Dracula

"6 September.--Terrible change for the worse.  Come at once.
Do not lose an hour.  I hold over telegram to Holmwood till
have seen you."




CHAPTER 10


LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON.  ARTHUR HOLMWOOD


6 September

"My dear Art,

"My news today is not so good.  Lucy this morning had gone back a
bit.  There is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it.
Mrs. Westenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucy, and has
consulted me professionally about her.  I took advantage of the
opportunity, and told her that my old master, Van Helsing, the great
specialist, was coming to stay with me, and that I would put her in
his charge conjointly with myself.  So now we can come and go
without alarming her unduly, for a shock to her would mean sudden
death, and this, in Lucy's weak condition, might be disastrous to
her.  We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor fellow,
but, please God, we shall come through them all right.  If any need
I shall write, so that, if you do not hear from me, take it for
granted that I am simply waiting for news, In haste,

"Yours ever,"

John Seward



DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

7 September.--The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at
Liverpool Street was, "Have you said anything to our young friend, to
lover of her?"

"No," I said.  "I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my
telegram.  I wrote him a letter simply telling him that you were
coming, as Miss Westenra was not so well, and that I should let him
know if need be."

"Right, my friend," he said.  "Quite right!  Better he not know as
yet.  Perhaps he will never know.  I pray so, but if it be needed,
then he shall know all.  And, my good friend John, let me caution you.
You deal with the madmen.  All men are mad in some way or the other,
and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with
God's madmen too, the rest of the world.  You tell not your madmen
what you do nor why you do it.  You tell them not what you think.  So
you shall keep knowledge in its place, where it may rest, where it may
gather its kind around it and breed.  You and I shall keep as yet what
we know here, and here."  He touched me on the heart and on the
forehead, and then touched himself the same way.  "I have for myself
thoughts at the present.  Later I shall unfold to you."

"Why not now?" I asked.  "It may do some good.  We may arrive at some
decision."  He looked at me and said, "My friend John, when the corn is
grown, even before it has ripened, while the milk of its mother earth
is in him, and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint him with his
gold, the husbandman he pull the ear and rub him between his rough
hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to you, 'Look!  He's
good corn, he will make a good crop when the time comes.'"

I did not see the application and told him so.  For reply he reached
over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully, as he used
long ago to do at lectures, and said, "The good husbandman tell you so
then because he knows, but not till then.  But you do not find the
good husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow.  That is
for the children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it
as of the work of their life.  See you now, friend John?  I have sown
my corn, and Nature has her work to do in making it sprout, if he
sprout at all, there's some promise, and I wait till the ear begins to
swell."  He broke off, for he evidently saw that I understood.  Then he
went on gravely, "You were always a careful student, and your case
book was ever more full than the rest.  And I trust that good habit
have not fail.  Remember, my friend, that knowledge is stronger than
memory, and we should not trust the weaker.  Even if you have not kept
the good practice, let me tell you that this case of our dear miss is
one that may be, mind, I say may be, of such interest to us and others
that all the rest may not make him kick the beam, as your people say.
Take then good note of it.  Nothing is too small.  I counsel you, put
down in record even your doubts and surmises.  Hereafter it may be of
interest to you to see how true you guess.  We learn from failure, not
from success!"

When I described Lucy's symptoms, the same as before, but infinitely
more marked, he looked very grave, but said nothing.  He took with him
a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, "the ghastly
paraphernalia of our beneficial trade," as he once called, in one of
his lectures, the equipment of a professor of the healing craft.

When we were shown in, Mrs. Westenra met us.  She was alarmed, but not
nearly so much as I expected to find her.  Nature in one of her