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 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. I 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, what 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."
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA HARKER.
Whitby, 30 August.
"My dearest Mina,
"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be
in your own home with your husband. I wish you were coming
home soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air
would soon restore Jonathan. It has quite restored me. I
have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of life, and
sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite
given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred
out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it
at night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I
forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have such walks
and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing
together, and I love him more than ever. He tells me that
he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at first he told me
that he couldn't love me more than he did then. But this
is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. So no more just
at present from your loving,
"Lucy.
"P.S.--Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.
"P.P.S.--We are to be married on 28 September."
DR. SEWARDS DIARY
20 August.--The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has
now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his
passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually
violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and
kept murmuring to himself. "Now I can wait. Now I can wait."
The attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at
him. He was still in the strait waistcoat and in the padded room, but
the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had something
of their old pleading. I might almost say, cringing, softness. I was
satisfied with his present condition, and directed him to be relieved.
The attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my wishes without
protest.
It was a strange thing that the patient had humour enough to see their
distrust, for, coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while
looking furtively at them, "They think I could hurt you! Fancy me
hurting you! The fools!"
It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself disassociated
even in the mind of this poor madman from the others, but all the same
I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in
common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together. Or
has he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well being is
needful to Him? I must find out later on. Tonight he will not speak.
Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt
him.
He will only say, "I don't take any stock in cats. I have more to
think of now, and I can wait. I can wait."
After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was quiet
until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy, and at
length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which exhausted
him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.
. . . Three nights has the same thing happened, violent all day then
quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the
cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence which came
and went. Happy thought! We shall tonight play sane wits against mad
ones. He escaped before without our help. Tonight he shall escape
with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow
in case they are required.
23 August.--"The expected always happens." How well Disraeli knew
life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all our
subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved one
thing, that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall
in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have
given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded
room, when once he is quiet, until the hour before sunrise. The poor
soul's body will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate
it. Hark! The unexpected again! I am called. The patient has once
more escaped.
Later.--Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the
attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past
him and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to
follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we
found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door.
When he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized
him in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a
strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then
as suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see
nothing. Then I caught the patient's eye and followed it, but could
trace nothing as it looked into the moonlight sky, except a big bat,
which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the west. Bats
usually wheel about, but this one seemed to go straight on, as if it
knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own.
The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said, "You
needn't tie me. I shall go quietly!" Without trouble, we came back
to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and
shall not forget this night.
LUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY
Hillingham, 24 August.--I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things
down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it
will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last
night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps
it is the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and
horrid to me, for I can remember nothing. But I am full of vague
fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he
looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to
be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother's room tonight. I
shall make an excuse to try.
25 August.--Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my
proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to
worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while, but when
the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been
falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the
window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I
must have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember
them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and
my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I
don't seem to be getting air enough. I shall try to cheer up when
Arthur comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me so.
LETTER, ARTHUR TO DR. SEWARD
"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August "My dear Jack,
"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill, that is she
has no special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting
worse every day. I have asked her if there is any cause, I
not dare to ask her mother, for to disturb the poor lady's
mind about her daughter in her present state of health
would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her
doom is spoken, disease of the heart, though poor Lucy does
not know it yet. I am sure that there is something preying
on my dear girl's mind. I am almost distracted when I
think of her. To look at her gives me a pang. I told her
I should ask you to see her, and though she demurred at
first, I know why, old fellow, she finally consented. It
will be a painful task for you, I know, old friend, but it
is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you to
act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham tomorrow, two
o'clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion in Mrs.
Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of
being alone with you. I am filled with anxiety, and want
to consult with you alone as soon as I can after you have
seen her. Do not fail!
"Arthur."
TELEGRAM, ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD
1 September
"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing.
Write me fully by tonight's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary."
LETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
2 September
"My dear old fellow,
"With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you
know at once that in my opinion there is not any functional
disturbance or any malady that I know of. At the same
time, I am not by any means satisfied with her appearance.
She is woefully different from what she was when I saw her
last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have
full opportunity of examination such as I should wish. Our
very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even
medical science or custom can bridge over. I had better
tell you exactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a
measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I
have done and propose doing.
"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother
was present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that
she was trying all she knew to mislead her mother and
prevent her from being anxious. I have no doubt she
guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there
is.
"We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be
cheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours,
some real cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went
to lie down, and Lucy was left with me. We went into her
boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained, for the
servants were coming and going.
"As soon as the door was closed, however, the mask fell from
her face, and she sank down into a chair with a great sigh,
and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that her high
spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her
reaction to make a diagnosis.
"She said to me very sweetly, `I cannot tell you how I
loathe talking about myself.' I reminded her that a
doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were
grievously anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning
at once, and settled that matter in a word. `Tell Arthur
everything you choose. I do not care for myself, but for
him!' So I am quite free.
"I could easily see that she was somewhat bloodless, but I
could not see the usual anemic signs, and by the chance, I
was able to test the actual quality of her blood, for in
opening a window which was stiff a cord gave way, and she
cut her hand slightly with broken glass. It was a slight
matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I
secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed them.
"The qualitative analysis give a quite normal condition,
and shows, I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of
health. In other physical matters I was quite satisfied
that there is no need for anxiety, but as there must be a
cause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion that it must
be something mental.
"She complains of difficulty breathing satisfactorily at
times, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that
frighten her, but regarding which she can remember
nothing. She says that as a child, she used to walk in her
sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back, and
that once she walked out in the night and went to East
Cliff, where Miss Murray found her. But she assures me
that of late the habit has not returned.
"I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of.
I have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van
Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure
diseases as any one in the world. I have asked him to come
over, and as you told me that all things were to be at your
charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and your
relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in
obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy
to do anything I can for her.
"Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a
personal reason, so no matter on what ground he comes, we
must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man,
this is because he knows what he is talking about better
than any one else. He is a philosopher and a
metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of
his day, and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind.
This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and
indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted
from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest
heart that beats, these form his equipment for the noble
work that he is doing for mankind, work both in theory and
practice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing
sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may know why I
have such confidence in him. I have asked him to come at
once. I shall see Miss Westenra tomorrow again. She is to
meet me at the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by
too early a repetition of my call.
"Yours always."
John Seward
LETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING, MD, DPh, D. Lit, ETC, ETC, TO DR. SEWARD
2 September.
"My good Friend,
"When I received your letter I am already coming to you. By
good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any
of those who have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it
were bad for those who have trusted, for I come to my
friend when he call me to aid those he holds dear. Tell
your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so
swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our
other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him
when he wants my aids and you call for them than all his
great fortune could do. But it is pleasure added to do for
him, your friend, it is to you that I come. Have near at
hand, and please it so arrange that we may see the young
lady not too late on tomorrow, for it is likely that I may
have to return here that night. But if need be I shall
come again in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till
then goodbye, my friend John.
"Van Helsing."
LETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD
3 September
"My dear Art,
"Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to
Hillingham, and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her
mother was lunching out, so that we were alone with her.
"Van Helsing made a very careful examination of the
patient. He is to report to me, and I shall advise you,
for of course I was not present all the time. He is, I
fear, much concerned, but says he must think. When I told
him of our friendship and how you trust to me in the
matter, he said, `You must tell him all you think. Tell
him him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will.
Nay, I am not jesting. This is no jest, but life and
death, perhaps more.' I asked what he meant by that, for he
was very serious. This was when we had come back to town,
and he was having a cup of tea before starting on his
return to Amsterdam. He would not give me any further
clue. You must not be angry with me, Art, because his very
reticence means that all his brains are working for her
good. He will speak plainly enough when the time comes, be
sure. So I told him I would simply write an account of our
visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive special
article for THE DAILY TELEGRAPH. He seemed not to notice,
but remarked that the smuts of London were not quite so bad
as they used to be when he was a student here. I am to get
his report tomorrow if he can possibly make it. In any
case I am to have a letter.
"Well, as to the visit, Lucy was more cheerful than on the
day I first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had
lost something of the ghastly look that so upset you, and
her breathing was normal. She was very sweet to the
Professor (as she always is), and tried to make him feel at
ease, though I could see the poor girl was making a hard
struggle for it.
"I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quick look
under his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to
chat of all things except ourselves and diseases and with
such an infinite geniality that I could see poor Lucy's
pretense of animation merge into reality. Then, without
any seeming change, he brought the conversation gently
round to his visit, and suavely said,
"`My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because
you are so much beloved. That is much, my dear, even were
there that which I do not see. They told me you were down
in the spirit, and that you were of a ghastly pale. To
them I say "Pouf!"' And he snapped his fingers at me and
went on. `But you and I shall show them how wrong they
are. How can he', and he pointed at me with the same look
and gesture as that with which he pointed me out in his
class, on, or rather after, a particular occasion which he
never fails to remind me of, `know anything of a young
ladies? He has his madmen to play with, and to bring them
back to happiness, and to those that love them. It is much
to do, and, oh, but there are rewards in that we can bestow
such happiness. But the young ladies! He has no wife nor
daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to the
young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many
sorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send
him away to smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you
and I have little talk all to ourselves.' I took the hint,
and strolled about, and presently the professor came to the
window and called me in. He looked grave, but said, `I
have made careful examination, but there is no functional
cause. With you I agree that there has been much blood
lost, it has been but is not. But the conditions of her
are in no way anemic. I have asked her to send me her
maid, that I may ask just one or two questions, that so I
may not chance to miss nothing. I know well what she will
say. And yet there is cause. There is always cause for
everything. I must go back home and think. You must send
me the telegram every day, and if there be cause I shall
come again. The disease, for not to be well is a disease,
interest me, and the sweet, young dear, she interest me
too. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease,
I come.'
"As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we
were alone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall
keep stern watch. I trust your poor father is rallying. It
must be a terrible thing to you, my dear old fellow, to be
placed in such a position between two people who are both
so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your father,
and you are right to stick to it. But if need be, I shall
send you word to come at once to Lucy, so do not be
over-anxious unless you hear from me."
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
4 September.--Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.
He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time.
Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The
attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately
the men came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of
noon he became so violent that it took all their strength to hold him.
In about five minutes, however, he began to get more quiet, and
finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained
up to now. The attendant tells me that his screams whilst in the
paroxysm were really appalling. I found my hands full when I got in,
attending to some of the other patients who were frightened by him.
Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds disturbed
even me, though I was some distance away. It is now after the dinner
hour of the asylum, and as yet my patient sits in a corner brooding,
with a dull, sullen, woe-begone look in his face, which seems rather
to indicate than to show something directly. I cannot quite
understand it.
Later.--Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in on
him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be.
He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his
capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between the ridges
of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologized for his bad
conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to
his own room, and to have his notebook again. I thought it well to
humour him, so he is back in his room with the window open. He has
the sugar of his tea spread out on the window sill, and is reaping
quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them
into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his
room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few
days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me, but
he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said
in a sort of far away voice, as though saying it rather to himself
than to me.
"All over! All over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless
I do it myself!" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he
said, "Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little
more sugar? I think it would be very good for me."
"And the flies?" I said.
"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies, therefore I like
it." And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen do
not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a
man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.
Midnight.--Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra,
whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at
our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him
yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it
better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the
wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights
and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds
even as on foul water, and to realize all the grim sternness of my own
cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own
desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was
going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he
became less and less frenzied, and just as it dipped he slid from the
hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful,
however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for
within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked around him. I
signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was anxious to see
what he would do. He went straight over to the window and brushed out
the crumbs of sugar. Then he took his fly box, and emptied it
outside, and threw away the box. Then he shut the window, and
crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked
him, "Are you going to keep flies any more?"
"No," said he. "I am sick of all that rubbish!" He certainly is a
wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of his
mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop. There may be a
clue after all, if we can find why today his paroxysms came on at high
noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the
sun at periods which affects certain natures, as at times the moon
does others? We shall see.
TELEGRAM. SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"4 September.--Patient still better today."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"5 September.--Patient greatly improved. Good appetite,
sleeps naturally, good spirits, colour coming back."
TELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM
"6 September.--Terrible change for the worse. Come at once.
Do not lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till
have seen you."
