For a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during
her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up
as I said to him:-
  "Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?" He raised his head and looked at me,
and somehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. "Would I
were!" he said. "Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like
this. Oh, my friend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take
so long to tell you so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and
have hated you all my life? Was it because I wished to give you
pain? Was it that I wanted, now so late, revenge for that time when
you saved my life, and from a fearful death? Ah no!"
  "Forgive me," said I. He went on:-
  "My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking
to you, for I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I
do not expect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any
abstract truth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have
always believed the 'no' of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad
a concrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to
prove it. Dare you come with me?"
  This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth;
Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.

             "And prove the very truth he most abhorred."

  He saw my hesitation, and spoke:-
  "The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from
tussock to tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof
will be relief, at worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is
the dread; yet very dread should help my cause, for in it is some need
of belief. Come, I tell you what I propose: first, that we go off
now and see that child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North
Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is friend of mine, and
I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let two
scientists see his case, if he will not let two friends. We shall tell
him nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And then-"
  "And then?" He took a key from his pocket and held it up. "And
then we spend the night, you and I, in the church-yard where Lucy
lies. This is the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man
to give to Arthur." My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was
some fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I
plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as
the afternoon was passing.
  We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food,
and altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from
its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the
similarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were
smaller, and the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked
Vincent to what he attributed them, and he replied that it must have
been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he
was inclined to think that it was one of the bats which are so
numerous on the northern heights of London. "Out of so many harmless
ones," he said, "there may be sonic wild specimen from the South of
a more malignant species. Some sailor may have brought one home, and
it managed to escape; or even from the Zoological Gardens a young
one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a vampire. These
things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago a wolf got out, and
was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a week after, the
children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath and
in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare came
along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even this
poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he
might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he
wanted to play with the 'bloofer lady.'"
  "I hope," said Van Helsing, "that when you are sending the child
home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it.
These fancies to stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to
remain out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in any
case I suppose you will not let it away for some days?"
  "Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is
not healed."
  Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on,
and the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how
dark it was, he said:-
  "There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us
seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way."
  We dined at "Jack Straw's Castle" along with a little crowd of
bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we
started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps
made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual
radius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go,
for he went on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mix-up
as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people,
till at last we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of
horse police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached
the wall of the church-yard, which we climbed over. With some little
difficulty- for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so
strange to us- we found the Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key,
opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely, but quite
unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was a delicious irony
in the offer, in the courtliness of giving preference on such a
ghastly occasion. My companion followed me quickly, and cautiously
drew the door to, after carefully ascertaining that the lock was a
falling, and not a spring, one. In the latter case we should have been
in a bad plight. Then he fumbled in his bag, and taking out a
match-box and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a light. The tomb
in the day-time, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim
and gruesome enough; but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers
hung lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to
browns; when the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed
dominance; when time-discoloured stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and
rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and clouded silver-plating gave
back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was more miserable and
sordid than could have been imagined It conveyed irresistibly the idea
that life- animal life- was not the only thing which could pass away.
  Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle
so that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the
sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the
metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his
bag, and he took out a turnscrew.
  "What are you going to do?" I asked.
  "To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced." Straightway he
began taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing
the casing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It
seemed to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to
have stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I
actually took hold of his hand to stop him. He only said: "You shall
see," and again fumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw.
Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift downward stab,
which made me wince, he made a small hole, which was, however, big
enough to admit the point of the saw. I had expected a rush of gas
from the week-old corpse. We doctors, who have had to study our
dangers, have to become accustomed to such things, and I drew back
towards the door. But the Professor never stopped for a moment; he
sawed down a couple of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and
then across, and down the other side. Taking the edge of the loose
flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up
the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to look.
  I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.
  It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable
shock, but Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever
of his ground, and so emboldened to proceed in his task. "Are you
satisfied now, friend John?" he asked.
  I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me
as I answered him:-
  "I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that
only proves one thing."
  "And what is that, friend John?"
  "That it is not there."
  "That is good logic," he said, "so far as it goes. But how do you-
how can you- account for it not being there?"
  "Perhaps a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the undertaker's
people may have stolen it." I felt that I was speaking folly, and
yet it was the only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor
sighed. "Ah well!" he said, "we must have more proof. Come with me."
  He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and
placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also
in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed
the door and locked it. He handed me the key, saying: "Will you keep
it? You had better be assured." I laughed- it was not a very
cheerful laugh, I am bound to say- as I motioned him to keep it. "A
key is nothing," I said; "there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is
not difficult to pick a lock of that kind." He said nothing, but put
the key in his pocket. Then he told me to watch at one side of the
churchyard whilst he would watch at the other. I took up my place
behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark figure move until the
intervening headstones and trees hid it from my sight.
  It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a
distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was
chilled and unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on
such an errand and with myself for coming. I was too cold and too
sleepy to be keenly observant, and not sleepy enough to betray my
trust; so altogether I had a dreary, miserable time.
  Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a
white streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the
churchyard farthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass
moved from the Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went
towards it. Then I too moved; but I had to go round headstones and
railed-off tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast,
and somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little way off, beyond a
line of scattered juniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the
church, a white, dim figure flitted in the direction of the tomb.
The tomb itself was hidden by trees, and I could not see where the
figure disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where I
had first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the
Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When he saw me he held
it out to me, and said:-
  "Are you satisfied now?"
  "No," I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.
  "Do you not see the child?"
  "Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?"
I asked.
  "We shall see," said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our
way out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.
  When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of
trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was
without a scratch or scar of any kind.
  "Was I right?" I asked triumphantly.
  "We were just in time," said the Professor thankfully.
  We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so
consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police-station we
should have to give some account of our movements during the night; at
least, we should have had to make some statement as to how we had come
to find the child. So finally we decided that we would take it to
the Heath, and when we heard a policeman coming, would leave it
where he could not fail to find it; we would then seek our way home as
quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath
we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and laying the child on the
pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he flashed his
lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation of astonishment, and then
we went away silently. By good chance we got a cab near the
"Spaniards," and drove to town.
  I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few
hours' sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists
that I shall go with him on another expedition.

  27 September- It was two o'clock before we found a suitable
opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all
completed, and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken
themselves lazily away, when, looking carefully from behind a clump of
alder-trees, we saw the sexton lock the gate after him. We knew then
that we were safe till morning did we desire it; but the Professor
told me that we should not want more than an hour at most. Again I
felt that horrid sense of the reality of things, in which any effort
of imagination seemed out of place; and I realised distinctly the
perils of the law which we were incurring in our unhallowed work.
Besides, I felt it was all so useless. Outrageous as it was to open
a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead nearly a week were really
dead, it now seemed the height of folly to open the tomb again, when
we knew, from the evidence of our own eyesight, that the coffin was
empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however, and rested silent, for Van
Helsing had a way of going on his own road, no matter who
remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again courteously
motioned me to precede. The place was not so gruesome as last night,
but oh, how unutterably mean-looking when the sunshine streamed in.
Van Helsing walked over to Lucy's coffin, and I followed. He bent over
and again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock of
surprise and dismay shot through me.
  There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before
her funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever;
and I could not believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay
redder than before; and on the cheeks was a delicate bloom.
  "Is this a juggle?" I said to him.
  "Are you convinced now?" said the Professor in response, and as he
spoke he put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder,
pulled back the dead lips and showed the white teeth.
  "See," he went on, "see, they are even sharper than before. With
this and this"- and he touched one of the canine teeth and that
below it- "the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now,
friend John?" Once more, argumentative hostility woke within me. I
could not accept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested; so, with
an attempt to argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I
said:-
  "She may have been placed here since last night."
  "Indeed? That is so, and by whom?"
  "I do not know. Some one has done it."
  "And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would
not look so." I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did
not seem to notice my silence; at any rate, he showed neither
chagrin nor triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead
woman, raising the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more
opening the lips and examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and
said:-
  "Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded; here
is some dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the
vampire when she was in a trance, sleep-walking- oh, you start; you do
not know that, friend John, but you shall know it all later- and in
trance could he best come to take more blood. In trance she died,
and in trance she is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all
other. Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home"- as he spoke he made
a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to a vampire was
"home"- "their face show what they are, but this so sweet that was
when she not Un-Dead she go back to the nothings of the common dead.
There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard that I must kill
her in her sleep." This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn
upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing's theories; but if she were
really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of killing her? He
looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for he
said almost joyously:-
  "Ah, you believe now?"
  I answered; "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to
accept. How will you do this bloody work?"
  "I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I
shall drive a stake through her body." It made me shudder to think
of so mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the
feeling was not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning
to shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing
called it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all
subjective, or all objective?
  I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he
stood as if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his
bag with a snap, and said:-
  "I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is
best. If I did simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this
moment, what is to be done; but there are other things to follow,
and things that are thousand times more difficult in that them we do
not know. This is simple. She have yet no life taken, though that is
of time; and to act now would be to take danger from her for ever. But
then we may have to want Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this? 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 to-day 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 good-bye 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
Un-Dead. 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 to-night
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. To-morrow 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 Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall
not leave to-night, 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 Un-Dead, 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 Un-Dead 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 the 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 Un-Dead, he have now 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 Un-Dead 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 come
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 Un-Dead woman sleep, and 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 Un-Dead, 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
loath 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, morning... Last night, at a little before ten o'clock,
Arthur and Quincey came into Van Helsing's room; he told us all that
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."
  It was evident that he recognised my return to my old doubting frame
of mind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he
said with intense gravity:-
  "I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It is, I
know, much to ask; and when you know what it is I propose to do you
will know, and only then, how much. Therefore may I ask that you
promise me in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry
with me for a time- I must not disguise from myself the possibility
that such may be- you shall not blame yourselves for anything."
  "That's frank anyhow," broke in Quincey. "I'll answer for the
Professor. I don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and
that's good enough for me."
  "I thank you, sir," said Van Helsing proudly. "I have done myself
the honour of counting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement
is dear to me." He held out a hand, which Quincey took.
  Then Arthur spoke out:-
  "Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as
they say in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as a
gentleman or my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make
such a promise. If you can assure me that what you intend does not
violate either of these two, then I give my consent at once; though,
for the life of me, I cannot understand what you are driving at."
  "I accept your limitation," said Van Helsing, "and all I ask of
you is that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you
will first consider it well and be satisfied that it does not
violate your reservations."
  "Agreed!" said Arthur; "that is only fair. And now that the
pourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?"
  "I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the
churchyard at Kingstead."
  Arthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:-
  "Where poor Lucy is buried?" The Professor bowed. Arthur went on:
"And when there?"
  "To enter the tomb!" Arthur stood up.
  "Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous joke? Pardon
me, I see that you are in earnest." He sat down again, but I could see
that he sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There
was silence until he asked again:-
  "And when in the tomb?"
  "To open the coffin."
  "This is too much!" he said, angrily rising again. "I am willing
to be patient in all things that are reasonable; but in this- this
desecration of the grave- of one who-" He fairly choked with
indignation. The Professor looked pityingly at him.
  "If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend," he said, "God knows
I would. But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later,
and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!"
  Arthur looked up with set, white face and said:-
  "Take care, sir, take care!"
  "Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?" said Van Helsing.
"And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go
on?"
  "That's fair enough," broke in Morris.
  After a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort:-
  "Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to
her. But if she be not dead-"
  Arthur jumped to his feet.
  "Good God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Has there been any mistake;
has she been buried alive?" He groaned in anguish that not even hope
could soften.
  "I did not say she was alive, my child; I did not think it. I go
no further than to say that she might be Un-Dead."
  "Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or
what is it?"
  "There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age
they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of
one. But I have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?"
  "Heavens and earth, no!" cried Arthur in a storm of passion. "Not
for the wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her dead
body. Dr. Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to you
that you should torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl do
that you should want to cast such dishonour on her grave? Are you
mad that speak such things, or am I mad that listen to them? Don't
dare to think more of such a desecration; I shall not give my
consent to anything you do. I have a duty to do in protecting her
grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do it!"
  Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated,
and said, gravely and sternly:-
  "My Lord Godalming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty to others, a
duty to you, a duty to the dead; and, by God, I shall do it! All I ask
you now is that you come with me, that you look and listen; and if
when later I make the same request you do not be more eager for its
fulfilment even than I am, then- then I shall do my duty, whatever
it may seem to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship's wishes, I
shall hold myself at your disposal to render an account to you, when
and where you will." His voice broke a little, and he went on with a
voice full of pity:-
  "But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long
life of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which
sometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now.
Believe me that if the time comes for you to change your mind
towards me, one look from you will wipe away all this so sad hour, for
I would do what a man can to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why
should I give myself so much of labour and so much of sorrow? I have
come here from my own land to do what I can of good; at the first to
please my friend John, and then to help a sweet young lady, whom, too,
I came to love. For her- I am ashamed to say so much, but I say it
in kindness- I gave what you gave; the blood of my veins; I gave it,
I, who was not, like you, her lover, but only her physician and her
friend. I gave to her my nights and days- before death, after death;
and if my death can do her good even now, when she is the dead
Un-Dead, she shall have it freely." He said this with a very grave,
sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected by it. He took the old man's
hand and said in a broken voice:-
  "Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; but at
least I shall go with you and wait."
 

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