In respectful silence we took
the places assigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the
sight of any one approaching. I pitied the others, especially Arthur.
I had myself been apprenticed by my former visits to this watching
horror, and yet I, who had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs,
felt my heart sink within me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white.
Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of
funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously.
Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away
howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.

There was a long spell of silence, big, aching, void, and then from
the Professor a keen "S-s-s-s!" He pointed, and far down the avenue of
yews we saw a white figure advance, a dim white figure, which held
something dark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a
ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of driving clouds, and showed in
startling prominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the cerements of
the grave. We could not see the face, for it was bent down over what
we saw to be a fair-haired child. There was a pause and a sharp
little cry, such as a child gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before
the fire and dreams. We were starting forward, but the Professor's
warning hand, seen by us as he stood behind a yew tree, kept us back.
And then as we looked the white figure moved forwards again. It was
now near enough for us to see clearly, and the moonlight still held.
My own heart grew cold as ice, and I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as
we recognized the features of Lucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet
how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless
cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness.

Van Helsing stepped out, and obedient to his gesture, we all advanced
too. The four of us ranged in a line before the door of the tomb. Van
Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide. By the concentrated
light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the lips were crimson
with fresh blood, and that the stream had trickled over her chin and
stained the purity of her lawn death-robe.

We shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light that
even Van Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to me, and
if I had not seized his arm and held him up, he would have fallen.

When Lucy, I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it bore