Part 10

"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 cooeperation, 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."

[Illustration: "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.

*IV*

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.