Dracula

erty being held in contravention of the statutes of mortmain,

since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated posses-

sion, is held in a dead hand. It is needless to say that the dead

steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he

held his honourable watch and ward till death a steadfastness

as noble as that of the young Casabianca and placed in the

mortuary to await inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is

abating; crowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is begin-

ning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time

for your next issue, further details of the derelict ship which

found her way so miraculously into harbour in the storm.

76 Dracula

Whitby

p August. The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in

the storm last night is almost more startling than the thing

itself. It turns out that the schooner is a Russian from Varna, and

is called the Demeter. She is almost entirely hi ballast of silver

sand, with only a small amount of cargo a number of great

wooden boxes filled with mould. This cargo was consigned to a

Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who

this morning went aboard and formally took possession of the

goods consigned to him. The Russian consul, too, acting for the

charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, and paid all

harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day except the

strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade have been

most exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made

with existing regulations. As the matter is to be a «nine days’

wonder/ 7 they are evidently determined that there shall be no

cause of after complaint. A good deal of interest was abroad

concerning the dog which landed when the ship struck, and more

than a few of the members of the S. P. C. A., which is very strong

in Whitby, have tried to befriend the animal. To the general

disappointment, however, it was not to be found; it seems to

have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that it was

frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is still

hiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on such a

possibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for

it is evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a

half-bred mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill

Pier, was found dead in the roadway opposite to its master’s yard.

It had been fighting, and manifestly had had a savage opponent,

for its throat was torn away, and its belly was slit open as if with

a savage claw.

Later. By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I

have been permitted to look over the log-book of the Demeter,

which was hi order up to within three days, but contained

nothing of special interest except as to facts of missing men. The

greatest interest, however, is with regard to the paper found in

the bottle, which was to-day produced at the inquest; and a more

strange narrative than the two between them unfold it has not

been my lot to come across. As there is no motive for concealment,

I am permitted to use them, and accordingly send you a rescript,

simply omitting technical details of seamanship and supercargo.

It almost seems as though the captain had been seized with some

Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 77

kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that

this had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course

my statement must be taken cum grano, since I am writing from

the dictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly trans-

lated for me, tune being short.

LOG OF THE «DEMETER.»

Varna to Whitby.

Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep

accurate note henceforth till we land.

On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes

of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands…

two mates, cook, and myself (captain).

On ii July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish

Customs officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.

On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and

flagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of

officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed

into Archipelago.

On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about

something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.

On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady

fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out

what was wrong; they only told him there was something, and

crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day

and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.

On 1 6 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew,

Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard

watch eight bells last night; was relieved by Abramoff, but did

not go to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they

expected something of the kind, but would not say more than

there was something aboard. Mate getting very impatient with

them; feared some trouble ahead.

On 17 July, yesterday, one of th/men, Olgaren, came to my

cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought

there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his

78 Dracula

watch he had been sheltering behind the deck-house, as there

was a rain-storm, when he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like

any of the crew, come up the companion-way, and go along the

deck forward, and disappear. He followed cautiously, but when

he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed.

He was in a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic

may spread. To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully

from stem to stern.

Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them,

as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we

would search from stem to stern. First mate angry; said it was

folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the

men; said he would engage to keep them out of trouble with a

handspike. I let him take the helm, while the rest began thorough

search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we left no corner

unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were

no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when

search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate

scowled, but said nothing.

22 July. Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy

with sails no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten

their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised

men for work in bad weather. Passed Gibralter and out through

Straits. All well.

24 July. There seems some doom over this ship. Already

a hand short, and entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild

weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost disap-

peared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was not seen

again. Men all in a panic of fear; sent a round robin, asking to

have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear

there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some

violence.

28 July. Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of mael-

strom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all

worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go

on. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men

snatch a few hours’ sleep. Wind abating; seas still terrific, but

feel them less, as ship is steadier.

29 July. Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as

crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on deck

Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 79

could find no one except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came

on deck. Thorough search, but no one found. Are now without

second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed

henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.

jo July. Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England.

Weather fine, all sails set. Retired worn out; slept soundly;

awaked by mate telling me that both man of watch and steersman

missing. Only self and mate and two hands left to work ship.

1 August. Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped

when in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get

in somewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before

wind. Dare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem

to be drifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised

than either of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked

inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly

and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian,

he Roumanian.

2 August, midnight. Woke up from few minutes’ sleep by

hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in

fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me heard cry

and ran, but no sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help

us! Mate says we must be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment

of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as he heard the man

cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and only God can

guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and God seems

to have deserted us.

3 August. At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel,

and when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady,

and as we ran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it,

so shouted for the mate. Alter a few seconds he rushed up on

deck in his flannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I

greatly fear his reason has given way. He came close to me and

whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, as though fearing

the very air might hear: «It is here; I know it, now. On the watch

last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale.

It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave

It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the air.»

And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into

space. Then he went on: «But It is here, and I’ll find It. It is in

the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I’ll unscrew them one

8o Dracula

by one and see. You work the helm.» And, with a warning look

and his finger on his lip, he went below. There was springing

up a choppy wind, and I could not leave the helm. I saw him

come out on deck again with a tool-chest and a lantern, and go

down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving mad, and

it’s no use my trying to stop him. He can’t hurt those big boxes:

they are invoiced as «clay,» and to pull them about is as harm-

less a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and

write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog

clears. Then, if I can’t steer to any harbour with the wind that

is, I shall cut down sails and lie by, and signal for help.,..

It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that

the mate would come out calmer for I heard him knocking away

at something in the hold, and work is good for him there came

up the hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my

blood run cold, and up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun

a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and his face convulsed

with fear. «Save me! save me!» he cried, and then looked round

on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a

steady voice he said: " You had better come too, captain, before it

is too late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save

me from Him, and it is all that is left! "Before I could say a word,

or move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and de-

liberately threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret

too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the men one

by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me!

How am I to account for all these horrors when I get to port?

When I get to port! Will that ever be?

4 August. Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know

there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I

dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night

I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw It Him! God

forgive me, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was

better to die like a man; to die like a sailor in blue water no man

can object. But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But

I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to

the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them

I shall tie that which He It! dare not touch; and then, come

good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a

captain. I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He

can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act…, If

Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 81

we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, and those

who find it may understand; if not, … well, then all men shall

know that I have been true to my trust. God and the Blessed

Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his

duty….

Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to

adduce; and whether or not the man himself committed the

murders there is now none to say. The folk here hold almost

universally that the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given

a public funeral. Already it is arranged that his body is to be

taken with a train of boats up the Esk for a piece and then

brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey steps; for he is

to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners of more

than a hundred boats have already given in their names as wish-

ing to follow him to the grave.

No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there

is much mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state,

he would, I believe, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see

the funeral; and so will end this one more «mystery of the sea.»

Mina Murray’s Journal.

8 August. Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could

not sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among

the chimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came

it seemed to be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did

not wake; but she got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately,

each time I awoke in time and managed to undress her without

waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this

sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical

way, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields

herself almost exactly to the routine of her life.

Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the

harbour to see if anything had happened in the night. There

were very few people about, and though the sun was bright, and

the air clear and fresh, the big, grim-looking waves, that seemed

dark themselves because the foam that topped them was like

snow, forced themselves in through the narrow mouth of the

harbour like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow

I felt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on

land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am

getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only knew what to do,

aad could do anything!

82 Dracula

10 August. The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day was

most touching. Every boat in the harbour seeme’oV to be there,

and the coffin was carried by captains all the way from’TTate Hill

Pier up to the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went

early to our old seat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river

to the Viaduct and came down again. We had a lovely view, and

saw the procession nearly all the way. The poor fellow was laid

to rest quite near our seat so that we stood on it when the time

came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She

was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that

her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one

thing: she will not admit to me that there is any cause for rest-

lessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself. There

is an additional cause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found

dead this morning on our seat, his neck being broken. He had

evidently, as the doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort

of fright, for there was a look of fear and horror on his face that

the men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man! Perhaps

he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is so sweet and

sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people

d’o». Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did not

’much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the

men who came up here often to look for the boats was followed

by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are both quiet

persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark.

During the service the dog would not come to its master, who

was on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and

howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then

angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It

was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs bris-

tling out like a cat’s tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally

the man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog,

and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and

half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The

moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and

fell all into a tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched

down, quivering and cowering, and was in such a pitiable state of

terror that I tried, though without effect, to comfort it. Lucy

was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the dog,

but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. Ij^eatly, f par that

she is_of Jtoo super-sensitive a nature to go through the world

without trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure.

TEe whole agglomeration of things the ship steered into port

Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 83

by a dead man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and

beads; the touching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in

terror wi 1! all afford material for her dreams.

I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically,

so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood’s

Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-

walking then.

CHAPTER VIH

MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL

Same day, n o’clock p. m. Oh, but I am tired \ If it were not

that I had made my diary a duty I should not open it to-night.

We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits,

owing, I think, to some dear cows who came nosing towards us in

a field close to the lighthouse, and frightened the wits out of us.

I believe we forgot everything except, of course, personal fear,

and it seemed to wipe the slate clean and give us a fresh start.

We had a capital" severe tea» at Robin Hood’s Bay in a sweet

little old-fashioned inn, with a bow-window right over the

seaweed-covered rocks of the strand. I believe we should have

shocked the «New Woman» with our appetites. Men are more

tolerant, bless them! Then we walked home with some, or rather

many, stoppages to rest, and with our hearts full of a constant

dread of wild bulls. Lucy was really tired, and we intended to

creep off to bed as soon as we could. The young curate came in,

however, and Mrs. Westenra asked him to stay for supper. Lucy

and I had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; I know it was

a hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that some

day the bishops must get together and see about breeding up a

new class of curates, who don’t take supper, no matter how the>

may be pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Luc}

is asleep and breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheek

than usual, and looks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in lov

with her seeing her only in the drawing-room, I wonder what h

would say if he saw her now. Some of the «New Women" writer

will some day start an idea that men and women should

allowed to see each other asleep before proposing or accepting

But I suppose the New Woman won’t condescend in future t

accept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she wi

make of it, too! There’s some consolation in that. I am so happ

to-night, because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe sh

has turned the corner, and that we are over her troubles wit

dreaming. I should be quite happy if I only knew if Jonathan..

God bless and keep him.

84

Mina Murray’s Journal 8$

ii August, 3 a. m. Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as

well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an ad-

venture, such an agonising experience. I fell asleep as soon as I

had closed my diary…. Suddenly I became broad awake, and

sat up, with a horrible sense of fear upon me, and of some feeling

of emptiness around me. The room was dark, so I could not see

^ucy’s bed; I stole across and felt for her. The bed was empty. I

it a match and found that she was not in the room. The door was

shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother,

who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some

clothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the room

t struck me that the clothes she wore might give me some clue

to her dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house-,

dress, outside. Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places.

«Thank God,» I said to myself, «she cannot be far, as she is

only in her nightdress.» I ran downstairs and looked in the

sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other open

rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fear chilling my heart.

Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It was not

wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The people

of the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared

that Lucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to

think of what might happen; a vague, overmastering fear ob-

scured all details. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The

clock was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not

a soul in sight. I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no

sign of the white figure which I expected. At the edge of the West

Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour to the East Cliff,

in the hope or fear I don’t know which of seeing Lucy in our

favourite seat. There was a bright full moon, with heavy black,

driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting dio-

rama of light and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or

two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured

St. Mary’s Church and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I

could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view; and as the edge

of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along,

the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. What-

ever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on

our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-

reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was too

quick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almost

’immediately; but it seemed to me as though something dark

stood behind the seat where the white figure shone, and bent over

86 Dracula

it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not

wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps

to the pier and along by the fish-market to the bridge, which was

the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed as dead,

for not a soul did I see; I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no

witness of poor Lucy’s condition. The time and distance seemed

endless, and my knees trembled and my breath came laboured

as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must have gone

fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with

lead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty. When I

got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for

I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells

of shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black,

bending over the half-reclining white figure. I called in fright,

«Lucy! Lucy!» and something raised a head, and from where I

was I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did

not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. As

I entered, the church was between me and the seat, and for a

minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the

cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly that 1

could see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the back

of the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any

living thing about.

When I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Hei

lips were parted, and she was breathing not softly as usual with

her, but in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs

full at every breath. As I came close, she put up her hand in he:

sleep and pulled the collar of her nightdress close around he

throat. Whilst she did so there came a little shudder through her,

as though she felt the cold. I flung the warm shawl over her, an <

drew the edges tight round her neck, for I dreaded lest she shouL

get some deadly chill from the night air, unclad as she was.

feared to wake her all at once, so, in order to have my hands fre

that I might help her, I fastened the shawl at her throat with

big safety-pin; but I must have been clumsy in my anxiety an

pinched or pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathir

became quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moane’

When I had her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on her fee

and then began very gently to wake her. At first she did n

respond; but gradually she became more and more uneasy in h

sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At last, as time w

passing fast, and, for many other reasons, I wished to get h

home at once, I shook her more forcibly, till finally she open

Mina Murray’s Journal 87

her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as,

of course, she did not realise all at once where she was. Lucy

always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her body

must have been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat

appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, she did not

lose her grace. She trembled a little, and clung to me; when I told

her to come at once with me home she rose without a word, with

the obedience of a child. As we passed along, the gravel hurt my

feet, and Lucy noticed me wince. She stopped and wanted to

insist upon my taking my shoes; but I would not. However,

when we got to the pathway outside the churchyard, where there

vas a puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my

eet with mud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as

ve went home, no one, in case we should meet any one, should,

lotice my bare feet.

Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a

oul. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing

Jong a street in front of us; but we hid in a door till he had

isappeared up an opening such as there are here, steep little

loses, or «wynds,» as they call them in Scotland. My heart

3eat so loud all the time that sometimes I thought I should faint,

was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only for her health,

est she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputation

n case the story should get wind. When we got in, and had

vashed our feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together,

tucked her into bed. Before falling asleep she asked even

mplored me not to: say a word to any one, even her mother,

.bout her sleep-walking adventure. I hesitated at first to prom-

se; but on thinking of the state of her mother’s health, and how

he knowledge of such a thing would fret her, and thinking, too,

> f howi such a story might become distorted nay, infallibly

vould in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do so. I

lope I did right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied to my

s r rist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleeping

oundly; the reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea….

Sams day, noon. All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her and

eemed not to have even changed her side. The adventure of the

tight does not seem to have harmed her; on the contrary, it has

> enefited her, for she looks better this morning than she has done

or weeks. I was sorry to notice that my clumsiness with the

afety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it might have been serious, for the

kin of her throat was pierced. I must have pinched up a piece

88 Dracula

of loose skin and have transfixed it, for there are two little red

points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress was a

drop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, she

laughed and petted me, and said she did not even feel it. Fortu-

nately it cannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny.

Same day t night. We passed a happy day. The air was clear,

and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our

lunch to Mulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road

and Lucy and I walking by the cliff-path and joining her at the

gate. I felt a little sad myself, for I could not but feel how abso-

lutely happy it would have been had Jonathan been with me.

But there! I must only be patient. In the evening we strolled in

the Casino Terrace, and heard some good music by Spohr and

Mackenzie, and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than

she has been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock

the door and secure the key the same as before, though I do not

expect any trouble to-night.

12 August. My expectations were wrong, for twice during

the night I was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed,

even in her sleep, to be a little impatient at finding the door shut,

and went back to bed under a sort of protest. I woke with the

dawn, and heard the birds chirping outside of the window. Lucy

woke, too, and, I was glad to see, was even better than on the

previous morning. All her old gaiety of manner seemed to have

come back, and she came and snuggled in beside me and told

me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I was about Jona-

than, and then she tried to comfort me. Well, she succeeded