No More Learning

"I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do not act
properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that paper would have
to be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no inquest, for if we
had it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing else did. I know, and you
know, and the other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs. Westenra
had disease of the heart, and we can certify that she died of it. Let
us fill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it myself to the
registrar and go on to the undertaker. "

"Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if she be
sad in the foes that beset her, is at least happy in the friends that
love her. One, two, three, all open their veins for her, besides one old
man. Ah yes, I know, friend John; I am not blind! I love you all the
more for it! Now go. "

In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur telling him
that Mrs. Westenra was dead; that Lucy also had been ill, but was now
going on better; and that Van Helsing and I were with her. I told him
where I was going, and he hurried me out, but as I was going said:--

"When you come back, Jack, may I have two words with you all to
ourselves? " I nodded in reply and went out. I found no difficulty about
the registration, and arranged with the local undertaker to come up in
the evening to measure for the coffin and to make arrangements.

When I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him I would see him
as soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her room. She was still
sleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from his seat at
her side. From his putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that he
expected her to wake before long and was afraid of forestalling nature.
So I went down to Quincey and took him into the breakfast-room, where
the blinds were not drawn down, and which was a little more cheerful,
or rather less cheerless, than the other rooms. When we were alone, he
said to me:--

"Jack Seward, I don't want to shove myself in anywhere where I've no
right to be; but this is no ordinary case. You know I loved that girl
and wanted to marry her; but, although that's all past and gone, I
can't help feeling anxious about her all the same. What is it that's
wrong with her? The Dutchman--and a fine old fellow he is; I can see
that--said, that time you two came into the room, that you must have
_another_ transfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted.
Now I know well that you medical men speak _in camera_, and that a man
must not expect to know what they consult about in private. But this is
no common matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not that
so? "

"That's so," I said, and he went on:--

"I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I did
to-day. Is not that so? "

"That's so. "

"And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago down at
his own place he looked queer. I have not seen anything pulled down so
quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that I was fond of go
to grass all in a night. One of those big bats that they call vampires
had got at her in the night, and, what with his gorge and the vein left
open, there wasn't enough blood in her to let her stand up, and I had to
put a bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if you may tell me without
betraying confidence, Arthur was the first; is not that so? " As he
spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a torture of
suspense regarding the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the
terrible mystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. His
very heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood of him--and there
was a royal lot of it, too--to keep him from breaking down. I paused
before answering, for I felt that I must not betray anything which the
Professor wished kept secret, but already he knew so much, and guessed
so much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so I answered
in the same phrase: "That's so. "

"And how long has this been going on? "

"About ten days. "

"Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor pretty creature
that we all love has had put into her veins within that time the blood
of four strong men. Man alive, her whole body wouldn't hold it. " Then,
coming close to me, he spoke in a fierce half-whisper: "What took it
out? "

I shook my head. "That," I said, "is the crux. Van Helsing is simply
frantic about it, and I am at my wits' end. I can't even hazard a guess.
There has been a series of little circumstances which have thrown out
all our calculations as to Lucy being properly watched. But these shall
not occur again. Here we stay until all be well--or ill. " Quincey held
out his hand. "Count me in," he said. "You and the Dutchman will tell me
what to do, and I'll do it. "

When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy's first movement was to feel
in her breast, and, to my surprise, produced the paper which Van Helsing
had given me to read. The careful Professor had replaced it where it
had come from, lest on waking she should be alarmed. Her eye then lit
on Van Helsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then she looked round the
room, and seeing where she was, shuddered; she gave a loud cry, and put
her poor thin hands before her pale face. We both understood what that
meant--that she had realised to the full her mother's death; so we tried
what we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, but
she was very low in thought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for
a long time. We told her that either or both of us would now remain with
her all the time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fell
into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep she
took the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped
over and took the pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on
with the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her
hands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering
the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as
if in thought, but he said nothing.

_19 September. _--All last night she slept fitfully, being always afraid
to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from it. The Professor
and I took it in turns to watch, and we never left her for a moment
unattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew
that all night long he patrolled round and round the house.

When the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor
Lucy's strength. She was hardly able to turn her head, and the little
nourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good. At times she
slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, between
sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although more
haggard, and her breathing was softer; her open mouth showed the pale
gums drawn back from the teeth, which thus looked positively longer and
sharper than usual; when she woke the softness of her eyes evidently
changed the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dying
one. In the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him.
Quincey went off to meet him at the station.

When he arrived it was nearly six o'clock, and the sun was setting full
and warm, and the red light streamed in through the window and gave
more colour to the pale cheeks. When he saw her, Arthur was simply
choked with emotion, and none of us could speak. In the hours that had
passed, the fits of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for
it, had grown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation was
possible were shortened. Arthur's presence, however, seemed to act as a
stimulant; she rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than she
had done since we arrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke as
cheerily as he could, so that the best was made of everything.

It is now nearly one o'clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting with
her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am entering
this on Lucy's phonograph. Until six o'clock they are to try to rest. I
fear that to-morrow will end our watching, for the shock has been too
great; the poor child cannot rally. God help us all.


_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra. _

(Unopened by her. )

_"17 September. _

"My dearest Lucy,--

"It seems _an age_ since I heard from you, or indeed since I wrote. You
will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all my
budget of news. Well, I got my husband back all right; when we arrived
at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he had
an attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to his own house, where there
were rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined together. After
dinner Mr. Hawkins said:--

"'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity; and may every
blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and have, with
love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make your home here
with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child; all are gone, and in
my will I have left you everything. ' I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and
the old man clasped hands. Our evening was a very, very happy one.

"So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both
my bedroom and drawing-room I can see the great elms of the cathedral
close, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellow
stone of the cathedral; and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and
cawing and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of
rooks--and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging things
and housekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are busy all day; for, now
that Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about the
clients.

"How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could run up to town for
a day or two to see you, dear, but I dare not go yet, with so much on
my shoulders; and Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning
to put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by
the long illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a
sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his
usual placidity. However, thank God, these occasions grow less frequent
as the days go on, and they will in time pass away altogether, I trust.
And now I have told you my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be
married, and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what are
you to wear, and is it to be a public or a private wedding? Tell me all
about it, dear; tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which
interests you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to send
his 'respectful duty,' but I do not think that is good enough from the
junior partner of the important firm of Hawkins & Harker; and so, as you
love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and tenses
of the verb, I send you simply his 'love' instead. Goodbye, my dearest
Lucy, and all blessings on you.

"Yours,
"/Mina Harker. /"


_Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D. , M. R. C. S. , L. K. Q. CP. I. , etc. , etc. ,
to John Seward, M. D. _

"_20 September. _

"My dear Sir,--

"In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the conditions
of everything left in my charge. . . . With regard to patient, Renfield,
there is more to say. He has had another outbreak which might have had a
dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended
with any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier's cart with two men
made a call at the empty house whose grounds abut on ours--the house to
which, you will remember, the patient twice ran away. The men stopped
at our gate to ask the porter their way, as they were strangers. I was
myself looking out of the study window, having a smoke after dinner,
and saw one of them come up to the house. As he passed the window of
Renfield's room, the patient began to rate him from within, and called
him all the foul names he could lay his tongue to. The man, who seemed a
decent fellow enough, contented himself by telling him to 'shut up for
a foul-mouthed beggar,' whereon our man accused him of robbing him and
wanting to murder him and said that he would hinder him if he were to
swing for it. I opened the window and signed to the man not to notice,
so he contented himself after looking the place over and making up his
mind as to what kind of place he had got to by saying: 'Lor' bless yer,
sir, I wouldn't mind what was said to me in a bloomin' madhouse. I pity
ye and the guv'nor for havin' to live in the house with a wild beast
like that. ' Then he asked the way civilly enough, and I told him where
the gate of the empty house was; he went away, followed by threats and
curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I could make
out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved
man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred.
I found him, to my astonishment, quite composed and most genial in his
manner. I tried to get him to talk of the incident, but he blandly asked
me questions as to what I meant, and led me to believe that he was
completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am sorry to say, however,
only another instance of his cunning, for within half an hour I heard of
him again. This time he had broken out through the window of his room,
and was running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to follow
me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on some mischief. My
fear was justified when I saw the same cart which had passed before
coming down the road, having on it some great wooden boxes. The men were
wiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if with violent
exercise. Before I could get up to him the patient rushed at them, and
pulling one of them off the cart, began to knock his head against the
ground. If I had not seized him just at the moment I believe he would
have killed the man there and then. The other fellow jumped down and
struck him over the head with the butt-end of his heavy whip. It was
a terrible blow; but he did not seem to mind it, but seized him also,
and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and fro as if we were
kittens. You know I am no light weight, and the others were both burly
men. At first he was silent in his fighting; but as we began to master
him, and the attendants were putting a strait-waistcoat on him, he
began to shout: 'I'll frustrate them! They shan't rob me! they shan't
murder me by inches! I'll fight for my Lord and Master! ' and all sorts
of similar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable difficulty
that they got him back to the house and put him in the padded room. One
of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set it all
right; and he is going on well.

"The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for
damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Their
threats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology for
the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it
had not been for the way their strength had been spent in carrying and
raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short work of
him. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinary
state of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature of
their occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of their
labours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their
drift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same,
and with each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and
swore that they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure
of meeting so 'bloomin' good a bloke' as your correspondent. I took
their names and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are as
follows:--Jack Smollet, of Dudding's Rents, King George's Road, Great
Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Parley's Row, Guide Court, Bethnal
Green. They are both in the employment of Harris & Sons, Moving and
Shipment Company, Orange Master's Yard, Soho.

"I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring here, and shall
wire you at once if there is anything of importance.

"Believe me, dear Sir,
"Yours faithfully,
"/Patrick Hennessey. /"


_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra. _

(Unopened by her. )

"_18 September. _

"My dearest Lucy,--

"Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very suddenly.
Some may not think it so sad for us, but we had both come to so love
him that it really seems as though we had lost a father. I never knew
either father or mother, so that the dear old man's death is a real blow
to me. Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he feels
sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear, good man who has befriended him all
his life, and now at the end has treated him like his own son and left
him a fortune which to people of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond
the dream of avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account. He says
the amount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous.
He begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and _my_ belief in
_him_ helps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the
grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too
hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his--a nature
which enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid, to rise from clerk to
master in a few years--should be so injured that the very essence of
its strength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry you with my troubles
in the midst of your own happiness; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some
one, for the strain of keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to
Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread
coming up to London, as we must do the day after to-morrow; for poor Mr.
Hawkins left in his will that he was to be buried in the grave with his
father.
As there are no relations at all, Jonathan will have to be chief
mourner. I shall try to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a few
minutes. Forgive me for troubling you. With all blessings,

"Your loving
"/Mina Harker. /"


_Dr. Seward's Diary. _

_20 September. _--Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry
to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world
and all in it, including life itself, and I would not care if I heard
this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death. And he has
been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late--Lucy's mother
and Arthur's father, and now. . . . Let me get on with my work.

I duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wanted Arthur to
go to rest also, but he refused at first. It was only when I told him
that we should want him to help us during the day, and that we must not
all break down for want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he agreed
to go. Van Helsing was very kind to him. "Come, my child," he said;
"come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and much
mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of. You
must not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms.
Come to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are two
sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will
be comfort for each other, even though we do not speak, and even if
we sleep. " Arthur went off with him, casting back a longing look on
Lucy's face, which lay on her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She
lay quite still, and I looked round the room to see that all was as
it should be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in this
room, as in the other, his purpose of using the garlic; the whole of
the window-sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy's neck, over the silk
handkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a rough chaplet of
the same odorous flowers. Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and
her face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Her
teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they
had been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the
canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest. I sat down by her,
and presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort
of dull flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly,
and peeped out by the corner of the blind. There was a full moonlight,
and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled
round--doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim--and every
now and again struck the window with its wings. When I came back to my
seat I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic
flowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and sat
watching her.

Presently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing had prescribed.
She took but a little, and that languidly. There did not seem to be
with her now the unconscious struggle for life and strength that had
hitherto so marked her illness. It struck me as curious that the moment
she became conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It was
certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the
stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she
waked she clutched them close. There was no possibility of making any
mistake about this, for in the long hours that followed, she had many
spells of sleeping and waking, and repeated both actions many times.

At six o'clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then fallen
into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw Lucy's face
I could hear the hissing indraw of his breath, and he said to me in a
sharp whisper: "Draw up the blind; I want light! " Then he bent down,
and, with his face almost touching Lucy's, examined her carefully. He
removed the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief from her throat.
As he did so he started back, and I could hear his ejaculation, "Mein
Gott! " as it was smothered in his throat. I bent over and looked too,
and as I noticed some queer chill came over me.

The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared.

For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with his face
at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly:--

"She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark
me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and
let him come and see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him. "

I went to the dining-room and waked him. He was dazed for a moment, but
when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges of the shutters
he thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I assured him that
Lucy was still asleep, but told him as gently as I could that both Van
Helsing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his face with
his hands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa, where he remained,
perhaps a minute, with his hands buried, praying, whilst his shoulders
shook with grief. I took him by the hand and raised him up. "Come," I
said, "my dear old fellow, summon all your fortitude; it will be best
and easiest for _her_. "

When we came into Lucy's room I could see that Van Helsing had, with his
usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making everything
look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy's hair, so that
it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into the
room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered softly:--

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am glad you have come! " He was stooping to kiss
her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered, "not yet!
Hold her hand; it will comfort her more. "

So Arthur took her hand and knelt beside her, and she looked her best,
with all the soft lines matching the angelic beauty of her eyes. Then
gradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For a little bit her
breast heaved softly, and her breath came and went like a tired child's.

And then insensibly there came the strange change which I had noticed in
the night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the mouth opened, and the pale
gums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer and sharper than ever. In a
sort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which
were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft voluptuous voice,
such as I had never heard from her lips:--

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me! " Arthur bent
eagerly over to kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me,
had been startled by her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by
the neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength which
I never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled him almost
across the room.

"Not for your life! " he said; "not for your living soul and hers! " And
he stood between them like a lion at bay.

Arthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what to do
or say; and before any impulse of violence could seize him he realised
the place and the occasion, and he stood silent, waiting.

I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a spasm
as of rage flit like a shadow over her face; the sharp teeth champed
together. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily.

Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, and
putting out her poor pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great brown
one; drawing it to her, she kissed it. "My true friend," she said, in a
faint voice, but with untellable pathos, "My true friend, and his! Oh,
guard him, and give me peace! "

"I swear it! " said he solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding up his
hand, as one who registers an oath. Then he turned to Arthur, and said
to him: "Come, my child, take her hand in yours, and kiss her on the
forehead, and only once. "

Their eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted.

Lucy's eyes closed; and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, took
Arthur's arm, and drew him away.

And then Lucy's breathing became stertorous again, and all at once it
ceased.

"It is all over," said Van Helsing. "She is dead! "

I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing-room, where
he sat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in a way that
nearly broke me down to see.

I went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor Lucy,
and his face was sterner than ever. Some change had come over her body.
Death had given back part of her beauty, for her brow and cheeks had
recovered some of their flowing lines; even the lips had lost their
deadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the working
of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as little rude as
might be.

"We thought her dying whilst she slept,
And sleeping when she died. "

I stood beside Van Helsing, and said:--

"Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end! "

He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:--

"Not so! alas! not so. It is only the beginning! "

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:--

"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see. "




CHAPTER XIII.

/Dr. Seward's Diary/--_continued. _


The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that Lucy and
her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the ghastly
formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his staff were
afflicted--or blessed--with something of his own obsequious suavity.
Even the woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to
me, in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had come out
from the death-chamber:--

"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to
attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our
establishment! "

I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was possible
from the disordered state of things in the household. There were no
relatives at hand; and as Arthur had to be back the next day to attend
at his father's funeral, we were unable to notify any one who should
have been bidden. Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it
upon ourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over
Lucy's papers himself. I asked him why, for I feared that he, being a
foreigner, might not be quite aware of English legal requirements, and
so might in ignorance make some unnecessary trouble. He answered me:--

"I know; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well as a doctor. But
this is not altogether for the law. You knew that, when you avoided the
coroner. I have more than him to avoid. There may be papers more--such
as this. "

As he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memorandum which had been
in Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.

"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late Mrs.
Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him to-night. For me, I watch
here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and I myself
search for what may be. It is not well that her very thoughts go into
the hands of strangers. "

I went on with my part of the work, and in another half-hour had found
the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had written to
him. All the poor lady's papers were in order; explicit directions
regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly sealed the
letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room,
saying:--

"Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service is to
you. "

"Have you got what you looked for? " I asked, to which he replied:--

"I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to find, and find I
have, all that there was--only some letters and a few memoranda, and a
diary new begun. But I have them here, and we shall for the present say
nothing of them. I shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with
his sanction, I shall use some. "

When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me:--

"And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you
and I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow we shall have much to do, but
for the to-night there is no need of us. Alas! "

Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had
certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a small
_chapelle ardente_. There was a wilderness of beautiful white flowers,
and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The end of the
winding-sheet was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over
and turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us,
the tall wax candles showing a sufficient light to note it well. All
Lucy's loveliness had come back to her in death, and the hours that had
passed, instead of leaving traces of "decay's effacing fingers," had but
restored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes
that I was looking at a corpse.

The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I had, and
there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me: "Remain till I
return," and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic
from the box waiting in the hall, but which had not been opened, and
placed the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Then he
took from his neck, inside his collar, a little golden crucifix, and
placed it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we
came away.

I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the
door, he entered, and at once began to speak:--

"To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem
knives. "

"Must we make an autopsy? " I asked.

"Yes, and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. Let me tell you
now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out
her heart. Ah! you a surgeon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen
with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that
make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear friend John,
that you loved her; and I have not forgotten it, for it is I that shall
operate, and you must only help. I would like to do it to-night, but for
Arthur I must not; he will be free after his father's funeral to-morrow,
and he will want to see her--to see _it_. Then, when she is coffined
ready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall
unscrew the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation; and then replace
all, so that none know, save we alone. "

"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor body
without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and
nothing to gain by it--no good to her, to us, to science, to human
knowledge--why do it? Without such it is monstrous. "

For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite
tenderness:--

"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart; and I love you the more
because it does so bleed. If I could, I would take on myself the burden
that you do bear. But there are things that you know not, but that you
shall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not pleasant
things. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet
did you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err--I am but
man; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you
send for me when the great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay
horrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his love--though she was
dying--and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw
how she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so
weak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not
hear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!

"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for many
years trust me; you have believe me weeks past, when there be things so
strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend
John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is
not perhaps well. And if I work--as work I shall, no matter trust or no
trust--without my friend trust in me, I work with heavy heart, and feel,
oh! so lonely when I want all help and courage that may be! " He paused
a moment, and went on solemnly: "Friend John, there are strange and
terrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to
a good end. Will you not have faith in me? "

I took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he went away,
and watched him go into his room and close the door.