2 October 10 P.M.
Last night I slept, but did not
dream. I must have slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed,
but the sleep has not refreshed me, for today I feel terribly weak and spiritless.
I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing.
In the afternoon,
Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he was very gentle, and when
I came away he kissed my hand and bade God bless me. Some way it affected me much.
I am crying when I think of him. This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful.
Jonathan would be miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the others were
out till dinner time, and they all came in tired. I did what I could to brighten
them up, and I suppose that the effort did me good, for I forgot how tired I was.
After dinner they sent me to bed, and all went off to smoke together, as they
said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each other of what had occurred to each
during the day. I could see from Jonathan's manner that he had something important
I was not so sleepy as I should have been, so before they
went I asked Dr. Seward to give me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not
slept well the night before. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which
he gave to me, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild . .
. I have taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope I
have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes: that
I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the power of waking. I might
want it. Here comes sleep. Goodnight.