It was such an odd expression, that it quite startled me. Lucy was in a half-dreamy state,[100] with an odd look on her face; so I said nothing, but followed her eyes. She was looking at the bench, whereon was a dark figure. I was a little frightened; but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary’s Church.[101] Lucy looked sad; so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a while.

I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When I was coming home, I looked at our window, and saw Lucy’s head. I thought that perhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice. Just then the light fell on the window. Lucy was asleep, and by her, was something that looked like a giant bird. I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she was lying in her bed, she was breathing heavily; and she was holding her hand to her throat.

I did not wake her. She looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than before. I fear she is fretting about something. What is it?

15 August. – Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired.

17 August. – No diary for two whole days. I did not want to write. No news from Jonathan, and Lucy is growing weaker. I do not understand why Lucy fades away. She eats well and sleeps well, and enjoys the fresh air; but all the time the roses in her cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more languid day by day.[102] At night she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open window.

I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep, and the tiny wounds were not healed. They are still open, and larger than before, and the edges of them are faintly white. They are like little white dots with red centres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist on the doctor.

18 August. – I am happy today. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept well all night, and did not disturb me once. She is full of life and cheerfulness.

19 August. – Joy, joy, joy! Although not all joy. At last, news of Jonathan. He has been ill; that is why he did not write. I am not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. I shall leave in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and help to nurse him if necessary, and bring him home. I got a good Sister’s[103] letter! It is of Jonathan, and it must be next my heart, for he is in my heart. My journey is prepared, and my luggage is ready.

12 August.

Dear Madam,

I write by desire[105] of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not strong enough to write, but he is recovering, thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six weeks, he is suffering from a violent brain fever.[106] He is sorry for his delay, his work is completed. He will require some few weeks’ rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will then return. He wishes me to say that he has not sufficient money with him. He would like to pay for his staying here.

Yours, with sympathy and all blessings,

Sister Agatha.

P. S. My patient is asleep, and I want to let you know something more. He has told me all about you, and that you agree to be his wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some fearful shock – so says our doctor – and his delirium is dreadful; of wolves and poison and blood; of ghosts and demons; and I fear to say of what. Be careful with him always. He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the station-master there said that he rushed into the station and shouted for a ticket for home. They gave him a ticket for the furthest station.