4 November.—­This to my old and true friend John Seward, M.D., of Purfleet, London, in case I may not see him.  It may explain.  It is morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept alive, Madam Mina aiding me.  It is cold, cold.  So cold that the grey heavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for all winter as the ground is hardening to receive it.  It seems to have affected Madam Mina.  She has been so heavy of head all day that she was not like herself.  She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps!  She who is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day.  She even have lost her appetite.  She make no entry into her little diary, she who write so faithful at every pause.  Something whisper to me that all is not well.  However, tonight she is more vif.  Her long sleep all day have refresh and restore her, for now she is all sweet and bright as ever.  At sunset I try to hypnotize her, but alas! with no effect.  The power has grown less and less with each day, and tonight it fail me altogether.  Well, God’s will be done, whatever it may be, and whithersoever it may lead!

Now to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her stenography, I must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day of us may not go unrecorded.

We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning.  When I saw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism.  We stopped our carriage, and got down so that there might be no disturbance.  I made a couch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down, yield herself as usual, but more slow and more short time than ever, to the hypnotic sleep.  As before, came the answer, “darkness and the swirling of water.”  Then she woke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon reach the Pass.  At this time and place, she become all on fire with zeal.  Some new guiding power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and say, “This is the way.”

“How know you it?” I ask.

“Of course I know it,” she answer, and with a pause, add, “Have not my Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?”

At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be only one such byroad.  It is used but little, and very different from the coach road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more wide and hard, and more of use.

So we came down this road.  When we meet other ways, not always were we sure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and light snow have fallen, the horses know and they only.  I give rein to them, and they go on so patient.  By and by we find all the things which Jonathan have note in that wonderful diary of him.  Then we go on for long, long hours and hours.  At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep.  She try, and she succeed.  She sleep all the time, till at the last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and attempt to wake her.  But she sleep on, and I may not wake her though I