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!"