ing. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a
power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest
preparatory to his journey. He goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says he
returns tomorrow night, that he only wants to make some arrangements
which can only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he
can. He says he has work to do in London which may take him some
time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has
broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the burial he
was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it
was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was
speaking of his part in the operation where his blood had been
transfused to his Lucy's veins. I could see Van Helsing's face grow
white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying that he felt since then
as if they two had been really married, and that she was his wife in
the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and
none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away together to the
station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone
in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has
denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was
only his sense of humor asserting itself under very terrible
conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the
blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge. And then he cried,
till he laughed again, and laughed and cried together, just as a woman
does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the
circumstances, but it had no effect. Men and women are so different
in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face
grew grave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why at such
a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was
logical and forceful and mysterious. He said,

"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not
sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did choke
me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh
he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who
knock at your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not true laughter.
No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no
person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, 'I am here.'
Behold, in example I grieve my heart