The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselvesand the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter,his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, thePresident of the Incorporated Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand inhand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us....
We came back to town quietly, taking a 'bus to Hyde Park Corner.Jonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a while,so we sat down; but there were very few people there, and it wassad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made us thinkof the empty chair at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly.Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old daysbefore I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can't go onfor some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls withoutthe pedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, andhe was my husband, and we didn't know anybody who saw us--and we didn'tcare if they did--so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautifulgirl, in a big cartwheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Giuliano'swhen I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he saidunder his breath: "My God!" I am always anxious about Jonathan, forI fear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to himquickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.
He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror andhalf in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose andblack moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the prettygirl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us,and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it washard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked allthe whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's.Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. Ifeared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I askedJonathan why he was so disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinkingthat I knew as much about it as he did: "Do you see who it is?"
"No, dear," I said; "I don't know him; who is it?" His answer seemed toshock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not know that it wasto me, Mina, to whom he was speaking:--
"It is the man himself!"
The poor dear was evidently terrified at something--very greatlyterrified; I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and tosupport him, he would have sunk down. He kept staring; a man came out ofthe shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who then droveoff. The dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriagemoved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed ahansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself:--
"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if thisbe so! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!" He wasdistressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on thesubject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I drew himaway quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a littlefurther, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green Park. It wasa hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat in a shady place.After a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes closed, andhe went quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thoughtit was the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twentyminutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:--
"Why, Mina, have I been asleep? Oh, do forgive me for being so rude.Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere." He had evidently forgottenall about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten allthat this episode had reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing intoforgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I mustnot ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehowlearn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when Imust open that parcel and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will,I know, forgive me if I do wrong but it is for your own dear sake.
_Later._--A sad home-coming in every way--the house empty of the dearsoul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slightrelapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever hemay be:--
"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, andthat Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day."
Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poorLucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, tohave lost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear ourtroubles.
_Dr. Seward's Diary._
_22 September._--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and hastaken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believein my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's death asany of us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. IfAmerica can go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in theworld indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory tohis journey. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returnsto-morrow night; that he only wants to make some arrangements whichcan only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; hesays he has work to do in London which may take him some time. Poorold fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken downeven his iron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I couldsee, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it was all over,we were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of hispart in the operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy'sveins; I could see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns.Arthur was saying that he felt since then as if they two had been reallymarried, and that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us saida word of the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur andQuincey went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came onhere. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regularfit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, andinsisted that it was only his sense of humour asserting itself undervery terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried and I had to drawdown the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then hecried till
he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as awoman does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under thecircumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so different inmanifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grewgrave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time.His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical andforceful and mysterious. He said:--
"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad,though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. Butno more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come justthe same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your doorand say, 'May I come in?' is not the true laughter. No! he is a king,and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no timeof suitability. He say: 'I am here.' Behold, in example, I grieve myheart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, thoughI am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my othersufferers want that she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her verygrave--laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon hercoffin and say, 'Thud! thud!' to my heart, till it send back the bloodfrom my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy--that dear boy, so ofthe age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with hishair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yetwhen he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make myfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man--not even to you, friendJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son--yeteven at such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in myear, 'Here I am! Here I am!' till the blood come dance back and bringsome of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friendJohn, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, andwoes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all danceto the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard,and tears that burn as they fall--all dance together to the music thathe make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John,that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropesdrawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come;and, like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps thestrain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like thesunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on withour labour, what it may be."
I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, asI did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. Ashe answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a differenttone:--
"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all--this so lovely lady garlandedwith flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wonderedif she were truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in thatlonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with themother who loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going'Toll! toll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those holy men, with the whitegarments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the timetheir eyes never on the page; and all us with the bowed head. And allfor what? She is dead; so! Is it not?"
"Well, for the life of me, Professor," I said, "I can't see anything tolaugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzlethan before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poorArt and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking."
"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins hadmade her truly his bride?"
"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him."
"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, thenwhat about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist,and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, thoughno wits, all gone--even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife,am bigamist."
"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!" I said; and I didnot feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laidhis hand on my arm, and said:--
"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to otherswhen it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust.If you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh;if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do sonow, when King Laugh have pack up his crown and all that is to him--forhe go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time--maybe you wouldperhaps pity me the most of all."
I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.
"Because I know!"
And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness willsit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of herkin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teemingLondon; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill,and where wild flowers grow of their own accord.
So I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever beginanother. If I do, or if I ever open this again, it will be to deal withdifferent people and different themes; for here at the end, where theromance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of mylife-work, I say sadly and without hope,
"/Finis./"
_The "Westminster Gazette," 25 September._
/A Hampstead Mystery./