Part 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, what has happened?"

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

"With _her_--with Edna, I mean, or with Joy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean Edna has?"

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

"How long since Joy has been doing so?"

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

"And the doctor has been coming oftener?"

"Yes."

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

"Almost always when it's Edna."

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

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

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

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

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

She did not answer.

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

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

"The doctor probably knows a good deal more about that than I," I replied. "I think that's probably why he's so much interested. But, if you _don't_ trust him, the very fact that he does know so much about the subject makes him the more dangerous. I must have a talk with him. Do you know when he'll come again?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gave me a cunning look.

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

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

"You sabbee China tong?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*III*

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

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

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

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

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

"How is she?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, I can!"

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

"Well, there's King."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I really do," I answered gravely.

"Why?"

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

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

"Of course I am--when you behave."

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

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

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

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

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

With that, she was away again, debonairly frolicsome.

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

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

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