LETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA
Buda-Pesth, 24 August.
"My dearest Lucy,
"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we
parted at the railway station at Whitby. "Well, my dear, I got to Hull
all right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here.
I feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I
knew I was coming to Jonathan, and that as I should have to do some
nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could. I found my dear one,
oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out
of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his
face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not
remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At
least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask.
"He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor
brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good
creature and a born nurse, tells me that he wanted her to tell me what
they were, but she would only cross herself, and say she would never
tell. That the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if
a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her
trust..
"She is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw I was
troubled, she opened up the subject my poor dear raved about, added, `I
can tell you this much, my dear. That it was not about anything which
he has done wrong himself, and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to
be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear
was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.'
"I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my poor
dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of my
being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I felt
a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other woman was a cause
for trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his face
while he sleeps. He is waking!
"When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get
something from the pocket. I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought all
his things. I saw amongst them was his notebook, and was going to ask
him to let me look at it, for I knew that I might find some clue to his
trouble, but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he
sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a
moment.
"Then he called me back, and he said to me very solemnly,
`Wilhelmina', I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has
never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him, `You know,
dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife. There should be
no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to
think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it
was real of the dreaming of a madman. You know I had brain fever, and
that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I
want to take up my life here, with our marriage.' For, my dear, we had
decided to be married as soon as the formalities are complete. `Are you
willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it
and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me know unless, indeed,
some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to the bitter hours,
asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted,
and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. Have asked Sister
Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am
waiting her reply . . ."
"She has come and told me that the Chaplain of the English mission
church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soon
after as Jonathan awakes."
"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very,
very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready,
and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his `I will'
firmly and strong. I could hardly speak. My heart was so full that even
those words seemed to choke me.
"The dear sisters were so kind. Please, God, I shall never, never
forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities I have taken upon
me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the chaplain and the
sisters had left me alone with my husband--oh, Lucy, it is the first
time I have written the words `my husband'--left me alone with my
husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in
white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which
was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing wax, and
for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to
my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be
an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each
other, that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake
or for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and
oh, Lucy, it was the first time he took his wife's hand, and said that
it was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go
through all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant
to have said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I
shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the
year.
"Well, my dear, could I say? I could only tell him that I was the
happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give
him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my
love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed
me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a solemn
pledge between us.
"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only
because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very
dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you
came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you
to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has
led me, so that in your own married life you too may be all happy, as I
am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises, a
long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no
distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that can never be, but I do
hope you will be always as happy as I am now. Goodbye, my dear. I shall
post this at once, and perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop,
for Jonathan is waking. I must attend my husband!
"Your ever-loving
"Mina Harker."
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