CHAPTER V
_Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra._
_9 May._
My dearest Lucy,--
Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmedwith work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is sometimes trying.I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk togetherfreely and build our castles in the air. I have been working very hardlately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan's studies, and I havebeen practising shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shallbe able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough Ican take down what he wants to say in this way and write it out forhim on the typewriter, at which also I am practising very hard. Heand I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping astenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you Ishall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of thosetwo-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but asort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined. I do notsuppose there will be much of interest to other people; but it is notintended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there is in itanything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book. I shall tryto do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writingdescriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, witha little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hearssaid during a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my littleplans when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathanfrom Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. Iam longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice to see strangecountries. I wonder if we--I mean Jonathan and I--shall ever see themtogether. There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Good-bye.
Your loving
MINA.
Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me anything fora long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome,curly-haired man???
_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray_.
_17, Chatham Street_,
_Wednesday_.
My dearest Mina,--
I must say you tax me _very_ unfairly with being a bad correspondent. Iwrote to you _twice_ since we parted, and your last letter was only your_second_. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothingto interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good dealto picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to thetall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at thelast Pop. Some one has evidently been telling tales. That was Mr.Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very welltogether; they have so many things to talk about in common. We met sometime ago a man that would just _do for you_, if you were not alreadyengaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent _parti_, being handsome, welloff, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! Heis only nine-and-twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all underhis own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here tosee us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute menI ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. Ican fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He hasa curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying toread one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flattermyself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Doyou ever try to read your own face? _I do_, and I can tell you it is nota bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if youhave never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychologicalstudy, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficientinterest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is abore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day.There, it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each othersince we were _children_; we have slept together and eaten together, andlaughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I would liketo speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him. I am blushingas I write, for although I _think_ he loves me, he has not told me so inwords. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, thatdoes me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fireundressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel.I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop,or I should tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I _do_ sowant to tell you all. Let me hear from you _at once_, and tell me allthat you think about it. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in yourprayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.
LUCY.
P.S.--I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.
L.
_Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray_.
_24 May_.
My dearest Mina,--
Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It was sonice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.
My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had aproposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day I have had three.Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel sorry,really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am sohappy that I don't know what to do with myself. And three proposals!But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the girls, or they would begetting all sorts of extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injuredand slighted if in their very first day at home they did not get six atleast. Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged andare going to settle down soon soberly into old married women, candespise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must keepit a secret, dear, from _every one_, except, of course, Jonathan. Youwill tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tellArthur. A woman ought to tell her husband everything--don't you thinkso, dear?--and I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, tobe quite as fair as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not alwaysquite as fair as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came justbefore lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylumman, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cooloutwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently been schoolinghimself as to all sorts of little things, and remembered them; but healmost managed to sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally dowhen they are cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he keptplaying with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke tome, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me tohelp and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if Idid not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a bruteand would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked ifI could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled,and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any oneelse. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring myconfidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart wasfree a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty totell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then hestood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both myhands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I everwanted a friend I must count him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can'thelp crying: and you must excuse this letter being all blotted. Beingproposed to is all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn't atall a happy thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you knowloves you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted, and toknow that, no matter what he may say at the moment, you are passingquite out of his life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel somiserable, though I am so happy.
_Evening._
Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I leftoff, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear, number Twocame after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an American from Texas, andhe looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that hehas been to so many places and has had such adventures. I sympathisewith poor Desdemona when she had such a dangerous stream poured in herear, even by a black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards thatwe think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know nowwhat I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, Idon't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur nevertold any, and yet---- My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincey P.Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girlalone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to _make_ a chance, and Ihelping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell youbeforehand that Mr. Morris doesn't always speak slang--that is to say,he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really welleducated and has exquisite manners--but he found out that it amused meto hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was present, and therewas no one to be shocked, he said such funny things. I am afraid, mydear, he has to invent it all, for it fits exactly into whatever else hehas to say. But this is a way slang has. I do not know myself if I shallever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have neverheard him use any as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and lookedas happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he wasvery nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly:--
'Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the fixin's of yourlittle shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that is youwill go join them seven young women with the lamps when you quit. Won'tyou just hitch up alongside of me and let us go down the long roadtogether, driving in double harness?'
Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seemhalf so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, aslightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that Iwasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken ina light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing soon so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. Hereally did look serious when he was saying it, and I couldn't helpfeeling a bit serious too--I know, Mina, you will think me a horridflirt--though I couldn't help feeling a sort of exultation that he wasnumber two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say a word hebegan pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his veryheart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shallnever again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest,because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my facewhich checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort ofmanly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free:--
'Lucy, you are an honest-hearted girl, I know. I should not be herespeaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean grit, rightthrough to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like one good fellowto another, is there any one else that you care for? And if there isI'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again, but will be, if you willlet me, a very faithful friend.'
My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little worthyof them? Here was I almost making fun of this great-hearted, truegentleman. I burst into tears--I am afraid, my dear, you will thinkthis a very sloppy letter in more ways than one--and I really felt verybadly. Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as wanther, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not sayit. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to look intoMr. Morris's brave eyes, and I told him out straight:--
'Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that heeven loves me.' I was right to speak to him so frankly, for quite alight came into his face, and he put out both his hands and took mine--Ithink I put them into his--and said in a hearty way:--
'That's my brave girl. It's better worth being late for a chance ofwinning you than being in time for any other girl in the world. Don'tcry, my dear. If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack; and I take itstanding up. If that other fellow doesn't know his happiness, well, he'dbetter look for it soon, or he'll have to deal with me. Little girl,your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that's rarer than alover; it's more unselfish anyhow. My dear, I'm going to have a prettylonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss?It'll be something to keep off the darkness now and then. You can, youknow, if you like, for that other good fellow--he must be a good fellow,my dear, and a fine fellow, or you could not love him--hasn't spokenyet.' That quite won me, Mina, for it _was_ brave and sweet of him, andnoble, too, to a rival--wasn't it?--and he so sad; so I leant over andkissed him. He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked downinto my face--I am afraid I was blushing very much--he said:--
'Little girl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if thesethings don't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweethonesty to me, and good-bye.' He wrung my hand, and taking up his hat,went straight out of the room without looking back, without a tear or aquiver or a pause; and I am crying like a baby. Oh, why must a man likethat be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who wouldworship the very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free--onlyI don't want to be free. My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel Icannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and Idon't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.
Ever your loving
LUCY.
P.S.--Oh, about number Three--I needn't tell you of number Three, needI? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from hiscoming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he waskissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done todeserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am notungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such alover, such a husband, and such a friend.
Good-bye.
_Dr. Seward's Diary._
(Kept in phonograph)
_25 May._--Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot rest, sodiary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of emptyfeeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worththe doing.... As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing waswork, I went down amongst the patients. I picked out one who hasafforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I amdetermined to understand him as well as I can. To-day I seemed to getnearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.
I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to makingmyself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my manner of doingit there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keephim to the point of his madness--a thing which I avoid with the patientsas I would the mouth of hell.
(_Mem._, under what circumstances would I _not_ avoid the pit of hell?)_Omnia Romae venalia sunt._ Hell has its price! _verb. sap._ If there beanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwards_accurately_, so I had better commence to do so, therefore--
R. M. Renfield, aetat 59.--Sanguine temperament; great physical strength;morbidly excitable; periods of gloom, ending in some fixed idea which Icannot make out. I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and thedisturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish; a possiblydangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men cautionis as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think ofon this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force isbalanced with the centrifugal; when duty, a cause, etc., is the fixedpoint, the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series ofaccidents can balance it.
_Letter, Quincey P. Morris to Hon. Arthur Holmwood._
_25 May._
My dear Art,--
We've told yarns by the camp-fire in the prairies; and dressed oneanother's wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas; and drunkhealths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be told, andother wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk. Won't you letthis be at my camp-fire to-morrow night? I have no hesitation in askingyou, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a certain dinner-party, andthat you are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at theKorea, Jack Seward. He's coming, too, and we both want to mingle ourweeps over the wine-cup, and to drink a health with all our hearts tothe happiest man in all the wide world, who has won the noblest heartthat God has made and the best worth winning. We promise you a heartywelcome, and a loving greeting, and a health as true as your own righthand. We shall both swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep toa certain pair of eyes. Come!
Yours, as ever and always,
QUINCEY P. MORRIS.
_Telegram from Arthur Holmwood to Quincey P. Morris._
_26 May._
Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both your earstingle.
ART.