but looked at me gratefully
whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she seemed sinking off
to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself together and shook
it off. It was apparent that she did not want to sleep, so I tackled
the subject at once.

"You do not want to sleep?"

"No. I am afraid."

"Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave for."

"Ah, not if you were like me, if sleep was to you a presage of
horror!"

"A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?"

"I don't know. Oh, I don't know. And that is what is so terrible.
All this weakness comes to me in sleep, until I dread the very
thought."

"But, my dear girl, you may sleep tonight. I am here watching you,
and I can promise that nothing will happen."

"Ah, I can trust you!" she said.

I seized the opportunity, and said, "I promise that if I see any
evidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once."

"You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to me. Then I will
sleep!" And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief, and
sank back, asleep.

All night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but slept on and
on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep. Her lips
were slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity
of a pendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was evident that
no bad dreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.

In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and took
myself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I sent a short
wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent
result of the operation. My own work, with its manifold arrears, took
me all day to clear off. It was dark when I was able to inquire about
my zoophagous patient. The report was good. He had been quite quiet
for the past day and night. A telegram came from Van Helsing at
Amsterdam whilst I was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at
Hillingham tonight, as it might be well to be at hand, and stating
that he was leaving by the night mail and would join me early in the
morning.

9 September.--I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to
Hillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my
brain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral
exhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook
hands with me she looked sharply in my face and said,

"No sitting up tonight for y