Дракула

Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued

           Itallseemedlikeahorriblenightmaretome,andIexpectedthatIshouldsuddenlyawake,andfindmyselfathome,withthedawnstrugglinginthroughthewindows,asIhadnowandagainfeltinthemorningafteradayofoverwork. Butmyfleshansweredthepinchingtest,andmyeyeswerenottobedeceived. IwasindeedawakeandamongtheCarpathians. AllIcoulddonowwastobepatient,andtowaitthecomingofmorning. 

           JustasIhadcometothisconclusionIheardaheavystepapproachingbehindthegreatdoor,andsawthroughthechinksthegleamofacominglight. Thentherewasthesoundofrattlingchainsandtheclankingofmassiveboltsdrawnback. Akeywasturnedwiththeloudgratingnoiseoflongdisuse,andthegreatdoorswungback. 

           Within,stoodatalloldman,cleanshavensaveforalongwhitemoustache,andcladinblackfromheadtofoot,withoutasinglespeckofcolourabouthimanywhere. Heheldinhishandanantiquesilverlamp,inwhichtheflameburnedwithoutachimneyorglobeofanykind,throwinglongquiveringshadowsasitflickeredinthedraughtoftheopendoor. Theoldmanmotionedmeinwithhisrighthandwithacourtlygesture,sayinginexcellentEnglish,butwithastrangeintonation. 

           "Welcometomyhouse! Enterfreelyandofyourownfreewill!" Hemadenomotionofsteppingtomeetme,butstoodlikeastatue,asthoughhisgestureofwelcomehadfixedhimintostone. Theinstant,however,thatIhadsteppedoverthethreshold,hemovedimpulsivelyforward,andholdingouthishandgraspedminewithastrengthwhichmademewince,aneffectwhichwasnotlessenedbythefactthatitseemedcoldasice,morelikethehandofadeadthanalivingman. Againhesaid. 

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