The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker (books to read in your 20s TXT) 📕

Chapter IV The Second Attempt

The sight which met my eyes had the horror of a dream within a dream,

with the certainty of reality added. The room was as I had seen it

last; except that the shadowy look had gone in the glare of the many

lights, and every article in it stood stark and solidly real.

 

By the empty bed sat Nurse Kennedy, as my eyes had last seen her,

sitting bolt upright in the armchair beside the bed. She had placed a

pillow behind her, so that her back might be erect; but her neck was

fixed as that of one in a cataleptic trance. She was, to all intents

and purposes, turned into stone. There was no special expression on her

face—no fear, no horror; nothing such as might be expected of one in

such a condition. Her open eyes showed neither wonder nor interest.

She was simply a negative existence, warm, breathing, placid; but

absolutely unconscious of the world around her. The bedclothes were

disarranged, as though the patient had been drawn from under them

without throwing them back. The corner of the upper sheet hung upon the

floor; close by it lay one of the bandages with which the Doctor had

dressed the wounded wrist. Another and another lay further along the

floor, as though forming a clue to where the sick man now lay. This was

almost exactly where he had been found on the previous night, under the

great safe. Again, the left arm lay toward the safe. But there had

been a new outrage, an attempt had been made to sever the arm close to

the bangle which held the tiny key. A heavy “kukri” knife—one of the

leaf-shaped knives which the Gurkhas and others of the hill tribes of

India use with such effect—had been taken from its place on the wall,

and with it the attempt had been made. It was manifest that just at the

moment of striking, the blow had been arrested, for only the point of

the knife and not the edge of the blade had struck the flesh. As it

was, the outer side of the arm had been cut to the bone and the blood

was pouring out. In addition, the former wound in front of the arm had

been cut or torn about terribly, one of the cuts seemed to jet out blood

as if with each pulsation of the heart. By the side of her father knelt

Miss Trelawny, her white nightdress stained with the blood in which she

knelt. In the middle of the room Sergeant Daw, in his shirt and

trousers and stocking feet, was putting fresh cartridges into his

revolver in a dazed mechanical kind of way. His eyes were red and

heavy, and he seemed only half awake, and less than half conscious of

what was going on around him. Several servants, bearing lights of

various kinds, were clustered round the doorway.

 

As I rose from my chair and came forward, Miss Trelawny raised her eyes

toward me. When she saw me she shrieked and started to her feet,

pointing towards me. Never shall I forget the strange picture she made,

with her white drapery all smeared with blood which, as she rose from

the pool, ran in streaks toward her bare feet. I believe that I had

only been asleep; that whatever influence had worked on Mr. Trelawny and

Nurse Kennedy—and in less degree on Sergeant Daw—had not touched me.

The respirator had been of some service, though it had not kept off the

tragedy whose dire evidences were before me. I can understand now—I

could understand even then—the fright, added to that which had gone

before, which my appearance must have evoked. I had still on the

respirator, which covered mouth and nose; my hair had been tossed in my

sleep. Coming suddenly forward, thus enwrapped and dishevelled, in that

horrified crowd, I must have had, in the strange mixture of lights, an

extraordinary and terrifying appearance. It was well that I recognised

all this in time to avert another catastrophe; for the half-dazed,

mechanically-acting Detective put in the cartridges and had raised his

revolver to shoot at me when I succeeded in wrenching off the respirator

and shouting to him to hold his hand. In this also he acted

mechanically; the red, half-awake eyes had not in them even then the

intention of conscious action. The danger, however, was averted. The

relief of the situation, strangely enough, came in a simple fashion.

Mrs. Grant, seeing that her young mistress had on only her nightdress,

had gone to fetch a dressing-gown, which she now threw over her. This

simple act brought us all back to the region of fact. With a long

breath, one and all seemed to devote themselves to the most pressing

matter before us, that of staunching the flow of blood from the arm of

the wounded man. Even as the thought of action came, I rejoiced; for

the bleeding was very proof that Mr. Trelawny still lived.

 

Last night’s lesson was not thrown away. More than one of those present

knew now what to do in such an emergency, and within a few seconds

willing hands were at work on a tourniquet. A man was at once

despatched for the doctor, and several of the servants disappeared to

make themselves respectable. We lifted Mr. Trelawny on to the sofa

where he had lain yesterday; and, having done what we could for him,

turned our attention to the Nurse. In all the turmoil she had not

stirred; she sat there as before, erect and rigid, breathing softly and

naturally and with a placid smile. As it was manifestly of no use to

attempt anything with her till the doctor had come, we began to think of

the general situation.

 

Mrs. Grant had by this time taken her mistress away and changed her

clothes; for she was back presently in a dressing-gown and slippers, and

with the traces of blood removed from her hands. She was now much

calmer, though she trembled sadly; and her face was ghastly white. When

she had looked at her father’s wrist, I holding the tourniquet, she

turned her eyes round the room, resting them now and again on each one

of us present in turn, but seeming to find no comfort. It was so

apparent to me that she did not know where to begin or whom to trust

that, to reassure her, I said:

 

“I am all right now; I was only asleep.” Her voice had a gulp in it as

she said in a low voice:

 

“Asleep! You! and my Father in danger! I thought you were on the

watch!” I felt the sting of justice in the reproach; but I really

wanted to help her, so I answered:

 

“Only asleep. It is bad enough, I know; but there is something more

than an “only” round us here. Had it not been that I took a definite

precaution I might have been like the Nurse there.” She turned her eyes

swiftly on the weird figure, sitting grimly upright like a painted

statue; and then her face softened. With the action of habitual

courtesy she said:

 

“Forgive me! I did not mean to be rude. But I am in such distress and

fear that I hardly know what I am saying. Oh, it is dreadful! I fear

for fresh trouble and horror and mystery every moment.” This cut me to

the very heart, and out of the heart’s fulness I spoke:

 

“Don’t give me a thought! I don’t deserve it. I was on guard, and yet

I slept. All that I can say is that I didn’t mean to, and I tried to

avoid it; but it was over me before I knew it. Anyhow, it is done now;

and can’t be undone. Probably some day we may understand it all; but

now let us try to get at some idea of what has happened. Tell me what

you remember!” The effort to recollect seemed to stimulate her; she

became calmer as she spoke:

 

“I was asleep, and woke suddenly with the same horrible feeling on me

that Father was in great and immediate danger. I jumped up and ran,

just as I was, into his room. It was nearly pitch dark, but as I opened

the door there was light enough to see Father’s nightdress as he lay on

the floor under