Mina Murray’s Journal
8 August. – Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could not sleep. The storm was fearful. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and undressed her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking.
Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to see if anything had happened in the night. Somehow I was glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything!
10 August. – The funeral of the poor captain. Lucy came with me. She seemed much upset and was restless and uneasy all the time. Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people do. She was full of pity, and she will dream of this tonight, I am sure. The ship steered into port by a dead man; the captain tied to the wheel with a cross…
Same day, 11 p.m. – Oh, but I am tired! We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in good mood. She was really tired, and we intended to go to bed as soon as we could.
Lucy is asleep and breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and looks, oh, so sweet. I am so happy tonight, because dear Lucy seems better. But I don’t know anything about Jonathan… God bless and keep him.
11 August, 3 a.m. – Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an agonizing experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary…
Suddenly I became awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark, so I could not see Lucy’s bed. The bed was empty. I lit a match and found that she was not in the room. The door was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother. I ran downstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other open rooms of the house, with a growing fear in my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It was not wide open. The people of the house usually lock the door every night. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one, and there was not a soul in sight.
I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey; the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. There, on the bench, I saw snowy white figure. It seemed to me that something dark stood behind the figure, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed dead, for not a soul did I see. I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy’s condition. The time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled. When I got almost to the top I could see the bench and the white figure, and I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black, it was bending over the white figure. I called in fright, “Lucy! Lucy!” and something raised a head, and I saw a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the bench, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and I could see Lucy lying on the bench. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of anybody about.
When I bent over her I noticed that she was still asleep. She was breathing – not softly as usual with her, but in long, heavy gasps. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her throat. I fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety pin;[97] but I was clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with it, for when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moaned. I put my shoes on her feet and then began very gently to wake her. At first she did not respond; but gradually she became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At last, I shook her more forcibly, till finally she opened her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as, of course, she did not realize all at once where she was.
Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. She trembled a little, and when I told her to come with me home she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. We got home and we did not meet anybody. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared.
When we came home, and washed our feet, and said a prayer of thankfulness together, I brought her to bed. Before falling asleep she asked – even implored – me not to say a word to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure. I thought it wiser to do so. I hope I did right.
Same day, noon. – All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her. She looks better this morning than before. I was sorry to notice that I hurt her with the safety-pin. Indeed, it can be serious, for the skin of her throat was pierced. There are two little red points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress was a drop of blood. When I apologized, she laughed, and said she did not even feel it. Fortunately it is so tiny.
Same day, night. – We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to Mulgrave Woods.[98] In the evening we heard some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie,[99] and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than she has been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door and secure the key the same as before, though I do not expect any trouble tonight.
12 August. – My expectations were wrong, for twice during the night I was wakened by Lucy. She was trying to get out. I woke with the dawn, and heard the birds outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and, I was glad to see, was even better than on the previous morning. She came and snuggled in beside me and told me all about Arthur. I told her how anxious I was about Jonathan, and then she tried to comfort me. Well, she succeeded somewhat.
13 August. – Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my wrist as before. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting up in bed, still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly, and looked out. It was brilliant moonlight. Between me and the moonlight flitted a great bat. Once or twice it came quite close. When I came back from the window Lucy had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully. She did not stir again all night.
14 August. – On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. This afternoon Lucy made a funny remark. We were coming home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun was bathing everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself, “His red eyes again! They are just the same.”
It was such an odd expression, that it quite startled me. Lucy was in a half-dreamy state,[100] with an odd look on her face; so I said nothing, but followed her eyes. She was looking at the bench, whereon was a dark figure. I was a little frightened; but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary’s Church.[101] Lucy looked sad; so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a while.
I walked along the cliffs to the westward,