Charles Seward's Diary

17 May, evening.—After Arthur had cried his heart out, Quincey and I stayed in the library while he (Arthur) went to look for Elizabeth. A propos, I said to Quincey, "Would you not think that your sister is right for Arthur? After his father dies, he may need some comfort. Of course, we are there for him—but there is something different about a woman's ways of comforting."

"Yes," said Quincey, "I believe so—you are right in saying that. I see no reason why Arthur cannot marry Betsy. After all, my sister has been head over heels in love with Arthur ever since she was five years of age. I shall be happy to be Arthur's brother-in-law—if Betsy will not object. Father and Mother—I think—will be happy as well."

"Well-said!" I replied, "I could not have said it any better, myself. And I see a wedding going on between you Lucy Holmwood!"

At this, he laughed, and said, "Will you never cease to tease me about Lucy? Good God, Charles Seward!"

After our little round of laughter, everything became still again. Who were we fooling? We were only trying to be cheerful. But who can be cheerful in this house of death! God forgive me for saying such a word! But everything seems to be dismal! I feel as though it were winter and not summer...

Presently, Quincey picked up a book, lay on the settee, propped up on his left elbow, and began to read. I, on the other hand, continued puffing at my cigar. We had to keep vigil—all of us. That was Father's admonition. "Watch and pray, lest we fall into temptation," so says Quincey Harker, jokingly. I, however, take Father's words seriously.

I feared I was falling asleep and so I shook myself. I said to Quincey, "I have heard Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Mina say that the Harkers are part Irish, part Scottish, and part British. Is this true, Quince?"

He looked up from his reading and said to me, "Yes, of course! A great part of our family's ancestry is Irish, who, in turn, intermarried with the Scots. After the Scots intermarried with the Irish, their offspring, in turn, intermarried with the English. Father is a product of such a union. My paternal grandmother is British, while my paternal grandfather is Irish."

"Ah!" was all I could say.

"Apropos," Quincey said, suddenly, "I heard the Sewards were of French ancestry?"

"Partly French," I said, "Not full-blooded French but half. A great deal were British. Only a few were French."

"Do you fence?" he inquired.

"Do I what?" I asked, not quite sure of what Quincey said.

"I heard Frenchmen were skilled swordsmen. Especially the Gascons—of which I hear the Sewards came from," said he.

"Indeed," I said with a gulp, for I have not touched a rapier in a long while. But to keep from falling asleep again, I picked a rapier hanging on the wall and threw it to Quincey. Then I picked the other and advanced toward him.

"Well now," said he with a nervous chuckle, "It was only a jest, my good man!"

"No," said I, "Let us parry that we may drive away any remaining drowsiness."

___

Charles Seward's Diary. Cont.—Sweaty and panting, we ended the match with a draw. Suddenly, the doors flew open and in came Winslow.

"Master Charles Abraham Seward, sir?" he called.

"Yes, Winslow?" said I, turning to face him.

"Lord Godalming has seen his children and shall see you next," he announced.

I looked to Quincey. The same horror was in his eyes.

"Could this be the end?" he whispered sharply in my ear.

"I don't know," said I, "Perhaps it is. We must prepare, in any case."

But prepare as we might, we could never shake the fear that those words struck into our hearts.

___

Quincey Harker's Journal.

18 May, One o'clock.—Charles and I each went to his own room, tidied up, made our toilette, then entered Uncle Arthur's room. I shook hands with Uncle John and greeted Father. It is no surprise that Father is here. He might have been called in by Uncle Arthur or Uncle John. After awhile, Uncle Arthur sent Uncle John and Father out.

Then, with his weak and feeble arms, he motioned for us to come closer. Charles and I approached, and he said, "Now, Quincey, my lad... Hand me over those two small caskets on the mantelpiece..." This, he said, with difficulty of breathing and in between gasps and coughs. What a sight! A poor old man whose health has been greatly depleted, panting, wheezing, and gasping for air!

I set the small treasure boxes down on the bed. Presently, he instructed me to open them. So I reached for the boxes and opened the lid of the first box gingerly. Inside was a silver crucifix, a pistol, a dagger, and a sachet. I opened the sachet, and to my surprise, found pieces of the Host, inside.

How I pitied the old man! It is the delusions of a dying soul! May Arthur forgive me for saying so—may God take him quickly!

What was I to do with these things?

As if in answer to my question, Uncle Arthur said, "These are your weapons against the evil Undead that walk this earth. Guard them well with all your heart. You're very lives depend upon it."

Then, he forced himself to get up, reached under the bed, and produced for me a bundle of papers, which he said, they all have kept safe for years.

"Quincey, my lad... Quincey... It is time for you to have these," said he, handing the note-books to me, "These are copies of journal entries from your father and mother... And from Lucy... and some letters... Read them all and acquire the knowledge that will help you overcome the Evil One."

He spoke with such conviction that I could not but believe him! My God! Could it really be so? Is all this true, after all? Mother and Father's journals! I must peruse these, at once! I once was blind, but now, I see...

Then, Uncle Arthur added, "Once, I did not believe such things, either. I thought your dear old Uncle Abraham mad. But I have learned from him. Let from me and your father, now, as we have learned from him of old."

His voice was filled with emotion that I repented of my unbelief. I took the box from him and departed when he had dismissed me. Now, I shall have time to peruse everything. No sleep shall befall me, this night!