“Oh, you so clever woman!” he said.  “I knew long that Mr. Jonathan was a man of much thankfulness, but see, his wife have all the good things.  And will you not so much honour me and so help me as to read it for me?  Alas!  I know not the shorthand.”

By this time my little joke was over, and I was almost ashamed.  So I took the typewritten copy from my work basket and handed it to him.

“Forgive me,” I said.  “I could not help it, but I had been thinking that it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so that you might not have time to wait, not on my account, but because I know your time must be precious, I have written it out on the typewriter for you.”

He took it and his eyes glistened.  “You are so good,” he said.  “And may I read it now?  I may want to ask you some things when I have read.”

“By all means,” I said, “read it over whilst I order lunch, and then you can ask me questions whilst we eat.”

He bowed and settled himself in a chair with his back to the light, and became so absorbed in the papers, whilst I went to see after lunch chiefly in order that he might not be disturbed.  When I came back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down the room, his face all ablaze with excitement.  He rushed up to me and took me by both hands.

“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, “how can I say what I owe to you?  This paper is as sunshine.  It opens the gate to me.  I am dazed, I am dazzled, with so much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time.  But that you do not, cannot comprehend.  Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so clever woman.  Madame,” he said this very solemnly, “if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know.  It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend, as a friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you love.  There are darknesses in life, and there are lights.  You are one of the lights.  You will have a happy life and a good life, and your husband will be blessed in you.”

“But, doctor, you praise me too much, and you do not know me.”

“Not know you, I, who am old, and who have studied all my life men and women, I who have made my specialty the brain and all that belongs to him and all that follow from him!  And I have read your diary that you have so goodly written for me, and which breathes out truth in every line.  I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your marriage and your trust, not know you!  Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.  And we men who wish to know have in us something of angels’ eyes.  Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature.  And your husband, tell me of him.  Is he quite well?  Is all that fever gone, and is he strong and hearty?”