DRACULA
Bram
Stoker
CHAPTER
IX.
LETTERS,
ETC.- continued.
Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.
"Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
"My dearest Lucy,-
"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened
since we parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got
to Hull all right, and caught the boat to Homburg, and then the train
on here. I feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey,
except that I knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should
have to do some nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could... I
found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the
resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which
I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of
himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him
for a long time past. At least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall
never ask. He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his
poor brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a
good creature and a born nurse, tells me that he raved of dreadful
things whilst he was off his head. I wanted her to tell me what they
were; but she would only cross herself, and say she would never tell;
that the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a
nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her
trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw I was
troubled, she opened up the subject again, and after saying that she
could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can tell
you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has
done wrong himself, and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to be
concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear
was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.' I do
believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my poor dear
should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of my being
jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I felt a
thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other woman was a cause
of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his face
while he sleeps. He is waking!...
"When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to
get something from the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought
all his things. I saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was
going to ask him to let me look at it- for I knew then that I might
find some clue to his trouble- but I suppose he must have seen my wish
in my eyes, for he sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to be
quite alone for a moment. Then he called me back, and when I came he
had his hand over the note-book, and he said to me very solemnly:-
"'Wilhelmina'- I knew then that he was in deadly earnest,
for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to marry
him- 'you know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife:
there should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock,
and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I
do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I
have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I
do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our
marriage.' For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the
formalities are complete. 'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my
ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will,
but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come
upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad,
recorded here.' He fell back exhausted, and I put the book under his
pillow, and kissed him I have asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior
to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am waiting her reply...
"She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English
mission church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or
as soon after as Jonathan awakes...
"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but
very, very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was
ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his
'I will' firmly and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so
full that even those words seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were
so kind. Please God, I shall never, never forget them, nor the grave
and sweet responsibilities I have taken upon me. I must tell you of my
wedding present. When the chaplain and the sisters had left me alone
with my husband- oh, Lucy, it is the first time I have written the
words 'my husband'- left me alone with my husband, I took the book
from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it
with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and
sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my
wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told
him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and
visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I
would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the
sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy, it
was the first time he took his wifes hand, and said that it was the
dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through all
the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to have said
a part of the past; but he cannot think of time yet, and I shall not
wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the year.
"Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him
that I was the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had
nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that
with these went my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my
dear, when he kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands,
it was like a very solemn pledge between us...
"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not
only because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and
are, very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide
when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life.
I want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife,
whither duty has led me; so that in your own married life you too may
be all happy as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be
all it promises: a long day of sunshine, with no harsh kind, no
forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that
can never be; but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now
Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and, perhaps, write you
very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking- I must attend to
my husband!
"Your
ever-loving "Mina Harker."
Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker.
"Whitby, 30 August.
"My dearest Mina,-
"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon
be in your own home with your husband. I wish you could be coming home
soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore
Jonathan; it has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a
cormorant, am full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know
that I have quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not
stirred out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at
night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell you
that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, and rides, and
rowing, and tennis, and fishing together; and I love him more than
ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at
first he told me that he couldn't love me more than he did then. But
this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. So no more just at
present from your loving
"LUCY.
"P.S.- Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.
"P.P.S.- We are to be married on 28 September."
Dr.
Seward's Diary.
20 August.- The case of Renfield grows even more interesting.
He has now so far quieted that there are spells or cessation from his
passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually
violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and
kept murmuring to himself- "Now I can wait; now I can wait."
The attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at
him. He was still in the strait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but
the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had something
of their old pleading- I might almost say, "cringing"-
softness, I was satisfied with his present condition, and directed him
to be relieved. The attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my
wishes without protest. It was a strange thing that the patient had
humour enough to see their distrust, for, coming close to me, he said
in a whisper, all the while looking furtively at them:-
"They think I could hurt you! Fancy me hurting you! The
fools!"
It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself
dissociated even in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but
all the same I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have
anything in common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand
together; or has he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my
well-being is needful to him? I must find out later on. To-night he
will not speak. Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat
will not tempt him. He will only say: "I don't take any stock in
cats. I have more to think of now, and I can wait; I can wait."
After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was
quiet until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy,
and at length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which
exhausted him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.
...Three nights has the same thing happened- violent all day
then quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to
the cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence which
came and went. Happy thought! We shall to-night play sane wits against
mad ones. He escaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape
with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow
in case they are required...
23 August.- "The unexpected always happens." How well
Disraeli knew life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not
fly, so all our subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we
have proved one thing; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable
time. We shall in future
be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day.
I have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him
in the padded room, when once he is quiet, until an hour before
sunrise. The poor soul's
body will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it.
Hark! The unexpected again! I am called; the patient has once more
escaped.
Later.- Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until
the attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out
past him and new down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to
follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we
found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When
he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in
time, he would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a strange
thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as
suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see
nothing. Then I caught the patient's eye and followed it, but could
trace nothing as it looked into the moonlit sky except a big bat,
which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the West. Bats
usually wheel and flit about, but this one seemed to go straight on,
as if it knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.
The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said:
"You needn't tie me; I shall go quietly!" Without
trouble we came back to the house. I feel there is something ominous
in his calm, and shall not forget this night...
Lucy Westenra's Diary.
Hillingham, 24 August.- I must imitate Mina, and keep writing
things down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder
when it will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy.
Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby.
Perhaps it is the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark
and horrid to me, for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague
fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he
looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to
be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother's room to-night. I
shall make an excuse and try.
25 August.- Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to
my proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears
to worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but
when the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have
been falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the
window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I
must then have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember
them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my
throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don't
seem ever to get air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur
comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me so.
Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward.
"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August.
"My dear Jack,-
"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she
has no special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse
every day. I have asked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to
ask her mother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter
in her present state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has
confided to me that her doom is spoken- disease of the heart- though
poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am sure that there is something
preying on my dear girl's mind: I am almost distracted when I think of
her; to look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should ask you to
see her, and though she demurred at first- I know why, old fellow- she
finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I know, old
friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you
to act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham to-morrow, two o'clock,
so as not to arose any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch
Lucy will take an opportunity of being alone with you. I shall come in
for tea, and we can go away together; I am filled with anxiety, and
want to consult with you alone as soon as I can after you have seen
her. Do not fail!
"Arthur."
Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward.
"1 September.
"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing.
Write me fully by to-night's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary."
Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood.
"2 September.
"My dear old fellow,-
"With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you
know at once that in my opinion there is not any functional
disturbance or any malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not
by any means satisfied with her appearance; she is woefully different
from what she was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind
that I did not have full opportunity of examination such as I should
wish; our very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even
medical science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you
exactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure, your own
conclusions. I shall then say what I have done and propose doing.
"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her
mother was present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she
was trying all she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from
being anxious. I have no
doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there
is. We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful,
we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real cheerfulness
amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy was left
with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety
remained, for the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door
was closed, however, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down
into a chair with a great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I
saw that her high spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her
reaction to make a diagnosis. She said to me very sweetly:
"'I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself.' I
reminded her that a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were
grievously anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and
settled that matter in a word. 'Tell Arthur everything you choose. I
do not care for myself, but all for him!' So I am quite free.
"I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I
could not see the usual anaemic signs, and by a chance I was actually
able to test the quality of her blood, for in opening a window which
was stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken
glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident
chance, and I secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed them.
The qualitative analysis gives a quite normal condition, and
shows, I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In other
physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for
anxiety; but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to the
conclusion that it must be something mental. She complains of
difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at times, and of heavy,
lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but regarding which
she can remember nothing. She says that as a child she used to walk in
her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back, and that once
she walked out in the night and went to the East Cliff, where Miss
Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has not
returned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of, I
have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of
Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the
world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all
things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are
and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in
obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do
anything I can for her. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me
for a personal reason. So, no matter on what ground he comes, we must
accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is
because he knows what he is talking about better than any one else.
He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most
advanced scientists of his day; and he has, I believe, an absolutely
open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an
indomitable resolution, self-command and toleration exalted from
virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that
beats-these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for
mankind- work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide
as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may
know why I have such confidence in him. I have asked him to come at
once. I shall see Miss Westenra to-morrow again. She is to meet me at
the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by too early a
repetition of my call.
"Yours always, "John Seward."
Letter, Abraham Van Helsing, M.D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc.,
etc., to Dr. Seward.
"2 September.
"My good Friend,-
"When I have received your letter I am already coming to
you. By good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of
those who have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for
those who have trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid
those he holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck
from my wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife
that our other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him
when he wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune
could do. But it is pleasure added to do for him, your friend; it is
to you that I come. Have then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel,
so that I may be near to hand, and please it so arrange that we may
see the young lady not too late on to-morrow, for it is likely that I
may have to return here that night. But if need be I shall come again
in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till then good-bye, my
friend John.
"Van Helsing."
Letter, Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood.
"3 September.
"My dear Art,-
"Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to
Hillingham, and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was
lunching out, so that we were alone with her. Van Helsing made a very
careful examination of the patient. He is to report to me, and I shall
advise you, for of course I was not present all the time. He is, I
fear, much concerned, but says he must think. When I told him of our
friendship and how you trust to me in the matter, he said: 'You must
tell him all you think. Tell him what I think, if you can guess it, if
you will. Nay, I am not jesting. This is no jest, but life and death,
perhaps more.' I asked what he meant by that, for he was very serious.
This was when we had come back to town, and he was having a cup of tea
before starting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not give me any
further clue. You must not be angry with me, Art, because his very
reticence means that all his brains are working for her good. He will
speak plainly enough when the time comes, be sure.
So I told him I would simply write an account of our visit,
just as if I were doing a descriptive special article for The Dally
Telegraph. He seemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts in
London were not quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student
here. I am to get his report tomorrow if he can possible make it. In
any case I am to have a letter.
"Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on the
day I first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost
something of the ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was
normal. She was very
sweet to the professor (as she always is), and tried to make him feel
at ease; though I could see that the poor girl was making a hard
struggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the
quick look under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to
chat of all things except ourselves and diseases and with such an
infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucy's pretense of animation
merge into reality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the
conversation gently round to his visit, and suavely said:-
"'My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because
you are much beloved. That is much, my dear, even were there that
which I do not see. They told me you were down in the spirit, and that
you were of a ghastly pale. To them I say: "Pouf!"' And he
snapped his fingers at me and went on: 'But you and I shall show them
how wrong they are. How can he'- and he pointed at me with the same
look and gesture as that with which once he pointed me out to his
class, on, or rather after, a particular occasion which he never fails
to remind me of- 'know anything of a young ladies? He has his madams
to play with, and to bring them back to happiness and to those that
love them. It is much to
do, and, oh, but there are rewards, in that we can bestow such
happiness. But the young ladies! He has no wife nor daughter, and the
young do not tell themselves to the young, but to the old, like me,
who have known so many sorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we
will send him away to smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you
and I have little talk all to ourselves.' I took the hint, and
strolled about, and presently the professor came to the window and
called me in. He looked grave, but said: 'I have made careful
examination, but there is no functional cause. With you I agree that
there has been much blood lost; it has been, but is not.
But the conditions of her are in no way anaemic. I have asked
her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two question, that
so I may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will say.
And yet there is cause; there is always cause for everything. I must
go back home and think. You must send to me the telegram every day;
and if there be cause I shall come again. The disease- for not to be
all well is a disease- interest me, and the sweet young dear, she
interest me too. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease,
I come.'
"As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we
were alone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern
watch. I trust your poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible
thing to you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position
between two people who are both so dear to you. I know your idea of
duty to your father, and you are right to stick to it; but, if need
be, I shall send you word to come at once to Lucy; so do not be
over-anxious unless you hear from me."
Dr. Seward's Diary.
4 September.- Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest in
him. He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual
time. Just before the
stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The attendant knew the
symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came at a run,
and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became so violent
that it took all their strength to hold him. In about five minutes,
however, he began to get more and more quiet, and finally sank into a
sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained up to now. The
attendant tells me that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were really
appalling; I found my hands full when I got in, attending to some of
the other patients who were frightened by him. Indeed, I can quite
understand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I was
some distance away. It is now after the dinner-hour of the asylum, and
as yet my patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen,
woe-be-gone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than to
show something directly. I cannot quite understand it.
Later.- Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked
in on him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used
to be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of
his capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the
ridges of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his
bad conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led
back to his own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it
well to humour him; so he is back in his room, with the window open.
He has the sugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is
reaping quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but
putting them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the
corners of his room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about
the past few days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense
help to me; but he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very
sad, and said in a sort of far-away voice, as though saying it rather
to himself than to me:-
"All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me
now unless I do it for myself!" Then suddenly turning to me in a
resolute way, he said: "Doctor, won't you be very good to me and
let me have a little more sugar? I think it would be good for
me."
"And the flies?" I said.
"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies;
therefore I like it." And there are people who know so little as
to think that madmen do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and
left him as happy a man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I
could fathom his mind.
Midnight.- Another change in him. I had been to see Miss
Westenra, whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was
standing at our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard
him yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it
better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the
wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights
and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds
even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own
cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own
desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was
going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he
became less and less frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the
hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful,
however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for
within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked around him. I
signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was anxious to see
what he would do. He went straight over to the window and brushed out
the crumbs of sugar; then he took his fly-box and emptied it outside,
and threw away the box: then he shut the window and crossing over, sat
down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked him: "Are you
not going to keep flies any more?"
"No," said he; "I am sick of all that
rubbish!" He certainly is a wonderfully interesting study. I wish
I could get some glimpse of his mind or of the cause of his sudden
passion. Stop; there may be a clue after all, if we can find why
to-day his paroxysms came on at high noon and at sunset. Can it be
that there is a malign influence of the sun at periods which affects
certain natures- as at times the moon does others? We shall see.
Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.
"4 September.- Patient still better to-day."
Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.
"5 September- Patient greatly improved. Good appetite;
sleeps naturally; good spirits; colour coming back."
Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.
"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."
