Читать книгу Dracula - Брэм Стокер, Bram Stoker, John Edgar Browning - Страница 4

WHEN I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came

over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and

peering out of every window I could find; but after a little the

conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings.

When I look back after a few hours I think I must have been

mad for the time, for I behaved much as a -rat does in a trap.

When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was help-

less I sat down quietly as quietly as I have ever done anything

in my life and began to think over what was best to be done.

I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclu-

sion. Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making

my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am impris-

oned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own

motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully

with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep

my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I

am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears,

or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need,

and shall need, all my brains to get through.

I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great

door below shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He

did not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to

my own room and found him making the bed. This was odd, but

only confirmed what I had all along thought that there were

no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the chink

of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining-room, I

was assured of it; for if he does himself all these menial offices,

surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them. This gave

me a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, it must have

been the Count himself who was the driver of the coach that

brought me here. This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does

it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only hold-

ing up his hand in silence. How was it that all the people at Bis-

tritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for me? What

meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose,

of the mountain ash? Bless that good, good woman who hung

26

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 27

the crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a strength

to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have

been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should

in. a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is

something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium,

a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and com-

fort? Some time, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try

to make up my mind about it. In the meantime I must find out

all I can about Count Dracula, as it may help me to understand.

To-night he may talk of himself, if I turn the conversation that

way. I must be very careful, however, not to awake his suspicion.

Midnight. I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked

him a few questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed

up to the subject wonderfully. In his speaking of things and

people, and especially of battles, he spoke as if he had been pres-

ent at them all. This he afterwards explained by saying that to

a boyar the pride of his house and name is his own pride, that

their glory is his glory, that their fate is his fate. Whenever he

spoke of his house he always said «we,» and spoke almost in the

plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could put down all he said

exactly as he said it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed

to have in it a whole history of the country. He grew excited as

he spoke, and walked about the room pulling his great white

moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands

as though he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said

which I shall put down as nearly as I can; for it tells in its way

the story of his race:

«We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows

the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for

lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric

tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor

and Wodin gave them, which their Berserkers displayed to such

fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay, and of Asia and

Africa too, till the peoples thought that the were-wolves them-

selves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns,

whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till

the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those

old witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the

devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was

ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins? "He held

up his arms. «Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race;

that we were proud; that when the Magyar, the Lombard the

28 Dracula

Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our

frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad

and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he

found us here when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas

was completed there? And when the Hungarian flood swept east-

ward, the Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious

Magyars, and to us for centuries was trusted the guarding of

the frontier of Turkey-land; ay, and more than that, endless

duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say, ’water sleeps,

and enemy is sleepless. ' Who more gladly than we throughout

the Four Nations received the ' bloody sword, ' or at its warlike

call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was re-

deemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova,

when the flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down be-

neath the Crescent? Who was it but one of my own race who as

Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own

ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own

unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the

Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this

Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a

later age again and again brought his forces over the great river

into Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten back, came again,

and again, and again, though he had to come alone from the

bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he

knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! They said that he

thought only of himself. Bah! what good are peasants without a

leader? Where ends the war without a brain and heart to con-

duct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohacs> we threw off

the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst

their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we were not

free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys and the Dracula as their

heart’s blood, their brains, and their swords can boast a rec-

ord that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Roman-

offs can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too

precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace; and the

glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.»

It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed.

(Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the «Ara-

bian Nights,» for everything has to break off at cockcrow or

like the ghost of Hamlet’s father.)

12 May. Let me begin with facts bare, meagre facts, veri-

fied by books and figures, and of which there can be no doubt.

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 29

I must not confuse them with experiences which will have to

rest on my own observation, or my memory of them. Last eve-

ning when the Count came from his room he began by asking me

questions on legal matters and on the doing of certain kinds of

business. I had spent the day wearily over books, and, simply

to keep my mind occupied, went over some of the matters I

had been examined in at Lincoln’s Inn. There was a certain

method in the Count’s inquiries, so I shall try to put them down

in sequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful

to me.

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors

or more. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that

it would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in

one transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to

change would be certain to militate against his interest. He

seemed thoroughly to understand, and went on to ask if there

would be any practical difficulty in having one man to attend,

say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in case local

help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking

solicitor. I asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not

by any chance mislead him, so he said:

«I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins,

from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter,,

which is far from London, buys for me through your good sell

my place at London. Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest

you should think it strange that I have sought the services oi

one so far off from London instead of some one resident therCj

that my motive was that no local interest might be served save

my wish only; and as one of London residence might, perhaps,

have some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus

afield to seek my agent, whose labours should be only to my

interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of affairs, wish to ship

goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover,

might it not be that it could with more ease be done by con-

signing to one in these ports? "I answered that certainly it would

be most easy, but that we solicitors had a system of agency one

for the other, so that local work could be done locally on instruc-

tion from any solicitor, so that the client, simply placing himself

in the hands of one man, could have his wishes carried out by

him without further trouble.

«But,» said he, «I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it

not so?»

«Of course,» I replied; and «such is often done by men of

30 Dracula

business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known

by any one person.»

«Good! "he said, and then went on to ask about the means of

making consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of

all sorts of difficulties which might arise, but by forethought

could be guarded against. I explained all these things to him to

the best of my ability, and he certainly left me under the im-

pression that he would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there

was nothing that he did not think of or foresee. For a man who

was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in

the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful.

When he had satisfied himself on these points of which he had

spoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the books

available, he suddenly stood up and said:

«Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr.

Peter Hawkins, or to any other?» It was with some bitterness

in my heart that I answered that I had not, that as yet I had

not seen any opportunity of sending letters to anybody.

«Then write now, my young friend/' he said, laying a heavy

hand on my shoulder: «write to our friend and to any other;

and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until

a month from now.»

«Do you wish me to stay so long?» I asked, for my heart

grew cold at the thought.

«I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your

master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should

come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were

to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?»

What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins’s

interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and

besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in

his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that i

was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice.

The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the

trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his

own smooth, resistless way:

«I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not dis-

course of things other than business in your letters. It will doubt-

less please your friends to know that you are well, and that you

look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so? "As he spoke

he handed me three sheets of note-paper and three envelopes.

They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them,

then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 31

teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he

had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would

be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes

now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to

Mina, for to her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle

the Count, if he did see it. When I had written my two letters

I sat quiet, reading a book whilst the Count wrote several notes,

referring as he wrote them to some books on his table. Then he

took up my two and placed them with his own, and put by

his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had

closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which

were face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so,

for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself

in every way I could.

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billingtonj

No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the

third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren

Klopstock & Billreuth, bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and

fourth were unsealed. I was just about to look at them when

I saw the door-handle move. I sank back in my seat, having just

had time to replace the letters as they had been and to resume

my book before the Count, holding still another letter in his hand,

entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and

stamped them carefully, and then turning to me, said:

«I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in

private this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as you

wish.» At the door he turned, and after a moment’s pause said:

«Let me advise you, my dear young friend nay, let me warn

you with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you

will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle.

It is old, and has many, memories, and there are bad dreams for

those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever

overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber

or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be

not careful in this respect, then» He finished his speecn.-in_a,

gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were

washing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to

whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural,

horrible net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing around

me.

Later. I endorse the last words written, but this time there

(s no doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where

32 Dracula

he is not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed I

imagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it

shall remain.

When he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not

hearing any sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to

where I could look out towards the South. There was some sense

of freedom in the vast expanse, inaccessible though it was to me,

as compared with the narrow darkness of the courtyard. Look-

ing out on this, I felt that I was indeed in prison, and I seemed

to want a breath of fresh air, though it were of the night. I am

beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroy-

ing my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts

of horrible imaginings. God knows that there is ground for my

terrible fear in this accursed place! I looked out over the beau-

tiful expanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was al-

most as light as day. In the soft light the distant hills became

melted, and the shadows in the valleys and gorges of velvety

blackness. The mere beauty seemed to cheer me; there was peace

and comfort in every breath I drew. As I leaned from the win>

dow my eye was caught by something moving a storey below

me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, from the order

of the rooms, that the windows of the Count’s own room would

look out. The window at which I stood was tall and deep, stone-

mullioned, and though weatherworn, was still complete; but it

was evidently many a day since the case had been there. I drew

back behind the stonework, and looked carefully out.

What I saw was the Count’s head coming out from the win-

dow. I did not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and

the movement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mis-

take the hands which I had had so many opportunities of study-

ing. I was at first interested and somewhat amused, for it is won-

derful how small a matter will interest and amuse a man when

he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed to repulsion and

terror when I saw the whQle_maa_slowly. emerge_ from the win-

dow and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful

abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him like

great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it

was some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but

I kept looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and

toes grasp the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar

by the stress of years, anr> by thus using every projection and

inequality move downwaius with considerable speed, just as a

lizard moves along a wall.

Jonathan Marker’s Journal 33

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is

it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place

overpowering me; I am in fear in awful fear and there is no

escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare

not think of.…

15 May. Once more have I seen the Count go out in his liz-

ard fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hun-

dred feet down, and a good deal to the left. He vanished into

some hole or window. When his head had disappeared, I leaned

out to try and see more, but without avail the distance was too

great to allow a proper angle of sight. I knew he had left the

castle now, and thought to use the opportunity to explore more

than I had dared to do as yet. I went back to the room, and tak-

ing a lamp, tried all the doors. They were all locked, as I had

expected, and the locks were comparatively new; but I went

down the stone stairs to the hall where I had entered originally.

I found I could pull back the bolts easily enough and unhook

the great chains; but the door was locked, and the key was gone!

That key must be in the Count’s room; I must watch should his

door be unlocked, so that I may get it and escape. I went on to

make a thorough examination of the various stairs and passages,

and to try the doors that opened from them. One or two small

rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see in

them except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten. At

last, however, I found one door at the top of the stairway which,

though it seemed to be locked, gave a little under pressure. I

tried it harder, and found that it was not really locked, but that

the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had fallen

somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an

opportunity which I might not have again, so I exerted myself,

and with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter. I

was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than the

rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I

could see that the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the

castle, the windows of the end room looking out both west and

south. On the latter side, as well as to the former, there was a

great precipice. The castle was built on the corner of a great

rock, so that on three sides it was quite impregnable, and great

windows were placed here where sling, or bow, or culverin could

not reach, and consequently light and comfort, impossible to a

position which had to be guarded, were secured. To the west

was a great valley, and then, rising far away, great jagged moun-

34 Dracula

tain fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded with

mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and crev-

ices and crannies of the stone. This was evidently the portion

of the castle occupied by the ladies in bygone days, for the fur-

niture had more air» of comfort than any I had seen. The win-

dows were curtainless, and the yellow moonlight, flooding in

through the diamond panes, enabled one to see even colours,

whilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over all and dis-

guised in some measure the ravages of time and the moth. My

lamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight^ut

I was glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness

in the place which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble.

Still, it was better than living alone in the rooms which I had

come to hate from the presence of the Count, and after trying a

little to school my nerves, I found a soft quietude come over me.

Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old times pos-

sibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many

blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my diary in short —

hand all that has happened since I closed it last. It is nineteenth,

century up-to-date with a vengeance. And yet, unless my senses

deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their j

own which mere «modernity» cannot kill.

Later: the Morning of 16 May. God preserve my sanity, for

to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are

things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing

to hope for, that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad al-

ready. If I be sane, then surely it is maddening to think that of

all the foul things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is

the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I can look for safety,

even though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great

God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way lies

madness indeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which

have puzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shake-

speare meant when he made Hamlet say:

«My tablets! quick, my tablets!

«Tis meet that I put it down,» etc.,

for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as

if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to

my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help

to soothe me.

The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the time; it

Jonathan Marker’s Journal 35

frightens me more now when I think of it, for in future he has

a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced

the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count’s warn-

ing came into my mind, but I took a pleasure in disobeying it.

The sense of sleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which

sleep brings as outrider. The soft moonlight soothed, and the

wide expanse without gave a sense of freedom which refreshed

rne. I determined not to return to-night to the gloom-haunted

rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung

and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their

menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great

couch out of its place near the comer, so that as I lay, I could

look at the lovely view to east and south, and unthinking of

and uncaring for the dust, composed myself for sleep. I suppose

I must have fallen asleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that fol-

lowed was startlingly real so real that now sitting here in the

broad, full sunlight of the morning, I cannot in the least believe

that it was all sleep.

I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any

way since I came into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant

moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the

long accumulation of dust. In the moonlight opposite me were

three yo-ung women, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought

at the time that I must be dreaming when I saw them, for,

though the moonlight was behind them, they threw no shadow

on the floor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some

time, and then whispered together. Two were dark, and had

high aquiline noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes

that seemed to be almost red when contrasted with the pale

yellow moon. The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great

wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed

somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with!

some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment howl

or where./All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like pearls

against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something f

about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at thej

same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burn-

ing desire that they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not

good to note this down, lest some day it should meet Mina’s eyes

dnd cause her pain; but it is the truth jThey whispered together,

and then they all three laughed such a silvery, musical laugh,

but as hard.,as though the sound never could have come through

36 Dracula

the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable, tinglii _

sweetness of water-glasses when played on by a cunning hand.

The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two

urged her on. One said:

«Go on! You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right

to begin.» The other added:

/’jHe is^.young_and steragjJtkCTeareJuaaesJoj^jjsaJi^I lay

quietTlooking out under my eyelashes in an agony of~delightf ul

anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I

could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was

in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through

the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet,

a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.

I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw per-

fectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent

over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness

which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her

neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see

in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on

the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and

lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my

mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat.

Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her

tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot

breath on my neck. (Then the skin of my throat began to tingle

as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches

nearer nearer, ft could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips

on the super-sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents

of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed

my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited waited with beat-

ing heartj

JtJut aTthat instant, another sensation swept through me as

quick as lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count.,

and of his being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes

opened involuntarily I saw his strong hand grasp the slendef

neck of the fair woman and with giant’s power draw it back,

the blue eyes transformed with fury, the white teeth champing

with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red with passion. But the

Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to the

demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red

light in them was lurid, as if the flames of heft-fire blazed behind

them. His face was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard

like drawn wires; the thick eyebrows that met over the nose

Jonathan Marker’s Journal 37

now seemed like a heaving bar of white-hot metal. With a fierce

sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman from him, and then

motioned to the others, as though he were beating them back;

it was the same imperious gesture that I had seen used to the

wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in a whisper

seemed to cut through the air and then ring round the room

he said:

«How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast

eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This

man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you’ll

have to deal with me.» The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald

coquetry, turned to answer him:

«You yourself never loved; you never love!» On this the

other women joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laugh-

ter rang through the room that it almost made me faint to hear;

it seemed like the pleasure of fiends. Then the Count turned,

after looking at my face attentively, and said in a soft whisper:

«Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past.

Is it not so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done

with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go! go! I must

awaken him, for there is work to be done.»

«Are we to have nothing to-night?» said one of them, with a

low laugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon

the floor, and which moved as though there were some living

thing within it. For answer he nodded his head. One of the wo-

men jumped forward and opened it. If my ears did not deceive

me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a half -smothered child.

The women closed round, whilst I was aghast with horror; but

as I looked they disappeared, and with them the dreadful bag.

There was no door near them, and they could not have passed

me without my noticing. They simply seemed to fade into the

rays of the moonlight and pass out through the window, for I

could see outside the dim, shadowy forms for a moment before

they entirely faded away.

Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.