empty. But bear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me
outside, unseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be. So," here
he shut the dark slide of his lantern, "now to the outside." He opened the door,
and we filed out, he coming last and locking the door behind him.
Oh! But it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the terror of that vault. How
sweet it was to see the clouds race by, and the passing gleams of the moonlight
between the scudding clouds crossing and passing, like the gladness and sorrow
of a man's life. How sweet it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of
death and decay. How humanizing to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the
hill, and to hear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great city. Each
in his own way was solemn and overcome. Arthur was silent, and was, I could
see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the mystery. I was
myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to throw aside doubt and to
accept Van Helsing's conclusions. Quincey Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a
man who accepts all things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with
hazard of all he has at stake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-
sized plug of tobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed
in a definite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like thin,
wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white napkin. Next he took
out a double handful of some whitish stuff, like dough or putty. He crumbled the
wafer up fine and worked it into the mass between his hands. This he then took,
and rolling it into thin strips, began to lay them into the crevices between the door
and its setting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this, and being close,
asked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near also, as
they too were curious.
He answered, "I am closing the tomb so that the UnDead may not enter."
"And is that stuff you have there going to do it?"
"It Is."
"What is that which you are using?" This time the question was by Arthur. Van
Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he answered.
"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an Indulgence."
It was an answer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we felt individually
that in the presence of such earnest purpose as the Professor's, a purpose which
could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it was impossible to distrust. In
respectful silence we took the places assigned to us close round the tomb, but
hidden from the sight of any one approaching. I pitied the others, especially
Arthur. I had myself been apprenticed by my former visits to this watching horror,
and yet I, who had up to an hour ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink
within me. Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or
juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave
or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the
far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.
There was a long spell of silence, big, aching, void, and then from the Professor
a keen "S-s-s-s!" He pointed, and far down the avenue of yews we saw a white
figure advance, a dim white figure, which held something dark at its breast. The
figure stopped, and at the moment a ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of