Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful
before us that we took hands as we sat, and she told
me all over again about Arthur and their coming marriage.
That made me just a little heart-sick, for I haven’t
heard from Jonathan for a whole month.
The same day. I came up here alone, for I am
very sad. There was no letter for me.
I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.
The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights
scattered all over the town, sometimes in rows where
the streets are, and sometimes singly. They
run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of
the valley. To my left the view is cut off by
a black line of roof of the old house next to the
abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the
fields away behind me, and there is a clatter of donkeys’
hoofs up the paved road below. The band on the
pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further
along the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in
a back street. Neither of the bands hears the
other, but up here I hear and see them both.
I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking
of me! I wish he were here.
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
5 June.—The case of Renfield grows more
interesting the more I get to understand the man.
He has certain qualities very largely developed,
selfishness, secrecy, and purpose.
I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter.
He seems to have some settled scheme of his own,
but what it is I do not know. His redeeming quality
is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has such
curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is
only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts.
Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has
at present such a quantity that I have had myself
to expostulate. To my astonishment, he did not
break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the
matter in simple seriousness. He thought for
a moment, and then said, “May I have three days?
I shall clear them away.” Of course, I
said that would do. I must watch him.
18 June.—He has turned his mind now to
spiders, and has got several very big fellows in a
box. He keeps feeding them his flies, and the
number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished,
although he has used half his food in attracting more
flies from outside to his room.
1 July.—His spiders are now becoming as
great a nuisance as his flies, and today I told him
that he must get rid of them.
He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must
some of them, at all events. He cheerfully acquiesced
in this, and I gave him the same time as before for
reduction.
He disgusted me much while with him, for when a horrid
blowfly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into
the room, he caught it, held it exultantly for a few
moments between his finger and thumb, and before I
knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and
ate it.
