Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I made an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than excellent port.
Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room next her own, where a cozy fire was burning.
“Now,” she said, “you must stay here.
I shall leave this door open and my door too.
You can lie on the sofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you doctors to go to bed whilst there is a patient above the horizon.
If I want anything I shall call out, and you can come to me at once.”
I could not but acquiesce, for I was “dog-tired,” and could not have sat up had I tried.
So, on her renewing her promise to call me if she should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything.
Lucy Westenra’s Diary.
9 September.—I feel so happy to-night.
I have been so miserably weak, that to be able to think and move about is like feeling sunshine after a long spell of east wind out of a steel sky.
Somehow Arthur feels very, very close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me.
I suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give Love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills.
I know where my thoughts are.
If Arthur only knew!
My dear, my dear, your ears must tingle as you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest of last night!
How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching me. And to-night I shall not fear to sleep, since he is close at hand and within call.
Thank everybody for being so good to me!
Thank God!
Good-night, Arthur.
Dr. Seward’s Diary.
10 September.—I was conscious of the Professor’s hand on my head, and started awake all in a second.
That is one of the things that we learn in an asylum, at any rate.
“And how is our patient?”
“Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me,” I answered.
“Come, let us see,” he said. And together we went into the room.
The blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, whilst Van Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the bed.
As I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the room, I heard the Professor’s low hiss of inspiration, and knowing its rarity, a deadly fear shot through my heart.
As I passed over he moved back, and his exclamation of horror,
“Gott in Himmel!” needed no enforcement from his agonised face.
He raised his hand and pointed to the bed, and his iron face was drawn and ashen white.
I felt my knees begin to tremble.
There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, more horribly white and wan-looking than ever.
Even the lips were white, and the gums seemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we sometimes see in a corpse after a prolonged illness.
Van Helsing raised his foot to stamp in anger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years of habit stood to him, and he put it down again softly.
“Quick!” he said. “Bring the brandy.”
I flew to the dining-room, and returned with the decanter.
He wetted the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm and wrist and heart.
He felt her heart, and after a few moments of agonising suspense said:—
“It is not too late.
It beats, though but feebly.
All our work is undone; we must begin again.
There is no young Arthur here now; I have to call on you yourself this time, friend John.”
As he spoke, he was dipping into his bag and producing the instruments for transfusion; I had taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt-sleeve.
There was no possibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of one; and so, without a moment’s delay, we began the operation.
After a time—it did not seem a short time either, for the draining away of one’s blood, no matter how willingly it be given, is a terrible feeling—Van Helsing held up a warning finger.
“Do not stir,” he said, “but I fear that with growing strength she may wake; and that would make danger, oh, so much danger.
But I shall precaution take.
I shall give hypodermic injection of morphia.”
He proceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out his intent.