Edna dropped the pistol to her side and looked down at the collie
angrily.
"Nokomis tried to bite me," she said. "But she'll never try it again! I
always thought she was dangerous."
"Give me that revolver!" I said sternly.
She met my look, shrinking a little, and handed over the weapon. I put
it into my pocket. Leah retreated fearfully to the house.
First, I took Nokomis' body and carried it to a bed of ferns beside the
path, patted her head and left her there till she could be buried. Then
I took Edna's arm, gently, and led her away. She told me, a little
frightened now at the impressiveness of my manner, that she had met
Nokomis suddenly, and attempting to drive her away, the collie had
snapped viciously at her. Edna had the revolver which she had taken
from Leah earlier in the day, still in her jacket pocket, and, at the
attack, had drawn it and fired immediately.
I had no reproaches for her--what was there to say? Even in speaking,
she had recovered from her mood, and she became as blithe and
inconsequent as if nothing had happened--the only effect apparent upon
her was a whimsical pettishness at my implied rebuke. She began to
attempt to cajole me childishly, patting my hand, looking saucily up
into my face and pretending a sort of arch depreciation of her temper.
It was evident that she was not at all sorry for what she had done; in
fact, she seemed to be secretly altogether pleased at her prowess,
though she covered it with considerable guile.
All the rest of the afternoon she was in an excited frame of mind. She
treated me with all her former comradeship, but I could see that she was
acting. It gave me a new insight into the rapidity of her development
effected by the doctor's information. She was no longer a child; she
was becoming complex, although still dominated by rapidly changing
moods. A new phase had indubitably commenced; it was the sign, I
feared, of a growing supremacy.
That evening she wheedled me with every art of the coquette. Her
familiarity seemed to give the lie to the doctor's statement about their
engagement, but it might well be true that she was playing him as
audaciously as she was playing me. I did not, of course, ask her about
it. It did not matter.
If I had needed to exercise my self-restraint on that other evening when
she attempted to provoke me, it was much more necessary now, for she had
become less differentiated, intellectually, from Joy; so much so, at
least, as to permit me at times to give my imagination play, and fancy
her, for the moment, the real Joy, my Joy in an alluring guise,
tinctured with wild-fire. The line of cleavage now was more along moral
lines. Edna's mind was evolving at the expense of her ethical nature.
Her temptation was seductive and arrantly conceived to torment me; I was
sure that it was intended to shake my allegiance to her rival self. It
was like playing with edged tools to be alone with her. In her intervals
of repose she fell so naturally into Joy's poses that it was
disconcerting. It was like _The Faerie Queene_ over again; like an
errant knight, I was confronted by the image of my mistress so cunningly
enchanted that I could not tell till she spoke that her body was
obsessed by another spirit.
She asked me much about the day before, and about what she had done and
said. As the evening wore on and she could not defeat my continual
evasions, she began to grow sullen and reserved. Finally, she appeared
to give it up, and went up-stairs with a sarcastic emphasis to her "Good
night, Prig!"
*VI*
Next morning I lay in bed for some time after I awoke, planning my day.
If it were Joy who appeared, there were several things to be decided
upon and accomplished; if Edna, a conflict was imminent which caused me
much anxiety. Queerly enough, the proposal I would have to make to Joy
seemed almost as if it would be an _ex post facto_ agreement. I had
already announced my engagement to the doctor, but I had not made my
bluff without holding a pretty good hand. I couldn't doubt, by this
time, how Joy felt toward me.
At eight o'clock I heard the customary dialogue--Miss Fielding's door
being still left ajar--but I noticed that her voice was quick and
excited. Leah was called in immediately, and the two women seemed to
have more than the usual amount of talk together.
Next, I heard the dogs barking in answer to their names; but there were
only three replies to Joy's calls, to-day. Poor old Nokomis would never
greet her mistress again. Then the door was closed. Joy evidently did
not wait to have breakfast, as usual, in her room, for fifteen minutes
later I heard her going down-stairs.
Fearing that something was wrong, though I was sure, now, that it was
Joy herself whom I had heard, I rose and dressed as quickly as I could.
I found her in the library waiting for me.
She held a folded paper in her hand, as she sat by the window, looking
out listlessly. I bade her good morning; she looked up without a smile
and silently handed me the paper. Unfolding it, I saw, written in a
round, childish, vertical script, the words:
"_I know you now--Cat!_"
"I found this pinned to my pillow when I woke up," she said. "It's from
Edna." Then a faint, dreamy smile softened her lips as she said, "You
see, even to her, I am the White Cat!"
"How d'you know it's from Edna?"
"It's her handwriting. She writes very differently from me."