The Jewel of Seven Stars, Bram Stoker [books to read for self improvement txt] 📗
- Author: Bram Stoker
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at six o’clock, he seemed relieved and went with alacrity. At the door
he turned and, coming back to me, said in a whisper:
“I sleep lightly and I shall have my pistols with me. I won’t feel so
heavy-headed when I get out of this mummy smell.”
He too, then, had shared my experience of drowsiness!
I asked the Nurse if she wanted anything. I noticed that she had a
vinaigrette in her lap. Doubtless she, too, had felt some of the
influence which had so affected me. She said that she had all she
required, but that if she should want anything she would at once let me
know. I wished to keep her from noticing my respirator, so I went to
the chair in the shadow where her back was toward me. Here I quietly
put it on, and made myself comfortable.
For what seemed a long time, I sat and thought and though. It was a
wild medley of thoughts, as might have been expected from the
experiences of the previous day and night. Again I found myself
thinking of the Egyptian smell; and I remember that I felt a delicious
satisfaction that I did not experience it as I had done. The respirator
was doing its work.
It must have been that the passing of this disturbing thought made for
repose of mind, which is the corollary of bodily rest, for, though I
really cannot remember being asleep or waking from it, I saw a vision—I
dreamed a dream, I scarcely know which.
I was still in the room, seated in the chair. I had on my respirator
and knew that I breathed freely. The Nurse sat in her chair with her
back toward me. She sat quite still. The sick man lay as still as the
dead. It was rather like the picture of a scene than the reality; all
were still and silent; and the stillness and silence were continuous.
Outside, in the distance I could hear the sounds of a city, the
occasional roll of wheels, the shout of a reveller, the far-away echo of
whistles and the rumbling of trains. The light was very, very low; the
reflection of it under the green-shaded lamp was a dim relief to the
darkness, rather than light. The green silk fringe of the lamp had
merely the colour of an emerald seen in the moonlight. The room, for all
its darkness, was full of shadows. It seemed in my whirling thoughts as
though all the real things had become shadows—shadows which moved, for
they passed the dim outline of the high windows. Shadows which had
sentience. I even thought there was sound, a faint sound as of the mew
of a cat—the rustle of drapery and a metallic clink as of metal faintly
touching metal. I sat as one entranced. At last I felt, as in
nightmare, that this was sleep, and that in the passing of its portals
all my will had gone.
All at once my senses were full awake. A shriek rang in my ears. The
room was filled suddenly with a blaze of light. There was the sound of
pistol shots—one, two; and a haze of white smoke in the room. When my
waking eyes regained their power, I could have shrieked with horror
myself at what I saw before me.
The sight which met my eyes had the horror of a dream within a dream,
with the certainty of reality added. The room was as I had seen it
last; except that the shadowy look had gone in the glare of the many
lights, and every article in it stood stark and solidly real.
By the empty bed sat Nurse Kennedy, as my eyes had last seen her,
sitting bolt upright in the armchair beside the bed. She had placed a
pillow behind her, so that her back might be erect; but her neck was
fixed as that of one in a cataleptic trance. She was, to all intents
and purposes, turned into stone. There was no special expression on her
face—no fear, no horror; nothing such as might be expected of one in
such a condition. Her open eyes showed neither wonder nor interest.
She was simply a negative existence, warm, breathing, placid; but
absolutely unconscious of the world around her. The bedclothes were
disarranged, as though the patient had been drawn from under them
without throwing them back. The corner of the upper sheet hung upon the
floor; close by it lay one of the bandages with which the Doctor had
dressed the wounded wrist. Another and another lay further along the
floor, as though forming a clue to where the sick man now lay. This was
almost exactly where he had been found on the previous night, under the
great safe. Again, the left arm lay toward the safe. But there had
been a new outrage, an attempt had been made to sever the arm close to
the bangle which held the tiny key. A heavy “kukri” knife—one of the
leaf-shaped knives which the Gurkhas and others of the hill tribes of
India use with such effect—had been taken from its place on the wall,
and with it the attempt had been made. It was manifest that just at the
moment of striking, the blow had been arrested, for only the point of
the knife and not the edge of the blade had struck the flesh. As it
was, the outer side of the arm had been cut to the bone and the blood
was pouring out. In addition, the former wound in front of the arm had
been cut or torn about terribly, one of the cuts seemed to jet out blood
as if with each pulsation of the heart. By the side of her father knelt
Miss Trelawny, her white nightdress stained with the blood in which she
knelt. In the middle of the room Sergeant Daw, in his shirt and
trousers and stocking feet, was putting fresh cartridges into his
revolver in a dazed mechanical kind of way. His eyes were red and
heavy, and he seemed only half awake, and less than half conscious of
what was going on around him. Several servants, bearing lights of
various kinds, were clustered round the doorway.
As I rose from my chair and came forward, Miss Trelawny raised her eyes
toward me. When she saw me she shrieked and started to her feet,
pointing towards me. Never shall I forget the strange picture she made,
with her white drapery all smeared with blood which, as she rose from
the pool, ran in streaks toward her bare feet. I believe that I had
only been asleep; that whatever influence had worked on Mr. Trelawny and
Nurse Kennedy—and in less degree on Sergeant Daw—had not touched me.
The respirator had been of some service, though it had not kept off the
tragedy whose dire evidences were before me. I can understand now—I
could understand even then—the fright, added to that which had gone
before, which my appearance must have evoked. I had still on the
respirator, which covered mouth and nose; my hair had been tossed in my
sleep. Coming suddenly forward, thus enwrapped and dishevelled, in that
horrified crowd, I must have had, in the strange mixture of lights, an
extraordinary and terrifying appearance. It was well that I recognised
all this in time to avert another catastrophe; for the half-dazed,
mechanically-acting Detective put in the cartridges and had raised his
revolver to shoot at me when I succeeded in wrenching off the respirator
and shouting to him to hold his hand. In this also he acted
mechanically; the red, half-awake eyes had not in them even then the
intention of conscious action. The danger, however, was averted. The
relief of the situation, strangely enough, came in a simple fashion.
Mrs. Grant, seeing that her young mistress had on only her nightdress,
had gone to fetch a dressing-gown, which she now threw over her. This
simple act brought us all back to the region of fact. With a long
breath, one and all seemed to devote themselves to the most pressing
matter before us, that of staunching the flow of blood from the arm of
the wounded man. Even as the thought of action came, I rejoiced; for
the bleeding was very proof that Mr. Trelawny still lived.
Last night’s lesson was not thrown away. More than one of those present
knew now what to do in such an emergency, and within a few seconds
willing hands were at work on a tourniquet. A man was at once
despatched for the doctor, and several of the servants disappeared to
make themselves respectable. We lifted Mr. Trelawny on to the sofa
where he had lain yesterday; and, having done what we could for him,
turned our attention to the Nurse. In all the turmoil she had not
stirred; she sat there as before, erect and rigid, breathing softly and
naturally and with a placid smile. As it was manifestly of no use to
attempt anything with her till the doctor had come, we began to think of
the general situation.
Mrs. Grant had by this time taken her mistress away and changed her
clothes; for she was back presently in a dressing-gown and slippers, and
with the traces of blood removed from her hands. She was now much
calmer, though she trembled sadly; and her face was ghastly white. When
she had looked at her father’s wrist, I holding the tourniquet, she
turned her eyes round the room, resting them now and again on each one
of us present in turn, but seeming to find no comfort. It was so
apparent to me that she did not know where to begin or whom to trust
that, to reassure her, I said:
“I am all right now; I was only asleep.” Her voice had a gulp in it as
she said in a low voice:
“Asleep! You! and my Father in danger! I thought you were on the
watch!” I felt the sting of justice in the reproach; but I really
wanted to help her, so I answered:
“Only asleep. It is bad enough, I know; but there is something more
than an “only” round us here. Had it not been that I took a definite
precaution I might have been like the Nurse there.” She turned her eyes
swiftly on the weird figure, sitting grimly upright like a painted
statue; and then her face softened. With the action of habitual
courtesy she said:
“Forgive me! I did not mean to be rude. But I am in such distress and
fear that I hardly know what I am saying. Oh, it is dreadful! I fear
for fresh trouble and horror and mystery every moment.” This cut me to
the very heart, and out of the heart’s fulness I spoke:
“Don’t give me a thought! I don’t deserve it. I was on guard, and yet
I slept. All that I can say is that I didn’t mean to, and I tried to
avoid it; but it was over me before I knew it. Anyhow, it is done now;
and can’t be undone. Probably some day we may understand it all; but
now let us try to get at some idea of what has happened. Tell me what
you remember!” The effort to recollect seemed to stimulate her; she
became calmer as she spoke:
“I was asleep, and woke suddenly with the same horrible feeling on me
that Father was in great and immediate danger. I jumped up and ran,
just as I was, into his room. It was nearly pitch dark, but as I opened
the door there was light enough to see Father’s nightdress as he lay on
the floor under
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