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I sat down and simply cried.

As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without, the agonised cry of
a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered between
the bars.

There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her hands
over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning
against the corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window
she threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace,
"Monster, give me my child!"

She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the
same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and
beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of
extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and though I
could not see her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against
the door.

Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of
the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to
be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many
minutes had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when
liberated, through the wide entrance into the courtyard.

There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but
short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and
she was better dead.

What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful
thing of night, gloom, and fear?


25 June.--No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet
and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the sun grew
so high this morning that it struck the top of the great gateway
opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as if
the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if
it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth.

I must take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon
me. Last night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first
of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my
existence from the earth.

Let me not think of it. Action!

It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or
threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen
the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake,
that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his
room! But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no
way for me.

Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone
why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his
window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The
chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall
risk it. At the worst it can only be death, and a man's death is not
a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help
me in my task! Goodbye, Mina, if I fail. Goodbye, my faithful friend
and second father.

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