way to those horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign
could I find of the key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count.
There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to
drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to
London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongs t
Jonathan Marker’s Journal 49
its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new
and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the help-
less. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon
me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal wea-
pon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been
using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge
downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned,
and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk
horror. The sight seemed to paralyse me, and the shovel turned
in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep
gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across
the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught
the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid
thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated
face, blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would
have held its own in the nethermost hell.
I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my
brain seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling grow-
ing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung
by merry voices coming closer, and through their song the roll-
ing of heavy wheels and the cracking of whips; the Szgany and
the Slovaks of whom the Count had spoken were coming. With
a last look around and at the box which contained the vile body,
I ran from the place and gained the Count’s room, determined
to rush out at the moment the door should be opened. With
strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of
the key in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door.
There must have been some other means of entry, or some one
had a key for one of the locked doors. Then there came the sound
of many feet tramping and dying away in some passage which
sent up a clanging echo. I turned to run down again towards
the vault, where I might find the new entrance; but at the mo-
ment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the door
to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from
the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it
was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom
jvas closing round me more closely.
As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramp-
ing feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubt-
less the boxes, with their freight of earth. There is a sound of
hammering; it is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the
heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with many other idle
feet coming behind them.
5O Dracula
The door is shut, and the chains rattle; there is a grinding of
the key in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then another
door opens and shuts; I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.
Hark! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of
heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany
as they pass into the distance.
I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina
is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of
the Pit!
I shall not remain alone with them; I shall try to scale the
castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some
of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from
this dreadful place.
And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest
train! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where
the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!
At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters,
and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep
as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!
CHAPTER V
Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra.
«9 May.
«My dearest Lucy,
«Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply
overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress
is sometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the
sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in
the air. I have been working very hard lately, because I want to
keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I have been practising
shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall be
able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough
I can take down what he wants to say in this way and write it
out for him on the typewriter, at which also I am practising very
hard. He and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is
keeping a stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I
am with you I shall keep a diary in the same way. I don’t mean
one of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-
corner diaries, but a sort of journal which I can write in whenever
I feel inclined. I do not suppose there will be much of interest
to other people; but it is not intended for them. I may show it to
Jonathan some day if there is in it anything worth sharing, but
it is really an exercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady
journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying
to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice,
one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during
a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans
when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan
from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a
week. I am longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see
strange countries. I wonder if we I mean Jonathan and I
shall ever see them together. There is the ten o’clock bell ring-
ing. Good-bye.
«Your loving
«MlNA.
«Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me
anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall,
handsome, curly-haired man???»
32 Dracula
Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.
«17, Chatham Street,
«Wednesday.
«My dearest Mina,
«I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad corre-
spondent. I wrote to you twice since we parted, and your last letter
was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is
really nothing to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now,
and we go a good deal to picture-galleries and for walks and
rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it
was the one who was with me at the last Pop. Some one has
evidently been telling tales. That was Mr. Holmwood. He often
comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very well together;
they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some
time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not al-
ready engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being hand-
some, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever.
Just fancy! He is only nine-and- twenty, and he has an immense
lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced
him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I
think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the
most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what
a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a
curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to
read one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I
flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from
my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? / do, and I
can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble
than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that