I have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply ask Mr.
Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my situation, but
without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten her
to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the letters not carry, then
the Count shall not yet know my secret or the extent of my knowledge . . .
I have given the letters. I threw them through the bars of my window with a
gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. The man who took
them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put them in his cap. I could
do no more. I stole back to the study, and began to read. As the Count did not
come in, I have written here . . .
The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest voice
as he opened two letters, "The Szgany has given me these, of which, though
I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!"--He must
have looked at it.--"One is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins. The
other,"--here he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the
envelope, and the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed
wickedly,--"The other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and
hospitality! It is not signed. Well! So it cannot matter to us."And he
calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were
consumed.
Then he went on, "The letter to Hawkins, that I shall, of course send
on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend,
that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?"He
held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a clean envelope.
I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When he went out of
the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute later I went over and tried
it, and the door was locked.
When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his coming
awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was very courteous and
very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been sleeping, he said,
"So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I may
not have the pleasure of talk tonight, since there are many labours to me, but
you will sleep, I pray."
I passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange to say, slept without
dreaming. Despair has its own calms.
31 May.--This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself with some
papers and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, so that I might
write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a surprise, again a shock!
Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda,
relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that might be
useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and pondered awhile, and
then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of my portmanteau and in
the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes.
The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and rug. I
could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some new scheme of villainy
. . .
17 June.--This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed cudgelling my
brains, I heard without a crackling of whips and pounding and scraping of
horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard. With joy I hurried to the
window, and saw drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by
eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat,
great nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their
long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend and try and join
them through the main hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them.
Again a shock, my door was fastened on the outside.
Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me stupidly
and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the Szgany came out, and
seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which they laughed.