Part 6

"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 spare _me_," I replied.

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

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

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

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

"About your memory," I prompted.

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

"About your having amnesia, you know."

Her hand went to her heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just like me," I remarked.

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

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

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

"And the third quest?" I reminded her.

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

"I can understand _that_. Just as we have had."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How?"

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

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

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

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

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

A dreadful meaning came straight from her eyes to mine.

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

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

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

"You expect her to return, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stared at me, like a somnambulist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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