JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL—continued
WHEN I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me. I started running up and down the stairs, trying every door and looking out of every window I could find; but after a little I understood that I was totally helpless and I could think of nothing else. Now I think that I was probably mad for some time, because I behaved like a rat in a trap. But when, I finally understood that I was helpless I sat down quietly— very quietly—and began to look for the best plan of action. I am still thinking about it, and I still do not know the answer. Of one thing only am I certain; that telling the Count my ideas will not help. He knows well that I am his prisoner; and as he has done it himself, and I am sure he knows why he did it, he would only lie to me if I told him all the facts. Probably, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears secret, and my eyes open. I know that, either my own fears fool me, or else I am in a desperate situation; and if it is so, I need, and will need, all my brains to escape.
Right when I came to this conclusion I heard the sound of the great door below, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come at once into the library, so without making noise I went to my own room and found him making the bed. This was strange, but it only proved what I had all along thought—that there were no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the door laying the table in the dining-room, I was certain of it; because if he does all these things himself, surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them. This scared me, because if there is no one else in the castle, it means that the Count himself was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought; because if so, what does it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand in silence. How was it that all the people at Bistritz 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 the crucifix round my neck! because it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is strange that a thing which I have been taught to dislike should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a help, because it brings back memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if I have this opportunity, I must study 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. Tonight he may talk of himself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to make him suspicious...
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