Bram Stoker

, what a wealth of sor­row in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor Lucy!

But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things

What I saw was the Count’s head com­ing out from the win­dow. I did not

I was not alone. The room was the same, un­changed in any way since I came into it; I could see along the floor, in the bril­liant moon­light, my own foot­step

Some of the “New Wo­men” writers will some day start an idea that men and wo­men should be al­lowed to see each other asleep be­fore pro­pos­ing or ac­cept­ing. But I sup­pose the New Wo­man won’t con­des­cend in fu­ture to ac­cept; she will do the pro­pos­ing her­self. And a nice job she will make of it, too! There’s some con­sol­a­tion in that.

I have been more touched than I can say by your grief. That is a won­der­ful ma­chine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the an­guish of your heart. It was like a soul cry­ing out to Almighty God. No one must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be use­ful. I have copied out the words on my type­writer, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as I did.”

Good night, every­body.

Abraham Van Helsing, MD, D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc.

By good for­tune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who have trus­ted me. Were for­tune other, then it were bad for those who have trus­ted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so swiftly the poison of the gan­grene from that knife that our other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants my aids and you call for them than all his great for­tune could do.

And yet there is cause; there is al­ways cause for everything. I must go back home and think. You must send to me the tele­gram every day; and if there be cause I shall come again. The dis­ease—for not to be all well is a dis­ease—in­terest me, and the sweet young dear, she in­terest me too. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or dis­ease, I come.’