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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 48084
   :PG.Title: The White Cat
   :PG.Released: 2015-05-13
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Gelett Burgess
   :MARCREL.ill: Will Grefé
   :DC.Title: The White Cat
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1907
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE WHITE CAT
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   .. _`"Chester," she cried, "take me." Page 313`:

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      :alt: "Chester," she cried, "take me." Page 313

      "Chester," she cried, "take me." Page `313`_

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      THE WHITE CAT

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      *By*

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      GELETT BURGESS

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      Author of Vivette
      A Little Sister of Destiny
      etc.

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      With Illustrations by

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      WILL GREFÉ

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      NEW YORK
      GROSSET & DUNLAP
      PUBLISHERS

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      COPYRIGHT 1907
      THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

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      MARCH

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   PART FIRST

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   THE WHITE CAT

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   \I

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I came to myself with a disturbing sense
that something was wrong with me.  My
discomfort, increasing steadily, resolved itself
into two distinct factors—a pain in my side
at every breath and a throbbing ache in the
top of my head.  I realized that I was in bed,
and the first strangeness of it struck me.  I
could not account for it.  The wild, spicy
odor of flowers came to me, adding to my
perplexity.  Then I opened my eyes.

The place was so dimly lighted that for
some seconds my sluggish wits were unable
to interpret the blotches of shadow and the
vague glimmering spots.  These, however,
gradually resolved themselves into
comprehensible forms.  I perceived that I was in
a strange room, large and airy; for even in
the obscurity I got a feeling of free, clean
space, and of that chaste emptiness which is
apt to distinguish the guest-chamber of a
well-kept house.  I heard, now, the steady,
deliberate ticking of a clock a little way off,
and somewhere below was a small grinding
sound, so low as to be almost a mere vibration,
like a coffee-mill in operation.  Near
by, a door closed and latched softly.

I moved and attempted to sit up, but a
sharp stab in my side warned me that my
hurt was perhaps more serious than I had
thought.  There was a lump on my head, too,
which probably accounted for my lapse of
consciousness.

Setting my memory painfully to work,
groping back through the darkness of my
mind for something to explain the mystery,
much as one might descend a dark, unlighted
stairway, I came upon the last fact that had
been recorded by my brain.  I had been
putting on speed—the road through the woods
was straight, level and deserted—hoping to
get up to town early in the afternoon.  The
steering-gear of my motor-car had given
way.  I had felt the wheels suddenly veer,
then, before I put on my brake, the front of
the car went down and the rear was thrown
up and over with the momentum, sending me
flying through the air.

I wondered, lazily, how much the machine
had suffered.  Then, I must have dropped
off to sleep again, for when I next opened
my eyes there was a flickering ray of light in
the room.  This time I was keenly alert
mentally, desirous of some explanation of my
situation.  Where was I, and who had cared
for me?

The light grew brighter, still wavering,
slanting across the wall where it rocked and
shifted, casting long, distorted shadows that
danced up and down.  Some one was evidently
coming up-stairs with a light.  The
door was hidden by a projecting angle of the
wall, however, and so for a few moments I
saw nobody.

In those seconds the room was illuminated
gradually more and more, showing a
white-painted wainscot with a dull green wall
above, where a few Japanese prints hung.
Opposite my bed was a window with small,
old-fashioned panes; there was another
beside me.  The rays glinted on the polished
sides of several pieces of old mahogany
furniture and flared yellow on brass
candle-sticks and on the gilded frame of an eagle
mirror.  Finally the glare stopped its
undulating, the shadows grew steadier on the
wall, and, as I gazed eagerly for a first
glimpse of my visitor, a young woman,
bearing a silver candlestick, came into the room.
She looked immediately over to where I
lay, and then, catching my surprised stare,
her expression changed wonderfully from a
rather pathetic abstraction to an animated
interest.  With something not quite a smile
on her face she walked nearer my bed, and
stood for a moment without speaking, still
looking at me.  Her attitude hinted that she
saw in me something—as if, for instance, it
were a sort of picturesqueness which was
unexpected enough to appeal to her
imagination.  She rested for a moment, poised and
calm, but intensely attentive, fascinated.

And I, at the same time, was instantly
conscious of so curious a sentiment that I
must stop to attempt to describe it.

I conceived myself to be a connoisseur in
women, and I estimated her at first sight as
one unique, even extraordinary.  But
though to my mind she was indubitably
beautiful, it was not her beauty that for the
moment thrilled me.  It was chiefly her
"newness," the very novelty of her visitation.
I felt a sudden, compelling desire to
prolong the mystery of her presence rather
than to have it explained.  I tried, mentally,
to delay her first word, to hold her back
from any definite explanation till my eyes had
had their fill of her—till they had, so to
speak, solved her equation—till my wonder
had spent itself in the vision, exhausting all
its possibilities of delight.  Her charm was,
in its unexpectedness, so alluring, that she
was like a pleasant dream which one lingers
with and detains.

She was small, but her head was so
exquisitely proportioned to her body that one
did not notice her size.  I have called her
young, though she was twenty-seven, for
her graceful figure and pose were still
girlishly maintained.  The shape of her small
head was defined by a quaint coiffure, the
dark, fine hair being banded in an encircling
plait up past her tiny ears and over, like a
coronal, showing a sweeping high-bred curve
over her low brow.  All this gave her a
tender, virginal aspect; but her soft, deep brown
eyes were so saddened by warm shadows
below the lids, her mouth was so tremulously
sensitive, with its slightly parted lips, and
the little lines that women fear had begun to
write her history so suggestively upon her
face, that, as I gazed at her, I saw a woman
who had lived and suffered, a woman as
intense as she was delicate in all her moods.

She was clad in a bewilderingly feminine
peignoir of lace and embroidery, open at the
neck, and covered with another long,
straightly hanging garment of shimmering
pale-green silk, richly decorated with odd
patterns.  This gave her to my wondering
eyes quite the appearance of a medieval
princess, or the heroine of some old fairy
tale.  The impression was intensified by the
long chain she wore, set with fire opals which
flashed in the candle-light.  From it, below
her waist, there hung a golden star.

And, strangest of all, most provocative to
my fancy, she also appeared, with extraordinary
sympathy, almost with prescience, to
feel something of my wonder as she paused
and stood silent, retarding her greeting, in
answer to my unspoken thought.  While our
eyes held each other in that marvelous
communion, she did not smile; it was rather from
her quivering mouth that I got the idea that
she, too, was touched by the spell, and was
keenly alive to the potentiality of the
situation.  She seemed to hold her breath lest the
wonder should pass too soon.

That moment was as sublimely unreal as
anything I have ever known, and, within its
unmeasurable limits, as potent.  It was tense,
instinct with fine, secret emotions too faint
for analysis.  Messages came and went,
electric.  It was, in short, the psychological
moment that comes but once to any friendship,
and, coming, is usually hurried past without
appreciation of its mysterious charm.  It
was that most suggestive of preludes, an
instinctive, conscious pause upon the magic
threshold of Romance.  That she felt its
quality also overpowered me.  The minute
passed like a falling star, and in its glory we
seemed to travel miles together.

Then, with a visible effort, she spoke.

Her voice was light and clear, so expressively
modulated that I have, despite myself,
to compare it only to fairy footsteps passing
over flower-tops.  Its tones poised and
hovered as if on the wing, though they were as
sure as the melody of an old song.  It was,
above all else, graceful, and usually it held a
trace of mental eagerness, but its characteristic
quality came more from delicate nuances
of feeling than from any vibrant intensity.
It had the fluidity of running water.

With her first word she smiled, and some
of the melancholy escaped from her eyes.

"Oh, you are better now!  I'm *so* glad!"

The silver thread of magic that had bound
as was broken, and the episode became real
and humorous on the instant.  I could not
help smiling in my turn, for assuredly, from
my point of view, I was, physically, decidedly
the worse.  I took it from her, by her
remark, that I had been ill.

"Yes," I replied, "I suppose I must be
better, since you say so, but I seem to be
quite bad enough.  How long have I been
here?"

"Twenty-four hours.  You have been a
little delirious, you know.  I was getting
quite anxious about you, though the doctor
said there was no danger."

She came nearer, and put her small
beautiful hand upon my cheek.  I noticed that
she wore no rings.  The touch of her fingers
was soft and cool.

"I'm glad your fever has gone," she said,
"Have you much pain?"

I felt sore all over, and there was trouble
with my side when I moved; my head seemed
to be splitting.  But I was so much more
interested in her, and how I came to be there,
that I dismissed my symptoms with a shrug,
and asked what had happened.

"You were thrown from your automobile,"
she said, "and you were pretty badly
shaken up.  There was a rib broken, and a
slight concussion of the brain, I believe, but
nothing serious.  You'll have to stay here
several days, at least, and keep quiet.
Doctor Copin had to go back to town, and I must
notify him that you are all right now.  You
mustn't fret about it, for you are perfectly
welcome to stay here and it won't trouble us
in the least.  Only I'm afraid you'll be
terribly bored.  It's quiet here, and I'll be
rather dull company."

"I'm not worrying, I assure you," I said.
"I'm in no hurry to get well."

She smiled again, faintly but with a quick
appreciation, and took a seat in an arm-chair
which stood beside my bed.  I caught a
glimpse of a green silk stocking and an
exquisitely small foot in a fantastically shaped
slipper.  She went on:

"I have been a good deal troubled because
we have, of course, no idea who you are.  I
was afraid that some of your friends might
be alarmed about you.  So, if there is any
one we can notify, or send for, give me the
address and the message, and I'll send it over
to the telegraph office at the Harbor, or I can
telephone for you, if there's any one in town.
Doctor Copin could call and explain your
condition, if you prefer."

As she leaned her face on her slender hand
and looked at me, she added: "Your motor
has been taken care of, so you needn't worry
about that.  Uncle Jerdon hauled it into
the stable, and it can stay there until you
have a chance to have it repaired."

"You were good to take me in and to get
a doctor," I said, watching the tiny vertical
lines come and go in her forehead.

"Oh, Doctor Copin happened to be with
me when you were brought in by Uncle
Jerdon.  I really don't know how you
managed to escape with your life."

"I didn't deserve to escape.  I was
running considerably over the speed limit, I
imagine.  I wanted to get back to town
early."  How much rather would I have
discussed the queer little corners of her lips
that changed so distractingly, and the
transparent shadow under her cheek-bone that
spiritualized her whole expression now and
again!

"Oh, I must take your message!" she
exclaimed, a little embarrassed by the pause
that had fallen.

She rose and went over to an antique
secretary, bringing back a pad of paper and a
pencil.  Reseating herself, she waited for
me to dictate.  I thought a while and then
gave her a short report of my condition to be
sent to my partner.  Having written this
down she went out of the room quietly,
leaving the candle with me.  No sooner had she
left than my pain returned.  For the time I
had forgotten all about it.

In spite of this, the thought of her filled me
with a restful peace.  I didn't in the least
want to know who she was, so long as I might
see her, and hear her talk to me in that
smooth, melodious, eager voice, whose sound
had established her convincingly as a lady of
rare promise.  The prospect of having to
spend several days in her society, or at least
near her, was as pleasant a thought as I could
well imagine.  The fruit of our moment was
a mystery, rich and fragrant, which I wished
only not to destroy.  I found myself trying,
in her absence, to recall each feature of her
face, her poses, and her hands so keenly alive
and full of graceful gesture.  That I did not
wonder who she was—what was her name,
her situation, her history—came, perhaps,
from the state of bodily weakness in which
my accident had left me, but it seemed to me
then that it was not merely the passivity of
my physical state; it was an epicurean joy I
took in tasting my impressions drop by drop.

Meanwhile, as I thought it all over, my
eyes wandered over that part of the room
visible in the candle-light, from the
four-posted bed in which I lay, and almost
unconsciously I noted the many evidences of taste
and wealth.  The furniture was all of
antique style, undoubtedly genuine specimens
of the best designs of the later colonial
period.

The Japanese prints were the only pictures
visible that I could see.  They seemed
like Utamaro's and Hiroshige's mostly,
though near by were a couple of Yoshitora's
and Toyokuni's brilliant actresses, veritable
riots of color against the dull green of the
wall.  The floor was of oak parquetry,
covered with Persian rugs of what I knew to be
rare weaves.  Altogether, the room had, in
its severe formal way, the dignity of a museum.

She came back, after about ten minutes,
with a tray of toast and tea, a jar of
Bar-le-duc, and the most appetizing of lamb chops.

"Do you feel hungry?" she asked, setting
the tray down upon a stand at the head of
the bed.

As I assented most heartily, she leaned
over and propped the pillows up behind my
back, and then set the silver salver before
me on the spread.  Drawing up her chair,
she sat down near enough to pour the tea and
hand me what else I required.  As she did so
I noted the delicate way she held everything
she touched—her fingers slightly parted
naturally, curling like an acanthus leaf.

"You say that I have been out of my
head?" I began.

"Yes, at intervals, since yesterday afternoon."

"I dimly remember it, now.  Yes, it was
curious.  Somehow, though, it seems to me
that there were two women here, though
never at the same time, I think—but no
doubt I got it all mixed up."

She looked down quickly, as if confused,
but she replied, "Oh, it must have been
Leah,—the other one.  She's my maid; or,
perhaps, rather more my companion.  You must
see her.  I think she's wonderful.  I wonder
if you will!"  She made the last remark
under her breath, as if she spoke to herself
rather than to me.

She went to the door and called, "Leah!"
So few persons can raise their voices
prettily, that I was delighted to hear it sound as
musical as when she spoke to me.  As she
returned, the light shone on her soft-flowing,
silken gown, making it look like frosted
silver.  In a few moments Leah entered the
room, bearing a lighted lamp.

I was surprised, I confess, after what my
hostess had said, perhaps as a test of my
sensibility, to see that the maid was a negress,
but, after giving her my first glance, I was
still more surprised to see that she was of a
kind one seldom sees, the best type, in fact,
of Northern negro.  As she approached us
she had the bearing of a woman of great
refinement and a face which, though
uncompromisingly dark, showed an extraordinary
mental if not moral caste.  Her skin was a
warm brown, something of the color of a
Samoan, though more reddish than mulatto
in tinge.  This, I found afterward, was the
result of a remote crossing with American
Indian blood; it was just enough to enrich the
color, and to keep down some of the
negroid fullness of the lips and modify the
crispness of her curling hair.  Leah might,
indeed, be considered beautiful; what could
not, at least, be denied, was the impression
of character which was stamped upon her.
It was patent in her face, her carriage and
her voice.  I watched her in admiration.
There was a neatness and an immaculate
cleanness about her, and I could easily
understand how my hostess might regard her
as a friend.

Leah's affection for her mistress was
evident by the sympathetic manner in which she
listened, and by the softness of her look
when her eyes fell on my hostess.  There
was in that look more than the traditional
fondness of a negro "mammy" for her
charge.  I felt immediately one of those
quick reactions one sometimes has with
servants, or with other persons whom social
customs have relegated to a conventionally
inferior position.  It was a case of spiritual
noblesse oblige.  Seeing her so fine, so
sensitive, so tactful, I was myself put
unconsciously upon my best behavior.  I could not
forget this in any look or any word I gave
her.  I was constantly watching myself lest
I, a guest, a man of a dominant race, should,
in consideration and in delicacy, fall behind
this servant, this negress.  It was a curious
delicacy she seemed to enforce.

I can give this effect of Leah upon me, but it
is not so easy to describe the cause.  She
effaced herself, she kept her place rarely.  But
with all this, she radiated—she had a potent
personality.  She put down the lamp, she
straightened the covers of my bed, answered
a few questions, speaking in a rich contralto
voice, and went out.  That was all.  But in
those few moments she had impressed me.

It was, no doubt, because of my enjoyment
in watching, silently, what went on, that gave
my companion the idea that I was exhausted.
She apparently inferred that I wished to be
left alone, and, rising, she took the tray from
my lap and set it down while she readjusted
my pillows.  Then, removing a little silver
Nuremberg bell, she took up the tray again,
and rose to leave me.

"I'll leave the bell here at the head of
your bed, Mr. Castle," she said (she had
learned my name, of course, when she took
my message), "and Leah will be glad to do
anything for you that you wish."

As she turned, she looked back, smiling.

"Oh, I haven't told you my own name, yet,
have I?  I'm Miss Fielding—Joy Fielding.
There's nobody here but Leah and me,
except Uncle Jerdon, our man-of-all-work, and
King, the Chinaman.  Midmeadows is a
lonely place, though it's lovely in the summer.
Well, I hope you'll be able to sleep well, and
be much better in the morning.  I'll hope to
see you then.  Good night."  She left me
after placing the lamp just out of sight.

Later, Leah entered, bringing me some
books to read, in case I should be wakeful.
I dipped into them all immediately, seeking
for further evidence of Miss Fielding's taste.
One was of poems, one of essays, one of short
stories, and one a novel.

The house was silent.  I heard nothing
until quite late, when the two women came
up-stairs to retire.  By their voices and
footsteps, I made out that Leah slept in the room
next to mine, and Miss Fielding across the
hall, farther off.  There was some soft
conversation, Leah's voice deep and rich, Miss
Fielding's rising several notes above, always
with that fluttering, delicate quality which I
had noticed.  Then the doors closed, and I
heard nothing more except, somewhere
below, a heavy rhythmic snoring which I
assumed came from Uncle Jerdon's room.

There came to me now one of those weary,
irksome vigils of the sick, when the darkness
and the pain seem to coöperate to stretch out
the hours to infinite lengths.  I tried one
position and another, I lighted the candle and
put it out again, but my discomfort and my
sleeplessness persisted.  I could think of
nothing else but Joy Fielding, Joy Fielding,
Joy Fielding!  I think that a little of my
delirium returned, also; but all through my
torment I kept repeating to myself that I did
not want to know who she was.  I refused to
speculate upon that, except in ways that were
romantic and fantastic.  What matter-of-fact,
commonplace explanation of her life
there might be, I wanted to hold off as long
as possible.





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   \II

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I was awakened early by the sunshine
which came pouring across my bed from the
window opposite, lighting up the white
wainscoting and showing the room now, clean and
brightly distinct to the least detail of the
crisp Japanese prints upon the wall.

One sash and the window-shade had been
left up, and I could see the slope of a hill
which rose behind the house, seeming to shut
the place in.  The other window was filled
with the waving boughs of an apple-tree.
The day was fine and balmy; the fresh air of
the morning swept deliciously over my bed.
It was maddening to have to lie there helpless.

Before long I heard doors opening and
closing below, and the sounds of preparations
for breakfast—the rattling of a stove, a
pump that squeaked whimsically like a
braying donkey, the clatter of pots and pans,
and a Chinaman's voice singing in a queer
falsetto.  With the odors of flowers and damp
earth the smell of coffee came up to me,
mingled, too, with a whiff from the stable.  Then
the clock, whose hourly chimes had measured
for me the slow march of the night, struck
seven with a peal of golden notes.

I heard footsteps come up-stairs to the hall
outside my half opened door.  There was a
soft tapping across the way, and Leah's voice
asked quietly:

"What would you like for breakfast, Miss Joy?"

I could just make out the reply in Miss
Fielding's blithe tones:

"Oh, just a couple of butterflies' wings,
Leah, and a drop of rose-dew, please."

How prettily it sounded!  From another it
might have seemed silly to me, but not from
her.  I was amused at her fancy.  Miss
Fielding, then, was a poet.  It was all so in
key with the freshness of the morning and
the gay sweet sunshine!

I was more comfortable now, and more
sane.  So, as I lay awaiting her, I wondered
how such a woman, so instinct with refinement
and with the air of having had considerable
social experience, was to be found in
so far-away a place.  I knew of no residences
in this vicinity except an occasional
farmhouse; it was remote even from any village.
The sight of her as she appeared last night
in her elegant negligée came back to me, like
the scene of a play.  I longed to see her again,
to discover if, perhaps, I had not exaggerated
it all, or even, perhaps, had dreamed of
one so exquisitely gracious.

Leah, also, was a part of the strangeness.
She had none of the disturbing beauty of the
quadroon—her beauty was without *diablerie*,
it was far from showing any sensuality.  It
was even spiritual in type.  Her face, as I
brought it up, was more than intelligent, it
was lighted by an inward vision.  The more I
thought of her, the more I wondered if I had
not been tricked by my impressionability, by
the strangeness of my adventure, by the
glamour of the night awakening.  To put it to the
test, I took advantage of Miss Fielding's
suggestion and rang the bell.

Leah appeared in a few moments, and came
a little shyly into the room.  She wore a
clean, fresh, crisp gown of blue, like a
hospital nurse's uniform, and was as trim and
dignified.  No, I had not been mistaken.
The light of day showed her still more
remarkable than I had remembered.  Her
regular features, her smooth, coffee-colored
skin, her well-kept shapely hands, all
testified to an extraordinary breeding.

"Are you ready for your breakfast, sir?"
she asked.  Her voice was like honey as she
inquired how I had passed the night, and
apologized for Uncle Jerdon's snoring.

"I'll bring your water first," she suggested,
and retired noiselessly, to return in a
moment with a bowl, some towels and toilet
articles.

She seemed a little embarrassed by the
situation, but assisted me in sitting up.
Then, finding that I could do for myself well
enough, she went down-stairs, and by the
time I had finished my washing, she was back
with the tray.

"Miss Joy will be in to see you in a little
while, sir," she said as she made me
comfortable with dexterous adjustments of my
pillows.

But for her "sir," she had in no way acted
as a servant, though, on the other hand, she
had assumed no attitude of equality.  I could
not help admiring the fine neutrality she
maintained without committing herself to
either role.  All my first impressions of her
were intensified by this demeanor, and I
awaited the opportunity of assuring her by
my own manner of my lack of prejudice on
account of her color.  Indeed, it was not long
before I was almost as unconscious of it, so
far as any social distinction was concerned,
as a child might have been.

Miss Fielding came in a little later, dewy
and shining, dressed all in white—an
embroidered linen blouse and a short skirt of
serge, which made her seem even younger
than I had remembered.  The sight of her
expressive, thoughtful, eager face, and the
music in her sympathetic voice gave my room
quite another aspect.  It became a stage
again where last night's drama would go on.
How long I had waited for her, and now she
was come!  Only an invalid, perhaps, can
understand the difference in atmosphere in
that first quick sight of an expected delightful
presence to one who has waited for the
weary hours to go by and bring the wished-for
vision.

She made a few kind inquiries as to my
condition, moving meanwhile about the room,
disposing of the fresh roses she had brought,
lowering the window-sashes and raising the
shades, rapid and graceful as a bird on the
wing.  She was all modern, now; the
medieval princess had given place to something
more complex, and as much more interesting.
Every word, every inflection of her voice,
every gesture of her hand, every expression
of her mobile face showed subtlety of thought
and sentiment; she was obviously a creature
of fine distinctions, of nuances of feeling,
though at present her talk was as simple and
joyous as a child's.  That simplicity of hers,
however, was the simplicity of a Greek
temple, made up of subtle ratios and proportions,
of imperceptible curves and esoteric laws.

She drew up a chair, at last, and sat down
beside me.  We looked at each other frankly,
and smiled, aware of a common thought, the
desire to prolong the situation as far as we
might.  This quickness of her imagination
was a delight.  But the game was becoming
too humorous, now, in broad daylight, for us
to keep it up.  Our romance was in danger.

"I'm bursting with the obvious," I remarked.

She shook her finger at me with spirit.
"If you dare!"

"Oh, I'll not be the first.  Man though I
am, I can restrain my curiosity."

How quickly her face changed!  An almost
infantile look came into it, as she said:

"There are so many more curious things
than curiosity, if you know what I mean.
Curiosity is such a destructive process, don't
you think?"

"And this is creative?  The not satisfying
it, I mean."

"Yes, wonder is—and mystery.  It ramifies
so.  It splits the ray."  She made a
queer, mystical gesture, all her own.

"Oh, it quite blossoms!" I said.  "I
breathe all sorts of perfumes never smelt."

Her eager look came back, and she smiled
joyously.  "How quick you are!  I wish we
could keep it up a while!  I should have liked
to marry Bluebeard!  What a splendid dowry
he gave!  Oh, I would never have opened the
door!  There was so much more outside than
in, wasn't there?  But now the role is yours;
you must be Bluebeard's wife—or Robinson
Crusoe.  Oh, you must stay on the island—this
island with me, and not try to get off.
There are a few little places we can explore
without danger—will you be satisfied with
them?"

Somehow I got the spirit of it, as at
hearing some words of a strange language
eloquently spoken.  She was warning me
off—but from what?  I would find out soon
enough, should the meaning need to be made
more definite.  It was like a game of
jackstraws; if I did not play gingerly I should
bring down the commonplace upon us.  My
situation was delicate—it almost seemed that
I had arrived, in some way, inopportunely.

But she had gone on.  "Did you read my
books?" she asked, taking up one of them.

"I read that one—the poems.  I got quite
lost in them."

"Which ones?"  She looked up from the
book eagerly.

"*The Journey*, and,—" I hesitated, "—*The
Riders*."  I was watching her face earnestly.

"Oh, how right you are!"  She was perfectly
simple about it.  There was no conceit
in her.  "It means, doesn't it, that we
already have a language?  But you must read
the essays, too.  Then maybe we'll have a
philosophy."

"I'll explore them with pleasure."  I tried
to keep the appeal out of my voice.  "I have
such a lot of things to do before I go."

She got this quite as I intended.  "Well,
we'll be perfectly natural and let come what
may, as it seems to be all decided for us.  We
won't force the game.  But I'm afraid you'll
never be contented.  You'll leave the island
first, I'm quite sure."

I protested; she shook her head slowly.  I
knew she was thinking very hard of something.
Her smile was wistful, her eyes, always
fixed on mine, were almost somber in
their expression.

"Would you dare promise?"

I knew now there was something behind all
this; some fear of my presence.

"Shall I?" I fenced, more to draw her on
than from any doubt of her meaning or
reluctance to agree with her wish.

"It's base of me—it's foolish, too, for it
can really do no good.  But, you see, I don't
quite know you, do I?"

"And don't quite want to?" I was unkind
enough to say, but only with the same
motive as before.  I wanted to get at the
bottom of it—find out what it was she dreaded,
and dared not acknowledge that she did.

She was a little hurt and said that it wasn't
fair to say so, that I wasn't playing the game.
I was properly contrite, and, for the moment,
gave up the duel.

"Let it be a promise, then," I said.

At this, I thought she looked relieved; and
that she should be so at my bare word touched
me.  It did cross my mind that, perceiving
my adaptability to this sort of affair, she
might perhaps have taken an adventitious
means of heightening the romance of the
situation with such innuendo; but she seemed to
me to be altogether too direct for that, and
too sapient, as well.

"Thank you.  I may hold you to that promise.
Does that seem ungracious?"

There it was.  There was most definitely
something which she didn't wish me to know,
and which my advent jeoparded.  I was truly
sorry for her now, and a little embarrassed
at my position.  Meanwhile her eyes were
steadily questioning mine, as if to make sure
that I was to be trusted.  I took up her last
remark to relieve the tensity of her mood.

"You couldn't be ungracious, I'm sure.  I
should as soon suspect Leah!"

She laughed more freely.  "Oh, I'm so
glad you appreciate her!  That says more
for you than all the rest."

"The rest?" I insisted, quite ready for
a compliment.

She gave it to me with her head a little on
one side, and her right eyebrow, the irregular
one, whimsically upraised.

"Yes.  Your keeping it up so well, you know."

"Oh, I'll keep it up!  It's the chief charm
of being here, flat on my back, in a strange
place.  I'm sure it will be most amusing."

"I'm not so sure.  I'm full of moods and
whims—you're going to be terribly disappointed
in me sometimes—though that sounds
like vanity—and I may take advantage of
your complaisance, of your promise, that is.
I hope you won't regret it."

So it rested, my promise not to be too
inquisitive (for I took its meaning to be that),
given and accepted.  It quite whetted my
appetite, you may be sure.  If all this talk
seems fine-spun, it is my fault in the telling
of it, for in the give-and-take we perfectly
understood each other.  I can not, of course,
give her delicate inflections, but these, with
her looks and gestures, said as much as her
words.

But if this equivocal conversation was
vague and shadowy, she could pass into the
sunshine as deftly.  She seemed to do so now,
as she rose and went to the open window and
whistled.  A chorus of barks answered her.
She turned to me.

"I must go down to my dogs," she said.
"I wish you could see them—that is, if you
like collies.  I have five, all thoroughbreds—they're
beauties!  You'll have to get acquainted
with them as soon as you're able to
go down-stairs."

She leaned a little out of the window and
called, "Hi!  Nokomis!" drawing out the
vowels.  A deep bark responded.

"Hiawatha!" she called next, and she was
answered by a sharp, frenzied yelping.
"Minnehaha!" followed—she almost sang
the name, which was replied to like the
others.  Then Chevalier and John O'Groat
greeted her in turn.

"I'm going to take them for their morning
run," she said, as she left me.  "I'll
examine you on the essays when I come back."

She went down, and soon after I heard her
talking, evidently to Uncle Jerdon and to
King.  Then the barking rose ecstatically,
receded in the distance, and finally was lost.
I took up the essays and read for a while.
My head was much better, and my soreness
was slowly disappearing, but the constrained
positions I had to hold to keep my rib from
paining me made me too weary and impatient
to put my mind on my book.  I could hardly
wait for Miss Fielding to return, and lay
inert, watching the flies drift lazily through
the sunshine that filled the room, hoping that
Leah, at least, might come in to break my
ennui.  I welcomed even the hoarse, squeaky
cry of King's pump, the occasional crowing
of a rooster, the twittering of birds in the
apple-tree, and the many little homely sounds
of country life.  The fragrant perfume of the
roses in the room was a blessed reminder of
Miss Fielding's kindness.

In a half-hour, I heard the dogs approaching,
and she came into the room again, hatless,
bringing a new breath of June with her.
Her hair was blown to a silky veil through
which her eyes shone and her rosy cheeks
glowed as she smiled at me over the
footboard of my bed.  Throwing off her little
white bolero, a saucy thing with black velvet
collar and cuffs, she went to the mirror and
gathered up the loose strands of hair, tucking
them in, here and there, with deft touches
of her fingers, and adjusting them with dark
tortoise-shell pins, until her little head,
coiffed high, was as smooth as a cat's.

She came up to the bedside and was quick
to notice by my nervous movements that I
was suffering.  Sitting down she began to
tell gaily of her walk over the hill, and, as
she spoke, my aching was calmed as if she
had laid a finger on the electric switch that
controlled it.  Then she suggested reading
to me, and took up the volume of poems we
had discussed.

Her voice was not quite intense enough
for strong emotion; it had not the momentum,
so to speak, to carry the lines along with the
swing and rhythm necessary.  It was too light
for that, but it more than made up for it by
its sympathetic tenderness and the delicacy
of its inflection.  Her tones lulled me, and I
fell asleep.

In the afternoon she brought her mending,
and we talked for a couple of hours or so,
always keeping, as she expressed it, "on the
island."  What personalities we discussed,
that is, had no reference to her history or her
plans.  She warned me off very cleverly
several times when the talk approached her
circumstances or even her moods and tastes.

When she confessed that she played a little
on the piano and violin, I positively insisted
upon my rights as an invalid to be amused.
She rolled up her work and went to get her
violin without excuses or apologies.

I waited with considerable anxiety to hear
what and how she would play, not committing
myself as to my own choice of composers.
She began in her own room, and through the
opened doors I heard the strains of the *Prize
Song* played with great verve and sentiment.
I was delighted.  She came, still playing, into
my chamber, her sleeves rolled up (she said
she could not play else), and accepted my
compliments graciously and simply.  Then,
walking up and down, absorbed, she gave me
fragments of Cesar Franck's sonata for the
violin and piano.  To watch her, supple,
virile, rapt, to note her clever, accomplished
technique, her passionate, free-armed
command of the bow—I have seldom seen such a
splendid attack or so sure and true a
vibrato—was a joy beautifully associated with the
clarity and subtle craftsmanship of the master.

So she ran on, alternating her renditions
with scraps of talk that showed a keen
musical sense and an appreciation of the
radical, ultra-modern movement of the time.  Next
she burst into a vibrant, dramatic Polish
folksong that excited me like a fire.  And finally,
as a *tour de force*, her eyes dancing as she
watched me over her shoulder with some new
audacious devil in her smile, she enchanted
me with a vivid piece most astonishingly
enlivened with flights of technique—trills,
brilliant chord passages, and runs with the
upward and downward "staccato bow."  Then
she threw down her fiddle and came up
to me, laughing.

That evening she had another delight for
me, coming to my bedside and reading Villon
and Verlaine in the original, translating the
old French for me when I was perplexed by
the *argot*.  And for the picture, I need only
add that Leah was of the circle, and made
her own comments!





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   \III

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There was, next morning, a little dialogue
much like that which I had overheard the
day before, except that this time it was
"stewed rose-leaves with a small pot of
sunshine," which Miss Fielding was fanciful
enough to demand.  I wondered what, after
such a pleasantry, she did have; for I took
it to be some joke between her and Leah, who,
no doubt, translated the metaphor into
something more substantial.

As I ate breakfast, I could hear Miss
Fielding singing in her room.  She came in
before I had finished my egg and coffee,
bringing an armful of new magazines.  This
time she was dressed in pongee and wore a
short string of graduated white coral beads
which was mimicked, when she smiled, by her
little teeth.

"I've found out about you—quite by accident,
though, Mr. Castle, really," she said
gaily; and, opening one of the magazines,
she tapped with her hand the picture of a
country house my firm had just rather
successfully completed.  "So you're an architect!
And I'm the first to get off the island,
after all!"

"It doesn't matter, I suppose, so long as
I stay on?" I asked.

"Oh, this doesn't by any means absolve you
of your promise," she answered, examining
the illustration carefully, still standing at the
foot of the bed.

"You aren't really very much wiser, are
you?  There are architects *and* architects,
you know."

"Yes," she said, apparently thinking of
something else.  "Quite as there are women
and women," she added, turning over the
pages idly.

"There's only one of *your* sort!" I exclaimed.

A queer smile passed and was repressed
upon her lips, molding them into new curves.
"Yes, only one of *me*."

"I don't exactly mean that, either," I went
on.  "The fact is, rather, that there is more
than one of me.  There's the architect and
the man in me—and how many more!  One
is always astonishing the others.  Aren't
there, after all, several of you, Miss Fielding?"

She gave me a frightened glance, then
tossed the magazine on the bed.  It wasn't
petulance; she seemed to be disturbed at the
subject.

"Oh, I'm only a White Cat!" she said cryptically.

She seemed anything but that, to me.

"I'll tell you about it sometime—perhaps,"
she added.  "But not now."

She stood with her hands behind her back,
raising herself on her toes, and changed the
subject.  "I'm awfully anxious to show you
this house, now that I know you're an architect.
It's one of the oldest hereabout, and it
was a wreck when I bought it.  I've had it all
done over inside, and I shall expect you to
compliment me on my taste, for it's mainly
my own ideas."

"What I've seen of it is charming—but a
bit impersonal, perhaps."

"Oh, this is only the guest-chamber.  One
doesn't inflict one's ideas on the transient
visitor.  Of course this is a bloodless, sexless
place.  You'll find personality enough in my
room, I fancy.  I hope you'll be able to get
down-stairs by day after to-morrow, and
have a chance to look about at the place.  I'm
sure you'll love Midmeadows.  I'm expecting
the doctor down here this afternoon, and
he'll probably be able to tell you how long
you'll have to stay.  I do hope you won't
get well too fast, Mr. Castle."

"Trust me for that," I said.  "I give you
fair notice, I shall probably do some malingering.
But I shall be glad to see the doctor,
if only to make sure that I can impose on him."

My heart sank, nevertheless, at the thought
of his interruption of our idyl.  I felt an
illogical right to her by discovery, a certain
franchise in her good graces that Fate
herself had given me.  The possible weakening
of our alliance, however, was only the
negative side of my annoyance.  The positive
aspect was that Doctor Copin seemed to be an
old acquaintance, even a friend; for Miss
Fielding had mentioned that she was going
to walk over to the Harbor to meet him.  It
was possible, even—and the idea was
poison—that she was in love with him.  Well, I
must needs wait and see him before I
decided as to that chance.

I asked her to call her dogs again, and,
seeing that it might amuse me, she offered to
bring Nokomis, the best-behaved, and matron
of the kennel, up to see me.  I accepted
eagerly, and, from the window, she called
her favorite.

Nokomis was one of the most beautiful
collies I have ever seen, a tawny red, or sable,
with white ruff, feet, and tail-point.  Her
head was very finely shaped—not too dull for
keenness, nor with too much of the silly
greyhound's tapering muzzle, as not a few
flat-headed prize-winners, bred chiefly for color
and coat, have.  She had dark brown eyes
set with that obliqueness that gives the breed
its characteristic look of brightness, kindness
and craft.  Her small ears, as she entered,
were semi-erect, giving her, as she stopped
with her head slightly on one side, the sharp,
doubtful expression of the fox.  She came
with her flag up, as if she were on exhibition
before judges, marched to Miss Fielding and
waited for orders.

"Isn't she a darling?" Miss Fielding said
affectionately, rubbing her pet's neck.  "You
hasn't got flappy, saddle-bag ears and a high
forehead and a velvet jacket, *has* you!  I
don't see no snipey nose!  Hasn't she got an
'honest, sonsie, bawsint face,' Mr. Castle?
Only it isn't 'bawsint.'  And look at her
gawcie tail, wi' upward curl!'  She has
old Cockie herself for an ancestor, *she* has!"

Nokomis gravely stood on her hind legs
with her forepaws on her mistress' skirt,
panting—smiling, I might well say.  Then,
in obedience to a word and a gesture, she
dropped and came over to me in so dignified
and friendly a way that I fell promptly in
love with her.  Her outer coat was abundant,
straight and stiff, the under one so thick and
soft and furry that I could not find the skin.
Her ruff was magnificent, her chest deep and
strong.  I was sure she would be a good
worker; her wit had already been proved.

Miss Fielding was pleased with my appreciation,
and consented to having Nokomis remain,
and so, for the rest of the day, except
for occasional inquisitive excursions, she lay
on the floor beside my bed, thumping her tail
and listening attentively whenever I looked
down to speak to her.

Early in the afternoon Miss Fielding put
on a fresh linen waist and corduroy skirt to
set out for the station.  Before she went she
moved about the room, readjusting the flowers,
drawing a shade or two which threatened
to let the sun into my eyes, renewing my
pitcher of water and so on, giving me in five
minutes a dozen evidences of her tact,
thoughtfulness and consideration.  Then,
with a last warning to Nokomis to take good
care of me, she went away, leaving the
apartment depressingly empty.

Leah came in occasionally, however, to see
if I was comfortable, but I could get little
talk from her.  She answered all my questions,
looking at me with her melting, deep
brown eyes, which were really not a little like
those of old Nokomis, but volunteering no
remark of her own.  Between the two I
managed to be fairly patient till, at about three
o'clock, Miss Fielding returned with the
doctor.  I was aware of their approach for some
time before they arrived by the joyous barking
of the collies in front of the stable.  At
this Nokomis pricked up her ears, but was too
well-bred to pay more attention.  I had
laughed at her for yawning wide with her
wolf-like jaws, and she was sensitively on her
dignity.

Doctor Copin was tall and thin and younger
than I had expected; and like most young
doctors he attempted to make much of his years
by a pointed, reddish beard.  Nature had
assisted him in this attempt, also, by removing
enough of his hair to give him a shiny bald
forehead almost to the crown of his head,
and making him near-sighted enough to
require strong eye-glasses.  But all this could
not induce me to think him more than twenty-seven
or eight years of age.  His eyes were
of that china blue which, with red hair, is so
apt to give a selfish, heartless expression,
which went very well with his general
bloodlessness.  Except for those protruding blue
eyes he might, with his yellowy-brown suit
and his slender, long hands, have been an
animated caricature, done in red chalk.  Worst
of all, to my mind, he made puns.

He approached me with the jocose air
affected by physicians, and looked me over with
a grin.  I could see, under his sparse beard,
that he had a lizard chin receding comically.

"Well, Mr. Castle," he said, "I expect you
haven't been climbing any more trees with
your machine lately, have you?  Feeling like
Adam, after the creation of Eve, with that
fourth rib of yours!  Let me have a feel of it.
Ah!"

He prodded me a little.  "Well, we're
doing so-so," he went on.  "If you were a
football player you'd be up in five minutes.
How's the head?  I suppose you haven't had
quite such a big one since you put on long
pants.  You're not having many long pants
these days, I fancy, with that cracked bone in
your chest, are you!"  And so on.  I tried
to smile, and did not succeed till I had caught
sight of Miss Fielding's face frowning over
his shoulder.

I was doing well, it seemed.  It was nothing
but a matter of time and patience.  The
worst of it was the shaking up, and for that,
rest was all that was necessary.

I answered his pleasantries, asked him the
news in town, and thanked him for what he
had done, which, indeed, was not much.  If
I have given the impression that he was an
ass, that was not at all how he impressed me.
Though he persistently refused to talk sense,
and turned everything I said into jest, I was
ready enough to believe that he knew his
business and stood well in the profession.  I got
little more than this however, for he soon left
for a talk—likely a professional one, I
imagined—with my hostess.  This lasted till,
after an early dinner, he left the house to be
driven back to the station by Uncle Jerdon.
Idle and bored as I was, while alone, I
speculated upon his relations with Miss Fielding;
but from what I had seen I could hardly
regard him as a rival.  Still, I knew well
enough that one could not predicate from a
man's appearance how women might like him.
Doctor Copin would not be here in attendance,
much less as a visitor, unless there was
some value in him.  He evidently knew the
place well enough to have been at Midmeadows
often.  It made me, for no particular
reason that I could name, uncomfortable.

It was still and warm, the beginning of
the hush of twilight, the birds' chattering
quieted, when voices came plainly up to me
through the open window beside my bed.
Miss Fielding and the doctor were coming
round a corner of the house on their way to
the stable.

"I wish when she comes, next time, you'd
have Leah let me know," I heard Doctor
Copin say earnestly.

"I won't promise to do that," was her reply.

"Why not?" he asked sharply.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"You know well enough.  You know how
interested I am in her."

"I wish I *did*!"

This was the last I could make out, for
they passed into the yard behind the house.
I heard the carriage drive off, and soon after
Miss Fielding's voice inside the house, calling
for Leah to come down.  I thought that I
detected a strain of excitement, even of alarm in
her tones.

A half-hour afterward, she came into my
room with a chess-board, and asked me if I
played the game.  I was delighted to try it
with her, though I was poor enough at it, and
she beat me easily.

She was quite as charming as ever, but, as
I studied my strategy, she had time in the
silent pauses to fall into little moods of
reverie, letting the talk drop naturally.  I was
not too absorbed in my play to notice it, and
once or twice I looked up from the board to
see her face show a tragic expression, clearing,
under my surveillance, with what seemed
to be a forced smile.  The little lines near her
eyes seemed to have deepened since morning,
and two vertical ones came, at times, cutting
upright clefts between her brows.  Once or
twice she put her hand to her head suddenly.
Her listlessness accented her grace, but she
seemed distinctly older.

After she had announced mate in three
moves she awaited my capitulation.  Then
she put the board and men aside wearily.

"You'll find it desperately stupid here, I
know, Mr. Castle," she began.  "I wish we
could be more amusing, but I'm a bit blue
to-night."

"I only reproach myself for not being able
to make you forget it," I said.  "As for myself,
I always feel like the hero of a fairy tale
when you're about."

She gave her head a quick, backward shake,
as if to free her mind of some disturbing
thought.  "Oh, I told you I was the White
Cat, you know!" she replied.  "Can't you
imagine how interesting it must be for us to
have any one here at all, and you most
especially?  Why, I feel that you are a friend,
already.  If it hadn't been so, I shouldn't have
dared to confess so frankly that I'm depressed."

"What can I possibly say of you, then,
who have proved yourself so friendly?  I
shall be glad when it comes my turn to give,
and yours to receive."

"Oh, that time will come soon enough, I'm
afraid," she said, folding her hands in her
lap, and looking down at them.

"You make me quite long for it!"

"Oh, don't long for it!" she exclaimed, and
then rose nervously to stand facing the lamp
with a fixed, entranced gaze.  "It will mean,
perhaps, that I shall need all your sympathy,
all your charity," she added, turning, ever
so slowly, to look down at me.

"I will give anything you ask——"

"And I shall ask nothing," she put in
quickly.  Again she threw her head back with
that quick, freeing gesture.  I saw what she
meant.  It would be put to my tact and intuition.

She held out her hand impulsively and put
it into mine.  It seemed very small and
slight, and it was cold.  Then, summoning a
smile so rapid that it came and went in a
flash, she bade me good night and left the
room.

For fully an hour after that, I heard her
voice and Leah's in a steady, low conversation
in the room across the hall.  At nine,
Leah came in to adjust the light and see that
I wanted nothing.  I fell into an uneasy
sleep, waking at every cock-crow.





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   \IV

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The next day was harsh and cloudy.
There was a light fog in from the sea,
enough to make it a little cold, and to depress
my spirits.  It was, therefore, with great
impatience that I awaited the matutinal visit
from my hostess.  She was usually up
betimes; to-day she slept late.

It had already become one of my chief
diversions to listen for the little morning
colloquy in the hall, but to-day I heard nothing
till after eight o'clock, when Leah came
upstairs, knocked on the opposite door, which
was always half-open at night, and put her
usual question.

Miss Fielding's voice came sharp and
clear, a little querulous.

"Oh, I'll have bacon and eggs, I think;
but wait a while, Leah; I'm sleepy and I
don't want to get up yet."

Leah closed my own door softly and went
down-stairs.  I was disappointed.  I hoped
Miss Fielding was not in a bad humor, though
that seemed impossible.  When Leah came
up with the tray and gave me a "good
morning," I said:

"Leah, I wish you'd ask Miss Fielding if
Nokomis can't come up into my room this
morning, will you?"

She hesitated just long enough for me to
notice that she was troubled; then she put
down the tray, saying:

"Nokomis is a queer old dog, Mr. Castle,
and I don't know that she'll come."

"Why, she was here all day yesterday and
we had a beautiful time together!"

"I know."  Leah turned to leave.  "I'll
speak about it, of course, but—well, these
dogs have all sorts of fancies, and you can't
always depend upon them.  They will and
they won't."  She did not look at me as she
answered, and went out immediately.

I felt that I had somehow blundered into
an indiscretion, though what it was I couldn't
possibly see.  It made me exceedingly
uncomfortable, for I would have done anything
rather than take advantage of the kindness
and hospitality with which I had been
treated.  I remembered that I had not yet
heard the dogs barking; that might possibly
mean something, but it gave me no clue.  I
had to give it up and try to make amends as
well as I might.

A little later I heard Miss Fielding's door
slam, and her footsteps running down the
stairs.  That she had not come in to see me,
even if for only a few words, did not decrease
my annoyance.  Shortly after came a chorus
of barks, but I fancied that they were not of
the same mood that I had noted before; there
seemed to be something antagonistic in their
protesting notes, as if some stranger had
perhaps passed the house.  I had got the
idea that Midmeadows was a lonely place,
though I had not yet seen the outside of the
building, and no doubt the collies were
distrustful of visitors.  I waited expectantly to
hear Miss Fielding call them, one by one, as
she had before; but, if she did so, I missed it.

For half an hour or more there was a
steady pounding down-stairs, and, when Leah
came for my tray, I heard some one whistling,
the least bit out of tune.  Leah was
silent and reserved.  She asked how I had
slept, and if I were better, and there the
conversation ended.

Finally, at about eleven o'clock, Miss
Fielding came in.  I looked up eagerly.

She wore a stiffly laundered shirt-waist,
noticeably stained and soiled, though it had
evidently been put on clean that morning.
She wore no stock, and the neck was turned
away in a V, carelessly, showing a little gold
chain with a sapphire pendant, and the
sleeves were rolled up above her dimpled
elbows.  She had a heavy walking-skirt and
heavy mannish shoes whose soles projected
a full half-inch beyond the uppers.  Her hair,
which, before, I had always seen exquisitely
coiled high on her head, was done in a full
pompadour, though now it fell in flat folds
over her forehead and wisped out in the back
of her neck.

She came up to my bedside and smiled
frankly at me.  I got a pronounced odor of
Santal.

"Well, how are you to-day?" she said
jovially.  "Do you feel better?"

I said that I did, noticing that she wore
three rings on her left hand.  It was good
to see her so full of life and energy.

"You certainly were a sight when you were
brought in," she went on; "I was frightened
to death.  I never saw any one unconscious
before, and I thought you were dead, for sure.
Isn't it lucky the doctor was here?  I'm
awfully sorry your auto was smashed up so,
for I'd like to try it myself.  I've been
wanting one.  Yours is a foreign make, isn't it?
I've been looking it over.  It's a water-cooled
engine, I see.  But I want a six-cylinder.
I'm going to see if Uncle Jerdon and I can't
patch it up so that it'll go."

"Fancy a girl's caring about machinery!"
I said, smiling at her enthusiasm.  "You're
the last person in the world I'd ever think
would have any interest in it."

"Why?" she said, sitting on the edge of
the bed, and, turning down her sleeves,
covered her round, strong arms.

"I thought that you were more of the
artistic temperament."

"Oh, I like to use my hands," she said.
She held one out, its fingers stiffly opened,
then clenched her fist firmly.  "They're
stronger than they look.  Try it!"

She took my hand in hers and gave me a
grip as strong as any ordinary man's.

"That comes from your violin practice, I
suppose," I remarked.

Her eyes were on mine, and I saw that the
pupils were dilated, and the irises so dark
as almost to appear black.  She did not
answer me for a moment, and then simply
nodded vaguely and changed the subject.

"I've taken the clock apart more than once.
The dining-room one, I mean.  When the
hands point to eight, it strikes four and it's
half-past two, really.  I have to tell time by
an algebraic formula.  I'm going to dissect
it again and see if I can't get it right."  She
laughed merrily, swinging her foot back and
forth.

At that moment the collies began to bark
again.  She sprang up impatiently, and went
to the window.

"Darn those dogs!" she complained,
"don't they make a horrid racket, though!  I
can't keep them quiet."  Then she raised the
sash abruptly, leaned out and cried, "Hush
up, there!"

Their answer was a chorus of indignation.
She let down the window with a clatter, and
walked to the mirror to rearrange her hair,
using silver pins that shone conspicuously in
her dark locks.  Her skirt had sagged away
from her belt, at the back, from the violence
of her work, no doubt, and she reached to fix
it, turning to smile at me coquettishly after
she did so.

"Do you like my hair done high or low?"
she asked.

"I like it best the way I first saw it, that
night," I said.  "It was done in a fillet, or a
bandeau, wasn't it?"

"Why, no!  It was pompadoured, wasn't
it?  Oh, yes—perhaps it was—I forget—but
it's so fine that I can't do anything with it."

Except for these little lapses of abstraction
when she stared so puzzlingly at me, she was
in high spirits.  Her presence filled the room
with electricity; she surcharged its atmosphere.
She seemed more virile than ever,
more full of life, so full that it actually
seemed to splash over in all sorts of energetic
gestures of her head and hands.  As she
stood, now, in the center of the room, she
made a quick dash at a fly that drifted past,
caught it in her hand, smiled at her dexterity,
and tossed it aside.  She made passes and
rapid motions with her arms, as if she were
swinging a tennis racket, and tapped her toes
and heels in a little clog-dance as she walked.
I saw that she was getting bored.

"Well," she said at last, "I must go to
work.  If there's anything you want Leah
will do it for you.  You can call her.  There's
the bell.  Don't hesitate to ring it.  I'll be
so glad when you can come down-stairs and
see the place.  It's a jolly old shack—you'll
like it!"

She waved her hand jauntily and swung
out of the room.  I heard her run downstairs,
and a little later the pounding and
the whistling recommenced.

She semed different to-day, but I imagined
that perhaps it was only that she was feeling
better in health and mind, though she had not
appeared really ill before.  She seemed
younger than ever, too, the little lines in her
face seemed to be mostly ironed out.  No
doubt it was, as women say, "her day."  Her
beauty was more obvious; it was undeniable.

Yet something about her manner troubled
me.  I was distinctly disappointed; she
seemed less subtle, less imaginative.  She
was no longer the princess of my fairy tale;
the spell had waned.  But if her familiarity
and naturalness upon further acquaintance
were less romantic, they were more real, and
had some of the actuality of prose.  We could
still be good friends, for I liked her
immensely.  Perhaps she had thought we had
gone too far sentimentally, and was trying to
put our relations upon a firmer and more
matter-of-fact basis.  Perhaps, even, Doctor
Copin's visit had, in some way, affected her,
and she had considered that her *entente* with
me was becoming dangerous.  Well, it was
certainly my place, as a stranger thrust upon
her hospitality, to take whatever cue she gave
me, disappointing as that line of conduct
should prove.  For I had been stirred and
awakened by her.  I could not deny that to
myself.  And no doubt I had taken her
altogether too seriously.

I saw no more of her till late in the
afternoon, but, meanwhile, Leah made me a
welcome visit.  After luncheon she asked me,
quite modestly, if I would like her to read to
me or would rather play chess.  I chose the
reading, wanting very much the opportunity
of studying her.  Her attention seemed,
however, to be distracted; I was sure of it when,
a little later, she excused herself to go
downstairs.  Then I noticed the barking of the
dogs, high-pitched and excited.

She came back soon to finish her reading,
and, that done, we fell to talking.  As she
sat, her dark face was outlined against the
white woodwork of the alcove like a silhouette.
Her white teeth shone.

I asked her about her education.

"I went to a school for colored women,"
she said, "fitting myself to be a teacher.  But
of course it's hard for a colored girl to get a
chance, except with her own race, and I didn't
want to go South.  Then I got this place
with Miss Fielding."

"I can't imagine any situation more
delightful," I said, watching her.

Her eyes burned, smothered in quickening
tears, but her voice was calm enough.  "It's
lovely here.  I don't mind the loneliness a bit.
It's nothing to what I have endured in big
cities."

She gave it to me simply, with no apparent
bid for sympathy, but I knew enough of the
pathetic isolation of the educated negro, cut
off from any real mental communion with the
blacks as well as with the whites, to interpret
the repression of her manner.  There was
a tragedy in her words.

"Well," I said, "it strikes me that you're
in luck to be here with such a companion as
Miss Fielding.  And she's as fortunate, too.
I'm sure you get on beautifully.  Still, how
she can stand it, away off from every one, I
don't see quite so well."

"Do you think she's—unhappy!" Leah
asked after a pause.

"Certainly not to-day, at least.  Yesterday
I shouldn't have been quite so sure that
she wasn't."

"Oh, she has her moods," Leah admitted.
"I do my best to indulge them."  She looked
up at me.  "So must you, too, Mr. Castle!"  She
held my eyes deliberately, as if expecting
my promise.

"How could I be so ungrateful as not to,
in the circumstances?"

"I mean—you see, she doesn't like to be
questioned.  I have to be very careful.  She
has her fancies, and often seems inconsistent,
even a bit eccentric.  It may be her life here
alone.  You know she sees so few people.
You won't notice it?"  Still her eyes
appealed to me.

"I shan't at least show that I do."

She seemed dissatisfied.

"Except, perhaps, to you," I added, trying,
as I had tried with Miss Fielding, to get
to the bottom of her dread.

"Oh, not to me," she begged.  "She's too
fine for us to be discussing.  I've said too
much already, I'm afraid.  I don't know why
I did.  Only——"

I said it for her.  "Only, I am quartered
on you, here, and you can't get rid of me.
You have, in a way, a spy in camp.  By an
accident, I'm here, and you're at my mercy.
Isn't that it?  You don't, I mean, quite know
what I am, and you'd like to be able to trust
me, whatever happens."   It was a jump in
the dark for me.

I could see her fingers working; she had
clasped her hands.

"Oh, I hope I haven't given you the idea
that anything is likely to happen," she said
anxiously.  "If I have, I'm quite sorry I
spoke.  If you'll only take everything quite
as a matter of course—that's all I mean—her
moods, you know, and not think things—"  She
ended without attempting to be more
lucid, for there was a sound of some one
coming up-stairs.

Miss Fielding came into the room, and her
delicate right eyebrow rose at seeing Leah
sitting there, doing nothing.

"Leah, go down and tie up the dogs;
they're chasing all over the place!"  Her
voice was crisp and peremptory.

Leah went away quietly; I got a swift
glance of mute appeal at me as she left.  Miss
Fielding came to my side and looked down at
me quizzically, her thumbs in her belt.

"Do you mind telling me your name?" she
said.  "It's rather awkward not to know,
you know."

"Oh, Castle's my real name, right
enough," I answered.

"Castle?" she repeated, and then, as if
recollecting: "Of course, but I meant your
first name."  Her face cleared.

"Chester Castle," I enlarged.  "A good
name for an architect, isn't it?"

"An architect, really?  Then I'll have to
get you to help me on my little house.  But
you're too good-looking for an architect,"
she laughed.  "I thought they always wore
pointed beards, like doctors."

"Oh, I'm not a Beaux-Arts man," I said,
keeping up with her mood.

"Are you married?"

"No, I'm happy to say I'm not."

"So am I!" she laughed.  "That is to say,
I'm glad *I'm* not, and I'm glad you're not.
My name is Joy.  Isn't it silly?  It doesn't
fit me at all.  I ought to have been called
Edna."

"Very well, then, you shall be!" I volunteered.

She took it without surprise or annoyance.
"Oh, I don't stand on ceremony.  That's
silly.  If you're going to stay here for a week
I shall have to call you Chester.  Do you
mind?  It's an awful bore to have to say
'Mr. Castle' all the time."

"By all means.  My mother and my
friends call me 'Chet'—"

"That's better still.  Chet."  She tried it
audibly.  "I rather like that."

"You're welcome to it."  I laughed at her
directness.

"But you haven't asked me any questions!
I should think you'd be curious.  Really, it
isn't at all complimentary to have you so
indifferent."

"Oh, I'm only keeping 'on the island'," I
returned.

"Keeping—what?"

"Don't you remember—about staying 'on
the island'?  You know you asked me
yourself to."

"Oh, yes—did I?  I forget."  The
puzzled look on her face had appeared again,
but was driven away.  "Well, there really
isn't much to know about me.  It's stupid
enough here at Midmeadows.  It's my own
place, you know.  It used to belong to my
grandfather.  I've had it ever since he died.
I suppose it's good for me here, for I'm ill
a good part of the time.  I'm up and I'm
down.  But when I'm up, I'm up pretty high,
and when I'm down, I'm 'way down in the
depths."

She had sat down in a chair and had
crossed her legs, one over the other, wagging
one foot and clasping her hands across her
knees so tightly that the blood was driven
from her white knuckles to the ends of her
purple fingers.  It is always an awkward
pose; I have often wondered how a pretty
girl could ever take it.  Now she drew her
chair closer to the bedside and took my hand.

"Let me see your hand," she said suddenly.
"I'll read your palm, if you like."

She bent over it, drawing so near that her
head was quite close to mine, so close that,
had it not been for the perfume she used, I
should have got the odor of her hair.  When
she turned to me, smiling, she seemed very
near indeed, though none too near me.  She
began her reading of the lines, holding my
hand in both hers, pointing to the signs with
one finger, trying the resistance of my thumb,
squeezing the flesh to determine its firmness,
kneading it and handling it in quite the
professional manner.  It took her some time.
The opinions she gave me were not particularly
affording, but they were rather cleverly
put.  She made a good deal of my "magnetism,"
saying that she could actually feel it.
I was properly flattered.  I could feel hers,
easily enough.

Then she dropped my hand, rose and
yawned as freely as had Nokomis herself.

"I'm starving!" she exclaimed.  "I must
see what's the matter with dinner.  I'm
sorry you can't come down, Chet.  I hate to eat
all alone."

"Why, doesn't Leah eat with you?" I
asked, surprised.

"No, I can't quite go *that*!" she said
emphatically, as she made an irrelevant athletic
gesture.  "I have to draw the line somewhere,
you know.  I have Uncle Jerdon
sometimes, though, just for the fun of seeing
him eat.  He's perfectly lovely!  He holds
his fork in the Kansas City style, this way—"  She
illustrated a familiar restaurant attitude,
with the thumb and little finger of her
left hand braced under a paper-knife, the
three middle fingers curled atop.  "Then he
always loads up his fork with his knife, a
little piece of meat, and a little piece of
potato, and a little dab of butter and a little
swish of gravy and then—"  She showed me
how, pretending to toss it into her mouth,
and wiped her lips with the back of her hand,
in a way that made me laugh aloud.  "You
could hear him eat, 'way up here!  Golly! it
makes me hungry to talk about it!" she
added.  "I'll see you later, Chet.  Oh—I'll
send you up some current jelly.  I made
it myself; sure cure for the measles!
Remember, you have to like it!"  And she was
off in a two-step.

I smiled to myself at her pantomime, after
she was gone.  How I had misjudged her at
first!  She seemed commoner, but our
friendship was, perhaps, more natural.  She was
no longer the wonderful, exotic, medieval
princess in the tower, but she was a frank,
wholesome creature, full of human charms
and faults.  I decided, by reason of that sane
analysis, that I was improving in health.
My bang on the head, no doubt, had made me
unduly impressionable.

She did not keep her word in regard to
coming in after dinner.  Leah brought up my
tray, as usual, and took it away, saying that
she was unable to stay with me.  She seemed
abstracted and nervous, and I forbore to
question her.  I spent a dreary evening alone.

The pounding went on for two hours or
more after dinner, and then Miss Fielding
came up-stairs to her room.  She contented
herself with putting her head through the
doorway and calling out "Good night, Chet!"
and then I heard her door slam.  There was
no talk between the two women that I could
hear.





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   \V

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"Sliced kisses, fried in tears," were the
words I heard Miss Fielding reply to Leah's
morning call, early the next day.  I had
waited long, for the day was bright and I
wakened at sunrise.  Her fanciful order put
one immediately into a good humor, and I
was intensely curious to see what the day
would bring forth.

The collies were barking vociferously,
joyously.  Suddenly they stopped, and then, one
by one, I heard them greet their mistress.  It
was very prettily done.  Leah, coming in,
found me smiling, and smiled back at me.
Seeing me so much better, she offered timidly
to help dress me, and I welcomed her
proposal to bring me hot water and what was
necessary for shaving.  My own clothes had
been sent down, so I prepared myself for
my chatelaine's visit.

Joy came into my room with a sweet, low,
"Good morning, Mr. Castle!" which threw
me back not a little, after what had taken
place on the yesterday.  I was about to
hazard some good-natured sarcasm, but the sight
of her face inhibited it, and something of
what Leah had said came back to me.  I
answered the greeting without comment,
therefore, and waited for her to set the pace.

She was in an exquisitely fresh, simple
organdy frock, and had on a garden hat and
gauntleted garden gloves; her arms were
filled with roses.  Her brow wrinkled slightly
as she noticed the fading blossoms which had
been left in the vases.

"I'm afraid I neglected you yesterday,"
she said, as she set about removing the
dejected roses and putting fresh ones in their
places.  As she came near me, I noticed little
dewy drops on her neatly coiled hair, where
she had dashed it with violet water.  There
was no trace of any other scent, save that of
the roses.  She drew off her gloves and I saw
that she wore no rings.

She sat down for a moment.  I had observed
before that not only could Miss Fielding
be remarkably graceful in pose and in
action, but that she could be as astonishingly
*gauche* as well.  Astonishingly, that is, for
her—for one who *could* be so graceful.  This,
however, was decidedly one of her graceful
days, or rather, perhaps, as Leah had said,
moods.  Her lines melted and composed.
There was positive elegance in the way she
used her hands, gesticulating freely.  It
enhanced the charm of her voice, so limpid and
full of feeling.

"Isn't it a beautiful morning!  What a
shame it is that you can't get up.  You must
hurry and convalesce—just enough to be able
to see the place, and not so much as to have
to go away.  Perhaps you can get into a
chair by to-morrow.  Did you hear my
doggies?  I can recognize each of them by the
voice, and you will be able to, too, if you only
stay here long enough.  Nokomis is the
deepest-toned one.  She's the oldest, you
know, and the most dignified.  Hiawatha is
the little yappy one.  He's a very silly little
pup!"

"I'm sorry Nokomis didn't want to come
up to see me, yesterday," I said.  "But I
hope you'll pardon my taking the liberty of
asking for her.  I know you probably don't
often allow them in the house."

"Why, of *course* Nokomis can come up;
the idea!  She'd love it.  Would you like to
see her now?"  Then, with her eyes on mine,
and noticing my bewildered look, no doubt,
she added, with a queer expression, "Nokomis
wasn't quite well yesterday.  She is
getting old, you know."  She rose restlessly.
"Will you wait a moment, please?  I want
to speak to Leah," and she went out.

Something had passed over her spirits, I
couldn't tell what.  It was like the shadow of
a cloud sweeping rapidly across a sunny
hillside.  Whatever it was, it was gone when
she returned.

She went directly to the window, threw up
the sash, and called down, "Nokomis!  Hi,
Nokomis!"  A bark responded.

"Come up here, old lady!  Yes, come right
up.  Wipe your feet, please.  Wipe your
*feet*, Nokomis!"

The next thing there was a pattering of feet
upon the stairs, and the bitch bounded into
the room, her tail wagging.  She ran up to
Miss Fielding immediately for orders.

"Go and say 'How d'you do?' to Mr. Castle,
Nokomis," said Miss Fielding, pointing
at me.

Nokomis dropped to the floor again, and
with the dignity of a duchess walked over to
where I lay, raised her beautiful eyes to mine,
lifted a forepaw and laid it on the bed.  I
shook it and felt for the dog's neck.

"Now, Nokomis—" Miss Fielding began.

She was down on the instant, went to her
mistress and stood waiting, her head on one
side, her ears half erect, her tail low.

"Go and bring up Chevalier, please," was
the command.  Nokomis was off like an
arrow, and presently there was a to-do in the
yard.  By this time I could recognize
Nokomis' heavy note among the others.  Then
she and a tan-and-black collie came rollicking
into the room.  Both came immediately up
to their mistress.

"Here's Chevalier, Mr. Castle.  He's a
pretty good show dog, isn't he?  He hasn't
got a fancy livery, but he's all right, except
his tail's set on a bit too high, and there's a
little feather to his hind legs below the hock."

Chevalier whined, and looked up at Miss
Fielding.  I was quite ready to believe the
dog understood what she said.

"Oh, that's all right, Chev, you's a booful,
good doggie, and I love you!  Chevalier's
strain harks back to the original Scott—he's
quite a swell, in his way, and has got blue
ribbons.  But they all want tri-colored calico
dogs, now.  Go over and pay your respects,
Chevalier, please!"

The dog came up to me, was patted, and
left with Nokomis, who was next instructed
to return with John O'Groat, a big dog,
almost wholly black, with a rather blunter
muzzle than the others.

"John's got pretty good blood, too, and his
mother was from the Lothian Hills, like
Norval—no, that was the Grampians.  A little
hollow-backed, and his forelegs aren't quite
straight, but Jack's a good dog, aren't you,
Jack?  A fine worker, too."

Jack was certainly listening to every word
attentively, whether he understood or not.
After he had gone, Nokomis brought up
Minnehaha, one of her own youngsters, pure
white.

"Poor little Minnie," said Miss Fielding,
"she's got yellow eyes and a thin coat, but
I love her just as much!"  Taking the forepaws
she held her own face tantalizingly near
the dog's tongue.  "Just as much, I do.  Now
go over to Mr. Castle, Miss!"

Last of all came Hiawatha, a frenzied,
wriggling, capering puppy, sable-and-white
like his mother, yelping, crouching, bounding,
hysterical with joy.  Miss Fielding and I fell
to laughing at his antics, but Hiawatha was
too young to care.  He was up on top of my
bed in half a minute, and stifling me with his
eagerness, lapping my face and hands,
growling, snarling, biting, scratching all at once.
When this frisky, capering bunch of
enthusiasm had departed, quite out of his head
with the excitement of the visit, Miss
Fielding talked dog for ten minutes.  She had not
forgotten, however, to compliment her pets
with a lump of sugar apiece, filched from my
tray and dropped from the window with strict
precedence.

"Oh," I said, looking at her with admiration,
"I do think your own name is the
best!  It's so like you."

"What d'you mean?" she asked, coming
up to me.

"Why—Joy," I replied.

"Of course it is!  Isn't it fun to have a
name like that?  One has quite to live up to
it, though.  It inspires me, sometimes, when
I'm blue."

"Yes; it has distinction.  I don't see why
you ever should prefer Edna."

"Oh, Edna—" she said seriously.  She
waited a moment, to shake from her skirt the
sand the dogs' paws had left.  "Well, I do
like Edna, sometimes.  It depends upon my
mood, I suppose.  You know I told you I had
moods.  Don't try to reconcile me, I know
I'm inconsistent.  But I'm a woman," she
added, looking up more brightly, "and I
suppose I have that right."

"I haven't decided whether you're a
woman or not," I returned.  "Sometimes I
have thought you were a princess in disguise."

"Oh, that's nice of you!  But why?"

"You're so mysterious, so whimsical, so
detached, so romantic."

"Take care!" she warned severely.
"You aren't trying to swim off the island,
are you?"

I opened my eyes at this.

"You still hold me to my promise—after
yesterday?"

"Why not?" she said, a little blankly.

"Why, I thought we were well off the
island—at least *you* were.  I thought that
you had given up the game."

"Why?" she asked, looking at me directly,
in seeming surprise.  "I think you must have
mistaken my meaning."

I couldn't quite get it.  "You asked me all
sorts of questions, anyway, you know," I
ventured.

Her eyes begged for mercy.  "I'm sorry
if I was impertinent——"

"Oh, I don't mean that, of course.  You
couldn't be.  You had a perfect right to ask,
of course."

"Can't I row back in a boat, please?" she
pouted whimsically.  "Don't give it up yet.
Not till I give you specific leave of absence.
I suppose I'm spoiled.  I want my cake to
keep and eat, too."

I was a little relieved at her recognition
of her own inconsistency, though I felt a
queer hiatus somewhere.  It was as if,
mentally, I had tried to go up a step where there
was none.  But I let the subject drop.  She
took up the books on the stand and began to
look them over.

"Don't you think Leah reads beautifully?"
she asked.

"It's charming to hear her, but; if you
don't mind, I prefer to hear you."

She took all my compliments so graciously,
without either embarrassed denial or vanity,
that I loved to watch her when I tried a
gallantry.  Now she only nodded to me,
sweepingly, with mock deference, and went on:

"Leah and I disagree somewhat.  I have
more manner, perhaps, and less rhythm.
We read a good deal together.  I think she
sees Browning much more clearly than I.
Perhaps I feel him more keenly."

"She's a remarkable girl—I was going to
add 'for a negress,' but I needn't qualify it."

"Oh, no!  You don't *know* how fine she
is."  Seating herself she added, as if to
herself, in a sort of sigh: "What that girl has
done for me!"

"I am sure that she would say just that of
you," I remarked.

"Oh, I try her a good deal, sometimes.
Her mother was my nurse.  When I sent for
Leah, I didn't expect to get anything more
than, perhaps, some of the hereditary
devotion darkies have, even if I got that.  But
I got a friend.  You can't trust her too far,
Mr. Castle, believe me!  She's pure gold."

It happened that, as she spoke, Leah herself
came into the room with letters for me.
Miss Fielding took the girl's hand and
pressed it against her own cheek affectionately.
As she did so, I noticed a peculiar
scar—a livid U-shaped mark on Leah's wrist.
It was the sort of scar that might be left
from the wound of a carving-tool—one of
the narrower gouges.

"Was I very horrid yesterday, Leah?"
Miss Fielding asked, looking up into the fine
brown face.

"Oh, *please*, Miss Joy!" Leah begged uneasily.

"Of course *you* understand, Leah; I only
want Mr. Castle to know I'm sorry," Miss
Fielding insisted.

"I need only to look at you to be sure
you're sorry, and to look at Leah to be sure
that there's no need of it," I declared.  "At
any rate, there's no need of my understanding.
In fact that's just what I thought you
*didn't* want me to do.  Isn't it?"

Leah looked quickly from me to Miss Fielding,
and back again.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Miss Fielding said
slowly, thoughtfully.  "Let's get back on the
island again.  I'm sure it's big enough for us."

We stayed, therefore, "on the island" all
that afternoon, touching, that is, but lightly
on personal topics.  But though we did not
go wide, we went deep enough to make the
talk hold us absorbed for an hour or more.
In quite another way, I think, we went far,
as well.  Miss Fielding was a stimulating
conversationalist.  She made me feel at my
best.  She had that happy way of meeting
me on my ground every little while, then
going on, and giving me a hand up to hers, and
so, by a series of alternate agreements and
divergencies, keeping the discussion both
sympathetic and various.  In most of this
quick give-and-take Leah was a passive
listener unless specially appealed to, at which
times she often expressed herself so
succinctly and sapiently that Miss Fielding and
I looked at her, and then at one another with
a comic expression of admiration and
depreciation of our own powers.

With such conversation the day went fast.
In the afternoon Miss Fielding read to me,
and in the evening I spent two or three hours
in passive delight listening to her violin.

My pain had almost subsided, now, and I
looked forward with something more poignant
than regret at being able to be up and
about, knowing that would mean the beginning
of the end of our companionship.





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   \VI

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The next morning Miss Fielding slept late,
and her breakfast order was, as it had been
two days before, prosaic.  Then, also, she had
slept late.  This coincidence struck me and
gave me a presentiment.  I looked curiously
for the first sight of her to confirm or
destroy a theory that I had been incubating
during my long night hours alone.  The fact
that, as I ate my breakfast, I could hear her
whistling in her room helped along my
hypothesis.  So did Leah's apparent mental
detachment.

Miss Fielding romped into my room at
about half-past nine, and with a laugh and a
"Good morning, Chet!" pirouetted up to my
bed.  My theory instantly gained plausibility.
Her manner was what I had anticipated.
Her dress, also, was significant.

She had on a fussy sort of silk waist,
inappropriate, I thought, with her cloth
walking-skirt.  Her hair was elaborately
"marcelled," and she wore bangles that clinked on
her wrists; there was the same odor of Santal
that I had previously noticed.  What was
most suggestive was that this get-up was
apparently meant to impress me.  At least, that
was how I interpreted her coquettish smile.
I shouldn't care to say that she showed
actual poor taste—it was only, I thought, poor
taste for *her*.  She needed such adjuncts of
fashion so little!

"See here," she said, tossing her head and
pointing at me dramatically, "you're getting
altogether too lazy!  I think that you've been
in bed long enough.  I'm going to get you
down-stairs to-day.  The doctor said three or
four days in bed would do, and now it's five.
How do you feel?"  She shook the post of
my bed with mock ferocity, as if to expend
some surplus energy.  There seemed to be
an extra ounce of blood in her this morning.

"Oh, I'm game!" I replied.  "Nothing
would suit me better."

"I'll get the library ready, then; Leah and
Uncle Jerdon will help you down.  Then you
can watch me work, if you don't mind.  I'm
trying to finish my coffret."  She felt
thoughtfully of her biceps.  "I'll get quite a
muscle before I'm through.  I shall have
driven about twelve hundred nails by the time
it's done."

She walked to the door, swinging her arms,
and called, "Leah!  Come up here!  Quick!"

Leah appeared, out of breath, as if, for the
moment, she had expected that an accident
had happened.  She gave a quick apprehensive
look about.

"Leah, we're going to get Mr. Castle
downstairs to-day.  Is Uncle Jerdon about?"

"Do you think Mr. Castle is well enough
to be moved, yet?" Leah ventured.

"Didn't I say he was going down-stairs?"
Miss Fielding repeated impatiently.  "I
think we can decide that question.  You do as
I say.  Go and get Uncle Jerdon, and be
quick about it, too!"

"She's spoiled.  She thinks she runs this
house," Miss Fielding complained to me,
when Leah had left.

I said nothing, watching her closely.  My
theory was now pretty well substantiated.  I
could not pass this scene off as merely one of
the "moods" that she and Leah had both
mentioned.  There was something definitely
wrong with Miss Fielding to-day—something
more than a mere whim of temper.  There
had been something wrong two days before,
when she had acted similarly.  She was
distinctly not herself, if her normal self was the
graceful, delicate, tactful creature who had
first charmed me.

It was not only her mood or her taste in
costume that seemed different.  It was
something not quite describable which seemed to
permeate her whole personality.  She had
taken a chair and sat with her right arm cast
up over the back.  The angle of her raised
elbow threw her into a distinctly awkward
position.  Her gestures, too, were characteristic
of this mysterious difference.  When
they were not distinctly imitative, as in
mimicking Uncle Jerdon's table-manners, they
were irrelevant, mere spasmodic exhibitions
of activity—as when she caught the fly, or
swung her arms with active tennis-like
gestures.  This spontaneous irrelevancy she
showed now in the way she doubled her fists
and brought them athletically to her
shoulders, as she talked, or, raising her foot a
little, made circles with her toe, showing the
slenderness and suppleness of her ankle.  I
don't say that all this ebullition of high
spirits wasn't, in its way, charming.  It was.
But it was different from the way she had
acted yesterday.  Perhaps I can best
describe it by saying that she seemed quite ten
years younger.

She sprang up and, apropos of nothing at
all, proceeded to dance or hop sidewise across
the room and back hilariously, in sheer
excess of vigor.  It was what she called
"galumphing," and, from time to time, during the
day, usually at the end of some little
over-serious conversation, she repeated the
performance, to my great amusement and
delight.  It was the absurdly meaningless
gamboling of a kid, but it was so delicious in its
inconsequence that every time it provoked my
laughter.

While we were talking nonsense there,
Leah came up with Uncle Jerdon.  Uncle
Jerdon was distinctly a New England type—the
chin-bearded, straw-chewing farmer,
quaintly original, confident, droll.  He was
well on in years, a dried-up, wrinkled,
toothless bachelor with sparse, straw-colored hair,
long in the neck, and twinkling blue eyes full
of good nature.  He wore overalls and reeked
of the stable.

Miss Fielding introduced him, and I shook
his skinny hand.

"Wall," he drawled, "thinkin' abeout
movin', be ye?  I guess Leah an' me'll make
a pretty good elevator.  I'll help ye get
dressed, fust-off, an' then we'll take ye up
tenderly, lift ye with care."

The two women left while I got my clothes
on.  It felt good to leave the bed.

"We been a-tinkerin' on that air machine
o' yourn, but it's a leetle bit too much for us,
I guess," Uncle Jerdon said.  "You'll have
to send deown a man, I expect.  I wouldn't
ride in one o' them pesky things for all the
gold of Ophir, no sirree, bob!  When I want
to go to ride I want to see the back of a good
hoss—I know I'll get home by sun-deown."

He monologued away thus as he helped me
into my clothes, and, when I had finished,
called to Leah.

She came in, and I took an arm of each,
though I scarcely needed their help.  We
descended a narrow, paneled stairway slowly
but safely, without causing me any pain, and
turned into a door on the left-hand side of
the lower hall.  There I found a morris chair
ready for me, drawn up before a wide brick
fireplace where an oak log was burning.
Uncle Jerdon left me with a wink at seeing
Leah placing a foot-stool for me and drawing
up a taboret on which were cigars and
cigarettes.  There ensconced, I looked about
with interest.

It was a large room, finished all in paneled
unvarnished redwood, most beautiful in
color—a lighter red than mahogany, with
more softness and bloom.  Two sides were
lined with book-cases, except for the chimney-breast;
another was almost filled with a broad
bow-window of leaded glass with a deep seat
covered with corduroy cushions.  There was
a narrow shelf supported by carved brackets
part way up, and a cornice above that.
Between the adzed beams of the ceiling were
panels of old Spanish leather, lacquered and
stamped.  The whole effect was a modified
French Renaissance worked out with many
charming originalities of detail.  The
pilasters, and the elaborate mantel with its
ornamented moldings and graceful consoles,
showed handicraft of an interesting sort.
They seemed to have been carved by some
artistic amateur, being boldly cut without the
machine-like regularity of the professional.
There was, besides the unusualness of the
wood, much to interest me as an architect.

The library was well filled without appearing
crowded, and everything, furniture and
appointments, betokened, as had my chamber,
not only taste, but luxury.  It was
evident that Miss Fielding was very well off,
and knew how to use her money.  It was as
evident that she had a strong personality, for
there were details that were unique.  A large
prism of rock-crystal, for instance, carelessly
resting in the sunshine upon the dull brown
cushions of the window-seat, threw a
prismatic spot of splendor upon the ceiling.  It
was like a gorgeous butterfly pinned to the
leather.  There was a silver cage of waltzing
Japanese mice upon the mantel, little
grotesque, pied creatures that spun wheels,
washed their necks with their paws and
nibbled at rice.  The books, too, were
arranged upon the shelves apparently not as
regards subjects, but rather on account of their
bindings, giving masses of color, green and
red and brown and black and white.

But it had all been indubitably so well lived
in, its properties all ministered so to one's
comfort, and the tones were all so restful and
admirably composed, that I could imagine no
more charming environment for a rainy day
with Miss Fielding.

A great library table stood in the center of
the apartment, one end of which was covered
with magazines—everything from *The
Journal of Abnormal Psychology* to the *Pink 'Un*.
Upon the other end, resting on a hide of
ooze leather, were scattered tools and
materials, and the unfinished chest upon which
Miss Fielding had been working.  This was
covered with young calfskin, the soft hair
still on, a pretty brindled tan and white, and
it was bound on the edges with brass strips.
These were fastened in place by close rows of
brass-headed nails, which accounted for the
pounding I had heard.  I was admiring the
workmanlike way in which the chest was
made, when Miss Fielding came in.

"What d'you think of my 'bossy coffret'?"
she said.  "Isn't it going to be a beauty?
My own invention.  Don't steal the scheme,
and I'll show you how."

She stood up to the table, and, taking one
of the brass strips, laid off the divisions and
punched holes for the nails, and then
hammered it on.  She kept up, meanwhile, a
running fire of persiflage.  Occasionally she
would stop to toss her hammer into the air
and catch it nimbly by the handle as it fell.

"I thought you were going to call me
Edna," she said after a while, pausing with
some nails in her mouth to look over at me.
"Don't you like the name?"

"I thought *you* didn't like it," I said, my
eyes turning from her brisk, clever hands, to
her absorbed face.  A wave passed over it as
I looked—that baffled expression I had
noticed before.

"Did I say so!"  Her hammer was poised
in mid air.

"Why, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose so.  It doesn't
matter.  Nicknames seldom stick, anyway."  She
placed a nail in the hole.

"Oh, I don't object to 'Chet' at all."

"'Chet' goes, then."  She drove in her
nail with a frown.

Before I had thought of my promise, I
said: "It's funny you don't remember it!"

Bang, *bang-bang*!  Another nail went in,
driven viciously.

I fully expected that she would speak of
"the island" again, but she didn't.  Instead,
she dropped her tools, and said:

"I'm building a house, too!"

"Where?" I asked.

She laughed and galumphed across the
room and back again without looking at me,
before she answered.  Then she stopped at
the door and called up for Leah to bring
down her bunch of keys.  When these had
come, she knelt in front of the window-seat
and unlocked a cupboard below it.  From
this she brought out a little model house,
built of pasteboard, perfect in all its details.

It had windows of mica, behind which were
white sashes and lace-paper curtains.  The
house, an old-fashioned New England
homestead, was placed in a little yard of green
velvet divided by paths of sandpaper, and set
out with toy trees.  A child would have loved
it.  A fairy would have appropriated it at
first sight.  As an architect, the model made
a great appeal to me.  It had charm and
atmosphere, good massing, good proportions,
detail and color.  I complimented her
enthusiastically.

She was poking about the little front porch
and the platform in the rear, where a
miniature ash-barrel stood, adjusting the doors
and blinds with her slender forefinger, when
she frowned and said:

"Why, some one's broken that tree in
front!  Leah, have you been touching this
house?  There's a blind gone, too!"

"No, Miss Joy, I haven't touched it!" Leah
protested.

Miss Fielding stamped her foot.  "You
must have!  It was all right when I left it
here last.  Who could have done it, if you
didn't?"

Leah grew more and more uneasy, but
stood her ground.  "Indeed, I didn't touch
it, Miss Joy!" she repeated.

"You're all the time meddling with my
things.  I've caught you at it before.  You
know altogether too much.  Well, go back to
your work now!"

Leah left in silence, and Miss Fielding put
back the house and locked it up.  A hard
look came into her face that I had not seen
before.

Her temper passed off almost as soon as
it had risen, and she was as gay as before.
So until luncheon-time, she worked while I
looked over the magazines and talked with her.

We sat, at luncheon, on opposite sides of
the table in a long and rather narrow room
without windows, lighted by a huge skylight.
The walls of this strange place were covered
with an old-fashioned imitation tapestry
paper whose fanciful patterns consisted of
consecutive scenes from *The Lady of the Lake*.
Everything about the table was heavy,
spotless, valuable and old, from the yellow linen
to the hand-made forks and spoons.  We
were waited upon by King, a smiling, round-faced
Chinaman with a cue coiled up on top
of his head, and wearing a snowy white
uniform.  He moved like a ghost in and out.
Leah and Uncle Jerdon I noticed, when the
door was opened, eating at a table in the
kitchen.

Miss Fielding and I spent the afternoon
together in the library.  She worked and
talked alternately; it appeared that she could
not do both at once, and always had to stop
with her tool in hand when she spoke to me,
like a child.  Occasionally she would come
over to my chair and seat herself familiarly
upon the arm as she joked with me.  Then
she would spring up, to galumph up and
down the room, sidewise, running her hand
mischievously through my hair as she passed.
I took no notice of the liberty, but I was a
little surprised at it.  It began to rain that
afternoon and by five o'clock it was so dark
that Leah came in to light the candles in the
silver sconces on the walls.  Miss Fielding's
spirits were gradually tamed.  I asked her to
play the violin for me but she refused
moodily without excuses.

Our talk fell to books, and I went back to
Leah's surprising love for Browning.

"Oh, Leah knows more than is good for
her," Miss Fielding said.  She was on the
window-seat, looking out at the steadily
falling rain, her feet curled up under her.
"Leah's so educated that she's unhappy; it's
a great mistake, that.  I can't seem to keep
her in her place any more.  But really, I
don't see any poetry in Browning, do you?"

"Why!" I said, "I thought you were fond
of Browning—that you 'felt' him, even if
you didn't 'see' him.  Didn't Leah do that
for you?"

"Leah!  Fancy!  What d'you mean by
'seeing' and 'feeling' him, anyway?"  She
turned to me with her chin resting on the
curled back of her hand.

"They're your own words," I answered,
testily perhaps.

She opened her eyes wider.  "Oh, I mean
what do *you* mean?"

I didn't answer.

"If I said it," she continued slowly, as if
searching for a plausible excuse, and then
giving it up, "I suppose I was trying to
impress you.  You mustn't expect me to be
consistent *all* the time."

"I'll never expect you to be again," I said,
now irritated by her contrariness.  I suppose
I showed it in my tone.

She came right over to me, and took my
hand, sitting on the arm of my chair.  "Oh,
Chet," she pleaded, "don't mind me.  I'm a
fool, and I know it.  I know you don't
approve of me any more, but I can't stand it to
have you cross with me.  I can't bluff you
any longer, so I might as well tell you.  The
fact is, my memory is bad.  It's really a
disease.  Amnesia is the name of it.  Now do
you see?  It isn't my fault, is it?  I can't
depend upon myself for anything.  Sometimes
I absolutely forget all about a thing
that happened only yesterday.  I have great
blank spaces in my life when I don't know
what has happened.  It's perfectly awful!
Did you ever hear of any one like that?"

"Do you really mean to tell me that you
forget what you said to me about Browning?"
I asked her, taking her hand, for I
was filled with a sudden pity.

"Yes, Chet, sure I do!"  She rolled my
seal ring between her fingers as she looked
down.

"And about preferring 'Joy' to 'Edna', too?"

"Oh, did I say that, too?  Yes, I forget."

"It doesn't seem possible!" I exclaimed.
Then, tentatively, almost fearfully, for it
seemed the crux: "And about 'the island'?"  I
held my breath.

"What 'island'?"

I dropped her hand.  It was too much for
me.  "Oh, never mind."  I sighed.  "I'm
very sorry.  But I don't quite see, yet.  Has
this anything to do with your refusal to play
for me?"

She rose, now, and tossed her head back,
with that shake I had noticed before.  The
gesture seemed to be the only link between her
two moods, and, for a moment, she seemed
to be again the melancholy princess.  But the
phase passed instantly, and she grew petulant.

"I don't know how to play well enough.
It bores me."

I refused to let her off, however.  "Then
how about playing chess?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said: "Oh,
I haven't got the kind of brain for chess."

My mind leaped over the remark, obviously
untrue, to get to the other side of the
perversity, where I might see more clearly.

"But it's incredible!" I cried.  "How do
you get along?  How do you account for
things?  Do you mean to tell me that you
can't remember yesterday, for instance?
Not even what you did?"

She was growing more and more impatient.
"No—sometimes I don't know how much time
I've lost at all.  You see, it's like being
asleep, that's all.  That's what Doctor Copin
comes down here for."

"Oh, I see!" I exclaimed.

"That, and other things—" she hinted coquettishly.

"Ah?"  I raised my eyebrows.  "Among
the other things, I suppose, is the fact that
you're perfectly charming."

"Oh, I don't think he quite ignores that,"
she laughed, and then, her mood changing, as
if it had been pent up by such serious
discussion and sought relief, she bounded away
and galumphed madly up and down the room,
waving her hands.

After dinner we spent the evening by the
fire.  She had put on an evening gown of
black net over silver tissue, in which she
looked more like a princess than ever.  But
it was only the costume now; her demeanor
was far from royal.  She snuggled herself
into a bunch on the fur rug by the hearth,
disclosing one slender ankle and a stocking
of snaky silver silk.  Had she not been so
slender and *petite*, I might almost say she
sprawled, though her hoidenish abandon was
not quite immodest.  She had her coffee and
a cigarette or two, chattering a steady stream
meanwhile.  I could get no more about her
malady out of her; the subject seemed to
annoy her.  But I could not get it out of my
mind.  I went back over what had passed,
and found that her explanation accounted for
much that had baffled me.  Still, it did not
account for everything.  It did not account,
for instance, for the way she now treated me.

.. _`After dinner we spent the evening by the fire.`:

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   :alt: After dinner we spent the evening by the fire.

   After dinner we spent the evening by the fire.

She got up, after a while, as if annoyed at
my abstraction, and began to roam up and
down the room.

"I guess coffee makes me a little drunk,"
she remarked.  I did not quite get the point
of this till she stopped behind my chair and
ran her fingers through my hair carelessly.

"What a jolly wig you've got, Chet!  Your
hair is almost as fine as mine."

The familiarity made me, I confess,
somewhat uncomfortable.  I was neither a prig
nor a prude, but her talk of the afternoon had
wrought on me.  I couldn't quite see my way.
I didn't at all like, for instance, what she
had said about Doctor Copin's coming
down—for more than one reason.  Perhaps it was
this, more than any instinctive dislike of her
unconventionality, that put me on my guard
with her, and made me appear to ignore what
I acknowledge, in other circumstances I
might have been tempted to take advantage
of.  For she was distinctly making up to me.
I could see that very plainly.  She did like
me.  So I was unchivalrous enough, or
chivalrous enough, if you like, to try to keep
her at arm's length, though that is putting it
rather too strongly.

It was not so easy, though, that night, with
the seclusion, the comfortable open fire, the
soft lights, and the rain outside.  The
situation was romantic; I was alone with a pretty
girl, prettily gowned, and quite frankly
desirous of a little more intimate companionship
than I vouchsafed.  Somehow I was
rather proud of myself, having at that time,
after all, such hazy reasons for forbearance.
I scarcely need add to this that I was
becoming fond of Miss Fielding, in spite of the
puzzling mystery about her.  She was
alluring in any mood.  My intuitions, however,
were all for caution.

With such distractions the hours flew fast.
The candles burned low and flickered till we
talked only by the light of the fire.  She told
me a good deal of her life as a girl—there
were no lapses of memory at that time—how
she had been left an orphan and had always
been more or less of a hermit thereafter.
Part of the time she played with my hand,
quite as a child might.  Part of the time she
sat, her chin at her knees, gazing into the
dying flames in the fireplace.  Then she would
smile, look up suddenly, and quote some
nonsense rhyme, or make fun of my discretion.
Her body was never quite still; she was
nervous and restless.  If nothing else about her
moved, her toe would be describing little
circles on the rug.

She and Leah helped me up-stairs at ten
o'clock.  Miss Fielding flung me a cheery
"Good night, Chet!" and went into her room
alone.

A few minutes after, I heard a soft tapping
at my door.  Leah was there with a jug of
milk and some biscuits.

"I thought you might like something to eat,
perhaps, before you went to bed," she said.
"Miss Joy forgot to speak of it."

"Thank you, Leah," I said, taking the
little tray.  I was about to close the door
when she gave me a look that delayed me.

"Did you want anything else?" I asked.

"Do you mind if I speak to you for a
minute?" she asked.  She stopped and
listened intently for a moment.

"Leah, where in the world are you?"
Miss Fielding called impatiently.

Leah, spoke in an undertone to me.
"Please wait.  I'll be in as soon as I can."  Then
she went into Miss Fielding's room.

I left my door ajar and sat down by the
window.  The rain had ceased, and a full
moon was breaking through masses of drifting
cumulous clouds over the top of the hill
behind the house.  I could hear the dogs
snapping and growling occasionally in their
sleep, and below, in his little box of a room
off the library, Uncle Jerdon's deep snoring.
I must have been there for fifteen minutes
before Leah reappeared with her candle.  She
shut the door noiselessly and came softly up
to my side.

"Mr. Castle, how are you feeling, now?"
she asked.

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm getting well," I said,
smiling.  "Why?  Do you think I ought to
be leaving?"  I asked the question jocosely,
but she took it up with seriousness.

"I'm really afraid you'd better,
Mr. Castle."  She looked me square in the eyes.
Her own shone very wide and deep.

"I don't wish to hurry you," she went on,
"but it will be much better for you to leave
as soon as you can.  You'll forgive me for
mentioning it, won't you?  I hope that you
won't think that I don't realize my position;
but—I can only say that I am doing what I
think is best.  If I weren't so sure that you
are a gentleman, and a friend of Miss Joy's,
I'd never dare mention it.  But, oh, there'll
be trouble if you stay, and Heaven knows
we've had trouble enough."  Her voice grew
lower at the end of her sentence, and then
she breathed poignantly, "Oh, *please* go!"

I felt a pang of self-reproach and a great
pity for her.  "Oh, I'll go!" I reassured her.
"I understand.  Or, at least, if I don't quite
understand, I'm sure you're quite right.  I
think I can get away to-morrow morning, if
you'll get the carriage for me."

"I'll attend to that.  Uncle Jerdon can
drive you to the station.  And don't, please,
mention it to Miss Joy that I spoke to you
about it.  She may ask you to stay—she likes
you, really; but she doesn't know what I
know, and I don't dare tell her."   She
clasped her hands and pressed them closely to
her breast in the intensity of her feeling, as
she added, "You must help me, Mr. Castle!
I have nobody else to turn to."

"Are you sure that I can't help you by
staying here?" I asked.  "I'll do anything
you suggest.  Why can't you trust me?  I
dread to think of your having to fight it out
alone, whatever it is."

"Oh, I don't dare to tell—I have no right
to tell," she moaned, turning half away,
looking down.  "Indeed, I wish I might.  It's
breaking my heart."  She turned to me again
with a desperate glance.  "We'll get on,
somehow."

"The doctor will help you, won't he?
Surely you can trust him?"

She gave me a frightened look, and her
white teeth shone through her parted lips,
gleaming in contrast to her fine dark face.
Then her eyes strayed again, and she said,
slowly, "Do *you* think he can be trusted?"

"Why not?" I replied, watching her
sharply.  "How, at any rate, can I tell,
after having seen him only once?"

She gave a quick indrawn sigh.  "Oh, once
was enough for *me*!"

"You mean—that you *don't* trust him?" I
exclaimed in surprise.

"I mean I'm not sure that I do."   She
was speaking slowly now, choosing her words
with an effort.  "That's quite as bad, isn't
it?  For I don't know what to do about him.
I am afraid that I may make things worse,
perhaps."

"You're sure that you can't tell me?"

"Oh, I daren't!  If I were only sure, I
might, but even then it would be hard."  Her
voice was plaintive, and yet her accent was
decisive.

There was a pause in which I thought of
many things.  As I waited, uncertain, my
eyes stayed on the fine, erect, colored girl
before me, so passionately loyal to her mistress,
so delicately sensitive to the anomalous part
she was playing.  Though her resolution had
in no way broken down, I could see how she
was wrought upon, how difficult a position
was hers in that strange house.

"Well," I said finally, "there's of course
nothing for me to do, then, but to leave.  Miss
Fielding has told me explicitly that your
judgment can be depended upon.  I have no
right here, of course; I'm an interloper——"

She put a dark, well-shaped hand on my
arm, in timid reproach.

"Yet, I hope you can trust me," I added,
not hesitating to clasp that hand in
friendship and confidence.

She took it away quickly, but looked at me
with her soul in her dark eyes.  "Oh, I'm
sure of you!" she said simply.

"You make it very hard for me to go," I
ventured.

"I shall think of you," she replied.  "I
shall long for your strength and judgment.
I must think it over, more, and try to decide
on a line of action.  It may be—I won't
promise—that I shall send for you to come
down."

"I'll come at a moment's notice!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, do let me help in some way!"

"Would you?"  She clasped her hands to
her breast again and sighed, as if I had
really helped her by my promise.  Then,
"I'm glad to be able to know that.  Miss Joy
likes you.  I think you have a rare sympathy
for her condition.  It's a relief.  Then we'll
leave it that way.  So you'll go?"

"To-morrow morning," I answered.





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   \VII

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We met, next morning, in the library, for I
could move alone, now, and had gone down
early.  My hostess, dressed in white duck,
was in her most exquisitely graceful mood,
quite the delicate, refined, intense woman I
had first known.

"Do you really think that it's safe for you
to leave to-day!" she asked, when I had
announced my intention to her.  "I am afraid
we shall miss you very much, Mr. Castle.  I
feel quite as if I had made a friend."

"If you do, it more than repays me for my
accident, Miss Fielding.  It only remains for
you to prove it by permitting me to do
something for you."

She smiled quickly.  "Stay here a while
longer, then!"

"Ah, you know how glad I'd be to!  But
I really must get back.  I've imposed on your
hospitality unconscionably, already."

"Oh, well," she turned to the window, "if
you're going to pay me the conventional
compliments, we won't press it."

"If you knew what an immensely unwarranted
interest I've begun to take in you,
you'd spare *me*," I replied.

She held out her hand to me, her graceful
fingers slightly divergent, exquisitely posed.
"Thank you for your gallantry," she said.
"You came out of the dark, were literally
dumped here, you know, and it has been
wonderful that we have understood each other
as well as we have."  She stayed my
interruption, with a wave of her hand.  "Oh, I
understand you, I think, at least well enough
to be sure of you.  But, let's be frank—you
don't *quite* understand me, yet.  You don't
quite approve of me.  Nevertheless, you like
me, and we can be friends.  It may indeed be
that I shall put you, sometime, to the test,
and give you the chance of proving it.  Until
that time comes, you'll have to stay on the
island, Mr. Castle, I'm afraid."

I saw by these words that she must have
forgotten her revelations of the night before.
It didn't seem quite fair not to let her know.
So, risking her displeasure, I came out with it.

"May I venture to remind you of what you
said last night?"

She looked hard at me.  "What did I
say?  What do you mean?  About what?
We talked of so many things, you know."  She
was embarrassed, on the defense, watching
eagerly my first word of enlightenment.

"About your memory," I prompted.

"My memory?  I don't quite recall—"  Her
lips were parted and her fists closed a
little as she waited.

"About your having amnesia, you know."

Her hand went to her heart.

"I only mention it," I said, "because I
don't want to take advantage of any ignorance
you may have concerning my position—and
what I *do* know.  If you have forgotten
possibly, I think I ought to tell you, for I
can't pretend to be on the island when I am
not.  It seems to me that quite in spite of
myself I've got off it.  What you said about
Doctor Copin——"

She caught me up, now, a little wildly,
discarding further attempt at evasion.  Her
face had suddenly grown white.  "What did
I say?" she asked.

"Oh, only that he was treating you for the
amnesia," I replied.  I couldn't possibly
repeat the rest of it.

She put her hands to her face for a
moment, hiding its expression.  Then she
withdrew them, compressed her lips, and, tipping
her head back a little, shook it with the old
gesture, as if to regain control of herself.
Then she came up to me and put both her
hands on my shoulders.

"It isn't your fault, I know, Mr. Castle.
But you *are* off the island, and I'm
afraid—that it's all over, now."

"Isn't it really all begun, rather?" I replied.

Her hands dropped to her sides, and she
walked away to the window.  "Oh, I don't
know, I don't know!" she moaned.  "You
have made me think terrible things.  But
never mind.  I didn't want you to know about
me, I hoped we could be friends without.  I
couldn't risk it, I can't risk it now.  You
mustn't try to find out, you mustn't even
wonder.  Just be a little sorry for me—and
wait."

She sat down in the broad window-seat, and
laid her head back for a moment among the
silk pillows, with a wearied settling of her
body, closing her eyes.  I didn't know what
to say or do, so I did nothing, and was silent.
She sat up again, took the crystal prism that
still lay there, and gazed into it abstractedly,
as if she were seeing visions.  Then, still
holding it, she looked up at me with a
faraway smile.  It was a new expression I saw
on her face; it had the pathetic look of some
elf, lost in a strange, terrible land.  At last
she said, "Come over here, and sit down
beside me, please!"

I did so; and, still fondling the prism, which
shot prismatic colors into the room, she said,
as with great effort:

"Did you ever, in your childhood, read the
story of the *White Cat*?  It's a fairy tale,
you know."

The name had struck me as familiar when
she used it before, but I could not recall the
story.

"It was one of those tales of the three
quests, wasn't it?" I said.

"Yes; there are many variations of the
same theme.  It is the story of a king and his
three sons.  The father decided first to leave
his throne to the one who would find the
smallest dog in the world; then he gave them
another quest, to find a piece of cloth that
would go through the eye of a needle.  Of
course, the youngest son won each time, but
the king wasn't contented, and for the final
test commanded them to find the most
beautiful lady in the world."

"And the youngest son won, of course.
He always does, but he never plays fair.
He's always helped by a fairy godmother
or something."

"Of course.  Such are the ethics of Fairyland.
This prince was helped by a white cat.
While he was on his travels he found her
castle in a deep forest, and he was carried in
by invisible hands."

"Just like me," I remarked.

She looked at me for a moment with an
amusing expression of surprise, and a timid
smile crept to her face.  "That's so, isn't
it?  How queer!  Why, I'll have to give you
my little Hiawatha, to carry it out, won't I?
Will you take him?"

"Oh, if you would!" I said.  "I'd love
to have him.  It will be delightful to have
something that has belonged to you."

"He's not the smallest dog in the world,
but he's yours."

"And the third quest?" I reminded her.

"The third quest was the hardest of all.
He came to White Cat's castle again, and he
stayed a year.  They had a most delightful
time together."

"I can understand *that*.  Just as we have had."

Her gaze went down to her feet.  "Yes,
just as we have had here at Midmeadows."

I reached over and took the prism from
her hand.  I couldn't help wanting to touch
her, however casually.

"And of course—you don't need to tell me—he
did find the fairest lady in the whole
world."

She smiled dimly and clasped her hands.
"Thank you," she said, not too absorbed to
pay me most graciously for my compliment.
Then, more seriously, she added, "Yes, I am
the White Cat.  That is the way you must
think of me, when you have gone.  The
enchanted White Cat!"

I dared not answer.  All the peculiar
moods she had shown me came up for a new
vision.  So she knew that something was the
matter, something of which her amnesia was
only a symptom.  She had never come so
close to it before.  I stooped down, took her
hand and carried it to my lips.

"White Cat," I said, "I don't know
whether you are enchanted or not, but I know
you're enchanting!"

"Be careful I don't scratch you!" she said,
a little bitterly.

"Ah, White Cat never did that, I'm sure."

"Yes, once, when she was invisible.  The
Prince doubted her.  Do you know how it
ended?" she asked.

"How?"

"White Cat told the Prince that, to destroy
the fatal work of the fairies, it was
necessary for him to cut off her head and her tail
and fling them into the fire."  She put her
hand gently upon mine.  "Would you do
that for me, if I asked it?"

I puzzled with it.  There was something
tragic in her tone, but I was quite at a loss
to interpret her symbolism.

"Would it ever come to that?  Are you
likely to call on me?" I asked her.

She tipped back her head again, shaking
away some unpleasant idea.

"Ah, this is only the first quest, you know.
You may never come again to my palace.
But *would* you?"

A dreadful meaning came straight from
her eyes to mine.

"No, I'm afraid I would not.  It would be
too terrible!"

She threw off a light laugh, and rose and
walked to the book-case beside the chimney.
Here she took down an old, tattered,
red-covered volume and rapidly turned the pages
till she found her place.  Then she came back
to her seat beside me, and, pointing to the
lines, read aloud:

.. vspace:: 2

"'I!' exclaimed the Prince.  'Blanchette, my
love!  I be so barbarous as to kill you!  Ah! you
would doubtless try my heart; but rest assured it
is incapable of forgetting the love and gratitude it
owes to you.'

"'No, son of a king,' continued she, 'I do not
suspect thee of ingratitude.  I know thy worth.
It is neither thou nor I who in this affair can
control our destiny.  Do as I bid thee.  We shall both
of us begin to be happy, and, on the faith of a cat
of reputation and honor, thou wilt acknowledge
that I am truly thy friend.'"

.. vspace:: 2

"But it ended happily, like all fairy tales.
So will yours, I'm sure," I remarked.

She let the book drop wearily.  "It must
end some way—why not that?"

I clasped her hand.  "You must not think
of it, Miss Fielding!  It appals me."

"Well, I won't speak of it again.  But I
should be glad to have a friend who would
help me, if worst came to worst."

"You forget that, in spite of what I know,
I am still on the island, after all; I can't yet
judge of such a necessity."

"Well, Leah and I will fight it out."

"You said, once, that I could trust Leah
in everything.  Do you still mean that?"

"Absolutely.  In fact, you can trust her
when you're uncertain of me.  Do you
understand?  I can't make it too emphatic."

"I understand," I said.

It was almost time to go now, and so,
while I went up-stairs to see that my things
were ready, Miss Fielding and Leah got
Hiawatha, fixed a collar and chain on him, and
put him into the carriage, highly excited at
the prospect of traveling.  Leah shook my
hand and looked into my eyes with gratitude.

Uncle Jerdon drove up to the front door,
and I got in beside him and captured the
frisky puppy, who proceeded to bite my hand
playfully.  It had been arranged that I was
to send some one down to repair the automobile,
and I permitted myself to hope that I
might find in that a sufficient excuse to come
back myself.  So it was not altogether with
a feeling of permanent parting that I finally
gave my hand to Miss Fielding.

"Well, good-by, White Cat," I said, as
Uncle Jerdon took up the reins.

"Good-by, Prince!" she answered, smiling.

We drove off, and, as we turned into the
long lane which led to the highroad, I saw the
two women standing in the sunshine, at the
front door, and waved a last farewell to them.
With all the sinister suggestions that had
been crowding upon me, I could not bear to
leave them alone.  "White Cat White Cat,"
was still echoing in my ears.

Uncle Jerdon winked at me.

"Lord, she's as crazy as a loon, ain't she?"

"Do you think so?" I asked coldly.

"Plum' crazy.  She ought to be into an
asylum, and would be, if she had any folks to
send her there.  But she's a dandy when
she's all right, you can bet on that!"

I did not encourage him to go on, and for
the rest of the way to the station we talked
of his rheumatism and the extravagance of
his nephew's second wife.





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   PART SECOND

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   \I

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My machine had been repaired for a week,
but I had not had it brought up to town,
when I received a note from Leah.  It was
dated "Tuesday."

"Come down immediately," she wrote, "if
you can think of a plausible pretext, but don't
say that I sent for you.  Miss Fielding will
not ask you, herself, but we need you very
much.  I trust to you."

I took an early afternoon train the next
day, and, finding no one to meet me at the
station, engaged a carriage to take me over
to Miss Fielding's place.  My driver would,
I am sure, have been glad to gossip with me
upon the lady's affairs, but I headed off all
his hints, knowing pretty well from Uncle
Jerdon's insinuations what the tenor of the
neighborhood talk must be.

Midmeadows was about four miles from
the station, and a half-mile back from the
county road.  The house was approached by
two long lanes overgrown with shrubbery
and hazels, one from the seaside on the
east, and one from the main road on the
north.  We took the latter, a wild and
tangled wagon-track, filled with stones and
hummocks, and worn into deep holes.  The
boughs of trees constantly scraped across the
top of the buggy and often hung low enough
to threaten our eyes.  Near the house, the
lane took a turn round the corner of an
extensive, old-fashioned garden of hollyhocks,
rose-bushes, poppies and violets, then swung
up to the green, eight-paneled front door,
with its transom of old bull's-eye panes.
The copse came in close to the garden, partly
inclosing it on two sides.  To the right of
the house vegetables were planted, with
meadows beyond, and behind, the hill rose
almost from the stable.  The whole place
had a charming natural wildness, and
seemed, as indeed it was, miles away from
any other human habitation; but it was not
uncared-for; its natural features had been
amended and composed with the care of a
true artist.

The house itself was long and low,
covered with unstained shingles.  A great
square brick chimney rose from the middle of
the gambrel-roof.  The lower windows were
leaded and built out into wide bays, but they
showed above the little-paned sashes of the
original building.  The front was almost
hidden by climbing Cecil Bruner roses, now
odorously in bloom.  The southern side was
lined with a row of geraniums which rose in
huge bushes.  Here, in the second story, was
another bay-window of curious construction,
somewhat resembling the stern of an old
galleon.  It was Miss Fielding's sitting-room,
which I had not yet visited.

The place seemed deserted, for not even
the dogs were visible.  I got out and
knocked, while my driver waited curiously to
catch what was, probably, a rare glimpse of
the mistress of the house.

Joy herself, wearing a white duck sailor
suit, with a red handkerchief knotted about
her neck, answered my knock.  She held her
hand to her eyes to shade them from the rays
of the afternoon sun, so that I could not, at
first, quite make out her expression.  The
first thing she showed, after her surprise,
was a most cordial satisfaction at seeing
me.  She did not, apparently, expect me, but
my presence delighted her.  I saw next that
she was in trouble.  The very intensity of
her welcome alarmed me.  The two vertical
lines between her brows were deeply cut into
her forehead, her lips were quivering, there
were dark circles under her eyes.

She drew me quickly into the library, and
I saw terror in her look.  Her cheeks were
pale and wan.  Her hand trembled, as it lay
on the back of a chair where she leaned.

"Oh, I am so glad you have come!" had
been her first speech, murmured in the hall,
and it was repeated now as I stood before
her.  "I am so glad you have come!  I need
you so!"

I had fancied before that her face was one
capable of expressing tragedy—not every
woman's is.  Tragedy shadowed her face now,
giving her a newer, more dramatic beauty so
moving that, despite my alarm, I could not
help wondering at it.

"You are not well," I exclaimed.

"Oh, well enough—" she replied.

"Something is the matter—what is it?"

"Sit down and I'll try to tell you."  She
dropped into a chair, with her elbow on the
table, letting her cheek fall into the hollow
of her palm.  Her eyes closed for a moment;
the soft, long lashes shading her pale cheek.
Then she shook herself and sat erect.  "I'm
so sleepy!" she moaned.  "I haven't slept
since night before last."

I sprang up from the window-seat.
"Won't you lie down here and rest?  Do!"
I pleaded.

"Oh, I don't dare!  I don't dare!" she cried.

"Tell me what is troubling you, so that I
may try to help you!"

She looked up and said, "Leah has gone!"
and she put out a hand that trembled with a
despairing gesture.

"Gone?" I repeated.  "Where!"

"I don't know where.  I don't know when
she went.  I don't know even why."

"Do you fear she has met with an accident, then?"

"Oh, no, not that.  Worse than that!"  She
spoke helplessly.

"Worse?" I could not understand.

"I mean I think I must have driven her away."

I still could not guess.  "Why, how could
you have done that?  You mean that she
took offense at something, perhaps?"

"Oh, I must have made it impossible for
her to stay."

"But what did you do?  She was devoted
to you."

She sprang up and wailed out with bitter
vehemence, "Oh, I don't know!  I don't *know*!
If I only knew, I could do something.  But
what can I do, now?  She's gone.  She was
my right hand, my eyes, my ears, my memory—but
it's not *that*!  It's that I could have
been cruel enough to her to drive her away.
Where is she?  Where could she have gone,
do you think?  I've waited and waited to
hear from her, or for her to come back—two
whole days!  I didn't go to bed at all last
night.  I didn't dare, lest she should come
while I was asleep."

"You expect her to return, then?"

She was walking up and down the room,
her hands clasped behind her back tightly.  I
could see that she was on the verge of
hysteria.  She turned to me again, and said:

"Oh, Leah would never abandon me,
never!  She's too true for that.  But she's
afraid to come back!"

I went up to her and led her gently to the seat.

"Now," I said, "tell me exactly what has
happened."

She broke out again wildly, her face twitching
with excitement.  "I don't *know*!  Don't
you *see* I don't know?  That's the horror of
it!  I may have killed her, for all I know!"

"Ah!  Do you mean," I began, afraid to
say it, "that you've forgotten?"

She stared at me.  "Forgotten?  Well,
you may call it that.  Yes, I've forgotten."  She
put her face into the pillow and began
to sob convulsively.  After this nervous
crisis had spent itself she sat up, wiped her
eyes and said with a faint, spectral smile:

"Oh, I'll have to tell you everything, now.
I can't bear it any longer.  It was bad
enough while I had Leah to depend upon, but
now I must have somebody to confide in, or I
shall go mad—if I haven't already gone mad."

I looked over at the table where I noticed
a coffee-pot and a cup on a salver.  "How
much coffee have you drunk?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know.  Cup after cup.  I've
been drinking it all day to keep me awake."

"That accounts for your nerves.  You
must rest.  If you sleep a little, you'll get
your strength back."

She sprang up suddenly, her gripped fists
raised, her head thrown back in a sudden new
access of alarm.  "Oh, no, no, no!  You
don't understand!  I *daren't* sleep!  I'm
afraid—afraid!  How do I know what may
happen, now when I'm so worn out!"

I had done considerable thinking while I
was away, and I had done some reading as
well.  I was beginning now to make it out,
piece by piece, and put it together in an
astonishing whole.  It was too late, in this
crisis, for reserves, too late for me to keep to
my promise of not trying to know.  The girl
was distraught and alone.  And, indeed, the
door to the cupboard where her skeleton had
been hidden was now well ajar.

"You are afraid, you mean, of the *other*
one?" I brought it out deliberately.

She stared at me, like a somnambulist.

"Yes," she whispered, "of the 'other one.'"

Then for the first time, and quite
unconsciously, I think, she used my name.  It
seemed so natural to me that I was not surprised.

"Oh, I'm so glad you know, at last,
Chester.  I'm so glad that it will be easier to tell
you."  She put her hand on my arm and
looked up at me in tenderest confidence.
"Now you know why I called myself the
'White Cat.'"

"Yes, I see.  Don't be alarmed.  I'll help
you.  You must calm yourself and we'll find
out a way.  I know *her*, you know."

"Yes, I know you do.  You must tell me
all about her, sometime.  How you must
have hated me!"

"Perhaps I can manage her, but no matter
about her, now.  We must think it all out,
and decide calmly what to do.  I'm not
afraid.  Trust me, and I'll see you through.
It will all come out right, I'm sure."

I went on so, purposely iterating such
phrases to lull her, and key down the intense
strain which wrought upon her.  Her eyes
kept on me, and I saw my influence work—my
suggestion, I might say, since it was purposely
hypnotic.  Her hysteria made her
abnormally sensitive to the treatment.  She
relaxed her attitude slightly, sighed, and
dropped back among the silken pillows behind her.

"Oh, you're so good!" she breathed.
"You *will* help me, I'm sure.  You have
helped me already!  You're so strong—it's
such a comfort to have you here!"  She
reached her hand out shyly and put it in
mine, where it lay, small and cold.  It was the
first time she had done so, except under the
direct stress of an earnestness strong enough
to rob the act of any personal suggestion.
It was a distinct caress, fearless and genuine.

"Now," I said, "begin at the beginning,
and tell me all about what has happened."

She took it up again with a new courage.
"As I've said, I don't know when Leah left.
I only know that when I rang for her
yesterday morning she didn't come.  I went into
her room and she wasn't there.  She wasn't
down-stairs.  King didn't know anything
about it."

"Nor Uncle Jerdon?"

"Uncle Jerdon has been away for three
days, visiting his nephew, who's ill.  You
see, she—the other one—was here for two
days running.  It hasn't happened so for
years.  So whether it happened, whatever
did happen, on Monday or Tuesday, I can't
tell.  Leah might have left either day."

"How do you know that 'the other one'
was here for two days?"

"Only because Sunday is the last thing I
remember before yesterday morning.  The
doctor was down then.  You know that
there's a hiatus when she's here—a perfect
blank in my memory.  I lose time, as she
does, when I'm here."

Her mention of the doctor started a new
train of thought, but I put that by for the
present, to tell her of the letter I had
received from Leah, which made it probable
that she had left on Tuesday, the second day
of "the other one."  The situation was
serious enough, I was sure, for me to disobey
Leah's injunction to secrecy.

"Oh," said Joy, "that relieves my mind
a little.  It shows that Leah had a plan, and
she must have stayed somewhere near here,
expecting you, though how she happened to
miss you, I don't see.  It's quite right for
you to have told me, for I had already
telephoned to you—to-day, after you started.  I
was surprised to see you appear so soon, for
that reason.  I was at my wits' end yesterday,
but I hated to drag you into this.  But
what could I do?  Doctor Copin has gone
out of town for a few days."

"I'm glad you sent for me," I said.  "I
shan't have to feel that I'm intruding.  But
now the question is, why doesn't Leah come
back?  Why didn't she wait for me at the
station?"

"She must have been awfully frightened,
to have gone away like this," Joy said.

"Perhaps *she* discharged her—I know she
complained of Leah a good deal."

"Yes, I've thought of that.  But I fear it's
even worse."

"In any case, there's no reason why she
shouldn't come back, now that 'the other one'
has disappeared," I said.

"How can Leah tell?" Joy exclaimed.
"How will she know whether it is I or 'the
other one'?  We're really the same person,
outwardly.  There's no difference that she
could recognize unless she talked to me.
That's what has terrified me."

Then, for the first time, I saw the dilemma.
How, indeed, could Leah know?  The same
woman, the same clothes—but yet, how
different!  "Have you no sign?" I asked.
"Haven't you ever arranged it with Leah so
that she can tell?"

"Oh, not for a case like this.  It has never
been necessary.  You see, the change always
comes at night, at least always during sleep,
so that when I wake up she can tell right off,
by asking me what I'll have for breakfast.
We've arranged it so that I shall always give
a fanciful reply, and let *her* give an obvious
commonplace one.  But now, Leah daren't
come in, for she knows that if I should happen
to be 'the other one,' there'll be the same
terrible something that happened before—a
quarrel, or worse."

"Still, there are some apparent differences.
You dress differently, it seems to me.
You usually wear white.  Won't Leah know
by her experience of you both?"

"Oh, no; you can't tell.  *She's* so
whimsical—sometimes she'll do one thing, and
sometimes another, like a child.  You can't
depend on her.  She's tricky, too."

"I could tell, I'm sure—by your eyes.
Hers are darker, and the pupils are dilated,
aren't they, usually?"

"Yes—but Leah daren't come near enough
for that, don't you see?  Oh, she must be in
agony, poor girl!  But how do I know?  She
may be dead!"

"You forget that she has written to me
since leaving."

"Oh, yes—that is a relief.  But I may
have hurt her."

"Oh, Joy!  Don't say *you* could have—it
was not you, it was Edna."

"Well, how can I tell whether or not I'm
responsible?"

"I don't think she would have struck her,"
I said.

"No?  She did once, though.  She stabbed
Leah with a carving-tool on the wrist.  It
always sickens me to see that scar.  Oh, she
has a temper!  Poor Leah!"

She lay back on the cushions again and
closed her eyes.  Her hand had relaxed in
mine.

I looked at her, so wearied and pale, and
said softly:

"You just drop off to sleep for a little
while, and I'll think it over—"

She nerved her body, and pulled herself up.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed.  "I'm dying for
sleep, but don't you see I can't?  If I should
fall asleep who would it be that would awake?
It might be *she*."

"By Jove!" I cried, "I hadn't thought of that!"

"I've thought of nothing else.  That's
why I've stayed up and kept awake while I
am so exhausted.  If Leah comes back, she
must find me here, and not 'the other one.'  I
must see her and find out what has
happened—we must arrange for everything and
decide what plan to adopt to circumvent *her*.
Oh, I *must* keep awake!"  Even as she spoke
her head dropped again heavily.

"You can't tell, then, when the change is
likely to come?"

"Sometimes I have a feeling—a premonition—like
that night, don't you remember,
when I was so blue?  I knew that I was
going to change.  But usually I can't tell.
*She* has come lately, about two days in the
seven, but irregularly.  It's almost always
after a deep, heavy sleep.  You remember
how late *she* used to lie abed?  That's what
worries me now.  I'm absolutely exhausted,
and if I do fall asleep, I'll go down deep.
So deep, I'm afraid, that I'll change.  Can
you think what a horror that is to me?  I
must stay up till Leah comes.  You must
promise to keep me awake by every means in
your power.  But even then, what are we
going to do?  How can we arrange a way
for Leah to get along with her?"

"That's where I come into the game," I
said.  "I think I can solve that problem."

"How did you get on with her?" Joy
asked timidly.  It was quite as if she were
asking about another woman, and feared to
commit an impertinence.  "Do you like
her?" she added.

"She's not to be compared to you, of
course.  But there's much that's likable
about her, and at least, we get on beautifully.
And so we shall this time, if she'll only let
me stay.  That's the difficulty."

"Oh, *she'll* let you stay, she'll be only too
glad.  She likes you, Leah says."  Her
brows drew together, and I wondered how
much she knew.

"Well, then, I'll undertake to make her
keep Leah."

"Oh, if you can do that—on any terms—we
can stand it, both of us.  Leah will suffer
anything, I'm sure, rather than leave me."

"One thing more, then—since I must have
all the information if I am to do anything—what
does *she* know?"

"About me?  Nothing, I think.  At least
she has never been told, I mean—we've always
kept it from her.  She thinks she's the
only one."

"I don't see how that can be possible!"

"It does seem strange; but then, you know
she's mentally undeveloped.  In some ways
she's a mere child.  And then, too, she has
never known it to be any different—why
should she suspect that there is another
personality—that she isn't the real Joy
Fielding?  She's conscious that she loses time,
so to speak, and she thinks it is only the fault
of her memory."

I thought it over a while.  Then I said:
"She wouldn't say much about it to me, and
so I didn't quite get her point of view.  It
baffles me.  She must know that she does
things in the lapses, even if she doesn't
recall them."

"I don't know that she's even aware of
that.  She may think that she's unconscious,
during these lapses, but most likely it is just
like dreams.  Even if we vaguely remember
them, for a moment, we forget them, and
they don't seem to have been real—or,
perhaps, they're like delirium, or insane
intervals, of which she has no memory.  Why, a
man may even be simply drunk, and not
recall what he has done, and that self is, really,
a different personality."

"But," I pursued, "do *you* forget, too?"

"Yes.  That is, almost always.  At times
I have had vague formless memories, as one
has of dreams—that's about as much as this
second life ever is associated with my
normal one—if what I now have is the
normal—how do I know even that?  But I have
known about the duality almost from the
first, and of course Leah keeps me informed
of everything that happens.  You see,
sometimes I'm not even aware that there *has* been
a lapse—I don't realize that it isn't just the
next day.  Leah tells *her* as little as possible
about me.  She's easily managed and put off,
usually, but somehow of late she seems to
have grown stronger.  She seems to be
developing mentally.  It frightens me a little."

"You don't think that anybody has told
her, possibly?" I suggested.

"There's nobody to tell her.  Of course
Leah never would."

"Uncle Jerdon?"

"Oh, he thinks I'm crazy, and he never
talks, anyway, I'm sure.  He doesn't realize
what's happening, for, after all, we're
not obviously different; *she* might be taken
for me in some queer mood, I mean," she
added.

"King?"

"I believe he thinks that I'm possessed of
a devil.  Which I think I am!"  She paused
to smile faintly.  "Anyway, he minds his
own business.  I have an idea that he has a
reason for wanting to keep quiet."

"Or, lastly, then, the doctor?"  I put it
hesitatingly, yet I wanted to know what she
would say.  Her answer was prompt.

"He wouldn't tell, I'm sure.  Why, he
wants to cure me.  It would spoil all chance
of that, I think, if *she* knew."

I wasn't so sure of the doctor, after what
Leah had said to me, but it would do no good,
now, to mention that.  She had trouble
enough at present not to worry her with new
doubts.

"Then, is it possible that she might have
come across some evidence of you, in your
writings, or something that would arouse her
curiosity?"

"Oh, I think she hasn't the least suspicion.
As I said, it must all seem natural enough
for her to lose time—she has always done
so.  Everything is accounted for to her by
the fact that she forgets.  Of course, I am
careful to hide everything that is strictly my
own, anything, that is, that she would not
understand.  Leah keeps all my private letters
under lock and key.  I'm very careful, for
I've been on my guard since it first began."

"How long?" I asked.

"Ever since I was thirteen.  That's when
she came first."

"It's incredible!" I exclaimed.  "Of
course, I've heard of such multiple personalities,
of the celebrated ones, but they've
seemed only like queer, improbable cases out
of a book—monstrosities.  Or I've regarded
them as half-crazed or hysterical or
somnambulistic.  But *you*, Miss Fielding!  You seem
so beautifully sane, so poised, so complete—it's
like a fairy tale.  Oh, you are the 'White
Cat'!  You are under a spell!"

"It's only because I'm not a poor girl that
I'm not a mere 'case,' I assure you.  You
don't know what a life I've led, how every
physician I've had has wanted to study me,
or put me in a sanatorium or a hospital or
an asylum or worse.  Yes, if I hadn't the
money, I should probably be in a mad-house
at this moment.  Do you realize how easy
it would be for a physician to put me there?
From the ordinary point of view, I'm virtually
insane part of the time.  I have been in
great danger, Chester.  But, having some
money, I have been able to get away from
people and seclude myself and retain my
freedom—if you call it freedom to be cheated
out of part of your natural life!  I have had
Leah, and she was enough.  She understands,
she's loyal, and she is, above all, wise
and good."

"But the doctor—what about him?"

"Of course I must have a physician at
times, and Doctor Copin is a good one, and
interested in my case.  He has been most
kind to me.  Of course I *am* interesting,
though, psychologically, and he's probably
written a monograph about me for some medical
society already.  But I have him chiefly
for medical troubles, and to keep general run
of this thing, enough to advise me."

This was rather different from what Edna
had led me to believe, so I said:

"He hasn't attempted to treat you for this
psychological dissociation?"

"No.  He has wanted to.  In fact, he's
always urging me to allow him to see what he
can do, but I won't let him.  He wants to
hypnotize me—but I don't quite dare—would you?"

"No," I said.  "I'd advise you not to.  If
that's to be done you ought to go to a great
specialist."

I thought I had a clue now that would bear
following up, but I decided to think it over a
while before I spoke of it.

So intently had we talked, that we had
scarcely noticed the darkness which had
fallen until King's gong aroused us.  Joy
rose wearily.

"Would you mind lighting the candles?"
she said.

She waited till all the sconces were burning
and then, as I went to the window, she
said:

"No, leave the shades up, please!  I want
the windows left so that Leah, if she comes,
may look in.  I feel somehow that she is near
here, that she will come this evening, if she
dares."

"Why haven't you been out where she
could see you, then?  Have you thought to
call her?"

She looked at me blankly.  "Why, I
*haven't* thought of that, have I?  But would
she dare come?"

"Try it now!" I exclaimed.

"I will!"  She went to the front door and
threw it open and cried:

"Leah!—Leah!—Leah!  Come here!  It's
all right.  I want you, dear!"

There was enough in the scene—the stillness
that ensued, the gathering mysterious
twilight that shrouded the house, the tragic
quaver in Joy's voice—to make me thrill to
its dramatic power.  She stood there for a
few minutes, all in white, waiting, her hands
clasped on her breast, vividly illuminated by
the candles.  But no sound came out of the
shadows of the night.

Joy closed the door; then, with quick
second thought, she returned to leave it ajar,
and came back into the library.

We had moved almost to the dining-room,
when, on a sudden whim, she paused, turned
and looked toward the window.  My own
eyes followed hers.  There was a dark face
peering in—so dark that the whites of the
eyes and the teeth were almost all that was
visible, though enough to show who it was.

"*Leah!*" Joy cried, and ran again to the
door, crying out hysterically.  She called
again, but no answer came.

It occurred to me that the excited accents
of Joy's voice might well be misleading, and
for the first time I thought to try myself.
Joy had returned, to throw herself down,
sobbing, full length upon the window-seat, her
heart breaking with the suspense and
disappointment.  The strain was too much for
her, after her hours of hope and fear.  I did
not stop to comfort her then, but ran to the
doorway and stood in the lighted hall there
in plain sight.

"Leah!" I called.  "Come here, it's
I—Mr. Castle.  I want you!"

There was still no reply, but, feeling sure
that Leah must be near at hand, I started off
vaguely in the dark.  I had gone but to the
turn of the lane when I heard footsteps,
running.  Then in a rush Leah was upon me,
and had seized my hand.

"Oh, Mr. Castle!  I'm so glad you've
come—but I was afraid to go in.  I was
afraid I might make it worse if *she* was there.
Who is it?  Tell me quick!  Is it my own
Miss Joy, or the other?"

"It's Joy," I assured her, "and she's
waiting for you.  You must come at once."

She paused a moment, evidently wondering
if I knew the secret.

"You're sure?" she said.  "You know
that there are two?"

"Yes—I know everything, now, and this is
Joy—*your* Joy!"

She bounded forward, and I with her,
stumbling in the dark, into the doorway, to
the library.  There for a moment she
stopped, trembling so violently that her teeth
chattered audibly.  Joy was still lying
stretched out at full length upon the cushions
of the window-seat.  At the first glance Leah
did not see her, but then she ran forward,
knelt, and threw her arms about her mistress.

But the next instant, starting back as if she
had embraced a corpse, she sprang up and
faced me, her eyes opened wide in horror.

"Oh, Mr. Castle, she's *asleep*!  Miss Joy's
*asleep*!"





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   \II

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For a moment I was too surprised to realize
the full significance of Leah's cry.  Then
Joy's own words came back—the wail of her
harassed soul—"If I should fall asleep, who
would it be that would awake?"  There she
lay, asleep at last.  Her small head lay upon
her arm, and her oval face was now flushed,
her lips half parted, showing her little
blue-white teeth.  The crisp white duck blouse
moved gently with her breathing—beneath
her skirt two tiny red shoes lay one over the
other.

As she herself had said, she was so utterly
exhausted that she would "go down deep."  Dared
we awaken her?  Certainly not Leah,
who, of course, had seen the whole awful
possibility on the instant.

I had to decide.  What was to be done
must be done quickly.  If Joy were allowed
to sleep long and deeply we might confidently
expect "the other one" to awaken.  The
question was, could we, perhaps, rouse her
before that incomprehensible change had
taken place?  It seemed to be the only thing
to do.  I determined, at all events, to take
the risk.

Meanwhile, Leah had fallen into a chair,
overcome with the disappointment of the
situation.  She was in a distressing state; her
skirt was torn and soiled, her shoes dusty,
her waist disheveled.  Her black hair was
awry; she was hatless.  I thought at first
that she, too, had fallen asleep from sheer
fatigue.

I went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder
to rouse her.  She started with a
frightened jump.

"Leah," I said, "I'm going to awaken
Miss Fielding.  It's the only thing to do, I
think.  We may be able to get her again,
before she changes.  But if not, we must be
ready with some plan by which to manage
Edna.  We must hurry, though.  First, tell
me in the fewest possible words what has
happened.  Joy, of course, didn't know."

Leah had braced herself for the ordeal and
was now quick, alert and concise.  "She got
angry on account of my 'trying to run her,'
she said.  You see 'the other one' was here
for two days.  I've always been able to
manage her for one day, but the second day she
seemed to be much stronger, and it was
worse than it has ever been before.  She
found out that I had burned some of her
old clothes—Miss Joy had told me to—and
so she discharged me and told me to leave
the place immediately.  I wouldn't go, and
she went into the barn and got a horsewhip
and threatened me with it.  I was afraid,
Mr. Castle!  She was in a fearful temper.  I
was afraid she'd kill me.  Then I went.  I
stayed all night in the Harbor.  I wrote to
you as soon as I got there, for I couldn't get
you on the telephone.  Yesterday I hung
about the place all day, but she didn't
appear, and I was afraid to come in.  I
positively didn't dare, though I knew it probably
was Miss Joy.  To-day I stayed in that old
cabin down by the road all day, for I was
pretty sure it must be *she* who was here.  I
was so tired I fell asleep and that's how I
missed you, I suppose.  I've had hardly
anything to eat since yesterday—only a few
biscuits I brought with me."

I had been thinking out a plan as I listened,
and as soon as she had finished I gave Leah
her orders.

"Listen, now.  If it is 'the other one' who
awakens, I'll tell her that I happened to meet
you in the Harbor, and induced you to come
back, on my own responsibility.  Do you see?
I'll manage it; you needn't be afraid.  I'll
take care of you, and it will be all right.
Of course if it is Joy who wakes up, that will
be better.  But we must act quickly.  Can
you tell immediately who it is that awakens,
Joy or 'the other one'?"

"Oh, we can tell that easily enough, by the
way she treats me!"

"Very well, then.  You must awaken her now!"

I sat down where I could watch, and Leah
went hesitatingly up to her mistress again,
and shook her shoulder gently.

"Wake up, Miss Joy!" she said softly, but
firmly.  "Wake up, you're catching cold,
honey."

Joy moaned, turned a little, then drew
herself together again drowsily.

"Wake up, Miss Joy, you must have your
dinner now!"

She moved again, and muttered, "Oh, I'm
so sleepy!  Let me go to sleep, Leah,
please!"

Again Leah shook her.  It seemed cruel to
have to bring that exhausted body back to
life.  "Wake up, Miss Joy.  Mr. Castle's
here to see you!  Wake up!"

She opened her eyes now, and stared
vacantly at us.  Then her face changed
gloriously.  She flung her arms round Leah's
neck.

"Oh, Leah!  Leah!  You've come back to me!"

It was some moments before either of the
women was able to speak.  They clung to
each other, sobbing.

After the first hurried words of explanation
were over, Joy went up to her room to
wash her face and freshen herself for what
was yet to be done.  Leah went with her,
almost too happy to think of her own sorry
appearance.  Both came down, after a while,
in a change of costume, and went with me
into the dining-room where King was
patiently waiting to serve the meal so long
delayed.  Joy showed plainly the ravages
which two days of suspense and agony had
accomplished, but she was braced mentally
by my presence and Leah's return, and in a
condition to discuss calmly what was to be
done.  Leah had also rallied from her
collapse, and the dinner brought her strength
and courage.

The meal was over before we had settled
how Leah could be kept in favor with "the
other one"—whom we agreed, hereafter, to
call Edna—and we were still uncertain as to
our actions in regard to many other
complications which might arise.  It depended
principally upon the extent of my influence
with Edna.  To hear Joy discuss these
phases of her condition in that other
state—her fondness for me, her whims, her
weaknesses—gave me a strange sensation.  But
what struck me as most remarkable in her
talk was the sense of justice she always
showed in regard to Edna.  One might have
expected Joy to resent the intrusion of this
second personality, so inimical to her own
interests, but she never failed to acknowledge
Edna's rights.  Indeed, her whole attitude
was that Edna was strictly another
person, rather than some part of herself
broken off and endowed with an independent
existence—which was my theory of the situation.

I quite lost myself in the subtleties of the
case.  To know that probably on the
morrow I should be face to face with this same
woman, in form and feature precisely the
same, and yet as different from her, really, as
the West is from the East, gave me, in spite
of my effort to concentrate my mind upon
the affair, a sort of mental instability which
was disconcerting.  I could not quite believe
that she would or could change.  She seemed
too real, too normal, if I may qualify such
adjectives.  And besides all this, I had
begun to think of her in another way, which
made the prospect of any such change seem
unbearable.

Meanwhile, Joy grew steadily sleepier.
She roused herself occasionally, by an effort,
but would droop the moment she had stopped
speaking.  Coffee no longer stimulated her.
She began to walk up and down the room,
leaning on Leah's arm, as if she were
fighting off the effects of laudanum.  Her
suffering was cruel.  We had, at last, to resort
to strychnia.

So, for another hour we talked, while she
became more haggard, more weak.  Up and
down, up and down the room they went.  We
talked of seeking the advice of some specialist,
here or abroad, of the possibility of a
direct appeal to Edna, in the chance of some
compromise to be effected, of Leah's actions
should she be peremptorily discharged again,
of the prospect of her being able to stay in
the vicinity, to return as soon as Joy's own
personality had reasserted itself, of the
proper method of safeguarding Joy's
property, of the possibility of Edna's actually
departing from Midmeadows—there were a
hundred sides to the subject, and all baffling.
There seemed to be nothing to do but to
await further developments and see if I
myself could not succeed in managing Edna.  I
rather wondered at the fact that Joy did not
once mention the doctor as a possible
coöperator with us.  It seemed to me that she
instinctively distrusted him, though she never
permitted herself to say so.  It was no doubt
her fairness, rather than any conviction of
his ability, that prevented.

Finally she stopped, scarcely able to hold
herself up, as frail as a wilted flower, and
said, with an effort at a smile:

"I'm afraid it's no use, Chester; I'm too
far gone to think.  I can't control my mind
any longer.  I must have sleep.  You and
Leah will have to settle it together—I'll
leave it all to you—I'll agree to whatever you
think best.  I'm no more use than a baby
to-night.  Let me be your little sister and tell
me what to do.  I'm tired, tired—tired."

My heart ached for her.  Her mouth was
trembling like a child's just before crying,
her eyelids hung heavy, all but closed.  What
she must suffer at the thought of sinking into
temporary oblivion and resigning herself to
the inevitable possession of "the other one,"
I could easily imagine.  I implored her to go
to bed.

When the two women had left, I pulled
down the curtains, seated myself in the
armchair, lighted my pipe and began to think it
over.

I had seen Edna but twice, but, from what
had happened, I was able to form a fair idea
of her character.  She was, in the first
place, by no means the equal of Joy's true
self.  Mentally she was less developed; in
some respects, as Joy had said, a mere child.
She was inclined to be untidy, full of animal
spirits, and constructive, in a mechanical
way.  She was not fond of animals; not, at
least, of the dogs, and the same strain showed
itself, I thought, in her prejudice against
Leah, as a colored woman.  There was something
of that lack of charity, also, in the fun
she had made of Uncle Jerdon, something of
which Joy herself would be incapable.  Edna
was inclined to be bromic; Joy was
indubitably a sulphite.  Lastly, there was, I
remembered, that hint of—what would I call
it?—indiscretion? forwardness?—in the way
she had "made up" to me that last evening I
spent with her.

Here, perhaps, was a suggestion as to how
I might manage her.  It was not pleasant;
the less so because I must necessarily keep it
from both Joy and Leah.  From Joy for
obvious reasons—I could not think of
permitting her to suspect that, even in this other
phase, she was in the least lacking in
delicacy—from Leah because she was, in her
way, finer even than Joy.  It would cause
her, in fact, the keener suffering to know that
any such thing was going on in the house.
And yet I could not quite bear to act, even in
these circumstances, secretly.  The matter
had been left to my judgment; but I could
not yet make up my mind what was right.  It
was a choice of two evils, perhaps, but the
thought of permitting even the lesser one to
obtain troubled me.  In a few words, Edna
was apparently fond of me.  I didn't care to
put it any more strongly than that at present,
nor to say that I would admit this basis of
friendship as a condition in which I could
manage her.  But the thought was affording.
While I was turning over in my mind this
phase of the problem Leah came down.

"She fell asleep while I was undressing
her," she said, taking a chair drearily.  "I
have never seen her so absolutely exhausted.
She'll sleep late to-morrow; and," she added
with a shudder, "she'll not wake up herself."

"Well, then, we'll have to be prepared for
Edna," I replied.

"I'm so afraid of to-morrow!" said Leah.
"Not for myself, you know, Mr. Castle.  I'm
willing to endure anything.  But if she
insists upon my leaving here again, what shall
I do?  I simply *can't* leave Miss Joy!  What
would she ever do without me?"

"I think I can manage it," I said, though,
indeed, I was far from being confident.  And
then, to draw her out more, I added:
"What I'm wondering is, if we hadn't better
send for Doctor Copin."

"Oh, don't!" she pleaded.  "You must
take hold of this alone, Mr. Castle.  He's
been down here several times since you left,
and I'm more afraid of him than ever.
More, even, than I am of *her*."

"Why, what has happened?"

"Oh," she cried, "that's just what I don't
know.  She sent me away usually, and often
they were alone together all day.  Sometimes
they went off on long walks, too."

"With *her*—with Edna, I mean, or with Joy?"

"Oh, with Edna, of course—never with
Miss Joy herself."

This gave me more to think about.  If she
had acted with the doctor as she had with
me, a good deal depended upon the kind of
man Doctor Copin was.

"You saw nothing, then, to arouse your
suspicions?" I asked.

I saw immediately, from her embarrassment,
that she had; but she finally said:

"No, nothing to amount to anything, I
think."  It was easy to see her motive in
this denial, I thought.  She could not bring
herself to say anything that might seem like
an accusation of her mistress, even her
mistress in this other person.  She went on:

"There's another thing that worries me.
She's been telephoning to the doctor almost
every day.  She never did that before, and I
can't understand it.  I don't think of any
reason she can have, for physically she's quite
well."

"You mean Edna has?"

"No!  Miss Joy herself.  Of course Edna
does, all the time."

"How long since Joy has been doing so?"

"About two weeks—she began, I think,
soon after you left."

"And the doctor has been coming oftener?"

"Yes."

"Does the doctor come usually when Joy
is here, or when Edna is?"

"Almost always when it's Edna."

"How does Doctor Copin know when she
is here?"

"That's a mystery.  I've wondered myself
about it, but I don't know."

"Leah," I said, after thinking a while,
"do you think you can trust me, whatever
you should happen to notice that seems, let
us say, a bit too much like what the doctor
might be imagined as doing?"

"You mean?"  She drew a quick breath.
"Oh, *that*?  Why should you suggest it?
Don't ask me to, please!"

"It would be better than permitting you
to be driven away, wouldn't it?" I insisted.

She did not answer.

"I don't say that any such thing will be
necessary," I added, "but I don't want you
to be surprised at anything.  I don't want,
in any way, to be underhanded with you.
It seems that you must, in any case, leave it
wholly to me.  That is, of course, provided
there is no one else you can call on."

"Oh, there's nobody else!  Miss Joy has
no near relatives, and any one we might send
for would perhaps be only too glad to have
her shipped off to an asylum so that they
could get hold of her property.  That's what
has always complicated it.  That's why she
lives here alone.  It might be, too, why we
should watch the doctor himself."  She
stretched out her hands appealingly to me.
"Oh, Mr. Castle, you must have heard of
such cases—I'm told they're common.  Can't
we drive *her* away for ever?"

"The doctor probably knows a good deal
more about that than I," I replied.  "I think
that's probably why he's so much interested.
But, if you *don't* trust him, the very fact that
he does know so much about the subject
makes him the more dangerous.  I must have
a talk with him.  Do you know when he'll
come again?"

"He may be here at any time.  There's
no telling.  I don't think Miss Joy knows, but
I have an idea that he may have arranged it
with Edna.  You can find that out for
yourself to-morrow, can't you?"

"I think that I may be able to find out a
good deal, if you'll only close your eyes."

Again that quick, indrawn breath, as if she
were struck with a sudden pain, and she rose
and stood before me.

"Oh, Mr. Castle, I can't help trusting you!
I *must* trust you!"

"Will it help you," I said, looking her
straight in the eyes, "if I tell you that I like
Joy immensely—that, in fact, I'm very, very
fond of her?"

She took both of my hands in hers, kneeling
before me.  "Oh, Mr. Castle!" she cried,
"if you only *do*!  If I could believe that, it
would be such a comfort to me!  I've wanted
to believe it ever since you first came down.
She's so alone—she has no one in the world
but me!  She needs you so much!  Oh, you
could do so much for her!"

"There's nothing, Leah, that I wouldn't
do for her, believe me.  Nothing!  Do you
know what that means?  It means that I may
have to do what she herself would never
consent to have me do."

That was as far as I dared to go with the
girl; indeed, it was almost as far as I had
gone with myself.  I could see hints of what
it might possibly come to; but just how it
would work out, I had no idea.  It would be
time enough for that, when it was time.  But,
on the whole, Leah was pacified and strengthened
by my confession.  As she was nearly
in a state of collapse, by this time, I sent her
to bed, and remained to smoke in the library.

The question was, now, whether Edna
wouldn't wonder why I had come down.  I
had, of course, the excuse of my motor-car to
account for that, but I thought it likely that
she wouldn't be exigent in the matter of
excuses, and would be quite ready, for her own
reasons, to welcome me to Midmeadows.  At
any rate, I decided that I would stay, whether
or no.  Joy most certainly wanted me here,
now that the White Cat was out of the bag,
and I was quite prepared to strain a point,
if necessary, to induce Edna to be hospitable.

It was now ten o'clock, and, excited as I
was, I found myself in no mood for sleep.
So, hearing King grinding coffee in the
kitchen, I walked out there to make his
acquaintance.  As I came in, he looked up and
grinned serenely.

"Hello!  You come back?" he said affably.

"Yes, I'm back, King," I replied, and
stood with my hands in my pockets, watching.

"I thought you come!" he said, nodding
his head wisely.

"Oh, you did, did you?" I inquired.  "Why?"

He went on automatically with his coffee-mill,
still grinning inanely.  "You likee Miss
Fielding?" he asked audaciously.

"Heap much!" I said, laughing.  He
laughed with me.

"Aren't you lonesome here, King?" I
asked next.  "Not many Chinamen around
here, are there?"

"Oh, Chinamen no good!  All time make
tlouble."  He poured the ground coffee into
a canister and took down a pot.

"There's a Chinese laundry over at the
Harbor.  Don't you go over there
sometimes to smoke a pipe?"

"Aw!  No good smoke pipe.  More better
stay here."

Now this was contrary to the habits of
Chinamen as I had known them, and I
scented something interesting.

"You no play fan-tan?" I asked.

"Aw!  Fan-tan no good," King replied
contemptuously.  "All time lose heap money.
No good!"

He shook his head again as he shook down
his fire, poked it, and went to the sink to
wash his hands and wipe them on the roller
towel.  I watched his deft, precise movements;
he was like a machine in the accurate
way in which he handled everything.

"What tong do you belong to, King?" I
asked presently.

He gave me a cunning look.

"What-a-matter you?" he demanded.
"What for you want to know?"

"Hip Sing?" I persisted.  "See Yup?
Sam Yup?  What tong?"

"You sabbee China tong?" he asked.

"Oh, sure!  You tell me, King.  I keep
him quiet.  I no tell."

"Say!" he exclaimed, approaching me,
grinning, "sometime you help me get away?"

"You in trouble, eh?  What's the matter!
Hatchet-men after you?"

He still grinned in the absurd way Celestials
have, when the subject is most serious.
"No catchee *me*!" he declared.

"Oh, I see.  They're trying to find you,
eh?  What's the matter?  You steal China
girl?  You take tong money?  You kill Sam
Yup man, maybe?"

He kept his grin and his secret.  "Tha's
all light, no catchee me!" was all I could get
out of him.  But I thought I had a suspicion
as to why he was contented to stay alone, so
far from any of his race, and never go to
town or even smoke opium or play fan-tan at
the Harbor.





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   \III

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By the next morning my mind had cleared
somewhat, and I rose full of eagerness and
interest for what was to come.  I looked
forward to it, now, as to a play where I myself
was to go upon the stage and act a part.  I
got down-stairs early, to be ready upon the
scene.

The day was fine, and I stepped outside,
first, to pay a visit to the dogs, who scrambled
over me in an ecstasy of delight, crouched,
leaped, ran off and returned, exuberant
with life and affection.  King was outside,
watering a patch of flowers, and grinned
a welcome.  I took a turn down the lane,
reveling in the sweet-scented morning air
laden with the perfume of the hundreds of
rose-bushes in front of the house, and then
back, quite tuned up for any emergency.

Leah had not yet appeared, so I went into
the music-room which opened from the hall,
opposite the library.  Here further evidence
of Miss Fielding's taste was evident,
though, except perhaps for my own chamber,
it was the most formal room in the house,
with as fine a collection of Chippendale,
Sheraton and Heppelwhite furniture as I
have ever seen, and a ceiling plainly a replica
of Adam's.  The room, in fact, was almost
like one of those chambers in show palaces
whose entrances are roped off with crimson
cords.  I felt that I oughtn't to be surprised
if, on approaching the harpsichord in the
corner, I found upon it a printed card with the
legend: "*Défense de toucher*."

While I was looking about, I heard Leah's
footsteps hurrying down the stairs.  I turned
and waited for her, and my glance must have
spoken as plainly as any words, for as soon
as she saw me she said:

"It's 'the other one,' Mr. Castle.  She's
up, now.  She's telephoning to the doctor."

"How is she?" I asked.

"She's fresh and well enough, but she's in
a bad temper.  I had an unpleasant scene
with her.  She wanted to know why I was
here, and I told her what you said—that you
had met me and asked me to come back with
you.  Then she quieted down a little, and
asked me when you came and how long you
were going to stay.  She seemed to be glad
that you were here, and it pacified her, but
I'm awfully afraid that she'll send me away
again!"

"Don't lose courage," I said.  "If she's
glad to see me, that's a good sign, and it will
make it easier for me.  But we mustn't seem
to be plotting here together.  It won't do to
arouse her suspicions, whatever we do.  You
leave it to me, and cheer up!"

With that, I walked into the library and
waited.  It was not long before I heard Miss
Fielding's door open and heard her whistling
as she came rollicking down the stairs.

These noises, so thoroughly dissociated
from my idea of Joy herself, created unconsciously
a mental impression; an expectation
that, without thinking of the absurdity of it,
quite unprepared me for the sight of her
when she appeared.  I don't quite know what
I did expect—something a bit unfamiliar,
unnatural, I suppose—but what I saw was, of
course, only the Miss Fielding I had always
seen, pretty, slender, exquisite, the same
brown-eyed, dark-haired creature as ever, at
first glance the same woman whom I had left
the night before, only now refreshed and full
of life.  It gave me a distinct shock.  At
second glance, it is true, there were almost
undefinable, yet perfectly distinguishing marks
of the new personality—of Edna; and as I
noted them—the carelessness of her hair, her
dilated pupils, the rolled-up sleeves of her
shirt-waist, the odor of Santal, and above all
a refreshing youthfulness—I adjusted
myself quickly to the situation.

She came forward with a swinging stride
and her hand held out in jovial welcome,
smiling.  Her grip was like a man's, as she
said, "Isn't it dear of you to come down and
see me, Chet!  I was afraid that you'd got
enough of me before and wouldn't ever want
to come back again.  I've missed you
awfully.  Sure, I have!"

She kept the hand I gave her, and swung
it playfully.  I said something about the
automobile.

"I hope you can stay a while, now you've
come," she went on.  "There are all sorts
of things we can do, now you're well, you
know.  Is your rib all right, now?  Can I
hug you, if I want to?"  She laughed frankly
at me.

"I want to talk to you about Leah," I said.
"I hope you'll forgive my taking the liberty
of bringing her back, but I knew that you
would have changed your mind, and would
miss her terribly.  I thought that, if I
brought her back and asked you to keep her,
it would save you the embarrassment of
sending for her, you know.  Of course, you must
have her here.  You could never find any
one who would fit in as well, who knows your
ways; and, even if you could, Leah's too fine
a girl to let go that way."

Her face clouded and she answered
pettishly.  "That girl's no good, Chet.  She's
regularly spying on me.  She watches me all
the time, and I won't have it.  She interferes
with my things, too, and she thinks she's too
good to be a servant.  If she'd only keep her
place I wouldn't mind so much, but I won't
have a nigger putting on airs with me.  I've
got to get rid of her!"

"But you can't get along without some
one," I protested.

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"Why, even Uncle Jerdon's not here, now."

"Well, there's King."

"King isn't exactly what you'd call a
chaperon, is he?"

She laughed and began to galumph up the
room and back.  "Oh, I don't need one, do I?"

"It seems to me you do if I'm to stay here!"

"'Fraid-cat, 'fraid-cat!" she taunted,
starting off again, sidewise.

I had to laugh, and by a quick inversion
she became serious, coming back to me, her
chin up, her hands behind her, jiggling up
and down on tip-toes.

"Do you really want me to keep Leah?" she asked.

"I really do," I answered gravely.

"Why?"

"Because I'm fond of you, and I think you
ought to have her help."

"Oh!" she exclaimed.  "*Are* you really
fond of me, Chet?"

"Of course I am—when you behave."

"I might try her again," she said thoughtfully.

"She must stay here as long as I do, at
least; or else I can't remain."

She inserted her little finger into a buttonhole
of my coat and said, without looking up,
"Will you stay as long as I keep her, then?"
She looked up, now, to smile at her strategy.

"I won't promise that," I replied, "but I
shall certainly go if you get rid of her."

"Then I'll keep her.  But it will be for
you to see that she behaves, Mr. Chet."

With that, she was away again, debonairly
frolicsome.

I felt as if I had won the first battle, and
could afford to hope that I might manage her.
I was, however, skating on pretty thin ice,
and it would take considerable skill to keep
out of danger if I pursued these tactics much
further.  I had to encourage her enough to
propitiate her and keep her friendly, without
letting the affair get away from my control.

She danced into the library again to suggest
that we go for a walk, and I followed her
outdoors.  As we passed the yard in the rear
I saw the dogs lying in the sun.  We had not
got within twenty feet of them when they all
rose, laid back their ears and began to
growl.  Old Nokomis, who had greeted me so
affectionately, only a half-hour ago, stood
with her brush down, grumbling, her head
tilted, her eyes on Miss Fielding.

She turned to King, who was filling a pail
at the pump.

"Say, King, you tie up the dogs in the
stable, hear?  I won't have them about,
barking and growling at me."  She made an
impatient threatening gesture at Nokomis, who
retreated, still watching sharply, till, with an
angry yelp, she turned, and ran into the
stable.  The other collies followed her.  It was
uncanny.

"I'm going to sell those dogs pretty soon,"
she remarked carelessly, kicking at a thistle.
"I don't see why in the world you wanted
that puppy."

"Because you offered him to me," I
answered, to see what she would say.

"Take them all, then, if you like," she
said.  "I confess I'm afraid of them sometimes."

We went along a lane behind the stable and
beside a potato patch, and then, rising
rapidly, through a gateway to a scrubby hillside,
covered with huckleberry bushes and sweet
fern.  Miss Fielding, for so I must still call
her, or you will perhaps forget that she was
to all intents and purposes physically the
same in this secondary personality, stuck her
hands in the pockets of her red golf-jacket
and swung up the path between the boulders,
with a frank joyousness and comradeship
that seemed as natural in its abandon as the
windy air and the sunshine; and yet, mingled
with it, was a sort of innocent trickery—the
petty ruses of a primitive woman cropping
out through a veneer of civilization.

I doubt if I can recall in precisely their
order the little things which occurred after that
to make me notice as evidences of her
pursuit of me, but, as significant of her degree
of craft, they amused me mightily.  If I
mention them, however, it is only fair to me
to bear in mind that I regarded her quite as
an abnormal phase of womanhood.  She was
not merely another person in Miss Fielding's
guise, she was only the part of a person—a
collection of functions sufficiently synthesized
to have an independent consciousness and
volition, but by no means a perfect whole.
This is, I believe, the modern interpretation
of multiple personality.  Certain definite
psychological tracts are split off and run
themselves, so to speak.  One might perhaps
say that it is as if France, Germany, Austria
and Italy should float off the map, and achieve
a lesser Europe of their own.  The line of
cleavage in Miss Fielding's case was chiefly
along intellectual and moral lines; Edna was
a lesser and, mentally, a younger Joy—less
cultured, less conscientious.  It was quite in
this way that I studied her.

She stopped in the lane before we got to
the gate, and, unfastening the little gold chain
with a sapphire pendant which she had about
her neck, held it out to me.

"Here, would you mind taking this, Chet?
Keep it safe for me, please!  I'm afraid I
may lose it."

I reached for it, but before I could take it
she had herself tucked it into my vest pocket
and patted the place humorously.

She stopped again, afterward, to ask me to
tie her shoe-lace.  It was patently one of the
many attempts she was always making to
establish a closer physical contact, an effort
to keep the relation personal.  I remember,
also, that not long afterward, having climbed
up a sandy bank with my help, and with
compliments upon my strength, she stopped
at the top to take off that same shoe and
empty it of sand, disclosing quite unaffectedly
a delicate little foot in a grass-green silk
stocking.  I helped her also over several
stone walls, as she appeared to expect it,
smiling to think how often she must have
scaled them unassisted.  We passed cows of
which she professed to be much afraid and
clung tightly to me for protection.  It all
sounds crude enough, but it was prettily done,
and I was more amused than critical.

We reached the top of the hill and threw
ourselves down on the grass to rest.  To the
east, the land fell away, mottled with
boulders and bushes, with a bunch of trees here
and there, and away in the distance was the
sea.  On the other sides the middle distance
was blocked with woods.  It was warm and
sweet with a fresh earthy smell, and still as
a church.

She lay prone and, plucking a blade of
grass, fell to playing with an ant-hill under
her nose.  I watched her, lazy and peaceful,
basking in the June sunshine.

"Have you seen Doctor Copin lately?" I asked.

"No.  He may come down to-day, though.
I hope he will."

"Oh, you like him, then?" I said, giving
my voice the inflections of mock jealousy.

"Not as well as I do you," she said, rolling
a little nearer me to tickle my ear with her straw.

"What makes you think he'll come?"

"I telephoned to him this morning, and he
said he might.  He's just got back to town
and wants to see me.  He runs down when he likes."

"On business, I suppose?"

"Yes, about my memory.  He makes diagram
things and tries experiments on me."

I was interested.  "Experiments?  What kind?"

"Oh, he asks me if I remember things.
You see, he tries to tell with his diagram
things just when I shall forget and when I'll
remember, and he comes down to fix them
up.  I don't understand it much, but he says
that he's going to cure me."

"Oh, he's going to make you remember
everything, I suppose."

"I hope so."

"Do you remember what happened yesterday?"
I asked.

"Why, I sent Leah away, didn't I?"

"No, that was three days ago."

"Was it?" she returned, heading off an
infuriated ant with her straw.  She seemed
to take little interest in the subject.

"What did you want me to take back
Leah for, anyway?" she asked.

"I think she's honest and devoted.  She's
thoroughly fine.  Do you realize what
temptations a girl might have who knew that you
forgot things?"

"I suppose she would.  I never thought
of that."  As she spoke she crushed the ant
with a twig.

"And Leah's mother was your nurse, too,
wasn't she?"

"Yes, but Leah presumes on that and
thinks that she can do anything she wants.
Doctor Copin doesn't like her, either.  He's
got another girl he wants me to engage."

I couldn't help exclaiming, "Oh, I hope
you won't!"

"Well, perhaps I won't, if you don't want
me to, Chet.  I was going to ask your advice
about it.  It'll make the doctor furious, but
I don't mind.  Poor Doctor Copin!  I'm sorry
for him, though.  He's awfully hard up."

"Why!  Is he so poor?" I smelled a mouse.

"He's all the time complaining to me, at
any rate."

"I should think you'd be afraid to keep
much money in the house.  It's such a lonely
place for burglars, you know."

"Oh, I don't keep much on hand.  But I
always have a little.  I have a small income.
It comes down every month.  It's rents or
stocks or something.  It's safely invested
and I don't bother about it."

It struck me that she took all this rather
easily, but I soon found that it was the way
she took everything.  It had always been
that way with her, and she saw nothing
strange in it.  Her amnesia accounted for
everything.  I saw how easily she might be
led.  Impressionable, and with a hasty,
wilful temper, one who knew her temperament
could soon learn to control her.  I began
to see how Leah's influence, which had
heretofore been potent, might, perhaps, be
undermined by the doctor.  Here was the next
thing to be investigated.  But I would have
to wait till I had had a talk with him.

She plucked a dandelion and put it into my
buttonhole, looking up at me coquettishly as
she did so.

"Chet, d'you know, I like you!" she remarked.

"Oh, I'm not a bit offended at that," said I.

"I wish I could make you like me a little."

"You *are* looking for a sinecure, aren't you!"

She returned to her ants and poked at
them meditatively.

"I don't know why I tell you such things,"
she went on.  "I've never done so before.
But you understand—don't you!"

Oh, yes.  I understood.  I had heard that
sort of thing often enough before.

"I like you because you treat me just as
you'd treat a man.  You're not always
remembering that I'm a woman.  The
doctor—"  She broke off.  I understood this,
too, but it amazed me to find that she, so far
away from the world, could have so easily
found the woman's way.

"You've got a perfectly stunning profile,"
was her next play.

I showed her how, by pressing in the tip
of my nose, it could be made decidedly
Hebraic in contour.  She pulled my hand away
with a pretty protest at the outrage to my
looks.

Next, she complained that her hair was
"horrid," and that after it was shampooed
she could never do anything with it; she
calmly took it down and combed it, a fine
silken cascade of brown.  It was quite
beautiful enough to warrant the exhibition, which
she ended by plaiting it into two magnificent
braids falling below her waist.  Finally, she
got up and gave me her coat to hold for her
while she put it on, a process which she
delayed unnecessarily, snuggling slowly into
the sleeves and looking coyly up at me over
her shoulder.  Then she seized my hand, and,
before I knew it, had started to run me down
the hill.  She stumbled and fell—on purpose,
I'm confident—and I picked her up.  How
such contacts and familiarities affected me,
considering my growing fondness for Miss
Fielding, I leave you to imagine.

We walked down the path as gleefully as
children playing truant, and, arrived at the
stable, she proposed that we go in to
examine my machine, which she was anxious
to try.  The dogs had been shut up in the
harness-room, and as soon as we approached,
they set up a discordant barking.  Edna
scowled and went to the door to look in.

"Stop that noise!" she commanded
irritably.  A new chorus assailed her.

She had opened the door only a crack, but,
as she spoke, Nokomis wriggled through,
forcing it open, and, crouching in front of
her, ears laid back, growled angrily.  Quick
as a flash Edna took up a short whip that
stood in the corner and lashed at the bitch.
Nokomis was upon her in an instant, and,
before I could prevent, had seized her ankle
and nipped it severely.  Edna screamed and
struck again, this time with the butt of the
whip, hitting Nokomis squarely on the forehead.

Yelping, Nokomis released her hold and
with her tail between her legs dashed out of
the stable door and disappeared.

Meanwhile, I had closed the door of the
harness-room and had run to Edna.  Her
face was white, with sudden rage rather than
pain.  Nokomis had given her only a nip—the
skin was not cut.

"I'll have them all shot to-morrow, if I
have to do it myself!" she cried.

I did my best to calm her, and in a few
moments she had recovered her temper
enough to laugh at the episode, though her
spite against Nokomis remained.  She forgot
it in my explanation of the motor, which
she examined with great intelligence.

Luncheon was ready when we reached the
house and we went into the dining-room.
Here it was dim and cool and we fell
naturally into a more placid humor.  Edna
seemed less the impetuous, irresponsible child
she had been that forenoon, and I got my
first hint of what was characteristic of her
in this condition—that, as the day wore on,
she seemed to grow steadily older and more
developed mentally.

Over her shoulder the tapestry paper
showed a picture of the combat between
James Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu;
behind her the door opened and shut from time
to time admitting King with his dainty
dishes.  He came and went like a ghost, all
in white, while Leah, in a dark gown to-day,
hovered like a shadow in the kitchen.

Edna had an amusing and not unpleasant
sort of *gaminerie* at table.  She was fond of
selecting the daintiest, littlest piece of celery
from the dish and tossing it over to my plate.
She did not hesitate to use her fingers in
cunning, unconventional ways, not as if she
knew no better, but as if she knew herself
to be pretty enough, and charming enough,
to invest the solecism with a personal
indulgent humor.  So she dipped her bread in
the gravy audaciously, so she crushed her
strawberries with her fork to a red welter
of pulp, and added cream with a flourish.
She carried it off perfectly; it was quite a
distracting sight.

At two o'clock we got out my machine and
set out for the station to meet Doctor Copin,
she guiding the car according to my instructions.
She was an apt pupil, and though the
first stretch of rough lane required considerable
skill in handling the motor, we got out
to the highroad without accident, and put
on top speed.  The excitement of it kindled
her spirits and a dangerous light shone in her
eyes.  She was bareheaded and the wind
brought a fine glow to her cheeks.

"Isn't it great!" she exclaimed.  "I'm
going to get a car the first thing I do."

Her touch was clever and firm on the wheel,
and she passed from one speed to another
and handled the spark like an expert,
already.  There was no time for much
coquetry, now, but I got a glance now and then
on the straight level runs.  She swung up to
the station with style, and my hand, though
ready to help her, was not needed.  I
congratulated her upon her skill and she was
pleased as a child.

"Oh, I'm going to show the doctor!" she
cried.  "You wait till he gets in and I'll give
him a run for his money!"

The train appeared in a few minutes, and
Doctor Copin, with his professional bag, got
out from the parlor-car.  He seemed to be
much surprised at seeing me.  I thought that
I detected something like annoyance, too, in
his expression.  I wondered if she had not
informed him of my being at Midmeadows
when she had telephoned in the morning.  He
greeted me cordially enough, however,
inquired as to my condition, made a dull joke
about my ribs, and got into the back seat of
the car.  I kept my place in front beside
Edna, coaching her as we went along.

I talked commonplaces to the doctor, who
replied laconically, and Edna, being absorbed
with her work, kept quiet, her lips closed
tightly, her eyes on the road ahead, waiting
for her chance to make speed.  After we
had got a little outside the village there was
a sharp up-grade, and I saw her hand fly to
the speed lever.

"Be careful how you throw in that clutch,"
I warned her.  "Give it to her easy, now!"

Her thought was all for impressing the
doctor with her ability as a *chauffeuse*,
however, and she was too impatient.  She
released the clutch and threw her lever back to
second speed.  By the time she dropped her
clutch back in again, however, the car had
lost momentum, stopped and begun to roll
down-hill, the engine still going furiously.
The gears meshed, but something had to give
under the strain, and with a snap the chain
parted.  The freed motor shook the car with
its velocity.  I grabbed the throttle from her,
stopped the engine, set the brake, and the car
came to a standstill.

"Oh!" she wailed, "I've broken something,
haven't I?"

"I'm afraid you have," I answered, laughing.
"But I'll see what can be done."

I crawled underneath the car, taking the
attitude that has now become classic, and saw
that it would be a case of fastening in a new
link.  I backed out, looked in my tool-box
and found that there were no extra links
there.

"I can't mend the thing here," I explained.
"You and the doctor will have to get out and
walk and leave me here.  You'd better send
some one back with a horse to tow me home."

She almost cried with shame and regret,
but there was nothing for it but to do as I
had suggested.  I noticed a faint smile on the
doctor's thin face.  He was undoubtedly glad
of the dilemma, as it would temporarily rid
him of my company.

"It's too bad I can't sew it up for you,"
he said dryly.  "I'm afraid it will require
a capital operation, Castle.  You'd better
have a consultation with Uncle Jerdon.  But
if you need any anesthetic to keep it out of
pain while you're waiting, I'll lend you my
bag."

"Oh, my machine is used to it, you know,"
I replied.  "If you'll only send back the
coroner it'll be all right."

"Well, we'll hope for a *change* soon," he
said.  I verily believe the man meant it for
a pun, for he closed one eye as he got it off.
Edna giggled.

So they set out and left me.  I took a seat,
lighted a cigar, and waited as patiently as I
could, not at all pleased at the thought of his
having a free hour or two with her.  At last
Uncle Jerdon appeared on the scene, driving
a span of horses.

"Hello," he greeted me.  "The same old,
sweet song, eh?  Well, we all have to come to
it, sooner or later.  You ought to lead a hoss
behind when you go.  I'd as soon trust to an
airship."

He harnessed his team to the car, and we
proceeded slowly home.  It was a humiliating
experience, as it always is, but Uncle
Jerdon was plainly hugely amused at my
predicament.

"I guess the doctor wan't sorry ye had to
stop here alone," he remarked.  "He's
a-makin' the most of his time, naow, I expect.
Nothin' like a little friendly rivalry for a
bashful man."

"How long have you been back?" I asked,
not caring for his personalities.

"Oh, I jest happened to meet 'em in the
north lane as I come.  I guess they wan't
expectin' to see nobody there, by the way it
looked.  Miss Fielding ain't so crazy but
what she knows what she's abaout sometimes,
I tell ye!"  At which he went off into an
ebullition of silent laughter.  This was
disquieting enough information, for I could
guess what he had seen, though I couldn't
afford to encourage him.  So I changed the
subject.

"How long have you been down here with
Miss Fielding!"

"Goin' on two year," he answered.

"I suppose the neighbors talk about her a
good deal?"

"I reckon they do!  But they don't get
nothin' outen me.  I sit an' look wise an'
chew a straw an' let 'em talk.  Lord, how
they do try to pump me!"

"Doesn't she ever see any of them?"

"Oh, yes, sometimes, when she's O.K., but
she don't encourage 'em callin' much.  They
think she's so high and mighty, though, that
they don't bother her to any great extent."

He proceeded now of his own accord.

"She's happy enough alone, I take it.
Lord!  I don't mind her at all.  I attend to
my business and she to hern.  It ain't as if
I was a woman an' curious, ye know.  But
when she abuses dumb critters, then I do get
mad.  I jes' see ol' Nokomis in the hazels,
as I come past.  She had her tail atween her
laigs, an' I'm afraid that means trouble.  I
usually see to it that the dogs is got outen
the way when she's looney, but I expect Leah
must have forgot to attend to 'em.  Funny
King didn't, either.  But it will happen on
occasion.  Some day they's goin' to be
trouble.  Ol' Nokomis knows more'n most
folks herself.  I believe King's crazy, too.
He's got a heathen idol in his cabin he's all
the time worshipin'.  Burns punk-sticks an'
a little peanut-oil lamp in front of it, night
an' day.  But I get my own quiet fun outen
it all.  I'm satisfied."

We got the car safely home, and I spent
the rest of the afternoon, with Uncle
Jerdon's assistance, in mending the chain and
doing other necessary cleaning and repairs.
Miss Fielding and Doctor Copin stayed shut
in the library.  When I had gone up to my
room to clean myself, Leah, came in, bearing
fresh towels.

"Oh, Mr. Castle, can't you go in and join
them?" she said.  "I hate to have them alone
for so long—you don't know how I dread it!"

"What are you afraid of?" I asked.

"I don't know!  I don't know!  Only I
don't trust him."

"Have you seen anything more?"

"Enough to make me worried."  Then she
brought out painfully, "Mr. Castle, do you
think we would have any right to—to listen!"

"You mean really to eavesdrop?"

"Yes."  There was a look of pain in her
eyes.  I saw by this confession how far she
had gone with her fears.

"I hardly think so, yet," I answered.  "It
would be pretty hard for us to do, wouldn't it?"

"But you remember that Miss Joy said,
last night, that she would leave it all to your
judgment.  Oughtn't we, to protect her, perhaps,
find out just what it is he's doing?"

I thought it over at length.  But it was a
resource that I couldn't help wanting to leave
till the last.  After all, it wasn't as bad as
that, yet.  Except in Edna's familiarities
with me, and Leah's vague fears, I had no
reason for fearing anything wrong.  All
depended upon the doctor's motives in being
alone with her.  He might, indeed, be
making love to her, but then, perhaps he was
truly in love; he might even want to marry
her.  It was a maddening thought for me,
but, after all, it was, strictly, none of my
business.  He had a right to try to woo her,
and it couldn't, at any rate, go far without
Joy herself becoming aware of it.  She would
be the first to acknowledge that Edna had a
right to permit it.  If, however, he were
dishonest in his motive, if he were, for instance,
after her money, that was quite another
matter, and it was obviously my place to
interfere.  We should have, at least, to see that
Edna could not get hold of any property.

Lastly, and this seemed, at that time, most
probable, he might only be carrying on a
series of experiments with an interesting
patient for some technical end.  True, Joy had
herself refused to permit him to treat her,
and this probably accounted for his devoting
himself to Edna; but it was not, so far as I
could see, dangerous.  My position, therefore,
was a delicate one, and I made up my
mind to have another talk with Joy before
showing my hand in interference.

I went over all this with Leah and she
listened attentively.  She iterated that she
didn't trust Doctor Copin, and that she feared
there was danger at hand.  I could see that
the hint that he might want to marry Edna
frightened her most of all.

"How can I tell Miss Joy?" she said.
"How can I hint that Edna is too free with
him—and all the rest that I suspect?  Why,
Mr. Castle, if she knew that, it would kill her!
But *oughtn't* I tell her?  Is it fair for her
not to know?  It's the most awful situation!
I can't bear to think of it!  We must save
her from herself, though, as well as from the
knowledge of herself—do you see?"

She was sensitively alive to the intricate
phases of honor that were entangled in the
situation, and, showing such fineness and
delicacy, I could quite ignore the fact that she
was a negress.  But that was merely the
negative aspect of my admiration for her.  From
this time on, the more I was thrown with her
in the intimate way required by our coöperation,
the more I began actually to find in her
a positive beauty, a beauty that was truly of
her race and type—a beauty that foreshadowed
what, were environment to permit its
development, her race might in time attain,
when, even though the skin were still dark,
the features, insensibly modified by mental
processes, would lose something of the
extravagance of modeling now so repellent to
whites.

Such vision came in moments like this,
when her spirit was aroused and free.  Usually,
and always when suffering patiently the
contempt or anger of Edna, I saw her only as
the personification of loyalty, the loyalty of
the hound who licks the hand that smites him.
It was then as if her woman's soul were
crushed back farther into the figure of the
servant.  But always those two qualities
were finely blended in her—she was slave and
friend, not alternately but at once.  One
dwelt with the other in perfect peace.  No
hunchback ever carried his deformity with a
nobler grace than she the trial of her color.

Miss Fielding and the doctor remained
closeted together till dinner-time, when we
three met at table.  She was slightly flushed
and her eyes were keen and bright.  It was as
if she somehow saw more—as if she had
passed from that curious, mentally apathetic
state which I have called childlike, and were
inspecting a new world.  But this analysis,
no doubt, comes from what I learned later
rather than from my observation at that
time.  Perhaps all that impressed me then
was that she had, in some way, changed.  I
could find no way in which to account for the
precise degree of difference that I noticed.
She was alternately gay and abstracted, at
which latter times she fell unconsciously into
poses so like those of her normal self—Joy's
self—that it gave me, often, a start of surprise.

But, as if to cover all this, the doctor was
more than usually jocose in a mechanical
way so devoid of real humor that it irritated
me.  Try as I might, I could not get him to
talk seriously.  At every remark or question
of mine, he threw me off with some
nonsensical comment.  It was the more
maddening because of Edna's inevitable laughter,
and it was evident that she thought him a
most amusing companion, though to me he
seemed wholly without atmosphere or
radiation; everything appeared calculated,
deliberate.  I saw that there could be nothing
between us, unless, indeed, it should come
to open conflict.  He was the sort of man
who could, I was well aware, arouse all my
antagonism.  It was easy enough to see that
I was already jealous.

We talked on thus through the meal and
then adjourned to the library for our coffee.
As we entered I cast a quick look about to
see if I could catch any revealing sign.  I saw
nothing except that the morris chair was
drawn up to another, so that the two faced
each other, almost near enough to touch.
There were a few sheets of ruled yellow
paper on the table.  These the doctor took up
as he went in, and placed in his pocket.

The talk languishing after a while, we spent
the evening at cards, and what with the
doctor's sallies and Edna's obvious replies, I
think I was never more bored in my life.
The only amusing thing about it was the way
she played us off, one against the other,
twitting the doctor with his remissness when he
was not so complimentary as I was to her,
and accusing me of a lack of humor when I
did not join in their badinage.  She distributed
her favors impartially, upon the whole,
though I caught several indications of some
secret understanding between them, which
was not surprising, considering the length of
their acquaintance.  He seemed to enjoy the
evening as little as I, and to be a trifle
embarrassed, even somewhat anxious.  This was
evident in the way he watched her covertly,
and in the way he headed off all my questions,
as if always on the defense.  From a
look she gave him, once or twice, I got the
idea, also, that his foot was busy, under the
table, and that he was using that method of
signaling when the conversation got dangerously
near whatever it was that he wished to
avoid.  This interested me considerably for
the reason that her other foot was touching
mine in a way that assured me of her
conscious intention.  The situation was as
unpleasant as it was extraordinary.  I lost
myself, at times, in the inconsistency of
it—the strangeness of her actions so unattuned
to the exquisite body which was wont to house
such delicacies of soul.  She had indubitably
changed from those first whimsical madcap
moods of the morning.  Somehow her
personality had deepened; it had grown in
strength and color; it was more assertive.
She was no longer carelessly, thoughtlessly
frank and forward, she had some definite
motive.

Her coquetry and raillery lasted, thus, till
ten o'clock, when she excused herself and
went up to her room.  The doctor and I
remained in the library.  I determined to cross
swords with him.

"I'd like to know what you make of Miss
Fielding's case," I began.  "Anything, that
is, that you can tell me with propriety.  I
confess I'm much interested in it."

.. _`"I'd like to know what you make of Miss Fielding's case."`:

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   :align: center
   :alt: "I'd like to know what you make of Miss Fielding's case."

   "I'd like to know what you make of Miss Fielding's case."

He got up, long and thin, put his hands
behind him under his coat-tails, and stood
backing the fireplace.

"Oh, I know what *you're* interested in!"
he said with his grin.

"Do you think there's any chance of her
recovering?" I said, ignoring his sarcasm.

"What's she lost?" he asked.

"Why, herself, hasn't she?  To-day, at least."

"Oh, she'll find that to-morrow, I expect!"  He
balanced himself on his toes and smoked
complacently.

I might as well stop there, I knew, but at
the risk of being impertinent I was bound to
see what I could get out of him.

"Have you found any law governing these
alternations?"

"Why, yes; I have good reason to believe
they come in turn—first one and then the
other."

I got up.  I fancy he came as near to
receiving a blow on the point of the chin that
moment, as he ever did in his life.  But I
held myself in check.

"Of course, if you think that it's none of
my business, I'll ask you no more questions,"
I said angrily.

"Oh, no!  Oh, no!"  He shook his head
with a deprecatory wave.  "Only sometimes
it's easier to ask questions than to answer
them.  This is a common enough case, as you
know, if you know anything about psychology.
A mild form of mania; that's all."

"Do you mean to say that you consider it
merely insanity?" I demanded.

"Oh, we're all insane, more or less," he
pursued in his maddening, non-committal
way.  "Insanity is a relative term, you
know.  'All the world is queer but thee and
me, and even thee's a little queer,' as the old
Quaker said."

I did my best to keep my temper.  "It's
very unfortunate, at all events."

"Oh, I don't know.  We can't have too
many of such fine women as Miss Fielding,
can we?  I'm sure I'd like to know a
half-dozen of them!"

"You must confess it's hard on her."

"Oh, it gives her something interesting to
think about.  All alone here, you know."  He
waved his long arm comprehensively over
the scene.

"But aren't you trying to do anything for
her?  She surely wants to get over it."  I
was determined to push him into some
definite statement.  But it was no use.

"Oh, she'll come out all right," he replied,
yawning behind his palm.

"She's too fine a woman, as you say; she
has too fine a character, too fine a mind—"
I began in protest.

"My dear Mr. Castle, women are always
changing their minds."  His shoulders shook
as he laughed silently at his own joke.

"You'll change yours, before I've finished
with you," I said to myself.  But there was
no use continuing the dialogue, and, bidding
him good night, I went up to bed.  Leah had
given her own room up to him and she spent
the night in Miss Fielding's study.  I heard
him come stumbling up at midnight.





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   \IV

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It was with a feeling of great relief that,
next morning, I heard the dogs barking
jubilantly in the yard, answering, each in turn,
to their names.  Nokomis, I knew by her
heavy note, had returned to the house.  Joy
was, then, herself.

This was better than I had dared to hope.
My suspicions in regard to the doctor were
now strengthened and I felt intuitively that,
in some way, his presence at Midmeadows
accounted for the increasing frequency of
Edna's visitations.

The last three days had shown regular
alternations of personality, but I recalled the
fact that on both Monday and Tuesday it had
been Edna who had possessed Miss Fielding's
body.  With this thought came also the
recollection of Joy's unusual actions in
telephoning to the doctor.

The two facts seemed to indicate a significant
relation—a relation, perhaps, of cause
and effect.  A third hint came—that such
anomalous states of personality were
sometimes developed during hypnosis—and the
three separate thoughts snapped together,
crystallizing into an idea.  Had not Doctor
Copin hypnotized Edna, and given her the
post-hypnotic suggestion that she, in Joy's
person, should telephone to him in the
morning?  It seemed probable, for I could not
doubt, now, that it was to the doctor's interest
to keep Miss Fielding as long and as often
as possible in her secondary state, as Edna.
As Edna she was impressible and easily
managed to his ends.  Edna invited him and
welcomed him to Midmeadows, while Joy was
cold and reserved.  Everything that had
happened dovetailed into my hypothesis—his
annoyance at my presence, as the especial
friend of Joy, and his own particular
cultivation of Edna—the proof, in fact, seemed
conclusive.  What, then, was he trying to do?

I went down early and found him, lean and
lank in his suit of muddy brown, wandering
about outside, his long hands clasped behind
his back.  He greeted me civilly enough, but
without warmth.  I did not disturb him in his
mood, and he meandered up and down, turning
over a stone with his foot now and then,
stooping to pluck a flower and sniff it
thoughtfully, humming a tune to himself as
he strolled.

Leah came to the doorway, gave me a
happy look, nodded meaningly, and passed up
stairs with Miss Fielding's tray.  I went
back to the stable to see the collies.  Nokomis
bounded up to me and nuzzled my hand.  Her
forehead showed a scar where the whip
handle had struck her, and I talked to her
about it condolently, in canine gutturals.  We
seemed to understand each other perfectly.

At half-past eight Leah called me in to
breakfast.  I found Doctor Copin already at
table.

"Going up to town to-day, Castle?" he
asked, tucking his serviette into his collar.

"No, I hadn't thought of it," I said, sitting down.

"H'm!" he ejaculated thoughtfully.  "I
didn't know but we might be taking the same
train."

"Oh, I think I'll try my machine when I
leave," I said.

He grinned.  "Haven't you had enough
ground-and-lofty tumbling yet?"

"Oh, I'm game.  It's such fools as I that
keep you fellows busy; you ought to encourage us."

He smiled dryly.  "How long do you expect
to be down here?"

The boot was on the other foot, now, and I
was amused at his interrogation.

"I have some business to talk over with
Miss Fielding," I said.  "It depends largely
upon her how long I remain."

"H'm!"  He went on with his breakfast.

When Miss Fielding came into the room
my first glance would have told me that it
was Joy herself, even if I had not been given
the hint already.  As Edna, one would have
called her pretty—as Joy she was beautiful.
The lines of thought and care had returned to
her face, but they did but emphasize the
richness and meaning of her character, replacing
abandon with subtlety.  I watched the
doctor's eyes leap at her, and then fall,
disappointed.  He, too, knew in a glance.  He
seemed to be surprised as well as
disappointed.  Leah had evidently not told him,
and he had not dared ask.  He shrugged his
shoulders almost imperceptibly as we both
rose to meet her.

"Good morning, doctor!" she said, giving
him her hand, smiling.  "I've just done a
funny thing!  Leah told me that you were
here, of course, when I waked up, but I
forgot it so completely that I've been trying to
ring you up on the telephone."

I saw his pale blue eyes grow narrower
as he laughed with her.  He was pleased.
"Well, did you get me?" he said.

"Are there two of you, too?" she returned,
and the thing passed off in a general smile.

I took it that she had already heard from
Leah of what had happened yesterday and
I could not help admiring her calmness and
self-restraint.  The last thing, of course, that
she could remember would be her anguish of
two days when we were all so agitated over
Leah's absence and dramatic return, and that
weary vigil in the library trying to keep
awake.  Joy was used to these lapses; she had
been so long schooled by her changes that
she was usually poised outwardly and calm,
ready for any emergency, on her guard
against betraying surprise; but I could not
help picturing to myself the nervous
excitement of her awakening when her memory
first rushed back and she had to learn
hurriedly the history of the day before.  How
much, I wondered, had Leah told her?

Her attitude toward Doctor Copin, while
quite that of an old friend, was so different
from what it had been the night before that
he must have felt somewhat uncomfortable
at my seeing it.  Of any such difference Joy
was herself quite unconscious, but the
interest she plainly showed in me served to
heighten it.  She was still full of gratitude
toward me for what I had done in bringing
Leah back—the doctor, on the other hand,
was only making one of his periodical calls;
she was anticipating, also, his urging again
his request to give her a definite course of
treatment, a thing she had steadily opposed.
He came, as I understood it, only to keep
track of her disorder in a general way, and
to advise her with regard to it; and it was,
so far, more because she had not enough
confidence in his proficiency in this special
subject, rather than any innate distrust of his
character, that had impelled her to refuse a
course of hypnotic treatment.

His elaborate wit failed to receive much
encouragement from Joy.  The conversation
was, therefore, a little stiff for some time,
and resulted finally in a dialogue between
Joy and me, the doctor maintaining a silence
almost surly.

After breakfast, however, she took him
into the library for a short colloquy before
it was time for him to leave.  I waited
outdoors.  They came out in a few minutes, she,
I saw, a little disturbed, a frown on her face.
Uncle Jerdon drove up in the carriage and
the doctor got in, bade us a conventional
farewell, and was carried off.

We sat there for a while without talk, Joy
gazing straight ahead of her, absorbed in her
own thoughts.  Then she turned to me and said:

"Edna is coming oftener than she used to.
I don't like it!"

"Did you speak of it to the doctor?"

"Yes.  He tried to reassure me.  But I'm
still uneasy.  It was bad enough before, to
lose two days a week, but if I'm to be robbed
of half my time, it will be unbearable."

"Did you ask him if he thought he could
prevent it, in any way?"

"Yes, and he asked me again to let him
hypnotize me."

"Oh, I hope you refused!"

"Why?" she demanded, turning quickly to
me.  "I've refused only because I didn't
consider him able enough—I was afraid to
experiment, to put myself into his power,
alone as I am here, and without friends.  I
wasn't quite sure enough of him.  Have you
any other reason why I shouldn't?  He said
that he could inhibit Edna's appearance, if
I let him hypnotize me.  He said she ought
to be sent back to where she came from, and
that he wanted to 'wake me up,' as he
expressed it—make me normal again."

"Then he lied!" I remarked decidedly.

"Oh, Chester, you don't know how you
frighten me!  If I can't depend upon Doctor
Copin, a physician, where can I look for help,
and for protection against *her*?  You have
done much for me, but you're only a layman,
after all; what I need is professional advice."

"Yes, of course," I said.  "It is impertinent
of me—it's positive audacity, to think I
can help you, but, don't you see, the doctor,
if he isn't to be trusted, is the more dangerous
because of his knowledge?  He can do
you positive harm."

"Why do you distrust him?" she insisted.
"I must have specific reason before I dare
even to disregard his orders."

"Very well, then," I said.  "But I may
seem more than impertinent—even inquisitive."

She made a fine, impatient gesture.  "Oh,
we've got beyond such considerations—tell me!"

I turned to the door and called Leah, who
came out immediately.

"Leah," I said, "do you know how much
money Miss Fielding had in the house yesterday?"

"Forty dollars, exactly."

"Will you please find out how much of that
is left, now?"

She ran up-stairs, while we waited.  She
returned in a few minutes with Joy's purse.

"There's only fifteen dollars here," she
said, showing the money.

"And it wasn't spent for anything you know of?"

"There's no possible way of spending it,"
she answered.

"Then there's twenty-five dollars to
account for.  Doctor Copin undoubtedly has it.
Are you in the habit of paying him cash, Joy?"

"Oh, no.  Always by check, and, of
course, *I* settle all his bills; that's understood
between us.  Edna can't draw any checks,
anyway, for her handwriting is quite
different from mine.  What could she have given
him the money for?  Perhaps she didn't—how
can we tell?  Perhaps she hid it somewhere."

Leah interposed.  "Oh, no, Miss Joy, the
purse was in your room all the time, I'm sure."

"It may have been justified—it's barely
possible," I said.  "But yesterday Edna
told me that the doctor was always complaining
of being hard up.  What else would he
harp on that for, if not to borrow from her?
Frankly, it's my opinion that he does.  You
know how impressionable and impulsive she
is—any one with tact can easily manage her."

Joy stared at me.  "Oh, that implies, too,
considerable intimacy, doesn't it?  Much
more than I have with him, at least."

"It certainly does," I replied.

She caught the inflection I put into the
remark.  "Do you mean—?"  She stopped
suddenly.

"I mean that he is not above suspicion;
that we should watch him."

"I'll never let him come down here again,"
she cried.  "I'll dismiss him!"

"We must go slow," I said.  "We must be
surer, first; and, besides, you forget that
Edna likes him."

A look of pain came to her face.  "She
*likes* him?" she repeated.

"He cajoles her.  She flirts with him,
perhaps.  At any rate, I doubt if she'll refuse
him admittance."

She rose and began to walk up and down
the gravel walk.  "What shall we do?
What shall we do?" she exclaimed, extending
her hands toward me.  "Why, he is dangerous!
Chester, I'm positively afraid, now.
It's too horrible.  It's getting worse every
day!"

"Tell me," I said, "why have you been
telephoning to him every day or so, Joy?
You never used to, Leah says."

She looked blankly at me.  "I don't know,
I'm sure.  It's funny, but I never thought
much about any particular message.  I
suppose I was simply a little lonely and it
occurred to me to ring him up, that's all."

That was enough for me, and I didn't
explain the reason for my question.  She had
no time to worry about it, at any rate, for
just then Leah, who had been listening
silently, put in:

"Miss Joy, do you know what became of
that little gold chain of yours with the
sapphire pendant?  Edna wore it yesterday, but
I can't find it anywhere."

"Maybe it's up in my room somewhere,"
Joy answered, still walking up and down the
path.  Then suddenly stopping she faced me.

"Oh!  Do you suppose she could have
given *that* to the doctor, too?" she exclaimed.

I laughed.  "No, she gave that to me to
keep for her," I said, and I drew it forth
from my vest pocket where it had remained
since the little scene behind the stable.

Joy's eyes had followed my hand and fixed
on the chain as I held it out.  Her lips
opened with a swift intake of air as she gazed.
The two vertical lines appeared in her
forehead.  She put out a hand tentatively, but
did not touch the ornament.  It was as if she
were in a trance.  Then her lips moved
automatically.

"*Keep it—safe—for me, please!*" she
whispered.  Suddenly her hand went to her
forehead.  "Oh, what *was* it?" she cried.

"Try to recall the rest!" I commanded,
watching her sharply.

She thought a moment, then shook her head
decidedly.  "No, it's gone now," she said.

"You can get nothing more?" was my suggestion.

"Nothing.  It was like a dream, like something
I had done and said before.  What does
it mean—do you know?"

"It's precisely what you did say—what
Edna said, that is—yesterday."

For some time she was too bewildered to
speak, and stood staring at me—through me.
"You mean that Edna said what I've just
said!" she asked.

"Yes."  I handed the chain to her.

She put it away with a sharp gesture.
"Oh, no!  If she gave it to you, keep it!  I
have no right—"  She turned away.

"But it was only to keep till we got home,"
I explained.

She looked at me keenly and threw back
her shoulders proudly.  "No, it wasn't.
She meant you to have it."

"You remember it, then?"

She smiled sadly, pityingly.  "No.  But
I'm a woman, and I know."

Walking away to a rose-bush, she plucked
a bud and returned slowly, as if to hide some
emotion.  It was quite time to comfort her.

"Joy," I said, taking her hand and bringing
her to the steps again, "I have been doing
a good deal of thinking, and I have a
theory that I'd like to prove.  I'd rather not
say anything about it till I'm sure of it, but
when I am, I'll tell you.  Have I your
permission to use my own judgment, even to the
point, perhaps, of eavesdropping?"

"Oh, is that necessary, do you think?"  She
clasped her hands nervously at the
thought.  "I don't know.  It's all so mixed
up in my mind.  Who can settle the ethics of
a case like this?"

"It may come to a fight between you and
Edna, I think."

"Oh, that's what it *has* come to!" she
exclaimed.  "That's what is killing me.  Who
is Edna?  Where did she come from?  Where
does she belong?  I must be fair—I want
to be just to her, however she treats me.
If I could only see her or hear her—if we
could only communicate in some way, there
might be an agreement.  But she's like a
ghost—a character in a book.  Is she a
different person, or only some phase of myself?
Dare I come into open conflict with her?
Why, I may be only destroying myself!  I
have to be *she*, don't I?  Shan't I have to
bear whatever I do to her?  How do I know
what danger may lie in any action I may take?"

"Yes," I replied, "I've thought of all that.
I'm convinced that, as the doctor says, it's
only a case of 'waking you up.'  It's as if
you were a somnambulist—walking in your
sleep—dreaming half the time, irresponsibly.
To wake you up may be uncomfortable
for her.  It may be like a surgical operation
that she has to suffer, but when it's over
you'll regain your health and reason, and, by
the same token, so will she, and you'll forget
all the pain.  However, it hasn't come to
that yet.  What I want, now, is the right to
explore, investigate, examine, experiment,
perhaps, and then, when I have decided for
myself, we can decide what course to adopt.
If you're the White Cat, I'm going to be the
Prince, and save you!"

She took my hand and pressed it affectionately.

"I trust you, Chester, and I'll agree to
anything you think best.  I feel as if I were
being drawn into a maelstrom.  Oh, what
wouldn't I give to be just a normal, natural
person, like every one else!  Why am I
tormented so?  Yes, you *must* help me, Prince!"

"Well, then, now we'll talk no more of it
for a while.  Let's forget it, and go and see
the collies."

Her face cleared and she sprang up, tossed
back her head with her characteristic gesture
and went with me to the stable.  The dogs
were all out in the sun, and as soon as we
appeared they surrounded us joyfully.
Nokomis walked up to Joy in her stately way and
offered a paw.

"Why, Nokomis!" Joy exclaimed, "how
did you get this awful cut on your head!  We
must attend to it immediately!  Chester,
won't you go in and get me some water and
some salve?  Leah will give them to you."

When I came back she was sitting on the
ground with the dog's head on her lap.
Nokomis' deep brown, soft eyes looked up
gratefully while the wound was washed and
dressed.  The tears actually came to my eyes
at the sight.  The scene of yesterday, when
these two were arrayed against each other,
seemed impossible.  It should go without
saying that I made no mention of it to Joy,
for it was evident that she had no idea of
Edna's treatment of the collies.

"Now, Nokomis," Joy said, getting up and
shaking the dust off her skirt, "listen!  I
want you to go in the *house* and get my
*golf-jacket*, and *bring* it to me."  She spoke very
distinctly, accenting the important words.
Nokomis trotted to the kitchen door, barked
sharply, and was admitted.

"I'm educating her," Joy explained to me.
"I want to see how far I can get her to
understand what I say.  This is rather a test,
for there are at least three related ideas, the
house, the jacket and bringing it back.  But
she's extraordinary at picking up words; she
has really quite a vocabulary.  Of course,
you hear a good many stories of the intelligence
of collies, but I've never heard of their
being systematically trained except in a
utilitarian way.  I'm experimenting with more
and more complex ideas.  I hate the ordinary
dog tricks; they're undignified and unworthy.
I'm tremendously interested in animal
psychology.  Queer, isn't it, when I can't even
handle my own!"

Nokomis appeared, in a distressed frame
of mind, and whined.

"Well, Noko, what's the matter!  Can't
you find it?"

Nokomis barked, ran a few steps towards
the house, and returned.

"All right, we'll go in and see what's the
matter."

So we followed her into the house.  The
red golf-coat that Edna had worn yesterday
was hanging upon a hat-stand in the hall.
Nokomis went to it, shook it with her teeth,
turned round and whined.  It was as near
talking as a dog could do.

"Oh, I see," said Joy.  "You got the house
and the coat all right, but you thought I
meant just to come back, did you?  No, *bring*,
Nokomis, *bring, bring, bring*!"  As she
spoke, she placed the jacket in Nokomis'
teeth and showed her what was meant.
"Next time you'll know, won't you?" she said.

"Now we'll try your number lesson," Joy
said as we went back to the stable.  She and
I sat down on a watering-trough, while Nokomis
waited, her head tipped, her ears straight
up, with the soft silky tips drooping like
tassels.  Her sloping eyes were quick and
canny.

"One!" said Joy.

A single bark from Nokomis.

"Two!"

Correct, again.

"Three!"

Still correct.

"Four!"

Nokomis was perfect.

"Five!"

Four barks, then, after a pause, another.

"Six!"

This was too much for the collie.  She
barked, I think, eight times, having quite lost
her head.

"Pretty good, isn't it?" said Joy, as I
congratulated Nokomis—on the neck, at the spot
dogs love.  "This is straight culture, you
know, no trick.  I don't give her any sign, as
they do stage dogs.  I'm just trying to see
how far she can go.  I've begun, too, to teach
her colors, but I haven't succeeded very well."

"It's immensely interesting," I said.  "I
wonder why collies are so much more
intelligent than other dogs."

"They aren't.  Caniches are fully as
bright, but collies have been trained for
generations with the sheep, and it has raised the
level of perception.  That's why I try to keep
up their education, for of course they'll
deteriorate if they're only bred for exhibition
purposes.  But the training of the shepherds
isn't everything.  My theory is that the
reason why a collie is quicker is because his
eyes are trained.  Most dogs, you know,
won't use their eyes if they can use their
noses or their ears.  Hunting dogs will run
past quarry that's in plain sight, following
a scent without looking.  A collie has to
watch his sheep sharply, and his eye is
developed.  Their ears have been trained, too,
by the shepherds."

"How long would Nokomis keep this up,
obeying your orders?"

Nokomis, who had been resting inattentively,
looked up immediately.

"As long as I asked her to—wouldn't you,
old girl?"  Joy rubbed the dog's neck with
her toe.  "A dog's chief joy is to be in some
way, in as many ways as possible, a part of
his master.  I never knew Nokomis to tire
of doing anything that kept up and accented
that relation.  It is the mainspring of a good
dog's life—it accounts for a dog's devotion.
It's trite enough to say, but there is no love
on earth so sure as a dog's love.  It's
unending! it's unchangeable!"

Did Nokomis know, as she watched her
mistress there, of that strange soul that stole
into the girl's form at night?  Did she
answer for herself instinctively, with an
animal's secret prescience, the question that Joy
had asked in anguish—"Who is Edna?"  The
thought came into my mind as I heard
Joy's words, pathetic in their unconsciousness
of how the love of Nokomis waxed and
waned with her own obsession.  Surely
Nokomis was loyal and true.  Surely she had
never betrayed her mistress' confidence.
Perhaps the collie alone knew the secret of
the White Cat.

We took Nokomis with us, and walked over
the hill as we had walked the day before.
"We," I say, for, had any spectator been on
the hillside to watch us pass on both days he
could have seen no difference in the couple.
With me was the same gracile creature
abounding with life and beauty, the same
small, brown-haired, brown-eyed woman with
the flower-like hands.

But I need not say how different she was
in talk, in gesture, in her mental attitude
toward me.  Yet, though I have shown Joy
as intense, even as melancholy, this was not
her natural quality.  She could be as gay
and debonair as Edna, but it was vivacity
of a different key.  Her laugh was as light
and ringing, but it was provoked by other
occasions.  Her sallies were as joyous, but
they sparkled with wit and comprehension.
She was as frank, but she was keen as well.
So it was not so much the sunny-dewy as
against the quiet-shadowy, as it was April
rivaled by June.

After luncheon with Leah, we went up to
Joy's private sitting-room, or study, as she
called it—and it was really that, as I saw
by the books which lined its walls.  She had
indeed time enough to read them!  It was
a woman's room, but it was expressive of
virility as well as taste.  Like most of the
other rooms, except the sleeping chambers
and the dining-room, it was paneled to the
ceiling—Joy confessed that she disliked
plaster even when covered with paper.  The
wood here was a beautifully grained poplar
and the general air of lightness and coolness
was helped by the high, irregular, ceiled
roof whose beams and ties stretched across
from wall to wall.  The ship-like bay-window
which I had noticed from the outside was a
nest of cushions of all colors of the rainbow—I
speak literally—varying from violet,
through blue, green, yellow and orange to red
and purple again.  There was a great table
here where I saw a large microscope and case
of slides.  An upright piano stood in a corner.
I noticed also a typewriter, and a camera on a
tripod.  The place had an air of work and
study quite different from Edna's clutter
and disorder.  It showed me in a glance how
it had been possible for her to live alone,
so far away from civilization.

Here we spent the afternoon discussing her
condition and prospects.  She asked me much
about Edna, for, though she had always been
kept informed of Edna's actions by Leah,
and had attained by this time a pretty good
comprehension of her alternate's character,
she was much interested in my opinions and
conclusions, and I was able to cast new lights
upon this second self of hers which gave her
a new point of view.  I could not yet bring
myself to speak of Edna's coquetries, for of
this she had no suspicion.  There had been
few visitors to Midmeadows since she had
lived there, only the doctor and her lawyer,
I believe; for she had, of late years, become
more and more retiring as Edna's appearances
had become more frequent.

Whatever indiscretions Edna had permitted
herself with the doctor had been well
concealed, as they were so much alone.  I
myself would never have suspected anything,
had she not been free enough with me to set
me on the watch.  And all this sort of thing,
too, had evidently been only of recent growth—it
was coincident with Edna's increasing
"strength."  I don't think that either Leah
or I had, for an instant, any compunction on
Edna's account against informing Joy of
what might be going on.  We were loyal to
Joy alone—it seemed unquestionable that she
was the rightful sovereign self, and that the
other was an interloper—our devotion did
not hesitate at any violation of confidence
incident to such a revelation.  But we wanted
to spare Joy's feelings as long as possible.
For, under whatever spell, it was still Miss
Fielding whose actions we must criticize.
Irresponsible as she was, she could hardly bear
to think of herself as appearing in such a
light, knowing what the picture must be in
our eyes, and her own.  Indeed, it takes a
more than ordinary amount of philosophy to
know that one has shown a lack of taste or
delicacy even under the effects of an
anesthetic or an intoxicant, without suffering
from mortification and shame.  Her
embarrassment would be quite as poignant as her
sensibility was exquisite.

Joy had kept a diagram of her changes,
and she got it out from her desk to show me.
The first appearance of No. 2 had occurred
when she was about fourteen years old; the
second a month or so later, and there had
been this usual interval until she was about
twenty-one.  From that time on, the appearance
of No. 2 had increased in frequency, until
for the last few years it had settled into a
fairly regular average of two days in every
week.  There had been in her early
childhood, beginning when she was seven years
old, some curious abnormal tendencies that
had not been recorded; it seemed, therefore,
that her development was progressing,
roughly, in seven-year cycles.

If that were so, the present daily alternation
of personalities seemed to predict a
gradual overthrow of her normal self, the
original No. 1.  The more I discussed it with
her, however, the surer I was that this
sudden access of strength on the part of Edna
was chiefly attributable to the doctor's
influence.  I did not say so in so many words
to Joy, for I wanted first to prepare my plan,
but there was no doubt, in my mind, that
whatever was his object in overthrowing
Joy's control, and making Edna paramount,
my coming had somewhat interfered with his
experiments, and he had consequently
increased his energy in a determination to
succeed as soon as possible in his attempt at the
replacement.  How terrible this slow eclipse
of her soul must be to Joy, I knew well
enough.

It is hardly to be wondered at, therefore,
that, thrown into intimate contact with so
beautiful and so rare a character, I should
bend all my will and powers toward helping
her in her misfortune.  I had decided
already to make any sacrifice, and devote all
my time to the task.  Nor is it to be
wondered at, I think, that, so devoting myself to
her cause and being so privileged to study
her closely, I should, by this time, have fallen
deeply in love with her.  Her very desperation,
her hopeless, futile struggle against
something outside any ordinary human
experience drew me to her with an ever-increasing
fondness.  Her reliance on my aid
strengthened the bond day by day, hour by
hour.  How much the doctor's interest in her
had given me the additional fillip of jealousy,
I would not care to say.

We came back to the incident of the gold
chain more than once.  What did that
phenomenon mean?  It was almost the first, and
certainly the strongest and clearest
symptom of a common share in Edna's life that
Joy had ever had.  Was it, then, Joy's dim
vision of Edna's experience, or was it more
sinister and significant, an evidence of Edna's
ability to project herself into Joy's waking
life?  Did Edna, perhaps, have a coexistent,
subconscious life?  That it meant something,
that it marked some new phase in this last
cycle of development, we were both sure.

So we talked and talked that afternoon and
through dinner.  In the evening, exhausted
with speculation, we gave it all up.  Joy
played her violin for me for an hour or so,
and we lost all thought of the problem in our
common enjoyment of her music.  Then we
started a game of chess, which, hard fought,
lasted till bed-time.

Before we retired, Joy went out to see the
dogs, and on returning she brought in Nokomis.

"I think I'll let her sleep in my room
to-night, Leah, she's got such a poor, sore
head," she remarked.

Leah looked at me as if to ask my help or
advice.

"Aren't you afraid that—Edna may object
in the morning, if she should be there?"
I asked.

Instantly her suspicions were aroused.
"Object to Nokomis!  Dear old Nokomis,
how could she!"

Nokomis whined anxiously, stretched her
forelegs and waited.

I did not know what to say.  Joy knew, of
course, that Edna was not particularly fond
of the collies, but she had no idea of the
extent of her dislike.  There was, I feared,
some danger if, after what had happened
yesterday, Edna and Nokomis found
themselves together in the same room.  Still, I
wished to spare Joy, as long as possible,
knowledge that would, I was sure, make her
extremely sad.  As Leah had tacitly left it
for me to decide, I said:

"Leah, can't you call Nokomis out early
in the morning, before Miss Fielding
awakes—in case——"

"Yes, I think it will be all right," she replied.

If Joy suspected anything definite in this
quick exchange of glances she did not
inquire.  She turned to bid me good night, and
went up-stairs, Nokomis with her.





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   \V

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I was aroused in the night by a growling
in Miss Fielding's room.  Wide awake in an
instant, I sat up in bed and listened intently,
but I had not had time to get up before I
heard a short, angry yelp, and then Nokomis'
footsteps pattering out of the room and
going down-stairs in hasty jumps.  I struck
a match and looked at my watch.  It was a
quarter past two o'clock.  I knew well
enough, then, that Edna would take Miss
Fielding's place in the morning.  It was
much as if a ghost had entered the house and
lurked in the darkness.  For a long time I
was too agitated to sleep.

The next day was cool and cloudy.  I
found a fire burning in the library when I
went down-stairs and Leah was there,
putting the room to rights.  She looked up at
me gratefully, as if it were a consolation to
her to have some one to depend upon.

Leah had, by this time, begun to treat me
quite as if I were her master.  I had always
tried to meet her upon terms which would
prove that I had no prejudice on account of
her color, but that very attitude of mine
seemed to make her more willing to do me
unlooked-for service.  I am told that this is not,
as a rule, true of negroes, and the Southerners,
who by sentiment and tradition hold
themselves as superior in virtue of their
birth, keep the respect of colored folk and
receive a willing acceptation of subservience
that no Northerner, capable of no such race
feeling, can achieve.  That Leah's gratitude
for my consideration did express itself in
such devotion proves, perhaps, only that she
was intrinsically finer—that she was, as I
have already expressed it, ahead of her time.
There was much pathos in it, nevertheless,
for I was quite ready to regard her as a
social, as she was, undoubtedly, a moral equal.

"Did you hear Nokomis?" she asked immediately.

"I should say!  Didn't it awaken Miss
Fielding?"

"Oh, no, she sleeps heavily at these times.
But it awakened me—wasn't it horrible!
It was Miss Edna coming in!  Think of it!"

"How is she this morning?"

"Fretful and irritable—to me, at least.
She asked for you, and she has been
telephoning to the doctor again.  Oh, I wish you
might prevent that.  What does she do it
for, Mr. Castle?"

"He is probably making her do it," I
replied.  "You see, he has attained a sort of
power over her, I suspect.  Just how much,
we must try to find out.  Have you any idea
what she said?"

"No; she sent me out of the room.  But I
think he'll probably be down to-day.  How
I dread it!  Why does he come here so often?"

"He's coming down, Leah, because he
realizes that we've begun to fight him.  It
will be open war, this time, I expect.  We
don't like each other, and I strongly suspect
that by to-night the cards will be shown
down."

"He's trying to get rid of me!" she said
hopelessly, going on with her dusting.

"Well, he'll have to beat me there, first,"
I said.  "So long as Edna doesn't have two
days running I think I can keep you here
safely.  But we must be ready for the worst.
Is there any place near here where you could
stay, if necessary, for a day or so?"

She reminded me of the old cabin a little
way down the road, and thought it might be
fitted up well enough.  She wouldn't be
afraid to stay there alone, and could probably
manage her meals somehow, through King,
who was always ready to help her.

"Have you a revolver?" I asked.

"Miss Joy has one, and I can easily get it."

"It might be well to have it at hand," I
suggested.  "I'd advise you to ask Uncle
Jerdon to clean up the cabin for you.  And
be sure that the collies are fastened up, too,
won't you?  Where's Nokomis now?"

"Nokomis came down-stairs and spent the
rest of the night in the kitchen.  When King
opened the door, she went out.  She'll not
come back, I think, till Miss Joy's herself
again."

"That will be to-morrow, I trust.  But by
that time we must have something definite to
report to her.  To-day, if possible, I am
going to find out exactly what the doctor is up
to.  I shall hold back for no scruples; I'll
listen, I'll lie and I'll cheat to find out his
game and how to outwit him!"

"I'll do anything you say, too, Mr. Castle.
I'm willing to take the same pledge."  This
was, for her, the consummate sacrifice.  She
would, I am sure, have given her honor, if
necessary, to save her mistress.

We were interrupted then, by Miss Fielding's
appearance—I dare not call her Edna,
lest one forgets that in almost every outward
aspect she was unchanged.  Indeed, had her
body, instead of her mind, been metamorphosed,
I think it would have been easier to
adjust one's self to the strangeness of it.
But Edna's words and Edna's actions
constantly gave the lie to Joy's voice and Joy's
face.  One could not even treat her as
insane.  It was definitely another person in
masquerade.  My soul went out to her at the
sight, to return chilled at the revelation of
that strangeness.  I was constantly being
tricked by my memory.  When I had become
so interested in the conversation as not to
notice her appearance it was easy enough to feel
that I was talking to quite another than Joy,
but upon my first sight of her, or when, after
having looked away for a while my eyes
returned suddenly to her, the surprise of
Edna's words coming from Joy's lips gave
me a shock.  But with all this I had begun
to accept Edna as a perversion, a distortion
of Joy's self, rather than as a separate
individuality, and I was caring too much for
Joy, now, not to witness the working of the
spell without a constant, fiery protest in my
heart.

After our first greetings Leah disappeared,
and we went into the dining-room.  Edna sat
opposite me at the table as I breakfasted, her
elbows on the cloth, her chin on the backs of
her clasped hands, looking at me.

"Well," she began, "I've forgotten again, Chet."

I wondered what was coming.  She seemed
more absorbed, more introspective than
usual, for what of this phase she had
heretofore manifested had appeared usually later
in the day.  She watched me, too, with a
curious intentness.

"But you're not so bad as you have been,"
I offered.  "You know you only lost a day,
this time."

"No, I'm getting hold of myself, I believe.
The doctor is helping me, I'm sure.  I used
to lose four or five days every week."

"I congratulate you!" I said, falsely
enough, I confess.  But I must at any cost
placate her.

"How was I yesterday, Chet?"

"What d'you mean?"

"How did I act?  What did I do?  Was I
very different from what I am to-day, for
instance?  Tell me all about it!"

This staggered me.  She had never
betrayed so much curiosity before; she had
always taken her lapses in her careless,
thoughtless way, without much question.  I
saw Leah in the kitchen stop and listen,
her lips parted, showing her white teeth.

"You were very lovely—as usual!" I said.

"I'm glad you found me so, Chet.  You've
never said that before, you know!"

"Well, I've thought so, often enough!"

"Did you like me any better than you
usually do, then?" she insisted, keeping her
eyes on mine.

"Oh, there are some times when I don't
quite approve of you, I confess."

"When, Chet?"

"When you abuse the dogs—or Leah."  Leah
disappeared.

"But they abuse me, too, horrid things!"
she complained peevishly.  "And I can't for
the life of me see why you're so fond of
Leah.  She's a great trial to me.  I'm only
keeping her on, now, on your account, and if
you scold me, I'll be sorry I did."

"Oh, I'm not going to scold you.  You're
too charming."

"As charming as I was yesterday?"

"Almost."  I hated myself for saying it.

"What did we do yesterday?  You haven't
told me yet."

"Why, we talked, mostly.  We sat up in
your study all the afternoon, and in the
evening we played chess."

"Played chess?  I must have played pretty badly!"

"Oh, no!  In fact, you gave me a hard
fight and beat me."

"Chess is stupid, though.  I'd rather talk.
What did we talk about?"

"Oh, about you, mostly."

"Did you make love to me?"

"No."

"Why not, if I was so very much nicer
than usual?"

Her deliberate misquotation, a common
enough feminine trait, was characteristic of
Edna's newly acquired mental agility, but
in addition I perceived that there was
something behind even that.  It was something
new for her to proceed so categorically.  It
embarrassed me not a little, and yet I could
not quite bring myself to lie to her outright,
even to throw her off the track.  It was
almost impossible when I looked her straight
in the face—Joy's face—nor, of course, could
I reveal anything of what had really happened.

"Oh," I said, "you're very nice now, but
I'm not making love to you, you see."

She further disconcerted me by saying, "Why not?"

There was nothing to do now but to carry
the war into Africa.

"Because Doctor Copin seems to have that
right—or privilege," I gave her boldly,
making a good deal of it by my tone.

"Doctor Copin is very nice indeed to me;
indeed, he's nicer than you are to me, Chet.
He tells me things that you won't, and he's
helping me to get my memory back.  Why
don't you help me?"

"How can I help?" I asked.

"Tell me how I was different yesterday, if
I was different.  Was I different toward him?"

"Of course, I don't know how you've been
in the habit of treating him before I came."

"Well, how did he treat *me*, then?"

"Oh, you'd better ask *him* about that!
But," I added, to try her, "I think he's
undoubtedly in love with you."

"And you're not?  For shame, Chet!"  She
looked demurely at me, as if merely to
impugn my taste.  "He's not nearly so nice
as you, Chet," she continued, "but he does
treat me better.  He's done a great deal for
me, and, if I ever do get well, it will be
through his advice."

"What does he do?  How does he treat
you—can you tell me?"

"Why, he hypnotizes me, you know.  I
told you that before."

"And gives you suggestions, I suppose?"

"I don't know what you mean.  I just go
to sleep, and after a while I wake up again.
He hasn't been able to do it till quite lately,
and I don't understand it very well, anyway.
I don't care, so long as I recover.  He says
I'm a remarkably interesting case."

"So you are, Edna, most assuredly," I
replied.  "You would be, even if you were
all right."

"Thank you for that.  I'll put down one
good mark to your credit.  But tell me—was
I pretty yesterday, Chet?"  She looked up
at me earnestly under her brows.

"Very pretty—beautiful!"

"Was I clever, too?"

"Very!"

"More than usual?  More pretty and more
clever than I am to-day?"

Wishing to see what she was driving at, I
risked a chance shot.  "Yes," I said.

"Oh, I *hate* you!" she cried, and she got
up in a pet and threw herself out of the
room, scowling.

I hurried after to propitiate her, but she
was already outdoors.  I overtook her in the
lane and tried to take her hand and get her
back, but she flung away from me and walked
on without answering me.  Giving up the
chase, I returned to the library, very
sorry to have aroused her temper.  I knew
I should have lied to her for Joy's sake,
for the sake of peace, for the sake of final
victory.

I was pretty well convinced, by this time,
that Edna's eyes were opened, and she knew
what was going on.  She must undoubtedly
have been informed by the doctor the day
before.  That would account for her behavior
at dinner and in the evening.  For the first
time in her life, she had become aware that,
during those lapses when she lost days at a
time, some one else lived for her, animating
the same body.  If, as I was not too modest
to imagine, she cared for me, the reason for
her anger was evident.  Edna was now probably
definitely pitted against Joy in the
conflict that was doubtless already on.  I was
determined, therefore, to bring the thing to
a crisis, that we might, at least, know where
we stood.

I had not been alone fifteen minutes when I
saw Leah approaching the house.  She was
sobbing, her head bent down, her handkerchief
to her eyes.  I ran out to meet her, my
heart in my mouth.

She stopped and told me, trembling
convulsively as she spoke, that while on the way
with a broom to the cabin, intending to make
it fit for temporary occupancy, Edna had met
her and questioned her.  At Leah's attempt
to conceal the truth, Edna, who was already
in an angry mood, burst into a fury and
struck Leah across the face with such force
that her cheek was badly cut, inside, by her
teeth.  The revolver had dropped from
Leah's pocket; Edna had picked it up,
accused Leah of stealing it, and had gone on
down the lane.

"Oh!" Leah cried passionately, "I don't
care how much she hurt me—she's not
responsible, I'm sure—but I'm afraid that now
she'll send me away again.  Then what will
become of Miss Joy?  If she'll strike me,
she'll do worse.  If we don't do something
pretty soon, it will be too late!"

"You must keep out of sight as much as
possible for the rest of the day," I said,
"especially as the doctor will probably come
down.  If we could only prevent that!"  At
the words, an idea occurred to me.  "What
train does he usually come down on?"

"The ten o'clock from the city.  He
usually takes luncheon here."

"Then there's just time, perhaps, to catch
him.  Come up-stairs.  I'm going to try to
see if we can't find out something.  It's a
desperate chance, but I'll take it.  The thing
can't be much worse, even if we're found out."

We went up into the study and I called up
the doctor's number.  While we were
waiting for it I gave Leah her instructions.

"Don't speak loud, just barely loud
enough so that he may hear with difficulty,
and let him do most of the talking.  Pitch
your voice as high as you can.  Ask him
what train he's coming down on.  I'll take
the receiver and listen, and tell you what else
to say."

In a few minutes the bell rang and we were
connected with the doctor's office.  I heard
him say, "Hello!  Is that you, Miss Fielding?"

"Say 'yes,'" I whispered.  Leah did so.

"Anything the matter?" he asked.  Leah
said "No."

"What did you want, then?" was his next
question.

Leah put the question about the train.

"I'm going to take the ten.  I'm starting
right off.  What's the matter with your
voice?  It sounds different, and it's so weak
anyway, I can hardly hear it!"

I told Leah to say, "What?"

"Oh, never mind," he exclaimed impatiently.
"There must be some trouble over
the line.  I'd never recognize your voice at
all.  Can you hear me plainly?"

"Yes," said Leah.

"Well, look out for Castle," he went on,
"Don't let him know that you suspect
anything, will you?"

"No," from Leah, at my prompting.

"He's trying to make trouble for you; and
he will, if we don't look out.  He's in love
with *the other one*, and you'd better try and
see if you can't get rid of him!  Now, Edna!"

"Yes!"  Leah again repeated my whispered word.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Are you listening?"  Why was he
repeating the question?

"Yes!"

"Are you listening?"

At this, I suspected a formula he might be
using for some hypnotic suggestion.  I
whispered to Leah to say "Yes, yes," faintly.

"Meet me at the station, sure.  You will
come alone.  Good-by!"

I hung up the receiver, pretty sure that
he had not suspected the deception.  I went
down-stairs again, and as, by eleven o'clock
Edna had not returned to the house, I had no
doubt that she had gone to the station of her
own volition to meet the doctor.  This was
fortunate, as, seeing her evidently in obedience
to his suggestion, he might be less likely
to question her about telephoning and
thereby discover our ruse.  I was, however,
nervous at the prospect of meeting them.  Leah
could scarcely be kept if the trick were
discovered; I should have hard work brazening
it out myself.

At about noon I started down the north
lane to meet them, and discover the state of
affairs in time to let Leah know.  Half-way
to the road, however, I happened to recall
what Uncle Jerdon had told me about seeing
the two, the day we had broken down in the
automobile.  I decided to hide and see what I
could discover—in a word, to spy upon them.
I was by this time in no mood to be nice
about my choice of weapons, and I took the
first one that came to hand.

I had not waited long before I heard voices
approaching, and I concealed myself behind
a clump of bushes to watch.  I was too far
away to hear distinctly, and, in fact, they did
very little talking—an occasional exclamation
from her, and the doctor's nasal replies.  My
eyes told me more than my ears—enough to
prove that, however Edna regarded me, the
doctor also came in for considerable more of
affectionate demonstration than I had
suspected, and either he was not so conscientious
as I had been, or he was actually in love
with her.  Their actions were those of
acknowledged lovers.  Why, then, had she
flirted with me?  Was her behavior now,
perhaps, mere pique caused by the jealousy I
had aroused in the way I had spoken of Joy?

I went in as luncheon was served.  Edna
met me a little coolly, the doctor more so.
I was decidedly uncomfortable at being now
a guest in a house where I was, perhaps, not
wanted, but I pretended not to notice
anything amiss, and endured my position as well
as I could.  The doctor ignored my presence
completely, addressing all his dull witticisms
to Edna, who laughed at them as usual,
doing her best, now and then, to drag me into
the conversation.  She could not keep any
one mood for long, however, and before the
end of the meal I flattered myself that she
would, after all, prefer being with me alone;
but the doctor's pop-eyes held her, and his
interminable foolery kept her whole
attention concentrated upon him, despite herself.
Nothing at all was said about the telephoning.

Directly after luncheon was over the two
went up-stairs into the study, without even
the formality of an apology to me.  As Leah
was busy about her own work, I strolled out
into the kitchen to see King.  He was
washing the dishes, and greeted me with his
customary cryptic grin.

"Say, King," I said, "you got a joss in
your room?"

His grin grew wider.  "Yep!" he ejaculated,
nodding.

"You no Christian, then?  You not go to
Sunday-school?"

"Aw, no good go to Sunday-school—I can
talk Melican all light.  Chlistian joss no
good for Chinaman.  You think so?"

"I guess you're right," I said.  "But do
you worship your joss?  You burn punk-stick
sometime?  You trim him up with paper
flowers, maybe?"

He laughed to himself as if it were a great
joke, but kept on washing his dishes like a
machine.  "You likee see my joss?" he said,
looking back over his shoulder.  "Heap good
joss—velly old.  I bling him flom China."

"What d'you pray for, King?"

"Aw, sometime one thing, sometime other
thing.  I play for good luck, allee same
Chlistian.  You play, too?"

"Oh, sometimes," I said.  "But go on, tell
me, King.  When do you pray?  You pray
to-day?"

He shook his head.  "Aw, no; no play yet.
Play all time at night."

"What did you ask for last night, then?
Come on, tell me!"

"Aw, no, no!"  He shook his head, still
laughing sillily.

"Money, King?  I'll bet you prayed for money!"

"Aw, no, no!  I tell you.  I play for Miss
Fielding."

I had stumbled upon a live wire!  Instantly
I was aroused, and careful to say no
tactless word.  What I had already got from
him was an extraordinary amount for a
Chinese of his caste to discover to a white
man.  So I went witfully to lead him on to
tell me more.

"That's good, King; I pray for Miss Fielding,
too.  I want her to get well.  Don't you?"

"Yep.  She good lady, you bet.  Maybe
she get well, I dunno."

"What you think the matter with her,
King?  I'm worried about her."

He emptied his dish-water out, and wiped
his hands first.  Then he stopped suddenly
and said:

"Miss Fielding, she got one no-good debbil
on inside.  You know?  Sometime he heap
bad, sometime he keep still.  Plenty people
have debbil in China; all time go pliest, he
dlive 'em away easy."

"The priest drives the devils away, King!
How does he do it?"

"Oh, flighten debbil, tha's all.  Stlike gong,
burn fire-clackers, make all time heap loud
noise and debbil go away flighten'."

"I wish Miss Fielding could be cured as
easy as that, King!"

For the first time during the conversation
his grin disappeared.  He came up to me,
gesticulating.

"You likee flighten away debbil?  Maybe
I help you sometime?"

"Could you do it?" I laughed.

"Sure!  Aw! you no think so?"  He returned
to wipe his dishes philosophically.  I
smiled at his earnestness and walked away.

I sat down in the library to wait till the
doctor came down.  I found that he would
have to walk to the station, as Uncle Jerdon
was away, and I determined to have another
talk with him, if I could manage to see him
alone.  I had decided on a *coup d'état*.

In a half-hour they reappeared, Edna
showing traces of heaviness about her eyes,
as if she had been asleep.  The doctor
looked at his watch, and found that he had
just time to walk to the train.  I offered to
accompany him, and, though he appeared
surprised, he assented with a good grace.  Edna
did not care to go with us.  It seemed to me
that she not only perceived the antagonism
between the doctor and me, but fostered it
for her own ends.  It was as if we were
fighting for her and she had decided to let the
best man win.  So we left her and started out.

I began as soon as we were round the turn
of the lane.

"Doctor Copin," I said, "I wish you'd let
me know exactly what Miss Fielding's
condition is, and what hopes you have for her
recovery."

"Did she ask you to interrogate me?" he
asked blandly.

"In a way, she did.  But I do so, nevertheless,
quite on my own responsibility, as a
friend who is very much interested in her
case."

"Then I must decline to answer.  You are
aware, I suppose, that Miss Fielding has had
her own reasons for not wishing the matter
to be discussed?"

"I'm perfectly aware of that, but I think
that, as I now know all the essential facts, it
can't possibly matter to her.  On the other
hand, I can help, perhaps."

"I didn't know you were a specialist in
nervous diseases—or even a psychologist,"
he answered in a sneering tone.

"I am neither, but I have common sense
enough to perceive that her trouble is
approaching a crisis.  That, in fact, is my sole
justification for staying on here."

"Oh, if that's all, you can go any time.
I'm quite able to cope with the situation, I
assure you."

"Doctor Copin, I insist upon having a
statement of what you are doing in this
matter.  I speak as the representative of Miss
Fielding—the real Miss Fielding."

He turned to me now with his thin lips
drawn back, showing his even line of false
teeth, in a cruel, selfish smile.  "Insist?" he
repeated.  "You have hardly that right,
whatever Miss Fielding has said."

"I certainly do have that right!" I maintained.

He stopped in his tracks and confronted
me.  "Why?" he demanded.

The time had come for me to play my bluff.

"Because I am engaged to Miss Fielding!"
I announced curtly.

He scowled fiercely.  "You are!" he
retorted.  "Very well, then, I have as good a
right to refuse to answer you!"

It was my turn to say, "Why?  What do
you mean?"

"Because I am engaged to her myself.  So
there you are!"  With that he walked off,
leaving me standing, staring at him.  I was
literally bluffed to a standstill.  I watched
him striding down the lane in silence.  I was
in a labyrinth of thought.  Then I turned
slowly back toward the house and prepared
for war.  I should have to get it out of
Edna, or give up and confess myself defeated.

As I walked up the lane I heard a rustling
in the bushes, and peering through them, I
saw Nokomis bounding along, her ears laid
back, her brush trailing.  She leaped down
the bank a little way ahead of me and stood
for a moment, pointing in the direction of
the house.  I called her, but she only turned
her fine head for a moment, and then trotted
on up the lane.  I followed after her leisurely,
preparing for my cross-examination of Edna.

Just before I came to the turn, I heard a
quick, sharp yelp, and a woman's shrill cry.
Then a shot rang out, echoing against the
hillside.  I ran round the bend at full speed.

There was Edna with a pistol smoking in
her hand.  In the path, in front of her,
Nokomis lay dead.  Leah, running up from the
house, had stopped behind Edna, and stood
horror-stricken, afraid to move.  It was like
the scene of a play.

I strode up.  "What's happened?" I demanded.

Edna dropped the pistol to her side and
looked down at the collie angrily.

"Nokomis tried to bite me," she said.
"But she'll never try it again!  I always
thought she was dangerous."

"Give me that revolver!" I said sternly.

She met my look, shrinking a little, and
handed over the weapon.  I put it into my
pocket.  Leah retreated fearfully to the
house.

First, I took Nokomis' body and carried
it to a bed of ferns beside the path, patted
her head and left her there till she could be
buried.  Then I took Edna's arm, gently, and
led her away.  She told me, a little frightened
now at the impressiveness of my manner, that
she had met Nokomis suddenly, and attempting
to drive her away, the collie had snapped
viciously at her.  Edna had the revolver
which she had taken from Leah earlier in the
day, still in her jacket pocket, and, at the
attack, had drawn it and fired immediately.

I had no reproaches for her—what was
there to say?  Even in speaking, she had
recovered from her mood, and she became as
blithe and inconsequent as if nothing had
happened—the only effect apparent upon her
was a whimsical pettishness at my implied
rebuke.  She began to attempt to cajole me
childishly, patting my hand, looking saucily
up into my face and pretending a sort of
arch depreciation of her temper.  It was
evident that she was not at all sorry for
what she had done; in fact, she seemed to
be secretly altogether pleased at her prowess,
though she covered it with considerable
guile.

All the rest of the afternoon she was in an
excited frame of mind.  She treated me with
all her former comradeship, but I could see
that she was acting.  It gave me a new
insight into the rapidity of her development
effected by the doctor's information.  She
was no longer a child; she was becoming
complex, although still dominated by rapidly
changing moods.  A new phase had indubitably
commenced; it was the sign, I feared,
of a growing supremacy.

That evening she wheedled me with every
art of the coquette.  Her familiarity seemed
to give the lie to the doctor's statement about
their engagement, but it might well be true
that she was playing him as audaciously as
she was playing me.  I did not, of course, ask
her about it.  It did not matter.

If I had needed to exercise my self-restraint
on that other evening when she attempted to
provoke me, it was much more necessary
now, for she had become less differentiated,
intellectually, from Joy; so much so, at
least, as to permit me at times to give my
imagination play, and fancy her, for the
moment, the real Joy, my Joy in an alluring
guise, tinctured with wild-fire.  The line of
cleavage now was more along moral lines.
Edna's mind was evolving at the expense of
her ethical nature.  Her temptation was
seductive and arrantly conceived to torment
me; I was sure that it was intended to shake
my allegiance to her rival self.  It was like
playing with edged tools to be alone with her.
In her intervals of repose she fell so naturally
into Joy's poses that it was disconcerting.
It was like *The Faerie Queene* over
again; like an errant knight, I was confronted
by the image of my mistress so cunningly
enchanted that I could not tell till she spoke
that her body was obsessed by another spirit.

She asked me much about the day before,
and about what she had done and said.  As
the evening wore on and she could not
defeat my continual evasions, she began to grow
sullen and reserved.  Finally, she appeared
to give it up, and went up-stairs with a
sarcastic emphasis to her "Good night, Prig!"





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   \VI

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning I lay in bed for some time
after I awoke, planning my day.  If it were
Joy who appeared, there were several things
to be decided upon and accomplished; if
Edna, a conflict was imminent which caused
me much anxiety.  Queerly enough, the
proposal I would have to make to Joy seemed
almost as if it would be an *ex post facto*
agreement.  I had already announced my
engagement to the doctor, but I had not made
my bluff without holding a pretty good hand.
I couldn't doubt, by this time, how Joy felt
toward me.

At eight o'clock I heard the customary
dialogue—Miss Fielding's door being still
left ajar—but I noticed that her voice was
quick and excited.  Leah was called in
immediately, and the two women seemed to
have more than the usual amount of talk together.

Next, I heard the dogs barking in answer
to their names; but there were only three
replies to Joy's calls, to-day.  Poor old
Nokomis would never greet her mistress again.
Then the door was closed.  Joy evidently
did not wait to have breakfast, as usual, in
her room, for fifteen minutes later I heard
her going down-stairs.

Fearing that something was wrong, though
I was sure, now, that it was Joy herself
whom I had heard, I rose and dressed as
quickly as I could.  I found her in the library
waiting for me.

She held a folded paper in her hand, as she
sat by the window, looking out listlessly.  I
bade her good morning; she looked up without
a smile and silently handed me the paper.
Unfolding it, I saw, written in a round,
childish, vertical script, the words:

"*I know you now—Cat!*"

"I found this pinned to my pillow when I
woke up," she said.  "It's from Edna."  Then
a faint, dreamy smile softened her lips
as she said, "You see, even to her, I am the
White Cat!"

"How d'you know it's from Edna?"

"It's her handwriting.  She writes very
differently from me."

I looked at it, wondering.  It was the first
shot in the battle.

"You see, she has found out.  Her eyes
are opened," Joy said.

"Yes.  I was going to tell you about it
to-day.  I suspected it yesterday, and it has
proved true.  It complicates things immensely."

"Leah has told me that I struck her, too.
Think of it!  It makes me positively faint.
What horrible part of me has come to the
surface in Edna?  What undiscovered self is
it that is torturing me so?  It's a hideous
revelation.  It shows how depraved I must
be, at heart."

"It isn't you!" I declared.  "It's
another woman, quite.  It's only you in the
sense that it would be you if you were
intoxicated, or if you were dreaming, or
insane.  You mustn't think of yourself as in
any way responsible."

"Then of course she's not, either?"

"No more than a child, or an idiot.  She
uses your body and your mind, but she hasn't,
so to speak, the use of your moral scruples.
She's a disintegrated self, imperfectly
functioned.  All the same we have, of course, to
treat her as quite another person.  And the
time is approaching, I think, when we'll have
to act.  I don't intend to spare her.  We
must use force if necessary."

"How does she know about me, after so
long an ignorance?" Joy inquired.

I told her what I had heard at the telephone.
She could scarcely credit my testimony.

"If the doctor is definitely leagued with
Edna, what can we do?  He has all his
science and Edna's active help.  I'm lost if
he's really against me!  I can't be sure that
the doctor has deliberately played me false.
There may be some mistake."

"I think I can prove that to you," I
answered, "but I have a great deal to say to
you first."

I think she knew, then; I think she hoped
to hear what I was going to say, for she gave
me her hand, and smiled up at me as she rose
to go in to breakfast.  We sat down with
Leah at the table.

I had taken it for granted that Leah had
told Joy everything that had happened the
day before, and so, not wishing to grieve her
further, I took care to say nothing about
Nokomis.  But the swelling on Leah's cheek
could not be so easily ignored, and several
times I saw the tears come into Joy's eyes at
the sight of it.

While we were there the clock struck
half-past eight.  At the sound Joy's face
changed—an expression of abstraction came into it.
It was as if she were trying to recall
something that eluded her memory.  Then she
half rose, like a somnambulist.

"I think I'll run up-stairs and telephone
the doctor," she said, without looking at me.

"Why should you?" I asked, much
surprised, after the way we had talked.

"I don't know," she said vaguely, looking
about the room.  "Oughtn't he to know how
I treated Leah?  Perhaps he can prevent
that in some way."

"You'd better not, Joy," I said.

She stood for a moment irresolute, and
then, as if urged by some extraneous impulse
she moved a little nearer the door.

"I just want to find out if he's coming
down to-day," she said automatically.

I jumped up and touched her shoulder.

"Please don't telephone to Doctor Copin—you
*mustn't*!" I said with decision.

"Oh," she said, wide-eyed, coming to herself
a little.  "There's a reason?"

"There's a good reason!" I exclaimed
fervently.

She moved back, as if still opposing some
force that was drawing her out of the room,
sat down limply, half rose again, reseated
herself.

"Resist!" I said to her.

Leah looked on without a word, breathless,
her lips open.

Joy looked madly at me.  "What is it,
Chester?  Tell me!"

"It's only a post-hypnotic suggestion,
that's all.  You must defeat it."

Then she literally shook herself free from
the obsession.  "Oh, why am I tortured and
racked so!" she exclaimed.  "Can't I be
permitted to be myself when I *am* myself?
Isn't it bad enough to be robbed of myself
half the time without his imposing his will
on me now?  Why is he doing this?"

"That's just what I want to find out," I
said.  "The important thing is not to give
in to him.  His experiments may possibly be
justified, but I don't think so.  We certainly
have good ground to suspect him.  Have you
quite got over your desire to telephone?"

"Yes—but it's queer—I can still think of
reasons why I might, though of course I agree
with you that it's not best to.  You see, I've
only given up to you instead of to him.  I'm
quite in the dark, now; I seem to have no
will of my own.  I can't judge, I can't
understand even my own impulses.  Well, if
I'm blind you and Leah will lead me, won't you?"

She reached over and took Leah's hand
affectionately.

When we finished breakfast, Joy and I
went into the library.  There was an old,
gilt-framed, concave mirror there, over the
fireplace, that gathered in and focused on its
disk the whole room in one condensed,
shadowy scene.  Joy went up to it.

"Aren't we queer and strange in there?"
she said.  "It's so dim and ghostly; when I
look up and see any one in it, it always seems
to me like some scene of Maeterlinck or
Sudermann."

She walked over to another glass, more
formal and more true, and looked at herself
intently.

"Look at the lines about my eyes!  They
weren't there a year ago!  My whole face
has changed....  I have grown ten
years older this last month....  My
eyes themselves are different....
There's another wrinkle....  I wish my
eyebrows were even....  I believe my
nose is one-sided, too...."

Her voice died away.  I looked up and saw
her gazing into the mirror with a strange
intentness.  Her brow was puckered into a
frown.  Suddenly her hand went to her heart
with a gesture of horror.

"Oh!" she cried, and hid her face in her
hands.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The doctor!" she exclaimed, shuddering.

"Tell me!" I insisted.

Instead, she sprang up and began to walk
up and down the room, wringing her hands.
"It's awful; it's all confused in my mind,
like a dream—but I seem to remember
things that never happened at all.  Oh, *did*
they ever happen?" she turned to demand
of me in despair.

"That's what I want you to tell me."

She dropped into her chair again and
began to cry—"Oh, I can't tell you!  I can't!
It never happened, I'm sure!  What does it
mean, Chester?"

"It's probably what happened here
yesterday—to Edna—that you remember, Joy."

"Oh, how dare he treat her so, then?  It
comes back to me in scraps and shreds of
scenes.  Oh, what a cad he must be!  And
what a woman she must be, to allow
him—oh, I can't stand it!  Why did you make me
remember?  How can I ever look any one
in the face again?"

She threw herself into the cushions on the
window-seat and burst into tears.  There
was but one way to restore her self-respect,
and I went over to her and took her hand.
At first she pulled it away, but I persisted.

"Dear Joy," I said, "don't grieve so, for
it's all right.  It was Edna, not you, you
know, and Edna's not responsible for what
she does, I'm sure.  Don't cry, for I have
something to say to you, now, that you must
answer."

She looked at me through her tears, and
waited.

"I want you to marry me, Joy."

"Oh, please *don't*!" she exclaimed.
"Marry you?  How can I listen to such a
thing, after what has happened?  Oh, no, *no*!"

"It's partly on account of that that I ask
you now.  I want to help you, and I can help
you so much more if we are engaged.  I
want the right to help you."

"Oh, it's only pity that makes you ask
me.  It's only to protect me!  Never, never!"

"It isn't that," I protested.  "I love you,
Joy—I have loved you for a long time, and
loving you, I want to save you, not only for
your sake, but for my own as well.  I want
you for my wife, Joy!  Don't you love me?"

Her tears had ceased and now she looked
at me with bright eyes that burned softly.

"My dear," she said, "of course I love
you!  I think I have loved you ever since
that first day you came here.  But for that
very reason I must say no.  How could I
ever drag you into this wretched trouble?"

"Oh, I'm in it all over, whether or no," I
said.  "Do you think I could ever leave you
now?  Were I only your friend, even, I'd
have to stay with you; but I'm your lover,
Joy!  I'm most desperately in love with you.
And I intend to have you, too!  No matter
what you say, no matter what you do, you're
mine, and you can't get away from me.  So
you'd better just say 'yes' this moment."

She sat up and looked at me tenderly.
"Don't speak of it again—not till all this
problem is settled, at least.  It's impossible.
Do you think I could think of it after what
has happened, after I've found out what I
really am?  If I am ever released from this
spell—if I can ever forget what I've just
found out, it will be time enough to speak of
love.  But not now, I beg of you.  I'm the
White Cat!"

"I've already told the doctor that we're
engaged," I said.

"You told the doctor!" she exclaimed.
"How could you?"

I repeated our conversation in the lane.
Her momentary resentment at me died away
at hearing the doctor's own announcement.

"Then perhaps Edna is in love with him,
after all!  That would account for much, and
excuse everything, perhaps."  She drew a
sigh of relief at the thought of this palliation.

"I don't think she is, but she might be
willing to marry him to get her freedom,"
I offered.

"But then, if Edna is in love, I have still
less right to let you propose to me.  Why,
just think of it—it's incredible!  If they're
engaged——"

"They're not engaged, I'm sure."

"It makes no difference—she may care for
him more than you think.  It's fearful!  I
can't talk about it!"

"But she *can't* marry him!  We must
prevent that!  Think of the horror of that
possibility!"

I had small need to appeal to her imagination.
Her mind was already whirling with
the possibilities of such a situation.  She
stared at me, dazed, speechless, her eyes
filled with terror.  Then she collapsed and
fell into my arms.

"Oh, Chester, what shall I do?  Take care
of me!  I'm so frightened!"

"You must listen to me, Joy," I said.  "I
love you so that my heart will break if you
don't consent and let me help you.  You
must be my wife, and then we can defy them
and fight it out together."

She started up with a new thought.  "Oh,
hasn't Edna a right to *her* love, too?  Won't
it be as bad for her, possibly, if I consent?
How can I force her to suffer that!  How
can I bear to think of your being with her
while I'm wandering, lost, eclipsed?  Oh,
don't you see how shockingly impossible the
whole thing is?  We can neither of us dare
to love.  We have no right even to think of
it!  How can you suggest it?  It's unthinkable!"

"But you love me?" I asked.

She offered me her lips for the first time,
and clung to me, trembling.

"Then nothing is impossible.  We'll wait
a while, and see.  But at least, so far as the
doctor is concerned, I can't afford to be
stultified.  You'll not repudiate my
announcement?  You'll admit it to him, if he
asks?  I must have that weapon against him."

She turned it over in her mind.  "I'll not
deny it," she said finally, "but you must not
consider it a promise.  It's simply too
ghastly to think of!"

I had gained that much, at any rate, and
though my heart sank at the thought of the
possibilities our words had pictured, I still
hoped to be inspired to some successful plan
for attack and defense.  I knew that Joy
loved me—that was everything.  It made me
bolder and more confident.  So I put the
horrors from me and thought only of our love.

She turned suddenly toward me and said:
"What would you do for me, Chester?"

"Anything, except give you up!"

"Remember the White Cat!" she said.
"Would you do what she asked the Prince to do?"

"What do you mean?"

She spoke deliberately.  "Conceive, if you
can, our being beaten in the end.  Conceive
that Edna might marry the doctor—and then
think of me!"

"I'll prevent that!" I said, through my teeth.

"You may not be able to prevent it, except
in one way."

I understood.  "If I ever believe that *that*
is the only way to prevent it—I promise to
help you."

"I may be able to do it alone; of course
I shall try.  But if I haven't the means, the
opportunity, you must promise to help me
find them."

"I promise!" I repeated.

She tossed her head back with her old gesture.

Then I said: "Joy, all this is unnecessary;
though I've promised.  If you'll only
marry me now—if you'll even consent to an
engagement, it will enable me to defy the
doctor and prevent his coming here."

"Oh, I can not, I can not!" she cried.
"You know why as well as I!  It's too
awful!  I love you—that must be enough for
the present."

She rose and added: "Let's go outdoors
and take a walk.  Perhaps the air and the
sun will do me good, and afterward we can
think it over and decide how to manage the
doctor.  I'll just run up-stairs and change
my clothes and then we'll try the sun-cure."

As she went up to her room, I walked out
into the kitchen to talk to King while I
waited for her.  He was busy at the stove,
but welcomed me with his usual meaningless grin.

"Well, King," I said, "I guess your joss
is pretty good, after all.  Miss Fielding is
better to-day."

"H'm!" He shook his head.  "Debbil
come plenty time more!"

"Perhaps we can pray him away," I suggested.

He dropped his spoon and came up and
took my arm.

"You likee come lookee my joss?"

I assented, amused at his insistence, and
he led me out into the yard where, beside the
stable, he had a little shed.  It was filled with
the odor of burning sandalwood.  In his
room, by the upper end of his cot, was his
porcelain joss, a horrible-faced deity.  Long
placards of red paper containing Chinese
writing were hung about, and there were
paper flowers, dusty and fly-specked, upon the
stand.  At the feet of the idol was a bowl full
of ashes in which were many joss-sticks.
Three were lighted, the others had burned
out.  There was also a small lamp, with a
lighted wick floating on the nut-oil.  I
inspected it all very seriously.

King rummaged in his trunk, and soon,
grinning, beckoned to me.  I went over to
him and saw, in the tray, a large, ferocious-looking
mask such as are used in the Chinese
theaters and at the Feasts of the Dead.
Beside it was a pair of huge brass cymbals and
a snake-skin tomtom.  King held up the mask.

"Oh, you used to be an actor, eh!" I said.

He grinned and held the thing in front of
his face.  It certainly was horrible.  He
took up the cymbals and struck one clang.
Then he put them away.

"Heap good for debbil.  Dlive him away
quick!" he said.  "Maybe some time I tly
him!  You think so?"

I laughed, and went back to the library,
where Joy was already waiting for me.

She was standing by the window-seat, looking
out, putting in a hat-pin, lost in thought,
when I entered.  My footsteps made no noise
on the heavy rug, and I thoughtlessly
touched her on the shoulder before she was
aware of my approach.  Absorbed in her
trouble, unstrung, the surprise startled her
with a sudden irrational terror; she leaped
away as if from the touch of a snake.  Then,
seeing me, she dropped upon the window-seat,
her hand on her heart.

"Oh, you frightened me so!  You see how
nervous I am.  I didn't hear you.  I'm a
goose!"

I took no step toward her, but stood there
gazing at her.  A sudden idea had come to
me at sight of her fear, and immediately a
plan was unrolled before me, a perfected
thing, a solution of the problem, perhaps.
At my fixed, stony attitude, however, she
took a new alarm and cried out:

"What is it, Chester?  What is it?"

"Wait a moment," I said quietly, "let me
think it out."  My tone reassured her, but
she was still agitated as she watched me
while I turned it over in my mind.  Then I
took a seat beside her.

"It's a desperate chance, but it may work."

"You have a plan?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you.  It will be much better
for you not to know."

"Oh, I'm afraid not to know!  It's dreadful
to be conspiring against that poor girl.
It's like plotting a murder.  I can't bear the
thought of it.  You must tell me."

"It will be hard enough for me—you could
not stand it," I said.  "You'll have to trust
me, for I shall save you in spite of yourself.
But I can't share this with you."

"You'll not injure her, Chester?"

"How can I, when it will be your own face
that I shall confront?  It will be your own
voice that I shall hear.  I wonder if I can do it!"

"Oh, I *must* know or I shan't consent,"
she declared.  "What right have we to
destroy her, after all?  She has a right,
perhaps, to her life!"

"Joy," I said, "you must think of it as a
dream, as I said.  In our dreams we suffer
and enjoy, but so long as there is no bridge
between that and our waking state, it need
not matter to us.  What must be done is no
more than a surgical operation.  It will
restore you, I think, to health."

"But what of her?"

"She'll merely disappear.  She'll take her
place on the map again and join the rest
of you."

"You won't tell me?"

"I can't!"

She rose proudly.  "Then I do not
consent," she declared.  "I can suffer still.
I'll summon new reserves of strength and
I'll fight it out as it has begun.  I'll forswear
happiness, love, peace.  I'll accept my
fate—until I can stand it no longer.  Then, I
have my own remedy and I shall not be
afraid to adopt it.  There's always *that* way
out!  No, I'm stronger than you think, and
it's quite settled.  Now come outdoors and
let's get some fresh air.  It's like a haunted
house in here."

I tried no longer to persuade her, but I had
already decided that I would put my plan
through without her consent, if necessary.
It happened, however, that this course was
not necessary.

We went out into the sunshine and the
fresh air and the perfume of June roses.  In
front of the house she stopped and called
the collies.  They came trooping joyfully
about her.

"Where's Nokomis?" she asked.  "Hasn't
Nokomis come back yet?  That's queer!"

I saw, then, that she had not been told.  It
was shocking to have to inflict this new blow
upon her, after all she had been through, but
it could do no good to conceal the fact any
longer.  As she turned to go around to the
stable, I took her hand.

"Send the dogs back," I said.

She did so, with a question in her eyes.  I
took her arm and led her down toward the
turn of the lane.

"Nokomis will never come back, Joy," I said.

"Why?" she exclaimed.  Then she saw
the answer in my eyes, and she grasped my
arm, as if she were about to fall.

"Oh, don't say—Nokomis isn't dead?" she
whispered.

"It was my fault, Joy; I should have had
her taken away out of danger.  But I was
too late."

I took her to the bed of ferns and pointed
to the dead collie still lying there.

She ran to the spot and looked, aghast.
Then, dropping to the ground, she took
Nokomis' head tenderly and laid it in her lap.

"Oh, Nokomis, Nokomis!" she mourned,
her little hand smoothing the ruffled neck
affectionately.

I told her how it had happened, and she
gazed at me, dry-eyed, till I had finished.
Then she put the collie's beautiful head
down, straightened out the body and finally
broke into sobs that shook her whole body.
I let her cry it out.

She looked up at me, her face drawn and
tear-stained.

"Poor old Nokomis!" was all she could say.

I took her hand and helped her up, then
led her gently away, as I had led Edna away
only yesterday.  It was the same hand I
took, but it was so cold and weak!  It was
the same face I saw, but it was so shadowed
with sadness!  It was the same voice I
heard, but then it had been proud and
careless—now it was so tremulously stricken!

"To think that I should have killed
Nokomis!" she said.

"It wasn't you, dear!"

"How do I know?  If I could be sure!"
was her doubting answer.

Then she wheeled about and faced me.
She put both her hands on my shoulders and
clung desperately to me.

.. _`313`:

"Chester," she cried, "take me, if you
will—if you dare!  I don't know any more
what's right and what's wrong.  The White
Cat is blind!  I must have you—I want you!
I can't live without your help!  I'll give it
all up, now, and let you act; for I shall die
anyway, if such a thing as this should
happen again.  Next time it may be Leah—it
may be even you!  If you can save me, I'll
marry you.  I consent to the engagement—I'll
say 'yes' with all my heart, with all
gratitude and all love.  It's wrong and
cowardly, I'm afraid, but you and Leah are all
I have."

I kissed her on the lips, and put on her
finger the little old seal ring I wore.

"Then we must be married," I said.

She freed herself and took a step back.

"Oh, no!  Not yet!" she said sadly.
"No, not even yet!  When you have tried
your plan—and I give you leave, now—when
you have succeeded in freeing me—then
we will be married.  Oh, you must free
me first—I can't share you with Edna—you
must destroy her, before she destroys me!"

"Very well," I said.  "I can't urge you
further, though I am afraid there is a great
risk in delay.  I must go up to town first, and
I shall have to leave you here, of course.  I
doubt if I could manage Edna, should she
appear to-morrow while we're in town.  But
I shall return as soon as possible—to-morrow
at the latest.  Now I must get ready to
take the one o'clock train up."

As we sat in the library waiting for Uncle
Jerdon, Joy took up the crystal prism and
watched abstractedly the rainbow spot upon
the ceiling.

"You're leaving for the second time," she
said.  "It's the end of the second quest, isn't
it?  I'm afraid the White Cat has no piece
of cloth fine enough to give her Prince, though."

I pointed up at the streak of prismatic color.

"There's a veil of beauty as wonderful
as that the king's son brought home.  Surely
it's fine and subtle enough to pass through
the eye of a cambric needle!"

She handed the crystal to me with a tender
smile.

"Keep it, Son of a King!  And, if you
win me, I'll see you clad in those rainbow
hues all my life long!"

At one o'clock I was in the train on the
way to town, deliberating my plan and
arranging for the preparations I must make.





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   PART THIRD

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.. class:: center large bold

   \I

.. vspace:: 2

I started back for Midmeadows at ten
o'clock the next day.  It was a fine breezy
morning and the country-side was full of
odors.  The sky was an intense blue, abounding
in great rolling white clouds which spotted
it like the continents and islands of a
huge map upon which some titanic Napoleon
was continually carving and remodeling new
realms and empires of the firmament.

I paid less attention to them, however,
than I did to the mental empire it was now
my purpose to overthrow.  If thunder and
lightning could burst the cloud that kept the
sunshine from my sweetheart's life, I was
determined to conjure that storm.

I had, during my few hours in town,
consulted a medical friend upon Joy's case, and
while he gave no professional approval to
my project, he had not denied the possibility
of its being effective in producing a cure.
Such conditions as Miss Fielding's were by
no means rare, but they had been so little
studied, except phenomenally, that there was
no authorized course of treatment known.
Each had to be dealt with according to its
especial characteristics, and according to
circumstances.  He had talked to me a good
deal concerning "subliminal selves," of the
theory of "successive planes of consciousness"
and of "isolated personalities," ending
with the statement that, so far as any
definite knowledge of the psychology of
multiple or dissociated personality was
concerned, even doctors were the merest laymen.
Of its actual rationale they knew virtually
nothing, though in some cases the disintegrated
personalities had been synthesized
into a normal self by means of hypnotic
treatment.

I had left Joy herself, yesterday, and, in
view of her accelerated alternations, due to
the doctor's influence, I had every reason to
expect to find Edna to-day in control.  My
chief hope was that she and Leah were still
upon amicable terms, and that they would
be alone in the house.  But there had been
time for many things to happen, and I
awaited the news with considerable anxiety,
though braced for any ordeal that might
come—except, of course, what did come.  I
dismissed the carriage at the lane and walked
the rest of the way.

There was no sign of life outside the
house; I went up to the front door and
knocked.  It was some time before my
summons was answered, and then, to my dismay,
by Doctor Copin.  This was worse than I
had feared.

"Oh, how d'you do, Castle?" he said,
making no move to let me in.

"I'm down again, you see.  I believe Miss
Fielding is expecting me," I said, as coolly
as I could.

He stood with his hand on the door,
defending the entrance.  "I'm very sorry to
say that Miss Fielding is not well to-day, and
she can't see you."

"Can't see me!  Why, that's impossible.
She knows perfectly well that I was to
return to-day!"

"She's said nothing about it to me, if she
does.  At any rate, she's in no condition to
see anybody, and I must ask you to leave."

"Would you mind telling her that I'm
here?" I said.

"I'll speak to her, if you like, though I
don't particularly care to disturb her at
present.  Wait a moment, and I'll see how
she is."

He shut the door and, I think, locked it.  I
waited on the step, hoping for a sight of
Leah, and trying to make up my mind what
to do if I were refused admittance.  I might
attempt to enter by force, but, with the
doctor there, I could not possibly put my project
into action.  He finally reappeared with a
long face.

"Miss Fielding begs to be excused," he
announced.

"It's most extraordinary; I must insist on
seeing her!" I cried.

"You certainly don't wish to force yourself
in where you're not wanted?" he insinuated.

"If I were sure I wasn't wanted, no.  But
I don't believe you took my message in to
her at all."

"I'll accept that insult, Mr. Castle, and
we'll settle it at some other time.  Just now,
I must ask you to leave immediately.  You
may happen to recall what I told you the last
time we met.  As Miss Fielding's fiancé it is
not only my right but my duty to see that
you go."

"And do you recall my own words on that
occasion!  I have as good a right to insist
upon entering!" I maintained.

"Well, well, this is no time to discuss that,
for my presence is needed in the house," he
replied.  "As I am engaged to Miss Fielding,
No. 2, if you please to accept that designation,
and as it is No. 2 who is at present
receiving me, you'll perhaps see the force of
my claim."

It was infamous to have to stand
bickering with him, and, as it could do no good to
enact a scene, I turned away, lifted my hat
and bade him "good morning!"  He bowed,
shut the green door, and this time I distinctly
heard the key turn in the lock.

I was for a moment at a loss how to
proceed, but walked slowly down the lane.  At
the bend I looked back and saw Leah at an
upper window gesticulating to me.  I
stopped and watched her.

From her signs I gathered that she wished
to meet me, and, being careful to make no
signal in return, I passed out of sight and
waited.  It was fifteen minutes before she
appeared, coming through the underbrush,
having made a detour from the back of the
house to escape observation.

"Oh, Mr. Castle," she said breathlessly,
"it's dreadful!  The doctor has been down
here since early in the forenoon, and he has
been with Edna all the time, shut up in the
library."

"What are they doing?  Could you see or hear?"

"Oh, what *aren't* they doing!" she
exclaimed, turning away.  "It's unbearable.
I don't see how you can stand it!"

"I can't stand it!  I won't stand it!  I'll
break down the door if they won't let me
in!" I broke out.  "I'll kill him!"

Leah caught my hand and stopped me.
"It's no use," she said, "Edna herself won't
let you in, I'm afraid.  She's different this
morning.  I never saw her so much under his
influence.  Usually she jokes with him and
teases him in all sorts of ways, but to-day
she's more quiet and determined."

"Has she treated you badly?"

"No—if it were only that, I wouldn't care.
It's something more dangerous.  She's
crafty and secret.  It's sinister.  It makes
my flesh crawl!"

"Do you know how long the doctor will stay?"

"He's going back this afternoon, I think.
That's why he's working so hard with her,
I suppose.  She's like a bird with a
serpent—she's fascinated by him."

"What did he say to her—did you hear?"

"He has been hypnotizing her.  I heard
him say, '*You will be Edna, Edna, Edna!*'—he
repeated it over and over."

"You must go back to the house, then,
immediately.  You mustn't be missed on any
account.  Do your best to placate her and
avoid trouble.  I'll watch in the old cabin
till he goes past.  As soon as he's out of the
way, I'll come."

She was off on the instant through the
wood toward the back of the house.  I
walked down the lane and along the highroad
a little way, to the deserted cabin.  Here I
took my post behind a window and waited
patiently.

A couple of hours went by.  It was an
eternity to me.  A hundred times I decided
to go and break down the door of the house
and have it out with the doctor.  I had a
couple of revolvers in my bag and the
temptation to shoot him on sight was strong.
When I thought of what was probably going
on in the house—of Joy's body, perhaps, at
his mercy—it was all I could do to
remember that my intervention at this moment
would ruin all hopes of her eventual release
from his power.  I bore it for her sake, with
my teeth gritted, thinking mad thoughts.

At last I heard the rattle of wheels and
saw the carriage approach.  Uncle Jerdon
was driving; the doctor, smoking a cigar, was
laughing complacently.  I shrank out of
sight till they had passed.  Then I left the
cottage and ran up the lane.

Edna was sitting outside on the door-step
as I approached, but, on seeing me, she rose
and went quickly inside, shutting the door.
She was indeed different, if she failed to
welcome me.  My heart fell, but I went up to the
door and knocked.  No answer.  I knocked
again, and, after a long wait, Leah appeared.

By her first glance at me, and an almost
imperceptible nod of her head toward the
library door, I knew that Edna was near by,
watching and listening.  I was not surprised,
therefore, when, in answer to my greeting
and question, Leah replied:

"Miss Fielding is sorry that she can't see
you to-day.  She's not well.  She says that
she sent you that word before."

"Mayn't I even speak to her for a moment?"
I asked.

"She begs that you will excuse her,
Mr. Castle."  Leah's eyes gave me another
sign.

"Very well, then; tell her I'm much
disappointed, but I won't trouble her again."  I
added a gesture in the direction of the lane
and walked away without looking back.  I
felt that Edna was watching from the library
window.  Leah closed the door.

I went a little way down the lane,
searching my mind for some means of combating
this unlooked-for contretemps.  I had
discovered a possible way out before Leah
appeared, a half-hour later.

"Oh, I'm afraid she'll miss me this time!"
she said, her eyes wide and frightened.  "I
took my chances, though, and you must be
quick.  What shall I do?"

"I am going over to the Harbor," I said.
"I shall be back, probably in about an hour
and a half, and I'll wait here for you.  You
must find some excuse for coming again.
Then I'll give you your instructions.  If
anything happens that positively prevents
your coming, hang a towel out of my
window.  That's all now; go back!"

She flew back to the house, and I started
for the village, where I knew there was an
apothecary's shop.  In forty minutes I had,
with some difficulty, procured what I wanted,
a bottle of chloroform.  But it was two hours
before I got back to Midmeadows.  Approaching
the house, and keeping carefully
hidden by the trees, I saw that there was no
signal at the window, and knew that I could
expect Leah.  I retired a few yards beyond
the curve and waited for her.

It was by this time about half-past six
o'clock in the evening, and it was still light
and warm, though the shadows were long
about the old house.  I had done a deal of
waiting that day, and it had begun to tell on
me.  It was a great relief when Leah
appeared, looking about anxiously.  I came out
from hiding.

"How goes it!" I asked.

"All right, but she's been restless and
fretful.  I shouldn't have been able to get off
possibly, if she hadn't decided to take a walk
before supper.  She's gone up over the hill.
What are you going to do, Mr. Castle?"

I handed her the bottle, and as she caught
sight of the label her hand shook so that she
nearly dropped it.

"What we'll have to do is to put her to
sleep, so that Joy may return.  I don't
know, of course, whether it will work or not,
but it's the only way I can think of.  Have
the bottle ready, hidden in the library, and
wait till she sits down to supper.  Then go
in quickly, soak your handkerchief with the
chloroform, come up behind her, and hold it
to her face tightly—with all your strength,
for she'll struggle—till her head drops.
You must act quickly and firmly.  If she has
the slightest suspicion of anything, you'll
fail, and we're lost.  As soon as you've laid
her on the floor, call me.  I'll be right
outside, ready to come in."

"But King?" she asked, trying hard to
control her excitement.

"If King sees you, or attempts to interfere,
tell him that I am trying to drive out
Miss Fielding's devil.  But he won't, I
think.  Is Uncle Jerdon there?"

"No, he's gone after the cow—he won't
come into the kitchen till after seven o'clock,
when he's through with his milking."

"Very well, then.  Can you do it?  Have
you the nerve?"

"Yes.  I'll do anything to bring back Miss Joy!"

She held herself erect, her lips compressed,
looking at me bravely, though immensely
agitated.  I knew that whatever the struggle
might cost her, I could rely upon her to rise
to the situation.  I sent her away with a final
word of encouragement.

I waited some ten minutes more; then
cautiously approached the house, went close to
the library window, and looked in.

It was not long before I saw Miss Fielding
enter from the hall door, take up a paper,
look it over listlessly, and then, at the sound
of King's gong, go into the dining-room and
take her seat.  This was just outside my
range of vision, but occasionally, as she
leaned back, I caught sight of her head.
Leah passed and repassed several times,
waiting upon her.  I watched in an excited
suspense.

I had begun to fear that the girl had lost
her courage, when I saw her suddenly dart
into the library, take the bottle from behind
the books in one of the cases, and open it,
drenching her handkerchief.  At that very
moment Edna must have called; for a
moment I saw her head, as she turned round to
look into the library.  Then it disappeared
again.  Leah stole back into the dining-room,
with the handkerchief held behind her.

She stopped back of Edna's chair.  Then
her right hand flew round with the handkerchief,
and her left covered it.  There was a
short hard struggle, as Edna tried to free
herself, but Leah held firm, crouching behind
her mistress, tense and determined.

I waited for no more, but ran to the front
door, through the library and into the
dining-room.

Miss Fielding sat huddled into her chair,
limp, inert, her arms hanging at her sides.
Leah still stood behind her, staring, her eyes
showing the whites above her pupils, her lips
parted.  She remained as if transfixed at
the sight of what she had done.

I seized the unconscious form, and, taking
it up in my arms, bore it into the library
and laid it upon the couch in the window.
Leah followed, without a word, still staring
stupidly.  I thrust her, then, into a chair,
fearing that she might faint.

Then I stooped over Miss Fielding,
calling, "Joy!  Joy!  Joy!"





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   \II

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I called her name involuntarily, I suppose,
yet there was in my motive, too, a dim idea
that the suggestion might in some way
influence her to awaken as Joy, rather than as
Edna.  I did my best, meanwhile, to assist
her to revive, fanning her with a newspaper
and chafing her hands.

Long before she came to herself, however,
there began a convulsive struggle that was
one of the most terrible things I had to
witness in all my experience with her.  It was
as if her two selves were fighting for
supremacy, for the possession of her body,
which was their battle-field.  I could only
wait helplessly for that fierce struggle
gradually to expend itself in tremblings and in
sighs, while I called her again and again,
now with a definite idea of hypnotic
suggestion.  The conflict seemed to go on for a
long, long time, though in point of fact it
lasted, I think, only a few minutes.  At the
end, she drew a long, deep breath, relaxed,
and opened her eyes.  Almost immediately
she was overcome by a violent nausea, and,
attending to her and soothing her, it was
some time before we knew with whom we had
to deal.  Her first words reassured me.

"Chester!" she exclaimed, "you've come
back!  I'm so glad, but I'm terrified—what
has happened?"

I kissed her, kneeling on the floor beside
her, stroking her hand.  "Don't worry,
dear," I said, "it's all right now."

She started up with a glad look on her
face, misinterpreting my words.

"Oh, is it finished, then?  Have we won?
Is Edna driven away for ever?"

I had to tell her that it was not yet even
begun, but that, God willing, I should soon
be ready to put my plan to the test.  She
was disheartened and discouraged at that;
it was as if she had gone through an unsuccessful
operation, she was so exhausted and
fearful, but in the end I succeeded in
reassuring her somewhat, and she was restored
to calmness and courage to bear the
suspense.  As soon as she felt better we went
outdoors for a while, and the fresh, cool air
brought back her spirits.  There I told her
just what had happened, and what we had
to expect.  Then, as I had eaten nothing
since morning, I went back with her to the
dining-room and we had supper with Leah.

"Chester," she said, "you've said enough
to make me afraid of what you intend to do.
I can't yet be sure that we have the right to
destroy Edna.  And I must be surer that
Doctor Copin has betrayed me.  I've known
him too long to let him go without proving
it.  I must see him and have a talk with him
first; then, if I am thoroughly convinced, you
may go ahead.  But I want to know just
what it is you intend to do."

There, at least, I stood firm.  "I hope
you'll never find out," I said.  "I intend to
cut out the cancer—that's enough for you to
know.  But, as to the doctor, I'm positively
afraid to trust you with him.  And yet, it
would be well to know just what he's up to.
He may come to-morrow morning, too, which
will prevent my doing anything, whether it's
you or Edna who is here.  And I can't risk
the chance of being interrupted.  He may
not come, however, as he'll naturally expect
you to be here to-morrow, unless Edna's
making faster progress than she has heretofore.
And even if I could put you to sleep
now, Uncle Jerdon's being in the house will
prevent my acting."

It was here that Leah put in the first
suggestion that she had volunteered.

"Miss Joy," she said, "I have an idea how
you might find out what you want to know,
and perhaps the doctor's plans as well, if
you'd consent to do it.  I don't know whether
you'll think it's right or not—I've been
trying to decide for myself, but I can't."

"Let's have it, at any rate," I said.
"We've left right and wrong so far behind,
now, that they're quite out of sight."

"If Leah has even thought of it enough
to propose it, I'll take my chances on its
being justifiable," Joy added.

"Here it is, then," said Leah.  "You want
to know what the doctor is doing with Edna
and to Edna, don't you?"

"That's it," said Joy.

"Then why not pretend to be Edna when
he comes?"

"By Jove!" I cried.  "There's an idea!"

"But I couldn't possibly do it!" Joy objected.

Leah explained further.  "Mr. Castle and
I will teach you.  We have all night before
us, and we'll have to stay up, anyway, to
make sure that it is *you* who meets the
doctor.  During that time you can learn your
part.  It will be hard work, but I know you
can do it."

"It will at least keep us awake," Joy
smiled at last.

"And then, early in the morning, you, as
Edna, can telephone to him and ask him to
come down."

"He'll come," I said.  "He'll be only too
glad to find that Edna has had two days running."

Joy began to enter into the humor of the
situation.  "I'll not have to make up for the
part, at least, shall I?  And Edna's
costumes will fit me.  But do you think I can
really do it?"

I was convinced that she could.  "When
you think that he will be predisposed to find
you Edna, and how little cause he has to
suspect such impersonation, and moreover
how much more like you Edna is becoming,
I think that there's very little risk," I said.
"The best part of the plan is that after it's
over the doctor is likely to go back and he'll
be safely out of the way for my experiment."

"Oh, your experiment!  How it terrifies
me!  What are we doing to that poor girl?
What possible crime am I consenting to?"  Joy
broke down again.

Leah put her hand on Joy's arm and
looked at her.  "You'll do it for my sake,
Miss Joy?" she pleaded.  I knew well
enough that she was not urging her own
danger, despite her words.  She was desirous
only of Joy's peace—but her words had their
effect.

"And for mine," I saw fit to add.  The
double appeal stilled Joy's protest.

We began, therefore, to instruct Joy in her
part, and I think that she learned more of
her secondary self that night than she had
known in all the rest of her life put together.
It was not easy for her, at first, to abandon
herself to the character, and assume the
gaucherie that was typical of Edna.  It was
hardest of all to do what, indeed, I was loath
to teach her, the little coquetries and
familiarities which I imagined Edna to be in
the habit of lavishing upon the doctor.  But
there was a humor, as well as a pathos, in
the play, and occasionally the fun of it
overthrew our seriousness.

So we went over and over the plot that
night.  Edna's languishing glances, Edna's
awkward poses and active gestures, Edna's
quick speech and obvious sallies, her
impatient, pettish whims, all were rehearsed.
Joy, becoming gradually interested in doing
her best, threw herself into the attempt.
Her mimicry of Edna was a strangely
confusing sight—it was like one mirror reflected
in another.  I took the doctor's part, going
through the motions of hypnotizing her,
teaching her how to resist while simulating
sleep, how to reply, how to awaken from the
trance.  I prepared her for every complication
that I could think of, not forgetting
Edna's characteristic treatment of Leah—and
I think that this part of her acting did
more than anything else, through her indignation,
to stimulate her to do her best on the
morrow.

Besides all this, she was to do whatever
occurred to her at the moment, taking her
cue from the doctor.  She had, I impressed
upon her, always the resource at hand of a
pretended fainting fit, after which she might
plausibly awaken in her real character as
Joy.  In any case, I surmised that her
failure to enact the part consistently would be
attributed by him to her primary self's
partial projection into consciousness.  And,
after all, there were, of course, many points
of resemblance between the two women, and
with moderate care, he would never suspect
that she was feigning.  It would scarcely
have been possible for Edna to have taken
the character of Joy.

It was nearly dawn before we felt that
we had gone far enough to be willing to risk
her facility; and then, to freshen ourselves
up, we went outdoors.  The air was cool and
invigorating; it was a beautiful night of
stars and cloud.  About the house the trees
waved and rustled.  The mass of woods
across the garden was black in shadow.  I
smelt mint mingled with violets.

I took her arm, but it was she who guided
me through the obscurity, knowing every
inch of the way through long acquaintance.
The dogs awoke and growled as we passed
the stable, but instantly relapsed into silence
as if aware of the presence of friends.  A
horse whinnied in his stall.  We climbed the
hill, Joy feeling for the concavity of the path
with sensitive feet and leading me on; and
at the top we sat down, wrapped a shawl
about our shoulders and waited for the day
to break.  We could hear the dogs barking
far away.  The second crowing of cocks sent
challenges from one distant farm to another;
infinitely remote a railway whistle sounded.
After an hour the twittering of birds began,
at first in occasional chirps, and finally in a
chorus of matutinal gossip.  The sky in the
east grew pink, then, through red and orange
and yellow, to a pale straw color.  The limb
of the sun pushed through the sea, freed
itself from the horizon and floated up and up,
flooding the country with light.

We walked back to the house, rejuvenated
by the fresh air, and had our baths and hot
coffee which Leah had ready for us.  Joy
was full of spirit and courage.  The lines
about her eyes were softened and her whole
figure and bearing expressed determination.
At eight o'clock she said:

"Well, let's ring up the curtain.  I must
begin the play.  It's time to telephone.  I'm
going to tell the first lie I've told, I think, for
months.  You've no idea how unnecessary
it has been down here.  I'm afraid I've
almost forgotten how to be a woman."

She got the doctor, and after a short
conversation he promised to come down to
Midmeadows on a train that would land him at
the house at ten o'clock.  We went over the
day's campaign at the breakfast-table, and I
gave her my last instructions.  At nine
o'clock Uncle Jerdon drove up, and I got
into the carriage to go to the station, bidding
her good-by, for his benefit.

The old man was loquacious as usual, but
offered nothing in regard to affairs at
Midmeadows.  He commented upon the crops
and the state of every farm we passed,
without ever touching upon Miss Fielding's
condition.  If this were his custom with every
one, no man could be safer to have about the
premises, but I had an idea he was more
communicative with the doctor.  At any
rate, it had seemed best to me to make him
believe that I was going up to town.

I had already prepared the plan by which
I was to outwit them both.  The up-train
came into the station first, while the
down-train waited on a siding for it to pass.  All
I had to do was to bid Uncle Jerdon good-by,
get into the smoking-car, and, as it pulled
out, drop off the step and dodge quickly
behind a woodpile beside the track.  Here I
waited, peeping over the top till the
down-train had gone and I saw Doctor Copin get
into the carriage to drive off with Uncle
Jerdon.  Then I walked leisurely back to
Midmeadows, went into the cabin and waited
with what patience I could.

I had to stay from ten till two o'clock,
before I saw the carriage go back with its
passenger.  That wait had been long, but it was
not so anxious a time as I had spent before,
for I knew that Joy would be quite able to
cope with the situation.  But I was relieved
to see the carriage go back, and left the cabin
the moment the vehicle was out of sight.

I had gone only half-way up the lane when
I saw Joy coming to meet me.  She looked
tired and pale.  She ran to my arms and
kissed me.

"Oh, he's infamous!" she cried.  "I
never would have believed it of him!"

"He didn't suspect you, then?" I asked
anxiously.

"Suspect?  No, he was too busy with his
own machinations for that.  Chester, if you
had been there, I think you would have killed
him!  And I acted—how I acted!  I got
more and more in a rage, and I led him on
with every bit of cunning I had till I had
found out his worst.  Oh, it was vile!"

I tried to hide my own rising fury.
"What happened?" I demanded.

"Oh, I *can't* tell you!  Let me try to
forget it!  He did everything that we have
suspected, and more!  I let him borrow money
of me—I permitted his familiarities and his
vulgarity as long as I could endure it—I
listened to all his schemes.  Why, Chester,
d'you know, he is trying to destroy me, and
make *her* take my place permanently?  He
hasn't a scruple!  He's after my money,
and, worst of all, after *me*!  It's incredible.
Oh, if you can't outwit him, I'm lost!"

"There's only one sure way, now, to foil
him, Joy.  You must marry me this afternoon!"

"I thought of that, too," she said, "and I
think I'm ready.  This forenoon has opened
my eyes to the danger.  If you say so, we'll
go over to the Harbor.  Oh, Chester, can you
really marry such a mutilated, enslaved
person as I am?"

"I am going to free you," I said, still
holding her close.

"And Edna—" she broke away to look at
me fearfully.  "What will you do with Edna?"

"To-morrow there will, I hope, no longer
be such a person."

"Then shan't we wait till to-morrow?"

"You forget," I said, "that, at his first
opportunity, it is possible for *him* to marry
*her*!  The risk is too great!"

"That settles it—come to the house and
we'll get Leah!"

My hopes reached to the skies, then, and
I was sure that I could conquer anything and
everything that stood between me and the
fulfilment of her rescue.  With the surrender,
she, too, gave herself up completely to
the occasion.  We took hands and raced up
the lane like two children.  In that moment
I got a fresh glimpse of what sort of person
Joy really was, when she was free.  Edna's
galumphing was not more gay and abandoned,
Edna's laugh never rang out more
merrily.  When we burst into the house I
think that Leah, for a moment, thought we
had both gone mad.

We did not even wait for Uncle Jerdon to
return with the carriage.  I went out to see
that my motor-car was in order, while Joy,
laughing with Leah so gaily that I could hear
them even from the stable, prepared for the
trip.

Joy threw up her window, to call out:
"Chester, I want that little chain Edna gave
you!  I must have 'something old and
something new, something borrowed, something
blue'!"  I knew, then, that the last trace of
feeling at that incident had disappeared.

She came down all in white—hat, veil,
gown, gloves, stockings, shoes, parasol.
Leah, too, was dressed for the occasion,
modestly, as usual; for, though she could well
have carried off a modish toilet, she always
shrank from being in the least conspicuous,
as if fearing to compromise Joy by appearing
to assume a social equality.  She was in
a frock of ecru linen, just severe enough in
its trim design to keep her place with Joy's
bewitching laces and flounces and chiffon.  I
myself made a sorry-looking bridegroom, I
fear, for I had found something to do under
the belly of my machine, and the employment
did the only costume I had little good.

So, bidding King good-by, we were off with
enthusiasm.  Even Leah had caught the
infection of our high spirits—for a moment
the tension had been let down all along the
line.  Leah had, indeed, much reason to be
happy.  She had implicit confidence in my
ability to frustrate the doctor's plans, she
saw herself now safe with Joy, she anticipated
for her mistress a new beatitude.  Under
the influence of this, I noticed that she
lapsed, for the first time in my experience,
partly into a negro dialect.  It was the more
remarkable and significant because I had
seen her under the stress of fear and horror,
and neither had affected her speech.  It
showed me how rare perfect happiness had
been in her life, that this glint of joy should
break the bonds of her speech and unloose
the tongue of her girlhood.  Both Joy and I
laughed freely at her, and she herself
laughed with us.

We raced madly for the Harbor, sought
the Methodist minister there, went into his
cool prim front parlor, were introduced to
his wife—who had that day enough to gossip
about, I'll warrant—and the thing was done
in ten minutes.  Then we piled happily into
the car and pelted home.

Joy looked at me with new eyes.  "You've
done it, haven't you?"

"You bet I have!"

"How did you ever manage it!  I thought
I had refused you!"

"I don't understand it myself.  It just
happened.  It had to be."

"You ought to be a highwayman!"

"It's partly *your* fault, you know!"

"And I've known you only a month!
How reckless!  It must have been that
incorrigible, irresistible, unexpected, unkissed
nick in your chin!  I've gone from new moon
to full, at a bound!  Now I'm a bride-rampant:
I could fight my way to you through
eight miles of jungle!  Was I pretty, Leah?"  She
turned and held out her hand.

"'Deed you *were*, Miss Joy, honey, I never
see you' beat!"

How she laughed!  "And you were the
sweetest bridesmaid, too!  See her eyes,
Chester, *please* look round!  Never mind if
we do run into a tree, to-day.  Did you ever
see such hidden depths of gold as are
beneath her eyes?  Isn't that color and outline
perfect?  There's no wildfire or heroics
about Leah, but she's got more brains than
both of us put together!  And she's got a
southern accent now, that you couldn't
dissipate with an electric battery.  Leah, you're
as beautiful as a jaguar!  Can't you go
faster, chauffeur, dear?  I'd rather eat
flypaper than ride in a slow automobile!  Say,
it's awfully stimulating to get married, isn't
it?  I'm going to do it all the time, after this."

I leaned over to kiss her, and we nearly
ran into the depot-wagon on its way from
the train.  We were followed by two dozen
eyes till we were hidden by a turn of the road.

So her brain coined as we sped along,
shrieking with laughter.  But Joy's frolic
mood subsided as we approached Midmeadows.
She looked at me plaintively and said:

"The idea of the White Cat's being married
before she's had her head and tail cut off!"

"Oh, that'll be done before you know it!"
I said.  "What I'm thinking is that now
Doctor Copin will never be allowed at
Midmeadows again, if I have to keep him out by
force.  With him out of the way, we can
manage the rest.  But no more of that now.
It's our wedding day!  We ought to have
told King to bake a cake!"

We had quieted down enough by supper-time
to talk the matter over calmly and plan
for to-morrow.  The time had, queerly
enough, more the effect of parting than the
beginning of a new and happy life.  Joy
grew wistful and *distraite* as the evening
wore on.  I would not let her talk of "the
murder," as she called it, and I tried to keep
her mind from returning to the mystery of
Edna's presence.  Finally she said:

"Chester, I'd like to send her a message.
Just think, I've never had any communication
with her!"

"It will do no good," I replied.

"It will do no harm," she insisted.  "I
may never have another chance.  I'm going
to write a note for you to give her, if she
comes to-morrow.  Will you?"

I said that of course I would, and she sat
down at her secretary and, after thinking a
few minutes, biting her pen, she wrote this:

.. vspace:: 2

DEAR EDNA:—What has brought us together we
can never know.  But it is terrible to me to think
that, being so closely and mysteriously related, we
could not have been friends.  For all you have
done to me and mine, I forgive you, and somewhere
and somehow I hope that you will forgive me for
everything I have done to you.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

   JOY FIELDING.

.. vspace:: 2

It was the first specimen I had happened
to see of Joy's handwriting, and was, as she
had said, quite different from Edna's.  It
was bold and flowing, sharply slanted and
graceful, the hand of a fast writer and a
quick thinker.  I put the note into my pocket
to give to-morrow to Edna.  I should but
pass it back to the same hands that had written
it, it would be read by the same eyes that
saw it now—but I could guess with what
scorn and anger it would be received.

Joy bade me good night with a tremor in
her voice, gave me a long, clinging kiss, and
looked up into my eyes.

"I'm not really your wife yet, you know,
Chester," she said.

"'Come slowly, Eden,'" I quoted.

"And I may never be—"  The tears filled
her eyes.

"Do you think I shall fail, after to-day?"
I said.

"I still have my revolver, if you do.
Remember the White Cat, and your promise!"

"That's a sad thought for a wedding-night!
I'm going to save you!"

"Poor Edna!" she said, releasing herself.
Then, as if she thought it unwifely to leave
me sorrowful, she flashed a smile at me,
waved her hand, and ran up-stairs.





.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   \III

.. vspace:: 2

I have said so much of my "plan" that it
is now quite time to explain it, for it was of
the simplest.  Many of the recorded cases
of multiple personality, or rather, according
to a more modern interpretation of the state,
dissociated personality, had arisen, I found,
from a shock, sometimes purely physical,
sometimes mental.  It was my idea that in
Miss Fielding's case the process might be
reversed—that I might inhibit her secondary
self by some violent excitement.  A long
process of hypnotic treatment might, I knew,
effect a cure more or less stable, but the
doctor's superior knowledge and, heretofore, his
superior advantages, had made me doubt of
succeeding in that way.  To take her to any
competent specialist was inexpedient, for the
reason that we should meet with a steady
opposition from Edna, who could do much to
make such a course impossible.

The means I intended to employ were, I
must confess, brutal; I intended to frighten
Edna to within an inch of her life—to
frighten her, that is, so that she might be
afraid to reappear.  This explanation is
superficial, but it conveys the idea; what really
would happen, I thought, was that Joy would
"wake up" and resume permanently her
normal condition.  I was not competent to
explain the rationale of it; I trusted, in a way,
to the mere reversion of the processes that
had been described in similar cases of
disintegrated personalities.

Exactly how to accomplish this end I was
not yet decided, save that I had prepared
myself with a pair of revolvers and blank
cartridges; I left the actual operation to the
inspiration of the moment, taking advantage
of the circumstances.  I knew that the
mental shock must be severe, and that the tension
should be prolonged almost to the breaking
point.  In some way or other it would come
to threatening her life.  In my mind it was
like deliberately breaking a badly-set bone
that it might heal again aright.  So desperate
a remedy I had not wanted to describe
to Joy, nor did I ever expect to tell her, even
should her cure be effected.

Of the cruelty to Edna, I had no thought.
I knew no other way of accomplishing what
I desired, and my sympathies, naturally,
were entirely with Joy.  She alone, surely,
had a right to exist in that fair body.
Seeing that I could not settle the ethical
considerations involved, and that they only
impaired my will, I cast them aside.  I offer
no other excuse for my conduct.  It seemed
expedient, in fact the only thing that would be
effectual, in ridding my wife of her incubus.
If it were wrong, well, I would take the
blame.  I have never been able to settle the
question in my own mind, even yet.

She slept late the next morning.  I was
down-stairs when she rang for Leah, and so
heard nothing, but it was no surprise to me
when, a few minutes later, Leah came down
and said:

"It's Edna."

The fight was on.  I was now prepared to
undertake (as it would certainly seem to a
spectator) to torture my wife of a day half
to death.  I shall not attempt to describe my
own feelings as I anticipated the prospect.

"Has she tried to telephone?" I asked.
My voice, I imagine, was now like that of a
surgeon at an operation asking his assistant
for a knife.

"No," said Leah.

"Hurry up, then.  You must manage to
overhear what she says, if possible.  I must
know whether the doctor's coming or not.
Have you sent Uncle Jerdon away?"

"He's harnessing up to go to the Harbor,
and he'll be gone all the forenoon."

"Good."

She went into the kitchen and prepared
Edna's breakfast, while I crept up-stairs and
listened to hear in case she telephoned.  As
soon as Leah went up with the breakfast tray,
I went down again and walked into the
kitchen.

"King," I said, looking square at the
Chinaman, "to-day I'm going to drive the
devil out of Miss Fielding.  You sabbee?"

He grinned very good-naturedly.  "Yep,
I sabbee," he answered, paring his potatoes
calmly.

"Maybe I make heap noise.  You sabbee?"

"Yep, I sabbee!" again.

"You no mind me, King?  You not be
frightened?"

He laughed and said: "Aw, no!  I no care.
Maybe I come help.  I sabbee debbil all
light!"

"No, I won't need your help, King.  I can
do it alone, I think.  All I want, you stay
here, and not be frightened."

"Aw, I no flighten'.  What's a-matter?
You no think so?"

"Well, you don't know anything about it.
Sabbee?  You must keep quiet, sure."

"Oh, I sabbee all light.  Maybe somebody
ask me, I say, 'I not know!'  I sabbee.  I say,
'You go-to-hell!' he-he!"  He laughed to
himself.  "You heap good man, you all light,
sure.  Dlive away debbil, tha's all.  Wha's
a-matter?  You no sabbee me?  Aw?"  He
turned away in scorn at my distrust.

I was pretty sure that I could trust to his
imperturbability, and returned to the library
satisfied, leaving King still chuckling inanely
to himself.

In a moment Leah came down again and
said hurriedly to me:

"She's just telephoned.  She said nothing
about yesterday, or that you were here!
He must have said he wasn't coming down
to-day, or at least not this morning, for she
tried to tease him to come.  She's all dressed
up—it's astonishing—I can't tell you!"  She
left me and immediately afterward I
heard Edna's footsteps on the stairs.

For what reason she had dressed herself
so extravagantly—whether from sheer wilful
fancy, or a desire to tantalize me or to
seduce me from my fondness of Joy—I have
never decided.  She wore an evening gown
of gold tissue, sheer as gossamer, fold on
fold, embroidered with gold threads all over
the low-necked corsage.  About her forehead
was a garland of gold laurel leaves, beautifully
modeled and tooled, interlaced with a
slender string of coral beads.  Her arms
were bare.  On her right breast was a red
velvet rose, she had stockings of scarlet silk
and golden slippers.  It was a costume for a
fancy-dress ball and had indeed been
originally made for that purpose.  To see her
appear, now, and shine in the morning sunlight
like a butterfly, was to see something as
extraordinary as it was picturesque.

She came to me with all Joy's grace, and
held out her hand, laughing.

"So you're here again after all, Chet," she
said.  "I thought I'd dress up for you.
You've never seen me to advantage.  How
do you like it?"  She turned slowly round
for my benefit.

"You're an empress!" I exclaimed.  "I
don't deserve this honor!"

She began dancing a minuet all alone,
speaking as she swirled.

"Indeed you don't!  I didn't want you
here yesterday, really.  But now you've come
down again, you'd better stay."  She
curtsied demurely.  "But look out for the
doc—tor!"  She was off again in a circle.
"I suppose it was Joy who invited you!  I'll
have to entertain Joy's guest, I suppose.
There!  Now sit down and talk to me."

What was behind her whimsical mood, and
why she so willingly received me, I could not
guess.  When I had taken a seat she tapped
me with her fan and said:

"You know I've always liked you, Chet,
but you see the doctor thought it wasn't best
for me to have you about.  Really, I oughtn't
to let you stay now.  He'd be perfectly
furious, you know.  He thought you had gone
up to town.  You must hide, if he comes."

"Trust me for that," I said.

"So Joy wants you to come?" she continued.
"I suppose you'd never come down
just to see me!  You must tell me about Joy.
Is she nice?"

"She's lovely.  Oh, you'd love her, Edna.
It's a pity you can't know her.  It would save
so much trouble!"

"Oh, are you in love with her, then?"

"I'm very fond of her!"

She slapped her fan viciously and bit her
lip.  Then:

"I'm sure you like her much better than
you do me, anyway—don't you?"

"I know her better than I do you, Edna,
and she has always been nice to me."

"And haven't I?  Didn't I dress up for
you, sir?"

"I have a letter to you from her—would
you like to read it?"

She held out her hand for it instantly, and
I gave her the note.  She glanced it over,
then tore it up spitefully.

"Cat!" she exclaimed.  "If I could only
see her, if I could only talk to her once!  I'd
tell her what I thought of her!  Oh, I'll give
her something to forgive!"  She looked
about her, as if for something particularly
Joy's upon which to vent her anger.

Just then, as luck would have it, Leah
entered the room with a vase of flowers.

"Get out of here, you black hussy!" Edna
cried.  "Don't you see I'm busy?  Your
place is in the kitchen!"

Leah turned and left without a word.

"I've stood enough from that nigger,"
Edna said.  "I'm going to get rid of her this
very day."

"You said you'd keep her as long as I
stayed," I interposed.

"Oh, *Joy* asked you to plead for her, I
suppose!  You're only here hoping to get a
chance to see *Joy*, anyway!  How did you get
in yesterday, anyway?  What happened?
I'd forgotten all about that!  What did I do
in the evening?  I can't remember.  Were
you here then, with Joy?"

"You fainted away at the dinner-table——"

"So you had your evening with Joy all
right?  Oh, what do you care for me?
Nothing!  You *hate* me, I believe!"  The next
moment she was crying, but, before I could
assuage her, she had risen abruptly and run
up-stairs.

I passed quickly into the kitchen and spoke
to Leah.

"Has Uncle Jerdon gone?"

"Yes."

"Then keep out of the way as much as
possible.  I'm almost ready."

I went up to my own room and took the
revolvers from my hand-bag and loaded them
with the blank cartridges.  Scarcely had I
slipped the weapons into my pocket when
Edna burst into the room with her arms full
of dresses.  She held out the pale green silk
peignoir in which I had first seen Miss Fielding.

"Does Joy wear this?" she asked.

"Yes, sometimes," I answered.

"Well," she said, "she never will fascinate
you in it again!"  And with a single violent
gesture, she ripped it from top to bottom.
She took up another gown and tore that in
two, also.  She had begun on a third when I
went up to her and stopped her hand.

"Edna, you mustn't!" I commanded.

She threw the whole heap upon the floor;
and clasped her bare arms about my neck.
"Oh, I hate her!  I *hate* her!" she wept.
"You are in love with her, Chet, you know
you are!  What have I done that you should
hate me so?  You know how I like you—why
don't you love me a little?"

"Aren't you engaged to the doctor?" I
asked, letting her stay with her face near
mine.  It did not seem wrong—it was Joy's
own face.

"Oh, I suppose I am, but what does that
matter?  Mayn't I like you, too?  He's the
only friend I have.  He's helping me!  He's
trying to free me!  What are *you* doing?
Are *you* helping me, Chet?"

It was hard enough to answer her question.
What could I say?  Somehow, even now, I
could not lie to her outright—not while
looking deep into Joy's own eyes.

"If you had shown any mercy to Joy, if
you even desired to be friends with her, I
might try to save you," I said.  "But after
this, how can I?"

"Oh, I'll be friends with her—I'll do
anything if you'll only love me, Chet!  Why
can't we both love you?  I'll promise not to
be jealous; we'll share you.  If you marry
her, then you'll have me, too, and I'll have you!"

She looked up at me with wistful eyes—Joy's
eyes—and Joy's arms were still about
me.  Never had Joy clung to me so closely
and tenderly.  It was all I could do to put her
away and answer her preposterous suggestion.

"But you're engaged to the doctor—he
told me so——"

"I'll break it off with him—I won't have
anything more to do with him—I'll telephone
to him now!"  She even started to go to her
room.

I was in a tumult of emotion.  How could
I begin my work when she acted in this
way—as I had least expected?  True, I knew
that probably in a moment her fickle mood
would change, but I could not begin yet.  I
held her back.

"You know," I said, "that the doctor is
plotting to get rid of Joy for ever.  You
know, and I know, that *that* is the way he's
been trying to help you.  How can I care for
you, when I know that is your purpose?"  God
knows I loathed myself for the hypocrisy,
but I was at my wits' end.

She stopped and looked at me reproachfully.
"Ah, you *are* in love with her, then!
I thought so!  She's everything, and I'm
nothing to you!"

She flung away again in a new rage and
walked proudly, scornfully down-stairs.  I
followed her.  Just before I caught up with
her, I heard her angry voice ring out.

"Oh, you sneak!  Didn't I tell you to stay
in the kitchen?  Take that for your
impertinence, you wench!"

There was the sound of a blow and a
scream.  I ran in and found Leah with her
face bleeding.  Edna, gorgeous in her silken
gown, stood lowering like a furious queen, a
heavy bronze paper-weight in her hand.

"You pack out of this house immediately!"
she cried, her voice strident with passion.
"I've had enough of your tricks!  I want
you to know I'm mistress here!"

Leah appealed to me with a glance.  I
nodded, pointing behind Edna's back,
outdoors, to the old cabin.  Leah disappeared,
weeping.  I went up to Edna.

"Do you expect me to love you when you
act in this cruel way?" I asked in a quiet tone.

She stormed up and down, striding like a
leopard in a cage, swishing this way and that,
her fists firmly clenched.

"Oh, she's in league with you and Joy.  I
know all about it!  She spies on me—hides
things from me—tells on me!  She and you
are trying your best to get rid of me—the
doctor said so!  You are plotting to destroy
me right now!" she flashed out, turning to
me, her lips quivering with excitement.  "I
can tell!  I know!  You may go, too,
Mr. Castle, I'm through with you, too!  Leave
this house, please!"

I tried to pacify her, thinking that,
distraught with the violent moods she had shown
to-day, a reaction would soon come.  She
was almost hysterical, and I waited for the
revulsion of feeling, without heeding her
words.  In a moment it came.  It was as if
an angel and a devil were contending in her
for the mastery, but the angel won again.

She sat down limply in a chair that was
drawn up to the secretary, and the tears
came to her eyes.  I saw Leah go out the
front door and hurry down the lane.

"Oh, I'm so wretched!" Edna complained
bitterly.  "I haven't a friend—not even
Doctor Copin.  All he wants is my money,
and all you want is Joy.  Oh, Chet, let me
be your friend!  Let me be your friend—you
may stay—I'll be good, sure I will!  I'll
do anything if you'll only love me and be
good to me!  I'll take Leah back; I'll dismiss
the doctor.  Why was I sent here, anyway?
Nobody wants me, nobody cares for me!"

She looked up at me and held out her
hand.  It was the stricken deer appealing
for protection to the hunters.  I had never
seen her so gentle and tender.  It was, for
the moment, as if Joy herself were pleading
for her life.

As I stood there, watching her, debating
what to do, her head dropped to her left
hand.  With her right she had taken up a
pencil which lay there, and was abstractedly
making marks upon the blotter—circles and
crosses and zigzag scrawls.  But, even as she
turned to me again, her eyes softened, I saw
her right hand move more regularly over
the paper blotter.  She was writing, and
writing automatically, without looking at
what she was doing.  A sudden idea came to
me that the writing was inspired by some
subconscious, subliminal self and I must let it
have free play, that I must divert her thought
from that hand.

So I walked up to her and touched her
head, stroking her soft, brown hair.  "Poor
girl!" I said; "I wish I could answer your
questions; I wish I might help you.
Perhaps we can think out a way.  We'll talk
it over and see."

Her hand was still writing, as she looked
up at me and listened.

"But you must tell me all about the
doctor, and what he is doing.  Is he coming
own here to-day?"

She leaned affectionately against my side,
her hand still working unconsciously.  "I
don't know," she said.  "He may come on
the eleven o'clock train, perhaps."

This was unexpected.  I had little time,
then, in which to act.  But now her hand had
stopped, and I bent over her shoulder to look
at the blotter.

She turned her face to me again and said:
"Won't you please kiss me, Chet?  You've
never kissed me!  I'm sure you've kissed Joy!"

Then, following my glance, she saw the
writing for the first time.  "Oh, how
funny!" she cried.  "I've been writing!  I
didn't know it.  What is it, anyway?"  Then
she read aloud:

"'*Don't hesitate!  Cut off my head and
my tail!  Hurry!  White Cat.*'

"How absurd!" she commented.  "See, it
isn't my handwriting at all!  It isn't
anything like it.  But it's like—it's Joy's!" she
burst out, and she jumped up, staring at me.
"What does it mean?"

I had recognized the handwriting at the
same instant, and was as surprised as she.

"It's Joy's!" she repeated, her voice now
almost a scream.  "Oh, but she is a cat!  I
believe she's trying to get rid of me.  She
wants you to kill me!  Tell me, Chet, what
does it mean?"

I didn't answer, for the shock of this
communication bewildered me.  It was like the
voice of a ghost, urging me.  It was Joy,
calling up from Edna's subconsciousness.  I
was sure of it.

"It's Joy!" she cried a third time as she
got the meaning, too.  "She's trying to call
you, through me!  She loves you, and you
love her.  I knew it!  You're trying to
murder me!  But I'll not let her have you!  I'll
kill you first!"

She stood with her little fists doubled, shaking
with fury, her nostrils dilated, her cheeks
gone white, her lips apart, showing the little
uneven line of clenched teeth.  The strap of
her gown had fallen partly off, leaving one
smooth, creamy shoulder bare, the golden
wreath of laurel was tipped sidewise in her
hair.

Then, in a quick whirlwind of passion, she
snatched the silver-handled poker by the
fireplace, raised it, and struck at me with all her
strength.  Slight as she was, and weak,
ordinarily, her emotion gave her an unnatural
power.  The blow grazed my cheek, plowing
a deep, ragged furrow through the skin.  I
grabbed the weapon from her, and she stood
defiantly before me, blazing in all her finery.

The time had at last come to act.





.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   \IV

.. vspace:: 2

I may well say "act," for it was acting
that was now necessary.  I smarted from her
blow, I saw in her a vicious, dangerous fury,
with a devil snarling in her, but I had
nothing but pity for her.  How could I be angry?
She was desperate, but it was the frenzy of
an irresponsible spirit that urged her.  And,
moreover, she stood in my own bride's image,
beautiful, splendid, virile.  She was, in
outward seeming, the woman I loved best in all
the world.  I had, I insist, nothing but the
tenderest pity for her whom I must now, if
I had the power, harry, harass, torment and
destroy.  But to accomplish this I had to play
a part.  I could show no trace of kindness
or consideration.  So I nerved myself and
simulated rage when never was rage further
from my heart.

"Oh, you would, would you!" I cried
through my teeth, as villains do upon the
stage.  "Well, then, Miss Edna, it's time to
talk honestly to you.  I am in love with Joy,
and I do hate you with all my heart!  I
would free Joy if I could, but you and the
doctor are too much for us.  I know what
she's had to endure from him in your own
person and her own, and rather than let her
go through that outrage again, rather than
let his lips touch hers, whether you consent
or not, I'll kill you both.  I can't touch her,
for I love her, but I'm going to kill you, now!"

With that I drew a revolver from my
pocket and took steady aim at her.  Oh, I
gave her time!  The one thing I was afraid
of, then, was that she would dare me to shoot.
Luckily her nerve failed her.

She screamed and ran to the door like a
deer.  She screamed as she dashed up-stairs,
tripping over her gown, calling wildly for
Leah to come and save her.  She screamed
again and again as, giving her ample time to
escape, I followed after her, shooting once,
twice, thrice, stumbling up after her,
muttering histrionic curses.  There was no doubt
that I had frightened her!  But could I keep
it up till she was literally beside herself with
terror?

"Break the bone and let it heal right
again!" I kept repeating to myself.  But to
break it—ugh!  I shuddered and nerved myself again.

She had run into her room, slammed the
door and locked it.  I threw myself upon it
and beat upon the panels with my hands.
Again she screamed—the sound sickened me.
I cried out that I would kill her, that there
was no use in resisting, that I would break
down the door.  I shouted hoarsely enough,
there was no need of pretending, now.

She came to the door and wailed.

"Spare me!" she cried.  "Save me, Chet!
You were wounded and fainting when I took
you into my house.  Didn't I do everything
for you?  How can you!  How can you!
What have I done?"

I fired again to stop her.  I couldn't stand
that reproach.  Her screams broke out again.
I could hear her overthrowing tables and
piling them madly in front of the door.

Then her shrieks stopped suddenly, and
I heard her running here and there as if
searching for something.  I heard drawers
pulled open and emptied upon the floor, I
heard chairs falling.  Then there was an
instant's lull.

Next, a muffled shot rang out.  A bullet
ripped through the panel of the door and
buried itself in the mahogany wainscoting,
missing my head by barely an inch.  She had
found her revolver—I had forgotten about
that.  The game was getting serious.

But now it was more necessary than ever
to finish.  I went down into the hall and
shouted to King.  He appeared at the
dining-room door, his eyes as round as glass
marbles, his mouth open.

"Get an ax, King, and bring it up here, quick!"

I went up again and, putting my pistol
cautiously to the hole in the panel, fired
another blank cartridge.  My shot was
immediately answered by her revolver, but the
bullet went wild.

King came blundering up the stairs with
the ax, showing a white mouthful of teeth.
I had never thought it possible for him to
show so much excitement, but he was quite
wild.  I took the ax and struck a heavy blow
at the panel, splitting it open.  Had I really
wished to break down the door immediately,
I would have aimed at the lock.  But I
wanted to draw her fire, and to torture her
to the limit of suspense and fear.

She screamed again as the wood was ripped
into splinters, and two more shots were fired
in quick succession, only one of them going
through the door.  She had spent four
cartridges now, and, as she held the last one, I
had to act quickly so that she would have no
chance to reload.

"You go down-stairs, King," I
commanded.  "Wait for her when she runs out.
I'll chase her outdoors.  She has only one
shot left, so you needn't be afraid of her.
I'll get that bullet, all right.  Scream at her,
scare her to death if you can, but don't touch
her.  If you do, by God, I'll kill you!"

He stole noiselessly down the stairs and
disappeared.  I tried another panel with the
ax, but, as she was clever enough not to shoot,
I reloaded my first pistol, and, taking what
risk there was without thought, I seized the
ax again and with one fierce blow smashed
the lock to pieces.  With the concussion the
door fell partly in.  I dropped the ax, put
my shoulder to the door and swept the
barricade inward, darting quickly through with
my pistol raised.

.. _`She was handsome—terrible.`:

.. figure:: images/img-380.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
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   :alt: She was handsome—terrible.

   She was handsome—terrible.

She was handsome—terrible.  Frightened
as she was, she had control of herself yet,
and was magnificently defiant, breathing in
quick gasps with her mouth open, her bosom
heaving, as if she were suffocating.  Her
embroidered waist was half torn off and hung
away from her neck, revealing her brown-white
breast, or perhaps she had torn the
bodice open herself for air.  Her golden
wreath was gone.  I saw it on the floor,
trampled out of shape.  Her hair had fallen
over her shoulders, but its disarray was
lovely.  Her filmy, sparkling gown was rent
and spotted from her falls.

She had taken refuge behind an overthrown
table and stood with her revolver ready.
Over her head was a drifting cloud of smoke,
about her a wild confusion of disordered
furniture.  A shaft of sunlight played upon
her disheveled costume.  In the stable, I
heard the dogs barking frantically.

So much I observed in one flash—the
picture will always be with me as distinct as
a photograph—but I had no time to speak,
or even to think what I should do next, for,
after that momentary pause, she bent forward
deliberately and fired at me point-blank.

I felt a sting on my left arm where her
bullet grazed, but, without stopping to
find whether I was hurt or not, I fired with
both pistols at once, and went forward at
her.  The sound of the double shot in the
closed room was terrific.  Her eyes, staring
and fascinated, kept on me for an instant as if
she were paralyzed, then she screamed
again—her voice rivaled the pistol shots—and,
suddenly pushing the table with all her might
against me, she ran for the door.  As she
passed, I shot again.  The din was maddening.

It was not my intention to finish with her
there, though, and again I gave her a chance
to escape, driving her before me.  As she
dashed out she brushed against a framed
Madonna upon the wall and it came crashing
down.  She stumbled on the threshold—I
thought she would never get away—and,
moaning pitifully, she half ran, half fell
down the stairway.

It was a dirty piece of business.  I was
sickened by it.  But, having gone so far, I
had no thought of stopping till I had
accomplished my object.  I gave her a
moment's time, therefore, and then, leaving that
horrid smoking chaos in her room, I followed
her.

She had gone out the front door and
turned the corner of the house, making, by
some fatal impulse, for the stable.  The
barking of the collies had ceased, but as I got to
the yard I heard it recommence in a higher
and more violent key.  It seemed incredible
to me that she had sought refuge in the
stable, but as I looked, I saw the great door
rolled shut.  When I came up to it, King
came out of his cabin room.

King came out; but he was no longer the
smiling, unctuous Celestial I had known.  In
that yelping, screaming clamor, I stopped to
look at him in surprise.

He had fastened the mask upon his head
and held the cymbals in one hand.  With the
other he dragged a package of fire-crackers
six feet long, braided together in quadruple
rows—there were as many there as in a
hundred of the common Fourth-of-July packages.
It was such an equipment as the Chinese use
for their New Year's Day celebrations.

Before I could speak to him he had thrown
the string into an empty barrel and had
lighted the fuse.  Immediately there was an
uproar like a regiment of infantry firing at
will.  As soon as this was started, he took
up his cymbals and began capering about,
clanging them.  The barking of the dogs rose
frantically.

Surely, if anything could increase her
excitement, this grotesque accession would, and
I prepared for the last scene.  The uproar
inside now rivaled King's racket; Edna was
screaming for help, and instantly it occurred
to me that the dogs, who had always hated
her, might be now upon her, and, if I did not
act quickly, would tear her to pieces.

I tried the big door; it was held by
something inside.  Smashing in a window, sash,
glass and all, with my naked fists, I climbed
in and went through the harness-room to the
carriage shed.

There she stood, now disarrayed to a
shocking state, her shining golden skirt
ripped half off, her bosom bare, her hair
streaming.  She was driven into a corner and was
held there at bay by three snapping, yelping
dogs.  She had caught up a carriage whip
and was slashing away so savagely that the
collies dared not close with her, but I could
see that it was only a question of a few
minutes before she would collapse.

It was my Joy in face and form, remember!
It was her face that was distorted with
terror, her form that was draped in glittering
rags, it was her voice that rose, shriek on
shriek, above the din, till my blood ran cold.
It was her voice that screamed to me for
help before she was torn to pieces.  Its
terror will be with me always.

"Oh, help me!  Help me!" she cried.

But I steeled myself for the *coup de grâce*.
"Break the bone," I muttered, "and let it
heal again!"

So I staggered to the great door, slipped
the hasp and let in King, prancing, beating
his cymbals, droning some savage chant.
The sun shone full upon him, glinted on the
brass cymbals and illuminated the red and
white and black of his atrocious mask.  He
danced up to her, nearer and nearer.  I
watched her, spellbound.

Then, as I looked, I saw her face change.
Her whip hand dropped, her staring eyes
closed.  She clutched at her naked breast,
tottered and fell headlong, striking her
forehead against a carriage wheel as she went
down like a golden wave dashing on the shore.
I sprang to catch her, just too late.  But the
next instant I was down on the floor beside
her, beating the collies back, protecting her
from their teeth by my own body.  Even as
I did so they drew off, stopped their fierce
snarling and lay down, panting, to watch me
quietly.  How my hopes rose at this!  How
eagerly I waited for the prostrate form to
revive.  Outside, the last of the fire-crackers
popped at intervals in the smoking barrel.

"Get some water!" I cried to King.

He threw off his mask, and dropped his
cymbals with a clanging clash and was off
through the big door.

The next moment I looked up from the
pale scarred face on the floor, to see Doctor
Copin standing at the entrance.  Leah,
wide-eyed, staring, was behind him.

"What in hell's the matter?" he demanded,
and he looked in astonishment at the scene,
at the flaccid body in its magnificent disarray,
at me holding her passionately in my arms.

I watched her face for the first sign of life,
and did not answer him.  His presence
mattered little, now, in my agonized suspense.

"For God's sake, Castle, what does this
mean?  Are you all mad?  What has happened?
What the devil are you doing here,
anyway?  Let me see to Miss Fielding, please."

I attempted to hold him off with one hand,
but he seized me roughly before I was able
to resist, and threw me to one side.  He
dropped to his knees, looked at the face and
felt for the pulse.  I took my revolver from
my pocket and pointed it at him.

"You take your hand off her, or I'll make
you!" I cried.

Quick as a flash he turned and looked at me
bravely.  "Shoot if you dare!" he said.
"This is my day, and this is my Miss Fielding.
I take no orders from you, sir.  It's
my duty as a physician to revive her.  She'll
send you packing herself, when she comes to."

I was, after all, so fearful of her condition
by this time, that I was glad to take
advantage of his skill.  It would soon be settled
one way or the other, at any rate.  So I said:

"All right, then, if she asks me to go, I
will.  But we'll wait and see."

And so we stood, facing each other, for a
tense moment, then turned to her again.
King came running in with a basin of water.
Leah took it, stooped down and began to
sprinkle the pale face.

At that moment I saw Minnehaha look up,
and crawl, whimpering, to her mistress'
side.  Chevalier and John O'Groat followed
her.  Joy's eyes opened.  I sprang to lift her up.

"Edna!" the doctor cried.

"Joy!" I called, myself.

Life came flooding into her face, and I
knew intuitively that it was Joy—Joy
illumined, now, in some secret way, by the
knowledge of our victory.

"Chester!"  She smiled wanly up at me.
"Chester, send him away!  I want to be
alone with you!  I have something to tell you!"

"Miss Fielding!" the doctor exclaimed,
"I must see you a moment first."

She turned to him and a wave of crimson
swept over her cheek.

"I beg your pardon, doctor, I'm no longer
Miss Fielding.  I'm Mrs. Castle, and I beg
you to leave immediately!"

Then, still holding my hand close in hers,
she looked up at Leah and drew her down
beside us.

"Oh, Leah, dear, we've won!  *We've won!*"

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   THE END

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   A FEW OF

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   GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

   Great Books at Little Prices

.. class:: center medium bold

   NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.

.. vspace:: 2

GRET: The Story of a Pagan.  By Beatrice Mantle.  Illustrated
by C. M. Relyea.

The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp
furnishes the setting for this
strong original story.  Gret is the daughter
of the camp and is utterly content
with the wild life—until love comes.  A fine book, unmarred by
convention.

.. vspace:: 2

OLD CHESTER TALES.  By Margaret Deland.  Illustrated
by Howard Pyle.

A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters
in an old New England town.
Dr. Lavendar's fine, kindly wisdom is brought
to bear upon the lives of
all, permeating the whole volume like the pungent
odor of pine, healthful
and life giving.  "Old Chester Tales" will
surely be among the books that abide.

.. vspace:: 2

THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY.  By Josephine Daskara.  Illustrated
by F. Y. Cory.

The dawning intelligence of the baby
was grappled with by its great aunt,
an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of
babies was something at which
even the infant himself winked.  A delicious bit of humor.

.. vspace:: 2

REBECCA MARY.  By Annie Hamilton Donnell.  Illustrated
by Elizabeth Shippen Green.

The heart tragedies of this little girl with
no one near to share them, are
told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation
of the needs of the childish
heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings
of the childish mind.

.. vspace:: 2

THE FLY ON THE WHEEL.  By Katherine Cecil Thurston.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.

An Irish story of real power, perfect in
development and showing a true
conception of the spirited Hibernian character
as displayed in the tragic as
well as the tender phases of life.

.. vspace:: 2

THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S.  By George Barr McCutcheon.
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher.

An island in the South Sea is the setting
for this entertaining tale, and
an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess
figure in a most complicated
plot.  One of Mr. McCutcheon's best books.

.. vspace:: 2

TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS.  By Joel Chandler Harris.  Illustrated
by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.

Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood,
and leads another
little boy to that non-locatable land called
"Brer Rabbit's Laughing
Place," and again the quaint animals spring
into active life and play their
parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience.

.. vspace:: 2

THE CLIMBER.  By E. F. Benson.  With frontispiece.

An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman's
soul—a woman who
believed that in social supremacy she would
find happiness, and who finds
instead the utter despair of one who has
chosen the things that pass away.

.. vspace:: 2

LYNCH'S DAUGHTER.  By Leonard Merrick.  Illustrated by
Geo. Brehm.

A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl
acquires ideals of beautiful and
simple living, and of men and love,
quite apart from the teachings of her
father, "Old Man Lynch" of Wall St.
True to life, clever in treatment.



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.. class:: center large bold

GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

DRAMATIZED NOVELS

.. class:: center medium bold

A Few that are Making Theatrical History

.. vspace:: 2

MARY JANE'S PA.  By Norman Way.  Illustrated with scenes
from the play.

Delightful, irresponsible "Mary Jane's Pa"
awakes one morning to find
himself famous, and, genius being ill adapted
to domestic joys, he wanders
from home, to work out his own unique destiny.
One of the most humorous
bits of recent fiction.

.. vspace:: 2

CHERUB DEVINE.  By Sewell Ford

"Cherub," a good hearted but not over refined
young man is brought in
touch with the aristocracy.
Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a merciless
analyst, but he proves in the end that
manhood counts for more than ancient
lineage by winning the love of the fairest girl in the flock.

.. vspace:: 2

A WOMAN'S WAY.  By Charles Somerville.  Illustrated with
scenes from the play.

A story in which a woman's wit and
self-sacrificing love save her husband
from the toils of an adventuress,
and change an apparently tragic situation
into one of delicious comedy.

.. vspace:: 2

THE CLIMAX.  By George C. Jenks.

With ambition luring her on, a young choir
soprano leaves the little village
where she was born and the limited audience of
St. Jude's to train for the
opera in New York.  She leaves love behind her and
meets love more ardent
but not more sincere in her new environment.
How she works, how she
studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed.

.. vspace:: 2

A FOOL THERE WAS.  By Porter Emerson Browne.  Illustrated
by Edmund Magrath and W. W. Fawcett.

A relentless portrayal of the career of a man
who comes under the influence
of a beautiful but evil woman;
how she lures him on and on, how he
struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again
into her net, make a story of
unflinching realism.

.. vspace:: 2

THE SQUAW MAN.  By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin
Milton Royle.  Illustrated with scenes from the play.

A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in
dialogue with a fine courageous
hero and a beautiful English heroine.

.. vspace:: 2

THE GIRL IN WAITING.  By Archibald Eyre.  Illustrated
with scenes from the play.

A droll little comedy of misunderstandings,
told with a light touch, a venturesome
spirit and an eye for human oddities.

.. vspace:: 2

THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.  By Baroness Orczy.  Illustrated
with scenes from the play.

A realistic story of the days of the French Revolution,
abounding in
dramatic incident, with a young English soldier of
fortune, daring, mysterious as the hero.



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A FEW OF

.. class:: center large bold

GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

Great Books at Little Prices

.. vspace:: 2

CY WHITTAKER'S PLACE.  By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Illustrated by Wallace Morgan.

A Cape Cod story describing the amusing efforts of an
elderly bachelor and his two cronies to rear
and educate a little
girl.  Full of honest fun—a rural drama.

.. vspace:: 2

THE FORGE IN THE FOREST.  By Charles G. D. Roberts.
Illustrated by H. Sandham.

A story of the conflict in Acadia after
its conquest by the
British.  A dramatic picture that lives
and shines with the indefinable charm of poetic romance.

.. vspace:: 2

A SISTER TO EVANGELINE.  By Charles G. D. Roberts.
Illustrated by E. McConnell.

Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went
into exile with the villagers of Grand Pré.
Swift action,
fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion and
searching analysis characterize this strong novel.

.. vspace:: 2

THE OPENED SHUTTERS.  By Clara Louise Burnham.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.

A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the
background for this romance.
A beautiful woman, at discord with
life, is brought to realize,
by her new friends, that she may
open the shutters of her soul to the
blessed sunlight of joy by
casting aside vanity and self love.
A delicately humorous
work with a lofty motive underlying it all.

.. vspace:: 2

THE RIGHT PRINCESS.  By Clara Louise Burnham.

An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island
resort, where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New
England housekeeper to serve
in her interesting home.  How
types so widely apart react on each
others' lives, all to ultimate
good, makes a story both humorous and rich in sentiment.

.. vspace:: 2

THE LEAVEN OF LOVE.  By Clara Louise Burnham.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.

At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young
and beautiful but disillusioned,
meets a girl who has learned
the art of living—of tasting life
in all its richness, opulence and
joy.  The story hinges upon the change
wrought in the soul
of the blasé woman by this glimpse into a cheery life.



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.. class:: center medium bold

A FEW OF

.. class:: center large bold

GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

Great Books at Little Prices

.. vspace:: 2

QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER.  A Picture of New
England Home Life.  With illustrations by C. W. Reed,
and Scenes Reproduced from the Play.

One of the best New England stories ever written.  It is
full of homely human interest * * * there is a wealth of New
England village character, scenes and incidents * * * forcibly,
vividly and truthfully drawn.  Few books have enjoyed a
greater sale and popularity.  Dramatized, it made the
greatest rural play of recent times.

.. vspace:: 2

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY
ADAMS SAWYER.  By Charles Felton Pidgin.
Illustrated by Henry Roth.

All who love honest sentiment, quaint and sunny humor,
and homespun philosophy will find these "Further
Adventures" a book after their own heart.

.. vspace:: 2

HALF A CHANCE.  By Frederic S. Isham.  Illustrated
by Herman Pfeifer.

The thrill of excitement will keep
the reader in a state of
suspense, and he will become personally
concerned from the
start, as to the central character,
a very real man who suffers,
dares—and achieves!

.. vspace:: 2

VIRGINIA OF THE AIR LANES.  By Herbert
Quick.  Illustrated by William R. Leigh.

The author has seized the romantic moment for the airship
novel, and created the pretty story of
"a lover and his lass"
contending with an elderly relative for the monopoly of the
skies.  An exciting tale of adventure in midair.

.. vspace:: 2

THE GAME AND THE CANDLE.  By Eleanor M. Ingram.
Illustrated by P. D. Johnson.

The hero is a young American, who, to save his family from
poverty, deliberately commits a felony.
Then follow his capture
and imprisonment, and his rescue by a Russian Grand
Duke.  A stirring story, rich in sentiment.



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.. class:: center medium bold

A FEW OF

.. class:: center large bold

GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

Great Books at Little Prices

.. vspace:: 2

BRUVVER JIM'S BABY.  By Philip Verrill Mighels.

An uproariously funny story of a tiny
mining settlement in the
West, which is shaken to the very roots
by the sudden possession
of a baby, found on the plains by one
of its residents.  The town is
as disreputable a spot as the gold fever
was ever responsible for,
and the coming of that baby causes
the upheaval of every rooted
tradition of the place.  Its christening,
the problems of its toys and
its illness supersede in the minds of the
miners all thought of earthy
treasure.

.. vspace:: 2

THE FURNACE OF GOLD.  By Philip Verrill Mighels,
author of "Bruvver Jim's Baby."  Illustrations by J. N. Marchand.

An accurate and informing portrayal of scenes, types, and
conditions of the mining districts in modern Nevada.

The book is an out-door story, clean, exciting, exemplifying
nobility and courage of character, and bravery,
and heroism in the sort
of men and women we all admire and wish to know.

.. vspace:: 2

THE MESSAGE.  By Louis Tracy.  Illustrations by Joseph
C. Chase.

A breezy tale of how a bit of old parchment, concealed in a
figure-head from a sunken vessel, comes into
the possession of a pretty
girl and an army man during regatta week in the
Isle of Wight.
This is the message and it enfolds a mystery,
the development of
which the reader will follow with breathless interest.

.. vspace:: 2

THE SCARLET EMPIRE.  By David M. Parry.  Illustrations
by Hermann C. Wall.

A young socialist, weary of life,
plunges into the sea and awakes
in the lost island of Atlantis,
known as the Scarlet Empire, where
a social democracy is in full operation,
granting every man a living
but limiting food, conversation, education and marriage.

The hero passes through an enthralling
love affair and other adventures
but finally returns to his own New York world.

.. vspace:: 2

THE THIRD DEGREE.  By Charles Klein and Arthur
Hornblow.  Illustrations by Clarence Rowe.

A novel which exposes the abuses in this country of the police
system.

The son of an aristocratic New York family marries a woman
socially beneath him, but of strong, womanly qualities that, later
on, save the man from the tragic consequences of a dissipated life.

The wife believes in his innocence and her wit and good sense
help her to win against the tremendous odds imposed by law.

.. vspace:: 2

THE THIRTEENTH DISTRICT.  By Brand Whitlock.

A realistic western story of love and
politics and a searching study
of their influence on character.  The author shows with
extraordinary vitality of treatment the tricks,
the heat, the passion, the tumult
of the political arena, the triumph and strength of love.



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A FEW OF

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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

Great Books at Little Prices

.. vspace:: 2

THE MUSIC MASTER.  By Charles Klein.  Illustrated
by John Rae.

This marvelously vivid narrative turns
upon the search of a German
musician in New York for his little daughter.  Mr. Klein has
well portrayed his pathetic struggle with poverty, his varied
experiences in endeavoring to meet the
demands of a public not trained
to an appreciation of the classic,
and his final great hour when, in
the rapidly shifting events of a big city,
his little daughter, now a
beautiful young woman, is brought
to his very door.  A superb bit
of fiction, palpitating with the life
of the great metropolis.  The
play in which David Warfield scored his highest success.

.. vspace:: 2

DR. LAVENDAR'S PEOPLE.  By Margaret Deland.
Illustrated by Lucius Hitchcock.

Mrs. Deland won so many friends through
Old Chester Tales
that this volume needs no introduction
beyond its title.  The lovable
doctor is more ripened in this later book,
and the simple comedies
and tragedies of the old village
are told with dramatic charm.

.. vspace:: 2

OLD CHESTER TALES.  By Margaret Deland.  Illustrated
by Howard Pyle.

Stories portraying with delightful
humor and pathos a quaint
people in a sleepy old town.
Dr. Lavendar, a very human and lovable
"preacher," is the connecting link between
these dramatic stories
from life.

.. vspace:: 2

HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE.  By E. P. Roe,
With frontispiece.

The hero is a farmer—a man with honest,
sincere views of life.
Bereft of his wife, his home is cared for by a succession of
domestics of varying degrees
of inefficiency until, from a most
unpromising source, comes a young woman
who not only becomes his wife
but commands his respect and eventually
wins his love.  A bright
and delicate romance, revealing on both
sides a love that surmounts
all difficulties and survives the censure
of friends as well as the bitterness of enemies.

.. vspace:: 2

THE YOKE.  By Elizabeth Miller.

Against the historical background of the days
when the children
of Israel were delivered from the bondage
of Egypt, the author has
sketched a romance of compelling charm.
A biblical novel as great
as any since "Ben Hur."

.. vspace:: 2

SAUL OF TARSUS.  By Elizabeth Miller.  Illustrated by
André Castaigne.

The scenes of this story are laid
in Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome
and Damascus.  The Apostle Paul,
the Martyr Stephen, Herod
Agrippa and the Emperors Tiberius
and Caligula are among the
mighty figures that move through the pages.
Wonderful descriptions,
and a love story of the purest and noblest type mark this
most remarkable religious romance.



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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S

.. class:: center large bold

DRAMATIZED NOVELS

.. class:: center medium bold white-space-pre-line

Original, sincere and courageous—often amusing—the
kind that are making theatrical history.

.. vspace:: 2

MADAME X.  By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.

A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her
husband would not forgive an error of her youth.
Her love for
her son is the great final influence in her career.
A tremendous dramatic success.

.. vspace:: 2

THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.  By Robert Hichens.

An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable
stranger meet and love in an oasis of the Sahara.  Staged
this season with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.

.. vspace:: 2

THE PRINCE OF INDIA.  By Lew. Wallace.

A glowing romance of the Byzantine
Empire, presenting
with extraordinary power the siege
of Constantinople, and
lighting its tragedy with the warm
underglow of an Oriental
romance.  As a play it is a great dramatic spectacle.

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TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY.  By Grace
Miller White.  Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy.

A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell
University student, and it works startling
changes in her life and
the lives of those about her.
The dramatic version is one of
the sensations of the season.

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YOUNG WALLINGFORD.  By George Randolph
Chester.  Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh.

A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young
man, each of which is just on the safe
side of a State's prison
offence.  As "Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably
the most amusing expose of money manipulation ever seen
on the stage.

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THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY.  By P. G. Wodehouse.
Illustrations by Will Grefé.

Social and club life in London
and New York, an amateur
burglary adventure and a love story.
Dramatized under the
title of "A Gentleman of Leisure,"
it furnishes hours of
laughter to the play-goers.



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TITLES SELECTED FROM

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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST

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REALISTIC, ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE

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THE GARDEN OF FATE.  By Roy Norton.  Illustrated
by Joseph Clement Coll.

The colorful romance of an American
girl in Morocco, and
of a beautiful garden, whose beauty
and traditions of strange
subtle happenings were closed to the
world by a Sultan's seal.

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THE MAN HIGHER UP.  By Henry Russell Miller.

Full page vignette illustrations by M. Leone Bracker.

The story of a tenement waif who rose
by his own ingenuity
to the office of mayor of his native city.
His experiences
while "climbing," make a most interesting example of the
possibilities of human nature to rise above circumstances.

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THE KEY TO YESTERDAY.  By Charles Neville
Buck.  Illustrated by R. Schabelitz.

Robert Saxon, a prominent artist,
has an accident, while in
Paris, which obliterates his memory,
and the only clue he has
to his former life is a rusty key.
What door in Paris will it
unlock?  He must know that before he
woos the girl he loves.

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THE DANGER TRAIL.  By James Oliver Curwood.
Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.

The danger trail is over the
snow-smothered North.  A
young Chicago engineer, who is
building a road through the
Hudson Bay region, is involved
in mystery, and is led into
ambush by a young woman.

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THE GAY LORD WARING.  By Houghton Townley.
Illustrated by Will Grefé.

A story of the smart hunting set in England.
A gay young
lord wins in love against his selfish
and cowardly brother and
apparently against fate itself.

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BY INHERITANCE.  By Octave Thanet.  Illustrated
by Thomas Fogarty.  Elaborate wrapper in colors.

A wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate
plans for the education of the negro
goes to visit her nephew
in Arkansas, where she learns the needs
of the colored race
first hand and begins to lose her theories.

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GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK

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