you with me outside, unseen and unheard, and things
much stranger are yet to be. So," here he shut the dark slide of his
lantern, "now to the outside." He opened the door, and we filed out,
he coming last and locking the door behind him.

Oh! But it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of
that vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the
passing gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds crossing
and passing, like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life. How sweet
it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay.
How humanizing to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and
to hear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great
city. Each in his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was
silent, and was, I could see, striving to grasp the purpose and the
inner meaning of the mystery. I was myself tolerably patient, and
half inclined again to throw aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing's
conclusions. Quincey Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who
accepts all things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery,
with hazard of all he has at stake. Not being able to smoke, he cut
himself a good-sized plug of tobacco and began to chew. As to Van
Helsing, he was employed in a definite way. First he took from his
bag a mass of what looked like thin, wafer-like biscuit, which was
carefully rolled up in a white napkin. Next he took out a double
handful of some whitish stuff, like dough or putty. He crumbled the
wafer up fine and worked it into the mass between his hands. This he
then took, and rolling it into thin strips, began to lay them into the
crevices between the door and its setting in the tomb. I was somewhat
puzzled at this, and being close, asked him what it was that he was
doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near also, as they too were curious.

He answered, "I am closing the tomb so that the UnDead may not enter."

"And is that stuff you have there going to do it?"

"It is."

"What is that which you are using?" This time the question was by
Arthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered.

"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence."

It was an answer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt
individually that in the presence of such earnest purpose as the
Professor's, a purpose which could thus use the to him most sacred of
things, it was impossible to distrust.