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Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.
"Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
"My dearest Lucy,-
"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since
we
parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to
Hull all right, and caught the boat to Homburg, and then the train
on here. I feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey,
except that I knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should
have to do some nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could...
I
found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the
resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which
I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of
himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him
for a long time past. At least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall
never ask. He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax
his
poor brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a
good creature and a born nurse, tells me that he raved of dreadful
things whilst he was off his head. I wanted her to tell me what they
were; but she would only cross herself, and say she would never
tell; that the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that
if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect
her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw
I
was troubled, she opened up the subject again, and after saying that
she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can
tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he
has done wrong himself, and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to
be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His
fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat
of.' I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my
poor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea
of my being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me
whisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other
woman was a cause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where
I
can see his face while he sleeps. He is waking!...
"When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get
something from the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought
all his things. I saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was
going to ask him to let me look at it- for I knew then that I might
find some clue to his trouble- but I suppose he must have seen my wish
in my eyes, for he sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to
be quite alone for a moment. Then he called me back, and when I came
he had his hand over the note-book, and he said to me very solemnly:-
"'Wilhelmina'- I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for
he has
never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him- 'you
know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there
should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and
when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I
do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know
I
have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and
I
do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our
marriage.' For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the
formalities are complete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my
ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will,
but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come
upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or
mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted, and I put the book
under his pillow, and kissed him I have asked Sister Agatha to beg
the
Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am waiting her
reply...
"She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English mission
church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as
soon after as Jonathan awakes...
"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very,
very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was
ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered
his 'I will' firmly and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was
so full that even those words seemed to choke me. The dear sisters
were so kind. Please God, I shall never, never forget them, nor the
grave and sweet responsibilities I have taken upon me. I must tell
you
of my wedding present. When the chaplain and the sisters had left me
alone with my husband- oh, Lucy, it is the first time I have written
the words 'my husband'- left me alone with my husband, I took the book
from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it
with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and
sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my
wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told
him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and
visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that
I
would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the
sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy,
it
was the first time he took his wifes hand, and said that it was the
dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through
all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to
have said a part of the past; but he cannot think of time yet, and
I
shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the
year.
"Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that
I was
the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to
give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these
went my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear,
when he kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it
was
like a very solemn pledge between us...
"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only
because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are,
very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide
when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life.
I want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither
duty has led me; so that in your own married life you too may be all
happy as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be all it
promises: a long day of sunshine, with no harsh kind, no forgetting
duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that can never
be;
but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now Good-bye, my
dear. I shall post this at once, and, perhaps, write you very soon
again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking- I must attend to my
husband!
"Your ever-loving
"Mina Harker."
Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker.
"Whitby, 30 August.
"My dearest Mina,-
"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be
in
your own home with your husband. I wish you could be coming home
soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore
Jonathan; it has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a
cormorant, am full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know
that I have quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not
stirred out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at
night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell
you that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, and rides,
and
rowing, and tennis, and fishing together; and I love him more than
ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at
first he told me that he couldn't love me more than he did then. But
this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. So no more just at
present from your loving
"LUCY.
"P.S.- Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.
"P.P.S.- We are to be married on 28 September."
Dr. Seward's Diary.
20 August.- The case of Renfield grows even more interesting.
He has
now so far quieted that there are spells or cessation from his
passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually
violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and
kept murmuring to himself- "Now I can wait; now I can wait." The
attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at
him. He was still in the strait-waistcoat and in the padded room,
but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had
something of their old pleading- I might almost say, "cringing"-
softness, I was satisfied with his present condition, and directed
him
to be relieved. The attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my
wishes without protest. It was a strange thing that the patient had
humour enough to see their distrust, for, coming close to me, he
said in a whisper, all the while looking furtively at them:-
"They think I could hurt you! Fancy me hurting you! The fools!"
It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociated
even in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same
I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in
common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or
has
he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is
needful to him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not
speak. Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not
tempt him. He will only say: "I don't take any stock in cats. I have
more to think of now, and I can wait; I can wait."
After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was
quiet
until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at
length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which
exhausted him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.
...Three nights has the same thing happened- violent all day
then
quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the
cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence which
came and went. Happy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against
mad ones. He escaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape
with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to
follow in case they are required...
23 August.- "The unexpected always happens." How well Disraeli
knew life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so
all our subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have
proved one thing; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time.
We shall in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day.
I have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the
padded room, when once he is quiet, until an hour before sunrise.
The poor soul's body will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot
appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected again! I am called; the patient
has once more escaped.
Later.- Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until
the attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out
past him and new down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to
follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we
found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When
he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized him
in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a
strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then
as
suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see
nothing. Then I caught the patient's eye and followed it, but could
trace nothing as it looked into the moonlit sky except a big bat,
which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the West. Bats
usually wheel and flit about, but this one seemed to go straight on,
as if it knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.
The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said:
"You needn't tie me; I shall go quietly!" Without trouble we
came
back to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm,
and shall not forget this night...
Lucy Westenra's Diary.
Hillingham, 24 August.- I must imitate Mina, and keep writing
things
down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it
will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last
night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps
it is the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and
horrid to me, for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear,
and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked
quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to be
cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother's room to-night. I shall
make an excuse and try.
25 August.- Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to
my
proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to
worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when
the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been
falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the
window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose
I must then have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could
remember them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly
pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my
lungs, for I don't seem ever to get air enough. I shall try to cheer
up when Arthur comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me
so.
Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward.
"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August.
"My dear Jack,-
"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she has
no
special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every
day. I have asked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask
her mother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter
in her present state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has
confided to me that her doom is spoken- disease of the heart- though
poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am sure that there is something
preying on my dear girl's mind: I am almost distracted when I think
of
her; to look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should ask you to
see her, and though she demurred at first- I know why, old fellow-
she
finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I know, old
friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or
you
to act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham to-morrow, two o'clock,
so as not to arose any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch
Lucy will take an opportunity of being alone with you. I shall come
in
for tea, and we can go away together; I am filled with anxiety, and
want to consult with you alone as soon as I can after you have seen
her. Do not fail!
"Arthur."
Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward.
"1 September.
"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write
me
fully by to-night's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary."
Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood.
"2 September.
"My dear old fellow,-
"With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you know
at
once that in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or
any
malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means
satisfied with her appearance; she is woefully different from what
she
was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did
not have full opportunity of examination such as I should wish; our
very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even medical
science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you exactly
what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure, your own
conclusions. I shall then say what I have done and propose doing.
"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother
was
present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying
all she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious.
I have no doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of
caution there is. We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves
to
be cheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real
cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy
was left with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there
her gaiety remained, for the servants were coming and going. As soon
as the door was closed, however, the mask fell from her face, and
she sank down into a chair with a great sigh, and hid her eyes with
her hand. When I saw that her high spirits had failed, I at once
took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis. She said to me
very sweetly:
"'I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I reminded
her that a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were
grievously anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once,
and
settled that matter in a word. 'Tell Arthur everything you choose.
I
do not care for myself, but all for him!' So I am quite free.
"I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could
not see the usual anaemic signs, and by a chance I was actually able
to test the quality of her blood, for in opening a window which was
stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken
glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident
chance, and I secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed them.
The qualitative analysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows,
I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In other
physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for
anxiety; but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to the
conclusion that it must be something mental. She complains of
difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at times, and of heavy,
lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but regarding which
she can remember nothing. She says that as a child she used to walk
in
her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back, and that
once she walked out in the night and went to the East Cliff, where
Miss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has
not returned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know
of, I have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing,
of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in
the world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that
all things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who
you are and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow,
is in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to
do anything I can for her. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything
for me for a personal reason. So, no matter on what ground he comes,
we must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this
is because he knows what he is talking about better than any one else.
He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most
advanced scientists of his day; and he has, I believe, an absolutely
open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an
indomitable resolution, self-command and toleration exalted from
virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats-
these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for
mankind- work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide
as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may
know why I have such confidence in him. I have asked him to come at
once. I shall see Miss Westenra to-morrow again. She is to meet me
at the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by too early a
repetition of my call.
"Yours always,
"John Seward."
Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M.D., D.
Ph., D. Lit., etc.,
etc., to Dr. Seward.
"2 September.
"My good Friend,-
"When I have received your letter I am already coming to you.
By
good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those
who have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those
who have trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those
he holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my
wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our
other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he
wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune could
do. But it is pleasure added to do for him, your friend; it is to
you that I come. Have then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel,
so
that I may be near to hand, and please it so arrange that we may see
the young lady not too late on to-morrow, for it is likely that I
may have to return here that night. But if need be I shall come
again in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till then good-bye,
my friend John.
"Van Helsing."
Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.
"3 September.
"My dear Art,-
"Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to Hillingham,
and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was lunching out,
so that we were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very careful
examination of the patient. He is to report to me, and I shall
advise you, for of course I was not present all the time. He is, I
fear, much concerned, but says he must think. When I told him of our
friendship and how you trust to me in the matter, he said: 'You must
tell him all you think. Tell him what I think, if you can guess it,
if
you will. Nay, I am not jesting. This is no jest, but life and
death, perhaps more.' I asked what he meant by that, for he was very
serious. This was when we had come back to town, and he was having
a
cup of tea before starting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not
give me any further clue. You must not be angry with me, Art,
because his very reticence means that all his brains are working for
her good. He will speak plainly enough when the time comes, be sure.
So I told him I would simply write an account of our visit, just as
if
I were doing a descriptive special article for The Dally Telegraph.
He
seemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts in London were not
quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. I am to
get his report tomorrow if he can possible make it. In any case I am
to have a letter.
"Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the day
I
first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something
of the ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was normal.
She was very sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to
make him feel at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was
making a hard struggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too,
for I saw the quick look under his bushy brows that I knew of old.
Then he began to chat of all things except ourselves and diseases
and with such an infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucy's
pretense of animation merge into reality. Then, without any seeming
change, he brought the conversation gently round to his visit, and
suavely said:-
"'My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you
are
much beloved. That is much, my dear, even were there that which I do
not see. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that you were
of a ghastly pale. To them I say: "Pouf!"' And he snapped his
fingers at me and went on: 'But you and I shall show them how wrong
they are. How can he'- and he pointed at me with the same look and
gesture as that with which once he pointed me out to his class, on,
or
rather after, a particular occasion which he never fails to remind
me of- 'know anything of a young ladies? He has his madams to play
with, and to bring them back to happiness and to those that love them.
It is much to do, and, oh, but there are rewards, in that we can
bestow such happiness. But the young ladies! He has no wife nor
daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to the young, but to
the old, like me, who have known so many sorrows and the causes of
them. So, my dear, we will send him away to smoke the cigarette in
the
garden, whiles you and I have little talk all to ourselves.' I took
the hint, and strolled about, and presently the professor came to
the window and called me in. He looked grave, but said: 'I have made
careful examination, but there is no functional cause. With you I
agree that there has been much blood lost; it has been, but is not.
But the conditions of her are in no way anaemic. I have asked her to
send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question, that so
I
may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will say. And
yet
there is cause; there is always cause for everything. I must go back
home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day; and if
there be cause I shall come again. The disease- for not to be all well
is a disease- interest me, and the sweet young dear, she interest me
too. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.'
"As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were
alone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern watch.
I trust your poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible thing to
you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two
people who are both so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your
father, and you are right to stick to it; but, if need be, I shall
send you word to come at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious
unless you hear from me."
Dr. Seward's Diary.
4 September.- Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest
in him.
He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time.
Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The
attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately
the
men came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon
he
became so violent that it took all their strength to hold him. In
about five minutes, however, he began to get more and more quiet,
and finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has
remained up to now. The attendant tells me that his screams whilst
in the paroxysm were really appalling; I found my hands full when I
got in, attending to some of the other patients who were frightened
by
him. Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds
disturbed even me, though I was some distance away. It is now after
the dinner-hour of the asylum, and as yet my patient sits in a
corner brooding, with a dull, sullen, woe-be-gone look in his face,
which seems rather to indicate than to show something directly. I
cannot quite understand it.
Later.- Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked
in on
him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to
be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of
his
capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the ridges
of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad
conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back
to
his own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well to
humour him; so he is back in his room, with the window open. He has
the sugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping
quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting
them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of
his room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past
few days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to
me;
but he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and
said in a sort of far-away voice, as though saying it rather to
himself than to me:-
"All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now
unless I
do it for myself!" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he
said: "Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little
more sugar? I think it would be good for me."
"And the flies?" I said.
"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore
I like
it." And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen
do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy
a man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.
Midnight.- Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra,
whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at
our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him
yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it
better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the
wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid
lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul
clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness
of
my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and
my own desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him just as the
sun was going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it
sank he became less and less frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid
from the hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is
wonderful, however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics
have, for within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked
around him. I signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was
anxious to see what he would do. He went straight over to the window
and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took his fly-box and
emptied it outside, and threw away the box: then he shut the window
and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I
asked him: "Are you not going to keep flies any more?"
"No," said he; "I am sick of all that rubbish!" He certainly
is a
wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of
his mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be
a
clue after all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at
high noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence
of
the sun at periods which affects certain natures- as at times the moon
does others? We shall see.
Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.
"4 September.- Patient still better to-day."
Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.
"5 September- Patient greatly improved. Good appetite; sleeps
naturally; good spirits; colour coming back."
Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.
"6 September.- Terrible change for the worse. Come at once; do
not
lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen you."
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