mind; or more like he took her to see him in his earth-box in the ship
with water rushing, just as it go free at rise and set of sun. He learn
then that we are here; for she have more to tell in her open life with
eyes to see and ears to hear than he, shut, as he is, in his coffin-box.
Now he make his most effort to escape us. At present he want her not.
He is sure with his so great knowledge that she will come at his call;
but he cut her off--take her, as he can do, out of his own power, that
so she come not to him. Ah! there I have hope that our man-brains that
have been of man so long and that have not lost the grace of God, will
come higher than his child-brain that lie in his tomb for centuries,
that grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish and
therefore small. Here comes Madam Mina; not a word to her of her trance!
She know it not; and it would overwhelm her and make despair just when
we want all her hope, all her courage; when most we want all her great
brain which is trained like man s brain, but is of sweet woman and have
a special power which the Count give her, and which he may not take away
altogether--though he think not so. Hush! let me speak, and you shall
learn. Oh, John, my friend, we are in awful straits. I fear, as I never
feared before. We can only trust the good God. Silence! here she comes!
I thought that the Professor was going to break down and have hysterics,
just as he had when Lucy died, but with a great effort he controlled
himself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs. Harker tripped into
the room, bright and happy-looking and, in the doing of work, seemingly
forgetful of her misery. As she came in, she handed a number of sheets
of typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over them gravely, his face
brightening up as he read. Then holding the pages between his finger and
thumb he said:--
Friend John, to you with so much of experience already--and you, too,
dear Madam Mina, that are young--here is a lesson: do not fear ever to
think. A half-thought has been buzzing often in my brain, but I fear to
let him loose his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back to
where that half-thought come from and I find that he be no half-thought
at all; that be a whole thought, though so young that he is not yet
strong to use his little wings. Nay, like the Ugly Duck of my friend
Hans Andersen, he be no duck-thought at all, but a big swan-thought that
sail nobly on big wings, when the time come for him to try them. See I
read here what Jonathan have written:--
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