All night long I watched by her.  She never stirred, but slept on and on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving sleep.  Her lips were slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the regularity of a pendulum.  There was a smile on her face, and it was evident that no bad dreams had come to disturb her peace of mind.

In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care and took myself back home, for I was anxious about many things.  I sent a short wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the excellent result of the operation.  My own work, with its manifold arrears, took me all day to clear off.  It was dark when I was able to inquire about my zoophagous patient.  The report was good.  He had been quite quiet for the past day and night.  A telegram came from Van Helsing at Amsterdam whilst I was at dinner, suggesting that I should be at Hillingham tonight, as it might be well to be at hand, and stating that he was leaving by the night mail and would join me early in the morning.

9 September.—­I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to Hillingham.  For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my brain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral exhaustion.  Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits.  When she shook hands with me she looked sharply in my face and said,

“No sitting up tonight for you.  You are worn out.  I am quite well again.  Indeed, I am, and if there is to be any sitting up, it is I who will sit up with you.”

I would not argue the point, but went and had my supper.  Lucy came with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I made an excellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than excellent port.  Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room next her own, where a cozy fire was burning.

“Now,” she said.  “You must stay here.  I shall leave this door open and my door too.  You can lie on the sofa for I know that nothing would induce any of you doctors to go to bed whilst there is a patient above the horizon.  If I want anything I shall call out, and you can come to me at once.”

I could not but acquiesce, for I was dog tired, and could not have sat up had I tried.  So, on her renewing her promise to call me if she should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything.

LUCY WESTENRA’S DIARY

9 September.—­I feel so happy tonight.  I have been so miserably weak, that to be able to think and move about is like feeling sunshine after a long spell of east wind out of a steel sky.  Somehow Arthur feels very, very close to me.  I seem to feel his presence warm about me.  I suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills.  I know where my thoughts are.  If only Arthur knew!  My dear, my dear, your ears must tingle as you sleep, as mine do waking.  Oh, the blissful rest of last night!  How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching me.  And tonight I shall not fear to sleep, since he is close at hand and within call.  Thank everybody for being so good to me.  Thank God!  Goodnight Arthur.