Him? I must find out later on. Tonight he will not speak. Even the offer of
a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him.
He will only say, "I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to think
of now, and I can wait. I can wait."
After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quiet until
just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at length violent,
until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhausted him so that he swooned
into a sort of coma.
. . . Three nights has the same thing happened, violent all day then quiet
from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the cause. It would
almost seem as if there was some influence which came and went. Happy thought!
We shall tonight play sane wits against mad ones. He escaped before without our
help. Tonight he shall escape with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the
men ready to follow in case they are required.
23 August.--"The expected always happens." How well Disraeli knew
life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all our subtle
arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved one thing, that the
spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall in future be able to ease
his bonds for a few hours each day. I have given orders to the night attendant
merely to shut him in the padded room, when once he is quiet, until the hour
before sunrise. The poor soul's body will enjoy the relief even if his mind
cannot appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected again! I am called. The patient has
once more escaped.
Later.--Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the
attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past him and
flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow. Again he went
into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found him in the same place,
pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw me he became furious, and had
not the attendants seized him in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we
sere holding him a strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts,
and then as suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see
nothing.
Then I caught the patient's eye and followed it, but could trace nothing as
it looked into the moonlight sky, except a big bat, which was flapping its
silent and ghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel about, but this one
seemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or had some
intention of its own.
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.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
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.