room. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are
more deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement.
Just now he spoke coherent words for the first time:--
I shall be patient, Master. It is coming--coming--coming!
So I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to sleep, but this
diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep to-night.
CHAPTER IX
_Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra._
_Buda-Pesth, 24 August._
My dearest Lucy,--
I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we
parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hull
all right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I
feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I
knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some
nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one,
oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out
of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his
face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not
remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At
least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had some
terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to try
to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse,
tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I
wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself,
and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the
secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear
them, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the
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