Chapter 176

Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down. He raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and

then beat his palms together in a helpless way; finally he sat down on a chair, and putting his hands before his face, began to sob,

with loud, dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking of his heart. Then he raised his arms again, as though appealing to the

whole universe. “God! God! God!” he said. “What have we done, what has this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate

amongst us still, sent down from the pagan world of old, that such things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing,

and all for the best as she think, does such thing as lose her daughter body and soul; and we must not tell her, we must not even warn

her, or she die, and then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly he jumped to his

feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the

same.” He went to the hall-door for his bag; and together we went up to Lucy’s room.

Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards the bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face with

the same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of stern sadness and infinite pity.

“As I expected,” he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of his which meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the door, and

then began to set out on the little table the instruments for yet another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago recognised

the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a warning hand. “No!” he said. “To-day you must operate. I shall

provide. You are weakened already.” As he spoke he took off his coat and rolled up his shirt-sleeve.

Again the operation; again the narcotic; again some return of colour to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy sleep.

This time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and rested.

Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that she must not remove anything from Lucy’s room without consulting him;

that the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the breathing of their odour was a part of the system of cure. Then he took over the

care of the case himself, saying that he would watch this night and the next and would send me word when to come.

After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright and seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.

What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit of life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own brain.

Lucy Westenra’s Diary.

17 September.—Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed through

some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me. I have a dim

half-remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing; darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make present

distress more poignant: and then long spells of oblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up through a great press of

water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming seems to have passed away; the noises that used to

frighten me out of my wits—the flapping against the windows, the distant voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that came

from I know not where and commanded me to do I know not what—have all ceased. I go to bed now without any fear of sleep. I do not even

try to keep awake. I have grown quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day from Haarlem. To-night Dr. Van Helsing

is going away, as he has to be for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched; I am well enough to be left alone. Thank God for

mother’s sake, and dear Arthur’s, and for all our friends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change, for last night Dr.

Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the time. I found him asleep twice when I awoke; but I did not fear to go to sleep again,

although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against the window-panes.

“The Pall Mall Gazette,” 18 September.

THE ESCAPED WOLF.

PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER.

Interview with the Keeper in the Zoölogical Gardens.

After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and perpetually using the words “Pall Mall Gazette” as a sort of talisman, I managed

to find the keeper of the section of the Zoölogical Gardens in which the wolf department is included. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the

cottages in the enclosure behind the elephant-house, and was just sitting down to his tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife are

hospitable folk, elderly, and without children, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their hospitality be of the average kind, their lives

must be pretty comfortable. The keeper would not enter on what he called “business” until the supper was over, and we were all

satisfied. Then when the table was cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said:—

“Now, sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You’ll excoose me refoosin’ to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore meals. I gives

the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea afore I begins to arsk them questions.”

“How do you mean, ask them questions?” I queried, wishful to get him into a talkative humour.

“ ’Ittin’ of them over the ’ead with a pole is one way; scratchin’ of their hears is another, when gents as is flush wants a bit of a

show-orf to their gals. I don’t so much mind the fust—the ’ittin’ with a pole afore I chucks in their dinner; but I waits till they’ve

’ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak, afore I tries on with the ear-scratchin’. Mind you,” he added philosophically, “there’s a

deal of the same nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here’s you a-comin’ and arskin’ of me questions about my business, and I that

grumpy-like that only for your bloomin’ ’arf-quid I’d ’a’ seen you blowed fust ’fore I’d answer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic

-like if I’d like you to arsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me questions. Without offence did I tell yer to go to ’ell?”

“You did.”