I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do.  Of bell or knocker there was no sign.  Through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate.  The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me.  What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people?  What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?  Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor’s clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner?  Solicitor’s clerk!  Mina would not like that.  Solicitor, for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful, and I am now a full-blown solicitor!  I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake.  It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork.  But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived.  I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians.  All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of morning.

Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming light.  Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back.  A key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back.

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.  He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door.  The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation.

“Welcome to my house!  Enter freely and of your own free will!” He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.  The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead than a living man.  Again he said,

“Welcome to my house!  Enter freely.  Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!” The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking.  So to make sure, I said interrogatively, “Count Dracula?”

He bowed in a courtly way as he replied, “I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house.  Come in, the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.”  As he was speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage.  He had carried it in before I could forestall him.  I protested, but he insisted.