When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a
telegram waiting for him:-
  "Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news.- Mina
Harker."
  The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he
said, "pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go
to your house, friend John. You must meet her at the station.
Telegraph her enroute, so that she may be prepared."
  When the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea; over it he told me
of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a
typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.
"Take these," he said, "and study them well. When I have returned
you will be master of all the facts, and we can then better enter on
our inquisition. Keep them safe, for there is in them much of
treasure. You will need all your faith, even you who have had such
an experience as that of to-day. What is here told," he laid his
hand heavily and gravely on the packet of papers as he spoke, "may
be the beginning of the end to you and me and many another; or it
may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the earth. Read all, I
pray you, with the open mind; and if you can add in any way to the
story here told do so, for it is all-important. You have kept diary of
all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes! Then we shall go
through all these together when that we meet." He then made ready
for his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool Street.
I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes
before the train came in.
  The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to
arrival platforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, last I might
miss my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to
me, and, after a quick glance, said: "Dr. Seward, is it not?"
  "And you are Mrs. Harker!" I answered at once; whereupon she held
out her hand.
  "I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy, but-" She
stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.
  The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease,
for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which
included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch
Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a
sitting-room and bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.
  In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was a
lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a
shudder when we entered.
  She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my
study, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my
phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the
chance of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though
they lie open before me. I must get her interested in something, so
that I may have an opportunity of reading them. She does not know
how precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be
careful not to frighten her. Here she is!
 

                        Mina Harker's Journal.

  29 September.- After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr.
Seward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard
him talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick,
I knocked at the door, and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.
  To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite
alone, and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from
the description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much
interested.
  "I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said; "but I stayed at the
door as I heard you talking, and thought there was some one with you."
  "Oh," he replied with a smile, "I was only entering my diary."
  "Your diary?" I asked him in surprise.
  "Yes," he answered. "I keep it in this." As he spoke he laid his
hand on the phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted
out:-
  "Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?"
  "Certainly," he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in
train for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his
face.
  "The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it;
and as it is entirely- almost entirely- about my cases, it may be
awkward- that is, I mean"- He stopped, and I tried to help him out
of his embarrassment:-
  "You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she
died; for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was
very, very dear to me."
  To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face-
  "Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!"
  "Why not?" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over
me. Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an
excuse. At length he stammered out:-
  "You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of the
diary." Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he
said with unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the
naivete of a child: "That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest
Indian!" I could not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself
away that time!" he said. "But do you know that, although I have
kept the diary for months past, it never once struck me how I was
going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it
up?" By this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who
attended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of our
knowledge of that terrible Being, and I said boldly;-
  "Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my
typewriter." He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:-
  "No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that
terrible story!"
  Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I
thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for
something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on the great batch
of typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and,
without his thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel
he realised my meaning.
  "You do not know me." I said. "When you have read those papers- my
own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed- you will know
me better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart
in this cause; but, of course, you do not know me- yet; and I must not
expect you to trust me so far."
  He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right
about him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were
arranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with
dark wax, and said:-
  "You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know
you. But I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you
long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May
I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear
them- the first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will
not horrify you; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then
be ready. In the meantime I shall read over some of these documents,
and shall be better able to understand certain things." He carried the
phonograph himself up to my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I
shall learn something pleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the
other side of a true love episode of which I know one side already...
 

                         Dr. Seward's Diary.

  29 September.- I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan
Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without
thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce
dinner, so I said: "She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour;"
and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary,
when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her
eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I
have had cause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied
me; and now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent
tears, went straight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:-
  "I greatly fear I have distressed you."
  "Oh no, not distressed me," she replied, "but I have been more
touched than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but
it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your
heart. It was like a soul crying out to almighty God. No one must hear
them spoken ever again! See. I have tried to be useful. I have
copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear
your heart beat, as I did."
  "No one need ever know, shall ever know." I said in a low voice. She
laid her hand on mine and said very gravely:-
  "Ah, but they must!"
  "Must! But why?" I asked.
  "Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear
Lucy's death and all that led to it; because in the struggle which
we have before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must
have all the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that
the cylinders which you gave me contained more than you intended me to
know; but I can see that there are in your record many lights to
this dark mystery. You will let me help, will you not? I know all up
to a certain point; and I see already, though your diary only took
me to 7 September, how poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible
doom was being wrought out. Jonathan and I have been working day and
night since Professor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to
get more information, and he will be here to-morrow to help us. We
need have no secrets amongst us; working together and with absolute
trust, we can surely be stronger than if some of us were in the dark."
She looked at me so appealingly, and at the same time manifested
such courage and resolution in her bearing, that I gave in at once
to her wishes. "You shall," I said, "do as you like in the matter. God
forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet to learn of,
but if you so have so far travelled on the road to poor Lucy's
death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the dark. Nay,
the end- the very end- may give you a gleam of peace. Come, there is
dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us; we have
a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learn the
rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask- if there be anything
which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were
present."
 

                        Mina Harker's Journal.

  29 September.- After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study.
He brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter.
He placed me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so
that I could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it
in case I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully, took a
chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as free as possible,
and began to read. I put the forked metal to my ears and listened.
  When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and- and all that followed,
was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of
a fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a
horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a
cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat
restored me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came
through all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my
dear, dear Lucy was at lest at peace, I do not think I could have
borne it without making a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious,
and strange that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in
Transylvania I could not have believed. As it was, I didn't know
what to believe, and so got out of my difficulty by attending to
something else. I took the cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr.
Seward:-
  "Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing
when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when
he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything,
and I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every item
put in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me
that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to
tell them when they come." He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow
pace, and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh
cylinder. I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary
just as I had done with all the rest. It was late when I got
through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of going his round of
the patients; when he had finished he came back and sat near me,
reading, so that I did not feel too lonely whilst I worked. How good
and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men- even if
there are monsters in it. Before I left him I remembered what Jonathan
put in his diary of the Professor's perturbation at reading
something in an evening paper at the station at Exeter; so, seeing
that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the files of "The
Westminister Gazette" and "The Pall Mall Gazette," and took them to my
room. I remember how much "The Dailygraph" and "The Whitby Gazette."
of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand the terrible
events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look through
the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.
I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.
 

                         Dr. Seward's Diary.

  30 September.- Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got his
wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one
can judge from his face, and full of energy. If his journal be true-
and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be- he is also
a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a
remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was
prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,
business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

  Later.- After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,
and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter.
They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting
together in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have.
Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at
Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now
reading his wife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out
of it. Here it is...
  Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be
the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from
the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating to
the purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only
had them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness
lies! Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He
says that by dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected
narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as
hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the
Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose
I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into
type! We never could have found the dates otherwise...
  I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded,
smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever
saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which
he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home,
a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn
here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge
at once. I believe that had I not had the chat with Harker and read
the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have been
prepared to sign for him after a brief time of observation. As it
is, I am darkly suspicious. All those outbreaks were in some way
linked with the proximity of the Count. What then does his absolute
content mean? Can it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the
vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay; he is himself zoophagous, and in his
wild ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he always
spoke of "master." This all seems confirmation of our idea. However,
after a while I came away; my friend is just a little too sane at
present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions. He might
begin to think, and then-! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet
moods of his; so I have given the attendant a hint to look closely
after him, and to have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need.
 

                      Jonathan Harker's Journal.

  29 September, in train to London.- When I received Mr.
Billington's courteous message that he would give me any information
in his power I thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the
spot, such inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that
horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be
able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the
station, and brought me to his father's house, where they had
decided that I must stay the night. They are hospitable, with true
Yorkshire hospitality: give a guest everything, and leave him free
to do as he likes. They all knew that I was busy, and that my stay was
short, and Mr. Billington had ready in his office all the papers
concerning the consignment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see
again one of the letters which I had seen on the Count's table
before I knew of his diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully
thought out, and done systematically and with precision. He seemed
to have been prepared for every obstacle which might be placed by
accident in the way of his intentions being carried out. To use an
Americanism, he had "taken no chances," and the absolute accuracy with
which his instructions were fulfilled, was simply the logical result
of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it: "Fifty cases of
common earth, to be used for experimental purposes." Also the copy
of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply, of both of these I
got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could give me,
so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs
officers and the harbour-master. They had all something to say of
the strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in
local tradition; but no one could add to the simple description.
"Fifty cases of common earth." I then saw the station-master, who
kindly put me in communication with the men who had actually
received the boxes. Their tally was exact with the list, and they
had nothing to add except that the boxes were "main and mortal heavy,"
and that shifting them was dry work. One of them added that it was
hard lines that there wasn't any gentleman "such-like as yourself,
squire," to show some sort of appreciation of their efforts in a
liquid form; another put in a rider that the thirst then generated was
such that even the time which had elapsed had not completely allayed
it. Needless to add, I took care before leaving to lift, for ever
and adequately, this source of reproach.

  30 September.- The station-master was good enough to give me a
line to his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so
that when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about
the arrival of the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication
with the proper officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with
the original invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal
thirst had been here limited; a noble use of them, had, however,
been made, and again I was compelled to deal with the result in an
ex post facto manner.
  From thence I went on to Carter Patterson's central office, where
I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in
their day-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King's
Cross office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the
teaming were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them
over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers
connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found
the tally agreeing exactly; the carriers' men were able to
supplement the paucity of the written words with a few details. These,
were I shortly found, connected almost solely with the dusty nature of
the job, and of the consequent thirst engendered in the operators.
On my affording an opportunity, through the medium of the currency
of the realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial
evil, one of the men remarked:-
  "That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but
it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick
in the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of yer
bones; an' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave smelled
ole Jerusalem in it. But the ole chappel- that took the cike, that
did! Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick
enough. Lor, I wouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay there
arter dark."
  Having been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew
what I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.
  Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which arrived at
Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old
chapel of Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have
since been removed- as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.
  I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax
when Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn
a good deal.

  Later.- Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the
papers into order.
 

                        Mina Harker's Journal.

  30 September,- I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain
myself. It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which
I have had: that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old
wound might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for
Whitby with as brave a face as I could, but I was sick with
apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good. He was never
so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as
at present. It is just as that dear, this good Professor Van Helsing
said: he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill
a weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and determination;
we have got everything in order for to-night. I feel myself quite wild
with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is
the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not human- not even beast.
To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what
followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.

  Later.- Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we
expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan
with him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for it
brought back All poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months ago. Of
course they had heard Lucy speak to me, and it seemed that Dr. Van
Helsing, too, has been quite "blowing my trumpet," as Mr. Morris
expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I know all
about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite know what to
say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my knowledge; so
they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter
over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do
would be to post them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr.
Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death- her real death- and
that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told
them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and
diaries, and that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had
just finished putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read
in the library. When Lord Godalming got his and turned it over- it
does make a pretty good pile- he said:-
  "Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?"
  I nodded, and he went on:-
  "I don't quite see the drift of it; but you people are all so good
and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so energetically,
that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold and try to help
you. I have had one lesson already in accepting facts that should make
a man humble to the last hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved
my poor Lucy-" Here he turned away and covered his face with his
hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with
instinctive delicacy just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder,
and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is
something in woman's nature that makes a man free to break down before
her and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without
feeling it derogatory to his manhood; for when Lord Godalming found
himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and
openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn't
think it forward of me, and that if he ever thinks of it afterwards he
never will have such a thought. There I wrong him; I know he never
will- he is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for I could see
that his heart was breaking:-
  "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you
were to her. She and I were like sisters; and now she is gone, will
you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what
sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If
sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be
of some little service- for Lucy's sake?"
  In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It
seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence
found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising his open
hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood
up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I
felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a
sob he laid his head on my shoulder, and cried like a wearied child,
whilst he shook with emotion.
  We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above
smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big,
sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby
that some day may he on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though
he were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all
was.
  After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an
apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that
for days and nights past- weary days and sleepless nights- he had been
unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of
sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or
with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow
was surrounded, he could speak freely. "I know now how I suffered," he
said, as he dried his eyes, "but I do not know even yet- and none
other can ever know- how much your sweet sympathy has been to me
to-day. I shall know better in time; and believe me that, though I
am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding.
You will let me be like a brother, will you not, for all our lives-
for dear Lucy's sake?"
  "For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands. "Ay, and for
your own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are
ever worth the winning, you have won mine to-day. If ever the future
should bring to you a time when you need a man's help, believe me, you
will not call in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to
you to break the sunshine of your life; but if it should ever come,
promise me that you will let me know." He was so earnest, and his
sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would comfort him, so I said:-
  "I promise."
  As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a
window. He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?" he said.
Then noticing my red eyes, he went on; "Ah, I see you have been
comforting him. Poor old fellow! he needs it. No one but a woman can
help a man when he is in trouble of the heart; and he had no one to
comfort him."
  He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I saw
the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he would
realise how much I knew; so I said to him:-
  "I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you
let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need
it? You will know, later on, why I speak." He saw that I was in
earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips,
kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a
soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in
his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat; he said
quite calmly:-
  "Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so
long as ever you live!" Then he went into the study to his friend.
  "Little girl!"- the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he
proved himself a friend!
 

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