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.
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 tonight. I
shall make an excuse to 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 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 to be getting air enough. I shall try to
cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I know he will
be miserable to see me so.
“Albemarle Hotel, 31 August
“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 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 tomorrow, two o’clock,
so as not to arouse any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra,
and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of being
alone with you. 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!
