Dracula. Bram Stoker

and then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which

      Jonathan Marker’s Journal 43

      chilled me. With a beating heart, I tried the door; but I was

      locked in my prison, and could do nothing. I sat down and

      simply cried

      As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without the ago-

      nised cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it

      up, peered out between the bars. There, indeed, was a woman

      with dishevelled hair, holding her hands over her heart as one

      distressed with running. She was leaning against a corner of the

      gateway. When she saw my face at the window she threw her-

      self forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:

      «Monster, give me my child!»

      She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried

      the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore

      her hair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the

      violences of extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself for-

      ward, and, though I could not see her, I could hear the beating

      of her naked hands against the door.

      Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard

      the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper.

      His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling

      of wolves. Before many minutes had passed a pack of them

      poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, through the wide

      entrance into the courtyard.

      There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the

      wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away singly,

      licking their lips.

      I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her

      child, and she was better dead.

      What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this

      dreadful thing of night and gloom and fear?

      25 June, morning. No man knows till he has suffered from

      the night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the

      morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morning that

      it struck the top of the great gateway opposite my window, the

      high spot which it touched seemed to me as if the dove from the

      ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if it had been a

      vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must take

      action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me.

      Last night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first

      of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my ex-

      istence from the earth.

      Let me not think of it. Action!

      44 Dracula

      It has always been at night-time that I have been molested

      or threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not

      yet seen the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when

      others wake, that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could

      only get into his room! But there is no possible way. The door

      is always locked, no way for me.

      Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body

      has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him my-

      self crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and

      go in by his window? The chances are desperate, but my need

      is more desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worst it can only

      be death; and a man’s death is not a calf’s, and the dreaded Here-

      after may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Good-

      bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and second

      father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina!

      Same day t later. I have made the effort, and God, helping me,

      have come safely back to this room. I must put down every

      detail in order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to

      the window on the south side, and at once got outside on the

      narrow ledge of stone which runs around the building on this

      side. The stones are big and roughly cut, and the mortar has by

      process of time been washed away between them. I took off my

      boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down

      once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful

      depth would not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes

      away from it. I knew pretty well the direction and distance of

      the Count’s window, and made for it as well as I could, having

      regard to the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy I

      suppose I was too excited and the time seemed ridiculously

      short till I found myself standing on the window-sill and trying

      to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, when

      I bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then

      I looked around for the Count, but, with surprise and gladness,

      made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely furnished

      with odd things, which seemed to have never been used; the fur-

      niture was something the same style as that in the south rooms,

      and was covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was not

      in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I

      found was a great heap of gold in one corner gold of all kinds,

      Roman, and British, and Austrian, and Hungarian, and Greek

      and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as though

      it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was

      Jonathan Harker’s Journal 45

      less than three hundred years old. There were also chains

      and ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them old and

      stained.

      At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for,

      since I could not find the key of the room or the key of the

      outer door, which was the main object of my search, I must make

      further examination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was

      open, and led through a stone passage to a circular stairway,

      which went steeply down. I descended, minding