No More Learning

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. He was very
courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been
sleeping, he said:

"So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest.
I may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, since there are many
labours to me; but you will sleep, I pray. " I passed to my room and
went to bed, and, strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has
its own calms.

_31 May. _--This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself
with some paper and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket,
so that I might write in case I should get an opportunity; but again a
surprise, again a shock!

Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda
relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact, all
that might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and
pondered a while, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made
search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my
clothes.

The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and
rug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some new
scheme of villainy. . . .

_17 June. _--This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed
cudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of whips and pounding
and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard.
With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two great
leiter-waggons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of
each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great, nail-studded belt, dirty
sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I
ran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them through
the main hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a
shock: my door was fastened on the outside.

Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me
stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the Szgany came
out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which
they laughed. Henceforth, no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised
entreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away.
The leiter-waggons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick
rope; these were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks
handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. When
they were all unloaded and backed in a great heap in one corner of the
yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and spitting on
it for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head. Shortly afterwards I
heard the cracking of their whips die away in the distance.

_24 June, before morning. _--Last night the Count left me early, and
locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared, I ran up the
winding stair, and looked out of the window which opened south. I
thought I would watch for the Count, for there is something going on.
The Szgany are quartered somewhere in the castle, and are doing work of
some kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away, muffled sound
as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be to the end of
some ruthless villainy.

I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw
something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched
carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me
to find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst
travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I
had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest,
and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that he
will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave
evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own
letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local
people be attributed to me.

It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut
up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law
which is even a criminal's right and consolation.

I thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long time sat
doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were some
quaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were
like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered
in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense
of soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the
embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more
fully the aerial gambolling.

Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere
far below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it
seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new
shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself
struggling to awake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul
was struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to
answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced
the dust, and the moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into
the mass of gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed
to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full
possession of my senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom
shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams,
were those of the three ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and
felt somewhat safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and
where the lamp was burning brightly.

When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in the
Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed; and
then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With
a beating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, and
could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.

As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without--the agonised cry of
a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out between
the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her
hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning
against a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window she
threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:--

"Monster, give me my child! "

She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the
same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair
and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of
extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I
could not see her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against
the door.

Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of
the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to
be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many
minutes had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when
liberated, through the wide entrance into the courtyard.

There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but
short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and
she was better dead.

What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful
thrall of night and gloom and fear?

_25 June, morning. _--No man knows till he has suffered from the night
how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When
the sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great
gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to
me as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me
as if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I
must take action of some sort while the courage of the day is upon me.
Last night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of that
fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from
the earth.

Let me not think of it. Action!

It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or
threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen
the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake,
that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his
room! But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way
for me.

Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone
why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his
window; why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The
chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall
risk it. At the worst it can only be death; and a man's death is not a
calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me
in my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and
second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!

_Same day, later. _--I have made the effort, and, God helping me, have
come safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order.
I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the south
side, and at once got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runs
round the building on this side. The stones were big and roughly cut,
and the mortar had by process of time been washed away between them.
I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked
down once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth
would not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I
knew pretty well the direction and distance of the Count's window, and
made for it as well as I could, having regard to the opportunities
available. I did not feel dizzy--I suppose I was too excited--and
the time seemed ridiculously short till I found myself standing on
the windowsill and trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with
agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through
the window. Then I looked round for the Count, but, with surprise and
gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely furnished
with odd things, which seemed to have never been used; the furniture
was something the same style as that in the south rooms, and was
covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was not in the lock,
and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I found was a great
heap of gold in one corner--gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and
Austrian, and Hungarian, and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a
film of dust, as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that
I noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were also chains
and ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them old and stained.

At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since I
could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which
was the main object of my search, I must make further examination, or
all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stone
passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended,
minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, being only
lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark,
tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, the
odour of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage the
smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door
which stood ajar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which had
evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two
places were steps leading to vaults, but the ground had recently been
dug over, and the earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those
which had been brought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I
made search for any further outlet, but there was none. Then I went
over every inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down
even into the vaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so
was dread to my very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing
except fragments of old coffins and piles of dust; in the third,
however, I made a discovery.

There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on
a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep,
I could not say which--for the eyes were open and stony, but without
the glassiness of death--and the cheeks had the warmth of life through
all their pallor, and the lips were as red as ever. But there was no
sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent
over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not
have lain there long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in
a few hours. By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes
here and there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I
went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were,
such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that
I fled from the place, and leaving the Count's room by the window,
crawled again up the castle wall. Regaining my own chamber, I threw
myself panting upon the bed and tried to think. . . .

_29 June. _--To-day is the date of my last letter, and the Count has
taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave
the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the
wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that
I might destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's
hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return,
for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came back to the library,
and read there till I fell asleep.

I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can
look as he said:--

"To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful
England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never
meet.