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1"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere." He
2had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that this episode had
3reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must
4not ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehow learn the facts of his journey abroad. The time
5is come, I fear, when I must open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know, forgive me if I
6do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake. Later.--A sad home-coming in every way--the house empty of the dear soul who
7was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slight relapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van
8Helsing, whoever he may be:-- "You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, and that Lucy died the
9day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day." Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra!
10poor Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have lost such sweetness out of his life! God
11help us all to bear our troubles. Dr. Seward's Diary. 22 September.--It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and
12has taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as
13much about Lucy's death as any of us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America can go on breeding
14men like that, she will be a power in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest preparatory to his
15journey. He goes over to Amsterdam to-night, but says he returns to-morrow night; that he only wants to make some
16arrangements which can only be made personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can; he says he has work to do in
17London which may take him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the past week has broken down even his
18iron strength. All the time of the burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on himself. When it was
19all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in the operation where his blood
20had been transfused to his Lucy's veins; I could see Van Helsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was
21saying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married and that she was his wife in the sight of God.
22None of us said a word of the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey went away together to the
23station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of
24hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humour asserting
25itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should
26see us and misjudge; and then he cried, till he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman does. I
27tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the circumstances; but it had no effect. Men and women are so
28different in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! Then when his face grew grave and stern again I asked him
29why his mirth, and why at such a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of him, for it was logical and forceful and
30mysterious. He said:-- "Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am not sad, though I laugh. See, I
31have 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
32just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your door and say, 'May I come in?' is not the true
33laughter. No! he is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person; he choose no time of suitability. He
34say, 'I am here.' Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, though
35I am old and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let my other sufferers want that so she may have all. And yet I
36can laugh at her very grave--laugh when the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and say 'Thud! thud!'
37to my heart, till it send back the blood from my cheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy--that dear boy, so of the age
38of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love
39him so. And yet when he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart yearn to him as to
40no other man--not even to you, friend John, for we are more level in experiences than father and son--yet even at such
41moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear, 'Here I am! here I am!' till the blood come dance back
42and bring some of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world,
43a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he
44play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall--all dance together to the
45music that he make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and kind. Ah,
46we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come; and, like the rain
47on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the
48sunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with our labour, what it may be." I did not like to
49wound him by pretending not to see his idea; but, as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked him. As
50he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a different tone:-- "Oh, it was the grim irony of it all--this
51so lovely lady garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she were truly dead;
52she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the
53mother who loved her, and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going 'Toll! toll! toll!' so sad and slow; and those holy
54men, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the page;
55and all of us with the bowed head. And all for what? She is dead; so! Is it not?" "Well, for the life of me, Professor,"
56I said, "I can't see anything to laugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle than before. But
57even if the burial service was comic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking." "Just
58so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had made her truly his bride?" "Yes, and it was a sweet
59and comforting idea for him." "Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then what about the
60others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's
61law, though no wits, all gone--even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist." "I don't see where the
62joke comes in there either!" I said; and I did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things. He laid
63his hand on my arm, and said:--
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