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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 484 pages of information about Dracula.

Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by wrenching away tomb tops one other of the sisters, the other dark one.  I dared not pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest once more I should begin to be enthrall.  But I go on searching until, presently, I find in a high great tomb as if made to one much beloved that other fair sister which, like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms of the mist.  She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion.  But God be thanked, that soul wail of my dear Madam Mina had not died out of my ears.  And, before the spell could be wrought further upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work.  By this time I had searched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell.  And as there had been only three of these Undead phantoms around us in the night, I took it that there were no more of active Undead existent.  There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest.  Huge it was, and nobly proportioned.  On it was but one word.

DRACULA

This then was the Undead home of the King Vampire, to whom so many more were due.  Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain what I knew.  Before I began to restore these women to their dead selves through my awful work, I laid in Dracula’s tomb some of the Wafer, and so banished him from it, Undead, for ever.

Then began my terrible task, and I dreaded it.  Had it been but one, it had been easy, comparative.  But three!  To begin twice more after I had been through a deed of horror.  For it was terrible with the sweet Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones who had survived through centuries, and who had been strengthened by the passing of the years.  Who would, if they could, have fought for their foul lives . . .

Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher work.  Had I not been nerved by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung such a pall of fear, I could not have gone on.  I tremble and tremble even yet, though till all was over, God be thanked, my nerve did stand.  Had I not seen the repose in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it just ere the final dissolution came, as realization that the soul had been won, I could not have gone further with my butchery.  I could not have endured the horrid screeching as the stake drove home, the plunging of writhing form, and lips of bloody foam.  I should have fled in terror and left my work undone.  But it is over!  And the poor souls, I can pity them now and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of death for a short moment ere fading.  For, friend John, hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away and crumble into its native dust, as though the death that should have come centuries ago had at last assert himself and say at once and loud, “I am here!”

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