To do Dinah justice, she had, at irregular periods, paroxyms of reformation and arrangement, which she called ?clarin? up times,? when she would begin with great zeal, and turn every drawer and closet wrong side outward, on to the floor or tables, and make the ordinary confusion seven-fold more confoundedThen she would light her pipe, and leisurely go over her arrangements, looking things over, and discoursing upon them; making all the young fry scour most vigorously on the tin things, and keeping up for several hours a most energetic state of confusion, which she would explain to the satisfaction of all inquirers, by the remark that she was a ?clarin? up ?She couldn?t hev things a gwine on so as they had been, and she was gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order;? for Dinah herself, somehow, indulged the illusion that she, herself, was the soul of order, and it was only the young uns, and the everybody else in the house, that were the cause of anything that fell short of perfection in this respectWhen all the tins were scoured, and the tables scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress herself up in a smart dress, clean apron, and high, brilliant Madras turban, and tell all marauding ?young uns? to keep out of the kitchen, for she was gwine to have things kept niceIndeed, these periodic seasons were often an inconvenience to the whole household; for Dinah would contract such an immoderate attachment to her scoured tin, as to insist upon it that it shouldn?t be used again for any possible purpose,?at least, till the ardor of the ?clarin? up? period abated Miss Ophelia, in a few days, thoroughly reformed every department of the house to a systematic pattern; but her labors in all departments that depended on the cooperation of servants were like those of Sisyphus or the DanaidesIn despair, she one day appealed to St ?There is no such thing as getting anything like a system in this family!? ?To be sure, there isn?t,? said St ?Such shiftless management, such waste, such confusion, I never saw!? ?I dare say you didn?t ?You would not take it so coolly, if you were housekeeper ?My dear cousin, you may as well understand, once for all, that we masters are divided into two classes, oppressors and oppressedWe who are good-natured and hate severity make up our minds to a good deal of inconvenienceIf we will keep a shambling, loose, untaught set in the community, for our convenience, why, we must take the consequenceSome rare cases I have seen, of persons, who, by a peculiar tact, can produce order and system without severity; but I?m not one of them,?and so I made up my mind, long ago, to let things go just as they doI will not have the poor devils thrashed and cut to pieces, and they know it,?and, of course, they know the staff is in their own hands ?But to have no time, no place, no order,?all going on in this shiftless way!? ?My dear Vermont, you natives up by the North Pole set an extravagant value on time! What on earth is the use of time to a fellow who has twice as much of it as he knows what to do with? As to order and system, where there is nothing to be done but to lounge on the sofa and read, an hour sooner or later in breakfast or dinner isn?t of much accountNow, there?s Dinah gets you a capital dinner,?soup, ragout, roast fowl, dessert, ice-creams and all,?and she creates it all out of chaos and old night down there, in that kitchenI think it really sublime, the way she managesBut, Heaven bless us! if we are to go down there, and view all the smoking and squatting about, and hurryscurryation of the preparatory process, we should never eat more! My good cousin, absolve yourself from that! It?s more than a Catholic penance, and does no more goodYou?ll only lose your own temper, and utterly confound DinahLet her go her own way But, Augustine, you don?t know how I found things ?Don?t I? Don?t I know that the rolling-pin is under her bed, and the nutmeg-grater in her pocket with her tobacco,?that there are sixty-five different sugar-bowls, one in every hole in the house,?that she washes dishes with a dinner-napkin one day, and with a fragment of an old petticoat the next? But the upshot is, she gets up glorious dinners, makes superb coffee; and you must judge her as warriors and statesmen are judged, by her success ?But the waste,?the expense!? ?O, well! Lock everything you can, and keep the keyGive out by driblets, and never inquire for odds and ends,?it isn?t best ?That troubles me, AugustineI can?t help feeling as if these servants were not strictly honestAre you sure they can be relied on?? Augustine laughed immoderately at the grave and anxious face with which Miss Ophelia propounded the question ?O, cousin, that?s too good,?honest!?as if that?s a thing to be expected! Honest!?why, of course, they arn?tWhy should they be? What upon earth is to make them so?? ?Why don?t you instruct?? ?Instruct! O, fiddlestick! What instructing do you think I should do? I look like it! As to Marie, she has spirit enough, to be sure, to kill off a whole plantation, if I?d let her manage; but she wouldn?t get the cheatery out of them ?Are there no honest ones?? ?Well, now and then one, whom Nature makes so impracticably simple, truthful and faithful, that the worst possible influence can?t destroy itBut, you see, from the mother?s breast the colored child feels and sees that there are none but underhand ways open to itIt can get along no other way with its parents, its mistress, its young master and missie play-fellowsCunning and deception become necessary, inevitable habitsIt isn?t fair to expect anything else of himHe ought not to be punished for itAs to honesty, the slave is kept in that dependent, semi-childish state, that there is no making him realize the rights of property, or feel that his master?s goods are not his own, if he can get themFor my part, I don?t see how they can be honestSuch a fellow as Tom, here, is,?is a moral miracle!? ?And what becomes of their souls?? said Miss Ophelia ?That isn?t my affair, as I know of,? said shop St

?She couldn?t hev things a gwine on so as they had been, and she was gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order;? for Dinah herself, somehow, indulged the illusion that she, herself, was the soul of order, and it was only the young uns, and the everybody else in the house, that were the cause of anything that fell short of perfection in this respectWhen all the tins were scoured, and the tables scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress herself up in a smart dress, clean apron, and high, brilliant Madras turban, and tell all marauding ?young uns? to keep out of the kitchen, for she was gwine to have things kept niceIndeed, these periodic seasons were often an inconvenience to the whole household; for Dinah would contract such an immoderate attachment to her scoured tin, as to insist upon it that it shouldn?t be used again for any possible purpose,?at least, till the ardor of the ?clarin? up? period abated Miss Ophelia, in a few days, thoroughly reformed every department of the house to a systematic pattern; but her labors in all departments that depended on the cooperation of servants were like those of Sisyphus or the DanaidesIn despair, she one day appealed to St ?There is no such thing as getting anything like a system in this family!? ?To be sure, there isn?t,? said St ?Such shiftless management, such waste, such confusion, I never saw!? ?I dare say you didn?t ?You would not take it so coolly, if you were housekeeper ?My dear cousin, you may as well understand, once for all, that we masters are divided into two classes, oppressors and oppressedWe who are good-natured and hate severity make up our minds to a good deal of inconvenienceIf we will keep a shambling, loose, untaught set in the community, for our convenience, why, we must take the consequenceSome rare cases I have seen, of persons, who, by a peculiar tact, can produce order and system without severity; but I?m not one of them,?and so I made up my mind, long ago, to let things go just as they doI will not have the poor devils thrashed and cut to pieces, and they know it,?and, of course, they know the staff is in their own hands ?But to have no time, no place, no order,?all going on in this shiftless way!? ?My dear Vermont, you natives up by the North Pole set an extravagant value on time! What on earth is the use of time to a fellow who has twice as much of it as he knows what to do with? As to order and system, where there is nothing to be done but to lounge on the sofa and read, an hour sooner or later in breakfast or dinner isn?t of much accountNow, there?s Dinah gets you a capital dinner,?soup, ragout, roast fowl, dessert, ice-creams and all,?and she creates it all out of chaos and old night down there, in that kitchenI think it really sublime, the way she managesBut, Heaven bless us! if we are to go down there, and view all the smoking and squatting about, and hurryscurryation of the preparatory process, we should never eat more! My good cousin, absolve yourself from that! It?s more than a Catholic penance, and does no more goodYou?ll only lose your own temper, and utterly confound DinahLet her go her own way But, Augustine, you don?t know how I found things ?Don?t I? Don?t I know that the rolling-pin is under her bed, and the nutmeg-grater in her pocket with her tobacco,?that there are sixty-five different sugar-bowls, one in every hole in the house,?that she washes dishes with a dinner-napkin one day, and with a fragment of an old petticoat the next? But the upshot is, she gets up glorious dinners, makes superb coffee; and you must judge her as warriors and statesmen are judged, by her success ?But the waste,?the expense!? ?O, well! Lock everything you can, and keep the keyGive out by driblets, and never inquire for odds and ends,?it isn?t best ?That troubles me, AugustineI can?t help feeling as if these servants were not strictly honestAre you sure they can be relied on?? Augustine laughed immoderately at the grave and anxious face with which Miss Ophelia propounded the question ?O, cousin, that?s too good,?honest!?as if that?s a thing to be expected! Honest!?why, of course, they arn?tWhy should they be? What upon earth is to make them so?? ?Why don?t you instruct?? ?Instruct! O, fiddlestick! What instructing do you think I should do? I look like it! As to Marie, she has spirit enough, to be sure, to kill off a whole plantation, if I?d let her manage; but she wouldn?t get the cheatery out of them ?Are there no honest ones?? ?Well, now and then one, whom Nature makes so impracticably simple, truthful and faithful, that the worst possible influence can?t destroy itBut, you see, from the mother?s breast the colored child feels and sees that there are none but underhand ways open to itIt can get along no other way with its parents, its mistress, its young master and missie play-fellowsCunning and deception become necessary, inevitable habitsIt isn?t fair to expect anything else of himHe ought not to be punished for itAs to honesty, the slave is kept in that dependent, semi-childish state, that there is no making him realize the rights of property, or feel that his master?s goods are not his own, if he can get themFor my part, I don?t see how they can be honestSuch a fellow as Tom, here, is,?is a moral miracle!? ?And what becomes of their souls?? said Miss Ophelia ?That isn?t my affair, as I know of,? said StClare; ?I am only dealing in facts of the present lifeThe fact is, that the whole race are pretty generally understood to be turned over to the devil, for our benefit, in this world, however it may turn out in another!? ?This is perfectly horrible!? said Miss Ophelia; you ought to be ashamed of yourselves!? ?I don?t know as I shop am

Van Helsing stepped over and took the pieces from herAll the same, however, she went on with the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her handsFinally she lifted her hands and opened them as though scattering the fragmentsVan Helsing seemed surprised, and his brows gathered as if in thought, but he said nothing-All last night she slept fitfully, being always afraid to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from itThe Professor and I took in turns to watch, and we never left her for a moment unattendedQuincey Morris said nothing about his intention, but I knew that all night long he patrolled round and round the house When the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in poor Lucy's strengthShe was hardly able to turn her head, and the little nourishment which she could take seemed to do her no goodAt times she slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, between sleeping and wakingWhilst asleep she looked stronger, although more haggard, and her breathing was softerHer open mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the teeth, which looked positively longer and sharper than usualWhen she woke the softness of her eyes evidently changed the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dying oneIn the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for himQuincey went off to meet him at the station When he arrived it was nearly six o'clock, and the sun was setting full and warm, and the red light streamed in through the window and gave more colour to the pale cheeksWhen he saw her, Arthur was simply choking with emotion, and none of us could speakIn the hours that had passed, the fits of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for it, had grown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation was possible were shortenedArthur's presence, however, seemed to act as a stimulantShe rallied a little, and spoke to him more brightly than she had done since we arrivedHe too pulled himself together, and spoke as cheerily as he could, so that the best was made of everything It is now nearly one o'clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting with herI am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am entering this on Lucy's phonographUntil six o'clock they are to try to restI fear that tomorrow will end our watching, for the shock has been too greatThe poor child cannot rally LETTER MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA (Unopened by her) 17 September My dearest Lucy, "It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I wroteYou will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have read all my budget of newsWell, I got my husband back all rightWhen we arrived at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he had an attack of gout, MrHe took us to his house, where there were rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined togetherHawkins said, "'My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity, and may every blessing attend you bothI know you both from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you grow upNow I want you to make your home here with meI have left to me neither chick nor childAll are gone, and in my will I have left you everything' I cried, Lucy dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped handsOur evening was a very, very happy one "So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from both my bedroom and the drawing room I can see the great elms of the cathedral close, with their great black stems standing out against the old yellow stone of the cathedral, and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and cawing and chattering and chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of rooks--and humansI am busy, I need not tell you, arranging things and shop housekeeping

Miss Ophelia did not replyThere was a pause of some moments; and StClare?s countenance was overcast by a sad, dreamy expression ?I don?t know what makes me think of my mother so much, tonight,? he said I have a strange kind of feeling, as if she were near meI keep thinking of things she used to sayStrange, what brings these past things so vividly back to us, sometimes!? StClare walked up and down the room for some minutes more, and then said, ?I believe I?ll go down street, a few moments, and hear the news, tonight He took his hat, and passed out Tom followed him to the passage, out of the court, and asked if he should attend him ?No, my boy,? said St?I shall be back in an hour Tom sat down in the verandahIt was a beautiful moonlight evening, and he sat watching the rising and falling spray of the fountain, and listening to its murmurTom thought of his home, and that he should soon be a free man, and able to return to it at willHe thought how he should work to buy his wife and boysHe felt the muscles of his brawny arms with a sort of joy, as he thought they would soon belong to himself, and how much they could do to work out the freedom of his familyThen he thought of his noble young master, and, ever second to that, came the habitual prayer that he had always offered for him; and then his thoughts passed on to the beautiful Eva, whom he now thought of among the angels; and he thought till he almost fancied that that bright face and golden hair were looking upon him, out of the spray of the fountainAnd, so musing, he fell asleep, and dreamed he saw her coming bounding towards him, just as she used to come, with a wreath of jessamine in her hair, her cheeks bright, and her eyes radiant with delight; but, as he looked, she seemed to rise from the ground; her cheeks wore a paler hue,?her eyes had a deep, divine radiance, a golden halo seemed around her head,?and she vanished from his sight; and Tom was awakened by a loud knocking, and a sound of many voices at the gate He hastened to undo it; and, with smothered voices and heavy tread, came several men, bringing a body, wrapped in a cloak, and lying on a shutterThe light of the lamp fell full on the face; and Tom gave a wild cry of amazement and despair, that rung through all the galleries, as the men advanced, with their burden, to the open parlor door, where Miss Ophelia still sat knittingClare had turned into a cafe, to look over an evening paperAs he was reading, an affray arose between two gentlemen in the room, who were both partially intoxicatedClare and one or two others made an effort to separate them, and StClare received a fatal stab in the side with a bowie-knife, which he was attempting to wrest from one of them The house was full of cries and lamentations, shrieks and screams, servants frantically tearing their hair, throwing themselves on the ground, or running distractedly about, lamentingTom and Miss Ophelia alone seemed to have any presence of mind; for Marie was in strong hysteric convulsionsAt Miss Ophelia?s direction, one of the lounges in the parlor was hastily prepared, and the bleeding form laid upon itClare had fainted, through pain and loss of blood; but, as Miss Ophelia applied restoratives, he revived, opened his eyes, looked fixedly on them, looked earnestly around the room, his eyes travelling wistfully over every object, and finally they rested on his mother?s picture The physician now arrived, and made his examinationIt was evident, from the expression of his face, that there was no hope; but he applied himself to dressing the wound, and he and Miss Ophelia and Tom proceeded composedly with this work, amid the lamentations and sobs and cries of the affrighted servants, who had clustered about the doors and windows of the verandah ?Now,? said the physician, ?we must turn all these creatures out; all depends on his being kept quietClare opened his eyes, and looked fixedly on the distressed beings, whom Miss Ophelia and the doctor were trying to urge from the apartment?Poor creatures!? he said, and an expression of bitter self-reproach passed over his faceAdolph absolutely refused to goTerror had deprived him of all presence of mind; he threw himself along the floor, and nothing could persuade him to riseThe rest yielded to Miss Ophelia?s urgent representations, that their master?s safety depended on their stillness and obedienceClare could say but little; he lay with his eyes shut, but it was evident that he wrestled with bitter thoughtsAfter a while, he laid his hand on Tom?s, who was kneeling beside him, and said, ?Tom! poor fellow!? ?What, Mas?r?? said Tom, earnestly ?I am dying!? said shop St

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a very interesting old placeBeing practically on the frontier--for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina--it has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of itFifty years ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate occasionsAt the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and disease Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country I was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress--white undergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for modestyWhen I came close she bowed and said, "The Herr Englishman?" "Yes," I said, "Jonathan Harker She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirtsleeves, who had followed her to the door He went, but immediately returned with a letter: "My friend-Welcome to the CarpathiansI am anxiously expecting youAt three tomorrow the diligence will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for youAt the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to meI trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land-Your friend, Dracula 4 May--I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my German This could not be true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as if he did He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of wayHe mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and that was all he knewWhen I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak furtherIt was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask anyone else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a hysterical way: "Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?" She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at allI was just able to follow her by asking many questionsWhen I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again: "Do you know what day it is?" I answered that it was the fourth of MayShe shook her head as she said again: "Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?" On my saying that I did not understand, she went on: "It is the eve of StDo you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?" She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effectFinally, she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortableHowever, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it I tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round my neck and said, "For your mother's sake," and went out of the room I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still round my neck Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my goodbyeHere comes the coach! 5 May-The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are mixed I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner shop exactly