"stoker-dracula-168" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stoker Bram)

was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in her
sleep, to be a little impatient at finding the door shut, and went
back to bed under a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and heard
the birds chirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and, I was
glad to see, was even better than on the previous morning. All her old
gaiety of manner seemed to have come back, and 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, for, though sympathy can't alter facts, it can
help to make them more bearable.

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
pulling aside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant moonlight, and
the soft effect of the light over the sea and sky- merged together
in one great, silent mystery- was beautiful beyond words. Between me
and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and going in great,
whirling circles. Once or twice it came quite close, but was, I
suppose, frightened at seeing me, and flitted away across the
harbour towards the abbey. 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. Lucy
seems to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it
is hard to get her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch
or tea or dinner. This afternoon she 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, low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness;
the red light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and
seemed to bathe 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, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I
slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare
at her, and saw that she was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd
look on her face that I could not quite make out; so I said nothing,
but followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own
seat, whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was a little
startled myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had
great eyes like burning flames; but a second look dispelled the
illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary's
Church behind our seat, and as the sun dipped there was just
sufficient change in the refraction and reflection to make it appear
as if the light moved. I called Lucy's attention to the peculiar
effect, and she became herself with a start, but she looked sad all
the same; it may have been that she was thinking of that terrible