“My dear Dr. Van Helsing,
“A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which
has taken a great weight off my mind. And yet,
if it be true, what terrible things there are in the
world, and what an awful thing if that man, that monster,
be really in London! I fear to think.
I have this moment, whilst writing, had a wire from
Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 tonight
from Launceston and will be here at 10:18, so that
I shall have no fear tonight. Will you, therefore,
instead of lunching with us, please come to breakfast
at eight o’clock, if this be not too early for
you? You can get away, if you are in a hurry,
by the 10:30 train, which will bring you to Paddington
by 2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take
it that, if I do not hear, you will come to breakfast.
“Believe me,
“Your faithful and grateful friend,
“Mina Harker.”
26 September.—I thought never to write
in this diary again, but the time has come.
When I got home last night Mina had supper ready, and
when we had supped she told me of Van Helsing’s
visit, and of her having given him the two diaries
copied out, and of how anxious she has been about
me. She showed me in the doctor’s letter
that all I wrote down was true. It seems to
have made a new man of me. It was the doubt
as to the reality of the whole thing that knocked me
over. I felt impotent, and in the dark, and distrustful.
But, now that I know, I am not afraid, even of the
Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in
his design in getting to London, and it was he I saw.
He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing is
the man to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything
like what Mina says. We sat late, and talked
it over. Mina is dressing, and I shall call at
the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over.
He was, I think, surprised to see me. When I
came into the room where he was, and introduced myself,
he took me by the shoulder, and turned my face round
to the light, and said, after a sharp scrutiny,
“But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you
had had a shock.”
It was so funny to hear my wife called ‘Madam
Mina’ by this kindly, strong-faced old man.
I smiled, and said, “I was ill, I have had a
shock, but you have cured me already.”
“And how?”
“By your letter to Mina last night. I
was in doubt, and then everything took a hue of unreality,
and I did not know what to trust, even the evidence
of my own senses. Not knowing what to trust,
I did not know what to do, and so had only to keep
on working in what had hitherto been the groove of
my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and
I mistrusted myself. Doctor, you don’t
know what it is to doubt everything, even yourself.
No, you don’t, you couldn’t with eyebrows
like yours.”
He seemed pleased, and laughed as he said, “So!
You are a physiognomist. I learn more here
with each hour. I am with so much pleasure coming
to you to breakfast, and, oh, sir, you will pardon
praise from an old man, but you are blessed in your
wife.”
