py, and I did feel full of devouring
anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been ever since
Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like a horrible
tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some destined end.
Everything that one does seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring
on the very thing which is most to be deplored. If I hadn't gone to
Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us now. She hadn't taken
to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if she hadn't come there
in the day time with me she wouldn't have walked in her sleep. And if
she hadn't gone there at night and asleep, that monster couldn't have
destroyed her as he did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now,
crying again! I wonder what has come over me today. I must hide it
from Jonathan, for if he knew that I had been crying twice in one
morning . . . I, who never cried on my own account, and whom he has
never caused to shed a tear, the dear fellow would fret his heart out.
I shall put a bold face on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see
it. I suppose it is just one of the lessons that we poor women have
to learn . . .

I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember
hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like
praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which is
somewhere under this. And then there was silence over everything,
silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out
of the window. All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by
the moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a
thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or
fate, so that a thin streak of white mist, that crept with almost
imperceptible slowness across the grass towards the house, seemed to
have a sentience and a vitality of its own. I think that the
digression of my thoughts must have done me good, for when I got back
to bed I found a lethargy creeping over me. I lay a while, but could
not quite sleep, so I got out and looked out of the window again. The
mist was spreading, and was now close up to the house, so that I could
see it lying thick against the wall, as though it were stealing up to
the windows. The poor man was more loud than ever, and though I could
not distinguish a word he said, I could in some way recognize in his
tones some passionate entreaty on his part. Then there was the