Part 13

effected by the doctor's information. She was no longer a child; she was becoming complex, although still dominated by rapidly changing moods. A new phase had indubitably commenced; it was the sign, I feared, of a growing supremacy.

That evening she wheedled me with every art of the coquette. Her familiarity seemed to give the lie to the doctor's statement about their engagement, but it might well be true that she was playing him as audaciously as she was playing me. I did not, of course, ask her about it. It did not matter.

If I had needed to exercise my self-restraint on that other evening when she attempted to provoke me, it was much more necessary now, for she had become less differentiated, intellectually, from Joy; so much so, at least, as to permit me at times to give my imagination play, and fancy her, for the moment, the real Joy, my Joy in an alluring guise, tinctured with wild-fire. The line of cleavage now was more along moral lines. Edna's mind was evolving at the expense of her ethical nature. Her temptation was seductive and arrantly conceived to torment me; I was sure that it was intended to shake my allegiance to her rival self. It was like playing with edged tools to be alone with her. In her intervals of repose she fell so naturally into Joy's poses that it was disconcerting. It was like _The Faerie Queene_ over again; like an errant knight, I was confronted by the image of my mistress so cunningly enchanted that I could not tell till she spoke that her body was obsessed by another spirit.

She asked me much about the day before, and about what she had done and said. As the evening wore on and she could not defeat my continual evasions, she began to grow sullen and reserved. Finally, she appeared to give it up, and went up-stairs with a sarcastic emphasis to her "Good night, Prig!"

*VI*

Next morning I lay in bed for some time after I awoke, planning my day. If it were Joy who appeared, there were several things to be decided upon and accomplished; if Edna, a conflict was imminent which caused me much anxiety. Queerly enough, the proposal I would have to make to Joy seemed almost as if it would be an _ex post facto_ agreement. I had already announced my engagement to the doctor, but I had not made my bluff without holding a pretty good hand. I couldn't doubt, by this time, how Joy felt toward me.

At eight o'clock I heard the customary dialogue--Miss Fielding's door being still left ajar--but I noticed that her voice was quick and excited. Leah was called in immediately, and the two women seemed to have more than the usual amount of talk together.

Next, I heard the dogs barking in answer to their names; but there were only three replies to Joy's calls, to-day. Poor old Nokomis would never greet her mistress again. Then the door was closed. Joy evidently did not wait to have breakfast, as usual, in her room, for fifteen minutes later I heard her going down-stairs.

Fearing that something was wrong, though I was sure, now, that it was Joy herself whom I had heard, I rose and dressed as quickly as I could. I found her in the library waiting for me.

She held a folded paper in her hand, as she sat by the window, looking out listlessly. I bade her good morning; she looked up without a smile and silently handed me the paper. Unfolding it, I saw, written in a round, childish, vertical script, the words:

"_I know you now--Cat!_"

"I found this pinned to my pillow when I woke up," she said. "It's from Edna." Then a faint, dreamy smile softened her lips as she said, "You see, even to her, I am the White Cat!"

"How d'you know it's from Edna?"

"It's her handwriting. She writes very differently from me."

I looked at it, wondering. It was the first shot in the battle.

"You see, she has found out. Her eyes are opened," Joy said.

"Yes. I was going to tell you about it to-day. I suspected it yesterday, and it has proved true. It complicates things immensely."

"Leah has told me that I struck her, too. Think of it! It makes me positively faint. What horrible part of me has come to the surface in Edna? What undiscovered self is it that is torturing me so? It's a hideous revelation. It shows how depraved I must be, at heart."

"It isn't you!" I declared. "It's another woman, quite. It's only you in the sense that it would be you if you were intoxicated, or if you were dreaming, or insane. You mustn't think of yourself as in any way responsible."

"Then of course she's not, either?"

"No more than a child, or an idiot. She uses your body and your mind, but she hasn't, so to speak, the use of your moral scruples. She's a disintegrated self, imperfectly functioned. All the same we have, of course, to treat her as quite another person. And the time is approaching, I think, when we'll have to act. I don't intend to spare her. We must use force if necessary."

"How does she know about me, after so long an ignorance?" Joy inquired.

I told her what I had heard at the telephone. She could scarcely credit my testimony.

"If the doctor is definitely leagued with Edna, what can we do? He has all his science and Edna's active help. I'm lost if he's really against me! I can't be sure that the doctor has deliberately played me false. There may be some mistake."

"I think I can prove that to you," I answered, "but I have a great deal to say to you first."

I think she knew, then; I think she hoped to hear what I was going to say, for she gave me her hand, and smiled up at me as she rose to go in to breakfast. We sat down with Leah at the table.

I had taken it for granted that Leah had told Joy everything that had happened the day before, and so, not wishing to grieve her further, I took care to say nothing about Nokomis. But the swelling on Leah's cheek could not be so easily ignored, and several times I saw the tears come into Joy's eyes at the sight of it.

While we were there the clock struck half-past eight. At the sound Joy's face changed--an expression of abstraction came into it. It was as if she were trying to recall something that eluded her memory. Then she half rose, like a somnambulist.

"I think I'll run up-stairs and telephone the doctor," she said, without looking at me.

"Why should you?" I asked, much surprised, after the way we had talked.

"I don't know," she said vaguely, looking about the room. "Oughtn't he to know how I treated Leah? Perhaps he can prevent that in some way."

"You'd better not, Joy," I said.

She stood for a moment irresolute, and then, as if urged by some extraneous impulse she moved a little nearer the door.

"I just want to find out if he's coming down to-day," she said automatically.

I jumped up and touched her shoulder.

"Please don't telephone to Doctor Copin--you _mustn't_!" I said with decision.

"Oh," she said, wide-eyed, coming to herself a little. "There's a reason?"

"There's a good reason!" I exclaimed fervently.

She moved back, as if still opposing some force that was drawing her out of the room, sat down limply, half rose again, reseated herself.

"Resist!" I said to her.

Leah looked on without a word, breathless, her lips open.

Joy looked madly at me. "What is it, Chester? Tell me!"

"It's only a post-hypnotic suggestion, that's all. You must defeat it."

Then she literally shook herself free from the obsession. "Oh, why am I tortured and racked so!" she exclaimed. "Can't I be permitted to be myself when I _am_ myself? Isn't it bad enough to be robbed of myself half the time without his imposing his will on me now? Why is he doing this?"

"That's just what I want to find out," I said. "The important thing is not to give in to him. His experiments may possibly be justified, but I don't think so. We certainly have good ground to suspect him. Have you quite got over your desire to telephone?"

"Yes--but it's queer--I can still think of reasons why I might, though of course I agree with you that it's not best to. You see, I've only given up to you instead of to him. I'm quite in the dark, now; I seem to have no will of my own. I can't judge, I can't understand even my own impulses. Well, if I'm blind you and Leah will lead me, won't you?"

She reached over and took Leah's hand affectionately.

When we finished breakfast, Joy and I went into the library. There was an old, gilt-framed, concave mirror there, over the fireplace, that gathered in and focused on its disk the whole room in one condensed, shadowy scene. Joy went up to it.

"Aren't we queer and strange in there?" she said. "It's so dim and ghostly; when I look up and see any one in it, it always seems to me like some scene of Maeterlinck or Sudermann."

She walked over to another glass, more formal and more true, and looked at herself intently.

"Look at the lines about my eyes! They weren't there a year ago! My whole face has changed.... I have grown ten years older this last month.... My eyes themselves are different.... There's another wrinkle.... I wish my eyebrows were even.... I believe my nose is one-sided, too...."

Her voice died away. I looked up and saw her gazing into the mirror with a strange intentness. Her brow was puckered into a frown. Suddenly her hand went to her heart with a gesture of horror.

"Oh!" she cried, and hid her face in her hands.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The doctor!" she exclaimed, shuddering.

"Tell me!" I insisted.

Instead, she sprang up and began to walk up and down the room, wringing her hands. "It's awful; it's all confused in my mind, like a dream--but I seem to remember things that never happened at all. Oh, _did_ they ever happen?" she turned to demand of me in despair.

"That's what I want you to tell me."

She dropped into her chair again and began to cry--"Oh, I can't tell you! I can't! It never happened, I'm sure! What does it mean, Chester?"

"It's probably what happened here yesterday--to Edna--that you remember, Joy."

"Oh, how dare he treat her so, then? It comes back to me in scraps and shreds of scenes. Oh, what a cad he must be! And what a woman she must be, to allow him--oh, I can't stand it! Why did you make me remember? How can I ever look any one in the face again?"

She threw herself into the cushions on the window-seat and burst into tears. There was but one way to restore her self-respect, and I went over to her and took her hand. At first she pulled it away, but I persisted.

"Dear Joy," I said, "don't grieve so, for it's all right. It was Edna, not you, you know, and Edna's not responsible for what she does, I'm sure. Don't cry, for I have something to say to you, now, that you must answer."

She looked at me through her tears, and waited.

"I want you to marry me, Joy."

"Oh, please _don't_!" she exclaimed. "Marry you? How can I listen to such a thing, after what has happened? Oh, no, _no_!"

"It's partly on account of that that I ask you now. I want to help you, and I can help you so much more if we are engaged. I want the right to help you."

"Oh, it's only pity that makes you ask me. It's only to protect me! Never, never!"

"It isn't that," I protested. "I love you, Joy--I have loved you for a long time, and loving you, I want to save you, not only for your sake, but for my own as well. I want you for my wife, Joy! Don't you love me?"

Her tears had ceased and now she looked at me with bright eyes that burned softly.

"My dear," she said, "of course I love you! I think I have loved you ever since that first day you came here. But for that very reason I must say no. How could I ever drag you into this wretched trouble?"

"Oh, I'm in it all over, whether or no," I said. "Do you think I could ever leave you now? Were I only your friend, even, I'd have to stay with you; but I'm your lover, Joy! I'm most desperately in love with you. And I intend to have you, too! No matter what you say, no matter what you do, you're mine, and you can't get away from me. So you'd better just say 'yes' this moment."

She sat up and looked at me tenderly. "Don't speak of it again--not till all this problem is settled, at least. It's impossible. Do you think I could think of it after what has happened, after I've found out what I really am? If I am ever released from this spell--if I can ever forget what I've just found out, it will be time enough to speak of love. But not now, I beg of you. I'm the White Cat!"

"I've already told the doctor that we're engaged," I said.

"You told the doctor!" she exclaimed. "How could you?"

I repeated our conversation in the lane. Her momentary resentment at me died away at hearing the doctor's own announcement.

"Then perhaps Edna is in love with him, after all! That would account for much, and excuse everything, perhaps." She drew a sigh of relief at the thought of this palliation.

"I don't think she is, but she might be willing to marry him to get her freedom," I offered.

"But then, if Edna is in love, I have still less right to let you propose to me. Why, just think of it--it's incredible! If they're engaged----"

"They're not engaged, I'm sure."

"It makes no difference--she may care for him more than you think. It's fearful! I can't talk about it!"

"But she _can't_ marry him! We must prevent that! Think of the horror of that possibility!"

I had small need to appeal to her imagination. Her mind was already whirling with the possibilities of such a situation. She stared at me, dazed, speechless, her eyes filled with terror. Then she collapsed and fell into my arms.

"Oh, Chester, what shall I do? Take care of me! I'm so frightened!"

"You must listen to me, Joy," I said. "I love you so that my heart will break if you don't consent and let me help you. You must be my wife, and then we can defy them and fight it out together."

She started up with a new thought. "Oh, hasn't Edna a right to _her_ love, too? Won't it be as bad for her, possibly, if I consent? How can I force her to suffer that! How can I bear to think of your being with her while I'm wandering, lost, eclipsed? Oh, don't you see how shockingly impossible the whole thing is? We can neither of us dare to love. We have no right even to think of it! How can you suggest it? It's unthinkable!"

"But you love me?" I asked.

She offered me her lips for the first time, and clung to me, trembling.

"Then nothing is impossible. We'll wait a while, and see. But at least, so far as the doctor is concerned, I can't afford to be stultified. You'll not repudiate my announcement? You'll admit it to him, if he asks? I must have that weapon against him."

She turned it over in her mind. "I'll not deny it," she said finally, "but you must not consider it a promise. It's simply too ghastly to think of!"

I had gained that much, at any rate, and though my heart sank at the thought of the possibilities our words had pictured, I still hoped to be inspired to some successful plan for attack and defense. I knew that Joy loved me--that was everything. It made me bolder and more confident. So I put the horrors from me and thought only of our love.

She turned suddenly toward me and said: "What would you do for me, Chester?"

"Anything, except give you up!"

"Remember the White Cat!" she said. "Would you do what she asked the Prince to do?"

"What do you mean?"

She spoke deliberately. "Conceive, if you can, our being beaten in the end. Conceive that Edna might marry the doctor--and then think of me!"

"I'll prevent that!" I said, through my teeth.

"You may not be able to prevent it, except in one way."

I understood. "If I ever believe that _that_ is the only way to prevent it--I promise to help you."

"I may be able to do it alone; of course I shall try. But if I haven't the means, the opportunity, you must promise to help me find them."

"I promise!" I repeated.

She tossed her head back with her old gesture.

Then I said: "Joy, all this is unnecessary; though I've promised. If you'll only marry me now--if you'll even consent to an engagement, it will enable me to defy the doctor and prevent his coming here."

"Oh, I can not, I can not!" she cried. "You know why as well as I! It's too awful! I love you--that must be enough for the present."

She rose and added: "Let's go outdoors and take a walk. Perhaps the air and the sun will do me good, and afterward we can think it over and decide how to manage the doctor. I'll just run up-stairs and change my clothes and then we'll try the sun-cure."

As she went up to her room, I walked out into the kitchen to talk to King while I waited for her. He was busy at the stove, but welcomed me with his usual meaningless grin.

"Well, King," I said, "I guess your joss is pretty good, after all. Miss Fielding is better to-day."

"H'm!" He shook his head. "Debbil come plenty time more!"

"Perhaps we can pray him away," I suggested.

He dropped his spoon and came up and took my arm.

"You likee come lookee my joss?"

I assented, amused at his insistence, and he led me out into the yard where, beside the stable, he had a little shed. It was filled with the odor of burning sandalwood. In his room, by the upper end of his cot, was his porcelain joss, a horrible-faced deity. Long placards of red paper containing Chinese writing were hung about, and there were paper flowers, dusty and fly-specked, upon the stand. At the feet of the idol was a bowl full of ashes in which were many joss-sticks. Three were lighted, the others had burned out. There was also a small lamp, with a lighted wick floating on the nut-oil. I inspected it all very seriously.

King rummaged in his trunk, and soon, grinning, beckoned to me. I went over to him and saw, in the tray, a large, ferocious-looking mask such as are used in the Chinese theaters and at the Feasts of the Dead. Beside it was a pair of huge brass cymbals and a snake-skin tomtom. King held up the mask.

"Oh, you used to be an actor, eh!" I said.

He grinned and held the thing in front of his face. It certainly was horrible. He took up the cymbals and struck one clang. Then he put them away.

"Heap good for debbil. Dlive him away quick!" he said. "Maybe some time I tly him! You think so?"

I laughed, and went back to the library, where Joy was already waiting for me.

She was standing by the window-seat, looking out, putting in a hat-pin, lost in thought, when I entered. My footsteps made no noise on the heavy rug, and I thoughtlessly touched her on the shoulder before she was aware of my approach. Absorbed in her trouble, unstrung, the surprise startled her with a sudden irrational terror; she leaped away as if from the touch of a snake. Then, seeing me, she dropped upon the window-seat, her hand on her heart.

"Oh, you frightened me so! You see how nervous I am. I didn't hear you. I'm a goose!"

I took no step toward her, but stood there gazing at her. A sudden idea had come to me at sight of her fear, and immediately a plan was unrolled before me, a perfected thing, a solution of the problem, perhaps. At my fixed, stony attitude, however, she took a new alarm and cried out:

"What is it, Chester? What is it?"

"Wait a moment," I said quietly, "let me think it out." My tone reassured her, but she was still agitated as she watched me while I turned it over in my mind. Then I took a seat beside her.

"It's a desperate chance, but it may work."

"You have a plan?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you. It will be much better for you not to know."

"Oh, I'm afraid not to know! It's dreadful to be conspiring against that poor girl. It's like plotting a murder. I can't bear the thought of it. You must tell me."

"It will be hard enough for me--you could not stand it," I said. "You'll have to trust me, for I shall save you in spite of yourself. But I can't share this with you."

"You'll not injure her, Chester?"

"How can I, when it will be your own face that I shall confront? It will be your own voice that I shall hear. I wonder if I can do it!"

"Oh, I _must_ know or I shan't consent," she declared. "What right have we to destroy her, after all? She has a right, perhaps, to her life!"

"Joy," I said, "you must think of it as a dream, as I said. In our dreams we suffer and enjoy, but so long as there is no bridge between that and our waking state, it need not matter to us. What must be done is no more than a surgical operation. It will restore you, I think, to health."

"But what of her?"

"She'll merely disappear. She'll take her place on the map again and join the rest of you."

"You won't tell me?"

"I can't!"

She rose proudly. "Then I do not consent," she declared. "I can suffer still. I'll summon new reserves of strength and I'll fight it out as it has begun. I'll forswear happiness, love, peace. I'll accept my fate--until I can stand it no longer. Then, I have my own remedy and I shall not be afraid to adopt it. There's always _that_ way out! No, I'm stronger than you think, and it's quite settled. Now come outdoors and let's get some fresh air. It's like a haunted house in here."

I tried no longer to persuade her, but I had already decided that I would put my plan through without her consent, if necessary. It happened, however, that this course was not necessary.

We went out into the sunshine and the fresh air and the perfume of June roses. In front of the house she stopped and called the collies. They came trooping joyfully about her.