and with
giant's power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the
white teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red with
passion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even
in the demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red
light in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind
them. His face was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard like
drawn wires; the thick eyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like
a heaving bar of white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he
hurled the woman from him, and then motioned to the others, as though
he were beating them back; it was the same imperious gesture that I
had seen used to the wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost a
whisper, seemed to cut through the air and then ring round the room, as
he said:--

"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him
when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me!
Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me. " The
fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:--

"You yourself never loved; you never love! " On this the other women
joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the
room that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasure
of fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively,
and said in a soft whisper:--

"Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it
not so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him, you shall
kiss him at your will. Now go! go! I must awaken him, for there is work
to be done. "

"Are we to have nothing to-night? " said one of them, with a low laugh,
as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the floor, and which
moved as though there were some living thing within it. For answer he
nodded his head. One of the women jumped forward and opened it. If
my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a
half-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast with
horror; but as I looked they disappeared, and with them the dreadful
bag. There was no door near them, and they could not have passed me
without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into the rays of the
moonlight and pass out through the window, for I could see outside the
dim, shadowy forms for a moment before they entirely faded away.

Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.




CHAPTER IV.

JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL--_continued. _


I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must
have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but
could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were
certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid
by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and
I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to
bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may
have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, from some cause
or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof.
Of one thing I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and
undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are
intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he
would not have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look
round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now
a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful
women, who were--who _are_--waiting to suck my blood.

_18 May. _--I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for
I _must_ know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the
stairs, I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the
jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the
bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the
inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise.

_19 May. _--I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me
in the suavest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work
here was nearly done and that I should start for home within a few
days, another that I was starting on the next morning from the time
of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived
at Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present
state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count
whilst I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to
excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know
too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my
only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which
will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that
gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from
him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my
writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured
me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later
letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case
chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would
have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in
with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the letters.
He calculated a minute, and then said:--

"The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the third June
29. "

I know now the span of my life. God help me!

_28 May. _--There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able
to send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are
encamped in the courtyard. These Szgany are gipsies; I have notes of
them in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though
allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands
of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law.
They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or _boyar_, and
call themselves by his name. They are fearless and without religion,
save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of the Romany
tongue.

I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have them
posted. I have already spoken to them through my window to begin an
acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and many
signs, which, however, I could not understand any more than I could
their spoken language. . . .

I have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply
ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my
situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would
shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her.
Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my
secret or the extent of my knowledge. . . .

I have given the letters; I threw them through the bars of my window
with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted.
The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then
put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study and
began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have written here. . . .

The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest
voice as he opened two letters:--

"The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence they
come, I shall, of course, take care. See! "--he must have looked at
it--"one is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins; the other"--here
he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and
the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly--"the
other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It
is not signed. Well! so it cannot matter to us. " And he calmly held
letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed.
Then he went on:--

"The letter to Hawkins--that I shall, of course, send on, since it is
yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that
unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again? " He
held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a clean
envelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When
he went out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute
later I went over and tried it, and the door was locked.

When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his
coming wakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa.