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Chapter 15 Dr. Seward's Diary—cont.

  • For a while sheer anger mastered me. It was as if he had during her lif_truck 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 fac_almed me at once. "Would I were!" he said. "Madness were easy to bea_ompared with truth like this. Oh, my friend, whey, think you, did I go so fa_ound, why take so long to tell so simple a thing? Was it because I hate yo_nd have hated you all my life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Wa_t that I wanted, no 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 breakin_o you, for I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do no_xpect 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' o_t. It is more hard still to accept so sad a concrete truth, and of such a on_s Miss Lucy. Tonight I go to prove it. Dare you come with me?"
  • This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth, Byron excepte_rom the catagory, jealousy.
  • "And prove the very truth he most abhorred."
  • He saw my hesitation, and spoke, "The logic is simple, no madman's logic thi_ime, jumping from tussock to tussock in a misty bog. If it not be true, the_roof will be relief. At worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there i_he dread. Yet every dread should help my cause, for in it is some need o_elief. Come, I tell you what I propose. First, that we go off now and se_hat child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where th_apers say the child is, is a friend of mine, and I think of yours since yo_ere in class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if h_ill not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we wish t_earn. 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 churchyard where Lucy lies. This is the key that lock th_omb. 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 befor_s. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what heart I could and sai_hat we had better hasten, as the afternoon was passing.
  • We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, an_ltogether was going on well. Dr, Vincent took the bandage from its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the similarity to thos_hich had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller, and the edges looke_resher, that was all. We asked Vincent to what he attributed them, and h_eplied that it must have been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat, but fo_is own part, he was inclined to think it was one of the bats which are s_umerous on the northern heights of London. "Out of so many harmless ones," h_aid, "there may be some wild specimen from the South of a more malignan_pecies. Some sailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape, o_ven from the Zoological Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one b_red there from a vampire. These things do occur, you, know. Only ten days ag_ wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a wee_fter, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath an_n every alley in the place until this `bloofer lady' scare came along, sinc_hen it has been quite a gala time with them. Even this poor little mite, whe_e woke up today, asked the nurse if he might go away. When she asked him wh_e 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 wil_aution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies to stray ar_ost dangerous, and if the child were to remain out another night, it woul_robably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will not let it away for som_ays?"
  • "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 su_ad dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it was, he said,
  • "There is not hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us see_omewhere 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 an_thers who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we started from the inn. I_as then very dark, and the scattered lamps made the darkness greater when w_ere once outside their individual radius. The Professor had evidently note_he road we were to go, for he went on unhesitatingly, but, as for me, I wa_n quite a mixup as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewe_eople, till at last we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol o_orse police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall o_he churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty, for it wa_ery dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us, we found the Westenr_omb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was _elicious irony in the offer, in the courtliness of giving preference on suc_ ghastly occasion. My companion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew th_oor to, after carefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not _pring one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then h_umbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle, proceede_o make a light. The tomb in the daytime, and when wreathed with fres_lowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough, but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and thei_reens to browns, when the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustome_ominance, when the time-discolored stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, an_usty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and clouded silver-plating gave bac_he feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid tha_ould have been imagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life, anima_ife, was not the only thing which could pass away.
  • Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so that h_ould read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm dropped i_hite patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he made assurance o_ucy'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. I_eemed to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to hav_tripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living. I actually took hold o_is hand to stop him.
  • He only said, "You shall see,"and again fumbling in his bag took out a tin_ret 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 t_dmit the point of the saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-ol_orpse. We doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to becom_ccustomed to such things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professo_ever stopped for a moment. He sawed down a couple of feet along one side o_he lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the edge o_he loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holdin_p the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to look.
  • I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty. It was certainly a surprise t_e, and gave me a considerable shock, but Van Helsing was unmoved. He was no_ore sure than ever of his ground, and so emboldened to proceed in hi_ask."Are you satisfied now, friend John?" he asked.
  • I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as _nswered him, "I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin, but tha_nly 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 ca_ou, account for it not being there?"
  • "Perhaps a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the undertaker's people ma_ave stolen it." I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was the onl_eal cause which I could suggest.
  • The Professor sighed. "Ah well!" he said," we must have more proof. Come wit_e."
  • He put on the coffin lid again, gathered up all his things and placed them i_he bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the bag. We opene_he door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and locked it. He hande_e 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 motione_im to keep it. "A key is nothing," I said, "thee are many duplicates, an_nyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of this kind."
  • He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he told me to watch a_ne 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 th_ntervening 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 i_ime came one and two. I was chilled and unnerved, and angry with th_rofessor for taking me on such an errand and with myself for coming. I wa_oo cold and too sleepy to be keenly observant, and not sleepy enough t_etray 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 fro_he tomb. At the same time a dark mass moved from the Professor's side of th_round, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I too moved, but I had to go roun_eadstones and railed-off tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky wa_vercast, and somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little ways off, beyon_ line of scattered juniper trees, which marked the pathway to the church, _hite dim figure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself wa_idden by trees, and I could not see where the figure had disappeared. I hear_he rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, an_oming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When he sa_e 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?"
  • "We shall see,"said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way out o_he churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.
  • When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of trees, an_truck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was without a scratch o_car 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 abou_t. If we were to take it to a police station we should have to give som_ccount of our movements during the night. At least, we should have had t_ake some statement as to how we had come to find the child. So finally w_ecided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we heard a policema_oming, would leave it where he could not fail to find it. We would then see_ur way home as quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge o_ampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and laying the child o_he pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he flashed his lanter_o and fro. We heard his exclamation of astonishment, and then we went awa_ilently. By good chance we got a cab near the `Spainiards,' and drove t_own.
  • 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 go with hi_n another expedition.
  • 27 September.—It was two o'clock before we found a suitable opportunity fo_ur attempt. The funeral held at noon was all completed, and the las_tragglers of the mourners had taken themselves lazily away, when, lookin_arefully from behind a clump of alder trees, we saw the sexton lock the gat_fter him. We knew that we were safe till morning did we desire it, but th_rofessor told me that we should not want more than an hour at most. Again _elt that horrid sense of the reality of things, in which any effort o_magination seemed out of place, and I realized distinctly the perils of th_aw which we were incurring in our unhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was al_o useless. Outrageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woma_ead nearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to ope_he tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own eyesight, that th_offin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders, however, and rested silent, for Va_elsing had a way of going on his own road, no matter who remonstrated. H_ook 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 mea_ooking when the sunshine streamed in. Van Helsing walked over to Lucy'_offin, and I followed. He bent over and again forced back the leaden flange, and a shock of surprise and dismay shot through me.
  • There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night before he_uneral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful than ever, and I coul_ot believe that she was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than before, an_n 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 h_ut over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder, pulled back the dea_ips and showed the white teeth. "See," he went on,"they are even sharper tha_efore. With this and this," and he touched one of the canine teeth and tha_elow it, "the little children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, frien_ohn?"
  • Once more argumentative hostility woke within me. I could not accept such a_verwhelming idea as he suggested. So, with an attempt to argue of which I wa_ven at the moment ashamed, I said, "She may have been placed here since las_ight."
  • "Indeed? That is so, and by whom?"
  • "I do not know. Someone has done it."
  • "And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time would not loo_o."
  • I had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not seem to notice m_ilence. At any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor triumph. He was lookin_ntently at the face of the dead woman, raising the eyelids and looking at th_yes, and once more opening the lips and examining the teeth. Then he turne_o me and said,
  • "Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded. Here is som_ual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by the vampire when sh_as in a trance, sleep-walking, oh, you start. You do not know that, frien_ohn, but you shall know it later, and in trance could he best come to tak_ore blood. In trance she dies, and in trance she is Un-Dead, too. So it i_hat she differ from all other. Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home," as h_poke he made a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to a vampir_as `home', "their face show what they are, but this so sweet that was whe_he not Un-Dead she go back to the nothings of the common dead. There is n_align 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 acceptin_an Helsing's theories. But if she were really dead, what was there of terro_n the idea of killing her?
  • He looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for he sai_lmost joyously, "Ah, you believe now?"
  • I answered, "Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing to accept. Ho_ill you do this bloody work?"
  • "I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I shall drive _take through her body."
  • It made me shudder to think of so mutilating the body of the woman whom I ha_oved. And yet the feeling was not so strong as I had expected. I was, i_act, beginning to shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Va_elsing called it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is al_ubjective, or all objective?
  • I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he stood as i_rapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of his bag with a snap, an_aid,
  • "I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is best. If I di_imply 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 mor_ifficult in that them we do not know. This is simple. She have yet no lif_aken, though that is of time, and to act now would be to take danger from he_orever. But then we may have to want Arthur, and how shall we tell him o_his? If you, who saw the wounds on Lucy's throat, and saw the wounds s_imilar on the child's at the hospital, if you, who saw the coffin empty las_ight and full today with a woman who have not change only to be more rose an_ore beautiful in a whole week, after she die, if you know of this and know o_he white figure last night that brought the child to the churchyard, and ye_f your own senses you did not believe, how then, can I expect Arthur, wh_now none of those things, to believe?
  • "He doubted me when I took him from her kiss when she was dying. I know he ha_orgiven me because in some mistaken idea I have done things that prevent hi_ay goodbye as he ought, and he may think that in some more mistaken idea thi_oman was buried alive, and that in most mistake of all we have killed her. H_ill then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that have killed her by ou_deas, and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet he never can be sure, an_hat is the worst of all. And he will sometimes think that she he loved wa_uried alive, and that will paint his dreams with horrors of what she mus_ave suffered, and again, he will think that we may be right, and that his s_eloved was, after all, an Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then _earn much. Now, since I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more d_ 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 gro_lack to him, then we can act for good all round and send him peace. My min_s made up. Let us go. You return home for tonight to your asylum, and se_hat all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this churchyar_n my own way. Tomorrow night you will come to me to the Berkeley Hotel at te_f the clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too, and also that so fine youn_an of America that gave his blood. Later we shall all have work to do. I com_ith you so far as Piccadilly and there dine, for I must be back here befor_he 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 JOH_EWARD, M. D. (Not Delivered)
  • 27 September
  • "Friend John,
  • "I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to watch in tha_hurchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not leav_onight, that so on the morrow night she may be more eager. Therefore I shal_ix some things she like not, garlic and a crucifix, and so seal up the doo_f the tomb. She is young as Un-Dead, and will heed. Moreover, these are onl_o prevent her coming out. They may not prevail on her wanting to get in, fo_hen 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 afte_unrise, and if there be aught that may be learned I shall learn it. For Mis_ucy or from her, I have no fear, but that other to whom is there that she i_n-Dead, he have not the power to seek her tomb and find shelter. He i_unning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all along he hav_ooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's life, and we lost, and i_any ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the strength in his hand o_wenty men, even we four who gave our strength to Miss Lucy it also is all t_im. Besides, he can summon his wolf and I know not what. So if it be that h_ame thither on this night he shall find me. But none other shall, until it b_oo late. But it may be that he will not attempt the place. There is no reaso_hy he should. His hunting ground is more full of game than the churchyar_here the Un-Dead woman sleeps, and the one old man watch.
  • "Therefore I write this in case … Take the papers that are with this, th_iaries 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, s_hat 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, bu_ow they seem to start out lurid before me as outrages on common sense. I hav_o doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his mind can have become in an_ay unhinged. Surely there must be some rational explanation of all thes_ysterious 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 hi_ntent with regard to some fixed idea in a wonderful way. I am loathe to thin_t, and indeed it would be almost as great a marvel as the other to find tha_an Helsing was mad, but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get som_ight on the mystery.
  • 29 September.—Last night, at a little before ten o'clock, Arthur and Quince_ame into Van Helsing's room. He told us all what he wanted us to do, bu_specially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all our wills were centered i_is. 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 surprise_t my letter?" This query was directly addressed to Lord Godalming. "I was. I_ather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble around my house o_ate that I could do without any more. I have been curious, too, as to wha_ou mean.
  • "Quincey and I talked it over, but the more we talked, the more puzzled w_ot, till now I can say for myself that I'm about up a tree as to any meanin_bout 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 s_ar as to begin."
  • It was evident that he recognized my return to my old doubting frame of min_ithout my saying a word. Then, turning to the other two, he said with intens_ravity,
  • "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, an_nly then how much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me in the dark, s_hat afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a time, I must no_isguise from myself the possibility that such may be, you shall not blam_ourselves for anything."
  • "That's frank anyhow," broke in Quincey. "I'll answer for the Professor. _on't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest, and that's good enough fo_e."
  • "I thank you, Sir," said Van Helsing proudly. "I have done myself the honor o_ounting you one trusting friend, and such endorsement is dear to me." He hel_ut a hand, which Quincey took.
  • Then Arthur spoke out, "Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to `buy a pig in _oke', as they say in Scotland, and if it be anything in which my honour as _entleman or my faith as a Christian is concerned, I cannot make such _romise. If you can assure me that what you intend does not violate either o_hese two, then I give my consent at once, though for the life of me, I canno_nderstand what you are driving at."
  • "I accept your limitation," said Van Helsing, "and all I ask of you is that i_ou feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine, you will first consider i_ell and be satisfied that it does not violate your reservations."
  • "Agreed!" said Arthur. "That is only fair. And now that the pourparlers ar_ver, 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 a_ingstead."
  • 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 is it some monstrous joke?
  • Pardon me, I see that you are in earnest." He sat down again, but I could se_hat he sat firmly and proudly, as one who is on his dignity. There wa_ilence 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 patien_n 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 poo_riend," he said, "God knows I would. But this night our feet must tread i_horny paths, or later, and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths o_lame!"
  • 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 the_ou 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 i_ead, is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong to her. But if she be no_ead… "
  • Arthur jumped to his feet, "Good God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Has ther_een any mistake, has she been buried alive?"He groaned in anguish that no_ven hope could soften.
  • "I did not say she was alive, my child. I did not think it. I go no furthe_han to say that she might be Un-Dead."
  • "Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare, or what i_t?"
  • "There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they ma_olve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But I have no_one. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?"
  • "Heavens and earth, no!" cried Arthur in a storm of passion. "Not for the wid_orld will I consent to any mutilation of her dead body. Dr. Van Helsing, yo_ry me too far. What have I done to you that you should torture me so? Wha_id that poor, sweet girl do that you should want to cast such dishonor on he_rave? Are you mad, that you speak of such things, or am I mad to listen t_hem? Don't dare think more of such a desecration. I shall not give my consen_o 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 t_thers, a duty to you, a duty to the dead, and by God, I shall do it! All _sk you now is that you come with me, that you look and listen, and if whe_ater I make the same request you do not be more eager for its fulfillmen_ven than I am, then, I shall do my duty, whatever it may seem to me. An_hen, to follow your Lordship's wishes I shall hold myself at your disposal t_ender 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 act_hich were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring my heart, _ave never had so heavy a task as now. Believe me that if the time comes fo_ou to change your mind towards me, one look from you will wipe away all thi_o sad hour, for I would do what a man can to save you from sorrow. Jus_hink. For why should I give myself so much labor and so much of sorrow? _ave come here from my own land to do what I can of good, at the first t_lease my friend John, and then to help a sweet young lady, whom too, I com_o love. For her, I am ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness, _ave 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 her my nights an_ays, 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 _ery 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 t_hink of it, and I cannot understand, but at least I shall go with you an_ait."