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So we came down this road. When we meet other ways, not
always were we sure that they were roads at all, for they
be neglect and light snow have fallen, the horses know and
they only. I give rein to them, and they go on so patient. By
and by we find all the things which Jonathan have note in that
wonderful diary of him. Then we go on for long, long hours and
hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep. She try, and
she succeed. She sleep all the time, till at the last, I feel
myself to suspicious grow, and attempt to wake her. But she
sleep on, and I may not wake her though I try. I do not wish to
try too hard lest I harm her. For I know that she have suffer
much, and sleep at times be all-in-all to her. I think I drowse
myself, for all of sudden I feel guilt, as though I have done
something. I find myself bolt up, with the reins in my hand, and
the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever. I look down and
find Madam Mina still asleep. It is now not far off sunset time,
and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big yellow flood,
so that we throw great long shadow on where the mountain rise so
steep. For we are going up, and up, and all is oh so wild and
rocky, as though it were the end of the world.
Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much
trouble, and then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But
she sleep not, being as though I were not. Still I try and
try, till all at once I find her and myself in dark, so I
look round, and find that the sun have gone down. Madam
Mina laugh, and I turn and look at her. She is now quite
awake, and look so well as I never saw her since that night
at Carfax when we first enter the Count's house. I am amaze, and
not at ease then. But she is so bright and tender and thoughtful
for me that I forget all fear. I light a fire, for we have
brought supply of wood with us, and she prepare food while I undo
the horses and set them, tethered in shelter, to feed. Then when
I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I go to help her,
but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already. That she
was so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I have
grave doubts. But I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of
it. She help me and I eat alone, and then we wrap in fur and lie
beside the fire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But
presently I forget all of watching. And when I sudden remember
that I watch, I find her lying quiet, but awake, and looking at
me with so bright eyes. Once, twice more the same occur, and I
get much sleep till before morning. When I wake I try to
hypnotize her, but alas! though she shut her eyes obedient, she
may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up, and then sleep
come to her too late, but so heavy that she will not wake. I
have to lift her up, and place her sleeping in the carriage when
I have harnessed the horses and made all ready. Madam still
sleep, and she look in her sleep more healthy and more redder
than before. And I like it not. And I am afraid, afraid,
afraid! I am afraid of all things, even to think but I must go
on my way. The stake we play for is life and death, or more than
these, and we must not flinch.
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