"You just drop off to sleep for a little while, and I'll think it
over--"
She nerved her body, and pulled herself up.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "I'm dying for sleep, but don't you see I
can't? If I should fall asleep who would it be that would awake? It
might be _she_."
"By Jove!" I cried, "I hadn't thought of that!"
"I've thought of nothing else. That's why I've stayed up and kept awake
while I am so exhausted. If Leah comes back, she must find me here, and
not 'the other one.' I must see her and find out what has happened--we
must arrange for everything and decide what plan to adopt to circumvent
_her_. Oh, I _must_ keep awake!" Even as she spoke her head dropped
again heavily.
"You can't tell, then, when the change is likely to come?"
"Sometimes I have a feeling--a premonition--like that night, don't you
remember, when I was so blue? I knew that I was going to change. But
usually I can't tell. _She_ has come lately, about two days in the
seven, but irregularly. It's almost always after a deep, heavy sleep.
You remember how late _she_ used to lie abed? That's what worries me
now. I'm absolutely exhausted, and if I do fall asleep, I'll go down
deep. So deep, I'm afraid, that I'll change. Can you think what a
horror that is to me? I must stay up till Leah comes. You must promise
to keep me awake by every means in your power. But even then, what are
we going to do? How can we arrange a way for Leah to get along with
her?"
"That's where I come into the game," I said. "I think I can solve that
problem."
"How did you get on with her?" Joy asked timidly. It was quite as if
she were asking about another woman, and feared to commit an
impertinence. "Do you like her?" she added.
"She's not to be compared to you, of course. But there's much that's
likable about her, and at least, we get on beautifully. And so we shall
this time, if she'll only let me stay. That's the difficulty."
"Oh, _she'll_ let you stay, she'll be only too glad. She likes you,
Leah says." Her brows drew together, and I wondered how much she knew.
"Well, then, I'll undertake to make her keep Leah."
"Oh, if you can do that--on any terms--we can stand it, both of us.
Leah will suffer anything, I'm sure, rather than leave me."
"One thing more, then--since I must have all the information if I am to
do anything--what does _she_ know?"
"About me? Nothing, I think. At least she has never been told, I
mean--we've always kept it from her. She thinks she's the only one."
"I don't see how that can be possible!"
"It does seem strange; but then, you know she's mentally undeveloped.
In some ways she's a mere child. And then, too, she has never known it
to be any different--why should she suspect that there is another
personality--that she isn't the real Joy Fielding? She's conscious that
she loses time, so to speak, and she thinks it is only the fault of her
memory."
I thought it over a while. Then I said: "She wouldn't say much about it
to me, and so I didn't quite get her point of view. It baffles me. She
must know that she does things in the lapses, even if she doesn't recall
them."
"I don't know that she's even aware of that. She may think that she's
unconscious, during these lapses, but most likely it is just like
dreams. Even if we vaguely remember them, for a moment, we forget them,
and they don't seem to have been real--or, perhaps, they're like
delirium, or insane intervals, of which she has no memory. Why, a man
may even be simply drunk, and not recall what he has done, and that self
is, really, a different personality."
"But," I pursued, "do _you_ forget, too?"
"Yes. That is, almost always. At times I have had vague formless
memories, as one has of dreams--that's about as much as this second life
ever is associated with my normal one--if what I now have is the
normal--how do I know even that? But I have known about the duality
almost from the first, and of course Leah keeps me informed of
everything that happens. You see, sometimes I'm not even aware that
there _has_ been a lapse--I don't realize that it isn't just the next
day. Leah tells _her_ as little as possible about me. She's easily
managed and put off, usually, but somehow of late she seems to have
grown stronger. She seems to be developing mentally. It frightens me a
little."
"You don't think that anybody has told her, possibly?" I suggested.
"There's nobody to tell her. Of course Leah never would."
"Uncle Jerdon?"
"Oh, he thinks I'm crazy, and he never talks, anyway, I'm sure. He
doesn't realize what's happening, for, after all, we're not obviously
different; _she_ might be taken for me in some queer mood, I mean," she
added.
"King?"
"I believe he thinks that I'm possessed of a devil. Which I think I
am!" She paused to smile faintly. "Anyway, he minds his own business.
I have an idea that he has a reason for wanting to keep quiet."
"Or, lastly, then, the doctor?" I put it hesitatingly, yet I wanted to
know what she would say. Her answer was prompt.
"He wouldn't tell, I'm sure. Why, he wants to cure me. It would spoil
all chance of that, I think, if _she_ knew."
I wasn't so sure of the doctor, after what Leah had said to me, but it
would do no good, now, to mention that. She had trouble enough at
present not to worry her with new doubts.
"Then, is it possible that she might have come across some evidence of
you, in your writings, or something that would arouse her curiosity?"
"Oh, I think she hasn't the least suspicion. As I said, it must all seem
natural enough for her to lose time--she has always done so. Everything
is accounted for to her by the fact that she forgets. Of course, I am
careful to hide everything that is strictly my own, anything, that is,
that she would not understand. Leah keeps all my private letters under
lock and key. I'm very careful, for I've been on my guard since it
first began."
"How long?" I asked.
"Ever since I was thirteen. That's when she came first."
"It's incredible!" I exclaimed. "Of course, I've heard of such multiple
personalities, of the celebrated ones, but they've seemed only like
queer, improbable cases out of a book--monstrosities. Or I've regarded
them as half-crazed or hysterical or somnambulistic. But _you_, Miss
Fielding! You seem so beautifully sane, so poised, so complete--it's
like a fairy tale. Oh, you are the 'White Cat'! You are under a
spell!"
"It's only because I'm not a poor girl that I'm not a mere 'case,' I
assure you. You don't know what a life I've led, how every physician
I've had has wanted to study me, or put me in a sanatorium or a hospital
or an asylum or worse. Yes, if I hadn't the money, I should probably be
in a mad-house at this moment. Do you realize how easy it would be for
a physician to put me there? From the ordinary point of view, I'm
virtually insane part of the time. I have been in great danger,
Chester. But, having some money, I have been able to get away from
people and seclude myself and retain my freedom--if you call it freedom
to be cheated out of part of your natural life! I have had Leah, and
she was enough. She understands, she's loyal, and she is, above all,
wise and good."
"But the doctor--what about him?"
"Of course I must have a physician at times, and Doctor Copin is a good
one, and interested in my case. He has been most kind to me. Of course
I _am_ interesting, though, psychologically, and he's probably written a
monograph about me for some medical society already. But I have him
chiefly for medical troubles, and to keep general run of this thing,
enough to advise me."
This was rather different from what Edna had led me to believe, so I
said:
"He hasn't attempted to treat you for this psychological dissociation?"
"No. He has wanted to. In fact, he's always urging me to allow him to
see what he can do, but I won't let him. He wants to hypnotize me--but
I don't quite dare--would you?"
"No," I said. "I'd advise you not to. If that's to be done you ought
to go to a great specialist."
I thought I had a clue now that would bear following up, but I decided
to think it over a while before I spoke of it.
So intently had we talked, that we had scarcely noticed the darkness
which had fallen until King's gong aroused us. Joy rose wearily.
"Would you mind lighting the candles?" she said.
She waited till all the sconces were burning and then, as I went to the
window, she said:
"No, leave the shades up, please! I want the windows left so that Leah,
if she comes, may look in. I feel somehow that she is near here, that
she will come this evening, if she dares."
"Why haven't you been out where she could see you, then? Have you
thought to call her?"
She looked at me blankly. "Why, I _haven't_ thought of that, have I?
But would she dare come?"
"Try it now!" I exclaimed.
"I will!" She went to the front door and threw it open and cried:
"Leah!--Leah!--Leah! Come here! It's all right. I want you, dear!"
There was enough in the scene--the stillness that ensued, the gathering
mysterious twilight that shrouded the house, the tragic quaver in Joy's
voice--to make me thrill to its dramatic power. She stood there for a
few minutes, all in white, waiting, her hands clasped on her breast,
vividly illuminated by the candles. But no sound came out of the
shadows of the night.
Joy closed the door; then, with quick second thought, she returned to
leave it ajar, and came back into the library.
We had moved almost to the dining-room, when, on a sudden whim, she
paused, turned and looked toward the window. My own eyes followed hers.
There was a dark face peering in--so dark that the whites of the eyes
and the teeth were almost all that was visible, though enough to show
who it was.
"_Leah!_" Joy cried, and ran again to the door, crying out hysterically.
She called again, but no answer came.
It occurred to me that the excited accents of Joy's voice might well be
misleading, and for the first time I thought to try myself. Joy had
returned, to throw herself down, sobbing, full length upon the
window-seat, her heart breaking with the suspense and disappointment.
The strain was too much for her, after her hours of hope and fear. I
did not stop to comfort her then, but ran to the doorway and stood in
the lighted hall there in plain sight.
"Leah!" I called. "Come here, it's I--Mr. Castle. I want you!"
There was still no reply, but, feeling sure that Leah must be near at
hand, I started off vaguely in the dark. I had gone but to the turn of
the lane when I heard footsteps, running. Then in a rush Leah was upon
me, and had seized my hand.
"Oh, Mr. Castle! I'm so glad you've come--but I was afraid to go in. I
was afraid I might make it worse if _she_ was there. Who is it? Tell me
quick! Is it my own Miss Joy, or the other?"
"It's Joy," I assured her, "and she's waiting for you. You must come at
once."
She paused a moment, evidently wondering if I knew the secret.
"You're sure?" she said. "You know that there are two?"
"Yes--I know everything, now, and this is Joy--_your_ Joy!"
She bounded forward, and I with her, stumbling in the dark, into the
doorway, to the library. There for a moment she stopped, trembling so
violently that her teeth chattered audibly. Joy was still lying
stretched out at full length upon the cushions of the window-seat. At
the first glance Leah did not see her, but then she ran forward, knelt,
and threw her arms about her mistress.
But the next instant, starting back as if she had embraced a corpse, she
sprang up and faced me, her eyes opened wide in horror.
"Oh, Mr. Castle, she's _asleep_! Miss Joy's _asleep_!"
*II*
For a moment I was too surprised to realize the full significance of
Leah's cry. Then Joy's own words came back--the wail of her harassed
soul--"If I should fall asleep, who would it be that would awake?"
There she lay, asleep at last. Her small head lay upon her arm, and her
oval face was now flushed, her lips half parted, showing her little
blue-white teeth. The crisp white duck blouse moved gently with her
breathing--beneath her skirt two tiny red shoes lay one over the other.
As she herself had said, she was so utterly exhausted that she would "go
down deep." Dared we awaken her? Certainly not Leah, who, of course,
had seen the whole awful possibility on the instant.
I had to decide. What was to be done must be done quickly. If Joy were
allowed to sleep long and deeply we might confidently expect "the other
one" to awaken. The question was, could we, perhaps, rouse her before
that incomprehensible change had taken place? It seemed to be the only
thing to do. I determined, at all events, to take the risk.
Meanwhile, Leah had fallen into a chair, overcome with the
disappointment of the situation. She was in a distressing state; her
skirt was torn and soiled, her shoes dusty, her waist disheveled. Her
black hair was awry; she was hatless. I thought at first that she, too,
had fallen asleep from sheer fatigue.
I went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder to rouse her. She started
with a frightened jump.
"Leah," I said, "I'm going to awaken Miss Fielding. It's the only thing
to do, I think. We may be able to get her again, before she changes.
But if not, we must be ready with some plan by which to manage Edna. We
must hurry, though. First, tell me in the fewest possible words what
has happened. Joy, of course, didn't know."
Leah had braced herself for the ordeal and was now quick, alert and
concise. "She got angry on account of my 'trying to run her,' she said.
You see 'the other one' was here for two days. I've always been able to
manage her for one day, but the second day she seemed to be much
stronger, and it was worse than it has ever been before. She found out
that I had burned some of her old clothes--Miss Joy had told me to--and
so she discharged me and told me to leave the place immediately. I
wouldn't go, and she went into the barn and got a horsewhip and
threatened me with it. I was afraid, Mr. Castle! She was in a fearful
temper. I was afraid she'd kill me. Then I went. I stayed all night
in the Harbor. I wrote to you as soon as I got there, for I couldn't
get you on the telephone. Yesterday I hung about the place all day, but
she didn't appear, and I was afraid to come in. I positively didn't
dare, though I knew it probably was Miss Joy. To-day I stayed in that
old cabin down by the road all day, for I was pretty sure it must be
_she_ who was here. I was so tired I fell asleep and that's how I
missed you, I suppose. I've had hardly anything to eat since
yesterday--only a few biscuits I brought with me."
I had been thinking out a plan as I listened, and as soon as she had
finished I gave Leah her orders.
"Listen, now. If it is 'the other one' who awakens, I'll tell her that
I happened to meet you in the Harbor, and induced you to come back, on
my own responsibility. Do you see? I'll manage it; you needn't be
afraid. I'll take care of you, and it will be all right. Of course if
it is Joy who wakes up, that will be better. But we must act quickly.
Can you tell immediately who it is that awakens, Joy or 'the other
one'?"
"Oh, we can tell that easily enough, by the way she treats me!"
"Very well, then. You must awaken her now!"
I sat down where I could watch, and Leah went hesitatingly up to her
mistress again, and shook her shoulder gently.
"Wake up, Miss Joy!" she said softly, but firmly. "Wake up, you're
catching cold, honey."
Joy moaned, turned a little, then drew herself together again drowsily.
"Wake up, Miss Joy, you must have your dinner now!"
She moved again, and muttered, "Oh, I'm so sleepy! Let me go to sleep,
Leah, please!"
Again Leah shook her. It seemed cruel to have to bring that exhausted
body back to life. "Wake up, Miss Joy. Mr. Castle's here to see you!
Wake up!"
She opened her eyes now, and stared vacantly at us. Then her face
changed gloriously. She flung her arms round Leah's neck.
"Oh, Leah! Leah! You've come back to me!"
It was some moments before either of the women was able to speak. They
clung to each other, sobbing.
After the first hurried words of explanation were over, Joy went up to
her room to wash her face and freshen herself for what was yet to be
done. Leah went with her, almost too happy to think of her own sorry
appearance. Both came down, after a while, in a change of costume, and
went with me into the dining-room where King was patiently waiting to
serve the meal so long delayed. Joy showed plainly the ravages which
two days of suspense and agony had accomplished, but she was braced
mentally by my presence and Leah's return, and in a condition to discuss
calmly what was to be done. Leah had also rallied from her collapse,
and the dinner brought her strength and courage.
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.
"Say, King, you tie up the dogs in the stable, hear? I won't have them
about, barking and growling at me." She made an impatient threatening
gesture at Nokomis, who retreated, still watching sharply, till, with an
angry yelp, she turned, and ran into the stable. The other collies
followed her. It was uncanny.
"I'm going to sell those dogs pretty soon," she remarked carelessly,
kicking at a thistle. "I don't see why in the world you wanted that
puppy."
"Because you offered him to me," I answered, to see what she would say.
"Take them all, then, if you like," she said. "I confess I'm afraid of
them sometimes."
We went along a lane behind the stable and beside a potato patch, and
then, rising rapidly, through a gateway to a scrubby hillside, covered
with huckleberry bushes and sweet fern. Miss Fielding, for so I must
still call her, or you will perhaps forget that she was to all intents
and purposes physically the same in this secondary personality, stuck
her hands in the pockets of her red golf-jacket and swung up the path
between the boulders, with a frank joyousness and comradeship that
seemed as natural in its abandon as the windy air and the sunshine; and
yet, mingled with it, was a sort of innocent trickery--the petty ruses
of a primitive woman cropping out through a veneer of civilization.
I doubt if I can recall in precisely their order the little things which
occurred after that to make me notice as evidences of her pursuit of me,
but, as significant of her degree of craft, they amused me mightily. If
I mention them, however, it is only fair to me to bear in mind that I
regarded her quite as an abnormal phase of womanhood. She was not
merely another person in Miss Fielding's guise, she was only the part of
a person--a collection of functions sufficiently synthesized to have an
independent consciousness and volition, but by no means a perfect whole.
This is, I believe, the modern interpretation of multiple personality.
Certain definite psychological tracts are split off and run themselves,
so to speak. One might perhaps say that it is as if France, Germany,
Austria and Italy should float off the map, and achieve a lesser Europe
of their own. The line of cleavage in Miss Fielding's case was chiefly
along intellectual and moral lines; Edna was a lesser and, mentally, a
younger Joy--less cultured, less conscientious. It was quite in this
way that I studied her.
She stopped in the lane before we got to the gate, and, unfastening the
little gold chain with a sapphire pendant which she had about her neck,
held it out to me.
"Here, would you mind taking this, Chet? Keep it safe for me, please!
I'm afraid I may lose it."
I reached for it, but before I could take it she had herself tucked it
into my vest pocket and patted the place humorously.
She stopped again, afterward, to ask me to tie her shoe-lace. It was
patently one of the many attempts she was always making to establish a
closer physical contact, an effort to keep the relation personal. I
remember, also, that not long afterward, having climbed up a sandy bank
with my help, and with compliments upon my strength, she stopped at the
top to take off that same shoe and empty it of sand, disclosing quite
unaffectedly a delicate little foot in a grass-green silk stocking. I
helped her also over several stone walls, as she appeared to expect it,
smiling to think how often she must have scaled them unassisted. We
passed cows of which she professed to be much afraid and clung tightly
to me for protection. It all sounds crude enough, but it was prettily
done, and I was more amused than critical.
We reached the top of the hill and threw ourselves down on the grass to
rest. To the east, the land fell away, mottled with boulders and
bushes, with a bunch of trees here and there, and away in the distance
was the sea. On the other sides the middle distance was blocked with
woods. It was warm and sweet with a fresh earthy smell, and still as a
church.
She lay prone and, plucking a blade of grass, fell to playing with an
ant-hill under her nose. I watched her, lazy and peaceful, basking in
the June sunshine.
"Have you seen Doctor Copin lately?" I asked.
"No. He may come down to-day, though. I hope he will."
"Oh, you like him, then?" I said, giving my voice the inflections of
mock jealousy.
"Not as well as I do you," she said, rolling a little nearer me to
tickle my ear with her straw.
"What makes you think he'll come?"
"I telephoned to him this morning, and he said he might. He's just got
back to town and wants to see me. He runs down when he likes."
"On business, I suppose?"
"Yes, about my memory. He makes diagram things and tries experiments on
me."