Dracula [Bram Stoker]

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I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I ran along
the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. At the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked
across the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear, I don't know which, of seeing Lucy in our favourite seat.
There was a bright full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of light and shade
as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary's Church and all around it.
Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view, and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a
sword-cut moved along, the church and churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed,
for there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was
too quick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almost immediately, but it seemed to me as though something dark stood
behind the seat where the white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell.
I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the fish-market to the bridge, which was
the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I see. I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness
of poor Lucy's condition. The time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath came laboured as I toiled up
the endless steps to the abbey. I must have gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with lead, and as though
every joint in my body were rusty.
When I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the
spells of shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the half-reclining white figure. I called in fright,
"Lucy! Lucy!" and something raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes.
Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the seat, and for a
minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly that I could
see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the back of the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living thing
about.
When I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Her lips were parted, and she was breathing, not softly as usual with her, but
in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs full at every breath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and
pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her, as though she felt the cold. I flung the warm shawl over her, and drew the edges
tight around her neck, for I dreaded lest she should get some deadly chill from the night air, unclad as she was. I feared to wake her all
at once, so, in order to have my hands free to help her, I fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety pin. But I must have been
clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with it, for by-and-by, when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand to her
throat again and moaned. When I had her carefully wrapped up I put my shoes on her feet, and then began very gently to wake her.
At first she did not respond, but gradually she became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At last,
as time was passing fast, and for many other reasons, I wished to get her home at once, I shook her forcibly, till finally she opened her
eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as, of course, she did not realize all at once where she was.
Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her body must have been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat
appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. She trembled a little, and clung to me. When I told her
to come at once with me home, she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we passed along, the gravel hurt my feet,
and Lucy noticed me wince. She stopped and wanted to insist upon my taking my shoes, but I would not. However, when we got to the
pathway outside the chruchyard, where there was a puddle of water, remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with mud, using each
foot in turn on the other, so that as we went home, no one, in case we should meet any one, should notice my bare feet.
Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soul. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street
in front of us. But we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such as there are here, steep little closes, or 'wynds', as they
call them in Scotland. My heart beat so loud all the time sometimes I thought I should faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not
only for her health, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but for her reputation in case the story should get wind. When we got in,
and had washed our feet, and had said a prayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into bed. Before falling asleep she asked, even
implored, me not to say a word to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure.
I hesitated at first, to promise, but on thinking of the state of her mother's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would fret
her, and think too, of how such a story might become distorted, nay, infallibly would, in case it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do
so. I hope I did right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied to my wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is sleeping
soundly. The reflex of the dawn is high and far over the sea . . .
Dracula 40/169
Dracula
Same day, noon.--All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her and seemed not to have even changed her side. The adventure of the night
does not seem to have harmed her, on the contrary, it has benefited her, for she looks better this morning than she has done for weeks.
I was sorry to notice that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it might have been serious, for the skin of her throat was
pierced. I must have pinched up a piece of loose skin and have transfixed it, for there are two little red points like pin-pricks, and on
the band of her nightdress was a drop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, she laughed and petted me, and said
she did not even feel it. Fortunately it cannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny.
Same day, night.--We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to
Mulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I walking by the cliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a little
sad myself, for I could not but feel how absolutely happy it would have been had Jonathan been with me. But there! I must only be
patient. In the evening we strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie, and went to bed early.
Lucy seems more restful than she has been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door and secure the key the same as
before, though I do not expect any trouble tonight.
12 August.--My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night I was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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