If you, who saw the wounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds so similar on the child's at the hospital, if you, who saw the coffin empty last night and full today with a woman who have not change only to be more rose and more beautiful in a whole week, after she die, if you know of this and know of the white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard, and yet of your own senses you did not believe, how then, can I expect Arthur, who know none of those things, to believe?
"He doubted me when I took him from her kiss when she was dying.
I know he has forgiven me because in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent him say goodbye as he ought, and he may think that in some more mistaken idea this woman was buried alive, and that in most mistake of all we have killed her.
He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that have killed her by our ideas, and so he will be much unhappy always.
Yet he never can be sure, and that is the worst of all.
And he will sometimes think that she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint his dreams with horrors of what she must have suffered, and again, he will think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all, an UnDead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much.
Now, since I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I know that he must pass through the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow, must have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow black to him, then we can act for good all round and send him peace.
My mind is made up. Let us go. You return home for tonight to your asylum, and see that all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this churchyard in my own way.
Tomorrow night you will come to me to the Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too, and also that so fine young man of America that gave his blood.
Later we shall all have work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and there dine, for I must be back here before the sun set."
So we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of the churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to Piccadilly.
NOTE LEFT BY VAN HELSING IN HIS PORTMANTEAU, BERKELEY HOTEL DIRECTED TO
JOHN SEWARD, M. D. (Not Delivered)
27 September "Friend John, "I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in that churchyard. It pleases me that the UnDead, Miss Lucy, shall not leave tonight, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager. Therefore I shall fix some things she like not, garlic and a crucifix, and so seal up the door of the tomb.
She is young as UnDead, and will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming out. They may not prevail on her wanting to get in, for then the UnDead is desperate, and must find the line of least resistance, whatsoever it may be.
I shall be at hand all the night from sunset till after sunrise, and if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it.
For Miss Lucy or from her, I have no fear, but that other to whom is there that she is UnDead, he have not the power to seek her tomb and find shelter. He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all along he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and we lost, and in many ways the UnDead are strong.
He have always the strength in his hand of twenty men, even we four who gave our strength to Miss Lucy it also is all to him.
Besides, he can summon his wolf and I know not what.
So if it be that he came thither on this night he shall find me.
But none other shall, until it be too late. But it may be that he will not attempt the place. There is no reason why he should.
His hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the UnDead woman sleeps, and the one old man watch.
"Therefore I write this in case. . .Take the papers that are with this, the diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and then find this great UnDead, and cut off his head and burn his heart or drive a stake through it, so that the world may rest from him.
"If it be so, farewell.
"VAN HELSING."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
28 September.--It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will do for one.
Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's monstrous ideas, but now they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on common sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all.
I wonder if his mind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be some rational explanation of all these mysterious things.
Is it possible that the Professor can have done it himself?
He is so abnormally clever that if he went off his head he would carry out his intent with regard to some fixed idea in a wonderful way.
I am loathe to think it, and indeed it would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van Helsing was mad, but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some light on the mystery.
29 September.--Last night, at a little before ten o'clock, Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room.
He told us all what he wanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all our wills were centered in his.
He began by saying that he hoped we would all come with him too, "for," he said, "there is a grave duty to be done there.
You were doubtless surprised at my letter?" This query was directly addressed to Lord Godalming.
"I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble around my house of late that I could do without any more.
I have been curious, too, as to what you mean.
"Quincey and I talked it over, but the more we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself that I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything."
"Me too," said Quincey Morris laconically.
"Oh," said the Professor, "then you are nearer the beginning, both of you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can even get so far as to begin."
