[image]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,pleasego!"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, "Doyouthink 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 forme!""You mean—that youdon'ttrust 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.VIIWe 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 spareme," 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'tquiteunderstand 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 Idoknow. 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 youareoff 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 theWhite 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 understandthat. 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. Butwouldyou?"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:"'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.'""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.PART SECONDIMy 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'tknow! 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 notthat! 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'tknow! Don't youseeI 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! Idaren'tsleep! 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 theotherone?" 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 knowher, 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. "Youwillhelp 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."Perhapsshedischarged 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 lethergive 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'sso 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 sayyoucould 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 beshe.""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 circumventher. Oh, Imustkeep 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.Shehas come lately, about two days in the seven, but irregularly. It's almost always after a deep, heavy sleep. You remember how latesheused 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'lllet 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 doessheknow?""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, "doyouforget, 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 therehasbeen a lapse—I don't realize that it isn't just the next day. Leah tellsheras 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;shemight 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, ifsheknew."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. Butyou, 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 Iaminteresting, 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, Ihaven'tthought 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 ifshewas 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—yourJoy!"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'sasleep! Miss Joy'sasleep!"
[image]After dinner we spent the evening by the fire.
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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,pleasego!"
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, "Doyouthink 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 forme!"
"You mean—that youdon'ttrust 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.
VII
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 spareme," 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'tquiteunderstand 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 Idoknow. 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 youareoff 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 theWhite 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 understandthat. 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. Butwouldyou?"
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:
"'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.'"
"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.
PART SECOND
I
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'tknow! 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 notthat! 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'tknow! Don't youseeI 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! Idaren'tsleep! 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 theotherone?" 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 knowher, 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. "Youwillhelp 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.
"Perhapsshedischarged 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 lethergive 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'sso 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 sayyoucould 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 beshe."
"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 circumventher. Oh, Imustkeep 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.Shehas come lately, about two days in the seven, but irregularly. It's almost always after a deep, heavy sleep. You remember how latesheused 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'lllet 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 doessheknow?"
"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, "doyouforget, 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 therehasbeen a lapse—I don't realize that it isn't just the next day. Leah tellsheras 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;shemight 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, ifsheknew."
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. Butyou, 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 Iaminteresting, 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, Ihaven'tthought 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 ifshewas 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—yourJoy!"
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'sasleep! Miss Joy'sasleep!"